Chapter 11
The following morning after a hurried breakfast, because we were a bit late getting up, the four of us refilled our water bottles from the water cooler in reception and went to wait obediently outside the hotel.
The weather was perfect. Warm and sunny with a light breeze coming in from the sea.
The forecast was for it to get much hotter later on.
A few minutes later, June and Susan arrived, both dressed in beige linen trousers, loose tops and broad-brimmed sunhats, carrying canvas backpacks and folding stools.
This sent Effie off in a panic because she had forgotten hers.
By the time she returned, the group was assembled, with Dennis at the back of the group in a white shirt and trousers, looking as though he was going to umpire a cricket match.
‘You’re looking very fine and summery this morning, Anita,’ Dennis called over, touching the brim of his hat in salute.
Anita rewarded him with a nod and Dennis beamed and started telling her about his new tube of Dioxazine Purple and how he was looking forward to using it.
Then I saw Will sitting on the wall, once more making a fuss of one of the kittens, and I went over to say hello, feeling rather silly and foolish. Was this the beginnings of a daft crush? He looked up at me and grinned.
‘Good morning. How are you today? I never could resist kittens,’ he said.
‘I’m more of a dog man, myself,’ Dennis said, overhearing. ‘Give me a chocolate labrador any time.’
‘I had a chocolate rabbit at Easter,’ Susan said. ‘My granddaughter gave me one. I could hardly bear to eat it. She bit off the ears for me in the end.’
‘Ooh, I had one of those too,’ June said.
‘The ones with the little ribbon round the neck? I’m afraid I left mine in the sun on the kitchen windowsill and it went a bit soft.
So my husband put it in the fridge to harden up again, and when I went to eat it, it looked more like the Easter Godzilla than the Easter Bunny. ’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Dennis harrumphed, which seemed to be something he said on a regular basis. Luckily at that moment, the minibus pulled up and we all got on.
The drive to the ruins took us about half an hour, and we enjoyed the views as we drove along the coast road.
It really was such an attractive place, with the white houses gleaming in the morning sunshine and the sparkling Mediterranean below them.
We slowed down as we passed a little marina with some boats parked up, and I craned round to look as we passed.
There was a woman washing the deck of one of them with a mop and bucket.
Perhaps she was going out for a sail later with her family, to a place where the water beneath the boat would be the colour of turquoise and crystal clear.
Maybe there was a laden picnic basket on board with some Assyrtiko wine, a block of feta cheese and some rustic bread and a tub of perfect olives from a local grove.
What fun, to be able to do that. I wondered if Will had done things like that when he had a boat. Perhaps I would ask him later.
Occasionally, Gregor grumbled at some of the other drivers who made him slow down from his usual rackety speed, but we arrived in the car park without incident and clambered down to collect our belongings from the boot.
In just that short time, the day had heated up quite a bit, and we fanned at our faces and agreed it probably wasn’t a bit like this back in England.
‘I checked on my phone, it’s raining and eleven degrees in Lower Begley,’ Anita said. ‘Raining and five degrees in Scotland.’
‘They won’t get much birdwatching done then, will they?’ I asked.
Anita laughed. ‘Rick and his friends have all the kit. Don’t worry about them.
Waterproof jackets and trousers, waterproof notebooks and pens, hand warmers, thermal base layers, camera covers.
Waterproof chairs and portable hides. I thought birdwatching was quite a cheap hobby, but trust me, it isn’t.
Not to mention the tartan-strewn hotel they stay in near Inverness.
In fact, this holiday is probably a lot cheaper than theirs. ’
We left Gregor smoking and happily grumbling away to some other coach drivers in the car park and made our way up the track to the entrance. As we did, Will fell into step beside me and we both slowed our pace.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ he said. ‘I really enjoyed it.’
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t it fun?’
Now I really was feeling a bit fluttery and silly.
Well. It had been fun apart from the falling over bit, but I didn’t mention that, and I felt a swell of gratitude towards him for not doing so either.
‘We should do it again,’ he said. ‘Only if you wanted to. No pressure.’
I looked up at him, his eyes shaded behind his usual dark glasses and the rim of his hat, and smiled.
‘I’d love that,’ I said.
‘Really?’ He sounded startled, though why he should, I had no idea.
