One Summer In Gozo

By Richard Samulis

Following the death of his wife, a retired Australian research scientist nicknamed Fletch decides to get away from it all and heads off to an extended summer holiday on the Mediterranean idyll of Gozo, Malta, with the intention of scuba diving and doing some historical sightseeing. His holiday begins with a minor hiccup but things quickly get ba

• Language: English
• Publisher: CROOK BOOKS
• Release date: Aug 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9780994386755

Book preview

1

I didn’t see it start.  I was sitting on a bench watching a small group of tourists laughing and chatting amongst themselves, quite excitedly.  New arrivals, I guessed.  There was no warning, no build up.  Just a sudden scream ringing out above the laughter.  My eyes homed in on the source, less than ten metres away.  People were scattering to get out of the way of a pair of brawlers, so I jumped to my feet in case the fight spilled over towards me.  One man, quite overweight, with a shaved, tattooed head, was trying to punch a slender youth, over and over, but the young lad ducked and weaved and easily avoided the punches.  Then others stepped in to grab the aggressor, shouting at him in what I took to be Russian.  They overwhelmed him with their weight, and he was suddenly on his stomach on the tarmac.  As quickly as he seemed to blow up, his anger evaporated, and he started talking calmly to the men pinning him down.  They looked a rough lot too, not to be messed with.  And now he was pleading, almost whining.  After a moment they helped him up, and led him away like an obedient puppy, staggering as he went.  Obviously drunk.  I looked at my watch.  Ten thirty-five in the morning.  Say no more…..

With the excitement over, I sat down again.   My ice cream was melting in the rising heat of the morning and dribbling onto my hand.  A few drops had spilled onto my shorts.  I cursed and licked the cone all around, then tried to wipe my shorts clean with a tissue that they served me with the ice cream. It wasn’t working.  I glanced back to the fight scene again.  The young lad stood rooted to the spot, looking dismayed and unsure of what to do next.  Now that I could get a good look at him, he was younger than I first thought; perhaps fourteen.  He had long, wavy black hair, striking grey-green eyes and his skin was olive, with a sun-weathered look to it.  He was wearing jeans, sandals and a black T-shirt with some sort of large grey logo on the front.  I guessed he was a local.  Then I noticed that his right eye was swelling rapidly and turning a bright pink.  I had thought he had managed to evade the Russian’s punches, but he must have taken an early hit, poor bugger.  He was probably concussed and in need of some attention, so I got to my feet again to go and help.

Close to him, a mum was hugging her teenage daughter reassuringly.  Well, I kind of knew they were mother and daughter, though they were not particularly alike.  You can tell these things.  The pair would have been right next to the action ― and very lucky not to have been knocked in the scuffle.  The mum glanced at me as I approached and then turned to the boy.  A look of concern came over her face and she said something to him.  Her daughter, no more than eighteen, now turned to him too, and also said something to him.  The mum placed her hand on the boy’s face, looked at his eye, and spoke again.  The boy shook his head.  I was tossing up as to whether he still needed my help.  I decided I should at least offer it, but I was too slow off the mark.  The lad was wandering off now, and the women were impassively watching him go — so I went back to my bench and sat down again to finish what was left of my ice cream, watching the women with an idle interest.

It was a fair guess that they had just arrived in Xlendi, because after a moment they walked over to examine a pile of suitcases and backpacks which had just been unloaded from a bus.  The pile was on the pavement at the bottom of a rather grand set of steps which led up to the front doors of the San Gwann Hotel.  I took a good look at them as they searched for their luggage.  The girl was a very attractive strawberry blonde, with a fair complexion and freckles, punctuated by her hazel eyes.  I could tell that she had an athletic build even though it was well disguised by her very loose-fitting linen shirt and trousers.  Her mother had dark hair cut into a practical but stylish short bob.  Her figure was quite curvaceous, and she wasn’t shy about showing it off.  No loose clothes for her.

The girl soon spotted their luggage and for a moment they evaluated their options before deciding to struggle with their items up the steps.  I was halfway to my feet to help them with that, but I was beaten to it by a hotel porter in uniform who hurried out of the front doors to relieve them of the effort.  It seemed to be my day to be too sluggish by half.  The three of them disappeared into the hotel’s depths.

So I sat down yet again.  By now, my ice cream was turning into a real mess, so I gave up on it.  I got up again and walked towards a rubbish bin as I lobbed it in from a distance, just for fun.  My aim was good.  I wiped my hands and dropped the tissue in after it.

This was only the fourth day of my holiday on the island of Gozo, and it really was ground zero — the day everything began — though I had no inkling of what was ahead.

