‘Hey! Look!’ she cried, relieved to spot a distraction. ‘I think that’s the start of the steps.’
‘So it is. Let’s grab a coffee in the village before we explore.’
Once they reached the bottom, it wasn’t difficult to find their way round Porto Liakáda as it was so small. The low-lying buildings, all white with blue windows, were set like an amphitheatre round the crescent-shaped bay, with tall date palm trees rising majestically between them.
The one main street was right on the waterfront, and it was here that the two women sat in a café at a table overlooking the pristine turquoise waters of the Libyan sea.
Fishing boats of different shapes and sizes bobbed in the harbour while some way off, royal blue and white umbrellas and matching sun loungers dotted the small pebbly beach.
For now, it was deserted, but rows of yellow kayaks and white paddleboards for hire suggested this state of affairs wouldn’t last long.
They ordered coffee and aBougatsato share, as recommended by their waiter. They weren’t sure what to expect and it turned out to be a delicious pie made of crunchy filo pastry, filled with localmizithracheese and sprinkled with sugar.
It disappeared so fast, they soon ordered another, and when Louise had finished her final bite, she stared mournfully at the empty plate. ‘I’d happily have that for breakfast every day.’
It was still early and the shops were only just beginning to throw open their doors. A handful of folk in summery clothes were ambling up and down the main street, as if waiting for the action to begin.
The sun was getting hotter by the minute and Stella remembered she wasn’t wearing sunscreen. With her pale skin, she’d burn in no time.
Rising, she tried to move her chair under the parasol, but was interrupted by a loud yell, which made her jump.
Glancing down, she could see what appeared to be a child on the ground beneath her seat. He was on his knees, his top half hidden under the table, his rear end squirming. She was so astounded, she wondered for a few seconds if she were imagining it.
‘OHMYGOD!’ The words tumbled out in a rush.
She tried to whip the chair out of the way before realising the child was trapped between its metal legs.
‘Aargh! Are you all right?’
Her heart was thumping so fast, she’d forgotten where she was. There was no need to worry, though, because the boy understood her English perfectly.
‘You might’ve broken my arm,’ he said angrily after finally managing to reverse out of his prison and sit back, rubbing the sore bit. ‘You should watch what you’re doing.’
Stella was too anxious to be offended. Frowning, she squatted down to his level, apologising profusely. ‘I’m so sorry. I really am. Can I take a look?’
The boy, somewhat mollified, sat up straight and extended one skinny arm, which she examined carefully.
To her great relief, the chair seemed to have left nothing more than a red mark, and the arm and hand were working perfectly.
She inhaled deeply, realising she’d been holding her breath.
‘It seems okay, thank God. No serious damage.’
‘It still hurts. You should be more careful.’
Now she could see him better, Stella realised he could only be seven or eight, but he didn’t seem at all shy.
He was a scrawny little thing in a grubby white T-shirt and blue shorts. His bare feet were grimy too. His hair was very dark, almost black, and the fringe was so long and shaggy, she wondered how he could see out of it.
Jutting his chin, he started to lecture her on her bad behaviour. Now it was her turn to be annoyed.
‘What were you doing under my seat anyway? You shouldn’t have been there.’
Before he could answer back, they were interrupted by a shout.
‘Oi! Meaty! Come here!’
Stella swung round to see a big blonde woman in a flowery dress running towards them. She was red-faced and her features were scrunched so tightly together in a frown, you could hardly make them out.
