My Map of You (7 page)

‘Darling!
At last! I thought you'd been abducted.'

Holly cringed into the phone. ‘I'm so sorry. I forgot to pack my charger and it's taken me this long to buy another one.' It was amazing how easily she could lie to Rupert sometimes.

‘Oh, you poor thing. Has it been awful?'

Holly reflected that yes, given the toe stubbing, creepy dead person's belongings, toilet explosion and several dozen mosquito bites, it had been pretty awful so far – but she decided another lie would be far easier.

‘It's been fine,' she told him. ‘A bit weird, I suppose, but everyone is very nice.' Well, except for Aidan, she thought darkly. But there was no way she was mentioning him.

‘What's the house like?' asked Rupert. His voice sounded different on the long-distance connection, like he was talking to her from the bottom of a very deep hole.

Holly considered his question, looking round at the downstairs area from her position on the sofa. ‘It's nice,' she said at last. ‘I haven't had a chance to look around the island yet, really – I'm going to do that today.'

There was the sound of chatter on the other end of the line. ‘Darling, I'm so sorry, but I've got to go. A meeting.'

She caught her sigh just as it was about to escape her throat. ‘That's fine.' She forced herself to smile as usual,
in the hope that he'd hear it in her voice. ‘I'll call you this evening instead.'

After he'd hung up, Holly sat for a while staring at the vase of flowers on the table. A few of the petals had dropped off and started to curl up at the edges. Aidan put them there;
he can't be that bad
, a voice whispered in her ear.

She couldn't help but feel a bit cross at her Aunt Sandra. Why had she chosen to reveal her existence now, when it was too late? Why had she left Holly this house, which had already disrupted her life so entirely? At this moment in time, bitten, hungover and humiliated, Holly wished that she'd never bothered to open that bloody letter.

But this wouldn't do. Holly hadn't got as far as she had in life by sitting around feeling sorry for herself. It was time she got up and faced her reality, starting with a little bit of exploring. The idea of venturing into her aunt's bedroom still made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, but maybe a day out in the sunshine would give her a bit of courage. If she really had been on this island before, as she was beginning to suspect, then she wanted to have a look round and see if she could stir up any memories.

It was only 11 a.m., but already the sun was beating a relentless symphony against her bare shoulders. The pavement felt warm beneath her sandals, and as she headed down the hill a tiny lizard scuttled across her toes and disappeared into the sparse undergrowth.

Holly couldn't see any crickets, but she could hear their shrill chirping coming from the trees. The leather strap of her bag was slipping from her arm with sweat and more beads were starting to pool on her upper lip.

Kostas greeted her in his shop like an old friend.

‘Yassou, koukla – ti kanis?'

She must have pulled a face, because he repeated it in English. ‘Hello, doll – how are you?'

‘Hot.' Holly smiled at him as she fanned her face with her free hand, the other already reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water.

‘Yes, yes. Very hot today.' He seemed quite proud of the fact, and beamed at her as she handed over some coins.

‘Is there … ?' she began, not really sure what she wanted to ask.

Kostas was still grinning. ‘You want to go for swimming?' he asked. ‘The beach?'

‘Yes!' That would be as good a place as any to start.

‘This way, twenty minutes.' He was pointing out of the shop to the left. ‘There is a bus,' he added, patting her arm. ‘One every hour. Outside.'

She'd gone about fifteen metres when she heard the flap-flapping of flip-flops coming up behind her.

‘This for you,' Kostas said, pressing a tube of cream into her hand.

‘What is it?'

‘Ti!'
He laughed. ‘
Ti
is “what”.'

When she didn't reply, he pointed at her face. ‘For bites.'

‘Oh.' Holly immediately put her hand up to the cluster of pink lumps on her cheek. ‘Thank you.'

‘
Efharisto
is “thank you”,' he told her with a grin. ‘I like to teach Greek for you.'

‘That's very kind of you.' Holly was genuinely touched. It wasn't often that she'd experienced random acts of
kindness – especially not living in London, where you'd be more likely to run in the opposite direction if you heard anyone coming up behind you than stop for a nice chat. She obediently dabbed a few spots of the cream on to her face.

‘Bravo!' Kostas nodded in approval. ‘Tomorrow, no spots – all vanished.'

What the hell had he given her, miracle cream?

They were interrupted by a squealing of brakes, and a ramshackle bus groaned its way round the corner towards them. Holly, who had not quite reached the stop, went to start running, but Kostas was already standing in the road, his hairy forearm stretched out. The bus stopped. Mumbling her thanks in Greek, first to Kostas and then to the driver, Holly handed over a two-euro coin, then eased herself into one of the cracked leather seats and rested her head against the glass.

According to her guidebook, which she'd surreptitiously taken out of her bag to consult on the journey, Laganas was the first resort they would reach. She remembered what Aliana had told her about it being one of the biggest party places in the whole of Greece, and wondered just how touristy it would be. The limited bits of the island she'd seen so far had been beautiful, colourful and unspoilt, and it was with a certain amount of apprehension that she descended the steps of the bus after the driver yelled, ‘Laganas!'

She was standing at the circular end of a very long road that stretched away from her inland. Immediately in front of her, beyond about six metres of sand, was the sea, and the accompanying beach lay in each direction, forming a ‘T' shape with the main road.

Holly turned so she was facing the road, her back to the ocean. To her left was a series of bars and to her right a restaurant. She could see a few holidaymakers tucking into a late breakfast, and her stomach rumbled with envy. She really should start remembering to feed herself properly. There didn't appear to be much of interest on the street – all she could see were bars, souvenir shops and fast-food restaurants. Squinting into the distance, she spotted the telltale golden arches of the McDonald's sign and shuddered. Aliana had been right about it being touristy. It already felt so different from her secluded little house up on the hill, and Holly wondered what her Aunt Sandra had made of it, and whether or not she ever bothered to come down here.

