She took a sharp breath, completely floored by his words.

In the distance, her name was being called. Looking up, she saw Judith and Lana making their way towards her. Quickly she refolded the paper and put it deep inside her pocket. ‘How are your feet?’ she shouted, finding it impossible not to smile.

7

Lana

The bustle of Nicosia was a far cry from the sleepiness of the Greek islands, but Lana secretly welcomed a bit of metropolitan buzz. They’d been in Cyprus for two days and today they were heading to Kakopetria, the home village of Judith’s dad George Harris. ‘D’you think this thing will actually get us there?’ Lana had joked as they boarded the ancient green and yellow Bedford bus at Plateia Solomou, gearing up for a two-hour journey to the Troodos Mountains.

Lana had sat with Catrin on the journey, because Judith had opted to sit on her own down the front. She said she wanted time to think: this was a big deal, going to her father’s home village, even though there was no one there for her to visit any more, George’s parents being long gone and George himself an only child. No actual reason to go. Except that Kakopetria was where he’d apparently grown up. And Judith wanted to see it. There was something so heartbreaking about George, though Lana could never work out what it was.

As they pulled into the little square in Kakopetria, Judith turned to them from the front of the bus and smiled. At least the journey seemed to have lifted her mood. The three girls dismounted and looked around them. So much quieter than busy, noisy Nicosia. They breathed in the fresh mountain air and stretched.

‘I am bustin’ for a pee,’ Lana said.

‘You’re always bustin’ for a pee,’ laughed Judith. And they headed towards a prettily painted restaurant called Taverna Lenia.

Underneath the shady trellises of lemon verbena, and sat around three tables all pushed together, a sprawling Cypriot family was enjoying a late Sunday lunch al fresco. The adults were laughing and chatting, whilst various children perched on the knees of their parents or aunties or uncles, swapping laps intermittently like a game of musical chairs. One woman was discreetly breast-feeding and a boy aged about six was trying to master a Rubik’s cube.

A tired-looking waiter in his forties came out, carrying two large dishes of kouba and whitebait, placing them wherever he could find room on the table and clearing any empty plates. As the girls approached, Lana felt like they were gate-crashing a party. But when the waiter turned to them and smiled, his face was transformed into a kind welcome.

‘Yassas!’

‘Hi,’ said Judith. ‘Table for three?’

‘Tria!’ Catrin chipped in, holding up three fingers. ‘Parakalo.’

‘Oh, and the toilet please,’ said Lana, who was on the verge of wetting herself.

‘Come! Please,’ he said, and they followed him indoors, where he seated them at the bar. Lana headed off to the loo, but when she returned, Catrin and Judith were nowhere to be seen.