And it was August.
And I was sixteen; bereaved and bitter, staring out at the uncaring waves on my final evening in the islands.
She wasn’t there.
And from now on, my parents had announced, we wouldn’t be either. There were other places to be, they’d declared. Other parts of the world to explore.
I didn’t give a sewer rat’s tattered arsehole.
This was where I needed to be.
This was the only place in the entire world that mattered.
Our place.
But it wasn’t my choice to make.
So I swore I would be back, some day.
No matter how long it might take me.
.:.
It was August, and I was twenty five.
I tugged at the neck of my horrible rash vest and fiddled with my board-shorts so they sat more comfortably on what hips Mum’s genes had granted me. I fastened the impossible and maddening umber mess of my hair up behind me into an apology of a tail, then reached down and grunted as I took the weight of board and sail. The sun was dropping low in the south west and I didn’t want to have to pack up in the gloomy murk of evening.
I wrestled my board up to the gutted and rusting shipping container that served as a boathouse, where I handed it off to the awkward young man who was handling collections and who always seemed so hopelessly tongue-tied and flustered around me.
I turned and stared out to sea.
My sea, I thought.
On a whim, I loped back down to the water. I stepped out beyond the tiny line of thigh-high waves and fell forwards into the comforting embrace of the Mediterranean, taking a couple of relaxed strokes out towards the lavender line of the horizon. Then I rolled onto my back and lay there, bobbing gently as the waves serenaded me.
It was years since I’d last been to the resort. Little had changed; there were some new private-hire all-inclusive mansions on the bluff to the north, a fresh coat of paint here and there, more greenery, some resurfaced tennis courts… but everything else remained the same. The same lines of white plastic sun-chairs and their accompanying umbrellas and lobster-pink occupants, the same sprinkling of middle-aged tourists and their children, the same gentle sandy beach leading to the same postcard-blue water, everything aswim in the heat-haze shriek of the cicadas.
I breathed in, then exhaled.
I’d booked a one-bedroom chalet for myself as a treat – not my first overseas holiday since I’d left home, but the first funded entirely by me to a destination solely of my own choosing.
I could have gone anywhere, but I’d always loved Greece and the Cyclades, where the turquoise and azure of the sea surrounded the dry, arid land so perfectly.
And… to be honest… I knew the resort, and knew that I’d enjoy my time here. It was a good place to be – alone, but with enough people around to watch to prevent me falling entirely into my own thoughts for too long a time.
There would be enough noise and life around me to keep Charley’s phantasm at bay.
Somewhat, anyway. She never ever truly left me.
I sighed again, rolled over, and swam for shore.
I had wine chilling in the fridge, and a selection of movies I’d downloaded before my flight, and several books I’d not had time to start.
For once I had the time to try to enjoy them all.
I put my feet down and staggered my way to the shore. I tucked my soaked curls back out of my face and glanced idly left and right…
And froze.
A slender blonde woman was kneeling in the sand some distance away. She was sheathed in a tight pink tee shirt and white linen shorts.
She was building a sandcastle.
I snatched a shaky breath as I caught myself wondering if she were some strange hallucination born of the many bitter regrets I still carried.
I shook my head, looked deliberately away and then snuck a quick, superstitious glance back.
She was still there.
Without even thinking about it I turned towards her.
She looked my age.
She looked about the height I’d have expected her to be.
Before her was her construction – a motte, with a keep on the top – a siege-engineer’s shibboleth in a world where any normal person would far more likely ape Walt Disney’s perversion of Neuschwanstein…
My heart began to thump painfully in my chest as I approached her.
I took a breath to prepare the Question as I closed the final few yards…
And then she brushed her fringe out of her eyes in a gesture long ago etched onto my soul.
“Oh!” I exclaimed.
She glanced up in surprise… and froze, staring up at me.
Her mouth opened; no words came out.
“Charlotte?” I added, hardly daring to hope. “Charley Collins? Oh God, please be you.”
“Ariadne?” she squeaked.
My legs went out from under me and I sat down in the sand with a grunt.
She scrambled forwards to me, trampling her work in passing.
“Ari? Ari! Shit! Hey! Are you okay?”
