Beneath the Orange Blossom
Author: Emma Cowell
Date: 2026-05-07 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance
Description: Can a love from the past bring hope for the future?Escape to Greece this summer where azure waters sparkle and orange blossom scents the air, and discover a story filled with sweeping emotion and romance that's impossible to forget… A lost love. A devastating secret. And a summer that could change everything… Two years on from her husband’s death, dressmaker Ellen is learning how to live again and put memories of a difficult marriage behind her. However, never far from her mind is another Alexandros, her first love from the summer she turned eighteen. The moment she'd arrived in his hometown o
Publisher: Avon

PRAISE FOR EMMA COWELL

‘Beneath the Orange Blossom is another evocative, romantic and deeply sensuous read. Wonderful escapism, which is what we all need right now. I felt I was right there in Greece, among the orange trees.’

Santa Montefiore

‘Fragrant and fabulous, brimming with tender romance and hope. Beneath the Orange Blossom is the perfect book for summer.’

Milly Johnson

‘An odyssey through life and love, family and friendship, with a generous sprinkling of warm sunshine. Beneath the Orange Blossom is the kind of book that lifts your heart.’

Veronica Henry

‘A sublime summer read filled with romance, emotion and hope – Beneath the Orange Blossom will fill your heart to the brim with every turn of the page.’

Holly Martin

‘I read Beneath the Orange Blossom in the dark depths of winter and was transported in every way. Emma has a way of evoking the summer, and the beauty of Greece, alongside the hugely authentic stories of women’s lives. I enjoyed it so much.’

Jennie Godfrey

‘The brilliant Emma Cowell creates worlds of warmth, laughter, healing and hope in her delicious novels.’

Adriana Trigiani

‘Such an emotive tale of love and loss.’

Rosanna Ley

‘A hymn to friendship and love. Utterly perfect.’

Liz Fenwick

‘A delicious slice of Greek life. A beautiful love story.’

Jo Thomas

‘Beautifully written. Emma Cowell writes with warm assurance and brings the Greek setting to life.’

Sue Moorcroft

‘Exploring the power of friendship and love through delicious writing and Greek food, The House in the Olive Grove is evocative, compelling and moving. A glorious story.’

Kate Frost

‘A sweeping novel about sisterhood, courage and new beginnings that will inspire and delight.’

Tessa Harris

‘A Grecian journey with a culinary twist, female solidarity, friendship, and romance. What more does one need for a perfect summer read?’

Nadia Marks

‘Breathtaking world building, stunning imagery and genuine emotion cooked into every page. I adored it.’

Helen Fields

‘An enchanting treat of a book. Sunshine and friendship, broken hearts and secrets. Cowell’s exquisite writing is as delicious as the food she describes. Five honey-smothered stars from me.’

Jenni Keer

‘A sweeping epic Grecian romance about grief, healing, and the unpredictable ways they can drive our stories, One Last Letter From Greece is a Jojo Moyes-esque saga that I inhaled.’

Laura Jane Williams

Beneath the Orange Blossom

Emma Cowell

Copyright

AVON a divsion of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2026

Copyright © Emma Cowell 2026

Cover design by Poppy Loughtman/HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

Cover photographs: Shutterstock.com and Adobe Stock

Emma Cowell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Without limiting the exclusive rights of any author, contributor or the publisher of this publication, any unauthorized use of this publication to train generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies is expressly prohibited. HarperCollins also exercise their rights under Article 4(3) of the Digital Single Market Directive 2019/790 and expressly reserve this publication from the text and data mining exception.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008763152
eBook Edition © May 2026 ISBN: 9780008763169

Version: 2026-03-30

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Dedication

To survivors everywhere

Contents

Cover

Praise for Emma Cowell

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

The Fates

Three sisters of godly blood, each played their part presiding over mortal destiny. All were seamstresses who determined how each path would unfurl – from birth, through life’s trials and with them the consequences humans were fated to navigate.

Then, ultimately, death.

Clotho, the maiden; Lachesis, the mother; and Atropos, the crone – the latter decided when and how the precious thread of life was eternally severed.

Prologue

September 1988, Kalamata airport

Ellen accepted her dusty, battered rucksack from Aléxandros, unable to meet his eyes as she slung it over her shoulder. She didn’t want to leave Greece; she didn’t want to leave him.

‘I’ll meet you at the car. There’s nowhere to sit here,’ she said, briefly casting her gaze around. ‘Let me check in, then I’ll come back before I have to go through.’ She eventually raised her head. His eyes shone like grey opals in the late afternoon light, streaked with emotion and tears. She knew hers were red and blotchy, having cried the entire journey around the mountain roads from Kardamyli, clutching his hand across the gearstick. As she absorbed his beautiful, tanned face, she noticed that the sky surrounding him seemed bluer than ever. The landscape was taunting her with its beauty. He stepped closer, his hand snaking around her neck, and brushed his lips to hers. She stifled a sob and held on to his strong wrist, silently asking him to move away and at the same time needing him to remain as near as possible. It was torture. Neither of them wanted this.

‘This is not our goodbye, Ellen mou,’ he said. My Ellen.

Summer had stretched endlessly with the promise of sunshine-laced adventures on a girls’ trip with her best friend, Penny, who was currently checking in her luggage, but it had sped by too quickly. Especially after she’d found Aléxandros. The moment she arrived back in London, she would pack up her things from her parents’ house and return to begin life hand in hand, side by side with the man she loved, here in Greece.

As she trudged towards the sliding doors clumsily labelled with signs denoting departures, a familiar voice startled her, drawing her attention. She stopped in her tracks and glanced to the side of the airport building … It couldn’t be. No! How was this true?

Second-guessing what she’d seen, she blinked slowly before settling her gaze again. Ellen whipped around to seek out Aléxandros, but he was thankfully out of sight. Her breath caught in her throat as she scrutinised the scene before her, casting the two characters she recognised, the man and the woman in the horrible play she was accidentally watching. Covering her mouth in shock, her blood chilled despite the heat of the day.

Nýsa, Aléxandros’ mother, whose voice she’d heard, cutting her to the core as it always did, spotted her with wild, wide eyes. Nýsa rushed away from her male companion to Ellen’s side and urgently grabbed both of her hands, panting breathlessly.

‘Do not, Ellen, you must never, ever tell what you see. My Aléxandros cannot know – please, you have to promise me.’ She was fervent in her fevered pleas, looking behind her at the man she was with, who shrank backwards and disappeared behind a wall like the coward he was. The diminutive woman with her heavy Greek accent had been aloof and cold to Ellen thus far, but now was frenzied, imploring Ellen to concur, forcing her into an unwelcome confidence. ‘It will break Aléxandros’ heart forever. Please, Ellen, promise you will never tell him.’ Nýsa was frantically begging; so different from the sedate, widowed matriarch Ellen had become accustomed to over the summer.

‘I …’ Ellen began. ‘Aléxandros needs to know, Nýsa. He is here in the car park! How could you ever do this to him … ?’ Her words faded into the air and drifted off towards the snow-capped peaks of the Peloponnese. The truth would crush her beloved just as much as the deceit, and Ellen longed to protect the man who had loved her more than she could ever have imagined.

‘You must not return to Kardamyli. If he discovered this, my beautiful only son would never recover; he has been through so much this past year,’ Nýsa said, crossing herself piously. Ellen thought she belonged in hell for what she’d done. The web of lies Nýsa had woven, spun and stitched together just as Ellen would sew a blouse was the work of a master craftswoman – one Ellen had no desire to ever become. ‘You really want to break his heart in this way, Ellen? It is better for us all that you never return. There is no way for you to be here now. Leave. Forever.’

At Nýsa’s words, Ellen took a step backwards, feeling the weight of her rucksack pulling her shoulder downwards, and she shook her head in disbelief as Nýsa continued.

‘You will agree. There is no choice. Your holiday romance will pass and you will soon become just a memory; I will see to it,’ spat Nýsa with all the warmth of a hailstorm. Ellen was filled with horror. She wouldn’t want to be the cause of Aléxandros’ pain, but if she didn’t return as she’d promised, he would be hurt even further, possibly beyond repair. And so would she. They’d made plans for their future. She couldn’t leave without a word nor explanation just because she’d caught his mother out in the gravest of lies. ‘And if you disobey me, I will do everything in my power to turn Aléxandros against you. Your relationship will be cursed and I will stop at nothing until he forgets he loves you. You already see what I am capable of. Decide now, this instant, and choose wisely!’

Ellen’s mind raced as her body trembled from Nýsa’s threat. The woman clawed at her arm and skin. Tears pricked at her eyes, as she realised she’d been backed into a corner with no other option. She found herself unwittingly agreeing with the woman’s cruel scheme to not only conceal the dreadful lie but to sacrifice her future with the man she loved.

