‘We eat a lot of salads,’ she’d mumbled, noticing that the coins she’d fed into the phone were almost used up.

‘Oh, well that’s something, I suppose. But do make sure you wash the lettuce—’

‘Mum, I’ve not got much left on the phone – let me talk to Dad.’

‘Hold on, I’ll get him for you now.’

They always went through this rigmarole where her mother pretended to fetch her father, but Catrin knew he always listened in on the extension in the bedroom.

‘Hiya Dad!’ she said.

‘How’s my little pumpkin?’ he asked brightly, and instantly hearing her daddy’s voice made her want to cry.

She wanted to tell him all about Sol – ‘I’ve met him, Dad!’ she wanted to say. ‘I’ve met the man I know I should have babies with. He’s perfect. You’d love him. And he reads the National Geographic!’ But instead she cleared her throat and asked him about his tomato plants.

‘Ah Cat, I’ve got a bumper crop this year. And there’ll be plenty here for you when you get home, although your mother’s threatening to make a chutney!’

Catrin smiled, the digital display on the telephone unit warning her the call was about to end. ‘I love you, Dad,’ she said. ‘We’re gonna get cut off in a sec!’

BEEEEEEEEEEEP. And the line had gone dead.

Speaking to them had made her homesick for the first time during the holiday. Only two more nights and they’d be flying back. Apart from the obvious, all-consuming joy she felt at the prospect of speaking to Sol again, there were other more domestic reasons for wanting to go home. Firstly she’d get to sleep in her own bed. Secondly she wouldn’t have to live out of a rucksack any more – no matter how many times she shook it out, she always found sand in her clothes, especially her pants. Thirdly she’d get to eat her mum’s shepherd’s pie again. And finally she’d be able to have her films developed so she could see that long-awaited photo of herself and Sol taken at the Samaria Gorge. She hoped beyond hope that her eyes wouldn’t be closed in the shot – she never looked good in photos. ‘Well, I can always cut myself out,’ she thought. After all, it was Sol she wanted to look at.

She checked the barn for a place to drain the waste water but couldn’t see anywhere. So she grabbed the handles on either side of the bath and dragged it towards the entrance – blimey, it was heavy! Realizing she was being watched, she looked up and saw twelve-year-old Andreas and his ten-year-old sister Danoulla sitting on two empty wooden barrels, kicking their heels. They stared at her, both blowing huge, impressive, pink gum bubbles. She smiled at them, trying out an under-confident ‘Kalimera!’

Nothing.

Suddenly there was a screech and they leapt from their perch as their mother Sofia approached, berating them in Greek for failing to help their house-guest. Before she knew it, the bath handles were being eased out of her hands by Andreas and Danoulla, who staggered away with it. Sofia was left apologizing, smiling, entreating Catrin to come indoors. ‘Éla! Éla!’