Ben (10 page)

When you’re nineteen, you don’t always appreciate how fortunate you are. Looking back, everything seemed to be falling into place. We didn’t need to earn much to have a decent lifestyle in Kos. Even when drachmas were tight, the sun and people’s happy faces more than compensated for it. As the weeks passed and the temperatures rose, the hotel got busier as all of Kos seemed to come alive. It was like being back in Chapel again with the weekly or fortnightly turnover of fresh blood, the only difference being the ones arriving here were pale and those heading home were tanned – or burnt.

As more tourists arrived, the harder the bars worked to get you in. There were some great offers on cocktails and beers, and I have to thank Stephen for not being slow in exposing me to this side of the island. There is nothing in the world better or more satisfying than being a mum. But at nineteen there was a part of me that was fulfilled just being out with people my own age, having a drink, having fun, having conversations with strangers you’d never see again. As Stephen said: ‘It’s all very well having lovely friends like Athena and her husband Dino, but they’re our parents’ age. You’re missing out. You need to be out with people as young as you.’

My only experience of clubs and bars had been when I was a schoolgirl. It made such a change to not have to lie about my age. I’d pretended to be eighteen then. Now I could go in with my head held high (and laugh at the dozens who were clearly underage).

In the space of four or five weeks I went from a timid little housewife to a fully rounded woman with my own personality. I really came out of myself. I acquired some confidence I never knew existed and, once or twice a week, I let my hair down, enjoyed the company of others and felt like Kerry Needham for once. I hadn’t felt this free since my days of boob tubes and braids, during my Madonna and Boy George phase.

I’m sure my happiness spread to my role as a mum. I’ve met so many parents who can’t help taking out their frustrations on their children. They feel held back somehow. I was lucky. I could indulge myself every now and then and know that Mum was looking after Ben with as much care as she’d ever looked after us.

Occasionally Mum and Dad went out as well. Normally this didn’t affect me. Ben and I would be at our apartment, none the wiser. But one day I arrived for dinner at the caravan as planned. I was on breakfast duty the next day, so Ben needed to be there overnight. When we arrived, everyone was rushing around and Mum announced she and Dad were going out straight after eating. Normally I would have gone back home, but she said would I mind stopping over? Obviously, I didn’t need to be asked twice. We had a lovely meal under the stars as usual, then I put Ben to bed and waved off my parents. The fact that Danny and Stephen went with them was the only thing that upset me.
I know I couldn’t go anyway, because of Ben, but my whole family’s having fun and they haven’t even invited me.

I reminded myself that I had my own family now and settled down for an early night myself. I don’t know how long had passed but it only felt like minutes till I heard Mum and Dad clattering back in. You never got privacy sleeping on the lounge beds but it was as though they were trying to wake me. I rolled over and looked at the bunch of gigglers in the doorway. It took a few seconds before I realised there was one too many.

‘Simon?’

‘Hello, Kerry. Surprised?’

So that was where they’d all gone – to pick Simon up from the airport. When my brain eventually woke up, I realised I was surprised: he’d done it. He’d cut our ties back home and come out to start life afresh with me and Ben. In other words, he’d put as much distance between him and his parents as I’d had between me and mine. I honestly never thought he would.

After showing Simon around our little corner of the island, we settled into a proper family life. Ben treated him as though he’d never been away. Like so many other things, he took Simon’s absence and sudden reappearance in his stride.

Confident that we were serious and happy about staying, Dad drove us about ten minutes away to a place called Kako Prinari – or the ‘Turkish village’ as it was known. A friend had a small apartment to rent at ‘mate’s rates’ and so for about 10,000 drachmas a month, we got our own little slice of paradise. It was virtually the extension to his friend’s house and it was very basic and small, but if it kept me in Kos then I was happy. There were three rooms – bedroom, living area and bathroom, all divided by a curtain rather than a wall – plus the smallest kitchen I’d ever seen, tacked onto the living space. It had a cooker with one ring
and a single baby saucepan. I couldn’t even comfortably warm a tin of soup on it. Mum’s kitchen in the caravan was bigger.