‘Of course.’
‘Oh, right then. Good. That’s excellent. Splendid,’ he said, sounding even more surprised.
‘Come on, you two. Hurry up,’ Dennis bellowed. ‘Our private tour sets off in five minutes and June and Susan have already wandered off.’
‘I expect they have gone to find a loo,’ Anita called back, doing the universal explanatory gesture of hand washing. ‘In fact, that’s a great idea, let’s do the same. Never turn down the opportunity, that’s what I say.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Dennis muttered, yet again.
‘Your admirer is getting more and more tetchy as the week goes on. He will be going off you, Anita, at this rate,’ I said.
‘Good,’ Anita said, ‘I can do without listening to more of his tales of his time in India and his father’s tea plantation and how his mother managed all the staff.’
‘I don’t think I’d like to have staff,’ Effie said. ‘I had a cleaning lady back when I was modelling in Milan, and I used to clean up before she arrived. I was always so embarrassed about the state of my apartment.’
‘Not so bothered these days, going by the state of your flat,’ Beryl murmured.
‘A clean house is the sign of a wasted life,’ Effie fired back.
We found the loos, which were spotlessly clean and well appointed, and I looked at myself in one of the mirrors as I washed my hands.
My reflection of course was familiar, but did I actually look old?
I was nearly sixty-five. Which meant in no time I would be nudging up to seventy.
I was no longer middle-aged, and I couldn’t pretend I was.
On winter days when it was cold and raining, and I hardly left the house unless I had to, I felt my age.
I read a piece in the local paper recently, where there had been an interview with a lady of 101, and she was still apparently hale and hearty, and she put it down to good genes and a tot of whisky at bedtime.
This morning, with the sunshine and blue sky above me, and the company of good friends, I felt quite hale myself, but I couldn’t stand whisky.
Perhaps this was the other secret. Being happy. Feeling positive and receptive to life.
Beryl came and stood at the sink next to me and peered at herself in the mirror too.
She patted her hair into shape and sighed. ‘It’s terribly annoying, isn’t it. I’ve realised I don’t look as bad as I thought I did a few years ago, because now I look worse. Oh well…’
Out in the clear air again, Anita, Effie and Beryl had pulled on their distinctive yellow sunhats patterned with ducks, and I suddenly wished I could have one too.
The Old Ducks Club, Anita had called it.
They were so outlandish, and yet they were fun, they spoke of a new brand of sisterhood of which I wanted to be a part.
To finally live my life the way I wanted to, and not worry about what other people expected of me.
Not my friends, my family, even my daughter.
After all, I’d been young and daft once, even though Nicky didn’t seem to believe it.
In fact, as time went on, I think I could feel my silliness levels rising for the first time in decades.
‘Now then, let’s put Dennis out of his misery and go and do this tour,’ Beryl said. ‘I can tell by all the fidgeting and nostril flaring he’s getting impatient. And we can apparently leave all our bags in a locker by the entrance so we don’t have to cart them round with us.’
We were greeted by our young guide, who introduced herself as Lydia. She was an archaeology student who was earning some money during the holidays explaining to people like us what we were seeing.
The remains of the Minoan settlement, which were still apparently being excavated, were wonderful.
An ancient town, ruined by an earthquake and volcanic eruption thousands of years ago, was laid out before us under an impressive steel and glass roof.
There was a wooden walkway so we could look down at the shells of kitchens and living rooms and imagine them as they had been before the island had been evacuated.
The air was cooler than outside, and scented with dust and old stone and history.
There were even clever seating areas where we could rest to listen to our guide, although some of the steps were quite deep and Beryl had to be hauled back up when that part of the talk was finished.
‘Imagine what it must have been like,’ Anita said. ‘One minute you are a wealthy trader with ships and a family and a wine cellar and comfortable beds, and the next you are leaving all your things behind and heading out across the sea to live somewhere else.’
‘I don’t suppose there was much alternative,’ I said, ‘not if there was a volcano erupting behind you.’
‘True.’
We wandered on, following Lydia to the next interesting thing where there was unexpectedly a very informative television presentation of life as a Minoan.
And they had some lovely houses too, with windows open to the cooling breezes of the sea, bakehouses on every street and even quite sophisticated drainage systems.