Island Ferry

The board at Piraeus said DELAYED, and then, an hour later, DELAYED again, and then nothing at all. Kalinda bought a bag of apricots, found a spot on the harbour wall in the shade of a crane and settled in with her sketchbook.

The man who sat down beside her had a guitar case covered in stickers and a sunburnt nose.

'Do you mind if I play?' he asked. 'Quietly.'

She did not mind. He played old songs she half knew while she drew the boats, the gulls, the crane and eventually him, eyes half shut and fingers moving easily over the strings. When he saw the drawing he laughed and asked if he could keep it. She said he could have it in exchange for a song about apricots. He wrote one on the spot, and it was terrible, and she adored it.

His name was Mateo. He was going to the same island for no particular reason. So was she.

At four o'clock the ferry arrived, enormous and white, and the crowd surged towards the ramp. Kalinda stood up. So did Mateo. They looked at each other.

'There's another one tomorrow,' he said.

They found a room above a fish restaurant with blue shutters and a balcony over the harbour. They watched the sun go down behind the ferries, and then they did not watch anything at all.

The next morning they caught the boat. They spent the whole crossing on deck, her head on his shoulder and the wind in her sketchbook, all the way to the island.