Finally, after what felt like a millennium, my bag appeared. Good thing too, as my yacht fantasy was degenerating into an 80s music video. I grabbed for the handle, fumbled with it a bit, then lugged it off the carousel. It wasn’t big, but it was filled to the brim with the perfect Greek Island trousseau: the obligatory summer dresses, bikinis, shorts, flowing skirts, cute tops, and a sunhat. I was a travelling cliché and I didn’t care. Did I mention I was going to Greece?

I dragged the backpack over to one of the airport trolleys, swung it aboard, plopped my beautiful new leather handbag on top, and headed for the ‘Nothing to Declare’ exit. The only thing I had to declare was that I was going sailing on the Aegean, and I didn’t think the Customs agents gave a crap about that.

Cat was waiting behind the silver railing on the other side of the security door. We look almost identical, except I am five-foot-six and she’s five-foot-nothing. She says she’s five-foot-one-and-three-quarters, but she’s not. She did get the good hair, though – cow. It’s the only thing I hate about her. While I’m stuck with masses of curls – the really curly ones that do whatever the hell they like – she has thick cascading, chestnut waves. Like I said, cow.

‘You’re here!’ she declared, ducking under the railing and throwing her little arms around my neck. I stopped pushing the trolley and returned the hug. We stepped back and regarded each other.

‘You look fab!’ I squeaked, tears in my eyes.

‘You too!’ she lied.

‘I just got off a twenty-eight-hour flight. I look like crap.’

‘You’re right, but it’s nothing a shower and a good night’s sleep won’t cure. Come on.’ She took over pushing my trolley, and I followed obediently as she parted the crowd with a series of slightly rude ‘excuse mes’.

*

Back in her Docklands flat, my hair wet from the best shower I’d ever had, I sat on her couch, a cup of tea in one hand and a chocolate biscuit in the other. We emailed and FaceTimed regularly – we weren’t estranged or anything – but nothing was the same as actually being together, and we chatted non-stop, catching up on all the things that sisters chat about.

‘So, tomorrow you fly to Athens and then what?’

‘I pretty much fly straight to Santorini. The stopover in Athens is only four hours. I thought about sightseeing but knowing me, I’d get caught in a traffic jam on the way back to the airport and miss my island-hopper.’

‘You probably would.’

‘Thank you. No really, I mean it,’ I replied, my voice thick with sisterly sarcasm.

‘What? You do tend to have shitty luck when you travel.’ See? But impending bad luck aside, I happily realised that excitement was thrashing anxiety’s ass.

‘Cat, I’m going to Santorini tomorrow!’