“I’m… fine. It’s just… I wasn’t expecting…”
She got her arm around me and propped me up.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I said. “Sorry. I’m okay. Don’t stress. It’s a stupid physical reaction I get when I get a big shock. My blood pressure drops and over I go – one hundred percent fainting goat. I’m okay. Really. I’m… okay,” I babbled, staring up at her utterly wonderful, almost forgotten eyes…
She let out a shaky breath and squatted back on her haunches; gaze flitting over my face as she no doubt catalogued the differences time had written.
“Wow. Oh wow, Ari. Wow, you… you’ve changed so much, and so little…”
I grinned daftly. “Ditto. Wow is right. Holy shit, Charley, you grew up. What… what on earth are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining… but… but what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Um… well…”
“What?”
“It’s going to sound insanely, monstrously creepy,” she said.
“So tell me, I always been a fan of your creepy.”
She grinned sheepishly. “Well… I’ve… kind of been coming here for years now. In… well, in the hope of finding… well, you.”
“… What?” I breathed, feeling the impact of her words deep in my chest.
“I was robbed,” she declared. “Robbed of at least three more holidays with you, and I refused to let that stand. And you never phoned, you tart! So…”
She shrugged helplessly.
“This was the only method left to me,” she finished with a strange, hurt note in her voice.
Shame seared through me.
“I lost your number. That day. That same sodding day you gave it to me; I must have somehow dropped it on the bus. I was so angry and so enraged that my parents wouldn’t take me back to look for it…”
“I guessed it was something like that. I should have given you another copy. I should have scrawled it all over you in permanent ink. I was… furious. So… as soon as I could, I started coming back here. First week of August every year.”
“You’re crazy. Every year, Charley?”
“Every year,” she echoed me. “You never gave me any other way to contact you, so what else was I supposed to do?” she added, with a choking little laugh. “I needed my annual dose of mayhem. And anyway, it’s not like coming here is a hardship. I scrimped and saved and worked part-time jobs… and every August I’d come here. And wait for a week. And sit by the water’s edge and just… hope,” she breathed.
She knelt there, grinning at me.
“Oh wow. Oh, oh it’s so special to see you again. I was last here when I was sixteen. And… you weren’t, and I guessed that was it. I’d given up hope of ever running into you again. I thought I’d… never see you again,” I managed against the sudden lump in my throat.
“Yeah,” she said. “Our stars aligned at fucking last, right? So. Ariadne Taylor, now that I’ve swept you off your feet… do you need a hand up?”
“Please,” I laughed through the threatening tears.
She got to her feet and offered me her hand, then levered me to my feet with a grunt.
“God almighty, Ari, you got so tall. Where are you staying?” she asked.
“Chalet number twenty three. You?”
“Oh, I’ve got a room in the main building. Cheap and cheerful, just like me.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Nope,” she said. She tucked her hair back again and smiled up at me. “The dinner buffet is open for quite a while, so I was just amusing myself down here on the beach before I headed back up. Reliving old memories, so to speak. Are you here with anyone, Ari?”
“No. I’m solo. Just me and my books and my regrets…”
“Got any plans for tonight?”
“No,” I answered softly. “Well… other than getting out of this frankly bloody awful rash vest and then quite possibly setting it on fire.”
“How about dinner? With me? A start of a catch-up?” she suggested hopefully.
“Tell you what. I’ve got a small bit of decking and some candles and wine and more than enough food for us to make something nice to share. So… want to come live it up a bit in a chalet for the evening?”
She snorted.
“Yeah, all right,” she said. “But only if you let me bring something.”
“Bring yourself,” I answered. “And tomorrow, we can do it again, and you can supply the wine.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
She linked arms with me and for the first time in as long as I could remember my heart felt as light as air.
.:.
“I’m just going to rinse the salt off. Pour us some booze, will you?”
“Sure thing,” she answered. “You want ice with yours?”
“You know, it’s warm enough that that sounds like a grand idea.”
“On it.”
I stripped out of my rash vest and board shorts, and hung them over a section of railing by the sliding glass door. I made my way back through the small chalet towards the bathroom.