One Summer in Santorini. Sandy Barker

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СКАЧАТЬ seem as though Vlychada was somewhere frequented by tourists, so it was looking possible, if not likely.

      If he was going to be on the trip, that led to an important question. Would we become friends? I decided that if we were sailing together for the next ten days, then yes, there was a good chance we would become friends – unless he was a dickhead. He didn’t look like a dickhead, but you can never be too sure until you actually meet a person. And even if you did meet someone and decided they weren’t a dickhead, they still might be, and it might take you eleven and a half months to figure it out. I knew this from experience. By the way, Neil is the dickhead in this scenario.

      I dismissed the thoughts of Neil the fuckhead – I was getting much better at that. Instead, I let it wander to happier places as I imagined a lifetime of friendship with the cute American. After the trip, we would become pen pals writing actual letters back and forth for years. Then we would go to each other’s weddings and, over the next few decades, share all our major life events via letters and phone calls. During our widowed twilight years, we would live in the same city, in side-by-side houses, all the while denying we were more than ‘just friends’.

      The bus groaned to a stop at a marina. I stopped daydreaming and looked out the dirty bus window, seeing a sign that made me smile: ‘Vlychada’. I was in the right place. See? No need to worry.

      I gathered up my stuff and got off the bus via the back door, and the cute American got off via the front door, swinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. The bus pulled away, and we were the only two people standing on the pier. We looked at each other for a moment, then I walked towards him – awkwardly, because my wretched backpack was swinging heavily against my legs.

      ‘Hello,’ I said.

      ‘Hi,’ he replied. So far it was an excellent conversation.

      It seemed my witty repartee from a few hours before had completely dried up, so I figured I’d get straight to the point. ‘Are you on the sailing trip?’

      ‘Oh, thank god, I’m in the right place,’ he blurted. Then he seemed to chastise himself. He walked over to meet me with his hand outstretched. ‘Hi, sorry – I was a little worried I was on the wrong bus.’ I shook his hand. Firm handshake. Nice.

      ‘No worries. I was too, to be honest,’ I lied. ‘I’m Sarah.’

      ‘Josh.’ I was right, by the way – American. I picked his accent as mid-western, but I didn’t ask. We had ten days to learn about each other. I was sure we’d get there eventually.

      ‘Shall we try to find the boat?’ he suggested.

      ‘Good plan.’ My backpack was getting heavier the longer we stood there.

      We walked towards the rows of moored boats, discussing how we would know which one was ours, when Josh spotted a flag fluttering from one of the masts and pointed to it. ‘That must be us.’ It had the tour company’s logo on it, so we headed in that direction.

      ‘Hang on,’ I said, stopping short. ‘There’s two. Look.’ He followed the line of my arm to another of the company’s flags waving at us from a mast.

      ‘Huh. Well, let’s go to one and if it’s not right, then we’ll go to the other.’

      ‘Okay.’ By this stage I didn’t care what boat I was on, I wanted to put my cumbersome backpack down – stupid bloody thing.

      We came to the first of the two yachts, which was docked parallel to the pier. It was about fifteen metres long and, like most boats, the bulk of it was white. It struck me how little I knew about sailing and boats, as I couldn’t really point out any distinguishing features – it looked like a sailboat.

      We both dropped our bags onto the pier, and Josh called out, ‘Hello!’

      A head popped out of the hatch, followed by some shoulders, then a torso and the rest of a man’s body. ‘Hello,’ he said back. He was handsome in the way that Harrison Ford was handsome when he played Indiana Jones – the first couple of times. I couldn’t help making a note of how many good-looking men I was running into on Santorini.

      ‘Hi, I’m Gary.’

      ‘Hi, Gary. Sarah. And this is Josh.’

      Gary turned around and called down into the boat, ‘Duncan. The last two are here!’ To us, he said, ‘I’m not the skipper. I’m on the tour like you – although I do know quite a bit about sailing.’

      ‘Good to know that if the skipper falls overboard, we can keep on going,’ quipped Josh. Funny.

      Gary offered an unsure smile in response and joined us on deck as another head popped up out of the hatch. ‘Josh and Sarah?’ said the head.

      ‘Yes,’ we said in unison.

      ‘Great.’ The second man, who I presumed was Duncan, leapt into action. He climbed out of the hatch, jumped off the boat and onto the pier, and grabbed both of our bags as though they weighed nothing. He climbed back onto the boat and said, ‘Come aboard! Oh, and shoes off please.’ Then he disappeared back below deck with our bags.

      He was spry, I’d give him that. In fact, the whole exchange happened so quickly I caught myself standing and staring at the black hole where he had disappeared. ‘Well, I guess we found the right boat,’ Josh said to me quietly.

      ‘Absolutely,’ I replied. I slipped off my sandals and climbed over the railing onto the boat. It was a little trickier than I would have liked because I was wearing a short skirt. I hoped I wasn’t flashing my knickers to all and sundry. I noticed an amused smile on Josh’s face as he reached out to help. Was it smugness or chivalry? I took his hand, regardless. I didn’t want to fall into the water on my first day – or ever, for that matter.

      Gary spoke up. ‘There’s actually two boats leaving from here tomorrow morning. That’s the other one, there.’ He pointed to the second boat Josh and I had seen from the end of the pier.

      ‘Oh, will we be sailing with them?’ I asked.

      ‘No, not really, but we’ll likely run into them from time to time. All women apparently.’ He laughed to himself. ‘I think our mix of people will be far better, hey Josh?’ He gave Josh what looked like a knowing grin.

      What was this? The menfolk conspiring already? And how were Josh and I to know what the mix was? We had only met Gary and Duncan. Oh god, I hope I’m not the only woman! Josh, to his credit, answered Gary with a non-committal shrug.

      I went below deck, and Josh followed. It was so dark I couldn’t see anything, and then I remembered I was wearing my sunglasses, so I flipped them on top of my head. I could see better, but only marginally. It was pretty dark below deck.

      Duncan emerged from one of the cabins and soon after, two women appeared from two other cabins – I was not the only woman, then. Gary had also climbed down below, so there were six of us standing in the cramped dining nook, looking at each other.

      ‘Oh!’ said the man, breaking the awkward silence. ‘I didn’t introduce myself. Sorry. I’m Duncan. I’m your skipper.’ Australian – Queenslander.

      I waved at him from two metres away. ‘And this is Hannah and Marie. And you’ve met Gary, Marie’s husband.’ So, the Harrison Ford guy was married. I СКАЧАТЬ