Footprints in the Sand (Back-2-Back, Book 1)

by Chloe Rayban

  ‘Thanks.’ I dragged it over my head and slumped down on a chair.

  ‘You not happy?’ asked Stavros, perceptively.

  ‘No – not very,’ I said.

  Stavros sucked his breath through his teeth and considered me. ‘Windsurfer lesson, no go well?’

  ‘That’s the understatement of the year,’ I muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, it went very badly.’

  ‘Lucy, no like learn from you?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Ahhh! Women.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘You want time off? Tonight maybe? Feel better?’

  I thought of standing round like a lemon, serving Lucy and her mum drinks in this crummy loser’s T-shirt. Yes, I would like tonight off – very much.

  ‘Thanks Stavros. You’re a mate.’

  ‘No worries,’ he said.

  As the sun set, I walked over to the surfers’ beach. Stavros had paid me for the week and I thought I might as well blow the money. I’d buy myself a decent T-shirt for a start, have a few beers, maybe a meal. Anything to get the thought of Lucy out of my mind.

  The only place that sold T-shirts was the exorbitant windsurfers’ shop. I had a mosey through their selection and found they all cost a small fortune, so I decided I’d have to bear the humiliation of being a walking advertisement for Lexos for the evening.

  I sat alone in a bar on the seafront watching the sunset as the last of the surfing gladiators came into shore with the maximum of show – one guy even hurled his rig up over his head, giving the admiring crowd the treat of a shower of seawater. Jeesus, what a saddo. Mind you, sitting there in my hand-out Lexos T-shirt, I guess I didn’t have much to boast about.

  When I’d drunk a couple of beers I started to feel in need of something more solid. So I walked down the front studying the menus: King Prawns in Seafood Sauce – Steak Tartar – Lobster. And the prices! Like everything else on this beach they were designed for people with more money than sense. I tracked down to the very end of the front where a shabby little shack advertised doner kebabs. There was a ragged queue of backpackers lined up outside. This looked more like my scene.

  Inside the envelope of cardboard bread, the meat tasted like warmed-up cat food. All in all, it was probably one of the worst meals I’ve ever experienced. But I was hungry, so I wolfed it down anyway and then I went back to the bar for another beer to take the taste away.

  The sun had set by this time and couples were starting to wander up and down the front, hand in hand, enjoying the cool of the evening. Predictably, my thoughts turned to Lucy. Still, she wasn’t the only girl on the planet. I took another swig of my beer and studied the talent, giving the girls points out of ten on the standard system that Sprout and Mick and I had devised. None of them came anywhere near the 9.9 Lucy rated.

  When I finished my beer I walked home. It wasn’t the greatest evening of my life.

  Next morning I awoke to serious internal rumblings. And then it hit me. Gut rot, Delhi Belly, Montezuma’s Revenge, The Curse of the Pharoahs – it goes by many exotic names, but whatever the nationality, the effects are identical. I spent most of the morning in the khazi, vowing that I’d never ever let a doner kebab pass my lips again.

  Stavros fussed around tutting like an old woman and made me drink loads of fizzy water, which helped a bit. Eventually when the worst of the symptoms subsided, I crawled into my bed and was lost to the world.

  When I emerged, I could tell by the height of the sun that it was well past midday. I started to make my way towards the vineyard for a wash and teeth-clean and then I stopped in my tracks.

  Lucy was sitting there, at a table in the shade of the vines, writing postcards.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  She looked up and frowned. ‘Hello. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I work here – remember?’

  ‘I thought you’d be out windsurfing.’ She said the final word with the emphasis of sarcasm.

  ‘No, I er…’ It struck me that gut rot isn’t exactly the most charismatic topic of conversation, so I said: ‘I… er – had other things to do.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I made off for my wash. As I splashed cold water on my face I considered tactics. What should I do? Pretend to ignore the whole row, treat it as if it hadn’t been important? Or hold my ground and show the girl that it was all her fault – you know, ‘Treat ’em mean. Keep ’em keen’. Or maybe apologise. Yeah, maybe it would be best to get a quick apology in and then move on – fast.

  As I walked back to the terrace I still hadn’t made up my mind. I paused at the end of the path. Maybe I should start on something neutral and feel my way.

  ‘So… How’s things? What are you up to?’

  She didn’t look round. ‘Writing postcards.’

  ‘Yeah I know, but – apart from that.’

  ‘Nothing.’ (She still sounded pretty narked with me).

  ‘I’m er – going to get a drink. Do you want anything?’

  ‘No… thank you.’ She finished a postcard with a flourish and added it to the pile in front of her.

  I came back with a lemonade and sat at a table some way off.

  ‘Lot of postcards,’ I commented.

  ‘I’ve got a lot of friends,’ she said, picking up the stack and tapping them to get them to line up as if they were playing cards.

  I took another sip of lemonade. Lucy took up another postcard and started writing.

  ‘Do you want me to post those for you?’

  ‘No… thank you.’

  She leaned over her card, ignoring me.

  ‘Look Lucy…’

  ‘You’re distracting me. I can’t write while you’re talking.’

