The minimart was open but deserted. There wasn’t even anyone behind the till. So I made my way up and down the aisles, filling my basket with things that looked like they were probably toothpaste and chocolate and tea. Most of the labels were written in Greek so it was hard to be totally sure.
There was still no one there when I reached the checkout. I thought, Wow, what a trusting culture! A boy of about eight stuck his head around the door and said, ‘Wait! I get Baruch.’
After a minute or so, when no one had appeared, I took another meander around the shop just in case I’d forgotten something, and by the time I got back, he was there, seated behind the till as if he had never been away.
‘Hello,’ he said, flashing his white teeth at me. ‘You’re Becky, yes?’
I opened my mouth to respond but for a few seconds my voice failed me. Because Baruch was so, so beautiful, I could hardly believe my eyes. He was like a blue-eyed version of the guy I’d seen on the boat, only with a deeper tan, and less gel in his hair. He was also, hopefully, straight. ‘Um, yes,’ I finally managed.
‘I went to meet your mother,’ Baruch told me. ‘It’s why I wasn’t here.’
‘Of course,’ I said. I could feel myself blushing.
‘Welcome to Santorini,’ Baruch said. ‘Did you find everything you need?’ He reached for the first item in my basket.
‘Oh yes,’ I told him. ‘Yes, I found everything I need.’
By the time I left, I was already trying to think what other things I could buy . . . what other excuses I could find to return and speak to Baruch.
‘I take it you met the lovely Baruch,’ Mum called out as soon as I had stepped back in the door. Her voice was coming from the bedroom.
I put the bags down on the countertop and peered in through the open doorway. ‘I did!’ I said.
‘He’s a pretty one, huh?’ Mum laughed, rolling onto her side to look at me.
‘He is!’
‘I thought you’d like him,’ she said, ‘the minute I saw him.’
‘He’s like a young Javier Bardem,’ I said.
‘Was he the guy in Grey’s Anatomy?’ Mum asked. ‘Denny, wasn’t it?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But you’re right. He looks like him, too. So, are you OK?’
‘Me?’ Mum said. ‘Oh . . . Yes . . . I’m fine. I think all the travelling caught up with me a bit. I need half an hour’s snooze, that’s all.’
‘Fair enough,’ I told her. ‘Me too. I’ll be just outside in the shade.’
Mum slept for over an hour but though I only really dozed myself, I resisted the desire to go shopping again. I was being silly and I knew it. Baruch probably had hundreds of women fawning over him every season, and even if that wasn’t the case there was no real point to it. We were leaving in less than a week. And what could I possibly have in common with a Greek minimart cashier? But for all my arguing with myself, I couldn’t, if I’m honest, push the idea of a holiday romance from my mind. And I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how things had been for Mum all those years ago.
Just after five, we went for a wander around town. Everything was spotless, the buildings all whiter than white. Expensive boutiques lined the streets. ‘Was it the same when you were here before?’ I asked. After Serifos, I was a bit surprised by the opulence.
‘Oh, no,’ Mum said. ‘No, it’s much posher now. I mean, it was nice even back in ’94, but it’s definitely more touristy now. More upmarket, too.’
The streets, all the same, were pretty. And the views, which were everywhere, were incredible.
‘You know, I thought when I was here before,’ Mum said, pausing to take a photograph out over the bay, ‘that this was the prettiest place on the planet.’
I nodded. ‘It is very lovely.’
‘Yes, I still think that’s true,’ Mum said, lowering her phone and appraising the view again. ‘I’ve never been anywhere nicer, anyway. Not that that means much.’
We had cappuccino freddos in one place and creamy ice creams in another. ‘London prices,’ I commented as I paid for the latter.
Mum nodded. ‘Yes, that’s changed too,’ she said. ‘Although, to be honest, everything was so many thousands of drachma that I had no idea what I was spending.’
‘So that’s why you mentioned it,’ I said.
Mum nodded and wobbled her head from side to side in a way that meant, Apparently so.
‘Gosh, it’s getting crowded,’ I said, as we struggled to squeeze through a group of German tourists.
