One – Jon’s Arrival

Jonathon Moore walked out of the tiny airport terminal and looked around. St. Theresa was his idea of a tropical paradise. There were palm trees lining the road leading to the airport. Red-hatted porters locally known as "redcaps" strolled around transporting passengers’ luggage from terminal to taxi. Locals sauntered around looking for relatives, flights or were just trying to do their job. Jon didn’t know how they could do it in this heat. The mainland was hotter than he remembered.

He looked down at the handwritten instructions his mother had given him. She had told him that the island was small and that he couldn’t get lost. All he needed to do was catch the bus that went to the capital city, Windsor, and from Windsor he could catch a bus to the ferry terminal. Seemed pretty easy. After all, if he was going to study here, he might as well get accustomed to the transportation system. And the island was a minute fraction of the size of London. If he could find his way around London, he could find his way around some tiny island!

Jon lifted his Army backpack and he crossed the road to a shed with a red pole beside it marked "bus stop". Logic dictated that it had to be a bus stop. There was a middle-aged man dressed in dark pants, a white shirt and a bright tie that had gone out a couple of decades ago and was now making a modified comeback.

"Is this where I get the bus going to Windsor?" he asked the man.

The stranger looked bemusedly at the younger man. "Dis is de only bus stop, boy. De bus is a one way ting. It leaves Windsor and goes all de waysround the island back to Windsor. Yuh new here?" He finished rather obviously.

Like, duh! Jon thought to himself. The British accent alone gave it away. "Yes." he told the man politely.

"First time?"

"No, I came here when I was ten, on holiday." Jon volunteered cautiously. He wasn’t accustomed chatting to strangers just like that. You didn’t do that in England.

"So, where yuh going?" the man asked.

"Ocean view."

Ohhhhh! The man nodded vigourously and looked as pleased as if he had discovered the cure for the common cold.

"Ocean view. Got fam’ly there? Or stayin’ at a hotel?"

"Family. I’m staying with my uncle."

"Uncle? The man rubbed his jaw reflectively. The only body out dere wit fam’ly in England is the Moores. You fam’ly to Greg?"

"Yes, Greg Moore is my uncle. Do you know him?"

I know most of the island. The man smiled. There was a rumbling in the distance, which proved to be an ancient Mercedes bus that hauled itself over the hill and wheezed to a stop by the two men.

The man got on first, followed by Jon, and they paid their one-dollar fares to the driver.

The bus was full of school children and vendors; it was early in the afternoon and people were starting to go home.

The man sat the only vacant pair of seats and patted the empty one next to him. Jon had no choice but to sit. He wasn’t sure how long the drive was and he didn’t relish standing, not with his luggage.

The man started to ramble about somebody that he knew in England and Jon groaned inwardly. This seemed too corny for words. Why had his mother sent him to some hick island where the biggest thrill seemed to be chatting with the tourists?

This was going to be a long trip into Windsor…