‘Well,’ Moira said when Penny found her at a bus stop outside the hospital, ‘at least we get to see what all the fuss is about Santorini, and why queues of cruise ships are so keep to deposit all their tourists here.’

‘So where is this garden centre?’ Penny asked.

‘In the capital. It’s about sixteen kilometres away, but obviously there’s a bus.’

‘That sounds a long way. I hope Nell will be all right.’

‘Stay if you want,’ Moira shrugged. ‘I don’t mind going on my own.’

‘No, it’s OK. I’ll come.’ Penny felt that this was an important moment for Nell, and didn’t want to intrude.

‘According to my map the road is mainly through the middle of the island, not one of those terrifying coast roads where they threaten to kill you round every bend.’

Despite Moira’s efficiency, they got off at the wrong stop and had to climb the last bit through a rather scrubby vineyard, past various scavenging and underfed cats. Finally they had a moment to stand on high ground and look at the view. It was indeed stunning. Thousands of bright white houses tumbled down the hillside, making Penny think of a birthday cake she’d once made covered in white glacé icing that she’d been so proud of until it collapsed spectacularly before cutting. Up above, they could see the famous domes of Agioi Theodoroi, painted in that unique Greek blue so bright and deep it rivalled the colour of the sea below.

And then they plunged into the narrow main street and were sucked into a moving mass of thousands of tourists, clutching phones and cameras, like some vast tech-armed amoeba, all heading upwards.

‘What’s the big deal?’ Moira asked a passing young woman in a crop top, as they tried to squeeze into the crowd like the Tube at rush hour. ‘Is it the Sermon on the Mount? Or Zeus, perhaps, swooping down from Mount Olympus as a golden eagle?’

The girl looked at Moira oddly. ‘It’s just the sunset. It’s a big deal here.’

Moira looked at her watch. ‘But it isn’t sunset for at least two hours,’ she replied, puzzled.

‘Yes, but the bars with the best view get full really early.’

‘If you don’t get a seat you miss the whole thing,’ endorsed her friend.

‘I can see that would be tragic,’ nodded Moira. ‘Happy snapping!’

They pushed their way upwards, grateful to lose the sunset-seekers as they turned off a side road in their eagerness to be able to move again.

‘Bloody hell,’ reminisced Moira. ‘It’s worse than the Isle of Wight Festival, and that had Bob Dylan and The Who.’

Now they found they were in a different stream altogether, apparently heading for the domed church.