Inside the cool of the modest kitchen, Lana was sat pouring Turkish coffee for everyone as Judith cut deep into a large watermelon. On the table Sofia had laid out a breakfast feast comprising hunks of fresh halloumi, the delicious sesame-seeded bread to which they were all now addicted, slices of juicy, over-ripe tomatoes and a terracotta bowl full of yoghurt. Next to it was a little jug of honey harvested from their own bees.

‘Sofia made that halloumi herself,’ Judith said, impressed. ‘And the bread.’

‘Naí!’ Sofia obviously got the gist of what they were saying, nodding furiously. She took down a large pan from a rack above her head, ready to start frying the eggs she’d just collected from their hens.

‘You are so kind, Sofia,’ said Lana.

Catrin grabbed her phrasebook and attempted to translate into Greek: ‘Eísai evgenikós!’

Sofia smiled back, urging them to tuck in. ‘Andreas! Danoulla!’ she shouted and within seconds her children came scampering in like hungry puppies, dispensing with their gum and sitting at the table.

After breakfast, they walked to the little village church to visit the grave of George’s mother.

‘Alathea Kassia,’ read Catrin. ‘The Greeks have such pretty names,’ she mused. She watched as Judith leant over and touched her grandmother’s photograph, framed in gold on the headstone. Alathea’s sun-kissed face cheekily smiled back at them, full of vitality. ‘That’s what Catholics do – put photos on the—’

‘Will you zip it, Catrin Kelly!’ whispered Lana. ‘Judith’s meant to be having a moment. She doesn’t need you wittering on.’

‘Sorry,’ said Catrin.

Judith knelt by the grave and planted a pink cyclamen from Sofia’s garden, lovingly patting down the soil around its base. In amongst the stems was a little card on which was written ‘Gia ti giagiá mou’ – ‘for my grandmother’. Catrin felt a lump in her throat as she silently observed her sad friend, and when she took a sideways look at Lana, saw that she was moved too. For both girls, the enormity of what Judith was going through was overwhelming for their tender years.

Afterwards, they went inside the church, where they lit candles in private solemnity. Catrin had always loved doing this in her own church when she was younger. There was something so simple and traditional about it, and yet so moving and symbolic. She watched the tiny flickering of the flame and closed her eyes, before offering up her own silent prayer.

It was a prayer of gratitude for the secret and magical meeting with Sol – Please God, let me see him again – but also for her two beautiful friends and the incredible time they had spent together. ‘I think we have all three been blessed to know each other,’ she whispered. ‘I really, really do.’ And she crossed herself out of Catholic habit, before brushing away a stray tear that was tumbling down her cheek.

10

Lana

Iannis insisted on taking them to Larnaca airport to catch the flight to Athens. Saying goodbye to Sofia and Danoulla and Andreas was hard. The two children had grown fond of their funny-sounding guests, even in such a short space of time, and they’d made presents for all three girls: some pretty little komboloi beads and a small hand-painted mountain rock, each bearing a big red heart. In return, Catrin gave them her copy of Pride and Prejudice, which they were inexplicably excited to receive, and Lana donated her Welsh rugby top, which she often slept in and which she couldn’t remember ever washing. They were a bit more confused by that. But when Jude gave them the little backgammon dice-box that George had given her, they were beside themselves. And so was Sofia. She said Georgios had always been good at making things …