She gives me a look. “I am English, babe.”
Great. “Did you see the driver leave us?”
“Yeah. Happens all the time here. He’d finished his shift probably. A new driver will be along at some point.”
“Ok… Like soon?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes. Sometimes not.”
I gawp at her. “You’re so chilled.”
“Yeah. Not in a rush, am I?”
“Right. Ok. Thanks then,” I say, climbing back onto the coach.
I check the time again only to feel a splash of rage when I see my phone, which I’ve barely touched today, is already on 25 per cent battery. It was fully charged a matter of hours ago. Why do they do this? One minute they’re fine and thriving, the next minute they’re on a rapid descent into decay.
“What’s the situation?” Gus asks.
“My phones dying.”
“Again? You need a new phone.”
“No. Really?”
He runs his tongue over his top teeth to bypass a grin. “That wasn’t the situation I was asking about.”
“Oh, the driver has just left us here. I guess he only drives it so far. That girl I spoke to seems to think they’ll be another driver along soon.”
“It’s going to get hot in here without the air-con on.”
I roll my head back and close my eyes to think a minute, my shoulders creeping higher with tension. It’s twelve fifteen. The bus left Split five minutes late at five past ten. The journey said it would take just under three hours which gave us an arrival time in Dubrovnik of twelve fifty-three. But the coach was going so slowly, I find it hard to believe we’re less than an hour away.
The cruise leaves the port at four on the dot. The gangway goes up approximately fifteen minutes before.
Weshould’vehad plenty of time.
I open my eyes again. My phone confirms it’s gone midday already. I attempt to use my maps app to see if there’s a quicker option but not only does using the app’s basic function drop my battery by 5 per cent, I also have absolutely no signal whatsoever.
Ahh!
We wait another forty-five minutes, and I turn my phone off to save the final ounce of life it contains, when a taxi finally rolls up and without so much as a ‘how do you do’ a new driver climbs in and turns the engine on.
We’ve essentially been sat in a metal sweatbox for an hour so now the air-con is blasting again, cooling the thin layer of moisture on my skin, shivers racing up and downmy limbs. For the next hour, I can’t believe I’m considering the chance of me going into a hypothermic reaction. In Croatia. In July. What the hell? I pull the t-shirt I bought last night out of my bag and drag it over my head.
“I feel like you’re trolling me,” Gus mutters, glancing my way.
“I’m just cold,” I say, shivering, not for effect, but the timing is undeniably helpful. Gus puts his hand out towards me.
“Want me to warm your fingers up?”
I glare. “No.”
He chuckles, taking his hand back. “We could swap? You’ll be out of the fans a bit more if you tuck in behind the chairs.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“No, you’re not. You just put a five-euro, extra-large black t-shirt with my face on it over a lovely summer dress because you’re shivering your butt off.”