Size didn’t matter to Ben, or to the army of ants that marched through the apartment each day. Ben thought they were his pets. He loved scooting them along, saying, ‘Hurry up, hurry up,’ or letting them climb up his hand. I tolerated them until the day I realised they were pouring from the sink and the drawers, and even the cupboard where our food was stored.

Dad helped Simon get a job on a building site and we soon settled down to a proper family life. We both worked, Mum was on hand to look after Ben whenever necessary, and there were even times we could go out together at night. That was a treat we had never experienced when we lived in Sheffield.

Whether it was my new self-confidence or whether Simon felt out of his depth, the honeymoon period didn’t last long. He began arguing with his employers and was soon seeking a new position. Within a couple of weeks, the same thing happened again and suddenly he was out of work. That was the point at which he seemed to resent me going to Palm Beach every day. The more he sat at home twiddling his thumbs or – worse – looked after our son day after day – the greater the theories of what I got up to grew in his head. Especially when I didn’t return from an evening shift until midnight.

Almost inevitably, the arguments began. Although Simon started the fights, usually late at night when I came home, I admit I rarely bit my tongue. So what if he didn’t like being stuck with a child to look after? It was his child, and I’d done it for eighteen months. Now it was his turn.

I could see Simon wasn’t enjoying life in Kos as much as I was but I wasn’t prepared to compromise. I couldn’t be held responsible
for his failure to fit in. Still, I don’t think I realised how hard he was taking it. The crunch came when I was on an evening shift and I heard a commotion in the hotel foyer. With the open-plan layout, sounds carried, and I couldn’t help picking out Simon’s voice from the din. I also knew he was drunk.

By the time I had made my excuses to my colleague and run to reception he’d gone, but Manos, the manager – and the owner’s son – was nursing a sore nose and eye. Simon had accused him of having an affair with me. That’s what the fuss had been. Manos had laughed the accusation off, obviously, which had goaded Simon into punching him. He must have regretted it because he fled immediately. I tore out onto the road but there was no sign of him. He’d either sprinted away or was hiding. He clearly didn’t want to see me. At least, not the new, confident, self-sufficient me.

Simon arrived on the island on 12 June 1991. Within a month he was making plans to return to Sheffield. So much for our new life. But he hadn’t given up on us. He wanted Ben and me to accompany him. For all his stupid behaviour, I couldn’t bring myself to dismiss the idea out of hand.

‘If you go back, get yourself a job with prospects – none of your door-to-door selling, and you find us a home – a proper, decent, respectable home – and you call me, I will come back. But I’m not giving up this life for what we had before.’

I was firm. I was also convinced I’d set the bar so high I’d never hear from him again. And if he did achieve what I’d requested, well, I’d face that dilemma then.

Then, on 22 July I said, ‘See you later,’ to Simon and walked Ben to the caravan as usual. Mum drove Simon to the port and she
and Ben waved him off. As the ferry began its voyage to Athens I was probably serving a dozen
souvlaki
and chips. By the time I got home after the evening shift, he would have been back in the UK. I didn’t give it a second thought.

My concern, obviously, was Ben. I didn’t want to tell him Simon was gone for good so I explained that Daddy was popping home to see his brothers and sisters. That seemed to work. Walking to Mum’s over the next couple of days, Ben was as chipper as ever. I suppose Simon hadn’t been in his life as much as he could have been. It would have left a larger void for him if my own dad had disappeared.

Life very quickly settled back to normal. I didn’t work the evening shift on the 23rd so Ben and I stayed at the apartment together. In keeping with the Greek style of children staying up with their families till ten, eleven, even midnight, then catching up on sleep with afternoon siestas, Ben and I went to bed quite late. Normally, he wouldn’t stir till about eight or nine the next day. On this particular day, he decided to have a lie-in. For the afternoon shift I needed to be at Palm Beach by eleven, which meant leaving Ben at Mum’s thirty minutes earlier. That, as I looked at him dead to the world at half past nine, was looking less and less likely. Despite me making as much noise as possible as I showered and dressed, he somehow slept through.

