Ben (8 page)

I’d broken my parents’ hearts by running away from them. Now they were running away from me.

Christmas Day, 1990. I remember it clearly as the first I’d ever spent away from my family. Even though we had a great time with Simon’s brother Steve and his wife Diane at their house, there wasn’t a moment I wasn’t thinking about my parents.

Ben had a lovely Christmas and received a lot of presents, including various dinky toy cars and cuddly toys. His favourites were animal-related: a plastic set of sheep, cows and ducks. He couldn’t stop playing with them and making the animals’ noises. He was walking by now – barefoot if he could get away with it; he hated shoes – so he also managed to do his own physical impressions. I could have watched him all day, it was so funny. The only downside was knowing that Mum was missing out.

She wasn’t the only one.

I’d been jealous of my family the second they set off. Within a week I wished I’d gone with them; after a fortnight I was having serious doubts about my decision to stay in Sheffield. My family had played such an important part of my adult life. I saw them at least every other weekend and we spoke most days on the phone. They’d always been there for me, even when I’d appeared to be
fleeing in the opposite direction. Now I was the one left behind – and I hated it. The idea of not seeing them for months or years was heartbreaking.

At least I knew they were thinking about me. Via postcards and letters I was able to track my family’s movements through France, across the Alps into Italy and down towards the Greek border. On a good day I got a photograph as well. On 12 January 1991, I received a snap of my brothers splashing around in the sea with the caption: ‘Having a bath, Mediterranean style!’ I loved having this window into their adventure but at the same time it was killing me not being part of it. Each morning that passed without a note from Mum was another day that dragged by.

Finally I got the message I’d been waiting for. They’d arrived in Kos and parked the caravan on Ramira Beach, the first stretch of public space they’d come across. After a few days, Dad had done his usual trick of finding a man who knew a man who said they could move officially to a space in a field in a coastal area called Paradisi.

‘Honestly, Kerry,’ Mum wrote, ‘it’s Paradisi by name – and Paradise by nature.’

Occasionally Mum would say she’d phone on a certain date. Knowing the international switchboard as I did, I was in place at the phone box an hour early and at least that afterwards if Mum didn’t ring. But when she did get through I’d spend most of the time in tears. She did, too. Our blubbering cost her a fortune! There were some words I always made out: there’d be a sniffle then quiet, then Mum would say, ‘Come out and join us.’ I laughed every time. I couldn’t join them. I had my son, my fiancé, my home and my life. Why would I want to give all that up?
Instead, I’d promise to send her packages of Oxo cubes and Branston Pickle, and other home comforts they were missing.

Then one day I surprised us both by saying, ‘Okay, I’m coming out there.’

‘You’re what?’

‘Mum, I’m bringing Ben to Kos.’

She was over the moon, of course, and we spent an excited hour making plans. Mum told me how to apply for a passport, what to pack, where to buy tickets. She even said she’d send over the money for our fares. At the end of it all she said, ‘What about Simon?’

I didn’t know what to think about him. Right then, I wondered whether to tell him anything at all.

‘You can’t just leave without a word,’ Mum said. ‘That’s an awful thing to do.’

‘You’re right, it is horrible. But he did it to me.’

I swear Gatwick Airport was bigger than any town I’d ever been to. When you’ve just got off an overnight, five-hour National Express coach journey, it seems even more alien. Although it was pitch-black outside, the whole building was illuminated like a film set. I was nineteen years old and completely out of my depth.

Ben took it all in his stride. Dressed in his favourite red dungarees, a little white shirt and trainers, and clutching his favourite cow from his farmyard animal set, he just toddled alongside me as I tried to fathom where to go. I don’t think he’d ever seen so many people in one place. He loved it. He kept stopping, pointing at one of the brightly lit shop fronts, and saying, ‘Pretty.’ He was such a content little fellow. Nothing fazed him.

I wish I could say the same for me. I kept repeating, ‘We’re going to see Nana, we’re going to see Nana,’ as much to remind myself of why I was putting us through this ordeal as to comfort him.

I’d not so much as set foot on a boat before, let alone a plane. I was terrified, but I couldn’t show it. If Ben got a sniff that I was scared he’d be uncontrollable. I had to make him think that whatever was about to happen was the most normal thing in the world. Like a bus with wings.

That’s easy enough when you’re strapping yourself and your little boy in. It becomes a lot harder when you hear the roar of the engines, you’re flung back into your seat and all you can think is,
How is this huge lump of metal that’s bigger than the coach we travelled down in ever going to get off the ground?

The air stewardesses were lovely and because there were spare seats either side of us, they let Ben have his own one until landing, when he’d have to go back on my lap. Keeping him occupied for four hours was a challenge but we had his animals and colouring-in books, and there was a meal that was more distracting than filling. By the time he fell asleep after it, I was exhausted.

As I looked out of the window across the vast expanse of white clouds, I thought about what I was doing. Was I mad, upping sticks and travelling to a country I’d never even visited? It was one thing Mum and Dad doing it. They had careers, skills, experience, a bit of money behind them. I was a teenage mum with a toddler. What on earth was I going to do there?

At least I’d have Simon. I’d relented and told him about my plans and he hadn’t exploded. He knew how much I missed my family and how it was breaking my heart being separated from them. Even so, when I asked him to come and start afresh over there, I was surprised when he said, ‘Okay.’ Maybe I was even a bit disappointed. Still, with all three of us going, the excitement in the house for a few weeks was tangible.

We agreed that Simon would stay and sell up our larger belongings, then join me and Ben when he’d settled everything. That might take a week, maybe a month. At least with his building background, he wouldn’t have trouble finding work.

