My Map of You Read online

  Aidan paused to shout something cheerful in Greek to the man with the goats, before putting the jeep into gear and looking again at Holly.

  ‘What happened to the lamb?’ she asked, a certain amount of trepidation in her voice.

  ‘He died,’ Aidan told her simply, smiling at Holly’s gasp of horror. ‘I ran the three miles back to the farm and all the old bastard farmer did was drive out there with his rifle and shoot the poor bugger.’

  ‘That must have been a bit traumatic,’ Holly said.

  ‘Well, I never forgot it,’ he admitted. ‘I thought to myself that day, “I’m going to learn how to look after animals so that next time this happens, I’ll be able to help”.’

  ‘I still don’t really know what I want to do,’ Holly told him, not realising what she was saying until the words had left her mouth.

  ‘Well, that’s easy.’ He rested an elbow on the jeep door. ‘What are you passionate about?’

  ‘I like sewing,’ she told him in a small voice.

  ‘So do that.’

  ‘It’s not that easy, though, is it?’ she said. ‘I can’t just sew stuff.’

  ‘Why not?’

  God, he was so infuriating.

  ‘Because London is an expensive place to live.’

  ‘Surely all those top designers, you know, Dulchy and Gaffney or whoever, surely they all need people to sew for them. Or better still – why don’t you become one of them and design the stuff as well?’ He was actually being serious, Holly realised.

  ‘I should just become Dolce and Gabbana?’ she enquired. ‘Start speaking Italian and charge thousands of pounds for socks?’

  ‘Would have to be some socks,’ Aidan laughed. ‘But seriously, you should do what makes you happy.’

  Absurdly, Holly felt tears gathering in her eyes. Turning away from him, she wound the window back up and surreptitiously wiped her eyes on her bare arm. If Aidan noticed anything, he didn’t comment, instead smoothly changing the subject by pointing to a tiny, dilapidated church that was on the left up ahead.

  ‘My mam got married there,’ he said as they passed.

  ‘Oh?’ Holly made an interested sound.

  ‘It didn’t last. The marriage, I mean.’ He shrugged at Holly’s expression. ‘Only a matter of months. My mam never was very good at the whole relationship thing. I’m actually amazed that she seems to be making the latest one last. If I was a betting man I’d have given it no more than a few months.’

  Holly didn’t know what to say; she was suddenly uncomfortable with how much Aidan was telling her.

  ‘Sorry,’ he turned to her. ‘I didn’t mean to kill the mood, like. As you can probably tell, my mam and I aren’t the closest.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ Holly was mortified. ‘It’s not like I can say anything about not having the best relationship with your mother.’

  ‘What about your Auntie Sandra?’

  It was an innocent enough question, but Holly felt herself start to clam up.

  ‘I’m sad that I didn’t know her better,’ she said carefully. ‘I get the impression that we’re quite similar – I mean, that she would have been like me.’

  ‘Well, she did like to sew,’ Aidan agreed. ‘And you do look like her sometimes, just the way you hold yourself. It reminds me of her.’

  Had he been studying her that closely?

  ‘I didn’t even know that my mum and her were twins until this week,’ she blurted. ‘I haven’t even seen a photo of Sandra yet, either.’

  ‘Really?’ He sounded shocked at that. ‘There must be some in the house, aren’t there?’

  ‘Not that I’ve found,’ Holly told him. ‘I was expecting there to be more, you know, letters and stuff, but I haven’t found anything.’

  Aidan was quiet for a few seconds as he concentrated on steering them round a particularly narrow bend. The stone walls on either side of the jeep were only a foot or so away, and Holly reflexively squeezed her shoulders together as they passed through the lane.

  ‘We’re not far now,’ he told her. Ahead Holly could see what looked like a small village. There were windmills visible on the hillside above them and what appeared to be a circular stone tower nestled between low white houses.

  ‘This is Volimes,’ he said, slowing right down as they passed a cluster of squat buildings. ‘I’m not sure if it’s marked on your map there, but it’s somewhere I like to come, so I thought I’d show it to you.’

