‘Over there,’ the little boy told him, pointing south east.

Good. That got him places. ‘Do you like school?’

‘Sometimes. I hafta go to Greek lessons after school, too.’

‘You speak Greek?’

‘Mama does. She makes me.’

He needed time to take that one in.

They walked along. Kicking stones. Nikos suddenly realised…He was kicking stones in front of him. So was Nicky. With his left foot.

‘You’re left-handed?’

‘Mmm,’ Nicky said.

‘Your mama’s right-handed.’

‘Mmm.’

Riveting stuff. Both being left-handed. It meant nothing.

It meant everything.

‘Has your mother told you about Argyros?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Are you a fisherman?’

‘Yes.’

‘I like boats.’

‘Have you been on boats?’

‘Twice. I don’t get seasick. Mama does. This is the place where a Beatle was shot.’

‘Right,’ Nikos said. He gave up. There were too many questions for one small boy to handle.

There were too many questions for him to handle.

They were sitting right where he’d left them, only Christa had replaced her ice cream with a hand puppet. A squirrel.

She wiggled it as they approached, her face lighting up as she saw him.

‘Thena bought…me…squirrel.’ He grinned and swung her up into his arms. No matter what else was happening here, this mustn’t touch her. That had been his mantra for almost ten years and he wasn’t budging now.

‘Thank you,’ he said gravely to Athena.

‘We didn’t get all the way round,’ Nicky said. ‘We caught another buggy. Nikos says John was his favourite Beatle. He was yours too, wasn’t he, Mama?’

‘Yes,’ she said, sounding repressive.

‘Imagine,’ he said softly and watched her wince.

It had been the last night they’d been together. ‘I have to go away,’ she’d said, but she’d sobbed and clung.

He hadn’t understood why she had to leave. She’d completed her university degree by correspondence, far younger than most. Her writing was brilliant. Everyone said so. She could take a job with the local paper and write the novel to end all novels. They’d agreed. She could stand by him in his battle with Giorgos.