and daughter woke early next morning but didn’t venture down to the beach until later. Breakfast was a generous spread: Froso produced all of her sister’s favourite foods, starting with eggs from the hens, chunky village bread and black olives. The three of them sat chatting in the garden until Calli suggested a swim. For the first time since she had been staying with her aunt, Froso came along with them.
‘My swimming days are over,’ she told them, settling down on a beach lounger shaded by an umbrella. ‘I shall sit here and enjoy watching you two having fun.’ It had been a long time since she had had the pleasure of being with Eleni and Calli together without any of the menfolk around. She wanted to make the most of their company before she turned to the hidden history which she felt compelled to share with them. Over the years she had considered confessing to her sister the secret of her past, but the whole family had kept silent for so long that it had become a way of life for them all and she couldn’t bear to upset those she loved. But now, with the knowledge of her illness and time galloping faster than ever, Froso burned with a desire to make the two most important people in her life understand who she really was. The image by which they knew her – Froso, the woman who had lived a sheltered life, no marriage, no love, no children, no drama – was true, yet not true. She did not want to end her days carrying the burden of the past.
‘I think we should get you into the water one of these days,’ Eleni said, walking towards Froso and reaching for her beach towel on the chair next to her. ‘The salt and iodine will do you good, Sister.’
‘I did my share of swimming when I could. Now I’ll just stick to breathing the iodine,’ she chuckled. ‘I leave the rest to you, if you don’t mind.’
The arrival of Eleni brought all the relatives together again in a fresh round of visits and parties. Calli was eager to introduce her mother to her new friends and above all to Michalis.
‘Honestly, Mum, he is one of the nicest, most genuine people I have met – you’ll see,’ she told Eleni one afternoon when everyone was invited to spend the evening in Froso’s garden for their usual get-together. ‘He grows olives and plays the lyra . . . How much better can it get?’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Eleni replied. ‘The Cretan men of your generation are different from mine: more open-minded, more relaxed, more well-travelled.’
‘Michalis hasn’t travelled much but he is certainly open-minded and relaxed,’ she replied, eager for her mother to meet him.
‘I suppose the internet has made a big difference to young people these days. All we had for information about the world was the TV, magazines and newspapers,’ Eleni said, as she sliced chunks of juicy watermelon into bowls to chill in the fridge before the evening’s gathering.
‘I really love it here, Mum. I can honestly say I’d happily stay forever.’
‘And I can honestly say I couldn’t get away quickly enough.’ Eleni smiled at her daughter. ‘That’s not to say I wasn’t happy – I had a great childhood, but by the time I met your dad I was ready to leave.’
‘That’s because you hadn’t been anywhere else and you were curious to experience the world . . . and you were in love, of course,’ she added. ‘We are all so perverse though . . . Do you think we always want what we can’t have?’
She picked up a piece of watermelon with her hand and stuffed it whole into her mouth, the juice trickling down her chin.
‘You always liked eating melon the messiest possible way,’ Eleni chuckled, handing her a piece of kitchen paper.
‘I liked it best when Yiayia Calliope used to give me a whole slice with the rind still on and send me out into the yard to eat it where the mess didn’t matter . . . and I’d spit out the seeds and watch the ants drag each seed to their nest.’
‘You enjoyed your summers in Crete when you were little, didn’t you?’ Eleni said wistfully as memories came tumbling back. She was always grateful that she had been able to provide for her children some of her own childhood experiences. Growing up with a loving family in a village beside