by Chloe Rayban
‘You in there, Lucy?’ Mum’s voice came through the door.
‘Mmm.’
‘Well don’t use all the water. Gosh, what a scorcher! It must’ve been practically up in the forties today. Hope you weren’t out in it.’
‘Mmm…’
‘Hurry up darling. I’m melting out here.’
There was nothing else for it. I covered as much of myself as I could with a towel and re-emerged.
‘Oh my God.’
‘What?’
‘Lucy – you’re scarlet!’
Mum really let rip after that. She went on about wrinkles and skin cancer. As if sunburn wasn’t bad enough in its own right.
I plastered myself all over with aftersun but I couldn’t face going out for supper. Mum brought me some food on a tray. I spent a pretty miserable night. I couldn’t bear anything on top of me, not even a sheet. My whole body felt as if I’d accidentally been cremated.
The next morning I woke with my skin feeling tight and sore, and horror of horrors – my nose was already peeling! I hate anything that draws attention to my nose. And to have a peeling nose – that is the very worst.
‘I think I’ll stay in the room today,’ I announced to Mum.
‘Oh don’t be silly, Lucy.’
‘Well, look at me.’
Mum looked and tried to keep a straight face. ‘Can’t you cover it up with make-up or something?’
‘I’ve tried. It made it look worse.’
‘Well, if you’re worried about bumping into Ben, he’s not around.’
‘Why should I care what Ben thinks? Where’s he gone?’
‘I don’t know. He wasn’t there at breakfast. Maybe he’s got the day off. Now where did I put the passports?’
‘Why?’
‘Stavros is giving me a lift into the port. I’ve got to change some more travellers’ cheques. Do you want anything?’
‘Apart from a new nose, no, I don’t think so.’
‘I’ll get you some calamine and I’ll see if I can find some magazines and…’ Mum’s eye lighted on my camera. ‘And maybe I can get your film developed.’
She was trying everything she could think of to cheer me up.
‘Thanks.’ I took the film out of the camera and handed it to her.
‘Anyway. This’ll give you a nice opportunity to write your postcards.’
‘Great.’
I heard the phut-phut-phut noise of Stavros’ three-wheeler disappearing into the distance as I emerged tentatively on to the terrace. There was no sign of Ben. I leaned over the balcony. I couldn’t see him on the beach below either. And I couldn’t see his sail on the bay. The coast was clear.
I sat at a table, staring at the postcards, wondering what to say.
I’m a windsurfing failure. I’ve alienated the only fit guy around and I’ve got terminal sunburn. Wish you were here!
The chair was cutting painfully into my sunburned legs. I wandered over and leaned on the balcony rail again. The cats were back. The three of them were lounging on the terrace as if they owned it.
They watched me with their six round eyes. Clearly they considered everyone and everything in this village had been put there for their benefit. I’d noticed over the past week that there was a kind of pattern to their day.
They’d start out on the harbour side of the village, which caught the morning sun. Breakfast was anything they could steal from the cottages. Then by mid-morning they moved on to the more serious business of lunch. I’d heard them searching through the taverna rubbish bags. By dinner time they’d descend to scout round the restaurant in the harbour. But there was a lot of competition down there. There were always at least a dozen hungry full-grown cats hanging around the back of the restaurant, ready to fight for the scraps. These young cats didn’t really stand a chance. This morning, the three of them were obviously hoping to steal breakfast from the Paradisos.
I decided to make the whole thing official by collecting all the bread left from breakfast and putting it on a plate for them.
As soon as the plate touched the terrace, three lithe bodies leapt to it. I crouched down watching them. Can you imagine any self-respecting British cat eating dry bread? I added what was left at the bottom of the yogurt pots, and after a quick check to make absolutely sure no-one was around, I gave them all the milk I could find in the kitchen. Well, the milk looked a bit iffy anyway.
The cats wolfed down the meal, then without the least sign of gratitude they wandered off. I could see them leaping from wall to wall, winding their way down to the harbour until they became tiny moving dots on the beach and disappeared from sight.
My postcards were still lying on the table in the shade of the vines. With a sigh, I decided that I had better get down to the job.
I loathe writing postcards. Unless I can think of something really witty to say, they’re just a chore.
I worked through the easy ones – the duty cards to aunts and uncles and the various people who’d sent cards to me and expected ones back. They only needed to be told tedious things about the food and weather.
I’d got to around my fifth when suddenly a voice behind me said: ‘Hi.’
I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was Ben. So he was here after all.
Well, I wasn’t going to be the first one to climb down. I replied in an off-hand manner:
‘Hello. What are you doing here?’
‘I work here – remember?’
‘I thought you’d be out windsurfing,’ I said pointedly.
‘No, I er… I er – had other things to do.’
‘Oh.’
He disappeared into the vineyard and returned a few minutes later with a towel over his arm. He kind of hovered. I ignored him.
‘So… How’s things? What are you up to?’
‘Writing postcards.’
‘Yeah I know but – apart from that.’
‘Nothing.’
‘I’m – er – going to get a drink. Do you want anything?’
