Lobsters (11 page)

Going to Kavos was supposed to be all about us doing a last special thing together before uni. But like all things always, it just turned out to be about boys.

Greece was not how I thought it would be. I knew the others were only bothered about clubs and the pool and getting tanned, but I thought it would be beautiful. With donkeys decorated in flowers, and old women dressed all in black, and brilliant white buildings with blue roofs. I don't know why Odysseus was so bothered about coming back here. He probably thought it was going to be like
Mamma Mia!
It's not.

Kavos is basically just one street with a beach. Our hotel was exactly like the hostel we stayed in when we went to Dartmoor in Year 8. Just two single beds in the room and a tiny en suite bathroom. There was no air conditioning. We got in at 1 a.m. and went straight to bed. All I could hear was booming music from the million bars that lined the street. They played it all night. That's what they do to prisoners of war. I couldn't sleep. ‘Maybe I'll get used to it,' I thought. But they played it all day too. I could hear it underwater in the swimming pool.

It was my idea to go on the boat trip. A man came up to us by the pool and told us about it. You sail all round the island and can dive off the boat into the sea and explore caves. And they cook fresh fish and serve cocktails. It sounded glamorous and more along the lines of what I had thought this holiday was going to be. We were all up for it.

Tilly said she'd got seasick on the ferry when she went to Ireland, but Stella said small boats are different and don't make you seasick, so we booked. It was quite cheap considering all the stuff you got.

When we got to the meeting place and were waiting in line we could see all the other people going on the trip. I think everyone there was our age or maybe a year or two older. Loads of people who had just finished exams too.

The last people to arrive were a group of boys. There were four of them and they all had scruffy hair and looked like they had just got out of bed. They were all brown and casually perfect, carrying towels and not a lot else. They were above worrying about sunscreen and a top in case it got cold. In fact, they were
exactly the kind of boys you daydream about being in a group of friends with. Because they were just unbelievably FIT.

As soon as they arrived, the atmosphere changed ever so slightly. All the girls became more affected, fiddling with their hair and trying but failing to check the boys out without anyone else noticing.

I knew without even looking at her how Stella would be feeling now. Because this is exactly the type of situation she loves. I can't imagine being attractive like that. Knowing that without even doing anything, just by
being
, boys will be drawn to you.

She got on to the boat and walked straight to the sun deck, where she laid out her towel, stripped off her white sundress, and stretched out. She was wearing a gold bikini and gold earrings and enormous sunglasses. By herself with the sea behind her, she looked like Cleopatra. Even sex-face H&M bikini girl would have been jealous.

We laid our towels next to hers. I kept my dress on. I'd brought
Mansfield Park
from my York reading list but I couldn't face taking it out of my bag. So I just lay there, feeling hot. Not
Stella
hot –
sweaty
hot.

The fittest of the scruffy-haired boys wandered over and sat down by us. Boys who are that fit don't need to think of any excuse to talk to you. He didn't even try to make one. I knew he would start hitting on Stella so I took my book out of my bag and shuffled over to be nearer the others. But it was me he spoke to.

‘I've got that book. Is it good?'

I could see Stella looking at me, inscrutable behind her sunglasses. I knew she would be pissed off that he hadn't spoken to
her first.

‘I don't know. I'm only on page one. It's on my university reading list.'

He took off his sunglasses. His huge, green eyes were flecked with amber bits. He was the most beautiful person I had ever seen in real life. He was tall, but not gangly like most boys our age, just lean and muscular. The tips of his brown hair were blond where the sun had lightened them.

‘Let's have a look,' he said.

Passing him the book made me feel self-conscious. He looked at the back cover for a bit.

‘It's pretty weighty to carry around.'

I laughed and didn't know what to say. I was sort of bowled over by the situation; by his eyes and his love of books and the fact that he was talking to
me
.

I was almost relieved when Stella sat up and started speaking. I didn't mind that she'd got his attention. Because I could keep quiet and observe him talking and laughing. I could look at his brown belly and see the white line where his tan ended.

I was constantly dreaming about sensitive, intellectual boys to fall in love with. Maybe they
did
actually exist.

As Stella started telling him about where we were staying, Tilly tapped me on the shoulder. Her eyes were watering. She looked awful.

‘Han, will you please come to the toilet with me?'

She said it almost desperately. I took her hand and helped her up. Stella didn't even notice as we wobbled off the sun deck and inside the boat. The toilet was tiny and stank so badly of piss that
I had to breathe through my mouth. I held Tilly's mass of hair back as she puked her guts out.

‘Sorry, Han,' she spluttered, between heaves.

‘It's not your fault,' I said. ‘Clearly, Stella was full of shit about seasickness and small boats.'

The boat rocked suddenly. Tilly missed the toilet bowl and a fresh jet of sick hit my foot.

‘Sorry,' she whispered.

I bent down and closed my eyes and wiped it off as quickly as possible, laughing. ‘Don't worry. What is it with me and sick lately?'

I led Tilly back to the deck and sat her in the shade. Stella was now lying horizontally with her head on the fit boy's belly.

A part of me felt jealous, that it was
always
her. But it made me proud too. If she could do this now, what might she be capable of in a time of national emergency? The other boys in the group were talking to a different group of girls. Obviously Tilly, Grace and me didn't make the grade.

The crew brought out shots for everyone. And more shots. And punch. And then there was a drinking contest. I felt a bit out of place in my dress with my book. I looked like my mum on holiday. I could still smell sick on my foot. When the boat stopped, Fit Boy got up and went to get his friends. I sat down next to Stella. She grabbed my arm and pulled me towards her.

