I wondered again about what might happen in England. How could I answer questions convincingly without lying? I had done a terrible wrong, too terrible to contemplate, and because of it, many people had died. Should I confess, lie, run away? Or claim amnesia as Josephine insisted.

My thoughts went to the island of Syros. Would Manno arrive with the mail boat from Kea while we were there? I closed my eyes and pressed my hand against my chest, how I longed to be in his arms. All my worries disappeared when I thought about Manno and the tenderness of his kiss.

I woke in my cabin at dawn, contented, having fallen asleep with a full belly for a change. Low sunlight streamed through our porthole and I heard much louder clangs and the clattering of sailors going about their jobs. This made me want to investigate on deck. We washed and dressed quickly, enjoying the luxury of warm water and clean clothes. Up top, we discovered the ship was approaching Ermoupoli, the capital of Syros, and I remembered Manno and my first kiss on the quayside.

A pale sun, huge on the horizon, floated above the mist-covered sea filling the sky with shades of orange and pink, then every colour of the rainbow mingled and merged, radiating the hope and fresh start that came with a new day. Great cathedrals topped the hills of Syros, overcrowded with colourful, cubed buildings that appeared like a jigsaw tipped onto a table. Yet, as the light increased, parts of the vista made sense and fell into place, gathering its surroundings, until the scene was a complete picture. Just as I remembered it. The mountains behind the island’s capital were last to reveal themselves from the grey dawn. In a rising glow of tangerine light, the barren mastiffs made a perfect backdrop for the resplendent city. The sky had poured her tints and hues onto the buildings, and became herself nothing but a sheet of bright blue above the kaleidoscope of coloured dwellings and churches. Soon, all was as flamboyant as it should be in a proper Greek landscape.

‘We’re waiting for the next water tanker,’ our orderly, who had introduced himself as ‘Michael but Mike’s fine so it is’, in an Irish accent. ‘These Greeks have a terrible water shortage, so they do. The tankers’ll come and fill the ships with drinking water, so they will.’

Josephine and I proceeded to the mess for an amazing breakfast that consisted of great wedges of nutty brown bread sprinkled with rich, dark green olive oil and crunchy sea salt, then plain biscuits and solid blackcurrant jam. Strong, sweet tea and a glass of watered-down lime juice accompanied the meal.

‘That was so good,’ I said, rubbing my full stomach.

‘So it was,’ Josephine added, and we both laughed.