  ‘Oh right. OK. I won’t say another word.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I took another swig and felt in my pocket, I couldn’t remember what I’d done with the room keys.

  ‘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…’

  She swung round, ‘What?’

  Her nose was peeling badly. Made her look absurdly like some sort of fluffy toy. I cracked up: ‘Whatever happened to your nose?’

  She ignored my comment and licked another stamp – oh those lovely lips and that little pink tongue! I couldn’t help noticing she’d stuck the stamp on upside down.

  ‘Why don’t you just go away!’ she said.

  ‘Oh come on – loosen up – I’ve got just as much right to be on this terrace as you have.’

  I meant to stand my ground – be really assertive. But at that moment the lemonade must’ve met up with whatever was awry in my plumbing system and I was forced to get to my feet and make a hasty exit through the vineyard.

  When I returned she was still sitting there, with those lovely legs of hers – one tucked up under her – the other dangling, long and gorgeous…

  She obviously thought she’d achieved a minor victory getting me to leave the terrace like that. There was a triumphant little smile on her lips as she turned and looked full at me. Her eyes were so blue, they were exactly the same colour as the sea behind her…

  There was nothing else for it. I’d have to go for the apology route. I stood at the end of the path and took a deep breath.

  ‘Look, I mean… Listen, Lucy… I’m really sorry about losing my cool with you yesterday.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Mmm – really, truly.’ (Absolutely damn truly – it was the worst mistake I’d ever made in my entire life.)

  ‘Well, maybe I was a bit… er…’

  ‘No… no, it was my fault. It’s difficult enough learning to windsurf, without…’
r />   ‘Well maybe, you know… I shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that.’

  ‘Oh, it was understandable…’

  She was almost smiling now. ‘Listen, Ben…’

  My stomach interrupted with simply appalling subterranean rumbling noises.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘I think maybe it was something I ate last night.’

  ‘Oh you poor thing, there’s nothing worse.’ She actually looked sympathetic. ‘Look, Mum’s got some tablets somewhere. They’re brilliant.’

  You wouldn’t have thought that discussing the symptoms of gut rot was the ideal way to chat up a girl. But her mother had an arsenal of tablets, and as we checked the instructions on the back of the packets all the resentment of the day before seemed to dissolve.

  I selected what looked like the strongest and took a couple, then asked: ‘Why aren’t you on the beach? Where’s your mother?’

  ‘I really overdid it yesterday. Mum got a lift to the port with Stavros to change money.’

  ‘So it’s just you and me, marooned here?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Nice.’ I drew my chair up to her table.

  ‘Mmm. But you better not sit too near. Germs, you know.’

  ‘Oh yes, right.’ (Curses!)

  She took another postcard and started writing.

  And then I heard the distant phut phut phut of Stavros’ three-wheeler coming back – oh bollocks!

  Chapter Fifteen

  I had to go into the port the next day to pick up my ticket from the Tourist Office. Lucy’s mother caught me just as I was leaving.

  ‘If you’re going in, would you mind picking up Lucy’s film? The place is just next door.’ She handed me the stub and the money.

  ‘Sure. No worries.’

  My ticket had arrived, amazingly enough, so I collected the film and got on the next bus back. The port was not a place you wanted to linger in long.

  It was on the bus that I started wondering about the photos. I mean, photos, they’re not really private property are they? And the envelope was coming open a bit… Maybe they were the ones her mum took of that famous windsurfing lesson!

  I slid them out. There were some pretty standard views of the village and some photos of the local cats – typical girly stuff. Then a few of that disastrous windsurfing lesson. And then – hang on. These were all of me. Ten at least, no, more like fifteen of them!

  I was looking pretty good in some of them, although I say it myself.

  Now I don’t want to sound big-headed – but how would you interpret this? A girl, taking lots of photos of a guy? There really was no other conclusion I could come to. Lucy fancied me. She fancied me like crazy.

  So she’d been playing hard to get all along!

  My head was swimming. My heart was pounding in my ears. Why was the bus being so damn slow?

  It took forever to get back to Paradiso.

  Lucy wasn’t around when I got back, so I left the photos in her room. I didn’t meet up with her until the afternoon when everyone else had gone off for a siesta.

  ‘Did you get your photos OK?’

  She didn’t react, just said: ‘Yes, thanks for picking them up.’

  ‘No trouble. I was going in anyway. Any good ones?’

  She still didn’t react.

  ‘Aren’t you going to show them to me?’ I asked, putting the pressure on.

  ‘No.’

  I could see the start of a blush spreading up from her neck.

  Her eyes met mine and she bit her lip. She was just so unbelievably gorgeous. There was a silence which seemed to last forever and then we both started speaking at the same time.

  ‘Listen…’

  ‘Listen…’

  ‘After you.’

  ‘No, after you.’

  I leaned towards her. I could hear sounds coming from inside Stavros’ room. So I asked in an undertone: ‘What I was going to say was – I should get a whole day off soon. Maybe we could do something…?’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know. Perhaps we could go for a swim at another beach or something…’

  ‘Do you know one where there’s no weed?’

  If it had been any other girl, I guess I would have thought ‘pathetic’. But at that point a totally unbidden vision entered my mind. I was lifting Lucy up, carrying her over the weed and sliding her down into the water.

