Chapter 8 Korčula #2
But today there’d be no teenage Mirjana sending tingles up his arm and looking so goddam beautiful.
No Kesten either, his fellow waiter, with his intense patriotism and swaggering zest for life.
Kesten who’d been right after all. But Lloyd couldn’t think of those things now.
He needed to be positive, focus on the fact that despite the bittersweet memories that had engulfed him, he’d managed to look Kor?ula in the eye.
Now he could go below and organise the books so he was ready to set up the library the moment they moored.
The marina, new since his last visit, was tucked into the flat neck of land on the less touristy side of the old town behind the bus station, and their instruction was to set up just outside its gates.
Lloyd stopped in his tracks, taking in the constant to-ing and fro-ing of vehicles and the diesel fumes that choked the air.
Was there honestly a worse place for children to come to a library?
But what the hell could they do about it?
Looking across the road, he could see that a small park he remembered was still there, although now with a few more benches dotted along its gravel paths and trees which were sufficiently mature to offer a great deal of shade.
A pitch beneath them would be perfect. Never mind that it was close to where he and Mirjana used to sit on the grass holding hands, waiting for the bus.
Never mind all that. It simply wasn’t relevant now.
Ana was noncommittal when he suggested it.
“It isn’t where the authorities wanted us so perhaps we shouldn’t make a fuss.
” She bit her lip. “But I do get that where they said isn’t great.
The pavement’s too narrow, and too close to the traffic to be safe for the children, but all the same, I don’t really know… ” She stopped, shaking her head slowly.
It was a total no-brainer, but it wouldn’t do to be sharp with her, just because he was struggling this morning. “Well how about we set up in the park and see if anyone moves us on? My bad if it all goes horribly wrong.”
Ana huffed. “Someone to move us on would be one more person than we saw yesterday.”
So that was what was eating her. He supposed it had been disappointing when no one at all had visited the library on Mljet, but he’d been too busy worrying about Kor?ula to think too much about it.
He had to stop being so bloody self-absorbed – and sharpish.
He was the librarian; it was up to him to work out how to get more families to use it, not wallow around in the past. If it was quiet again, he’d make a list of ideas.
“Today’s a new day,” he told himself as much as Ana, before marching back through the marina gates to collect the folding table and banner.
He didn’t have long to wait for the first customers, a lady he judged to be in her forties with an excited gaggle of half a dozen children, who he’d watched her shepherd from a bus.
“Ah, there you are, under the trees. Excellent idea. Maybe just put the banner on the pavement, so more people will see you.” Lloyd more or less pieced together her rapid-fire Croatian, then asked her to speak more slowly.
“I will speak in English,” she replied. “It is better for the children too. I am Kristina Mikulec and I am their teacher.”
“But isn’t it the school holidays?” Lloyd asked.
“Of course, but who will bring them to the library if I do not? Their parents are working, so we all came from ?rnovo together.” She leant towards Lloyd conspiratorially. “Also I have promised them ice cream when they have chosen their books.”
Kristina ushered the children towards the table, then stood back. Lloyd had wondered if she would advise them, but no, she was leaving that to him. He was being observed, albeit in a kindly manner, and when they were ready to leave twenty or so minutes later, she shook his hand.
“I think you’ll be very good at this,” she told him, “and I have a confession to make. I’m the island co-ordinator for the project. I look forward to seeing you next week.”
Lloyd watched the children leave, chattering loudly and heading towards the old town with Kristina in the centre of the group.
A co-ordinator who was so motivated she’d actually brought the kids to the library was amazing – a real bonus.
He’d have to find out if she had an opposite number on Mljet.
But he had little time to consider it, because three teenage girls arrived, two of them too shy to speak in a foreign language and the other practically fluent in German.
After that there was a steady trickle. Mainly older children, but some young mothers with pre-school kids, and all sorts of books were flying from the table, the list scribbled in his notebook lengthening by the hour. Now, at quarter past three, Ana appeared in front of him.
“You wanted some tea bags, didn’t you? Natali said there are loads of different ones in the big supermarket at the top of the hill. If you go now you can be back in time to pack up.”
“That’s brilliant, thank you. I’m down to my last box already and I haven’t seen any on the smaller islands.”
“You won’t. Only where English tourists are expected.”
Away from the shady protection of the branches, sweat trickled between Lloyd’s shoulder blades as he began to climb the steep pavement.
Thank goodness it wasn’t far; the sign on the wall of the shopping centre was already peeping over the trees below it.
To his right a school lay silent and empty; closed up for the summer, the brightly painted walls of the playground echoing only the rumble of the traffic.
He stopped to catch his breath and gazed at it.
Would he ever be able to teach again? Not bloody likely after what he’d done.
All right, he’d resigned before anyone had pushed him, but it didn’t make much odds; no school worth its salt would employ him with that sort of black mark against his name.
So what would he do? What could he do with his future?
He was only fifty-sodding-three. Apart from a reason to get up in the mornings, he needed to keep earning until his pension kicked in, but what he’d do once this summer was over, he couldn’t imagine.
All he’d ever wanted was to teach; it was woven into the very fabric of who he was, as it had been for Jenny.
Their shared passion had drawn them together – the belief that they could make a difference to the children in their care.
Even, or perhaps especially, to the ones whom the world seemed to have given up on before their lives had properly begun.
Which was why what he had done had been doubly unforgivable; a complete betrayal of everything they’d held dear.
In that terrible moment, another piece of his life with Jenny had fallen away, one of the few he’d had left.
A part of himself too – his self-respect, his pride in a job well done.
Somehow he needed to get that back, or at least something close to it.
This summer was meant to be helping, but right at this moment, standing here, all but drowning in his memories…
No, Kristina’s words had to count for something. He must be doing OK.
Lloyd shook out his shoulders. Today had been a good day, a busy day – the first really successful one for the library.
That had to be something to celebrate, so he’d buy a really nice bottle of wine – perhaps even something fizzy – along with his teabags.
They could drink it as they sailed back to Ston for the weekend.
In the lobby of the supermarket his eyes took a moment to adjust to the artificial light, and he was still blinking through his sunglasses when he saw her.
He whipped them off, the frame digging into his palm as he gripped them.
The woman was some distance away, near the tills.
No more than a dark silhouette, but after a moment colour suffused her T-shirt. Bright blue. Highlighter blue.
And he was twenty-one again, standing outside the window of a shop not half a mile from here. Standing next to Mirjana, her hand pressed to the glass. The laughter between them. The fizz of attraction.
A man behind nudged him with his trolley, and he stepped to one side, stuttering an apology, before looking towards the woman again.
But it couldn’t be… Of course it wasn’t.
This woman was young, younger than Ruth, even.
It was just … the shape of her face, the turn of her head, something about the careless way she slung her bag over her shoulder…
No. How stupid. He must be imagining the likeness.
He was tired. Emotional. Frigging drained of everything.
He’d wound himself up to expect a disaster on this goddam island, and this was not – was not – it.
But come one did, a run-of-the-mill, everyday disaster at that: there were no sodding teabags.
Fruit ones, herbal ones, green ones – Earl Grey, even.
But no common or garden, plain, ordinary tea.
Well, Prosecco it was then. Grabbing a couple of bottles he didn’t much feel like opening, he headed for the exit.