‘Go on! Sing that one again – that you were singing before. What was it about?’

‘A black stone sitting on a beach.’ She blinks at him. Tom sees that salt has dried in her hair and crusted on her forehead. He is about to ask her again, to coax her into singing, when he feels a hand descend on his shoulder, gripping it so hard that he is sure the fingers are digging right into his flesh. He is wrenched upright, feet kicking for a moment in thin air, and, before he can say anything, the girl’s hand is ripped out of his and he is being carried, a strong arm around his chest, his feet kicking helplessly, through the dense crowd of noisy, smelly people.

He opens his mouth to protest, and then the major is barking orders at a Greek policeman, a barricade is drawn back and he is deposited, gently, in front of his mother, who is shouting at him, half in tears, half laughing. She pushes him again and again with the heels of her hands; then she is kneeling in front of him, pulling up his socks. ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy,’ she is whispering, like a prayer. He is in a panic. His head is spinning. He looks out desperately over the top of Mummy’s wide straw hat, but all he sees is a wall of people. The girl is somewhere in there. She was going to sing …

‘What about my friend?’ he says, almost in tears.

‘Your friend?’ Mummy stands up and grabs his hand. ‘Don’t be so silly.’ She tugs him in the direction of the cabs, then stops abruptly and gathers him up in a stifling hug. ‘I was so frightened, Tomtom! I thought I’d never see you again!’

‘There was a girl,’ Tom insists. ‘She was called Zo-ee! She fell in the sea!’

‘Come along, my darling. Let’s not stay here.’

‘But I talked to her …’ Tom pulls fretfully against Mummy’s firm grip. ‘We’d better go back and find her, Mummy. She was English! She’s lost her mummy and daddy!’

‘The poor little chap’s had a bit of a shock,’ the major says, and begins to wave briskly at a cab driver.

They are on their way again.