Sunday night he was in the bakery, saying goodbye to a few people he wouldn't get to see before he left.
He was sitting by one of the main doors in the packing area when he felt a tap on his shoulder and someone tell him he had a phone call. 'Odd,' he thought, 'who knows I'm here?' It was his ex-girlfriend. She'd said she'd phoned around looking for him and this was the third place she'd tried. She was phoning from his room, after it was obvious he wasn't in, and wanted to know if he'd like to join her and someone else in going to another kibbutz.
"I don't want to feel left out, 'cos my friend will be with her friend catching up on all their gossip. They haven't seen each other for some time. Do you want to come and keep me company?"
"Yeh, sure. Why not?" he replied. "I'm not doing anything special down here anyway. When are you going?"
He had almost half an hour before he had to be back in his room - she'd said they'd wait for him there. He'd have probably stayed in the bakery for a few hours longer if he hadn't have had a reason to leave. He was going to miss these people here. They'd been so nice to him and he'd got along great with them. It was hard for him to say goodbye to these friendly people of the like he'd not come across in England. He told them he'd be back for a visit in the summer. He promised them, and himself.