I made my way slowly along the beach, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of pink or blue. No sign of a sail. So I sat down on a rock in the shade, under the very furthest tip of the headland where it jutted out into the sea.
And I waited…
Waves don’t actually move towards the shore. That’s an optical illusion. The waves move through the water but the water stays where it is. Or at least that’s what I’d learned in Physics. Over the next hour or so I had quite enough time to study this puzzling phenomenon. And I added a P.S. to it. Whatever was on top of the waves didn’t move into the shore either – neither plastic bottles, nor bits of weed, nor horny windsurfers.
I was about to give up and head back to the taverna when a flash of colour caught my eye… Was it a sail? Was it really pink and blue? At a distance, with the sunlight on the water, your eyes can play tricks on you. I blinked as the sail dipped, and then as it raised again and the windsurfer tacked away – I was certain. It was Ben’s.
It took him forever to tack back into the shore. As he drew nearer I felt really shy for some reason. And it occurred to me that I couldn’t just appear out of nowhere. It’d look as though I’d been watching – waiting for him. I drew a little further back in the shadow of the cliff.
He reached the shore, climbed neatly off the windsurfer and drew it up behind him on the beach. I decided to wait where I was – hidden until he’d dismantled and stacked all the equipment. I reckoned he’d go back to the taverna and then, after a suitable pause, I’d be able to wander up nonchalantly – as if I’d just come back from a walk or something.
But he didn’t stack the windsurfer right away. Instead, he seemed to be looking for something on the beach. He crouched down and peered at the sand. Maybe he’d dropped something.
No, he’d given up. He went to lock up the shack and then he came back to where he’d been searching before. I watched as he moved a few steps in my direction. He seemed to be following something. Yes, he was definitely tracking something along the sand.
Oh my God! My footprints! That’s what it must be. And they led right to where I was sitting.
I felt myself go hot and cold all over with embarrassment. This was just so cringe-making. I wondered frantically if I could try and edge my way round the other side of the headland. But on the far side, there was nothing but open sea and a sheer cliff – no chance of making a speedy escape. I was going to have to brave it out.
He was really close now. I could see a gap in the footprints where the sea had washed some away. Please, please – let him give up right there. But no such luck. He was looking for where they continued.
He’d found them. In seconds he was bound to catch sight of me. There was nothing for it. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows.
‘Looking for something?’
He stopped dead. For a moment he seemed at a loss for words. That’s when I suddenly realised that he must be just as embarrassed as I was. I decided to make the most of the situation.
‘Yeah… a flip-flop,’ he said.
I tried to keep a straight face. ‘A flip-flop?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Want some help?’ I asked innocently.
‘Help?’
‘Finding it.’
‘Oh yeah, thanks. Why not?’
‘Right. What colour was it?’
‘Umm. Blue… Blue and white.’
So we both set out on a search for this fictitious flip-flop. I concentrated my efforts on the area around my rock. He backtracked a bit down the beach. But I could tell he was sneaking glances at me.
‘So you came back?’ he called over from where he was splashing around in the shallows.
‘Mmm. Mum liked it here. So I had to give in, in the end.’
‘Ohh?’
I clambered over some rough shale to where there was a rock pool. And believe it or not, right in the middle – there was a blue and white flip-flop. It was old and tarry, looked as if it’d been in the pool forever.
‘I’ve found it!’ I said.
‘Have you?’ (He sounded ever so surprised.)
‘Yep. But I don’t think I can reach it.’
He joined me and we both stood gazing down at the flip-flop.
‘You could probably reach it if you climbed down,’ I suggested. ‘Your arms are longer than mine.’
‘Yeah, guess so.’ But he didn’t seem in too much of a hurry. Instead he asked: ‘You staying back at the taverna?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long for?’
‘Not sure. Depends…’
‘On what?’
‘Oh I don’t know. Mum’s always getting ideas. She’ll probably want to go off and delve about in some boring old ruin or something.’
‘There’s an interesting site on the next island.’
‘Is there?’
‘Well, it’s not up to much – mainly Roman but…’
‘Whatever you do, don’t tell Mum about it.’
He grinned. ‘You going back to the taverna now?’
‘Mmm… sun’s going down.’
‘Maybe I’ll walk back with you.’
‘Aren’t you going to get the flip-flop?’
‘Yeah, guess so.’
I watched as he clambered down the slippery side of the pool and picked it out. It was so gross. Must’ve been in there ten years at least. It was all rough and perished and had disgusting slimy algae growing all over it.
‘How can you tell it’s yours? You’d better try it on,’ I suggested wickedly.
He turned and looked at me through half-closed eyes and caught my expression.
‘Here catch,’ he said, making as if to throw it to me.
I flinched.
But he didn’t really throw it. Instead he turned and hurled it as far as he could out to sea.
‘What a waste,’ I said.
He laughed.
‘Yeah, well. What’s the use of one flip-flop, anyway?’
He didn’t walk all the way back to the taverna with me. He stopped at the foot of the steps and said in a kind of embarrassed voice:
‘You go up first.’
‘And he’s got manners too!’
‘No, it’s not that. Stavros, the guy who runs the taverna – he says I’m not meant to socialize with the guests.’
‘We were only walking up the beach. I’d hardly call that socializing.’
‘No, he’s like that. Doesn’t even want me talking to people.’
‘That’s a bit heavy. How are you meant to communicate?’
‘I take all the orders in sign language.’
‘Sure.’