It sounds a bit early to be talking about new habits, but I had slipped into a couple since I arrived.  Because the holiday atmosphere in the square in front of the hotel was quite seductive, each morning I would treat myself to an ice cream from a little shop right next to the San Gwann Hotel.  The square was really more of a car park, but it served as the main arrival point into the tiny seaside-holiday village of Xlendi (which I quickly found out is pronounced as ‘Shlen-dee’).  Steep hills hemmed it in to the north and south, so arriving traffic came in on the valley road on the eastern side, which was the main route in from Victoria, the capital of Gozo.  The San Gwann Hotel dominated the western end of the square, presiding majestically over everything and everyone before it, despite being sandwiched between a hotchpotch of lesser buildings.  A pair of roads led around this group of buildings at either side of the hotel, both leading to the harbourfront, where an array of restaurants could be found.  Crowded onto the opposite side of each road was an eclectic collection of tourist businesses including a scuba dive shop.  Several rows of palms in the car park gave the square a certain exotic charm, with a few public benches here and there completing the picture.  So I’d sit and enjoy my ice cream, do some people-watching and just let the general ambience flow over me.

The other habit I had developed was dining each evening under the shade of an umbrella at an open-air harbourside restaurant ― I would choose one of several that ran along the edge of a low rough-stone seawall.  There were no real boundaries between the restaurants — each started where the previous one stopped — but you could easily discern which was which from the change in the style of furniture.  So far I had tried three of them, and the food had been uniformly excellent — especially the fish.  The idea was that the waiter brought a platter of different varieties of fresh fish caught that day and you chose which one you fancied and how you wanted it cooked.  When it was ready, the waiter came to your table, de-boned in front of you and served it.  Once I’d tried it, I was very tempted to have fish for every meal.  It really was excellent!  And I’ve got to say the waiters were faultlessly efficient.

But of course the whole damned world knew about it, and I realised on my first day that even this early into the season ― at the beginning of summer ― all of the restaurants filled up quickly, including one belonging to the hotel.  So from then on I arrived early to make sure I could get a table against the seawall, where I could watch the wild fish swimming in the crystal clear waters of the harbour just a few feet below.

At first I felt just a bit embarrassed that I took up a whole valuable table on my own.  But I soon got into the swing of things, and the waiters seemed happy to shuffle the tables and chairs around to suit, and when all was said and done, I did need to eat somewhere and my money is as good as the next man’s.

So that evening I went down early in a mellow mood, claimed my table, and relaxed with a cold beer for starters.  The restaurant filled rapidly, and it wasn’t very long before I spotted the same mother and daughter sauntering along, searching for a table.  They stopped quite close to me, looking around when a waiter intercepted them.  He apologetically explained that there would be a wait of at least forty-five minutes for a table.  The women looked around, deflated, and I followed their gaze.  All of the other restaurants looked equally full.  On the spur of the moment I got the mother’s attention, and invited them both to join me at my table.

She was taken aback at first, fixing me with a slightly confused look in her dark brown eyes, but the daughter grinned and thanked me profusely, so it was a done deal.  The waiter said One moment, please, and went to get a couple of extra chairs and place settings.  After being seated, the mother introduced herself as Heather Long, and her daughter as Grace.  I replied with, Delighted to meet you both.  I’m Fred Fletcher.  But call me ‘Fletch’.  Most people do.

Judging by their pale, smooth skin, their pink cheeks and their accents, it was pretty obvious that they were English, though I had no idea exactly where in England they were from.  Heather looked about forty years old.  Up close, she was very attractive with an intelligent, professional air about her.  Her skin was strikingly smooth, all peaches and cream.  As I’d thought when I first set eyes on them, it was not self-evident that Heather was Grace’s mother as far as their looks went.  Grace seemed to be a very self-assured and enthusiastic young lady, but at the same time I felt there was an underlying tinge of sadness and restraint about her, as though she was putting a brave face on things and forcing herself to be gregarious.  She blurted out, Are you from Australia? and I chuckled as I replied, Is it that obvious?  Grace smiled and said, I haven’t met many real Australians, so it’s funny that you sound like one … I mean it’s funny that you sound like they do in movies. Heather stepped in with, Don’t mind Grace, she’s probably had too sheltered a life, as she smiled lovingly at her daughter.  Grace rolled her eyes and forced a straight face to hide the pleasure she took in her mother’s attention.  But I saw.  It was nice.

