Footprints in the Sand

‘No, I suppose not.’

We had a meal down at the port again. It was a warm evening so we sat at the water’s edge. The fishermen were setting out in their boats. Each had a tiny lantern in the bows. They rowed out really quietly and you could see their lights reflecting in the water going further and further out to sea. It was so still, their voices came over the water to us as if they were sitting at the very next table.

The lady at the taverna had cooked a cheese and spinach pie. I think maybe she’d been expecting us to come back – she looked really pleased to see us.

Mum said her fish wasn’t nearly as nice this time. And she noticed the bits floating in the water. She kept going on about them.

‘It’s only weed,’ I said.

She looked at it darkly. ‘You can never be sure.’

When we got back to the taverna Ben wasn’t around.

He wasn’t there next morning either. We packed up first thing and Stavros brought us breakfast. I kept expecting Ben to turn up. I’d felt sure he’d be around and I’d purposely worn my favourite T-shirt – the one that didn’t have a flattening effect. But he must’ve gone off somewhere – windsurfing perhaps. I scanned the bay for a glimpse of his pink and blue sail as I listened to Mum explaining to Stavros why we’d changed our plans. It was really embarrassing.

‘But you say you stay one week – two weeks maybe? Why you change your mind?’ said Stavros in a grumpy voice.

‘I’m really sorry. But you know, my daughter…’ Mum glanced apologetically in my direction. ‘You know what they’re like, young people!’

She was making out it was my fault. That was so unfair!

Stavros frowned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I make the bill,’ was all he said.

I felt terrible. And he’d been really nice to me.

‘How could you blame it on me?’ I hissed to Mum.

‘Well, what was I meant to say? There was no water yesterday. And honestly, look at the breakfast…’

The dredger started up at that moment, drowning out her voice.

‘Oh yes,’ said Mum in the direction of the dredger. ‘Thanks for reminding me – that too.’

I spread my bread carefully, hoping that maybe, given time, Ben might turn up.

‘Hurry up Lucy. We’ll miss the bus.’

‘I’m not really hungry.’

‘Well, leave it then, I don’t blame you. Perhaps we could have a proper breakfast when we get there.’

‘Mmmm.’

I shrugged my backpack on and followed Mum to the bus stop. We didn’t miss the bus. It was standing waiting in the square. It wasn’t full up either. There were two seats free at the back.

I sat staring miserably out of the window. The bus took off with a lot of honking at some chickens that had wandered into its path. The sun gleamed on the little white dome of the chapel. A dog which was lazing in the sun raised its head and then flopped back again, basking in the warmth. The donkey brayed in the distance. Mum had been right – it was all so unspoilt.

I didn’t see him until the bus had practically turned the bend in the road. He was running along the goat track. He ran effortlessly, as if running was his natural way of moving. God it wasn’t fair. He was so gorgeous.

The place Mum had chosen was miles away. Right on the other side of the island. My heart sank as each kilometre went by. Every one of them taking me further away from Ben. Why on earth had she wanted to go so far? There was no way we’d meet up if we were on opposite sides of the island.

The bus was full of local people – old ladies mostly with bundles and crates who got dropped off at remote bus stops in wind-torn villages in the interior. They were dismal-looking places. There was one in particular where an old granny in a tattered black dress was standing on a corner, screaming something at the passers-by. I wondered what it could be like living in a place like that, year in, year out, until you got really old with absolutely nothing happening – ever. No wonder she was in such a state.

I was really fed up by the time we reached the place Mum had found. The bus dropped us off right beside it. It was a modern brick building, set back from the road standing on its own, in a dusty olive grove. It didn’t even have a view of the sea or anything.

Our room was on the first floor. It led off a communal corridor that was open on one side to the wind. The bedroom seemed small and dark. As Mum drew up the roller blind a white box of a place came into focus. It had a horrid tasteless lino floor.

‘You see, it’s all lovely and new and clean.’

‘But there’s nowhere to sit. No terrace or balcony or anything.’

‘There are some garden chairs in the olive grove.’

I looked out of the window. There were a few broken plastic recliners standing in the dust.

‘So how much is this room?’

‘Well, it’s a bit more than it was at the other place.’

Mum was already unpacking and trying to hang things in the wardrobe, battling with those beastly hanger things that come off in your hand.

‘So if we went back now, it’d come to the same thing in the long run, wouldn’t it?’

‘Lucy, I’ve paid for two nights, so we’re staying here now. Don’t be difficult.’

‘But it’s daft to spend our holiday staying somewhere we don’t like.’

‘I like it here.’

‘No you don’t. I can tell you don’t.’

‘I’m not going to waste fifty pounds. You haven’t even looked around yet. You’ll love the beach. White sand.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh for goodness sake, don’t look like that. Come on, let’s have some breakfast – you’re probably hungry.’

We had breakfast sitting on the broken recliners in the olive grove. Unfortunately, it was a much better breakfast than we’d had at the taverna. Mum kept going on about how much better it was. I made a point of not eating much.

‘I hope you’re not sickening for something.’

‘The butter tastes funny.’

‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘It’s got a kind of rancid goat taste.’

‘Oh honestly Lucy, don’t exaggerate.’