‘Yes, people come for the sunset,’ Mum told me. ‘They come from all over the island. I’d forgotten about that. It’s supposed to be the best sunset on Earth. They organise buses to come and see it and everything.’
‘And is it?’
‘Is it what?’
‘The best sunset on Earth?’
‘It’s pretty good,’ Mum said, ‘as far as I can remember.’
Despite the fact that my instinct is generally to go in the opposite direction to the crowds, we decided it was best if we tagged along. I was still hoping to visit another part of the island the next day, hopefully somewhere with a beach, so it seemed like a good idea to make the most of being here. It seemed best to get the Santorini sunset over and done with, otherwise I could see myself adding it, beneath the Acropolis, to the list of things I’d only nearly done.
We squeezed our way through the tiny streets with hundreds of other sunset-viewers until we arrived at the western tip of Oia. And I have to admit that despite the crowds, or maybe even because of them, the whole thing was really quite moving.
The sky put on a technicolour display that seemed to use every colour in the spectrum. There were wispy orange highlights below the clouds on the horizon and flecks of purple on the upper edges. There was a band of turquoise blue and swathes of yellow and red. There was even a splodge of grey-green cloud to the east and everywhere else the deep, endless blue of the sky above.
We spectators, here for this event that happens everywhere on the planet every day but which we so often forget about entirely, were bathed in the golden light. We looked, we smiled at the ball of fire and we said pointless mundane things like, ‘Gosh! That’s pretty,’ in a whole raft of different languages.
Whether it was out of reverence at the light show or respect for the others, everyone spoke softly and the resulting hubbub felt warm and friendly and safe. It was a shared moment of happiness with strangers, and I loved every minute of it.
‘Food?’ Mum asked, once the last snatch of sun had slipped behind a distant island. Everyone was on the move.
‘Definitely,’ I said. ‘Do you remember any good places?’
Mum shook her head. ‘Even if I did, I don’t think they’d be there now.’
‘You never know . . .’ I replied. ‘Do you want me to look on TripAdvisor or something?’
Mum shook her head. ‘Let’s just take a lucky dip, shall we?’
‘OK,’ I agreed. ‘Let’s do that.’
We followed the herd into town and, seeing that all of the restaurants on the main strip already had queues outside, we headed into the maze of side roads until we came upon a beautiful little restaurant in an open-air, candle-lit courtyard.
‘Here?’ Mum asked.
‘It looks expensive,’ I said, peering at the menu.
‘It’s our first night in Oia,’ Mum said. ‘Anyway, Granny is paying for this one.’
‘Table for two?’ a voice asked and I turned from the menu to see Baruch’s smiling face.
‘Oh, hello!’ Mum said. ‘You’re everywhere! Not that we’re complaining . . .’
Baruch laughed. ‘My aunt’s place,’ he said, gesturing. ‘My uncle’s ill, so . . .’
‘As long as he doesn’t have food poisoning,’ Mum said, cracking one of her rare jokes.
‘Food p—? Oh, no!’ Baruch said, glancing around nervously in case anyone had overheard. ‘No, it’s his knee. It hurts him sometimes. So . . .’
As he led us
through the tables, he said, ‘I have only this table left. The others, I’m afraid, are reserved.’
‘You’re bright red,’ Mum said, once we were sitting. ‘Are you OK?’
I nodded and did my best to hide myself behind the menu.
‘Oh, are you . . . ? You are! You’re blushing!’ Mum said, leaning over and pulling the menu away from my face. ‘I thought you were just hot but you’re blushing.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Cheers, Mum,’ I said. ‘It always helps to have that pointed out.’
‘Is it because of him?’ Mum asked, nodding sideways towards Baruch. ‘Have you got a crush on him or something?’
‘Stop it, Mum,’ I said. ‘Jesus!’
‘Well now, there’s a thing!’ Mum said. She glanced over at Baruch who was showing a group of people to the reserved tables. ‘He is very pretty,’ she said. ‘And he has a lovely booty in those jeans, I’ll give you that. It’s just that—’
‘Stop! Please!’ I said.
