‘Is that the only reason?’ she teased, slightly scared that it might be.
‘I think you know it isn’t.’ And he looked at her, his eyes gently chiding.
They ordered an Orangina each and the waiter swiftly brought them over along with two ice-filled glasses. Sol asked him for a pen and a piece of paper, and quickly scribbled down his phone number. ‘I’d really love it if we could stay in touch, Cat,’ he said.
She looked at the small sheet torn from the waiter’s order pad. A flimsy, cheap sliver of paper. Insignificant, yet bearing so much. ‘Write your name down too,’ she said. ‘I might have forgotten it by the time I get home.’ They laughed. Truth was, she wanted something more to remember him by than just a series of digits on a page.
He took back the piece of paper and wrote something else, shielding the words from her with his hand, before folding it and placing it under her glass. He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to go,’ he said, clearly annoyed that he did. ‘If I miss this ferry I’ll miss the plane. Eddie’s already gonna be wondering where I am. I said I’d be back at the hostel an hour ago.’
‘What?’ She laughed. ‘You told him you could walk the Samaria Gorge in five hours?’
‘It has been known.’ He smiled, reaching across the little café table to take her hand. ‘I have loved today,’ he said quietly, his forehead leaning gently against hers, their fingers interlocked.
‘I have loved today too,’ she whispered, too scared to speak in case her voice might break.
People were playing on the beach nearby, splashing in the sea; the scent of sweet tobacco drifted in the air, mixing with the smell of suntan lotion and coffee and freshly squeezed lemons; a baby was laughing and Greek music spilled out from a tinny speaker in Irene’s café. It was the perfect summer-holiday day.
And the perfect backdrop.
To the perfect kiss.
He didn’t say goodbye. She watched him walk to the ferry, get on board and wave. She waved back and didn’t stop watching till she could no longer see the ferry’s wake or hear its tired engines growl. And when she knew he had finally gone, she took the precious piece of paper from under the glass, opened it and read. Beneath his name and number, he’d written:
Today when we built our pyramid of pebbles, the wish I made was to see you again. And I think that will happen.
She took a sharp breath, completely floored by his words.
In the distance, her name was being called. Looking up, she saw Judith and Lana making their way towards her. Quickly she refolded the paper and put it deep inside her pocket. ‘How are your feet?’ she shouted, finding it impossible not to smile.
7
Lana
The bustle of Nicosia was a far cry from the sleepiness of the Greek islands, but Lana secretly welcomed a bit of metropolitan buzz. They’d been in Cyprus for two days and today they were heading to Kakopetria, the home village of Judith’s dad George Harris. ‘D’you think this thing will actually get us there?’ Lana had joked as they boarded the ancient green and yellow Bedford bus at Plateia Solomou, gearing up for a two-hour journey to the Troodos Mountains.
Lana had sat with Catrin on the journey, because Judith had opted to sit on her own down the front. She said she wanted time to think: this was a big deal, going to her father’s home village, even though there was no one there for her to visit any more, George’s parents being long gone and George himself an only child. No actual reason to go. Except that Kakopetria was where he’d apparently grown up. And Judith wanted to see it. There was something so heartbreaking about George, though Lana could never work out what it was.
As they pulled into the little square in Kakopetria, Judith turned to them from the front of the bus and smiled. At least the journey seemed to have lifted her mood. The three girls dismounted and looked around them. So much quieter than busy, noisy Nicosia. They breathed in the fresh mountain air and stretched.
‘I am bustin’ for a pee,’ Lana said.
‘You’re always bustin’ for a pee,’ laughed Judith. And they headed towards a prettily painted restaurant called Taverna Lenia.
Underneath the shady trellises of lemon verbena, and sat around three tables all pushed together, a sprawling Cypriot family was enjoying a late Sunday lunch al fresco. The adults were laughing and chatting, whilst various children perched on the knees of their parents or aunties or uncles, swapping laps intermittently like a game of musical chairs. One woman was discreetly breast-feeding and a boy aged about six was trying to master a Rubik’s cube.
A tired-looking waiter in his forties came out, carrying two large dishes of kouba and whitebait, placing them wherever he could find room on the table and clearing any empty plates. As the girls approached, Lana felt like they were gate-crashing a party. But when the waiter turned to them and smiled, his face was transformed into a kind welcome.
‘Yassas!’
‘Hi,’ said Judith. ‘Table for three?’
‘Tria!’ Catrin chipped in, holding up three fingers. ‘Parakalo.’
‘Oh, and the toilet please,’ said Lana, who was on the verge of wetting herself.
‘Come! Please,’ he said, and they followed him indoors, where he seated them at the bar. Lana headed off to the loo, but when she returned, Catrin and Judith were nowhere to be seen.
‘They are out of side,’ said the waiter. ‘With new friends.’
The girls had been invited to join the large family group on the verandah, and were installed at the table with children crawling all over them and their Zivania glasses being filled. Lana found this unusual Cypriot tipple strangely soothing and soon dived in for seconds.
One of the party, Maria, spoke superb English and acted tirelessly as translator, explaining that they had this family reunion several times a year, and the occasion this time was a christening the next day, it being a feast day at the local church. An icon of the Saviour would be carried in a procession around the village, and baby Katerina would be baptized too.
The family were fascinated by the girls – they’d not heard of Wales. Though one of the older men, Themis, who Lana thought looked very wise, seemed to have heard of Richard Burton. There were big nods of approval that all three were going on to higher education in the autumn, and they were particularly impressed that Catrin was going to be a doctor.
‘Ey! Giatros!’ they cheered.
Uncle Leonades said something that made the whole table laugh and Maria translated, saying he had trouble with his bunions if Catrin would like to take a look.
The afternoon turned into one of those unexpectedly delightful gatherings, unplanned, unique and unforgettable. Once the savouries had been cleared away with cheers of thanks for the chef, the waiter brought out several platters of mouth-watering Cypriot desserts – baklava, galaktoboureko, and a kind of custard dish called mahalepi made from cornflour and served with rose water.
As they all tucked in, Themis whispered something to Maria.
‘My uncle wants to know why you choose Kakopetria when you could be in the nightclubs of Limassol?’
They all laughed, and tentatively, feeling confident now in the bosom of her new-found friends, Judith explained her connection with Kakopetria: how her father had grown up here before he moved to Wales in 1973. There was much joy when the party realized that Judith was in fact a Cypriot! But she was quick to clarify. ‘He’s my stepfather,’ she said, ‘so I’m not really.’