Love Your Life(16)

“I intended to learn Italian before I came out here,” I say regretfully. “But there isn’t time for everything….Do you speak any other languages?”

“I try,” says Dutch. “But they don’t stick.”

    He sounds so unapologetic, I can’t help smiling. A lot of people would resort to bullshit at that point, but not him.

I follow him down a stony path to a little rocky cove with a pebbly beach and the clearest aquamarine water I’ve ever seen. There aren’t any sun beds or beach bars; it’s not that kind of place. The beachgoers are mostly older Italian women, sitting on towels with scarves protecting their hair, and clutches of shouting teenagers.

On either side of the cove are rocky cliffs, and there are teenagers at every level, climbing, sunbathing, smoking, and drinking beer. As I scan the scene, a girl in a red bikini hurls herself off a rocky outcrop, screeching and fist-pumping the air before plummeting into the sea. A moment later, she’s followed by a teenage boy, who jumps with flailing legs and lands with a massive splash.

They skirmish in the water for a moment, then he holds her bikini top up out of the water with a triumphant yell, while the girl laughs hysterically. His audience of teenagers on the rocks bursts into cheers, and Dutch gives me a wary glance.

“It wasn’t quite this wild yesterday,” he says. “We could find somewhere quieter.”

“No, I like it.” I smile at him. “It feels…you know. Real. Wow,” I add, watching another girl leaping off the rocky ledge. “That’s high.”

“It’s fun.”

“You did that?”

“Of course.” He laughs at my expression. “I mean, it’s safe. Water’s deep. You want to have a go?”

    “Er…sure!” I say, before I can think whether this is a good idea or not. “Why not?”

We find an empty patch on the pebbly beach and I take off my caftan, sucking in my stomach as I do so. Although I’m careful not to look in his direction, I can sense Dutch checking me out in my swimsuit. It’s black and low cut and I know it’s a sexy number because Russell used to call it Instant—

No. I stop my own thoughts abruptly. I’m not thinking about Russell. Why would I recall an obnoxious ex-boyfriend at this moment?

I fold up my caftan, demurely looking away from Dutch as he strips off but also managing to sneak some glances at him. He’s in navy swim shorts and clearly visits the gym. His thighs are muscled, and he has a hairy chest. I like a hairy chest.

I feel a trickle of sweat on my forehead and wipe it away. It’s even more baking down here than it was on the cliff, and the splashing of the waves is unbelievably inviting.

“It’s hot,” I say, and Dutch nods.

“We should get in the water. You want to…?” He gestures at the rock-jumpers, and my stomach flickers with nerves. I’d be quite happy paddling. But I’m not admitting that, so I say, “Of course!” and Dutch grins.

“Cool. This way.”

He leads me to a tortuous path, looping back and forth up the side of the cliff. We clamber up craggy rocks, past caves, pausing once or twice to let rowdy groups of teenagers rush past us. As we finally emerge at the rocky ledge and look down at the white-flecked water below, I feel elation and terror, all at once.

    “Ready?” Dutch gestures at the edge, and I laugh nervously.

There’s a guy of about twenty standing behind us, not hiding his impatience, and I step aside. We both watch as he takes a good run-up, leaps off the cliff, and plummets into the blueness below.

“Long way down,” I say, trying to sound conversational rather than petrified.

“That’s what makes it fun,” says Dutch with enthusiasm.

“Definitely!” I nod several times, then add casually, “I mean, there’s a line between ‘fun’ and ‘terrifying.’?”

Dutch laughs. “Yup.” Then his expression suddenly changes to one of concern. “Wait. Are we over that line for you? Sorry. I dragged you up here. I don’t know where your limits are.”

I can sense him suddenly thinking, I don’t know this person at all; why am I encouraging her to jump off a cliff?

“You want to go down a level?” he adds, standing aside to let a group of three teenagers jump off. “We can do that.”

For an instant I’m tempted. But then I recall what he said the other day: “Sometimes it’s good to step outside your comfort zone.”

“I don’t know,” I say, staring at the glittering sea, feeling a stab of frustration at myself. “I don’t not want to do it. I think I’m finding out where my limits are.”

“OK,” says Dutch cautiously. “Well, where are you right now?”

    “I want to do it,” I say, trying to convince myself as much as him. “It’s just…how many feet is that?”

“Don’t get hung up on those kinds of thoughts,” says Dutch reassuringly. “Just think about the excitement. The rush.”

“Uh-huh.” I nod. His words are helping. Although I’m still not moving toward the edge.

“I saw two little kids in a playground once,” Dutch continues. “One was psyching himself up to go on the monkey bars and his friend was trying to help him. He said, ‘You learn by scaredness.’ I’ve never forgotten it.”