‘Oh Lord,’ Mum said. ‘Then it’s serious.’
‘You’re impossible, you know that?’ I told her.
‘Yeah, but you love it really,’ Mum said. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yeah,’ Mum said. ‘I think you’ll find that you do.’
In the hotel restaurant the next morning, over breakfast, I again tried to convince Mum to let me rent a scooter. ‘I had one for a whole year in Bristol,’ I told her. ‘It isn’t as dangerous as you think.’
‘Only there aren’t so many Greek drivers in Bristol, are there?’ Mum retorted.
‘I want to get around,’ I told her. ‘I want to see the rest of the island. I want to go to the beach.’
‘Well, there’s a beach here,’ Mum said, finishing her coffee and standing. ‘If that’s all you’re worried about, we can go now. I’ll go and get my beach stuff together.’
I watched her head down towards the room and sighed. I would get my way in the end, I knew I would. But I had to let Mum work through all the other options first. It had always been thus.
Baruch passed by at that moment. He gave me a little wave and I nodded sedately back. I was feeling, rather ridiculously, as if I had been jilted the previous night. Oh, he’d been perfectly pleasant to me, even flirty and funny. But really no nicer than he had been to anyone else. And I’d come to see that he was just one of those people who charms everyone – one of those people who makes everyone feel as if they have a special connection with him. Perfect waiter material!
As if to prove the point, a girl at the next table – she was having breakfast with her parents and can’t have been more than thirteen – waved her fingertips at Baruch. She clearly thought he’d been waving at her, and she was very possibly right.
The walk down to the ‘beach’ – and I use those inverted commas for a reason – involved climbing back up to street level, heading a couple of hundred yards to the right and turning down another almost identical staircase.
‘Are you sure about this?’ I asked. I was scared we’d go down a thousand steps only to have to turn back.
‘Totally,’ Mum said. ‘I stayed in one of these way back when.’
‘Which one?’ I asked, hoping to catch a glimpse of the room I’d been conceived in.
Mum paused to consider the question. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said eventually. ‘It was a long time ago.’ For some reason, I didn’t believe her.
The steps led down and down, past the end of the buildings and on down the sheer rock face. Even descending, I was breaking out in a sweat. The temperature was already in the high twenties and the sun was so strong it felt as if it were frying my skin, despite my factor fifty. Eventually our path joined a wider one. Some knackered-looking donkeys were being whipped up the hillside by a wrinkled old Greek farmer-type. On their backs sat two obese Americans who were complaining about the heat.
‘Poor donkeys,’ I said, once we were past.
‘I know,’ Mum replied. ‘I was tempted to yank that whip from his hand and whip his arse instead. You have to really not care about animals to do that.’
At the base of the track was a pretty little bay with a small concrete quay on which were crammed five small restaurants. The ‘beach’ consisted of a two-metre stretch of rocks at one end of the quay. ‘Oh,’ Mum said when it came into view. ‘The beach used to be bigger.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Oh well, never mind. We can still have a dip, can’t we?’ I was feeling quite joyous about the size of the beach, to be honest. I could sense my moped moving from possibility to the realms of probability.
The water, all the same, was lovely. It was warm enough that you could wade in without thinking about it, and crystal-clear and stuffed with crazy-looking fish. It was like swimming in an aquarium.
Afterwards, we sat in one of the restaurants and drank chilled coffees. Neither of us were in any great hurry to attack the climb back up.
‘I suppose if you went really slowly,’ Mum said out of nowhere.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I suppose we could get a little one. Nothing too powerful. As long as you promise to drive slowly.’
‘It’ll be fine, Mum,’ I told her. ‘It’ll be fun, you’ll see. And if you’ve never been on a bike before . . .’
‘I have,’ Mum said. ‘I’ve been on one right here. And that’s why you need to listen to me about those Greek drivers.’
EIGHT
LAURA
I was on the verge of dozing off when Leif woke me from the halfway land between waking and sleep. I usually enjoy that floating state but that day I think my thoughts were too troubled for it to have been pleasant in any way.
