Never Ending by Martyn Bedford Read Free Book Online Page A

holidaymakers – mostly German and British, by the sound of it – had formed, ready to board. Shiv, Mum, Dad and Declan tagged on to the end.
    “ Poseidon IV ,” Dad said, reading the name on the far-from-gleaming-white hull. “I don’t like to ask what happened to the first three.”
    The Brits in the group laughed.
    The smell of salt, seaweed and fish was pungent but not unpleasant. A breeze would have been good though. Even through rubber flip-flops, Shiv felt the heat of the boards boring into her feet. Gulls shrieked and the mooring posts creaked as Poseidon IV shifted on the swell. At the back of the boat, an oldish bloke (a sea-dog cliché, with wrinkled nut-brown skin, shaggy dark hair and beard) was doing things with ropes. Towards the front, facing away from the waiting tourists, a much younger guy sorted masks and flippers into two large plastic tubs. He was tall and broad, the thin yellow cotton of his polo shirt drawn taut across his shoulders as he arranged the snorkelling kit with easy efficiency. Shiv caught herself staring at his calves, the muscles flexed beneath bronzed skin as he braced himself against the roll and pitch of the deck.
    “Welcome, welcome!” This was the beardy one, who’d finished with the ropes and was doing the smiley, meet-and-greet thing. “You folk ready to see some turtles?”
    He pronounced it with a “d” in the middle.
    “Turdles?” Declan whispered, raising an eyebrow at Shiv.
    “Baby turds,” she whispered back. “They’re surprisingly cute.”
    The boatman received a self-conscious chorus of yesses. “ OK .” He offered a hand to the first of the passengers. “Please, sir. Be careful when you step, yeah?”
    Shiv had stopped paying attention because the young guy was making his way to the rear of the boat to join in helping people aboard. The curly black hair, the brown eyes, the slim hips, the sinuous grace of his movements. He looked eighteen or nineteen, she reckoned, but … wow!
    As the queue shuffled forward, she was tempted to position herself so he’d be the one to take her hand as she stepped off the jetty, and they’d lock gazes … but, no. They were going to be on the boat together for the next three hours, so there was no need to be too obvious. Not so soon, anyway. She got in line for Old Beardy. Smiled and said thank you as he helped her aboard. Sat down with the others. Posed for the first of the photos Mum would take during the trip. And, the whole time, Shiv didn’t catch the young guy’s eye or even glance in his direction.
    Old Beardy was Panos; the younger one was Nikos. Father and son. Panos skippered the boat out to sea, while Nikos looked after the front-of-house stuff: taking the money, health-and-safety announcements, the sightseeing spiel. His English was very good. For his age, he had so much confidence and charm. The nice kind. Not the flirty, sleazy self-assurance of a guy too aware of how attractive he is. Male or female, young or old, each passenger received the same open smile, the same warm tone. To the children he was a fun-loving entertainer, while with the pensioner couple from Kent ( We’re here for turtles , not snorkelling ), Nikos was solicitous and respectful.
    The only awkward moment came when he remarked on Declan’s T-shirt (the Salinger one, again) and asked him to display the quotation to the other passengers.
    “Any friend of J.D.’s is a friend of mine,” Nikos said, offering a handshake. But Dec just flushed several shades of red and, for once, was lost for words.
    As for Shiv, Nikos paid her no more or less attention than anyone else.
    For a while, during the turtle-watching, she almost forgot about him. Along with everyone else, Shiv was transfixed by the strangely beautiful creatures – whether she was scanning the sea for a glimpse of a reptilian head breaking the surface, or gazing into the shimmering depths as a turtle glided beneath the boat’s glass bottom.
    After lunch, Poseidon IV sailed