Sixty Summers

by Amanda Hampson

  As Fran lay waiting for sleep, her mind drifted back to the conversation with Sofia and how content she had felt during those hours of quiet discussion. It was rare to meet someone so full of energy and interest and curiosity. And refreshing to meet someone new, which so rarely happened these days – and a kindred spirit as well. Fran had promised to get in touch when she got back home. But she knew she wouldn’t. It just wasn’t her.

  The idea of home seemed remote right now. She tried to imagine Louis studying her plant notes, pampering the greenery, and the cat, and generally taking his responsibilities seriously. It was a struggle to imagine – easier were visions of a starving cat and withered plants.

  They woke to a pearlescent dawn illuminating the acres of cracked concrete surrounding them, beyond which, the Adriatic, with its blue horizon, was reassuringly calm.

  All three had slept well and were in good spirits. They made use of the bathrooms in the terminal, bought some fresh bread rolls for breakfast and made coffee on the stove.

  They were standing beside the van, in the queue waiting to board, when Rose said, ‘Is that someone waving at us?’ Two people further down the queue were both flapping their arms madly and now walking towards them. ‘Oh, how funny. It’s Don and Ann!’

  ‘It’s the beauties and the Beast!’ called Don with a grin, as they approached.

  They all embraced like old friends. ‘Fancy seeing you here!’ said Ann. ‘You never mentioned going to the Greek islands.’

  ‘We didn’t know,’ said Maggie. ‘It’s a surprise to us too.’

  ‘And you managed to get tickets?’ asked Don, seemingly put out. ‘Just like that? We booked months ago.’

  ‘That’s how we roll,’ said Rose. ‘Spontaneous.’

  Maggie smiled. ‘It’s lovely to see you again. We only managed pole position at the front because we stayed all night in the car park.’

  ‘I’m not sure that was wise,’ said Don with a disapproving frown.

  Ann concurred. ‘According to our guidebook, Brindisi is dangerous at night.’

  ‘We had no trouble at all, apart from a few truck drivers gawping at us,’ said Rose.

  ‘Would you ladies like me to drive the Beast onto the ship for you? It can be a bit hairy getting on the ferry,’ offered Don.

  He was just being chivalrous, but Rose was unnecessarily abrupt with him. Bristling with indignation, she pointed out that she had been driving for forty years and would be perfectly fine. So it was unfortunate that, distracted by her outrage, she managed to crush half-a-dozen traffic cones boarding the ferry. Fran and Maggie were amused by the squashing of the first cone, but by the fifth, much to Rose’s annoyance, they were helpless with laughter.

  The sea was calm and the sun warm, making the six-hour trip a relatively pleasant experience. Don redeemed himself by buying a couple of bottles of wine at the bar, and they filled up on the set menu pasta lunch.

  By the time the Ionian Islands came into view, it was twilight. Grey wings of cloud floated across a tangerine sunset reflected in the sea. There was something so familiar about the quality of the light, the scattering of islands and rocky outcrops. Fran felt a shiver of anticipation. Everything suddenly felt right – they were meant to be here.

  Don and Ann had booked in to a camping ground north of Corfu township. After a brief discussion, Maggie, Fran and Rose agreed that they would take the coast road, following Don and Ann, in the hope that there would be a site available this early in the season.

  Both parties made a quick stop at a supermarket on the main road to buy a few provisions. Back in the van, Rose questioned whether this was the right plan.

  ‘Since we don’t have a plan, we might as well go with them. If there’s no room in the camp, then we can do something else,’ said Maggie.

  Rose fired up the Beast. ‘The cost of the camp might be an issue for us.’

  ‘Do you think we could borrow a little bit from Don and Ann?’ asked Fran, as they set off following the Peugeot.

  Maggie wasn’t keen. ‘Hmm, might be stretching the friendship.’

  ‘I just don’t like the way they have sort of adopted us,’ said Rose.

  Maggie sighed. ‘Rose, you are being contrary. They’re being friendly and helpful.’

  Fran secretly liked the idea that there was someone else looking out for them too.