‘Wake up,’ Leif whispered. He was crouching to the right of the bed. ‘He’s gone.’
‘Is he nearby?’ I asked softly. ‘Why are you whispering?’
He shrugged and grinned. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, he’s gone. And I don’t know why I am whispering.’
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and yawned. I splashed water on my face in the bathroom then walked to the door. ‘He’s definitely gone?’ I asked, peering out at the shimmering heat of the day.
‘Yes. I watched him leave,’ Leif said.
‘But what if he’s just having breakfast? Or lunch or whatever. What if he’s forgotten his wallet and comes back?’ My voice was taking on a brittle, hysterical quality that I decided I needed to get a grip on.
‘He took his car,’ Leif said. ‘I followed him all the way to the top and he took his car. So it’s OK.’
Still nervous, I stepped outside and looked left and right.
‘Do you want me to go first?’ Leif asked, one hand upon the doorjamb.
‘No,’ I told him, steeling myself. ‘No, I’m fine.’
We descended two flights of stairs and I unlocked Conor’s front door.
‘Shall I stay here?’ Leif asked. ‘To keep watch?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Actually, go up a flight of stairs so you can see the whole staircase. And if you see him, call out as if you were calling for a friend. Shout “Mary” or something.’
‘Mary?’ Leif repeated, looking confused.
‘Anything,’ I said. ‘Just not Laura and not Conor.’
‘Ah, OK,’ Leif said, looking vaguely excited. ‘Like a code word.’
‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘If you like.’
‘I will say “Mary”, then,’ he said.
‘Fine,’ I told him, impatiently. ‘Mary is fine.’
Even with the lights on, it was hard to see at first. All that white paint outside was so blinding that my dazzled eyes took ages to adjust to the darkness of the interior. But slowly everything came into view: the dishevelled sheets; my clothes, still scattered across the floor; my suitcase in the corner . . . There was an empty ouzo bottle too, I noticed, lying on the bedside table. I hadn’t seen it the previous night.
I gathered everything up as fast as I could and stuffed it all in my suitcase. And, after
a last run around the bedroom and bathroom, I wheeled it out into the sunshine.
‘You have everything?’ Leif asked, once I’d joined him.
‘I think so,’ I said.
‘Check again, maybe?’ he suggested. ‘You don’t want to have to come back.’
So, leaving him with the suitcase, I popped back to give the room a final once-over. I couldn’t see anything else.
Back in Leif’s room, I unpacked my suitcase on his bed and started to fold everything properly. It was then I realised something was missing. Something essential.
‘My bumbag,’ I said, rifling through my case. ‘Shit, my bumbag’s not here.’
‘It’s important?’ Leif asked.
I nodded gravely. ‘Yeah,’ I explained. ‘It’s got my money in it. And my bank card. And my passport. Jesus!’
Adrenalin pumping all over again, I returned to the room. I was meticulous this time, checking drawers and cupboards, checking Conor’s own case and even his pockets. ‘The fucker!’ I finally exclaimed, my hands on my hips as I scanned the room for any remaining unexplored spaces.
Leif, who’d come to help me look, seemed a little shocked so I apologised.
‘There is no need to apologise,’ he said in that funny up-and-down accent he had. ‘A fucker is a very good description of this man, I am thinking.’
We returned to Leif’s room and debated what to do for some time.
‘I don’t have any money,’ I explained. ‘I don’t even have a card to get any money out with.’
‘Without ID your mother can’t even wire it to you, I think,’ Leif said.
‘No,’ I conceded. ‘No, I’m stuffed, aren’t I?’
‘Well, the money is not a problem,’ Leif told me, matter-of-factly. ‘I will lend you some money and . . .’ He raised one hand to interrupt my protests. ‘I will lend you some money, whatever you need, and you will repay me when you get home. This much is easy. We need to worry only about the passport.’
Leif had a brief, hopeful idea that Conor might have left my passport at reception. He’d had to leave his own passport there, after all.
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