All those dreams she’d planned with Aléxandros as they’d watched the sun set over his olive groves were for nothing. The pale green foliage tinged with gold, which they’d called angel kisses, like the gods had ordained their union with a light from the heavens. Now, it belonged in the dust. She’d thought they were destined to be together.

With one last look through the airport doors, kissing Greece and the idea of true love goodbye with her eyes, she went to check in and would head straight for the gate. Ellen could only hope that time would heal her broken heart. And eventually Aléxandros’ heart too.

Chapter 1

Today, Tuesday, London

One of the worst things about being a widow – aside from the obvious – was all the unwritten rules. The main one being: ‘don’t say anything unkind about the person who’s dead’, no matter how much you wish to. Especially to the child. And Ellen never had, nor would she. Instead, she’d allowed her son, Tristan, to canonise his father, John, who’d died two years ago. She’d preserved her own memories in a putrid pickle jar and firmly snapped the lid shut.

Even though Tristan was a thirty-two-year-old adult, Ellen still wanted to shield him from pain. That’s being a mother, isn’t it? Taking on everyone else’s sorrow and trying to fix it or at least make it better, pushing your own woes to the side to be dealt with later, in private. However, today might prove to be a line in the sand. It was time to be brave, and though Ellen suspected Tristan would be worried about her, she needed to tell him. She didn’t wish to add to any concerns he may have about how widowhood was affecting her, but this news wasn’t connected to her late husband’s death. She took a steeling breath.

‘I have something to share with you. I’m going to Greece and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.’ Ellen quietly gulped in anticipation of her son’s response, hiding her anxiety with a nervous smile.

But there was nobody to hear her words; she’d been speaking to her own reflection in the hallway mirror. As her practice attempt at happiness fell from her face, courage also deserted her.

‘You can do it, you can do it,’ she muttered to herself.

Sighing in resignation, she smoothed her lank blonde hair, ignoring the spreading grey at her roots, knowing she ought to go to the hairdresser’s, but there never seemed to be enough time. Babysitting for her grandchildren swallowed up every spare minute, and sitting in a stylist’s chair for hours seemed like a waste, though Ellen currently felt like all she did was waste her time or willingly donate it to her family. The only thing belonging to her was dressmaking, and it gave her a warm glow to make something out of nothing. It was a true calling to drape fabrics, bringing someone else’s idea to life; it was the most satisfying thing she did. Her own visions – some would call them premonitions – which arrived when she sewed, sprinkled something extra into the garment. It began as merely a feeling, growing in strength to become a visual sensation that almost overpowered her when she completed a piece. And it would be what the person wearing it would also eventually feel. Ellen foresaw and felt their destiny for a split second. It validated her chosen profession; when someone wore one of Ellen’s creations, something magical happened. Though she didn’t believe in magic as such, she did believe in confidence. But at fifty-five years old, it was high time her days became more about her, not everyone else. She felt dreadful to even think it, but she needed to make a change. Now she was free, Ellen could do anything she wanted.

Picking up her shopping list, she set off for the parade of stores around the corner to buy ingredients for supper.

Chicken

Onions

Spinach

Biscuits for Bella

Bacon for Barney

Tonight, she planned to cook Tristan’s favourite chicken curry. She’d also summoned her daughter-in-law, Cressida, so she could make her announcement with both of them present. Over a home-cooked cosy supper, Ellen planned to broach the subject of her trip to Greece. She only hoped they didn’t think she was having some kind of grief-induced crisis by taking off, abandoning all responsibilities including being their much-relied-upon childcare.

Tristan always came for dinner after his weekly acupuncture appointment nearby. Every. Single. Tuesday. Ellen thought she liked her routine, but it was beginning to grate; life seemed to be slipping by and she craved new experiences. She admitted she’d become stuck in her ways, though before now it hadn’t been a choice, abiding by an imposed routine. Aside from the clothing she made for a living, which gave her a glimpse of freedom in her darkest hours, it was as if she’d actually stopped living or, more accurately, forgotten how to. Yes, she loved her grandchildren, but what was left for her after she’d handed them back? Recently, it was like the veil had been lifted from her eyes; having been so used to being told where to go and what to do, now it was down to her to dictate the direction of her life.

Later, as she diced white onions into neat pieces on a wooden chopping board that had seen better days, her eyes began to stream. The sound of the clock on the kitchen wall seemed to beat louder while she wiped her nose on a piece of kitchen roll. It was too quiet, aside from her sniffling in time with the ticks. Her trip to Greece had come at the perfect time. But Ellen couldn’t help but think about her late husband. It was unavoidable; the reminders were everywhere. She hadn’t known someone could drop dead, lights off, the end. There was an irony in her heartless husband dying of a heart attack, as if his vital organs couldn’t stand to fuel his body a moment longer. The shape of his name still formed in her mouth before her memory caught up, stopping her saying ‘John’ to ask the empty air for permission. It would be two years next week. April 27th was an anniversary without an appropriate card to receive.

According to Tristan, Ellen was ‘smashing’ widowhood. She didn’t know what he meant, but after John died, she certainly felt like smashing things because her life had indeed been smashed.

After finishing her food preparation for the curry supper summit, Ellen fried up some bacon, wrapped it in paper and placed it in her shopping bag along with the box of biscuits she’d bought earlier, then headed out. As she walked towards the underpass, the mechanical clunking of the train station’s entry gates echoed in the cavernous space. She stopped in the middle of the passageway with the garish blue floor lights, screwing her nose up at the tinge of herbal cigarettes in the air. The rumble of a train leaving Raynes Park station made a sound akin to a minor earthquake.

Bella was on the floor in her usual spot, bundled in her sleeping bag. Her hand was open while she slumbered. Ellen wondered how anyone could sleep so deeply when exposed to the elements, but Bella didn’t stir as the wind whipped along the walkthrough, bringing with it the putrid tang of expunged body fluid. At the end of the underpass, a man was urinating against the wall. His nose was pressed to the stone. People skirted away in disgust but Ellen mustered the courage to speak.

‘Excuse me, perhaps you could find a loo.’

The man with no regard for public decency looked towards her, his gaze unable to fix, muttering unintelligibly. Thankfully he walked away, and Ellen faced the tiny heap of blankets. It was hard to place Bella’s age; living on the streets may have drawn the years she was yet to live across her face. Ellen walked over, not wishing to disturb; she must need the sleep if it had found her. The wiry tan dog beside her, whose name was Barney, wagged his tail, lifting his ears in recognition: the daily purveyor of fried bacon had arrived. He sat up and tilted his head appealingly, shoulders shimmying with excitement. Ellen reached into her bag and extracted a crispy morsel. He hesitated, seeking permission with his eyes, then gently took it. It was gone the moment it touched his pink tongue. He whined in tune with the whistling wind and gratefully received another treat. Ellen knew not to stroke him. She’d tried once and he’d cowered in the shadows, as if friendliness could hurt. This poor little mite was ill-equipped for affection from anyone aside from his owner. She placed the tin of biscuits and some money beneath it on the end of the sleeping bag. Bella opened her eyes briefly and spoke.

‘Bless you, Ellen,’ she croaked. ‘God bless you, my dear friend.’ She returned to sleep as Barney settled down over her feet.

Bella was one of Ellen’s few constants, apart from her little family and few friends. And, of course, her sewing machine. Such familiarity and routine had helped her navigate the complexities following John’s death. Between book club, dressmaking, and the odd lunch out, the sight of the homeless woman was something she’d come to rely upon; they needed one another. She was a secret companion who had given Ellen light during the grimmest days of her marriage, ironically offering Ellen comfort when Bella existed in anything but.

It gave Ellen joy to help in her own small way, even now after eight years of knowing each other. There was something unspoken between them, a mutual understanding that defied reason. Ellen never needed to explicitly admit her fears aloud; somehow Bella always understood, and she saw through the man John had purported to be. They skirted the issue, never discussing it in their exchanges, but Ellen knew Bella wasn’t fooled by John’s façade. She was the only one who would scoff, shake her head with disdain or roll her eyes if Ellen ever mentioned him. She supposed that Bella had observed him when he thought nobody was looking. It was why Ellen continued to make a daily delivery of biscuits for Bella and bacon for Barney; the homeless woman had been – and remained – her only safe space. Nobody else knew the truth about the man she’d been married to.

As she walked back home, her mind filled with the long-forgotten wanderlust that had gripped at her and refused to leave. It was her best friend Penny’s fault and, she supposed, her own. It had re-emerged because of book club last Wednesday, prompting recollections of years ago in Greece, which had come flooding forth. It was the reason she was announcing the trip tonight to Tristan and Cressida. Ellen caught herself smiling as her mind clouded with memories: glimpses of sunshine, snapshots of azure waters and flashes of suntanned skin. It was before John; a time when she’d known what it was to be carefree and happy. And to be loved. The girl she once was still remained somewhere within, only she was buried so deeply beneath layers of life. Ellen was determined to dust her off to set her free for one last adventure. Or maybe it would be the first in far too long.