‘He's called Pax,' she whispered excitedly. ‘It means peace in Latin. Is my make-up running?'

‘I can't believe you're wearing make-up.'

I bent over and blended her foundation with my thumb. Fit
Boy – or, rather, Pax – walked back over with his friends in tow. Tilly and Grace shuffled their towels over. Everyone was standing up except Stella. She was laid out before us like the main attraction.

‘Are you feeling better?' Pax was looking at Tilly, all concerned. I hadn't even realized he'd noticed us leave.

‘Yeah, honestly. I wasn't really sick that much at all.'

I looked at the splashes on the bottom of my dress and smiled at her.

Other people on the boat started to dive into the water. Pax's friends took their phones out of their pockets and Stella offered them her bag to put them in. They started to peel off their clothes and leap into the sea.

‘Come in!' they shouted.

Stella looked like she was thinking about it for a moment, ‘No, I want to lie in the sun. I'm more of a pool swimmer.'

Tilly wouldn't risk it after being ill and Grace was a bit pissed. I couldn't go in alone. And I couldn't go in with the boys. I didn't know them. I wouldn't know what to say.

Pax looked at me. ‘Come on, Hannah.'

How did he know my name? Hearing him say it made my stomach flip. It was like no one had ever said my name out loud before.

‘There aren't any sharks, you know.' He smiled broadly. His teeth were perfect.

I wanted to tell him that I was actually a really good swimmer. That I swim in Cornwall in massive waves every year with my brother, and I can hold my breath underwater for nearly a minute.

But I didn't have time to do that, because he just walked to the edge of the boat and dived in. He didn't even hesitate. It was one movement. He looked up at me from the water.

‘Come
on
!'

He bobbed up and down in the water, smiling at me. I had been looking forward to swimming off the boat all day and there was literally no logical reason – or, at least none I could explain to him – why I shouldn't.

‘OK, just a second.'

He stayed there, treading water, and I realized I had no choice but to take off my dress with him looking at me. I knew I was going red. Taking my clothes off suddenly seemed complicated, and I felt a new and instant respect for strippers. I just wanted to get in the sea as quickly as possible. I felt exposed in my bikini. I was still so pale. I clambered down the ladder and he swam across to meet me.

Swimming next to him was weird. I kept expecting him to try and find his friends but he didn't. We drifted away from the rest of the swimmers and started treading water.

‘Are you going to do English at uni?'

‘Yeah. York is my first choice and Sussex is my second.'

‘No way! I'm going to York. I've just done a gap year so we'll be starting together.'

Except that we probably wouldn't be starting together, because I think I fucked up History.

‘You're the first person I've met who's applied there,' I said.

‘Me too. But now we know each other.'

He said it in such an offhand way. He
wanted
to know me.
There was a chance he would be in my life, even if only to look at, for longer than just today, or this holiday.

We swam a bit further and talked about English A level and what texts we'd done, and our exams and where we were from. He told me about his gap year and how he went to a Full Moon Party in Thailand. I nodded like I knew what that was.

Then he told me about the town in Devon where he grew up. I suppose even really attractive people were just kids once, like everyone else. His looks didn't seem to affect him. They were just part of him.

By the time we swam back to the boat the sun was starting to go down.

Stella was lying exactly as she had been before. Resplendent, copy of
Cosmopolitan
in hand, sunglasses still hiding whatever she might be thinking.

I went to the bathroom and when I got back, Pax was talking to her and it was as if the last half hour had never happened. When it comes to boys she doesn't have to try and win, she just does automatically. Not that it's a competition. But her always winning sort of makes it one whether you want it to be or not. Like you've inadvertently entered the Olympics when you know you're shit at P.E.

Grace was deep in conversation with one of Pax's friends. She kept laughing and touching his arm. Tilly started feeling sick again as soon as the boat moved. I went back to the toilet with her.

Between hurls, she said, ‘What is Grace
doing
?' Her voice echoed around the toilet bowl.

‘Just flirting. She won't do anything. She's in love with Ollie.'

But when we came out, Grace had her arms around the boy's waist. Tilly and I instinctively looked the other way.

Stella looked up at us from her towel.

‘We're sorted for dinner,' she said. ‘The boys know a really nice place, apparently.'

Before I could stop myself my eyes flicked straight to Pax.

Sam

After a day and a half on Sark, I felt like I was getting cabin fever. A day and a half of torrential rain, marathon Monopoly games with my dad and endless cups of Earl Grey all drunk while listening to my gran shouting at the TV during
EastEnders
.

‘Don't marry her, you fool! She's just after your money!'

‘He can't hear you, Gran.'

‘I know, dear. He doesn't listen, does he? He's hopeless.'

At least my mum was happy; I'd pretty much finished
Paradise Lost
. Not that I'd understood much of it, of course.

After lunch, when the rain finally let up, my mum asked me to go into the village to buy a newspaper and some milk. Since it was either that or spend the rest of the afternoon out in the front garden helping my dad unblock the drains, I gladly accepted the assignment.

I charged through the deserted lanes on my rented bike, past the glistening muddy fields that flanked them, and the bored-looking cows and sheep they were home to.

The village newsagent was empty. No one was even at the till. The idea of theft doesn't really exist in Sark; people regularly leave their houses and bikes unlocked. In that respect, I suppose it qualifies as a utopian paradise. If so, utopian paradises are vastly overrated.