  ‘That’s my point. We don’t need help. They think we’re three old hens on the loose who need a man to keep an eye on them. I can imagine them going home and telling hygge stories about how they played the good samaritans to these daft old —’

  ‘It’s not pronounced hoo-gee, it’s hue-gah,’ corrected Maggie.

  ‘I doubt they think we’re daft or old, given they’re older than us. That’s your perception,’ said Fran. ‘You’re being oversensitive.’

  Rose shrugged and obediently followed the Peugeot through the industrial outskirts of town and into the darkness of the countryside.

  ‘I just think,’ said Rose, when everyone had forgotten the conversation, ‘we came here to go on our journey. Now we’re being corralled into someone else’s.’

  ‘We can continue on our journey tomorrow, Rose,’ said Maggie, wearily.

  They were silent for a while, as though hypnotised by the rear lights of the Peugeot up ahead. When they came to a fork in the road, the Peugeot continued along the main road which veered to the right, but Rose swung off to the left.

  Maggie grabbed the door handle to stop the door flying open. ‘What in hell are you doing, Rose?!’

  ‘I saw a sign back there to Agios Papadakis! I don’t want to be dragged around like a bunch of pensioners on a tour. The chooks are going free-range! Yodel-a-ee-he-he-ee, yodel-la-he —’

  ‘Rose! Stop!’ shouted Maggie.

  ‘I can’t stop here, it’s dangerous – just wait!’ Rose changed gear and put her foot down to tackle the hill ahead.

  ‘Not the van, you nitwit! The yodelling! You agreed no yodelling.’

  Fran doubled up with silent laughter. ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘It’s embarrassing; makes me cringe. Look, Rose, we don’t have a place to stay. It’s late. And what will Don and Ann think?’

  ‘Here’s the thing, ladies,’ said Rose. ‘We’re never going to see them again! So who gives a flying fuck what they think? They can go on the banned topic list, as far as I’m concerned.’

  Fran braced herself for another blow-up, but it didn’t come.

  ‘Well, we’ve lost them now anyway,’ said Maggie. ‘If we can’t find Agios Papadakis, there’s plenty of places we can stop until morning.’

  The Beast ploughed on into the dark countryside. Apart from the occasional light visible from a distant house, there were no signs of life. No more road signs. It was difficult to know if they were still headed in the right direction but Rose seemed confident and kept driving. After an hour or so, they chugged up a long steep hill, the Beast growling with the strain. When they reached the summit, Maggie suggested they stop to try to work out where they were.

  Rose suggested Fran get up on the roof. She might be able to see if there was a village or something nearby.

  It was tricky with the van’s sloping bonnet. She either had to stand on the driver’s seat and try to scramble up, or be given a leg-up. They decided on the latter, joined hands and, with some difficulty, wrested Fran up until she was half on the roof and could pull herself up.

  ‘Just stay still. Don’t walk around. And don’t fall off,’ instructed Rose, unnecessarily.

  It was quite pleasant up there with the soft night around her, the sound of insects and chirping cicadas. In the distance beyond, she could see a thread of lights and the moon reflecting off water; a village beside the sea. Getting down off the roof, she slid backwards on her belly while Rose guided her foot to the windowsill and they lifted her down to safety.

  Off they went again, down a long twisting road with hairpin bends, another hill and another valley and over the next rise they finally saw
the twinkling lights of the village below. They cruised down the hill towards the silken sea beyond.

  As they entered the village, the road swung sharply to the right. Rose misjudged and missed the turn and drove straight onto the beach. They all felt the loss of traction as the van slid onto the sand. Rose crunched into reverse, but it only buried the wheels deeper in the sand. She stopped and switched off the engine.

  It was almost midnight now. The village was asleep. Their arrival had gone unnoticed. They each got slowly out of the van and stood looking out to the gentle swell of silver sea.

  And Rose said softly, ‘We’re back.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  As the sun rose, the sky and water were shot through with pink and gold. Maggie sat on the sand watching the changing light. The only sound to be heard was the water rippling gently on the shore. She felt cold and stiff. It had been unbearably hot in the van, and she had dragged her bedding outside sometime during the night. When she lay down in the cool night air, the sand had felt soft. Now it brought back memories of a futon she owned back in the eighties – hard and unyielding.