  ‘Does it really bother you?’ I asked.

  She looked at me archly. ‘It did the other day.’

  I grinned.

  ‘You shouldn’t have laughed, it was cruel,’ she said – but in a jokey way.

  ‘It won’t happen again. Promise.’

  ‘In that case – I’ll come,’ she said.

  I managed to negotiate a whole day off the following Saturday. Until then, Lucy and I kept a polite distance from each other. Whenever Stavros was around I behaved like the perfect waiter and she put on an big act of ordering me around – I think she rather enjoyed it. She even left me a tip once – a very small one.

  I woke early on the day of our trip. The square of sun was still weak and watery-looking way over to my left. What had woken me? Voices. Yes, voices arguing in Greek – it was Stavros and some woman. She was practically shouting at him. The Greek came out in great bursts. I lay there listening to their voices bantering back and forth – his a low conciliatory rumble, hers a shrill accusatory torrent of words.

  I crept out of my room. Whoever it was, she was in Stavros’ room. No, not in it – her lower half, dressed in a tight black skirt, was sticking out through it. I recognised that bottom – I recognised those shoes with their little stubby heels and the bows on the back. Maria!

  What on earth was she doing here? She should be at the bakery at this time. It must be something really important.

  She backed out and I shot out of sight behind my door.

  Stavros came out of his room dragging his clothes on. He was shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating as if whatever they were arguing about wasn’t his fault. But by the look of her, Maria wasn’t having any of this. She let out another furious torrent of abuse and lifted up a hand and cuffed Stavros on the cheek. Stavros kind of swayed and held his hand up to his cheek in shock. Both of them stood there in silence for a moment, glaring at each other.

  And then suddenly everything changed. Stavros put out a hand and took Maria’s little chubby hand in his. He said something quiet and low. Maria burst into tears. I watched, intrigued. This was hardly some row about an unpaid bread bill.

  And then he threw his arms around her. They stood there for a moment in the doorway like a couple of wedged bears, and then they moved as one into his room and the door slammed behind them. Well!

  From inside the room I could now hear gentle voices and the squeak of bedsprings as something landed heavily on the bed. This was too much. I dragged on my clothes and headed off down the goat track, not knowing whether to feel shocked or amused.

  There was a big queue of women outside the bakery, at a loss to know quite what to do without Maria there. I pushed past them and helped myself to two loaves and left the money on the counter.

  Halfway back along the goat path I met Maria. She was coming as fast as her short little legs would carry her.

  ‘Yassos,’ she shouted to me.

  ‘Hi,’ I called back.

  ‘Yassos, Ben,’ she called out again, waving her handkerchief at me. She was half-crying and half-laughing. All her anger seemed to have disappeared. She had this look on her face. Honestly, this may sound crazy, but this little fat lady looked almost beautiful.

  ‘Yassos, Maria,’ I called to her.

  Back at the taverna I approached the terrace cautiously, wondering what mood I’d find Stavros in. Quite obviously, he’d lost the argument.

  He was sitting with his back to me, gazing out to sea. His fingers were busy with his worry beads. He hadn’t heard me approach.

  I coughed politely.

>   ‘I’ve brought the bread.’

  ‘Bread?’ said Stavros, and he got to his feet.

  He walked over to me, took the loaves in his big hands and just stood there with them. He looked as if he was in a state of shock.

  ‘Everything all right?’ I ventured.

  ‘OK? OK? Is OK yes. Ben. Is OK…’

  ‘Well good. I’m glad to hear that.’

  ‘You see… I’m getting married,’ he burst out and slapped me on my bad shoulder.

  ‘Well, that’s fantastic!’

  ‘Yes, big surprise eh? Stavros married!’

  ‘To Maria?’

  ‘Yes. How you guess?’

  ‘Well you know. I notice these things.’

  ‘Good woman eh? Beautiful.’ His hands drew a kind of Grecian vase in the air.

  ‘Very nice.’

  ‘Bakery – makes good money.’ He rubbed his fingers together.

  ‘Yes, sure – everyone needs bread.’

  ‘Everyone needs bread. Good! Fantastic! Stavros married. Maybe father soon.’ He rocked his arms as if cradling a baby.

  A baby! Well yes, I suppose it was just possible. Maria couldn’t be that old.

  ‘Everyone needs bread!’ said Stavros again. He threw his head back and roared with laughter – I think maybe he was a little hysterical. He was already opening bottles and shouting greetings down the cliffside, inviting various members of the community to come and join him in a celebratory drink.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I nearly missed the nine o’clock bus. Lucy was standing in the square pleading with the bus driver not to shut the doors. We climbed in and took the last two free seats at the back. I told her about Stavros and Maria – she was really chuffed.

  ‘Why are there so many people on the bus?’ Lucy suddenly asked.

  I looked around, I guess it was a bit unusual.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s Saturday. I suppose a lot of people get the day off.’

  ‘Oh, right. Is it Saturday? I’d totally lost track of time.’

  She stared out of the window and then a weird stricken expression came over her face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered something…’

  ‘Do you want to go back?’