‘No… thank you.’ I finished a postcard and placed it on the pile.
He got himself a drink and sat at a table on the other side of the terrace.
‘Lot of postcards,’ he commented.
‘I’ve got a lot of friends,’ I said. I picked up the stack and tapped it on the table to make my point.
‘Do you want me to post those for you?’
‘No… thank you.’
‘Look Lucy…’ he started again.
‘You’re distracting me. I can’t write while you’re talking.’
‘Oh right. OK. I won’t say another word.’
‘Thank you.’
He started jangling coins in his pocket.
‘You’re still distracting me.’
‘No I’m not.’
‘You are. You’re rattling things and you’re looking at me.’
‘I am not.’
‘Yes you are.’
‘You can’t possibly tell! Unless you’ve got eyes in the back of your head?’
‘I can feel it.’
‘Rubbish. Look here… Lucy…’
I’d had enough of this. I swung round. ‘What?’
He cracked up. ‘Whatever happened to your nose?’
I’d totally forgotten about it. He was laughing as if I looked the biggest freak ever.
‘Why don’t you just go away!’ I said, as forcefully as I could.
‘Oh come on – loosen up – I’ve got just as much right to be on this terrace as you have.’
I glared at him, meaningfully.
It worked. He got up from the table and walked off into the vineyard. I took up another postcard:
Dear Louisa,
It’s a smashing place apart from this guy here who’s really bugging me.
Ben came back after ten minutes or so. I think I was getting through to him – at last. He didn’t look nearly as arrogant as he had before. In fact, he paused at the end of the path and came out with as near as damn-it an apology.
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‘Look, I mean… Listen, Lucy… I’m really sorry about losing my cool with you yesterday.’ His voice sounded all kind of quiet and husky. As if he was really upset – as if he really meant it.
‘Are you?’
I put down my pen and swivelled to face him. He had this anxious questioning look on his face. Standing there in the dappled shadows of the vines, looking like that – honestly, he was so gorgeous. I could see little green glints in his hazy blue eyes. Maybe I had been a bit hard on him.
‘Mmm – really truly,’ he said. (That was rather sweet.)
‘Well, perhaps I was a bit…er…’
‘No… no it was my fault. It’s difficult enough learning to windsurf, without…’
‘Well maybe, you know… I shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that.’ (He was right. I had been pig-headed. I’d been beastly.)
‘Oh, it was understandable…’
‘Listen Ben…’ I started again.
He didn’t seem to be listening. He’d turned a kind of green colour and looked as if he was about to make off again.
‘You OK?’
‘I think maybe it was something I ate last night.’ It was the way he said it. He sounded really sorry for himself. I tried not to smile.
‘Oh you poor thing, there’s nothing worse. Look, Mum’s got some tablets somewhere. They’re brilliant.’
I delved into Mum’s suitcase and found her stash of medicines. She’d something for everything. Typically he had no idea what he ought to take. I had to go through the instructions on the back of the packs with him and ask highly personal questions. I can tell you – any trace of arrogance he might have had totally disappeared.
‘Why aren’t you on the beach? Where’s your mother?’ he asked when he’d swallowed a couple of pills.
I explained about the sunburn and how Mum had gone off with Stavros.
‘So it’s just you and me, marooned here?’ he said.
‘Mmm.’ Little prickles of excitement went up and down my spine.
‘Nice,’ he said, and pulled his chair up closer.
‘Mmm.’ I couldn’t trust myself to look him in the eyes again. I knew what with my sunburn and everything, I’d go red as a Greek tomato. I could already feel a mega-blush spreading upwards.
‘But you’d better not sit too near,’ I said. ‘Germs, you know.’
‘Oh yes, right.’
I went back to the postcard I’d been writing to Louisa and drew a line through ‘bugging me’. Then I tore the postcard in two.
Chapter Fourteen
The cat’s breakfast was meant to be a one-off, but the following day they were back, twining their bodies round the legs of the breakfast table, mewing for attention. They seemed to think breakfast at the Paradisos was an ongoing service.
When Stavros wasn’t looking, I put another plate out for them in the vineyard. I took more bread from the kitchen this time and slopped a load of milk on top. I stood back to watch. Within minutes the plate was licked clean.
‘What you doin’?’ Stavros was standing with his hands on his hips, watching me.
‘Poor things, they’re half-starved,’ I said.
‘What you think happen when you gone? Everyone gone? When winter come?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘They starve. Same every year. Only big ones live. Strong ones – good hunters – they will be here next summer. Is nature.’
‘Well, somebody could feed them.’
‘How many cats do you think in Paradiso?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Too many,’ he said, shaking his head.
I stared down at them licking the last remnants off the plate. They were such beautiful cats. It was so sad. I thought Stavros was being really mean.
Things were so different here.
I gazed out through the vineyard. On the far side, a movement caught my eye. Ari was there on a bit of wasteland, sitting on his haunches flicking stones, watching us.
‘Stavros – that Albanian boy – he’s always hanging around. What does he want?’
Stavros looked over my shoulder. ‘Him? He want work here. He want money.’
‘Can’t you give him something to do?’