Chapter 2

Last Wednesday, Book Club

It was Ellen’s turn to host since it was her book choice, which was a considerable departure from the cosy crime written by celebrities that her cohorts preferred. For snacks, she’d made a charcuterie star: layers of Serrano ham, crackers, focaccia, crudités, olives, fruits, and cubes of cheese all positioned to cleverly make the celestial shape.

Penny and June were due at any moment, so Ellen plumped the magenta scatter cushions on her cream sofa and straightened the multicoloured throw that was draped over the armchair. They were daring splashes of homespun colour, and as she looked around the living room, her eyes traced the bravely placed accent pieces, acquired or made after John had died. He’d preferred everything to be beige and ‘neat as a pin’. They were opposites in every way, and though she’d tried to be a good wife, it hadn’t been enough for him. But she could never have predicted the mask he was hiding behind, even though they were so different.

As a police commander, he’d been very clear about what was and what wasn’t acceptable. But Ellen had allowed her bohemian eye to gradually reclaim the space as she traversed widowhood, making cushion covers from leftover fabric scraps, concealing the bland vanilla scheme to slowly but surely become her own for the first time. She resentfully retrieved their wedding photograph that she concealed in a drawer and shuddered to put it back on the sideboard, nestling it among happier pictures featuring her son and grandchildren. The punishment continued even after John’s death because of the choice she’d made to keep the truth about their relationship secret. Too much time had passed to suddenly confess and now it was too late. Even her closest friend, Penny, had no inkling of what she’d suffered, and she wished it was different so that she could truly break free of the charade. Ellen kept her circle small – though John had controlled her number of friendships – to avoid explaining her marital status or receiving unwanted condolences for the loss of a man who’d been capable of relentless cruelty.

Penny arrived at seven on the dot. They’d been best friends since the age of eleven and their childhood weekends had been well spent roaming the shops during the 1980s, saving up pocket money to buy a ‘Choose Life’ T-shirt to pair with a bowler hat and pixie boots. Penny was first in the class to get a puffball skirt, and Ellen remembered how envious she’d been, since her family couldn’t afford such luxuries, unlike her friend. Then she worked out how to make one for herself in a pale blue satin. She’d fallen in love with sewing in 1983 while listening to Culture Club and fast became the go-to girl at school to customise a stone-washed jean jacket. It was then that her love affair with dressmaking had begun, though Ellen never mentioned the visions she’d had whenever she made something, in case Penny thought her mad. Back then, their biggest childhood challenge had been how to become Cyndi Lauper, dress like Madonna and marry George Michael.

‘Ellen!’ declared Penny in greeting at the front door, giving her a warm hug. ‘I’ve just come from the committee meeting for the fundraiser next month. It’s going to be fab-u-lous! Are you still good for an auction prize?’

Penny had marched straight into the lounge after depositing her cashmere coat on a banister. She was a bundle of infectious energy and seemed to have an unlimited supply. She’d married well and hadn’t ever worked, so devoted her spare time to sitting on the boards of various charities including her family’s own foundation. Her husband, Alan, was CEO of something in finance that Ellen didn’t understand, but he was evidently very successful. Penny’s life was one worthwhile endeavour after another, plus she came from old money that she deployed with considerable philanthropy. Ellen felt embarrassed that her only charitable efforts consisted of feeding a stray dog and its homeless owner.

‘Of course, Pen,’ said Ellen enthusiastically. ‘Put me down for a custom outfit. What’s the charity – the children’s hospital appeal, isn’t it?’

Penny helped herself to an olive from the platter on the coffee table.

‘No that was the last one. This is for victims of domestic abuse.’

Ellen hastily unscrewed the white wine and poured two generous glasses as Penny stared at the photographs on the side.

‘Right, of course, more than happy to support. Cheers,’ Ellen said, raising her drink and offering the other to her guest. But she didn’t hear. Penny was quite deaf but refused to acknowledge it, wallowing in complete denial about ageing. ‘I said cheers!’ repeated Ellen loudly. Penny turned and accepted the wine then clinked glasses before sitting in the armchair. She stared at Ellen for a moment and frowned as much as she could. Her forehead was glassy smooth.

‘You look exhausted, Ellen,’ she said gently, her eyes tracing Ellen’s appearance. ‘I think a spa day is much needed. And perhaps … a hairdresser’s appointment. Let me book you in. My treat.’

Ellen smiled at her friend, who appeared far too glamorous for the lounge in her navy pantsuit and long string of genuine pearls. Her caramel hair with expensive streaks of light blonde was blow-dried to bouncy perfection and the air was thick with Chanel No.5, which overshadowed the cheap floral wax melt Ellen had fired up.

‘I’m absolutely fine, Pen, honestly. Just lots going on.’ Ellen made a conscious effort to speak up to save her friend any embarrassment and considerately dipped the volume of the music playing from the speaker in the corner.

Penny sat forward, putting her glass on the table.

‘I have known you for more than forty years and I know what you look like when you’re fine, and this is not it. I know John’s anniversary is coming up. I can’t believe he’s been gone two years; it only seems like yesterday,’ Penny said with a sigh, her eyes glistening in the lamplight. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Ellen found a smile to placate her, because she didn’t want to talk about it; there wasn’t anything she wanted to tell. And that was the problem. But she tried to pacify her friend, fiddling subconsciously with her wedding ring that she wished she could rip off.

‘Just having a bit of trouble sleeping and the grandkids are a lot to deal with. Work’s been mad too. This time of year is bridesmaid dress central!’

‘I wish you’d tell Tristan to stop relying on you so much. It’s not like they can’t afford help. Having a nanny growing up was the best thing that happened to me – preferable to my parents,’ she scoffed. ‘You’re too good to him and that ghastly Cressida – they’re taking advantage.’ Ellen shook her head dismissively, not wishing to agree aloud.

Tristan and Cressida’s little ones, Mercury – a boy – and Andromeda – a girl – were eighteen months and three years old respectively, and were a handful to say the least. Penny had sniggered at the name choices, and Ellen admitted she had balked too when she’d first heard them. Neither of the women were huge fans of Cressida, but Ellen felt duty-bound to defend Tristan’s wife, despite the fact the woman was a shameless snob and flaky to a fault. The kind who always promised lunches or catch-ups but never followed through. She was a womenswear designer for a high-end fashion label and looked at Ellen’s own creations with an expression that hovered somewhere between pity and disgust. But she made Tristan happy; that was the main thing.

‘It’s fine. I only have the kids three days a week and they’re so much fun,’ Ellen replied.

‘Well, I think it’s a bit much. Imagine what you could do with all that free time. What we could do! Travel, gad about, lunch … it would be like it used to be – just you and me. I miss those days,’ Penny said with a sigh.

Ellen topped up her friend’s depleted glass and glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. June was late, which was unlike her. Penny must have tuned in to her thoughts.

‘Oh, I totally forgot to tell you, June’s not coming and more fool her as she’s missing this heavenly protein platter!’ said Penny, digging into the spread. ‘She messaged me her thoughts, so we can cover that off in one minute.’ Penny retrieved her phone from her black quilted leather bag while she chewed a sliver of Serrano. ‘June said, “Not my sort of book, nothing happens and no plot twist.” Sorry.’

Penny popped her phone away and took a hefty glug of her wine before tackling a hunk of truffle cheddar. Ellen felt affronted on behalf of her book selection by Patrick Leigh Fermor, the respected travel writer whose musings about the Mani Peninsula on the Greek mainland were utterly charming, blending myth, history and Grecian life in perfect harmony.

‘Right,’ began Ellen, taking a small sip of her own drink. ‘And what did you think?’

Penny flapped her hand in the air. ‘Didn’t have time. I read the back cover and that’s as far as I got. This month has been non-stop. Though the thought of Greece took me back. Goodness, we had fun in those days, didn’t we? One of us more than the other, if I remember rightly, though I admit I had my fair share.’ Her chocolate eyes twinkled at Ellen, who couldn’t help the blush that crept across her cheeks. Rereading the book after so long, Ellen admitted her thoughts had too been consumed by that trip they’d taken together at eighteen years old to Kardamyli. Armed only with a rucksack, hope and expectation, their travels hadn’t disappointed. And though Penny had certainly found considerable entertainment within the local population, for Ellen it was the first and only time she’d felt the exquisite fusion of love and lust.

Her mind was forced back to the lounge by Penny’s clicking fingers.

