for her college project. Crete had been on their itinerary and their arrival on the island flooded her with a sweet nostalgia, reminding her of the happy summers she had spent there with her family. Calli’s decision to leave her friends behind and head for the old village was spontaneous and easy to make. She hadn’t seen any of her relatives since she was twelve, and while the half-a-dozen years that had passed since then might not have made a significant impact on the place or on her aunt and grandfather, for Calli they had been transformational. The old man was a little more lame and a lot more hard of hearing. Her uncle Androulios, her mother’s brother, had died in a car accident a couple of years before but Thia Froso was there, still good-looking and robust even if her hair was now flecked with silver. Calli, on the other hand, was a brand-new person. Gone was the lanky girl on the verge of moody teenagehood or the lively seven-year-old who would have swum in the sea from morning to dusk if they had allowed it. She was now a beautiful, composed young woman with a camera around her neck and regret in her heart for leaving it for so long to visit these good people who loved her.
After that first trip Calli would return regularly, until she met James; then her visits became sparse once more.
‘There are so many other places in the world to visit apart from Crete,’ he would complain to her, and she, like a fool, would indulge him as ever.
Seeing her aunt now under the familiar olive trees in that fragrant garden of her childhood, she felt a sense of belonging, a sense of freedom. All she had to think about now was herself, no James and his preferences, his idiosyncrasies and his capricious demands on her time, always feeling responsible for him. Now she was free to do as she pleased, be with whom she wanted to, go wherever she chose and stay as long as she desired.
‘Calliope mou!’ her aunt called as soon as she caught sight of her approaching the garden gate. Rising to her feet she hurried towards her visitor with open arms. ‘Welcome, my blessed child,’ she said, embracing her and showering her with kisses. ‘Come, sit, let me look at you, you are as beautiful as ever.’
Thia Froso looked well, Calli thought, stealing glances at her while they talked. As her aunt stood up to go into the house to fetch some refreshments, she watched her move without effort and stride towards the kitchen door.
‘She looks perfectly OK.’ She turned to Costis with relief. ‘I was fearful of how I would find her.’
‘I only know what my mother tells me,’ he replied with a shrug, ‘and she told me she hadn’t been too well, but who knows? People exaggerate, don’t they?’
Froso reappeared, walking steadily towards the two cousins, carrying a tray with three small glasses, a mini-carafe of raki, three tiny silver forks and a plate of orange peel slices in syrup – the customary citrus glyko and the perfect accompaniment to the white spirit. This offering, Calli knew, was the traditional welcoming drink in those parts and something she remembered her father was particularly fond of; Keith always looked forward to this Cretan custom with relish.
‘Before everyone else arrives we will drink a toast,’ Thia Froso said to the two young people as she poured the raki. ‘Welcome back to us, my girl, we have been waiting for you,’ she said, turning to Calli, and raised her glass.
13
Calli had indeed returned, in more than one sense. She could hardly remember the last time she had sat under the olive trees with the people she loved, and her mind free of anxiety and concern for anyone apart from those she had come to visit. Her aunt had been cooking for the evening’s gathering and promised that she would be preparing more of the dishes which she deemed unavailable in England and which she knew that her niece especially enjoyed.
‘Remember Manolis, the old fisherman?’ she asked while the two of them started to set the table under the trees for the feast. ‘He has promised to catch some barbouni, red mullet, tomorrow. But tonight, we will eat what I prepared this morning, I don’t want to spend all my time in the kitchen on your first evening.’
Gradually neighbours, friends and relatives close and distant started to arrive, bringing their