After my shower, I dressed in my most favourite T-shirt and the pair of jeans that made my legs look longest and went out on to the terrace.
The sun was dipping towards the horizon and promising a pretty spectacular sunset. The evening light shone through the vines, casting dancing shadows across the terrace. The faded blue tables and ancient wicker chairs looked kind of rustic and picturesque.
I sat down at a table nearest the sunset. Even the dredger looked somehow glamorous in this light. The low sun had lit up all its rust, turning it a dramatic burnt ginger colour.
The Old Rogue came out of the kitchen wearing a clean vest.
‘You want drink, yes?’
‘Yes please. Orange.’
‘Portocalada?’
‘Is that orange?’
‘Yes. Greek for orange.’
‘Portocalada?’
‘Yes, good!’ he smiled. He was in a much better mood today. He held out a hand. ‘Stavros,’ he said. ‘What is your name?’
‘Lucy.’
‘Lucy – very nice.’
He was a long time bringing my orange, but when he came back he was carrying a plate as well, with what looked like crispy fried onion rings with a slice of lemon on them.
‘For you, on the house,’ he said.
‘Oh thank you. What are they?’
‘Mezze,’ he said. ‘Good – eat!’
I tasted one. They were hot and crispy and delicious.
‘Good, yes?’ he said, watching me.
‘Very good,’ I agreed.
He was going to be ever so disappointed if we moved on. We’d really be letting him down. I smiled and nodded and sipped my drink and indulged in a silent prayer that Mum had found nothing but chicken-pens and and five-star rip-offs on her search.
Stavros waved an arm towards the sunset.
‘Beautiful, yes?’ he said proudly as if it was his very own sunset ‘on the house’.
‘Fantastic!’ I agreed.
‘Best sunset view in the island,’ he said, and he made his way off back to his kitchen.
It really was, too. A narrow band of cloud was hovering above the horizon, splitting the sunlight into great golden shafts like you see in old-fashioned religious pictures. It was incredible. I mean, Stavros was right. This headland must be the very best place in the whole island to watch the sunset.
As I sipped my drink I heard footsteps on the gravel. I steeled myself to confront Mum. But it wasn’t Mum. It was him… the windsurfer. He did a double-take when he saw me – almost dropped the package he was carrying.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Hello,’ I said, in what I hoped was a suitably cool and laid-back voice.
Then he made off down some steps behind the taverna and I heard a door slam. He was staying here. There was no question about it.
There was no way I was going to move on now. My mind raced. How was I going to persuade Mum to stay? Well, there was the sunset for a start.
I climbed down the few steps from the terrace and on to the headland to get an even better view of the last moments. It was only a few metres to a rocky outcrop that stood at the furthest tip. Standing there was like standing on top of the world. I was sandwiched between sea and sky, and the two of them were putting on a performance that was like the biggest firework display and the most dramatic laser show ever.
The clouds were tinted violet and the sun had turned into a great molten ball of fire, sliding down the sky. As the last liquid orange glob of it slipped down into the inky sea I heard Mum’s voice, calling:
‘Lucy… Lucy!’
She was back.
Making my way across to the terrace, I prepared myself for a forceful introduction to a change of plan.
She dumped her bag down on the table. She looked hot and tired. She didn’t look as if she’d had a lot of luck!
I slid on to a chair opposite her.
‘Phew, what an afternoon!’ she said. (I felt sure she hadn’t found anywhere.) But then she leaned forward with a triumphant look on her face.
‘It’s all settled. I’ve found a fabulous place. You’ll love it.’
‘I can’t understand why you’ve changed your mind like this,’ said Mum. ‘You couldn’t wait to get out of the place at lunchtime.’
‘Yes, I know but… I went down to the other bay this afternoon. The beach is much nearer and it’s quite nice really.’
‘I hope you didn’t sit in the sun.’
‘Don’t fuss. Mum. I had a closer look. It should be fine for swimming. There are plenty of channels through the weed.’
‘But the beach I’ve found hasn’t any weed at all.’
‘Really?’
‘I’ve left a deposit on the room. Said we’d arrive by lunchtime. If we get up early and pack before breakfast, we can settle up with the Old Rogue and be there by mid-morning.’
‘He’s not really an old rogue. He’s actually quite nice. His name’s Stavros. He brought me some hot crispy onion rings, free with my drink.’
‘This new place has got a proper water heater and everything. We have to share the bathroom, but at least we can have decent hot…’
I leapt on this shred of hope.
‘Oh, we don’t have to share a bathroom, do we?’
‘It’s only with one other room. And that room may not even have people staying…’
‘But I had a hot shower here this afternoon. It was fine…’
‘Is the water on again? Thank God for that. I’m feeling really anti-social.’
She got up and reached for her bag.
‘Mum, do we have to go?’
‘What do you mean – have to go?’
‘Well, it’s not really so bad here, is it?’
‘Lucy, what’s going on? I’ve been half-way across the island in a stuffy bus, searching in the broiling heat. And all because you said you absolutely loathed the pl…’
Mum paused. An arm leaned over and took my glass and empty plate away. It wasn’t the Old Rogue’s arm. It was a nice bronzed one, flecked with golden hairs.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the Paradisos. My name’s Ben. Can I get you anything?’
Mum looked up and smiled at him.
‘I’d love a glass of white wine. Chilled white wine?’ she said.
‘Coming right up.’
He turned and gave me a half-grin and walked away, disappearing into the kitchen.
Mum sank back into her chair and looked at me wryly. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh I get it now,’ she said. ‘A lot can happen in an afternoon, can’t it?’
Half