Heather said, Have you just arrived in Gozo?  You must be quite jet lagged.  The truth is, I was a bit, but I explained to them that my strategy was to force myself to stay awake until at least ten o’clock, to resist sleeping during the day, and after a few days, I usually feel fine.  I added, You’re probably not lagged at all — I’d reckon you’re both English, am I right?  Heather nodded, but did not seem to be about to elaborate, so I told them I’d seen them at the fight scene that morning.  She immediately opened up.  Oh yeah, that poor young lad.  He’s just a child.  Really!  I don’t know what he did to upset that drunken slob, but he didn’t deserve to be attacked like that.  He took quite a punch to his face.  I tried to convince him to see a doctor, but I don’t know if he did or not.  He insisted he was fine, and wouldn’t accept any help.  But really, he was a long way from being fine.  His eye was swelling up fast.  I do hope he’s alright.  That man should be arrested before he does serious harm to someone.

Grace tossed her strawberry hair away from her face as she chimed in dismissively. I think the boy was a local.  His parents will look after him.  We don’t have to worry.  I smiled to myself at her bluntness, but it was a bit of a conversation killer.  We were silent for a while, so the women took the opportunity to read the menu.  The waiter took their drinks order.  As I watched them, I realised that the sadness I had sensed in Grace was also there in Heather, and I knew it would dampen things down unless I made an effort to keep the conversation going.  So I asked what brought them to Gozo.  They looked at each other for a moment. Heather raised her eyebrows and with a small shrug, said, I’m afraid we lost Grace’s father recently.  A traffic accident.  So we’re having a bit of mother-daughter time.

Oh bugger!  That threw me off balance.  It was not at all what I had expected to hear.

Oh, I’m very sorry. I offered, groaning to myself that I’d hit on a sensitive topic so damned soon.  I added, I didn’t mean to intrude.  Heather rushed to reassure, looking straight into me with her deep brown eyes.  Oh, no, no.  It’s quite alright, Fletch.  We do need to talk about it sometimes.  We can’t pretend it hasn’t happened.  Life goes on, and we just have to deal with it as best we can.  Tears welled up in Grace’s eyes, but her mother seemed much more stoic.  People deal with grief in different ways.

Heather diverted the conversation and politely asked me what had brought me to Gozo.  My heart sank and I felt apologetic as I told her, Oh, similar cause, I’m sorry to say.  I lost my wife to breast cancer recently, so I’m on my own now.  We don’t have any kids, and I’m retired.  I was in a rut and needed to get out of myself.  They both showed immediate sympathy, and I was surprised to feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards them, after so many months of being on my own.  It hit me how much I was missing her.  I’m not sure you would describe my marriage as perfect exactly, like any marriage I guess, but I loved her and it was almost unbearably painful to lose her.  I often felt acute pangs of loneliness and emptiness.  But nonetheless I’d say I’m fundamentally quite a happy person, and now having lost her I was gradually trying to relax and appreciate my new-found freedom.

Grace asked how long it was since she had died.  I told them it had been eight months.  She said quietly, Oh, about the same time as Dad went.  How old was she?  I told her sixty-seven.  Oh, she was fairly old then I suppose.  Well, a lot older than Dad, anyway.  That felt like a bitter-sweet comment, but I protected her feelings and told her that my wife Beverly could really have done with another twenty years, but it was not to be.  Grace looked away as a couple of tears rolled down her cheek.  She wiped them off her freckles with the back of her hand and said, Sorry.  Don’t mind me.  I realised that I might have been a bit insensitive, so I added, I’m sure your dad could have done with a lot longer than twenty years more.  She turned and locked her eyes with mine, and half smiled.  Then she twitched her nose to one side, as though she were trying to clear an itch.  We were silent for a moment, until she broke the sombre mood by forcing a full smile and asking, But how did you finish up here in Xlendi?  I would have thought there are lots of fascinating places to go in Australia.  It looks really awesome in all the travel programs and documentaries I’ve seen.  She impressed me with her sudden self-possession.  I thought it betrayed a great inner strength.

I replied, Oh, look, I just needed to get away.  Escape the Aussie winter.  I decided to take a holiday a million miles away from home, preferably somewhere exotic in Europe with plenty of history to keep me occupied, but not too big and noisy and crowded.  And I wanted a place where there was good scuba diving.  Grace broke in with, Oh, are you a scuba diver?  Cool! I’ve sometimes dreamed of what it must be like to be underwater with lots of fishes floating around.  I love being in the water, especially in places like this where it’s all so warm and clear and blue.

Well, why the hell not? I replied, You could learn while you’re here.  It only takes a few days to do a course.  Then you’d be a certified diver and free to join group dives.  The boats go out from here all the time to different dive sites, and there are lots of shore diving spots.  I’m planning on doing my fair share.

Grace looked at Heather with a questioning look, and Heather responded with an expression that said, ‘Maybe. It’s something to think about’.  I suggested that Heather might like to do it too, and she shrieked and said, You know, I just might.  How hard is it?  Her laugh was a thing to behold, all dimples and rows of perfect teeth.