  She pulled off her track top, tiptoed into the water in her T-shirt and undies, and dived under the surface. It was cool and refreshing, stripping the sweat and grime that had accumulated on her skin in the last few days. She pushed her fingers through her hair. It felt good. She felt that sense of lightness again.

  As she floated on the surface, watching the golden dawn dissolve into a blue day, all the tension drained from her body. All she could hear was her own breath. Glancing down, she could see silver fish darting beneath the surface of the water.

  How strange to find herself back on this beach where, every night for a month, they had rolled out their sleeping bags and slept under the stars. Young and free, without responsibilities. Those long golden days had remained with her all these years.

  Floating peacefully, she was vaguely aware of some commotion in the water, like a large fish thrashing on a hook, or an outboard motor in the distance. It came closer, but before she could find her footing, Rose’s distressed face appeared.

  There was a beat, then Rose, who was wearing her pyjamas, said, ‘Hi!’

  Maggie let her feet drop gently to the sandy bottom and stood up. ‘Hi.’

  Rose stared at her for a moment. ‘I was worried …’

  ‘Sorry, Rose, I didn’t think …’

  ‘No, no – it’s fine! I was being ridiculous.’

  ‘No, you weren’t …’

  They began to laugh for reasons neither could explain and waded back to the shore together. Two elderly men, one leaning on a walking stick, stood in the street and watched them. Aware she was a sight in her wet T-shirt and underwear, Maggie picked up her sleeping bag and wrapped it around her. She gave the men a friendly wave and called out ‘Yassou! Kaliméra!’ She tried to think of another phrase in Greek but nothing appropriate came to mind. The men gave no indication they’d heard her, and were clearly in no hurry to leave.

  Rose pulled the side door of the van open, waking Fran, who sat up and stared at them both in their soaking clothes. ‘You’re keen,’ she said. Getting out of the van, she stood on the beach and stretched her arms out wide. ‘Best parking spot ever, Rose!’

  Rose and Maggie climbed in the back, peeled off their wet things and threw them over into the front seat. They dug around, looking for their clothes. Everything was now mixed up in a tangle.

  ‘Do you think they’ll get the police onto us for parking on the beach?’ asked Maggie, pulling on her undies.

  ‘More likely send someone with a tractor to tow us off,’ said Rose, struggling to get her damp body into a T-shirt. ‘Even if someone called the police, I doubt they’d come for a day or two.’

  ‘What the hell? Either my bra has shrunk or my boobs are expanding,’ said Maggie, attempting to push her breasts into a black bra.

  ‘That’s mine,’ said Rose. ‘I’ve been looking for it for days.’

  Maggie pulled it off with relief. ‘Where’s mine, then?’

  Rose dived into the mess of clothes among the bedding, pulled out a large-cup bra and gave it a twirl. Maggie snatched it from her and put it on. ‘Ah, that’s better.’

  They set off along the narrow road beside the beach towards the village in search of breakfast. The main part of the village was a straggle of houses with rooms and apartments for holiday rental, and a mini-mart. Last time they were here there were no roads; they’d had to leave the Kombi at the top of the cliff and walk down the rough goat track.

  The entire village had consisted of one taverna – the Blue Moon Bar and Restaurant, where they had eaten all their meals, and Rose had worked in the kitchen – and half-a-dozen houses, which were mostly unfinished with steel reinforcing rods sticking out of the roof where a second storey was intended. Now there was a small settlement but it seemed as though whatever affluence had once washed through here had dried up again. Everything looked neglected: paint peeling, black mildew infesting walls. Weeds had grown over discarded building materials, as if the decline had set in before the boom took hold. Or perhaps it never quite reached this quiet corner of the island.

  ‘It was pretty basic when we were here,’ remarked Maggie. ‘But now it all looks really run-down.’

  ‘At least there isn’t a resort here,’ said Fran. ‘That’s one good thing.’

  ‘But look at that,’ said Rose. ‘The taverna is still here!’

  The Blue Moon taverna was still operating and open for breakfast. On the terrace overlooking the beach, the mismatched collection of old vinyl kitchen chairs and wobbly tables had been replaced by uniform plastic tables and chairs. The rickety metal pergola that covered the terrace was now a professionally built timber structure covered in a froth of crimson bougainvillea.