  They drove into a small square and Aidan parked in the shade of a large tree. Phelan whined with excitement and pawed at the door as he waited to be let out, then promptly lifted his leg on a nearby patch of grass. The square was deserted save for one old man who was standing by some makeshift stalls. From where they were parked, Holly could see a variety of pots in all shapes, sizes and colours, plus a heap of rugs and some neatly packaged bags of wild herbs.

  ‘The tour buses come through here sometimes,’ Aidan explained. ‘It’s a good way for the locals to make a bit of extra cash.’

  She started to follow him across the square, but found herself drawn to the last stall along. The wooden top was adorned with spools of lace, and Holly ran her fingers across each of them in turn.

  ‘That’s all made locally.’ Aidan had appeared at her shoulder. The old man had shuffled down to greet them and was now smiling at Holly, showing off a row of gnarly teeth. Aidan said something to him in Greek and then turned to Holly. ‘It’s usually ten euros per metre, but he says for you it’s a special price.’ He winked at her. The Greek man gabbled something else at Aidan, pointing across the table as he did so.

  ‘He will make you a special deal,’ Aidan translated. ‘Eight metres for forty euros.’

  ‘Is that good?’ Holly was thinking about all the beautiful things she could make with the lace.

  Aidan shrugged. ‘Things are only worth what you’re willing to pay for them.’

  Ten minutes later, her stash of Greek lace safely stowed in the jeep, Aidan and Holly finally sat down in a café. They were the only customers, but the middle-aged woman looking after the place still took her time taking their order. Aidan grinned widely at her departing back.

  ‘You have to love the Greeks,’ he said. ‘You could drop ten million euros out of the sky and they’d still finish their coffee before they bothered to pick any up.’

  ‘I can’t say I blame them,’ Holly said, thinking of how manic and pushy everybody was in London. ‘Everyone here just seems so relaxed.’

  ‘Too relaxed, sometimes,’ he replied. ‘Trying to tell a Greek that their sick animal needs to be seen to today, rather than next week, can be a trial. When I first opened my practice down in the town, I thought everyone would bring their pets to me. I was sadly mistaken on that score.’

  The woman was back with their frappés and she smiled shyly at Holly as she set down the napkins.

  ‘She probably recognises you,’ Aidan said when they were alone again. ‘Sandy used to drive up here all the time to buy her lace.’

  Holly looked at him. ‘Is that why you brought me here?’

  ‘Partly.’ He didn’t look at all contrite. ‘But it was mostly because I wanted you to see what the real Zakynthos is like, away from the more touristy areas. The way people live here, in this village, is how they’ve lived for centuries.’

  ‘It’s so quiet,’ marvelled Holly. It was beautiful too, she thought. The café in which they were sitting had white walls and a trellis covering the outside seating area. When Holly looked up, she could see grapes dangling down through the gaps, their plump little bodies basking happily in the sunshine.

  ‘I thought we could go up to the viewing point above the Shipwreck,’ Aidan said, sipping his frappé. ‘It’s a bit of a tourist haunt, but it’s also the most famous landmark on the island and, if I’m not mistaken, your ma and Sandra thought it was worth a look.’

  Holly had seen photos of the famous Shipwreck beach, with its white sand and paintbox-blue sea. Jenny and Sandra had drawn
a half-sunk boat on their own map and scribbled the words ‘photo opp’ next to it.

  ‘That sounds perfect,’ she smiled at him. ‘Thanks for this – for taking me out, I mean. I know you must be busy.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Aidan held up his hand. ‘I’m never too busy to spend the day with a pretty girl.’

  A flush of warmth crept across Holly’s chest at this and she started to laugh it off.

  ‘I’m sure you could have your pick of the girls on this island,’ she told him. ‘Annie told me that you’re not short of admirers.’

  ‘Oh, did she now?’ Aidan laughed. ‘She needs to wind in her gob, that one.’

  ‘Do you not get lonely?’ Holly asked, immediately regretting it. Her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own today.

  ‘It’s impossible to get lonely on this island,’ he said, stirring the ice around in his glass. ‘Once you’re friends with the Greeks, they become more like family, you know? Everywhere I go I’m welcomed with open arms.’

