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28 News, Views & Sunshine TheCanaryNews.com El Periódico Inglés de Gran Canaria Summer 2014 Part Four That first day in Gran Canaria. There was I, the new girl, new to the office, new to the island, far from home. There was Gavin, one of the bosses, some fifteen years older than me, though his hair flopped soft on his forehead like a boy’s. His blue eyes gleamed as he narrowed them to study me. He treated me to his lop-sided smile. My knees quivered, as tremulous as jelly struck by a spoon. Gavin took it on himself to be my guide and organised a series of trips to introduce me to the island. Trip one: a perilous drive around mountainous tracks to a small café perched high up on a rock, where we shared delicious snacks of tiny fish, jamón serrano, queso tierno and sweet gold-coloured wine. We drank out of the same glass. Muy cariñoso. Trip two: a boat trip around the island, one arm placed loosely round my shoulders, the other pointing out landmarks: barren, rocky outcrops in the West; long sandy coast with curving dunes in the South; the imposing peninsula of Las Palmas in the North and fierce waves pounding against dark rocks in the North West. I had to take deep breaths to tell myself this wasn’t a dream. Trip three, or maybe four or five: something happened that changed everything. The scene: a secluded northern beach, the breakers a challenge. Throwing my arms high above my head, I propelled myself high into the air to scale a roaring wall of water. I didn’t stand a chance. The breaker battered me into submission and I landed, reeling, on shifting sand. Another massive roller hurled me upwards and away, far out to sea. Exhilarating. Dangerous. Dragged into a downward spiral under the sun-speckled ocean, my body loose, my head light, I sank into the cool, deep belly of the ocean. Unwinding at last from the tensions that had caused me to run away from England and seek a new life on this island, I spun down and down…. I rose up, laughing, free, water spluttering from my mouth. With strong, sure strokes, Gavin, raced to my side, took firm hold of the back of my neck and shoulders and towed this saturated rag-doll to the shore, lay me down gently and gave me the kiss of life. And very life giving it was, I must say…. In this manner, Gavin appropriated me and made me his own. From then on lunch hours and some evenings were spent in the intimacy of my flat. My bijou residence became a love nest. He wasn’t the only one who appropriated me. A Scottish woman called Queenie made it her mission to instruct me in the ways of the world. Or at least in the ways of expatriates in Gran Canaria. I was grateful for her friendship. She was serving tea and cakes at the church bazaar when she first caught sight of me. Handing over her post as tea lady to a somewhat intimidated fellow helper, she sat me down on a bench in the church garden and interrogated me. What was I, a single woman, doing on this island alone and why hadn’t she seen me in church? She was a few years older than me, tall, imposing, somewhat formidable. I felt obliged to answer. I told her about my mother’s prolonged illness and subsequent death and how I felt I had to get right away and start life afresh. An advertisement in The Times for a secretarial position in the English section of the docks in Las Palmas provided me with the ideal opportunity. Next thing I knew I was on my way to Gran Canaria. I also explained that I didn’t go to church because I was angry with God for taking my mother away from me. These things I told her. Others I kept to myself. ‘The only way to get rid of your anger is to pray,’ was Queenie’s answer. ‘You should come to church with me next Sunday. Make it a habit. Apart from anything else, St. Margaret’s is a good place to meet people. If you attend regularly, chances are you’ll meet a nice young man here and get married.’ I didn’t tell her that I’d already met a nice man. Something might be spoilt if I talked about Gavin to a third party. Queenie didn’t talk about her personal life either. It wasn’t until weeks later, at the Anglo Club, that she introduced me to her husband. Betrayed by Jeannie van Rompaey Continued next edition. Find more from the author on JeannievanRompaey.co.uk Previous chapters of Betrayed can be found on our website: TheCanaryNews.com/Writing