‘At the Hanoum, I expect.’ Mama sighs. The Hanoum is a club owned by a friend of hers, Apostoli Vikos, and for the last two years she has been singing there with Batis and his band. It isn’t as rough as some of the tekédhes, but it is on one of the seediest streets in Karaiskaki, the red-light district just behind the harbour. Zoë has begun to sing there too. Six months ago Batis had begged her to sing one song, and now Mama lets her go with Pavlo, but only in the daytime. ‘I worry. You know I worry. You’ll keep an eye on him, won’t you, Zoë?’

‘Keep an eye on him yourself,’ Zoë says firmly, and squeezes Mama’s hand.

‘Of course.’ Mama squeezes back. ‘But one day … You’re a woman, Zoë, and I’m going to talk to you as a woman. I’ll be gone soon. No, don’t shake your head. I will. And it isn’t so terrible. I’m not afraid – what could be worse than this world? – and you mustn’t be either. You’re strong. It is such a funny thing … When I saw you that day, on the waterfront, sitting there all alone and singing “Loula Loula”, I thought you were so tiny and helpless. But you weren’t, and you aren’t now. I wish your brother had your strength. Aman, but he doesn’t. He isn’t tied to the earth, and one day I’m frightened that he will just drift away.’ She closes her eyes. ‘When I was a little girl, I had a cousin whose family owned a house right on the edge of the sea at Lidjia. One summer, when we were visiting, he went out swimming. He couldn’t really swim – he must have been nine or ten, I suppose, and I was a little older. And he got into trouble. Went out too far, and sank like a stone. Thanks be to God, a fisherman saw everything and hauled him out. They brought him back to the beach and hung him up by his ankles until the water came out of him, and he lived, but only just. And for the rest of the summer, his mother wouldn’t let him go swimming without a rope around his ankle. I had to hold on to the other end and pull him out if he did anything silly.’

‘Is that true?’ Zoë chuckles. ‘You never told me before.’

‘I swear. But you know, that’s what Pavlo needs. I’ve been holding on to his rope all this time. Soon, someone else will have to. Zoë, dearest one, I’m afraid it has to be you. Until he finds a nice girl, gets married …’ She shakes her head and her laughter is thin and rasping. ‘But meanwhile, will you do that, Zoë? He’ll sink, otherwise. Or float away, like a balloon. Will you promise me?’