She checked the barn for a place to drain the waste water but couldn’t see anywhere. So she grabbed the handles on either side of the bath and dragged it towards the entrance – blimey, it was heavy! Realizing she was being watched, she looked up and saw twelve-year-old Andreas and his ten-year-old sister Danoulla sitting on two empty wooden barrels, kicking their heels. They stared at her, both blowing huge, impressive, pink gum bubbles. She smiled at them, trying out an under-confident ‘Kalimera!’
Nothing.
Suddenly there was a screech and they leapt from their perch as their mother Sofia approached, berating them in Greek for failing to help their house-guest. Before she knew it, the bath handles were being eased out of her hands by Andreas and Danoulla, who staggered away with it. Sofia was left apologizing, smiling, entreating Lana to come indoors. ‘Éla! Éla!’
Inside the cool of the modest kitchen, Lana was sat pouring Turkish coffee for everyone as Judith cut deep into a large watermelon. On the table Sofia had laid out a breakfast feast comprising hunks of fresh halloumi, the delicious sesame-seeded bread to which they were all now addicted, slices of juicy, over-ripe tomatoes and a terracotta bowl full of yoghurt. Next to it was a little jug of honey harvested from their own bees.
‘Sofia made that halloumi herself,’ Judith said, impressed. ‘And the bread.’
‘Naí!’ Sofia obviously got the gist of what they were saying, nodding furiously. She took down a large pan from a rack above her head, ready to start frying the eggs she’d just collected from their hens.
‘You are so kind, Sofia,’ said Lana.
Catrin grabbed her phrasebook and attempted to translate into Greek: ‘Eísai evgenikós!’
Sofia smiled back, urging them to tuck in. ‘Andreas! Danoulla!’ she shouted and within seconds her children came scampering in like hungry puppies, dispensing with their gum and sitting at the table.
After breakfast, they walked to the little village church to visit the grave of George’s mother.
‘Alathea Kassia,’ read Catrin. ‘The Greeks have such pretty names,’ she mused. She watched as Judith leant over and touched her grandmother’s photograph, framed in gold on the headstone. Alathea’s sun-kissed face cheekily smiled back at them, full of vitality. ‘That’s what Catholics do – put photos on the—’
‘Will you zip it, Catrin Kelly!’ whispered Lana. ‘Judith’s meant to be having a moment. She doesn’t need you wittering on.’
‘Sorry,’ said Catrin.
Judith knelt by the grave and planted a pink cyclamen from Sofia’s garden, lovingly patting down the soil around its base. In amongst the stems was a little card on which was written ‘Gia ti giagiá mou’ – ‘for my grandmother’. Catrin felt a lump in her throat as she silently observed her sad friend, and when she took a sideways look at Lana, saw that she was moved too. For both girls, the enormity of what Judith was going through was overwhelming for their tender years.
Afterwards, they went inside the church, where they lit candles in private solemnity. Catrin had always loved doing this in her own church when she was younger. There was something so simple and traditional about it, and yet so moving and symbolic. She watched the tiny flickering of the flame and closed her eyes, before offering up her own silent prayer.
It was a prayer of gratitude for the secret and magical meeting with Sol – Please God, let me see him again – but also for her two beautiful friends and the incredible time they had spent together. ‘I think we have all three been blessed to know each other,’ she whispered. ‘I really, really do.’ And she crossed herself out of Catholic habit, before brushing away a stray tear that was tumbling down her cheek.
10
Lana
Iannis insisted on taking them to Larnaca airport to catch the flight to Athens. Saying goodbye to Sofia and Danoulla and Andreas was hard. The two children had grown fond of their funny-sounding guests, even in such a short space of time, and they’d made presents for all three girls: some pretty little komboloi beads and a small hand-painted mountain rock, each bearing a big red heart. In return, Catrin gave them her copy of Pride and Prejudice, which they were inexplicably excited to receive, and Lana donated her Welsh rugby top, which she often slept in and which she couldn’t remember ever washing. They were a bit more confused by that. But when Jude gave them the little backgammon dice-box that George had given her, they were beside themselves. And so was Sofia. She said Georgios had always been good at making things …
Sofia’s own gift to Jude was a little Greek icon, which she said would protect her, and an ‘evil eye’ on a silver chain to ward off unfriendly spirits. Catrin said she didn’t really like the sound of this, though admittedly it was much nicer to look at than her tacky St Christopher. The most moving gift, though, was a beautiful plaited gold ring that Sofia took from a small box in the dresser. It had belonged to George’s mum and Judith wouldn’t accept it at first – but Sofia wouldn’t let her leave until she had agreed. It fitted her finger perfectly.
Sofia sent them on their way with repeated hugs, buckets of tears and two big Tupperware boxes full of home-made food: one sweet, comprising baklava, galaktoboureko and koulouraki, and one savoury – olives, koukouras, dolmades and slices of halloumi, along with two loaves of delicious sesame bread.
‘I tell you what, Cat,’ whispered Lana as they climbed into Iannis’s car. ‘I’m not half gonna miss that woman’s cooking!’
They arrived in Athens mid morning and booked themselves a room each as a treat in a cheap and cheerful hotel called Maxine’s, where they dropped off their stuff before heading to the Parthenon and the Acropolis for their last round of sightseeing, sustained all day by Sofia’s never-ending Tupperware feast. By six p.m. they’d showered and dressed up in their only remaining, vaguely clean clothes.
‘Right, come on, ladies. Let’s hit Athens where it hurts!’ Lana announced. ‘We’re gonna end this holiday with a bang.’
A few hours later they’d landed in a tequila bar called Demetri’s. Lana had drunk more than the other two and was well and truly wired.
‘She frightens me a bit when she’s in this mode,’ Judith yelled over the music to Catrin, whose face dropped as she looked over her friend’s shoulder towards the bar.
‘Oh my God, look!’
Judith turned around and was horrified to see Lana dancing provocatively on a table, cheered on by some lively Irish guys.
‘I think she’s gonna strip!’
The two friends ran over, pushing their way through the crowd.
‘Lana, get down!’ shouted Judith, but Lana laughed back, ignoring her, and continued the routine.
It was Catrin who managed to get through to her. ‘Lana Lloyd!’ she yelled. ‘Stop showing off and come down from that table right NOW!’ And with that she grabbed Lana’s arm and pulled her off the improvised stage.
The Irish guys booed and turned back to their beer.
‘You are a bloody spoilsport, Catrin Kelly!’ Lana sulked.
‘Come on,’ said Judith. ‘I think you need to eat something. Soak up all that tequila.’ And between them, Judith and Catrin wrangled their drunken friend out of the bar and along the busy tourist-filled street, till they happened upon a quiet little taverna.