Chloe Rayban - Footprints in the Sand

And then I had a dreadful thought. What if someone else had come and taken our room? What if all the rooms in the taverna were booked up? Maybe there was some other girl staying in my room. Who was older. And had a nicer nose…

I stabbed at my pillow and turned over. Oh why had I been such an idiot wanting us to leave like that?

Fate didn’t intervene until that night. I didn’t hear the first one. I woke with a hot itchy feeling on my leg. Switching on the light I discovered that I had the most gigantic mozzie bite.

‘Oh no!’ There was a whole row of them all the way up my leg.

‘Hmm – what is it, Lucy? Why’s the light on?’

‘We can’t stay here! I’m getting eaten alive!’

‘What?’

‘Mosquitoes. Look at them! We’ll get malaria!’

‘Don’t be silly – you don’t get malaria in Greece! Hand me that magazine – I’ll swat it. And put the light out!’

‘How can you see to swat it with the light out?’

‘Well if you don’t put the light out, more will come in.’

‘Too late,’ I announced.

There were already six or seven of the creatures circling round the lightbulb.

‘Oh my God.’

I turned the light out.

‘Oh damn and blast, one’s bitten me now.’

‘Didn’t we bring any mozzie spray?’ I whispered to Mum.

‘No need to whisper. They can’t hear you, you know.’ Mum sounded really cross.

‘But didn’t we?’

‘Didn’t think we’d need it. And besides, that stuff’s so bad for you.’

Mum was such a fanatic about chemicals and things. I could hear her raking through her bag.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘Bite stuff – can’t see a thing.’

‘I’ll put the light on then.’

‘No! Oh bother, think it must’ve fallen out on the beach.’

‘But I’m itching to death!’

‘Put some lick on it. And cover yourself up or you’ll get bitten again.’

We both covered ourselves in sheets, including our faces. I lay in silence, hearing the mosquitoes circling overhead like heat-seeking missiles searching for a target. My bites itched like mad, and I could hear Mum turning over restlessly. Hers were obviously as bad as mine.

After half an hour or so, I turned on to my side.

‘Mu-um?’ I whispered.

‘Hmmm?’

‘Not asleep, are you?’

‘What does it sound like…?’

I lifted the corner of her sheet.

‘There weren’t any mosquitoes at the other place.’

‘Maybe there are now.’

‘No, it’s the fresh water. You know where the swampy bit was, by the beach? They only breed in fresh water. We did mosquitoes last term.’

‘So all that education wasn’t wasted after all.’

‘You have to admit – you liked the other place better, didn’t you?’

There was a moment’s silence and then she answered: ‘Well, yes, OK. I suppose I did.’

‘So what’s the big deal about staying here?’

‘There’s no big deal.’

‘You mean we could possibly go back?’

I could sense Mum staring at me through the darkness.

‘You’re really keen on that place, aren’t you?’

I blushed in spite of myself. I was glad it was dark.

‘Well it was just – so much nicer, wasn’t it?’

Mum leaned over and gave me a hug through the sheet.

‘After two days, yes. Why not? Better give the Old Rogue a chance to calm down first.’

‘Really, honestly, truly?’

‘Well it’s what we both want, isn’t it?’

‘ Now she admits it.’

There was another, longer silence.

‘Can’t we go back tomorrow?’

‘Oh Lucy. I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘We could have another swim at that brilliant beach of yours first.’

‘It’s not that brilliant.’

‘Mum, it’s ghastly and you know it.’

So we went back the following morning. Mum didn’t even seem to mind about losing the money she’d paid for the second night. And she didn’t want a swim either, so we left straight after breakfast.

We saw the bus coming as we finished our coffee and had to run for it across the olive grove.

The bus driver waited for us, grinning and honking his horn in a teasing manner. Mum and I flopped down in the front seats.

‘Two please, to Paradiso,’ said Mum.

‘To Paradiso!’ said the bus driver. ‘You go back?’

He winked at me. It was the guy who’d driven us here. It was such a small island he obviously recognised all his passengers. It was a nice feeling actually.

‘Yes,’ said Mum.

‘Ahhh! Paradiso. Paradise! Yes?’

‘Yes – I know.’

He leaned forward and switched on his radio full blast, and we set off with the sun glinting through the trees and the music clattering in our ears and the sea dreamily blue in the fresh morning light.

We drove back through the villages we’d passed on the way. Maybe it was the direction of the sun or something, but in the morning light, those villages looked completely different. Between the whitewashed houses, there were flowering plants brightening the place up with totally improbable splashes of colour, colour that plants simply don’t have back home. All the mad old ladies had disappeared and been replaced by younger women who had baskets of bread on their arms. And there were loads of children around, and contented-looking cats and well-fed dogs. And even the men sitting outside the cafés smoking and chatting had a kind of festive look about them, as if they were on holiday like us. I wondered how it could all look so different.

‘Maybe we should have rung first. What if he hasn’t got a room free?’ Mum interrupted my train of thought.

‘Oh no, I’m sure he will have.’

‘I think we should stop off at the next village and check. It’ll be a waste of time going all that way back if he hasn’t.’

I’d been dreading this. What if the rooms were let – they couldn’t be! No way! The very idea of not getting back to the Paradisos after all this effort – it was unthinkable!

‘Mum. Who else in their right mind would want to stay at the Paradisos?’

‘Yes, I suppose you’ve got a point there.’

It was about twelve by the time we reached the square above the taverna. The bus juddered to a halt, and with a gentle sigh of the power brakes, the doors swung open. The dog was still basking, but he’d moved out of the sun and into the shade. The donkey was still there – I could hear it braying a hilarious greeting in the distance. The sun was so bright on the chapel, you couldn’t see the flaking paint. Even the shop with its dusty display of out-of-date Hello magazines and battered sun-hats looked somehow welcoming.

The driver climbed out of the bus and hauled our luggage on to the cobbles.

‘Ahhh,’ he said, stretching out his arms as if encompassing the view of the bay. ‘Paradise!’

‘Mmmm,’ agreed Mum. ‘Isn’t it just.’

We were about to start the trek with our luggage, back down the goat path, when a figure shot out of the shadow of the chapel.

‘No,’ he said.

‘I carry bags for you.’

It was a skinny boy of about fifteen or so. He was wearing peculiar old-fashioned trousers made of cheap material and one of those tourist T-shirts they gave out free at the Tourist Office with the picture and the slogan on it – the one we’d cracked up about. You’ll learn to love Lexos.

He took Mum’s suitcase out of her hands and made a grab for my backpack.

‘No it’s OK,’ I said. ‘I can manage.’

But Mum said: ‘Let him, Lucy.’

The boy lifted Mum’s suitcase on to one shoulder and flung my backpack over the other. He put out a hand for the beach bag I was carrying too. But I shook my head, he was smaller than me. As we followed behind him, I thought Mum was being really crazy. We were on a really strict budget, it didn’t allow for luxuries like porters.