‘Cooeeee! Where did you go to? As if I didn’t know!’ She giggled, but Ellen ignored her jest.

‘I was thinking about all those beautiful towns and villages we visited. Hitchhiking without a care for danger. Couldn’t do that now,’ said Ellen in horror, recalling their recklessness, jumping in and out of strangers’ cars and trucks as they travelled around. Ellen had scrimped and saved to fund her share of their travels, whereas Penny had simply asked her parents for a handout.

‘We could go again, you know? There’s absolutely nothing to stop you,’ Penny said with a mischievous grin.

‘I couldn’t, Pen!’ Ellen couldn’t deny the idea was appealing, but it wasn’t practical. ‘I’m not as brave as I once was.’

‘Spring in the Mani is heaven. The sea will be warm enough to swim and you never know who might still be there … I think we should go. Together.’

Ellen hastened to the kitchen for the lemon drizzle cake she’d made that morning, trying to push thoughts of him to the side, though they were never far away. Aléxandros. The sound of his name in her head sent ripples throughout her body. She lifted the cover off the cake stand and looked out into the garden. The uplit succulents nestled within russet gravel framed the covered patio furniture. Her mind couldn’t help but make its own journey backwards in time to a thought so acute it was burned into her soul:

I already know he will break my heart. But I somehow know deep inside that nobody will ever look at me like he does.

Ellen’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the countertop. The truth was, in the end she had broken his heart. Willing the butterflies in her stomach to calm before shaking off her memory, she returned to the lounge. Penny was busy on her phone but looked up as Ellen reappeared.

‘Who’s this?’ Penny asked, indicating the music coming from the speaker.

‘Gwen Stefani,’ replied Ellen.

Penny looked surprised, then puzzled. ‘Umm, November, I think.’

It was Ellen’s turn to look perplexed as she asked, ‘What’s November?’

‘Diwali. Why? What did you say?’

Ellen burst into laughter. ‘Gwen Stefani, not Diwali!’ she repeated and, as Penny realised her misheard mistake, they both crumpled into fits of giggles, clutching at their stomachs and begging the other to stop. It happened with astonishing regularity and, while amusing, Ellen wished Penny would do something about her loss of hearing. It had gone on for a few years. After several minutes and handfuls of tissues to dry their eyes, their hysteria settled and Ellen bit into a slice of moist lemony sponge while Penny looked at something on her phone.

‘No cake for me if I need to fit into a bathing suit,’ said Penny, indicating her already flat stomach. It was almost concave, she was so trim.

‘Don’t be absurd – you’re skinnier than ever, Pen! Is Alan whisking you away somewhere?’ Ellen asked, but Penny shook her head, wafting her hand in the air.

‘No, silly! Where are we off to is the question. I’ve just found flights, darling apartments in a fabulous hotel with a spa. What do you say, old friend? Alan won’t mind me jetting off. All I have to do is press a button …’ Penny waved her phone at Ellen, hovering her finger above the screen, her eyes sparkling with the challenge. But Ellen couldn’t simply fly away on a whim. She had clients relying on her and Tristan needed her help with the kids. Her own life was very different to Penny’s one of privilege.

‘Give me a week to think about it. I’ll let you know.’

‘Fine. But I suggest you start doing things for yourself, otherwise one day you’ll be stuck in an old people’s home with just memories for company – if you’re lucky enough to remember anything at all!’

Ellen couldn’t help her amusement at Penny’s summation. The thought of going away was as thrilling as it was terrifying. Recreating their teenage voyage as grown-ups could be a hoot. But unlike Penny, Ellen had responsibilities.

Besides, taking off to Greece wasn’t as easy as pressing a button. Or was it?

Chapter 3

Last Friday

Ellen dashed out the door first thing, armed with Barney’s bacon and some lemon cake left over from book club for Bella. She was due at Tristan and Cressida’s in half an hour to babysit for the final time this week and mentally crossed her fingers that the trains weren’t up the spout.

The familiar pile of blankets greeted her in the underpass, but Bella and her dog were nowhere to be seen. Ellen looked around, trying to shiver away the April chill by pulling her jacket closer. She’d made it herself in a striking purple wool blend. The style was based on a Victorian riding coat, complete with an asymmetric crossover front hem. Adding large vintage glossy buttons in the same shade, then a belt to cinch in her waist, the effect was stunning and she often received compliments about it. She’d once made something similar for a woman who’d come to her asking for a spring jacket in a deep racing green. As she’d stitched, Ellen had seen in her mind’s eye her client take the hand of a man outside a pub near Wimbledon Common, and the potential of love was sewn into the seams. Ellen knew that affection would hunt that lucky lady down.

Ellen placed the zip-lock bag of treats and the container of cake on top of the sleeping bag, tucking a ten-pound note beneath it along with some flea treatment for Barney, hoping nobody swiped them.

‘Ellen!’ she heard from the end of the underpass and, spotting Bella with her dog in tow, she moved to greet them.

‘Just left you a few bits and some pennies. Is there anything else you need?’ Ellen asked. Bella could hardly straighten her body upright but managed a warm smile, revealing dark yellow teeth. She placed a gloved hand on Ellen’s arm as she spoke.

‘You caring for us is more than we need. God bless you, Ellen. For all you’ve been through, you always make time for me and old Barney.’ She glanced down at her faithful companion who wagged his tail, earnestly glancing up at his owner.

‘It’s nothing,’ she replied, unable to imagine the life of uncertainty and fear Bella endured, though Ellen had had her own version. ‘Just let me know if there’s anything you want and I’ll get it. See you tomorrow.’ She made to move away, but Bella’s hand found her arm again.

‘I shouldn’t say it after all this time, but he was everything to everybody but you. I saw him shaking hands with all the dignitaries, the mayor bowing to him, beaming with pride at his buckles and badges, shiny and polished,’ Bella said quietly, and Ellen had to strain to hear as another train rumbled overhead. Her skin prickled with cold at Bella’s account of John. They’d never discussed him overtly before now. ‘I saw the man he really was, the one who said terrible things to you, grabbed at your arm, marching you along like you were in trouble. Pretending to the public all the while, but his true colours came out when he thought nobody was watching. I saw it. People think you’re invisible when you’re on the street, but I see, and I hear. Only a woman who’s had to cover her own bruises can spot the signs.’ Ellen couldn’t speak, struck with panic. How many others had guessed like Bella had? She’d thought she’d been a master at concealment, though Bella’s confession did explain their improbable connection.

‘He tried to get me moved on, you know,’ Bella continued. ‘But I’ve come up against men like him before. He thought he was so important, but nothing is as strong as a woman who sees people as clear as day. And I can see in your eyes, you’re beginning to be Ellen again. Don’t be afraid of who you really are.’

Ellen took her leave, astonished at yet another facet to John’s cruelty. Perhaps he was afraid of how Bella saw through him. Trying to conceal her fluster, Ellen walked slowly away. Before entering the station, she turned to find Bella had settled back onto her blankets with Barney dutifully beside her. The two women exchanged a long look of understanding, a silent connection of unlikely sisterhood as if they were agreeing to keep Ellen’s secret across the distance of the underpass. With a nod of encouragement, the homeless woman settled down to sleep and Ellen shakily set off to babysit.

She arrived breathlessly for a day with her grandchildren at Tristan and Cressida’s smart townhouse in Clapham. To Ellen’s mind, it was more of a show home, as if nobody lived there. It made her terribly uncomfortable to set foot inside, but at least she had her travel sewing machine with her should Mercury and Andromeda take their scheduled naps. One of her clients was bringing their daughter tomorrow for a dress fitting, so she wanted to put the finishing touches to the beautiful silk gown she’d lovingly made. Nestled in a garment bag, it was draped over Ellen’s arm and she was thrilled with how it had turned out. Destined for an eighteenth birthday celebration, the stunning slip-style dress was cut on the bias and was beautifully form-fitting. It was a vibrant cobalt blue and the colour reminded Ellen of a midday Greek sky.

‘Ellen, darling! Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?’ Cressida declared, having opened the door before Ellen had a chance to ring the bell. This morning Cressida’s jet-black hair was pulled up into an impossibly tight bun, severely stretching her young features to the extent that she resembled a cross cat. As Ellen opened her mouth to speak, Cressida cut her off after looking her up and down. ‘Goodness, what an unusual coat. So … purple – one of yours, clearly. Must dash. So good to see you. Let’s have lunch soon. And remember, no TV for the children!’

‘Mercury, sweetheart, please, just one more mouthful for Granny,’ Ellen begged as she hovered the spoon in front of her eighteen-month-old grandson’s pursed rosebud mouth. He turned his head sharply to the side. Ellen followed his face with the spoon, which was charged with an organic vegetarian version of spaghetti bolognese, but he turned his head the other way.

