Page 100 of Somewhere Only We Know

He started to laugh, and pointed to a hand-painted sign fixed to the next palm tree along. I’d been sitting right next to it.

I read it and shook my head, grinning. ‘Turtle rescue and conservation centre this way. You have to be kidding me.’

I thanked my new friend, picked up my things and followed the path along the edge of the beach. I passed a dive and surf school where a charming young man tried to sell me a course of lessons. So charming, in fact, that I almost signed up. I laughed at my own behaviour as I continued on my way. I blamed Jono for my sexual renaissance; I never used to be all fluttery in the presence of an attractive man.

Far, far too young for me, I scolded myself, but I definitely had a type: the similarity to Jackson was irrefutable.

A couple of minutes later I walked through a set of gates and was greeted by a giant sculpture of a sea turtle. Tourists milled around while children climbed on the turtle’s back to have their pictures taken.

‘Wow!’ I took my sunglasses off for a better look around.

Behind the entrance was a low, whitewashed building with open sides, a proper concrete floor and tiled pools for the turtles.

It was very smart; a million miles away from the ramshackle place I’d volunteered at.

A young woman in staff uniform greeted me. ‘Welcome to the turtle conservation and education centre!’ She ushered me to a kiosk. ‘Please buy your ticket and enjoy your visit.’

I paid my entry fee and wandered around, looking at the pools of sea turtles and reading the information boards. The only activity on offer when I was last here was to collect the eggs from the beach and release them back into the ocean safely. Now they did dive trips, they’d constructed underwater feeding areas out in the wild, and they ran an emergency rescue service for injured turtles.

The new hatchery was a sophisticated construction: a solid concrete base enclosed with mesh fencing to protect the unhatched eggs from inquisitive fingers. The piles of sand covering the eggs were the same as last time, and there were still flags poking out of the sand with details of the eggs buried below. I smiled to myself, recalling the lanky volunteer who’d arrived late to our induction and proceeded to smash the perimeter of the wooden sandpit – and Utt, ordering us all out, angry with us for laughing.

I was still smiling when one of the guides approached me.

‘We will be releasing new hatchlings this evening, if you want to help?’ he said. ‘All we ask is a donation to our centre.’

‘I would love to,’ I replied. ‘But I’ll be back in my hotel in Ubud by tonight.’

‘Ah, that is sad. It is a wonderful experience to see the little turtles go into the waves for the first time.’

‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘I did it when I came here twenty-four years ago.’

‘Oh wow.’ The guide’s eyes widened. ‘I was not even born then.’

‘I was very young,’ I said, touchily. ‘The turtle conservation project was tiny then. And it was further along the beach.’

‘You were volunteer?’ he said, looking interested. ‘At the first turtle project?’

‘I was.’ I sighed happily. ‘Best summer of my life.’

‘My grandfather was here all those years ago too. He was the boss of the volunteers.’

My breath caught. ‘Your grandfather isn’t called Utt is he, by any chance?’

‘Yes!’ he nodded excitedly. ‘That is him. I am also Utt, named after him. You knew my grandfather!’

My jaw dropped. ‘I did! That’s incredible! Is he still alive?’

The young man threw his head back and laughed. One of his colleagues shouted across to find out what was going on and young Utt answered back in Indonesian. Other staff came to join us and they laughed too.

‘What is it? What’s so funny?’

‘Oh yes,’ he said finally. ‘He is very alive. He still works at the centre.’

At once, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood up. I gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Utt – he’s still here?’

‘Of course,’ said his grandson. ‘This is his home. Why would he leave?’

‘Please can you take me to him? I’d love to say hello, if he remembers me after all these years.’