Dubrovnik
He screwed up his eyes behind his sunglasses, waiting for the red-hot prickling of grief to fade.
Fifty-two, she’d been. Fifty sodding two.
They’d barely even reached the age where they’d thought about planning their retirement, but they’d always assumed …
go at sixty, live simply, see the world.
Now all those things they’d left undone were up to him, but he still didn’t know how he’d ever find the stomach to do them alone.
He’d lost his wife, and then, through his own unforgivable actions, he’d lost his job.
If it wasn’t for his daughter Ruth pushing him, he wouldn’t be here now.
And yet in his heart of hearts he knew it was time to move on.
Two years wasn’t enough to mourn the love of his life – perhaps there never would be enough time – but it was more than long enough to stagnate.
And entirely screw up what was left of his miserable existence.
After leaving the main road, the progress of the bus towards the old town slowed, every stop and start jolting memories of Lloyd’s last visit to the city closer to the surface.
Even now that he was back, his fragmented thoughts were coated in a strange cloak of unreality, like that long ago summer had happened to someone else.
The bus drew to a halt near the Pile Gate and Lloyd climbed down, rucksack slung over his shoulder and dragging his holdall behind him.
Beyond the creamy stone of the Amerling Fountain, holidaymakers gathered in the shade of the plane trees, or on the furthest reaches of the broad piazza, photographing St Lawrence Fort high on its rock.
Beyond it the sea glistened and danced; that glorious, magical, unforgettable blue, with its hints of silver and turquoise.
Even through the crowds of people, watching its shift and shimmer brought a measure of peace to Lloyd’s soul.
Forwards. Onwards. And – hopefully – even upwards.
After filling his water bottle from the elaborately scrolled fish’s mouth on the fountain, Lloyd wandered across the bridge to the Pile Gate.
A tour group was milling around the top of the steps inside, so instead he walked down the slope.
More people crowded below a couple of panels which looked relatively new, and as he approached he could see they mapped the damage done to the city during the siege of 1991 – a war he had only just escaped himself, but at such cost … And he’d been one of the lucky ones.
Lloyd turned away with barely a glance and headed through the lower arch into the sunshine and past Onofrio’s Fountain.
As he set off down Stradun’s broad expanse of shiny paving he gave himself a good talking-to.
This was not about the past; it was about finding a future.
He was only in the city for a few days, as he had been in 1991, and then it would be up and down the Elafiti Islands all summer, places that held no memories for him and would therefore be a blank canvas to paint however he liked.
He upped his pace, swinging his holdall to his other hand and flexing his fingers.
This was no time to sightsee and dawdle, even if he wanted to.
He’d been travelling all day and right now he needed a shower and a change of clothes – and quite possibly a cup of tea, assuming there was a kettle on the boat.
But even if there wasn’t, he was sure he could find another way of boiling water hot enough.
Emerging through an arch in the city walls and onto the bustle of the harbourside, Lloyd stopped to take his bearings.
To his left were tables in neat rows under a crisp white awning, opposite a line of wooden booths plastered with posters depicting the trips available.
Blue seas, blue skies, spectacular sunsets …
but the real beauty was right in front of him.
No picture could truly portray the light reflecting on the water and gleaming from the hulls of the boats amassed behind the breakwater or the tantalising aroma of something meaty cooking in a nearby restaurant.
Turning the corner, the full drama of the old harbour hit him.
The golden grey city walls, metres high, sheltered a rectangle of water on two sides, and the whole scene was dominated by the bulk of the fort diagonally opposite.
Boats huddled in its shadow, and he scanned them for a likely catamaran.
Looking around, he could see only one, moored on the far side, outclassing the wooden fishing boats around it with its sleek lines and shining white hulls.
There should be at least some degree of comfort on offer, making a hot, or at least warm, shower more of a possibility.
As he approached, he spotted a woman lounging on one of the long seats on the fly deck, book in hand. He shaded his eyes and called up to her.
“Are you Ana, by any chance?”