  As if to reinforce the point, he suddenly wrapped his arms around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. Holly, caught completely by surprise, became uncomfortably aware of how broad and firm his chest was, and how much her knees were now trembling.

  ‘Just like that, you see!’ Aidan pulled away as if nothing had happened, leaving Holly to hyperventilate quietly into her glass of water. ‘But anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, um, no, I don’t really get lonely. And I always have Phelan here, don’t forget.’

  At the sound of his name, Phelan lifted his head and wagged his tail through the dust. He’d been sitting so quietly by their feet that Holly had forgotten he was there at all. The waitress arrived back with their breakfast – an omelette for Aidan and cheese pies for Holly. She had been tempted to order a tomato salad and ask for extra honey, but she didn’t want Aidan to think she was mad. The pies were more than a worthy contender in the taste stakes anyway. Holly almost let out a groan of pleasure as she bit through the flaky warm pastry and encountered the salty, oozy cheese inside.

  ‘So, you said your mum lived here?’ she asked once she’d finished her first pie. She was keen to steer the conversation away from anything that might lead to talking about relationships. If Aidan did have a secret girlfriend squirrelled away somewhere, she didn’t want to know – and she wasn’t ready to tell him about Rupert, either.

  ‘That’s right.’ Aidan had finished his water and started picking at the label on the bottle.

  ‘Did she work here too?’

  ‘She used to be an artist.’ He turned but didn’t quite meet her eyes. ‘She had a lot of success when I was growing up, but it tailed off as she got older. She didn’t cope with that very well.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ Holly said.

  ‘Well, not really.’ Something in Aidan’s manner had hardened. ‘Not when it means you have to cut yourself off from your family and everyone who cares about you.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Was she depressed?’ Holly asked quietly.

  ‘Yeah, the silly old mare. Nobody was buying any of her paintings any more and she took it way too personally. It was actually Sandra who helped her get back on her feet, you know.’

  Holly nodded and took another bite of her pie. It really was very tasty.

  ‘I think that’s why we became such good friends, you know, your aunt and me – I think she felt like she had a duty to look after me too, because my mam wasn’t really in a position to do it herself.’

  He was saying all this to her so matter-of-factly, and seemed so strong about it all, that Holly couldn’t help but feel a wave of affection towards him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she finally muttered, unsure what else she could say. She understood exactly what it was like to have a person there who wasn’t really there at all. But at least Aidan’s mum was still alive – at least she had friends and family to help her. Holly thought helplessly of her own mum sitting in that chair, her head lolling to one side, her skin tinged blue.

  ‘I still get on great with my dad, mind,’ Aidan went on, mercifully yanking Holly’s attention back to the present day. ‘He lives over in Ireland, though, so visits are a rare thing these days.’

  Holly thought about mentioning her own dad, but what would she say? That he might be a freedom fighter in jail somewhere, or that, more likely, he was a random drifter that her mum had shacked up with for a few weeks then forgotten all about. Holly had been thinking a lot about who her father might have been over the past few days. He’d always been an unknown entity before; she’d accepted long ago that she’d never meet him. But getting the letter from Sandra had made her question everything her mum had ever told her. If Jenny had omitted to tell Holly about the existence of an aunt, then it made sense that she would have fabricated the whole story about her dad too. The problem was, she didn’t even know where to begin looking for him.

  She looked over at Aidan, who seemed to be lost in melancholy thoughts of his own. Astounded at her own bravery, Holly slid a timid hand across and squeezed his arm.

  As they sat together, each lost in their own memories but comforted by the support of the other, the bells in the village church began to ring.

