Footprints in the Sand. Chloe Rayban
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Footprints in the Sand - Chloe Rayban страница 3
Название: Footprints in the Sand
Автор: Chloe Rayban
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Детская проза
isbn: 9780007400621
isbn:
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s make a move then. We’re bound to find somewhere you’ll love.’
We bought cheese pies and honey cakes from the bakery for our lunch, and once I’d eaten I felt loads better. Then we tracked down what seemed to be the one and only taxi on the island.
I think Manos, the driver, must have come from a very large family. At any rate, he had an awful lot of cousins, and we must have visited most of them that afternoon. We started at a five-star hotel. It was a great big pink stone barracks of a place which smelt like a hospital. It did have a pool… but it was empty. Mum turned that down with the excuse that it was too expensive. So Manos must’ve come to the conclusion that we were flat broke, and he took us to his poorer cousins. One had a flat to let that reeked of calor gas and drains. Another had a room with a large decaying double bed and a fridge standing in the middle of the bedroom. And worse still, when Mum said we wanted a place on our own, he took us to what he called ‘a bungalow’ which was a kind of prefab with a compost heap for a garden and a goat tethered outside.
As the sun dipped towards the horizon I was fast losing faith. I hadn’t seen a single decent beach yet.
‘What we really want is a taverna,’ said Mum. ‘A nice, clean, cheap taverna, near a beach.’
‘Oh, taverna!’ said Manos – and he sucked through his teeth as if the very concept of a taverna, was new to him. Then he swung back into the driving seat and shifted noisily into gear. ‘OK, if you want taverna, I take you.’
It was a long drive along a winding cliff road to the other side of the island to find this taverna. I don’t think Manos was in a very good mood. He obviously didn’t have a cousin who owned a taverna, so he wasn’t going to get his cut, or free drinks, or whatever it was he usually received as commission.
Mum had her eyes closed for most of the journey which was a waste because she was on the cliff-side and the views must have been staggering. The sun was going down and it was the most magical sunset. All gold and blue and mauve with puffy little clouds turning candy-floss pink.
It was almost dark when we crunched to a halt in a cobbled square. We climbed out of the taxi. Manos beckoned to us and led us up over a rise.
We were on top of a headland, looking out over the most amazing view of the sea, which had turned a livid copper colour in the low sunlight. We could see for miles, right over to the misty shapes of the neighbouring islands.
Some kind of building was outlined against the sky. It had a corrugated iron roof which looked on the point of caving in and a battered sign surrounded by coloured light-bulbs, most of which didn’t work, which read: TAVERNA PARADISOS.
‘Perfect,’ said Mum.
A fat man with a sagging belly, who I took to be the owner, was lounging on the terrace, wearing a dirty vest and boxer shorts. He had a bottle and a glass beside him, and I reckoned he had been indulging in the contents for some time.
I shot Mum a warning glance, but before it registered, she was already asking if he had a room free.
He leapt to his feet with remarkable agility for a man his size.
‘You want room? I have good room. How long?’
‘Oh I don’t know – a week? Ten days maybe?’
‘Best room! Best price! Private facilities,’ he said.
‘Oh, that’s nice. Can we take a look?’
He ushered us across the terrace as if he was showing us around the Ritz.
I followed. Mum had really lost it this time. The place was awful. It wasn’t what I had in mind at all. It didn’t have a pool or anything, and by the look of it we were the only guests he’d had this side of Christmas.
He was already unlocking a door with a big metal key. The floor was plain concrete. It didn’t have a carpet or lino. All there was by the way of furniture were two narrow beds, a three-legged table on the point of collapse and a fly paper hanging from the bare lightbulb. It even had dead flies on it – that was so gross.
‘We can’t stay here,’ I whispered to Mum.
She frowned at me. ‘We can’t keep searching all night. It’ll be dark soon,’ she hissed back.
‘You no like?’ asked the taverna owner, looking sulky.
‘How much is the room?’ asked Mum.
He came out with a figure that was way below anything we’d seen that day. I could see Mum working out the sum in her head and for once – would you believe it? – she must’ve actually come up with the right answer. She raised an eyebrow at me.
‘No, it’s fine, we’ll take it,’ she said.
I shot her another furious glare.
The taverna owner walked out with a satisfied look on his face, leaving us alone together.
‘I can’t believe you said that.’
‘Oh honestly Lucy, what do you want to stay in? One of those ghastly air-conditioned tower blocks full of people on package tours?’
‘Well maybe I would. At least we’d get MTV – this place hasn’t even got a room phone.’
‘Dear, dear, how on earth are we going to order room service?’ said Mum breezily, plonking her suitcase down on a bed.
I sat down on the other bed. It was hard as a board.
‘Come on Lucy, don’t look like that. It’s incredible value. It’ll look lovely with the sun on it in the morning – you’ll see.’
‘Huh!’
‘Well, I’m going to pay the taxi driver and order us some nice cold drinks. We can have them on the terrace and watch the last of the sunset.’
Big deal! I thought as Mum went off with a determined look and her purse in her hand.
The taverna owner served the drinks. He seemed to do everything around the place – show the rooms, check the passports. He even swabbed down the table, brushing the crumbs right into my lap.
When we’d finished our drinks. Mum asked him about dinner.
‘No eat here tonight. No food. Restaurant down in the village.’ He waved a hand in the direction of the cliff-side.
We were both dead tired after the journey. We’d been up at five that morning in order to catch the plane. Mum took one glance at the unlit and perilous-looking steps that led down to the harbour below and said:
‘We don’t want much. Just an omelette will do.’
So he served us reluctantly. We sat at a table with a greasy oilcloth on it. The oilcloth was СКАЧАТЬ