‘No!’ he shouted, pouting harder than ever, before beginning to wail, expelling a stream of tomato sauce, which glazed his chin with a little red beard. Ellen rested the spoon on the edge of the highchair tray-table, exhaling in defeat. Andromeda was happily chewing, strapped into her booster seat, messily feeding herself with the gusto of a Tudor monarch. Yet Mercury was adamant; he wasn’t going to behave. Ellen felt like the perpetual bad guy, and although she loved her grandchildren fiercely, they were terribly spoilt. She didn’t think they’d ever been told no, which frustrated her as much as it pleased her because it meant Tristan wasn’t a dictatorial type of father.

Noticing her attention had strayed, Mercury deliberately knocked his plastic bowl sideways with a chubby arm. It bounced across the floor, splattering red-sauce-coated mushroom mince everywhere. Pasta strands hung limply from under-counter cupboards, some were stuck firm to skirting boards and the washed oak floor resembled a scene from a slasher movie. Ellen’s wide eyes travelled to the garment bag she’d hung from the fridge. She’d unzipped it so the bottom of the dress wouldn’t crease, hoping she could work on it while the children were snoozing. What a huge mistake that had turned out to be.

‘Bloody hell, Mercury, no!’ Ellen shouted furiously and dashed to the silk gown.

Andromeda dissolved into hysterical laughter, repeating the swear word between her giggles as Mercury began to scream, furiously banging his fists on the high chair’s wooden tray. Ellen held her head with both hands, trembling. The dress was ruined and she’d have to start it all over again. As she’d made it, the scene of its destiny had played out vividly in her mind, but now, that was shattered. Or rather splattered. Its purpose had been stunted before it had a chance. The fitting tomorrow would have to be delayed for at least two days, but only if she worked all hours. This was a nightmare. She turned to the little ones and, upon finding her granddaughter had joined Mercury’s shrill wailing, Ellen’s heart panged at their cries. She needed to rescue lunchtime for them, if not for herself.

‘Dah dum … dah dum,’ began Ellen, forcing a wide grin and singing the opening to ‘Zorba the Greek’. The country was still dominating her idle thoughts ever since book club on Wednesday. ‘Daddle daddle dummmmmm …’ She continued to sing and dance, increasing in pace and desperation, longing for the screeching to stop. Eventually the two children paused their cries to stare open-mouthed at their grandmother. Andromeda’s surprise shifted to amusement and she started to clap. Mercury soon followed suit. The sauce-plastered kitchen was filled with the sound of Ellen’s tuneless humming and stomping along with a chorus of happy squeals from her grandchildren. Her successful distraction strategy began to wane after several minutes of questionable entertainment, and they started to rub their eyes, both as exhausted as Ellen from the impromptu show.

Having successfully put the children down for a nap, Ellen tackled the kitchen. Her dress commission would have to wait until she was alone in order to mourn it properly then start again. Though she was crestfallen, she wasn’t daunted. Because beginning again was something she was familiar with. It was what she’d done after John: pieced life back together for Tristan and herself. To an extent. She wasn’t sure there was enough time left on this earthly plane to unpick and sew back together what she’d endured at John’s hands.

While she scrubbed to erase all evidence of lunch, her mind drifted again to Penny’s suggestion of recreating their teenage trip in Greece. Ellen couldn’t help but wonder if Aléxandros might still be in Kardamyli. She wasn’t under any illusions that he’d given her a second thought after she left – if he was there at all. She’d hurt him, and offered no explanation; just disappeared from his life after promising him the world. She hadn’t responded to his letters that had arrived at her parents’ home, though she’d devoured every painful word. Eventually, he’d given up on her.

In the years that followed, Ellen made a series of choices, while attempting to mend her own heart, that led her to walk down the aisle towards unhappiness and regret. She’d made her bed and, though it was the wrong one, she’d lain in it anyway. What she’d uncovered at Kalamata airport all those years ago still haunted her, along with the broken vow she’d made: to return to Greece to be with Aléxandros. It was a torment she’d tried to bury since she was eighteen, and it was still too awful to think about. But yet it nudged at her conscience like an invisible unswattable mosquito buzzing in her ears at night.

Peeling off the yellow rubber washing-up gloves, she emptied the bucket of dirty water into the Belfast sink, then slowly walked towards the ruined silk dress, confirming what she already knew. It was beyond repair.

A memory stirred …

‘You’re mad,’ John had snarled. ‘You never remember things the way they happen. It’s insulting. I told you not to put chilli in the sauce but you defied me, you stupid useless woman.’ Ellen had sat wondering whether it was worth mentioning that it was in fact him who’d suggested a bit of heat in the supper, though she hadn’t wanted to fuel his fire. It may also be a trick. As she’d dipped her head, frantically trying to work out how to appease him, to take the edge off his temper, she wondered if she was at fault.

It was best that she stayed silent. But more pressingly, she needed to soak her skirt. He’d dumped his plate of hot food in her lap and it was burning her legs through flimsy fabric; a spreading, increasing pain that made her wince expressionlessly, gripping her hands together as tight as possible to conceal her agony. But as she’d stayed statue still, her head dropped further in shame as her skin scalded. Had she remembered their conversation differently to the real version of events? Was he right and she was slowly but surely going mad?

Regardless, John would belligerently stick to his version of the truth, while Ellen would acquiesce for the sake of a quiet life and hope to avoid further punishment. There was only John’s way, so it was for the greater good she went along with it and tried not to put another foot wrong. Ellen needed to try harder and be a better wife, and make him happy.

She recoiled from the dress and her awful recollections. Tears stung her eyes, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to shed another tear over John. Anger surged through her like a spitting firework catching light until she uttered what she’d never been able to say aloud, but directed it at the stained garment: ‘Thank God you are gone.’

There! She’d admitted it. Never again would she be treated like that. Perhaps the real reason why she’d never entertained the idea of love since John died was in case she found a ‘kind’ man who behind closed doors was anything but. The only way she had managed to unearth a smile and endure her torturous marriage was by thinking of another, basking in her beautiful memories of Greece from long ago with Aléxandros.

As his name flashed through her mind, a shiver journeyed the length of her spine. Aléxandros had been the shining light in her every day since they’d parted thirty-six years, eight months and thirteen days ago. He was what had enabled her to endure the reality of the path she had unwittingly taken. When she’d closed her eyes, attempting to erase John’s cruel stinging words, Aléxandros’ smiling face would appear like a healing draught. As she applied dabs of arnica to bruises, patted concealer over the marks or complied with John’s unrequited, brutal demands for her body, the memory of another time in Greece was a balm for her wounds, giving her hope that one day, or at least in another life, they would somehow find each other again.

But now that her husband was dead, the guilt of what she’d cast asunder in that tiny Grecian village had risen up and wouldn’t let go, like a persistent toddler tugging at her hem. It was Ellen’s fault they weren’t together because of what she’d agreed to at Aléxandros’ mother’s demand. Yet another thing outside of her power: a decision removed from her free will. The choice that was now before her started to pull at both mind and heart. The urge to walk in her past footsteps was suddenly overwhelming and her body tingled with longing. It would be a full-circle moment to revisit Kardamyli but as a widowed woman.

Just as she’d done back then, she could arrive flying solo in life with nothing to tether her passions. There was nobody to check her, judge or squash her spirit. Perhaps if only for a few days in Greece, she might be able to forget what had happened to her. And maybe she’d remember who she once was. But more importantly, work out who she may yet become.

Chapter 4

Last Sunday

Ellen walked away from her sewing machine in the box room upstairs. The usually comforting hum it made had created a noise between her ears that persisted even when the machine was silent.

Having worked solidly all weekend since the spaghetti sauce incident, the dress was now finished and ready for her client. Somehow, it appeared to be more beautiful than the previous version. She’d visualised a brand-new scenario in her head as she’d put the finishing touches to the gown and it was better than before. She knew it would bring a greater joy than she’d initially conjured up. The delicate silk melded to the curves of the mannequin in the corner, which displayed the clothing to perfection. Ellen already felt what adventures the dress would find. Every garment she made had love poured into every stitch, hope attached within intricate adornments and endless promise woven into each seam; she believed special clothing had a destiny. The thank-you messages she received validated such thoughts and confirmed the images that whirled in front of her eyes as she finished each commission.

Ellen, thank you for the stunning dress. I got engaged the night I wore it! Such a surprise –wedding dress next!

And:

Dear Ellen, I have never felt more beautiful – and I can only say that to you. It was perfect for the occasion, and I can’t believe that only last week, Jason and Sarah announced they are expecting! It’s very early so keeping it quiet, but the dress you made me brought us luck!

