life behind a lens

chapter twelve

I lie back and close my eyes, letting the sounds of the waves wash steadily over me. We're on the beach again, and I'm glad. Our escapades in Spain have been enough to wear me out, and it's also the last full day we have here.

Gulls caw overhead, and the baking sun warms my face, arms and legs. Sitting up, I gaze around me at the beach scene. The splashing sound of the water alerts me to a group of young children playing in the water.

My old and new friends are spread out across the sand, lying there in peaceful exhaustion. Who can blame them? Longing to be back at sea, I start to walk down to the foaming edges of waves.

The warm sand is smooth textured against my bare feet. I glance downwards as my foot brushes against a shell. It's a beautiful one, the swirls seem almost etched into its outside. I bend down to pick it up, and admire its intricate pattern. Still holding the shell, I traipse to the edge of the water. I let it wash over my ankles, the waves gently cooling me down.

Staring at myself in the sea, I realise how much I have changed for the better since coming on this trip. My normally mousey brown hair has been bleached almost blonde in the blinding suns of Spain, and now resembles a haystack in comparison to its usual straightness. My skin has been tinged a dark bronzy brown, and my blue eyes are no longer outlined with dark shadows. Instead they sparkle happily in the sunlight, and freckles show up on my cheeks. I'm not sure I will be able to ever leave here.

***

Back at the holiday house, I flick through my many photos of our holiday trip. Around me everyone waits tiredly for the buses to arrive. A soothing breeze flows through the opened sliding glass doors, which overlook the view from the balcony.

White curtains sway rhythmically in the soft wind, and a piercingly bright sun ever shines down. When I finally find my first photo of the trip, I settle down to watch the slideshow setting on my camera.

There's the house, I think. And the flowers outside on the balcony. Picture after picture slides into the frame, and I can hardly stop to recognise each one.

The balcony view, a close up of the plants and palm trees, Becky and Lily laughing in the room, the dusty roads of Costa Brava, a portrait shot of the quaint town of Figueres, a beautiful sunset landscape on the beach, ripples in the water and clear blue skies.

The pictures are gone in just a blur. Before long, the buses arrive and we are all scrambling on to the seats.

Only I am the one holding back.

Saying a sad little goodbye to Gwen and her friends, I board the London Photography Academy's coach.

We have promised each other that we will meet up sometime in the remainder of the summer holidays. Back in the bus seat, starting to fall asleep, I stare out the window, landscapes flying past. It has been a good two weeks here in Spain, but I wish we didn't have to leave.

Passing the border into France, I stifle a yawn as I see a couple of petrol stations through the window. All I can think of, as I close my eyes, is how lucky I am to be able to live the life I do.