‘Hey, guys, check this out,’ Gary called from the bow of the boat. Grateful for a reason to extricate myself from Patricia’s snarly glare, I climbed up onto the side of the boat and made my way to join Gary. This may sound easier than it was, because the boat was moving and there wasn’t a lot to hold on to. I had to be very careful I didn’t get pitched over the side into the raging sea. Well, gently rolling sea. Hannah and Marie followed closely behind me, also carefully.

The boat was rounding the tip of an inlet on Ios and at its mouth was a stunning white church, an island sentry of sorts. Unlike most churches I’d seen on Santorini, it didn’t have blue or gold embellishments – it was stark white, gleaming against the green scrub and red earth of the surrounding hills. Its spire rose from the curve of the roof like three tiers of a wedding cake.

‘Whoa,’ said Hannah behind me. ‘Whoa’ was right.

Gary turned to grin at us. ‘Yeah, pretty nice, huh?’

As we sailed into the inlet, the port of Ios sat directly ahead of us. While Gary and Josh darted about the boat following Duncan’s orders, I searched for signs of life along the waterfront. The grocery store was open, so that was good. And it looked like there was at least one café open – we wouldn’t starve. I got called away to buoy duty and joined the others to secure the large rubber bumpers along the length of the boat on both sides. I was going to have to get better at tying knots.

As we neared the dock, Duncan turned the boat around and manoeuvred it into a slip next to a slightly longer yacht bearing an Italian flag. As we approached, an older man wearing a straw porkpie hat ran up his gangplank to the dock and signalled to Gary to throw him our tow rope.

There was some reverse throttling of the engine and some more quick footwork by Gary – he really did know his way around a boat – and with the Italian skipper’s help, we were soon secured to the dock. We called our thanks to our new neighbour, and he waved it off modestly and tipped his hat at us. I adore Italians.

A flash of red hair and swish of flowing fabric pushed past me. ‘Don’t wait up!’

‘As if we would,’ I muttered as Patricia swayed her way along our gangplank and staggered off into the town. Hannah, who was now in the land of the semi-living and was standing next to me, smirked in solidarity.

‘Off to find the nearest bar, is my guess,’ said Gary. I heard murmured agreement from the others. I obviously wasn’t the only one who’d decided to steer a wide berth from our citizen of the world.