Page 7 of Deep Blue Lies

SIX

I make the most of breakfast the next morning, eating as much as I can, then buttering a couple of extra bread rolls and slipping them into my bag. I only booked two nights, because it’s all I can afford. Afterward, I pull on some shorts and take a walk. It’s time to see my new home.

It’s not there.

I mean, the building is still there. But clearly it’s not still operating.

I can see that from here, and it looks like it hasn’t done so in a very long time.

I suppose I could have checked on Google, if I’d thought to do so.

It just didn’t occur to me. The old hotel is about a mile around the bay, and maybe because I feel a little conspicuous wandering through town, I walk along the beach to get there.

At first, I follow the shoreline, but the sand is soft, and trudging through it under the heat of the sun is exhausting, so I move up to a narrow path that runs along the scrubland behind the beach.

The air is thick here with the rich scent of wild thyme.

As I get closer, it’s obvious the Aegean Dream Resort isn’t just closed – it’s completely abandoned.

There’s a two-storey building that would have been the guest rooms, laid out so the ones on the lower floor have wide verandas with views down to the beach, with the upper floor getting balconies.

But now the entrances are boarded up, wood nailed across the openings.

Except some of them have been smashed open, the jagged edges of glass still clinging to the window frame behind the broken, time-worn wood.

I step close to one, standing on what would have been a beautiful terrace, years ago.

There’s nothing stopping me going further, so cautiously, I push my way inside the room.

The smell hits me first – a sharp mix of urine and damp – even in this heat.

The walls are scrawled with graffiti. I switch on the light on my phone and shine it at the wall.

A lot of it’s in Greek, but there’s names of couples too.

I read that James was here, 2015. And then somewhere else, a bit unsettling, someone’s scrawled The Killing Zone in red letters.

I feel relieved when I step back out into the sun.

I keep going, past the rooms towards the main building.

There’s a low, crumbling structure that must have been a restaurant, and beside it, the pool, or what’s left of it.

It’s big, with elegant, curved edges, but its once-bright tiles are cracked and dirty, and it’s littered with debris.

There’s no water, obviously. But there is a rusting fridge tipped onto its back, lying in the deep end, and bizarrely, an old office chair tangled with what’s left of the metal steps.

Someone’s made a fire down there too, charred black stains turning the blue tiles black.

The pool bar is still here. This is where I think Mum worked.

At least, it’s what she said, on one of those few occasions when she said anything.

She was drinking a cocktail and she said she used to make them, by the pool here.

That gives me a weird feeling. To actually be here where Mum worked.

There’s quite a lot of the bar left. It was made of concrete, which I guess is why it’s still standing.

Maybe once it was covered with tiles, I don’t know.

The roof has partially collapsed though, so that the years of sun have weathered everything, and the iron rods reinforcing the structure are poking out through the crumbling ruins.

Something makes me step behind the bar, standing where Mum must have stood, all those years ago.

I try to picture it as it must have been.

The pool bright and clean, the music playing.

I can almost see her here, how beautiful she was, flirting with the guests, as the heat of the day slips away.

But I can’t picture it. What’s actually here is too powerful, this empty shell left to rot.

The smell of decay, and suddenly I get a bad feeling.

I didn’t see any signs, but probably I’m not supposed to be in here.

Places like this are dangerous, and now I get the sense that I’m being watched.

That someone’s going to shout at me to get out, so I look around quickly and then walk back through what was presumably once beautiful gardens towards the beach.

It’s odd though. Why is it like this? A place like this, right on the beach, must be worth a fortune. Why abandon it? And why hasn’t it been redeveloped? Why’s it just been left here?

I’m getting hungry, so I sit down to eat my rolls.

I look out over the sea, which is blue and flat and beautiful, but after a while I realise I still feel a little uncomfortable with the Aegean Dream Resort ruins so close behind me.

Anyone could be hiding in there. Anyone could be watching me.

So I get up again. I move a little way back down the beach towards Skalio, where at once I feel better .

When I finish my lunch I try to think. If I’m here to find out about my past, I’m going to need to ask people.

But the thought of that scares me a little.

I’m not quite ready yet. So instead I strip down to the bikini I put on this morning, and step down the sand towards the calm blue water.

It’s cooler than I expect, but not actually cold.

Nothing like the wind-whipped grey North Sea I’m used to seeing. Not that I ever went in.

I stand for a while, letting the gentle waves lap around my ankles, feeling the sand shift beneath my feet.

Then all at once I wade in, pulling at the water with my arms until I fall forwards, letting the water envelop me, feeling the taste of the salt on my lips.

It’s lush. I open my eyes underwater, and wish I had goggles, because I can see how clear and blue it is, even though it’s murky to my eyes.

I find a warm patch, the water heated by the sun, and I float instead, just lying on my back, letting the rays of sunlight soothe my body.

Feeling it restore me, welcome me. The temperature is perfect, I could stay here all day.

Except, of course, I can’t. I didn’t come here on holiday. There’s something I have to do.

I get out and wait while the sun dries me, before getting dressed. I feel the stress trickling back into me, as I try to work out what to do next.

Eventually, I head back into town. I pluck up the courage to sit down at a table outside one of the restaurants I saw earlier, and after a few minutes, a waiter comes out to take my order.

I could ask him. I could start right now.

But I don’t. I just ask for a coffee, in English, and I’m not sure if he’ll even understand me. But he just nods and goes back inside.

I make a mental plan as I sip my coffee. I need to find somewhere cheaper to stay, that’s the first task. And after that, I’ll need a job. After that, I can start investigating. But it makes sense to take this one step at a time.

The waiter doesn’t reappear, so after a while I step inside the restaurant to pay at the bar.

It’s cool inside, and I can smell garlic from whatever they’re cooking for later.

I see a different waiter sitting at a table, absorbed in his phone.

He spots me and gets to his feet, clearing his throat like I’ve caught him doing something wrong.

I smile, and use my best phrasebook Greek to ask how much, but he replies in English.

That slightly disappoints me. I thought I looked Greek enough to pass for a local. But I guess that’s just silly.

I think about asking him now if he needs staff, but the transaction is over before I find the words.

Before I know it, I’m back outside. I head up and down the seafront strip a couple of times, taking stock of my options.

And then I remember the supermarket. Maybe they have a noticeboard there?

It kind of felt like that sort of place.

The supermarket has three aisles, tightly packed together, but somehow it contains everything you could possibly buy, from food to small household goods like dustpans, brushes and toasters.

There’s even wool, and computer keyboards.

But even though I scan carefully, there’s no noticeboard.

An older woman waits patiently by the old-style till.

I sense her awareness that there’s something I’m searching for.

“Can I help you?” she asks, in lightly accented English.

“Oh, no.” I’m startled. “I was just wondering if there was a noticeboard or something like that.”

She frowns slightly, a hint of a smile on her lips. “No noticeboard. What was it you were looking for?”

I almost repeat that I was looking for a noticeboard, but I see what she means.

“Actually, I was hoping to see if there were any jobs.”

“Jobs?” Her eyebrows lift slightly, and she looks me over. I think she’s going to say no, but she doesn’t. “It’s a little early in the season. There’ll be plenty in a month or so.” She smiles like she realises that’s not much help. “What kind of work are you after?”

“Oh, um.” I pause, thinking. “Bar work, I suppose.”

“Have you tried the ones on the beachfront?”

I feel stupid again, having to confess that I haven’t. But she shrugs. “I think I heard Hans was looking for someone. He usually is.”

“Hans?”

“Bar Sunset. It’s the last one on the beachfront. You’ll know it from the techno music.”