‘Argh,’ chime the pirates again.
The girl flicks her blond hair, throwing a look of disinterest at her friend.
‘I don’t see what’s appealing about that.’
‘It reminds me more ofTreasure Island.’
All eyes on me.
‘In what way?’
Years have passed since I readTreasure Island, but I’ve said it now.
‘The island behind you.’ I point at Agistri, which looks like a slice of heaven. ‘Cruising on the seas. Pirates, one with an eyepatch. Although, where are your parrots?’
The two pirates look at one another.
‘You forgot the parrots,’ one exclaims.
‘I think they’re downstairs,’ the captain replies. He turns to the group. ‘Argh, pretend ye didn’t hear this.’
Our laughter joins together, but Sam’s cuts through the noise. It’s so happy-go-lucky.
‘All we need is a bit of treasure hunting,’ Sam suggests.
‘Argh, ye is yet to discover the second island,’ the captain replies.
‘Oh, goodie,’ the woman says, rolling her eyes. ‘A treasure hunt. Could it get worse?’
‘You know, Martha, I’m excited about treasure hunting,’ Linen Shirt replies.
‘Me too,’ a girl with hazel hair says, her accent thick. ‘It’s been some time since we had fun. This is our holiday.’
Martha’s eyes roll again. She’s very good at that. Her dismissive attitude is one I would be obsessed with if she were on a reality TV show. Here, in real life, though? Not so much.
If her behaviour affronts the pirates, they don’t show it. ‘Ye next destination is Aegina. X marks the spot.’
Martha sighs, pulling sunglasses over her eyes and leaning back in the sun.
‘Wellerman’, a sea shanty with a fist-hitting guitar, comes over the speakers, as the ship roars to life.
‘Ye must dance,’ the captain encourages. ‘Dance for ye supper.’
‘But we just ate.’ Plus, how can I dance to this?
‘Oh, aye,’ the captain guffaws. ‘Ye must dance.’
After some careful consideration, Linen Shirt stands, holding out his hand for the girl with the hazel hair. With smiles plastered on their tanned faces and beer in their hands, they dance as the original ‘Wellerman’ song turns into a club remix, the sun twinkling over their bodies.
‘Want to dance?’ Sam asks, as sea spray splashes upon us.
Dance? Here? In front of these people?
With Sam?
The pirates clap their hands in time with the music, and the woman who served us food appears, encouraging everyone to get up, but doesn’t even try with Martha. Wearing expensive glasses, it’s difficult to tell if she’s sleeping or shooting daggers at anyone who dares to enjoy themselves.
Dancing in front of people when I’ve only had half a beer feels impossible, but maybe I should be free-spirited. Maybe I should relish the heat on my skin and dance with strangers, to enjoy a moment in Greece that I wouldn’t get back home in Cardiff.
