Monday, August 28
the beginning 1
I had been living in Pos for two months, and working in an art gallery, six days a week. The best thing about the job was the 3 hour lunch breaks. It was early May, warm enough to dig my bikini out of the cupboard and lay on the beach. But I had the 'first day in a bikini nerves', I was winter white and didn't want anybody to see me that way. It was 1999 and fake tanning creams were not an option. They hadn't advanced enough to give an even glow, rather they left nasty smelling orange streaks on the skin. I would have to sunbathe in secret for a few days, before going public!
I closed up the gallery and walked down to the local deli to pick up a sandwich and an iced tea. Nibbling on a piece of fresh parmeggiano that had been thrust into my hand by the shopkeeper, I headed over to the far end of the beach, to a little inlet where I could sunbathe in private. Stretching out on the sand, I closed my eyes and thought of my ex-colleauges in London, imagining how envious they would be if they could see me now. I could hear the far off sound of children shreiking and splashing in the water, small waves lapping gently against the shore, the hum of far off outboard motors, and then, the sound of oars paddling close by.
How annoying! In my mind I had claimed this part of the beach as my own private area. Who was this person that dared to enter into my zone? I opened my eyes to see what looked like a cross between an advert for a Brut aftershave and a re-enactment of the 'wading out of the water' scene from that James Bond film. A well built, suntanned man was rowing towards me on a white surfboard, as if it were a canoe. He had shoulder length, wavy black hair and asian eyes, he looked Polynesian rather than Italian. He slid off the surfboard and waded onto the beach, dragging the board onto the sand.
I would have liked to hide, or at least cover myself, but there was nothing to hand. I didn't want anyone to see me in all my whiteness, especially guys like this one! He looked as if he was a typical Italian playboy, probably had all the girls falling at his feet and probably had a different girl every week. I looked at him critically, noticing that his stomach wasn't washboard flat. Ha! I thought, he's not perfect. I was surprised that he wasn't wearing a gold medallion. I don't think he really noticed me, he must have been blinded by my whiteness. He smiled vaguely in my direction and walked on by.
I didn't know it then, but that was the first time I saw the man who would become the father of my child.
at 11:49 AM