Countless handwritten notes and emails extolled the same spirit. Even though she’d already watched the scenarios her clients wrote about play like a film in front of her eyes, it was wonderful to hear that the dreams for her clothes had come true. Her skill as a dressmaker allowed the body to become one with a fabric, an extension of skin, highlighting and concealing with expert draping and darts. It’s something she could do for other people that came easier than doing it for herself, though she made most of what she wore.

After making a cup of tea, Ellen wanted to speak to Penny about Greece and start to make some plans. Taking her drink back upstairs, she tripped on the workroom rug, almost sending the tea flying. She scolded herself for risking a splash on her second effort, and placed it far away from the gown. Then something began to nag at her and she frowned at the floor. The mat was rumpled, so she smoothed it with her toe, but the wood beneath it gave a loud creak and almost made her foot spring upwards. Her hands shook in anticipation as she knelt down to peel back the corner of the rug. She wanted to scream with excitement. How could she have ever forgotten what was underneath?

Ellen hurriedly pulled up the loose floorboard, knowing what she’d find. There was no longer a reason to keep her treasure hidden away. It was a force of habit, but one of many she was determined to break. The evidence of who she used to be had been concealed from John’s prying eyes and pushed from her mind. But there was no need anymore. She couldn’t ever be discovered longing for the past, yearning to rewrite her painful history. It was so strange to have blanked it out for decades, but Penny’s mention of Greece at book club last Wednesday must have forced her subconscious to orchestrate a stumble.

She removed the dusty wooden chest then replaced the plank and rolled the rug to its original position. The box was now brazenly displayed in the centre of the room. Ellen’s heartbeat increased at the symbolic disobedience of the act. But she calmed herself knowing she couldn’t be tempered, scolded or worse. Her skin betrayed her courage, rippling with guilt as if a spirit was standing over her, breathing down her neck. It would be just her luck for John to haunt her; he certainly had when he was alive though he’d terrified her more than a demon ever could. The only place he hadn’t put surveillance cameras was her workroom. It had always been her safe haven. She’d found them all dotted around the house after his death. He’d been watching her every move until he finished work and returned home to implement his next instalment of horror.

Lifting the lid from the box opened a gateway to the teenage Ellen. There were notes dating back to school days, diaries, ticket stubs from cinema trips and concerts, photobooth strips of silliness and coasters from pubs and hip bars. Finally, she unearthed a stack of pictures and it was suddenly the summer of 1988.

God, we were so young, Ellen thought, then shook her head at the sight of her lithe body in a bikini. I also thought I was fat at the time – what madness! Such was the trial of being a young woman, unable to see oneself as others did, and she felt pity for her beautiful former self. Why she couldn’t find the confidence in her own skin then was baffling. There was no reason not to celebrate her shape. It was why she ensured every client was in love with the design and ultimately the finished product she made for them. Ellen prided herself on the amount of thought and care she took with each snip of her sharp scissors through a virgin piece of material.

She scrutinised a picture of herself on a sun lounger and laughed aloud. What she wouldn’t give for those perky bits now! After a C-section for Tristan in her twenties and a hysterectomy three years ago, she now had good reason to doubt she was physically attractive and would ever be so again. Ellen hated her little tummy pouch that hung over her surgical scars like a shelf, detested her other marks and loathed the way everything seemed to wobble. She had also been repeatedly told how ugly she was by John; he’d called her repulsive. So much so that, having heard the same thing often enough, Ellen believed it. It was long overdue to herald in an era of reconditioning: the time to try and undo years of brainwashing. If only she knew how. Perhaps Greece held the key to unlocking the real Ellen who had been kept prisoner for too long.

She smiled at her and Penny’s freckled, tanned faces in the Greek light captured on film forever. Their skin seemed to glow even in the faded pictures and every single photograph showed one or both of them giggling and grinning. Everything was so much fun back then, or so it appeared from these souvenirs. Leafing through hundreds of snaps, there, towards the bottom of the pile was Aléxandros. Her mouth went as dry as the beach he was standing on, and her pulse quickened at the sight of him again. Frozen in time, he was more beautiful than she’d recalled, though his image was already imprinted on the backs of her eyes. But here, his greyish eyes gleamed at the camera. The sun had kissed lighter streaks into his thick dark hair and his skin was the shade of rich caramel.

She could almost smell the ozone from the turquoise waters and, as she inhaled deeply, her memory recalled another note that was uniquely him. She could taste his skin in her mind’s eye and feel his touch: soft fingers tracing her contours, arriving exactly where she needed them to be. A dart of forgotten desire coursed through her and she almost jolted in shock. In another photograph, his arms were wrapped around her, and she was transported back in time to nestle in his embrace. There, Ellen felt like she’d belonged, was invincible within the honeyed sunset beams that surrounded them, tinging the world with a golden promise of adventure. And beneath her fingertips that rested on his arm was love. But she had cast it aside, kept a secret that wasn’t hers to hold, sacrificing what had turned out to be her only chance at happiness. It was an impossible decision made out of love for him, but the cost was just that. And now it was gone.

She briefly unfolded the letters he’d written to her after she’d left him, then couldn’t bear to read them. His words would only remind her of what she’d done, so she tucked them away. Though her heart was still his, he had no clue and nor would he. She couldn’t help the tears that silently appeared, each droplet filled with regret, longing and unbridled passion for a man she’d once loved. And wasn’t certain she’d ever stopped.

She stood up with determination and swished the curtains shut. Moving to the floor-length mirror she used for fittings, she removed her eggshell kimono-style jacket that she’d made, and shimmied out of her harem pants until she was in her underwear. She’d peeled away the layers of fabric and wanted to see what or who was left. Her eyes traced the body before her: lumps, bumps, and lines of time. Though she was small and relatively slender, she wasn’t eighteen anymore. Her body was lived in, marred with experience and mostly unseen scars; the visible ones she hid with carefully crafted clothing. Ellen’s skin now belonged only to her. Every freckle, mark and wrinkle were her property; to give to or withhold from whomever she pleased, never to be controlled or threatened again.

She turned to sit cross-legged again on the rug, enjoying the cool air on her exposed body, and continued to leaf through photographs until the room began to darken. She didn’t know how long she’d spent among the scraps of her memories, but the surety of a decision rattled though her like a freight train. Retrieving her mobile phone from the workbench, she snapped a picture of a Polaroid and sent it in a message to Penny:

I will tell Tristan our news on Tuesday. I’m in. Let’s go to Greece!

The Fates

The first sister: Clotho, the maiden

Clotho stood beside every child at birth to sew the unbreakable thread of destiny to the new soul. Fate was already predetermined even before the little one inhaled its first.

That stitched, invisible bond attached mortals to their inevitable path and within the cord was every preselected choice they’d make. Whether it led to happiness or into the depths of heartache, only time would tell.

Clotho, the maiden, watched her design unfurl, side by side with her two eager sisters.

Chapter 5

Today, Tuesday

Ellen covered her hand-stitched tablecloth with little silver dishes containing garnishes for the curry supper with Tristan and Cressida: mango chutney, lime pickle and a cool, minty raita dip.

She’d lit the expensive scented candles she’d been saving for a special occasion and folded napkins into little fans. It was excessive to use her special china for a casual meal, but it marked the day she would announce that she was off to Greece next week with Penny. Then and there, Ellen decided to always use her best crockery and light fancy candles just because she could; there was nobody to tell her otherwise. Every day should include a moment to enjoy only the good things. It celebrated who she was now and who she hoped to be. And above all, because she deserved it.

The chime of the doorbell made her start and, before answering, she smoothed her hair in the mirror, sending a silent goodbye to her grey roots. Penny had arranged a marathon pampering day to have everything coloured, preened, waxed and plucked ahead of their travels.

‘Mum!’ Tristan said as Ellen opened the door. ‘You look great, doesn’t she, Cress?’ He kissed her on both cheeks before turning to his wife, encouraging her to answer. Cressida, as per usual, was scrutinising Ellen’s attire. This evening, Ellen had donned a mauve long-sleeved jumpsuit with a matching sash at the waist. The high crossover neckline gave the illusion of a wrap top as the garment extended into loose-fitting wide trousers. It elongated her short torso, aided by cream wedge heels that she was already desperate to kick off. She’d made another jumpsuit in powder blue for her trip next week and the vision she’d had caused a peculiar rush of unsettling feelings to surround her, along with the pungent scent of orange blossom. She’d dismissed it simply as her attaching distant memories of Kardamyli to the garment before she even arrived, though her instinct was rarely, if ever, wrong.

‘Mmm … so … lovely!’ answered Cressida unconvincingly, looking her up and down. Ellen thought she spotted a smirk cross her daughter-in-law’s face, but it had already disappeared.