  There were a few customers at the tables, drinking coffee or eating breakfast. The two old men they’d seen earlier at the beach sat at a corner table with another elderly man, rotund and voluble with a walrus moustache.

  Maggie, Fran and Rose took the table nearest to the beach. After a while, a scowling young woman came out to take their order. They each ordered the same breakfast they had eaten here every day for that month.

  Maggie looked around. ‘It’s still nice. But I liked the way everything was so rough and ready back then.’ The plastic table cloth felt sticky. She glanced around for a napkin to wipe it down then decided to let it go.

  ‘The kitchen was certainly rough and ready,’ said Rose. ‘I wonder what happened to Spyros. He’s probably long gone.’

  Fran disagreed. ‘Not necessarily. We thought he was old back then but he was probably only forty.’

  The waitress returned with their order. Maggie realised they’d missed dinner last night and she was starving. The yoghurt was tart and creamy, the fruit was fresh and the coffee thick and grainy – just as she remembered it.

  ‘Wow,’ said Rose, licking her spoon. ‘This takes me back.’

  ‘We need to make some plans,’ said Fran. ‘We have about fifty euro left. So, basically, we don’t have enough to get to Rome, assuming we’re going to fly direct from here. I don’t even know what the fares would be.’

  Rose shook her head. ‘Let’s see if we can use a computer later and find out.’

  ‘We’ve got twelve days,’ said Maggie. ‘No panic.’

  The waitress sauntered out to ask if they wanted anything else. When Rose explained that she had worked there forty years earlier, the girl could not have been less interested.

  ‘We lived here on the beach,’ said Maggie, trying to spark her interest. ‘We ate here every day. A man called Spyros owned it back then.’

  ‘He’s my grandfather,’ the girl said unhappily. She nodded towards the table with the three old men. ‘The fat one.’

  ‘Really? He probably won’t remember us,’ said Rose, getting up. The girl shrugged and cleared their dishes as Rose went over to the old men’s table and greeted him, ‘Kaliméra, Spyros.’


  Spyros turned and nodded amicably. ‘Kaliméra. Something not good?’

  ‘No, all good. You won’t remember us. We were here in 1978,’ she said. ‘The Australians. Rose – I worked here in the kitchen for you.’ Rose beckoned Fran and Maggie over.

  He looked at them through narrowed eyes. ‘Yes … yes … the “Aussie sheilas”!’ He waggled a gnarled finger at Maggie. ‘I remember. Is the beautiful one.’ His gaze shifted to Fran. ‘This one, she’s quiet.’ His eyes rested on Rose. He frowned. ‘This the crazy one.’

  Rose grinned, evidently delighted by this description.

  ‘And me, now the fat one!’ Spyros said. ‘Old one. Eighty-three. I was young man when you here.’

  One of the other men at the table made a comment, gesturing towards the van further down the beach. Spyros waved his concerns away. ‘Sit. We get tractor later.’

  Dismissing his two friends, who got up resentfully and wandered off, Spyros pulled an extra chair over. As the three women sat down, he called to his granddaughter to bring more coffee.

  ‘This Delphine. Is good girl.’ He gave her an affectionate pat on the back as she transferred the coffee cups from the tray to the table.

  Delphine gave them a weak smile. Maggie thanked her and asked, ‘You work here in the summer, Delphine?’

  ‘Not usually. I’m at university in Athens. My mother runs the place now. She comes at the start of summer but my sister just had a baby, so she had to go back to Athens and I had to come instead.’

  ‘So all your friends are having fun in Athens and you’re here dealing with the tourists.’ Maggie smiled.

  Delphine shrugged. ‘It’s okay. The beach is nice.’ She walked slowly back inside, as though she’d rather be anywhere but here.

  ‘So, you come and see me from Afstralía!’ Spyros grinned. ‘Is good. See this place now, very modern, very nice. But is different now. Then, was one taverna. That me. Now is many …’ He gestured up the hill to the larger, more established village of Palaka. ‘Restaurant, club, everything. People come here in the day but in the night is not enough busy. Where you stay?’