‘I did. He work here two… three months. He was no good.’
‘Before Ben?’
‘Yes, before Ben.’ (So Ari had been telling the truth.)
‘What will happen to him when winter comes?’
Stavros sighed and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Albanians, big problem. They come here, want jobs. But there are not enough jobs. What can we do?’
I looked over at Ari again. He still had that dog with him. They both looked pretty dejected.
‘Where’s Ben this morning?’
‘Gone to the Tourist Office for his air ticket.’
‘So who will work for you, when Ben leaves?’ I prompted.
‘I don’t know,’ said Stavros. He sounded annoyed that I’d interfered, and raised both hands as if to close the subject.
He went inside, and I heard him fussing around in the kitchen. He came out with an empty bread basket in his hand.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘there is no bread if peoples come.’
One of the cats stalked past, its stomach bulging with food. Stavros looked at it pointedly.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll go and get some more.’
‘No, you are guest!’
‘No I’d like to, honestly. It’s my fault. I’d like a walk. Just tell me where the bakery is.’
‘OK,’ said Stavros. ‘Tell Maria at the bakery you want bread for Stavros.’ He took me by the shoulder and pointed out the path through the olive grove. And then, just as I was about to set off, he said: ‘Wait.’
We were standing by this massive jasmine bush. The flowers were pretty insignificant but they gave off the most incredible perfume. I’d noticed it in the evening, every time the wind came from this direction. I’d wondered what it came from. This morning in the still air, the smell was almost overpowering.
Stavros leaned over and broke off a few twigs, and then he wound another stalk very carefully round them to make a little bunch.
‘Give this to Maria,’ he said. And say “Yassos” from Stavros.’
‘“Yassos”?’
He nodded.
‘What does it mean?’
‘It means,’ said Stavros, ‘God bless you.’
And he smiled and patted me on the shoulder. He was an old softy really.
The bakery was about a kilometre away. The path that led there went up over the headland and then wound down through terraces of ancient olive groves. I found it easily – I only had to follow my nose and the delicious fresh bread smell led me straight to the door.
Maria was as round and brown as one of her loaves.
‘Kalimera,’ she greeted me.
I held out the flowers. They’re from Stavros, he says “Yassos”.’
‘Ah,’ she said with a big smile. ‘You stay at the taverna?’
‘Yes.’
Then she leaned forward and said: ‘Ben is nice boy – yes?’
‘Yes,’ I said. I could feel myself blushing.
She took the flowers and put them in a jar and stood it on the window sill. I could smell their perfume trapped in the confined space mixing deliciously with the smell of hot bread.
‘Say “Yassos” to Stavros,’ she said. And tell him, the answer was “Yes”.’
‘It was “Yes”?’
She nodded, smiling. ‘Yes, the answer was “Yes”!’
I was intrigued. Maria was quite pretty for a woman her age – a bit younger than Mum, probably. What was Stavros up to?
‘All right.’
And then she took two loaves and wrapped them in paper and handed them to me. She paused, and then took a sesame seed bun from a rack where they were cooling and added it with a smile. ‘For you.’
‘Thank you.’
As I made my way back though the olive grove, I nibbled at th
e bun. It was fresh and sweet and had a wonderful flavour of toasted sesame seeds. I hugged the warm bread parcel.
It was quite a hike up to the highest point in the track, and on the other side I rewarded myself by a jog on the easy slope down. Rounding a concealed bend, a voice hissed at me:
‘Psst, English boy…’
I came to a stop. It was Ari’s voice.
‘No, it’s not Ben. It’s me, Lucy.’
He slipped out from between the olive trees, the dog panting at his heels.
‘What do you want?’
‘Nothing.’ He looked down at the ground. Then his eyes shifted to the bread parcel. He could obviously smell the bread. The dog could too – it whined. I could tell by the look on his face that Ari was hungry. They both were.
‘Does Ben give you bread?’ I asked.
The boy looked at me assessingly. ‘You don’t tell Stavros?’
‘Of course not.’
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes.’
I tore one of the loaves out of the parcel and handed it to him. ‘Take it. I won’t say anything.’
‘Thank you… Lucy,’ he said. It was the first time I’d ever seen him really smile. He disappeared among the trees with the dog loping after him.
I went on slowly and thoughtfully. Quite obviously, he’d been hiding in wait for Ben. Did Ben give him bread every day?
The sun was filtering through the olive grove, dappling everything in a shifting light. As the air warmed up, the chanting of the crickets increased in volume. The dew was evaporating into the air, and with it all the suspicions I’d ever had about Ben seemed to disappear. I was sure of it now. I’d been totally unfair.
And then suddenly the crickets stopped. All together.
I paused too. There was complete silence. And that moment came back to me as vividly as if it was happening all over again…
We were standing on this very same path, not so far from where I was standing now. The look in his eyes had gone right through me. Electric!
Stavros was sitting on the terrace fiddling with his worry beads when I arrived. I held out the bread.
‘Maria said “Yassos” to you,’ and I added her odd message: ‘She said to tell you: the answer was “Yes”.’