When Ben eventually came to, the last thing on his mind was my time-keeping dilemma. The second he opened his eyes he just wanted to play and no amount of me asking him to get dressed had any effect. Even when I picked up his clothes for him, he ran off giggling around the other side of the bed. It wasn’t the hugest
flat in the world but when you’re chasing a toddler it could feel like it. I managed to pin Ben down and get a vest over his head and socks on his feet. By the time I pulled on his shorts the socks had been torn off. I gave it one more go then admitted defeat. It wouldn’t be the first time he just wore sandals without socks.

Obviously, that was the day Ben’s pushchair was at the caravan so I had no comeback when he demanded to ride on his bike instead. I was aware of the clock ticking away but what was being a few minutes late to work compared to the happiness of my son?

Ben’s bike was actually a tricycle which was still slightly too large for him. As his feet couldn’t quite reach the pedals, Dad had tied some rope to the handlebars so I could drag it along. Ben seemed happy enough with that, although typically this was the morning he saw more butterflies and crickets and cats and cows than usual, and he wanted to stop at every one. Eventually I realised there was no hurrying him that day so we arrived at the caravan after the time I was meant to already have left. It wasn’t the end of the world. It just meant I’d need to prepare the salads and crockery for the lunchtime snacks in half the time. I wasn’t going to skip breakfast with Mum and Ben for that.

I had a coffee and a happy fifteen minutes chatting while Ben tackled a boiled egg and bread soldiers. It was just as well he wasn’t dressed properly as most of it splattered everywhere apart from his mouth. Mum put a tea towel round his neck as a bib but that didn’t stop him smearing his whole face. And hands. And lap. He couldn’t have been happier, but I was glad I wouldn’t be tidying up.

Before I left I asked Mum what her plans for the day were.

‘Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking of visiting Athena. Or we might pop into town. I haven’t decided yet.’

‘Okay, well, have fun.’ I kissed her goodbye then tried to do the same to Ben without getting too much egg on my face. ‘Love you, both.’

Walking, I’d be half an hour late for work. If I ran, it would just be fifteen minutes. Electing for somewhere in between, I jogged along, smiling at the memory of Ben sitting with his tea towel bib and a big, yellow smile. If I’d known that would be my last memory of him I would have concentrated harder.

The day passed without incident. Manos had raised his eyebrows when I hurried in but nothing was said. The snack bar opened on time and my brother, Stephen, popped by in the afternoon for a swim in the hotel pool, then went over to have a drink with Martin at the bar. He often did that. By the time I nipped out for a dip between my shifts he had already left. I got dressed and waited on the tables in the restaurant as usual, then cleaned up. Afterwards, I went over to join Martin and Peter at the bar for my customary bottle of lager before making the journey home. Despite arriving late, it felt like a long day.

I’d barely taken a sip when I heard a commotion coming from inside the main hotel. For a second I thought it was Simon again. Then I remembered he was safely back in Sheffield. A moment later Jorgas, the night porter, came running out.

‘Kerry, Kerry, come, come!’

I put down my lager and pulled a face at Martin. Jorgas could really get on my case when he wanted to. No doubt I’d left an oven on or a pan not looking as spick and span as it needed to. As usual, I’d go over, take my punishment, then come back to finish my beer.

When I reached the main building, however, Jorgas led me past the restaurant and through to the brightly illuminated reception
area. The first thing I noticed was the two tall policemen standing by the desk. But they weren’t making the noise. That was my mother who was sobbing on the steps outside the door. She took one look at me and crumbled even more. That’s when I realised she and the police were together. My heart flew into my mouth. Had something happened to Dad or Stephen or Danny?

‘Mum, what is it? What’s going on?’

‘Kerry, it’s Ben.’

‘Ben?’ I asked. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that he could be in trouble. ‘What about him?’

‘He’s gone. Ben’s gone.’

She fell into my arms.

‘I’ve lost him.’