‘Come in – let me take your coats,’ said Ellen, ushering them inside. She could feel the nervous energy radiating from her own body, and she took a steadying breath as she hung their jackets on the banister before joining them in the lounge. ‘Drinks? I’ve got Tiger beer for you, Tristan. Cressida, what would you like?’

‘Just mineral water for me, room temp if poss. We usually try not to drink in the week and we’ve only got the babysitter until ten.’ She fixed Tristan with a look that indicated she’d prefer if they didn’t stay long, but he didn’t notice. In the kitchen, Ellen stirred the sauce, which was emitting delicious wafts of spice into the air, and started to boil the rice. Taking their drinks into the lounge, she saw that Tristan and Cressida were whispering in tense, hushed tones. Ellen hesitated by the door, but Cressida caught sight of her and sent a fake smile as Tristan spoke.

‘Smells great, Mum. So, what’s all this about? Having both of us here?’

Ellen wasn’t ready to jump into her news, so employed a delaying tactic until they reached the dinner table.

‘I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together for a change. How’s work with you both?’ she asked.

Tristan opened his mouth to respond, but Cressida got there first, winding her long black hair into a topknot.

‘I’ve got to go to Paris next week. Work is so busy, you couldn’t even imagine, Ellen, and I think they might promote me, which means longer hours but more money,’ she replied. ‘And Trissy’s doing so well. You know he’s basically the king of Wimbledon Village and has all the top listings. We think he should open an office there too, expand from Clapham and build his team. The empire is growing!’

It was the first Ellen had heard of these plans to expand his independent estate agency, and she noted her son looked embarrassed at Cressida’s unfiltered cascade of information.

‘That all sounds wonderful. I’m ever so proud of you both.’ Ellen took a sip of her wine and a silence descended. This wasn’t the usual supper she enjoyed with just her son, where their conversation would flow unstilted. Cressida’s overbearing presence appeared to stymie Tristan. Over food, surely things would relax.

‘I’ll serve up. Won’t be a minute,’ Ellen said, retreating to the kitchen.

‘Do you need a hand?’ Tristan shouted after her, but she declined his offer and drained the rice, feeling her pulse beating in her neck. On the fridge, she’d stuck a photograph from the once-hidden treasure chest of her and Penny in Greece. The picture with Aléxandros was under her pillow; she daren’t move it into view. It was hers to moon over beneath the privacy of her duvet.

She placed the steaming dish of rice topped with chicken curry in the centre of the table, then added a bowl of piping-hot naan bread and encouraged everyone to serve themselves. Cressida took the smallest portion she could within the realms of politeness but refused the offer of bread. Tristan dove into his dinner with enthusiasm, complimenting his mother between mouthfuls. But Ellen could hardly eat a thing, despite the generous helping on her plate. She gripped her fork tightly, mustering the courage. It’s now or never, she thought. As she raised her head to look at her son and daughter-in-law, she noticed they were staring at each other, and Cressida was nudging Tristan with her elbow.

‘Is everything all right?’ Ellen asked out of concern for her son. His face looked strained.

‘Um, well, I wanted to mention something to you. Or rather, Cress thought …’ Tristan began, looking at Cressida for what seemed like reassurance. She took her cue to speak, and Ellen was regretting including her in the family summit that hadn’t yet found its purpose.

‘We were wondering, given our place has that self-contained flat in the basement, whether you’d come and live with us. I mean, this house is far too big for you now, since … well, I mean since you’re here on your own, it makes sense if you think about it. You could be with us all the time and look after the children. It would make it all much easier if you did. I hope you agree, Ellen, it works for everyone. You must be ever so lonely here with nothing to do all day.’ Tristan squirmed in his seat then cleared his throat, and Ellen couldn’t stop her own mouth falling open in shock at the suggestion that she should become their live-in help, especially when the delivery had been so brittle and heartless. She wasn’t anyone’s serf; she’d been treated as such by John, and it wasn’t something she was prepared to entertain again.

‘What Cress means is, we would see more of you, and the children would adore having you around more. You’re all they speak about when you’ve been with them. And I suppose, with Dad being gone, I worry about you all the way over here, Mum. You’re coping so brilliantly, but I sometimes get the feeling you’re putting on a brave face.’

‘I … I’m …’ was all that Ellen could manage.

‘You don’t have to decide now,’ said Cressida with syrupy sweetness and reached for Ellen’s hand, placing hers on top, squeezing it limply with the barest of feeling. ‘Have a think. Obviously, time is pressing since I’m going to be away much more for work and, well, we could do with you around as soon as poss, like next week!’ She laughed shrilly, but nobody else joined in. While Ellen always wanted to help, this was blatantly taking advantage.

She looked around her dining room at the accumulation of furniture and decades’ worth of trinkets, then considered what was stuffed away in the drawers and cupboards. They were only things, but she wasn’t ready to move yet. She wanted to feel what life was like alone, make what had once been an unhappy marital home just hers again. John had been dead for two years, though some days it felt like it had only been two minutes; her feelings were so raw and too complex to discuss. The friendships she’d allowed to fade at his demand, a few of which she was only beginning to rebuild. Aside from Penny, whom John had permitted her to see – mainly because Penny was so impressed by him and kowtowed to his influence because it served her own position in the charitable community. Though Penny wasn’t alone in being taken in by him – she was one of many who admired the man he pretended to be and Ellen didn’t blame her for it. But she still needed to grieve – not for him, but for the person she’d lost along the way. Ellen needed to mourn for herself: the woman whose spirit he’d squashed.

‘Mum?’ Tristan said gently, and Ellen snapped back to attention, wondering how long she’d been gazing around for. ‘Cress didn’t really mean next week. That would be absurd and terribly selfish.’ He shot his wife a cross look, as cross as her sweet son could ever be. Thankfully, he took after Ellen in nature rather than his father.

‘Of course, I didn’t really mean it, though it would be lovely!’ Cressida joked again and Ellen felt her patience fray. ‘At least you’d be busy all day, not chained to your little sewing machine.’ It was the last straw and Ellen’s temper rose uncharacteristically, heating her cheeks from the swell of emotion until she could no longer contain it.

‘Well, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t, because next week I’m … doing something with Penny. So, I’m afraid, Cressida, you’ll have to find another babysitter for all your work trips, which you hadn’t mentioned to me before. You just assumed I’d be available to rescue the day. Good old dependable Ellen! Well, I have my own life to live and it’s about time I started doing just that. I don’t mean to leave you in the lurch and I’m sorry about that.’ She directed her words now to Tristan, wishing the pang of guilt didn’t nudge her towards cancelling her plans and doing what was expected. But the braver Ellen who had sat on the floor in her bra and knickers earlier that day overrode the timid version everyone was familiar with. ‘I can’t keep being both Granny and nanny to the children. I have my own career.’ Cressida gave a quiet snort, which she tried to mask with a sip of water, but Ellen caught it and her daughter-in-law’s features pinched with embarrassment. ‘And while my clothes may not be stocked in Harrods or Harvey Nicks, what I do means a lot to me and I love it. And it’s important to the people who trust me with their dreams.’

Tristan went to interrupt, but Ellen held up a hand, suggesting she wasn’t finished. She had much to say and wasn’t sure she could stop, now she’d started to unleash the spirit of the woman who had been tempered for too long. He looked shocked, but she continued while she still possessed the courage to say precisely what she was feeling. ‘It may have gone unnoticed to you both, but I have a home, a career, and a life of my own to rebuild. And I need time away from all of this, the constant reminders of what happened and what’s gone. I’m not here to be at anyone’s beck and call, and I can say with absolute certainty that I won’t be moving in with you both. I will help out where I can within reason, but I’ve done my stint as wife, mother, cook and cleaner and for once, as selfish as it might sound, I am going to please myself. After what I’ve been through, I surely deserve that.’

Tristan hung his head and fiddled with his napkin; though Ellen hated to hurt him, they both needed to understand that their suggestion was unacceptable.

‘I think it’s high time you employed someone to look after the children and let me be just their grandmother for a change. And I’m going away with Penny for two weeks. So, consider this my notice as your on-call childcare; I’m taking some well-earned unpaid leave.’ To reach her conclusion, she took the deepest breath she could and delivered the line she’d practised in the hallway mirror this morning: ‘I’m going to Greece and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.’

Chapter 6

Departure day, April 27th

Ellen had found a new bounce in her step after leaving the hairdresser’s yesterday. Her newly chopped and honey-blonde tousled waves had brushed her cheeks satisfyingly in the biting sleety wind, making her feel invincible, such was the power of a good haircut.

She’d successfully completed six bridesmaids’ dresses before leaving today, and was exhausted, in desperate need of a break. Greece had called her back at precisely the right time in her life.