If take-off had been challenging then landing was an ordeal
from start to finish. Ben was still sound asleep when the seatbelt signs went on. I managed to scoop him up and got him safely belted in, and I just hoped he’d stay asleep till we touched down. I didn’t want him to see me panicking.

Mum had warned me what to expect but nothing can prepare you for that sensation as the plane slows and starts to sink through the clouds, leaving your tummy higher up.
We’re going to crash!
was all I could think. When Ben woke up screaming I thought at first he knew something I didn’t. He was clutching his head and I realised his ears must have popped like mine as the cabin pressure dropped. Even asleep he must have felt it, but unlike me he didn’t have a boiled sweet to suck on. He freaked out, inconsolable. There was nothing I could say or do to comfort or distract him; not pointing out the view of white buildings for as far as the eye could see, not even saying over and over, again and again, ‘We’re going to see Nana, we’re going to see Nana.’

At least it took my mind off crashing, although even as I held my breath then gasped as the wheels of the Monarch airliner bounced down and the brakes squealed into action, I knew what Ben didn’t.

We’d be doing it all again in a couple of hours’ time.

It was 21 April 1991 and, as far as the tourist industry was concerned, still ‘closed season’, so there wouldn’t be any direct flights to Kos until the demand picked up later in the year. Consequently, Mum had told me to get to Athens then buy a domestic flight ticket to complete the journey. It sounded pretty straightforward. Mum said I had enough cash for a taxi to the domestic terminal and for flights to Kos. There wouldn’t be much change so I had to be frugal. That’s why we’d brought a packed lunch.

Ben was still upset as we reached the exit on the Monarch. Then the heat off the runway took his breath away and he just stared with wonder. I was doing the same. Even that early in the year, it was very, very warm. By Sheffield standards, it felt like stepping into a bath.

We went through passport control and found our luggage without a hitch. There was a rank of taxis immediately outside so we climbed in one and began stage three of our journey. I couldn’t get over how blue and uninterrupted the sky was, even so close to the terminal. I had such a good feeling about everything. We just needed to get through the trial of one more flight.

In fact, there was another hurdle much closer at hand.

As we pulled up outside the domestic terminal, I counted 2,000 drachmas from the small bundle in my purse. That was how much Mum had said the fare should be. That was how much I’d budgeted for. I lifted Ben out and we joined the cab driver at the boot of the car. As he flipped up the lid he said, ‘4,000 drachma.’

I’d already handed it over before I realised he hadn’t said 2,000.

He looked at the notes in my hand and shook his head. ‘4,000.’

‘That’s not right.’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘It should be half that.’

He shrugged and closed the boot again – with our bags still inside.

‘4,000,’ he repeated.

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I’d only been in the country ten minutes and I was messing it up already. I could feel the tears welling. I wanted to be so strong for Ben. Now it was all going wrong. If I handed over another 2,000 drachmas, would I still be able to afford an aeroplane ticket? But what choice did
I have? We hadn’t packed many things, but the bags in that boot contained all the possessions Ben and I had left in the world.

Welcome to Greece
.

Ten minutes later, with Ben in one arm and dragging our bags with the other, I managed to find the ticket queue. According to the departures board in the hall, there was a flight leaving in under an hour. I took a deep breath and forced myself to picture Mum’s smiling face when we arrived. ‘We’re going to see Nana.’

When I reached the desk my worst fears became a reality. I was exactly 5,000 drachmas – about £11 – short of the ticket price. Not only had I overpaid the taxi driver but in my fluster to find the inflated price, I must have dropped some notes from my purse. The woman behind the counter waited for me to pay but I couldn’t even move. I just stood there, shell-shocked, disbelief and rage fighting to be uppermost, as I stared at the space in my purse where the rest of the money should have been. For a few moments the world disappeared; Ben, the sales assistant, the airport itself, all vanished as I tried to think what to do. Then the dam burst and the tears came gushing out. I was so angry with myself for ruining everything. We were never going to get to Kos now.

It was all that cab driver’s fault. I hated him. I hated Greece. I hated Greeks. I wished I’d never come.

Then I felt a hand tap me on the shoulder and I turned to see a man in a suit gesturing past me towards the cashier. They had a brief conversation, then he reached into his pocket and pulled out 5,000 drachmas and pressed it into my palm. I was stunned. I watched it happen, I felt the warm squeeze of his hand in mine and I couldn’t take it in.
This isn’t happening to me.
But it was. I was still crying but laughing at the same time. I must have looked
a complete mess but I didn’t care. This wonderful, wonderful stranger had just saved the day and with it, it seemed to me, my whole life. I hugged him as hard as I could with one arm then, clasping our tickets like they were gold, I ran over to the check-in with a couple of minutes to spare. I’d changed my mind about the locals. They were incredible!

There was a visible military presence everywhere inside the terminal so I wasn’t surprised to see a soldier stationed near the desk when I arrived, still panting. But the breath I had left was well and truly knocked out of me when he put his arm out in a ‘stop’ gesture.

What have I done now?

I realised the soldier was standing close enough to the ticket desk to have seen what had just gone on. Did he think I was a conman? That I’d duped the businessman into handing over money? Was I going to be arrested? What would happen to Ben?

So many questions in so short a time, and all the while the soldier still had his hand reaching out. Confused, I noticed there was something in it.
Money
.

‘Good luck,’ he said, in a thick Greek accent, and held out another 500 drachmas. Yes, he had seen everything and he felt sorry for me.

My natural response was to hug the life out of him. One look at the machine gun across his chest stopped me so I just smiled, wiped away the tears, and said, ‘Thank you.’ Ben was disappointed. Long after the soldier was out of sight, he was still saying, ‘Gun. Gun. Gun.’