I slept on the beach that night, as I’d often done in the past, with only a kaftan, a hoody and my blow-up pillow for comfort. Star had thought I was nuts – ‘You’ll get bitten to death by mosquitoes,’ she’d commented whenever I’d trailed out of the room with my bedding. But somehow, with the moon and stars shining down on me, I felt more protected by the roof of the world than I would have done by anything man-made.
I was woken by a tickling on my face, and lifted my head to see a large pair of male feet marching past me towards the sea. Brushing away the sand they’d shed onto me, I saw that the beach was otherwise deserted, and by the look of the light beginning to spread across the horizon, it was just before dawn. Grumpy at being woken so early, I watched as the man – who had a beard and black hair scraped back in a ponytail that straggled out of the back of his baseball cap – reached the shore and sat down, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms folded around them. I turned over to try to get back to sleep – I got my best rest between four and ten a.m. – but my body and mind weren’t interested. So I sat up, assumed the same position as the man in front of me, and watched the sunrise with him.
Given the amount of exotic places I’d visited, I’d actually seen relatively few sunrises in my life, because it wasn’t my time of day. The magnificent, subtle hues of dawn breaking reminded me of a Turner painting, but far better in real life.
Once the sun’s performance was over, the man immediately stood up and walked away along the beach. I heard the faint chug of a long-tail boat in the distance, heralding the start of the human day. I stood up, deciding to retreat to my room to get some more sleep before the beach filled with outgoing and incoming passengers. Still, I thought, as I unlocked the door and lay down on my bed, it had been worth being woken up to see that.
*
Just as it always seemed to here, time slipped past without me really noticing. I’d agreed to Jack’s offer of helping him out at the rock-climbing school. I also went scuba diving, swimming alongside seahorses, tiger fish and black-tipped reef sharks who barely spared me a glance as they cruised through the corals.
Sunsets were spent chatting on mats on the beach, with the sound of Bob Marley in the background. I was pleasantly surprised by how many Railay residents remembered me from last year, and it was only when darkness fell and they were hanging out at the bar intent on getting drunk that I’d head back to my room. It didn’t feel too bad, though, because I was leaving them, not the other way around, and I could always go back and join them if I wanted to.
One thing that had really cheered me up was when I’d finally had the courage to turn on my mobile a day after I’d arrived, and I’d seen that Star had left me loads of texts saying things like, Where are you?, I’m so worried about you! and Please call me! There had also been a lot of voicemails from her, which mostly said that she was sorry over and over again. It had taken me a while to send a reply – not just because I was dyslexic, or because the predictive text function on my phone was even more hopeless at spelling than me, but because I didn’t know what to say.
In the end, I just said that I was fine, and apologised for not getting in touch sooner, because I’d been in transit. Which I had, from all sorts of stuff. She texted back immediately, saying how relieved she was that I was okay, and asking me where I was, and saying that she was sorry, again. Something stopped me from telling her my location. It was childish, but it was the only secret I had to keep. And she’d kept a lot from me lately.
*
I only realised I’d been in Railay for two weeks when Nam, the young Thai woman on the reception desk, who acted as though she owned the place, reminded me I had to check out today at noon.
‘Bugger,’ I said under my breath as I walked away, realising I’d have to spend the morning room-hunting.
I arrived back at the hotel a couple of hours later, having fruitlessly traipsed the length and breadth of Railay Beach in search of a bed for the night – like Mary on her donkey – to find Nam glaring at me again.
‘Maid need to clean room. New guest arrive at two p.m.’
‘I’m on my way,’ I said, wanting to tell her that actually, I could easily afford to book in at the five-star Rayavadee Hotel. If they actually had a room, which they didn’t, because I’d already checked. I stuffed everything into my rucksack, then dropped off the key to my room. I’ll just have to sleep under the stars for a few days until Christmas is over, I thought.
Later that evening, having eaten my bowl of pad thai, I saw Jack propping up the bar. He had an arm around Nam, which immediately explained her bad attitude towards me.
‘You found a room?’ Jack asked me.
‘No, not yet, but I’m fine sleeping on the beach for tonight.’
‘Listen, Cee, take mine, no worries at all. I’m sure I can find a bed for a few nights elsewhere.’ He nuzzled into Nam’s smug little shoulder.
‘Okay, thanks, Jack,’ I agreed swiftly, having spent the afternoon guarding my rucksack on the beach like it was the Holy Grail, and wondering how I could take a shower to wash the sand and salt off my skin. Even I needed the basics.
He dug in his pocket for the key and handed it to me, as Nam looked at me with disapproval. Following his directions up a flight of narrow stairs that led from reception, I opened the door and, apart from the smell of sweaty socks laced with a hint of damp towels, I was quite impressed – Jack had the best view in the building. And even better than that, a narrow wooden balcony, built out over the roof of the veranda below.
Locking the door, in case a drunk Jack forgot he’d loaned me his room, I took a shower, which had a far bigger and more powerful nozzle than the dribbles in the guest rooms below me. I put on a clean T-shirt and shorts and went to sit out on the balcony.
Close to Orion’s Belt, I saw the Seven Sisters stars clustered together. When Pa had first shown me my star through his telescope, he had seen that I was disappointed. It was the least bright, which just about said it all, and my mythological story seemed vague at best. Being so young, I’d wanted to be the shiniest, biggest star with the best story of all.
CeCe, he’d said, taking my small hands in his. You’re here on earth to write your own story. And I know you will.
As I stared at the star cluster, I thought of the letter Pa had written to me, which was given to me by Georg Hoffman, his lawyer, a few days after Pa had died.
Star had refused to open hers, but I’d been desperate to read mine. So I’d taken myself off into the garden and climbed into the branches of a magnificent old beech tree – the same tree I’d once fallen out of when I was small. I’d always felt safe up there, protected from view by its leafy branches. I’d often gone there to think, or to sulk, depending on the situation. Making myself comfortable on the wide bough, I’d torn open the letter.
Atlantis
Lake Geneva
Switzerland
My darling CeCe,