  Monday, 25 June 1990

  Dearest Sandra,

  Well now, that sounds all wrong. I never call you Sandra, do I? I wish I could sit here and tell you that I’m sorry it ever happened, but I can’t. I can’t tell you what you really want to hear. We reached Indonesia two days ago. Sandy, you would love it here – the sea is like bath water and the people are so open with their hearts. I’m sitting here now on the sand, writing to you, and a local boy is plaiting Holly’s hair. It’s so adorable. I think we may stay here for a few months. Well, unless you tell me to come home. You know we would be on the next flight. I miss you, Sandy, and Holly misses you too. All my love, now and for ever, your twinny,

  Jen Bear xxx

  13

  It was only a short drive from Volimes to Navagio, which was home to the lookout point above the Shipwreck Beach. Despite the fact that it had become a major tourist attraction, the Greeks hadn’t cashed in with buildings on the picturesque cliff edge. In fact, the only things there other than a large car park filled with coaches, quad bikes and hire cars was a small mobile food stall and a few dubious toilets housed inside small huts.

  They arrived at the same time as a coach full of German tourists, so Aidan suggested they wait in the jeep until the coast was clear. It was nearing 11 a.m. now and the morning clouds had long since been brushed away by the sweeping power of the sun. Holly rested her bare arm on the jeep door and fanned herself with the map. The air was deliciously fragrant thanks to the surrounding pine trees and she could still taste the cheesy remnants of her breakfast. Aidan, meanwhile, was thoughtfully picking at a bit of spinach that had become lodged in his teeth – a leftover from his own morning meal.

  ‘Will you take a look at her,’ he exclaimed, tapping Holly on the arm as a young woman strutted past the jeep wearing high-heeled wedges and a thong bikini. Her bottom was so round and so brown that it looked like a freshly dropped conker.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Holly slapped a hand over her mouth so the woman wouldn’t hear her yelp of laughter. ‘She’s brave.’

  ‘You say brave, I say bleeding ridiculous,’ Aidan replied, not bothering to hide his own bellow of mirth. The young woman inclined her head slightly in their direction, but she looked to Holly to be more delighted than embarrassed.

  ‘I mean,’ Aidan went on, ‘I’m all for ladies getting their bottoms out and all, but there’s a time and a place for such stuff. A more private place, perhaps?’

  The idea of bare bottoms in private places with Aidan made Holly blush from her throat to her hairline, so she quickly changed the subject.

  ‘Come on then, Mr Tour Guide, tell me what I’m about to see. What is this shipwreck place?’

  Aidan put on an authoritative voice as he replied, which made them both giggle. ‘Known loc
ally as Smugglers’ Cove, this beach is home to the wreck of a cigarette smuggler’s boat, which crashed here in the late 1970s,’ he announced. ‘Thanks to the limestone cliffs in this area of the island, the sea around the cove is crystal clear.’

  ‘You’re very knowledgeable,’ Holly told him, still grinning at the stupid voice.

  ‘I haven’t been up here in ages, actually,’ he said, turning to look at her. ‘My ex used to like bringing a picnic up here sometimes, in the spring when there weren’t as many tourists around. I guess since she left I haven’t really bothered.’

  Holly wanted to ask him what had happened to break them up, but she couldn’t quite pluck up the courage. Instead she turned away from him and reached over to the back seat to stroke Phelan, who was gently snoring with one eye open.

  ‘Ridiculous creature,’ Aidan said, taking his hand off the steering wheel and ruffling Phelan’s silky head. As his fingers brushed against hers, Holly felt a trickle of delight spread through her hand and into her bare arm, and quickly moved out of reach.

  ‘Come on,’ Aidan said, defusing whatever it was that had just fizzled up between them. ‘Thong lady’s back on her bus – I reckon the coast is clear.’

  Holly had looked at endless photos of the Shipwreck Beach before she arrived on the island, but none of them prepared her for how stunning it was when you were standing looking down at it. From their position on a narrow viewing platform, which Aidan cheerily informed her was ‘at least one hundred metres’ above the sea below, the shipwreck itself looked small enough to pick up. It sat half-buried in a bay of clean white sand, which was surrounded by a semicircle of sheer limestone cliffs. The brilliant bright-blue water lapping up against the shoreline was dotted with tiny boats and even tinier people.

  ‘Is there any way down?’ she asked Aidan. He was standing close enough behind her that she could feel the soft warmth of his breath on the back of her neck, and despite the heat of the late morning, the hair on her arms was standing fully to attention.