where my brother’s dreams were made. & laid

I made the decision last month to go to Rhodes/Rodos this year, and see where my brother died. I was thinking October time when it’ll be a bit cooler, and also how nice it would be if one of my besties, R, came with me, but not feeling too sure if she’d fly or not, but that she’d be the perfect companion to go with. So I put it to her. And she said YES! and that she was so touched that she had been asked. She suggested going for Mark’s anniversary, doh! Of course! September 29th, yes!

Things started flowing straight away, looking at flights, options of departure – her from Bristol, me from Gatwick, meet at Diagoras International Airport. Timings were good. What about a package I suggested. I’d really rather not rent an apartment. Yep, cool. Oh, but then we’d have to leave from the same airport, wouldn’t we? Um, turns out she might have a date clash, she’s waiting for confirmation.

In the meantime I ask mum about where Mark died. She flew out to Rodos eight years after the accident. She’d dig out the inquest papers for me; papers from the Greek authorities (how do you actually deal with that as a mother, you’re son!). She later phoned and gave me a location – the Sgourou area, south of Rhodes Town, a main road, the Lindos national route 95 at the 9km mark, on a bend.  A gentle curving stretch of 300 meters, rising towards Rhodes Town, a concrete water tank nearby.

Mark had been staying at Hotel Piccadilly with his friend and possibly his business partner in Faliraki. I saw a place called Lindos on the map yesterday, would it be beautiful like the Spanish word linda, ¡qué linda! How beautiful! 

It was 3am when the crash happened, direction Rhodes Town. Why? Why were they driving away from their hotel at that time? Mark had been driving, but he hadn’t been drinking. I was so relieved. Mum mentioned today how Lindos was really nice. 

I thought of my friend N earlier today. I’d love to get in contact with M who was with Mark in the crash, thankfully unhurt, physically at least. Who would have a number for him, or anyone of Mark’s other friends? N’s brother T perhaps? 

And then this afternoon N messaged me with a photo of Mark’s bench on a sunny Hampstead Heath wanting to share how it was being enjoyed by people sitting on it chatting, the sun on their faces, admiring the view perhaps. So lovely of her. We’re all connected.

R sent me a photo of one of the beaches in Faliraki she’d gone to back in the day, lots of rocks there. She mentioned casting one. Wowza, yes! I was totally loving the idea of creating an artwork and even bringing back a big rock, I could even take out some pre-made paper pulp and cast one directly . . . . . . . . ideas were turning, they even went to thoughts of doing an artist residency and responding to the site where my brother’s dreams were made. & laid. 

I could walk in his footsteps, along the beach, go to Rhodes Town, look through his eyes, photograph the sky he saw, bathe in the sea that he swam in, breath the air that he breathed, witness the sunrises and sunsets he saw. The Jet Skis, the nightlife, the people, the atmosphere. Follow in his footsteps and feel his dream envelope me.

And there it is,

his beautiful handwritten letter chasing up the Greek authorities regarding a permit he had applied for, hoping to make his dream a reality – to run a Jet Ski hire business on Faliraki Beach. 

Funny, the realisation I had that my brother could have been living in Greece, learning and speaking Greek, eating delicious Greek food and falling head over heals into the ways of the island and a new mediterranean life. It would have so suited him, but alas, it was never to be.

(Journal extract from Wednesday 8th April 2026)