Page 24 of Ride the Wave

‘I think you should go. You should go to the surf shop.’

‘Leo finished at four; he won’t be there.’

‘I know, but still, you should go.’

I look at her strangely. She stares me down.

‘The surf shop,’ I repeat, pushing my chair back and getting to my feet.

‘You might find what you’re looking for there.’

‘Thanks Marina,’ I say, grabbing my bag and phone.

‘Nothing to thank me for. I always recommend Adriano’s surf shop to tourists,’ she says with a shrug, sauntering away. ‘It’s not far from here. You should get there in time before it shuts.’

*

The bell above the door rings as I push it open and step into the surf shop and school.

It’s a small, white, unassuming building down a narrow street close to the beach front, and according to the sign at the front, it closes in half an hour. The shop is silent and empty.

‘Hello?’ I call out.

No one responds.

Wandering towards the back, I run my eyes along the four framed charcoal sketches on the wall: drawings of surfers riding waves. I realise that a similar one hangs in Marina’s Bar too. Must be a local artist.

‘Hello, can I help you?’ A man’s voice says behind me, making me jump.

‘Hi!’ I smile, turning round to see an older gentleman emerging from the back room and coming to stand by the counter. He looks familiar but I can’t place him. ‘I… Marina recommended I come here. I’m Iris.’

‘Yes, the journalist from London.’

My heart sinks. ‘Ah. I take it Leo has told you about me.’

‘He mentioned you.’

‘Oh dear.’ I grimace, before holding out my hand for him to shake. ‘You are…?’

‘Adriano.’ He smiles, taking my hand. ‘Leo’s father.’

I inhale sharply, my fingers still grasping his.

He chuckles, patting the top of my hand before releasing it and turning away to go back to the counter. ‘He hasn’t toldyouaboutme, then. Welcome to my shop, Iris.’

‘I… sorry, I knew you lived in the area but he didn’t say you owned the shop where he worked,’ I explain hurriedly.

Now I know why he seems familiar. He was on the beach watching Leo surf yesterday morning.Whydidn’t I think that’s who he could be?!

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Silva,’ I repeat, moving over to the counter where he’s now putting on some glasses to read the till screen. ‘I should have known this was your shop and that Leo worked for you.’

‘I’m working for him, too,’ he tells me without looking up.

‘Leo was insistent that he is an employee here at the shop and surf school you run.’

‘Yes, he works for me in here, but out there,’ he gestures in the direction of the beach, ‘I work for him. I’m Leo’s surfing coach.’

I blink at him. ‘You’re his coach.’

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