For a pair of fit young girls like you, not too hard at all if you’re comfortable being in the water, I grinned back.  It’s a great thing to do, even if you only do it on holiday.  I would think that diving in English waters might be a bit challenging after Gozo, but a lot of people only ever dive while they’re on holiday.  The women glanced at each other, smiling.  My compliment to Heather did not go unappreciated, and they were obviously tempted.  I added, I’m planning on going in to the dive shop to talk about booking a few dives.  Why don’t you come with me?  I can fill you in on what to ask, and they’ll be happy to explain the training programmes they offer.  It will be a combination of learning the theory, doing some training in the water and passing the tests.  I’ve already seen them training in the harbour in front of the hotel where it’s nice and calm and shallow.

Heather made up her mind, and said, Yeah, yes, OK, that would be really nice.  Thank you.  Perhaps tomorrow sometime?  I replied, Sure thing, I’ve got no plans, so I’ll keep my eye out for you.

Grace was grinning ear to ear, as she said, Hey, that’s awesome.  Thanks so much.  She looked at her mum as she devilishly added as an afterthought, And thanks for paying, Mum!  I can’t wait.  Heather smiled to herself and shook her head slowly as if to say, ‘don’t I always …?’  Then Grace asked me, So did you know about Xlendi beforehand?  Is it really good to dive here?

No to the first question and yes, I hope so to the second, I replied, I did an online search looking at different places around the Mediterranean, and came across Malta, which seemed to fit the bill nicely, so I kept researching and Gozo really appealed.  I read a few reviews and they all said the diving here is really good.  I don’t know anyone who’s dived here to ask first hand.  But I know that most of the dive sites in Malta are off Gozo rather than the main island of Malta.  And as well as that, it seemed to me that Gozo would be a bit quieter than the main island, but still with plenty to do and see, and it turns out that I was right!  I love wandering around wherever my feet take me, looking at local architecture and trying local cuisine, and this seems a great place to do just that.  And I like the fact that it’s only a short ferry ride to the big island, so it’s going to be easy enough to do day trips to see Malta as well.  Anyway, once I’d plumped for Gozo, I looked at getting a hotel deal for the summer, preferably near a dive shop, and that’s how I finished up here at the San Gwann.  My room’s just up there, with a balcony overlooking the harbour.  It’s very clean and comfortable; no doubt the same as yours.  It’s really something here, isn’t it?  Grace furrowed her brow for a moment, and then piped up.  How on earth did you know we’re staying at the San Gwann Hotel?  I explained that I’d seen them going to check in after the fight.  They both locked eyes and smiled at each other as if to say, ‘Obvious really’.

Heather quizzed me as to whether I was intending to be in Gozo all summer, and I confirmed that I was.  She surmised, You must be retired then.  I nodded, so she asked what I had done for work.  I replied, Oh, I guess you’d call me a research scientist.  I worked for government organisations for most of my career.  Materials research — mostly metallic alloys, but I also spent some years on plastics and composites.  Probably not very interesting to most people, but I loved it.  It was a good career.  Her eyes glazed over slightly as she heard this, but then she flashed a broad smile and said that we would all probably be seeing each other around the place, as they had similar plans for the summer.  The more I looked at Heather the more I realised just how attractive she was, with quite classical features, nothing out of place and nothing too extreme.  The sort of face that gives the initial impression of being plain, but is actually quite perfect.  Her flawless skin and shiny, healthy brown hair rendered her beauty complete.  If I’d been twenty years younger … but she would probably have found me too boring.

I asked why they had chosen Gozo, and she smiled at Grace as she said, Well, I actually chose to come back to Xlendi specifically.  My husband and I honeymooned here.  We stayed in the same hotel, though everything has changed a lot now.  The hotel was quite new then and a lot of these other buildings weren’t here at the time.  She made a sweeping gesture to indicate the many medium rise buildings about.  She looked wistful, hesitated for a moment, looked back at Grace, and added, Grace was conceived here in Xlendi, so the place has a special meaning for us.  The subject of her conversation rolled her eyes and gently shook her head dismissively.

It struck me that Heather was very young to be taking such a long time off work, so I asked what she did for a living. She replied, I’m a marketing manager.  I’ve always worked for American IT companies.  When my husband Vic was killed, we struggled on for a while, but luckily…  She stopped herself for a moment, grimaced, and then continued, "Oh, forgive me ... it sounds terrible to talk about luck….but he was driving to a meeting, so it was ‘during the course of his employment’ as they say, so it was lucky that there was a lot of financial compensation.  Big insurance payouts and so on, so I’m now financially secure enough to