“I am. You must be Lloyd. Come aboard.” She stood, revealing tanned legs beneath knee-length cut offs. Her wavy dark brown hair skimmed her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face lit with a pleasant smile, although Lloyd couldn’t be sure it reached all the way to her eyes.
It made him hesitate on the quayside. “I’m sorry if I’m early…”
“No, no, you’re not. I’m expecting you.” She ran down the steps to meet him.
“Would you like a cold drink?” she asked, leading him through the generously proportioned inside–outside space and into the galley.
“There’s a can of iced tea in the fridge.
You know, because you’re English …” Her words petered out.
“That is such a kind thought.” Lloyd didn’t have the heart to tell her he couldn’t stand the stuff, when she’d tried so hard. “But for now, more than anything, I would love a shower, if that’s possible.”
“Sure. All the cabins are en suite, and there should be enough hot water.” She indicated a set of stairs next to the chart table.
“You’re down there, in the forward cabin.
The aft one is where we’ll store the books.
Natali and I are in the other hull. I’ll show you everything else once you’ve freshened up. ”
Although he had to dip his head in the narrow corridor, Lloyd was surprised that once in his cabin he could stand to his full height.
At slightly over six foot, that was unusual.
Never on any of their flotilla holidays when Ruth was a teenager had he been able to, but then on teachers’ salaries they’d never been able to stretch to a catamaran, and this one was the last word in luxury.
Although tapered towards the bottom, the double bed was more than big enough for one person, set as it was on a high platform that fitted snugly between the cabin’s walls, with polished teak shelving running along one side.
Even better, the bed was facing the sea.
At the moment, his view was the grubby blue hull of the boat next door, but he was sure there would be mornings when he’d wake to a glorious expanse of water.
He fingered the engagement ring on the gold chain around his neck.
Jenny would have loved this snug little cabin, and he was surprised and relieved that the thought was a gentle one, a kind one.
Perhaps here, somewhere new, he really would start to heal.
Removing his rucksack he set it on the banquette which filled the space below the impressively large window, noticing it had cupboards beneath.
Plenty of space for his belongings. The en suite was tiny of course, and the shower cubicle so narrow he would have to edge in sideways, but he was sure he could cope with that.
He perched on the edge of the bed and took out his phone, twisting around to take a short video.
Have arrived and this is my cabin. Very comfortable :-) Will call this evening, Dad xx
Right. Shower. Clean clothes. Face forwards. Fresh start.
* * *
“Come on, Obi. These bags are heavy and you can’t possibly need to stop to sniff every three metres.”
But of course she did, as her owner, Natali Putica, well knew. Even in this quieter part of the old town, the aromas would be exquisite for a dog: restaurant kitchens mixed with dropped ice cream from Peppino’s, and goodness knows what else, most of which she didn’t care to think about.
She tugged gently at Obi’s lead. Any amount of force would see her plant her paws firmly on the paving and refuse to go any further.
When Natali had first found her and had made this mistake, it had been easy to scoop Obi up into her arms, but with a rucksack on her back, a carrier bag in one hand, and wheeling her suitcase with the other, right at this moment it would be totally impossible.
It was lucky, really, that she didn’t have many possessions.
Well, she did have a few more. Her winter clothes were stashed in another case under her cousin’s bed at her Auntie Stela’s house, where she’d been sleeping for the last few nights, and there was a box of her stuff in the hall cupboard of her mother’s apartment.
Her mama had moaned bitterly about that, but tough luck.
It wasn’t as though she asked her for much. It wasn’t as though she wanted to.
This job on the catamaran was an absolute godsend.
It may only be for ten weeks, but it was live aboard, she could take Obi, and crewing yachts was what she was trained to do.
It had never entered her head that adopting a stray during the pandemic would mean she effectively put herself out of work.
She hadn’t thought about anything, to be honest, beyond taking care of the tiny, bedraggled tan and black creature she’d found on the dockside one morning when she went out to buy her bread and milk.
Owning a dog had proved something of an education, but she couldn’t be without her now. Just couldn’t.
She looked down at the diminutive bundle of shining, silky fur that ran from black on her back to almost bleached blonde between her ears.
“You may be a pain in the arse, Obi, but I do love you.”