Footprints in the Sand

He was pretty close to the shore now and I could tell he’d caught sight of me. To my delight he did an epic wobble and nearly fell off. Wicked! I’d really put him off his stroke.

I just managed not to laugh. Instead, I turned over and put my headset back on and pretended to ignore him. I didn’t turn the tape on though. Through the phones I could hear him beaching the board and dragging it up on the sand. I sneaked a glance. A pair of nice strong feet and ace legs deliciously flecked with golden hairs strode past me. He carried the sail up the beach and then he went back for the board. Closer up he was definitely very good news indeed.

I lay pretending to be absorbed in my music as he stowed the board and then made off up the beach in the direction of the taverna. Our taverna. Maybe he was staying there too…

Brilliant! I sat up and started to gather my things together.

Once back at the taverna, I was half-expecting to find my bronzed windsurfer sitting there, having a drink after his sail, maybe. I ran my fingers through my hair and just prayed I hadn’t burnt myself red as beetroot. But he wasn’t on the terrace. I caught sight of him walking down the path between the vines with a towel round his neck. So he was staying here. Excellent!

Then I suddenly had an awful thought. Oh my God, what if Mum had found somewhere else to stay? Nightmare! Oh curses and damnation! Why had I been such a pain about wanting to move on? It wasn’t such a bad place. I mean, one beach in Greece is very much like another, isn’t it? And the taverna was so cheap. A real bargain. There might even be some money left over for windsurfing and I could start to learn and…

But Mum wasn’t back yet. Did that mean she was still searching – fruitlessly? Or was she held up looking at rooms – fixing up the details – oh pl-ease!

I went into the bathroom wishing there was some magical method of thought-tranference by which I could bring her back. Our shower was working again and wonders will never cease – the water was actually hot.

I had a really good shower and washed my hair. My skin stung as the hot water ran down it. I had overdone it. I just prayed it wouldn’t all peel off before I had a chance to tan. I’d have to be really careful tomorrow.

After my shower, I dressed in my most favourite T-shirt and the pair of jeans that made my legs look longest and went out on to the terrace.

The sun was dipping towards the horizon and promising a pretty spectacular sunset. The evening light shone through the vines, casting dancing shadows across the terrace. The faded blue tables and ancient wicker chairs looked kind of rustic and picturesque.

I sat down at a table nearest the sunset. Even the dredger looked somehow glamorous in this light. The low sun had lit up all its rust, turning it a dramatic burnt ginger colour.

The Old Rogue came out of the kitchen wearing a clean vest.

‘You want drink, yes?’

‘Yes please. Orange.’

‘Portocalada?’

‘Is that orange?’

‘Yes. Greek for orange.’

‘Portocalada?’

‘Yes, good!’ he smiled. He was in a much better mood today. He held out a hand. ‘Stavros,’ he said. ‘What is your name?’

‘Lucy.’

‘Lucy – very nice.’

He was a long time bringing my orange, but when he came back he was carrying a plate as well, with what looked like crispy fried onion rings with a slice of lemon on them.

‘For you, on the house,’ he said.

‘Oh thank you. What are they?’

‘Mezze,’ he said. ‘Good – eat!’

I tasted one. They were hot and crispy and delicious.

‘Good, yes?’ he said, watching me.

‘Very good,’ I agreed.

He was going to be ever so disappointed if we moved on. We’d really be letting him down. I smiled and nodded and sipped my drink and indulged in a silent prayer that Mum had found nothing but chicken-pens and and five-star rip-offs on her search.

Stavros waved an arm towards the sunset.

‘Beautiful, yes?’ he said proudly as if it was his very own sunset ‘on the house’.

‘Fantastic!’ I agreed.

‘Best sunset view in the island,’ he said, and he made his way off back to his kitchen.

It really was, too. A narrow band of cloud was hovering above the horizon, splitting the sunlight into great golden shafts like you see in old-fashioned religious pictures. It was incredible. I mean, Stavros was right. This headland must be the very best place in the whole island to watch the sunset.

As I sipped my drink I heard footsteps on the gravel. I steeled myself to confront Mum. But it wasn’t Mum. It was him… the windsurfer. He did a double-take when he saw me – almost dropped the package he was carrying.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Hello,’ I said, in what I hoped was a suitably cool and laid-back voice.

Then he made off down some steps behind the taverna and I heard a door slam. He was staying here. There was no question about it.

There was no way I was going to move on now. My mind raced. How was I going to persuade Mum to stay? Well, there was the sunset for a start.

I climbed down the few steps from the terrace and on to the headland to get an even better view of the last moments. It was only a few metres to a rocky outcrop that stood at the furthest tip. Standing there was like standing on top of the world. I was sandwiched between sea and sky, and the two of them were putting on a performance that was like the biggest firework display and the most dramatic laser show ever.

The clouds were tinted violet and the sun had turned into a great molten ball of fire, sliding down the sky. As the last liquid orange glob of it slipped down into the inky sea I heard Mum’s voice, calling:

‘Lucy… Lucy!’

She was back.

Making my way across to the terrace, I prepared myself for a forceful introduction to a change of plan.

She dumped her bag down on the table. She looked hot and tired. She didn’t look as if she’d had a lot of luck!

I slid on to a chair opposite her.

‘Phew, what an afternoon!’ she said. (I felt sure she hadn’t found anywhere.) But then she leaned forward with a triumphant look on her face.

‘It’s all settled. I’ve found a fabulous place. You’ll love it.’

Chapter Four (#ulink_46ea003f-efce-59ab-9518-564257010db0)