According to the map in her book, if she turned left along the beach then she could walk all the way along the seafront to the next resort along, which was called Kalamaki. This place was, the guide assured her, much smaller and far less spoiled than its bigger, messier neighbour.

Laganas beach was in no way like the white sandy slices of paradise that came up on the internet when you searched for ‘Greek beaches', thought Holly, as she averted her eyes from where two girls were lounging on plastic sunbeds, their exposed nipples roasting in the sun. For as far along as she could see, the beach housed a variety of bars and restaurants, all crammed next to one another and all with their own collection of sun loungers available to rent. Music was filtering down from each venue, and seemed to vary from traditional Greek to popular UK chart hits.

‘Hello, pretty lady!' A Greek teen wearing cut-off jeans, a bum bag and a sun-faded baseball cap stepped into
Holly's path. He was smiling and looked friendly enough, but Holly could sense she was about to get the hard sell. ‘Where are you going?' he asked, as she went to step around him.

‘Kalamaki,' she told him, pointing along the beach.

‘No? Kalamaki? Why? You stay in Kalamaki?'

‘That's a lot of questions,' Holly told him. He couldn't be more than sixteen, she decided. The skin on his chest was smooth and the colour of a freshly popped conker.

‘We have very nice sunbeds here for you,' he continued. ‘Very good food. I make for you, cocktail on the house!'

‘Maybe later,' she tried, but he wasn't about to give up yet.

‘I am Sakis. I will look after you very good,' he insisted, taking her hand and shaking it. ‘What is your name?'

Holly told him.

‘Holly? Holly?' he repeated a few times before laughing. ‘It is a very pretty name. A very pretty name for a very pretty girl.'

‘That's very sweet of you, but I'm not stopping today.'

Sakis looked at her with a level of dismay that most people would reserve for news about fatal car accidents or terminal illness. ‘Blue Sea is the best restaurant in the whole of Laganas,' he continued. ‘This is your first time, Laganas?'

‘First time in Zakynthos,' she confirmed, watching his face light up.

Reaching into his back pocket, Sakis pulled out a card and handed it to her. There was a photo of Blue Sea restaurant on the front and a crudely drawn map of its location on the back. ‘Bring this when you come,' he
squeezed her hand. ‘And free cocktail – just for you. Special one.' He pronounced it ‘speshall'.

Holly thanked him and took advantage of an approaching group of girls to make her escape. As she walked on, she heard Sakis doing the same spiel all over again. It turned out that every single one of the thirty or so beach bars and restaurants that Holly passed had their own version of Sakis, and twenty minutes later she had another ten cards, each with the promise of something free if she chose to return. How the hell did these places ever make any money? They had all been very friendly, though, and very complimentary, although Holly wasn't naive enough to believe their flattery was sincere – especially given how rank she looked today.

She'd had to tie up her dark curls because they'd been sticking to her neck with sweat, and she was very much regretting wearing her smallest, tightest shorts. No matter how much she ran and how many carbs she dodged, her thighs remained stubbornly fleshy. Then again, there were a lot of people on Laganas beach with far larger thighs than hers, none of whom appeared to care how they looked.

The sand, which had been as hard as concrete under her feet up to this point, started to become softer and cleaner. The gauntlet of bars had given way to a series of hotels, the gardens and pools of which were set much further back on the beach. Holly slipped off her flip-flops and relished the feeling of the sand between her toes. She'd tucked the straps of her vest into the back of her bikini top to avoid getting any tan lines, and she stopped to reapply some lotion. The sun was now at its highest point and she could feel the weight of it pressing down on her shoulders.

While Laganas beach was crowded and noisy, there was no denying the breathtaking view when you turned your back on it and faced out towards the sea. The turtle-shaped island was clearly visible in the north-east corner of the horizon, and Laganas bay curved round in front of it, the sand giving way to rocks in the distance. The sea was relatively calm here too, with just a gentle lapping sound as the waves curled into shore.

Now that there were fewer people around, Holly allowed herself to slow down and chose a path along the very edge of the water. She liked how her bare feet left prints in the wet sand, only to be washed away a second later as a wave scurried inland, smoothing down the canvas again and again, like a child shaking an Etch A Sketch. There were more shells on this part of the beach, and Holly was reminded of the time she'd been taken to Brighton beach by her mother.

She must have been about seven or eight at the time, and it was in the magical time of her life before Jenny had started to drink heavily. They'd got the train together from London, taking advantage of the first hot day of the school summer holiday. Her mum had always talked about how much she missed the ocean, and as Holly sat by the window, watching fields and houses flash by, she listened again as Jenny told her how wonderful it felt to stand on a beach and look out at the sea, how it would feel as if anything was possible.

‘You used to love the seaside when you were a baby, Hols,' she told her, clasping her hands together in her lap. ‘You've always been just like your mum, so I know you'll love it in Brighton just as much as I do.'

And Holly had loved it. She'd loved chasing waves and shrieking in delight when they chased her back, she'd loved building sandcastles and decorating them with pebbles, she'd loved the taste of the ice cream as it melted down the side of the cone – but most of all she'd loved how her mum had been that day: so happy, so carefree, so full of joy. It was one of the only really strong memories that Holly had of her mum. Well, one of the only ones that she enjoyed remembering. There were others, of course, but those had been banished into a part of her mind that she kept under strict lock and key.