A Deserted Englishman.

It is hot, very hot. Not just the heat of a summer's day but searing, mind- numbing heat that I can almost taste.

I look around; screwing up my eyes; even behind sunglasses the glare is incredible. A heat haze covers the sand dunes that stretch around me in all directions, giving the illusion that land disappears into the shimmering water on the edge of sight. I know it is not real but I am dying to believe it. To have some respite from the torture the sun is inflicting on me, to have release.

Nothing moves anywhere; there is no sound, nothing but sand, sand and more sand wherever I look, golden brown ridges flowing out before me in unbroken waves. A sea rising and falling as far as the eye can see.

I look up; the sky bearing down on me is blue, uniform and complete with not a cloud to mar its purity. A cloud would not dare to venture into this wasteland; the searing heat would devour it before it had time to form.

I attempt to lick my parched lips but my mouth is nearly as dry on the inside as my cracked lips and any moisture transferred to my lips is instantly lost to the ever thirsty- sun.

How had I come to this? My thoughts jump back to the day my daughters had suggested this holiday.
I had not wanted to do it, me, a fifty-six year old man going on an over fifties holiday with a load of blue rinse brigade singles, not my idea of fun.
"But dad, now that mum has Tony we don't like to think of you sitting in your flat all on your own. You ought to find someone new too.
Grown up daughters, they think they know what is best for me, think they can run my life now that Karen is no longer doing it.
I had only agreed to shut them up.
I turn and look back, my eyes following the wandering line of my footprints rising and falling over the dunes, disappearing over a large pile of wind- ridged sand in the middle distance. No good looking back, forwards is all that matters now, all that has any meaning. What has gone before is past and is best forgotten, forget the pain of footsteps past, for the present is bad enough.

It is hard not to look back though, hell it's all I have been doing for the past two years, was why my daughters suggested this trip. "Its time to look forward, get on with living your live, not reliving the past.
Oh they thought they knew what was best for me all right, wonder if they would still think it was a good idea if they could see me now?

I turn and force my feet into action again, wiping the sweat from my face as I start off again.

I long for night to fall, for the air to cool, for the sand to stop burning the soles of my feet through my boots. But I know that is a false longing, for when darkness falls the temperature will plummet and once more I will be longing to see the sun, to feel its early morning warmth, to rid my bones of the cold ache that leeches through my body. That pleasure will not last, as the treacherous sun will once more take things to extremes, to once more attempt to cook me as I struggle ever-forward one footfall after another in the direction of home.

Home- how wonderful that word sounds and how much I have taken it for granted in the past. If I ever get there I won't be doing that again. How many times have I said that since this nightmare began? How many more before it ends? The end - where is that? There is no end in sight, but I have to keep going one foot in front of the other.

I pause on the top of yet another ridge. My thoughts are suddenly full of snapshots of my past life, my wife, my two darling daughters and I even see myself getting out of our car in front of our suburban house. Its raining, pouring down and I raise my umbrella to protect my city suit. It just had to be raining, my life had seemed always to be grey then. Dull, boring, repetitive were all words that Karen, my ex wife had used to describe both our life together and me at the divorce hearing. At the time I couldn't really disagree.
How I wish for grey skies and rain now.
I shake my head and plod on, one foot following the other. I have to smile to myself, boring and repetitive, you couldn't get much more boring and repetitive than this

Another ridge follows another and another or is it the same one I am climbing again and again? I don't know any more.
Atop another ridge, again I pause; each steep climb is harder than the one before, takes longer to traverse as the heat bleeds me of energy, of the will to live.

There was one bright spot in this fiasco, Ms Jean Fraser, what had she said she did, worked in the tax office, I seem to remember, she is actually quite nice, even if she does talk too much. At least she talks to me, unlike the other women in my life who just tried to mother me.
She is a pretty woman in a plain sort of way; she must be about my age even though she looks younger.
She has a lovely smile and she laughs at my jokes. That smile suddenly fills my mind as I look around.
As my eyes take in the scene before me, I miss the significance of what I am looking at. Then it hits me. There was green, a patch of green ahead, how had I missed the first time? But wait - is it real, do I dare believe it to be real?

I start to descend the ridge hurrying now, unable to take my eyes off the block of colour that stands out so starkly from its yellow, parched surroundings. My feet slip and slide down the slope causing mini avalanches to follow me as I gain speed, hope giving me a renewed burst of energy. I lose sight of my haven as I reach the gully at the bottom and I hurry up the next, desperate to make sure its still there, that it wasn't a figment of my tortured imagination.
I am on my hands and knees by the time I reach the top, my breathing ragged and painful but I must see, I must believe. A sigh of relief escapes my dry, sore mouth. It is still there; it must be real.

Yes she has a very nice smile, I would like to see her again, and maybe if I get out of this I will.
One ridge follows another and another. The green blur is slowly coming into focus, materialising into trees, vegetation, life. Where there is life there must be water. I pray there is water, I dare not even let the thought that there may not be enter my head. I cannot fail now. I have to force my exhausted body to keep going but I must, I can, I will.

Not far to go now I can make the detail out, see the leaves of the palms, the bark of the trunks and smaller bushes shelter under the fronds above.
I am running now or rather a staggering, lurching motion that is the best impression of running that I can manage.

Elation threatens to overwhelm me as I enter the glorious shade of those trees; my saviours. My thirsty eyes hunt for that illusive elixir of life and finally it is there before me, water, brackish but wondrous to behold. I sink to my knees by that small pool, that small miracle that has saved me. I pause before scooping up handfuls and soaking my face before drinking my fill, not too fast although it is so tempting, there is no rush now. Finally I plunge my head straight in and then sit back on my haunches, letting the cool water run down my body from my hair.

I lie back and close my eyes, it's a start - I have water, I have shade, I have sustenance in the coconuts on the palm trees and I have a location where I can be found. So now it is a case of wait and hope that they are looking for me.

"Oh there you are Ronald, we were starting to get worried about you.
I open my eyes and see Ms Fraser standing over me, had I thought she was plain? Standing there, framed by the parasol she held, she looks beautiful and that smile was once more lighting up her face.
"Ronald come on the bus is waiting, we are scheduled to visit the Sphinx this afternoon and you wouldn't want to miss that would you?