Lunch with Penny after their beauty session had been easy and convivial as always, but Ellen hoped they could find a more meaningful reconnection when they reached Greece. And she’d wondered whether she could gently mention Penny’s loss of hearing when they were away. Another mishap had occurred as they’d sat at their table the day before at the Thames-side restaurant between pampering appointments.

‘It smells like Greece in here,’ Ellen had sighed, looking out at the murky waters of the river, inhaling the citrus-scented fragrance of the eatery.

‘Geese? All I can smell is fruit! You must be worn out from those grandchildren of yours,’ Penny had replied.

Ellen hadn’t corrected her friend’s farmyard mistake and at the mention of Tristan’s children her face had illuminated. ‘Oh, they are hysterical, Pen. They’re becoming such little personalities. Look.’ She’d shown Penny her latest snaps. A messy play that had become incredibly messy, though thankfully there was less to clear up than the spaghetti-sauce incident. She’d scrolled through several more for the benefit of her friend, who ooh-ed and ahh-ed appropriately. Then Penny had smiled tightly, losing interest. ‘And you know Tristan’s friend, Sean, well, his wife is going to help out with the kids while we’re away, so it’s all sorted out.’

‘I didn’t know Tristan was musical,’ said Penny after she’d ordered a bottle of extortionately priced red wine.

‘Musical? He’s not. What do you mean?’ asked Ellen, perplexed by the switch in subject.

‘You said his French horn. I had no idea he’d taken up an instrument.’

Ellen hadn’t been able to let that one slide since her laughter betrayed any discretion she may have wished to portray. ‘I said his friend Sean!’ she’d spluttered between giggles, and Penny had rolled her eyes in self-deprecation, pursing her lips.

Now, sitting in the back seat of Tristan’s car as he drove them both to the airport, she wished she didn’t feel so guilty about going to Greece. But if she didn’t go there now, maybe she never would. And she had her travel sewing machine with her to complete her outstanding commissions between gorging upon oozing honey-soaked rolls of baklava. Besides, she’d been longing for change, and circumstances appeared to have placed precisely what she yearned for into her lap. Ellen watched the regular intervals of lamps on the motorway whoosh by at pleasingly staggered beats, but couldn’t help looking backwards almost to justify her decision to go away.

She’d hardly come up for air since John had died, plunging herself into work though plagued with self-doubt and second-guessing. If you’re told often enough that you’re worthless, you tend to believe it. She was navigating how to live again, desperately trying to recall how ‘normal’ felt before her marriage, clawing at the memory of what it was to be Ellen. She’d forgotten. Bella was right – she needed to be herself for the first time in what felt like forever.

Working out how to manage finances was bizarre now the pennies weren’t dished out to her like pocket money each week. It felt forbidden to tap her debit card against a machine with no recourse. When John was in charge, there had been no treats or indulgences and everything she’d earned from her dressmaking business had been confiscated like sweets from a naughty child. The only silver lining within John’s control and cruelty was his frugality. In the post-mortem of her life following his, Ellen had found she had access to savings pots dotted across several banks, a lump sum for his death in police service, and there was no mortgage left on their house.

It had taken her months to piece it all together. Though she refused to touch the service payout and his police pension that she was entitled to at a widow’s rate. The funds felt sullied and sordid. The generous amount was already totting up swiftly in a high-interest savings account, and could grow until she worked out what to do with it. John had risen through the police force ranks to commander, which was ironic, because goodness knows he had commanded every aspect of her life. And today marked two years since he’d died. The day she’d elected to return to Greece.

‘Are you sure, you’ll be OK? I mean on your own?’ Tristan spoke louder as an airport announcement broadcast across the terminal. He untangled himself from Ellen’s embrace.

‘Tristan, I’m fine being alone, but remember Penny’s with me. What’s the worst that could happen?’

Her son glanced suspiciously over Ellen’s shoulder at his godmother, who was lifting several cases of luggage onto the conveyer belt at the check-in desk, and he rushed to help. Ellen had packed much lighter, aside from her travel sewing machine that she would keep with her on the plane. Tristan returned to her side while Penny handed over her passport.

‘You’re so brave, Mum, but please, for me, be careful—’ He broke off and Ellen realised why his eyes were watering. She was all he had left, apart from his own little family. She folded him into another hug and whispered in his ear.

‘I’m not brave, but I am careful and I promise to call. It’s only two weeks! Now, look after those babies; make sure they don’t forget me.’ Ellen pulled away and looked at her son, who suddenly appeared incredibly grown up, whereas she felt like a teenager departing for an ill-thought-out gap year.

Tristan grinned. ‘They’d never forget you. And I tell them all about Dad,’ he said with pride. Ellen had to prevent herself from physically shrinking and instead conjured the best version of a smile she could. For the monster of a husband he’d turned out to be, John had been an incredible father. Tristan was the sole outlet for any kindness John possessed, and Ellen was grateful that Tristan was kept separate from the man who emerged after their son went to bed. She’d learnt to accept brutality in silence out of protection for her child.

‘Your dad would be very proud of you, and so am I. I love you so much, Tristan, and I’ll text you when we land. And don’t forget to leave biscuits for Bella and some bacon for Barney in the underpass. I know you can’t do it every day, but promise?’

‘Promise. And I love you too. Your hair looks great by the way.’

Ellen adjusted her blonde waves self-consciously, having been worried the highlights were too bright thanks to Penny’s enthusiasm in the hairdresser’s.

‘I don’t look like I’m trying too hard?’ she asked hopefully, suddenly needing his reassurance.

‘Mum, I wish you’d have a bit more confidence in yourself. You know, since … oh, it doesn’t matter,’ he started, and Ellen urged him to finish his sentence with her eyes and a brief nod of encouragement. ‘I don’t want you to get upset. I know we both miss Dad so much, but since he died, you’re changing. In a good way – looking after yourself a bit more. You’ve got your sparkle back. I want you to be happy, that’s all.’

They hugged goodbye and she watched him walk out of the airport doors, then turned to the check-in desk, waiting to be called as Penny fussed in front of her. She suddenly felt quite tearful about leaving her son.

‘Mum!’ Tristan shouted as he jogged back to her side.

‘Darling, what is it?’ she asked as her pulse quickened.

He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I forgot to say something.’ Ellen looked up at her boy, who towered over her, waiting for him to elaborate. ‘I should have said this a thousand times, but I’m saying it now. I am so very proud of you too.’ He gave her a kiss on the cheek, then left again. Ellen tried to swallow away the lump that had appeared in her throat. What a wonderful young man he had become. Her gentle, perceptive son had spotted signs that she was indeed evolving, akin to the first shoots marking spring, pushing their way through the dense layer of soil that had kept them at bay during the long winter months. Except Ellen’s winter had lasted more than three decades.

It felt significant that John’s two-year anniversary coincided with her journey back to Kardamyli. She was like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, unfurling her wings. Now all that remained was to try them out and see if she could remember how to fly.

Chapter 7

‘God, I thought we’d never leave that airport!’ Penny declared when they finally stepped outside into glorious Greek sunshine. ‘That queue had no order at all!’

Ellen wasn’t listening. Instead, she was gazing up at the snowy peaks of the Peloponnese mountains looming in the distance. Since she had last seen them thirty-six years ago, they’d existed in her mind like an unreachable dream. The indescribable shade of bright blue sky that surrounded them bore little resemblance to her faded Polaroids stashed in her treasure box at home. The national flags gently fluttered in the warm, welcome breeze and she inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly.

It was impossible to capture what Greece smelled of. The layers of complex sensory notes would challenge even the greatest Parisian perfumier, who could only concoct a poor imitation: earthy hillside herbs, tangy citrus notes, fresh ozone, coffee, a hint of tobacco, and delicious dry heat. And something else, infectiously wild and beautiful, that had the tang of serenity, if such a flavour were conceivable. Even the sun carried upon the wind tasted different on Ellen’s tongue. Greece resembled nowhere else on earth and almost felt like coming home, far from all she’d longed to escape. She drank in the moment in all its multicoloured glory.

Then, her eyes drifted to the far end of the walkway outside the terminal: the place that had altered everything. But the two people she’d unexpectedly seen in a clandestine meeting weren’t there. Of course they wouldn’t be; both may be dead. She flinched as she felt Penny’s hand in hers. ‘Are you all right, Ellen? I know today is a hard day.’

Turning to her friend, she said, ‘I’m in Greece, I am more than all right. And today is just another day, not special at all apart from the fact it’s the start of our new adventure, together.’ Ellen rallied, not wishing to receive condolences for John’s anniversary when it was a day she’d secretly yearned for throughout their marriage because it had felt like her only way out. Not that she’d ever wish anyone dead – just gone. Now he was both, and the relief she’d kept locked inside was threatening to burst forth after only a handful of steps from the Greek border control.

‘We deserve a treat, so I have a surprise,’ Penny said as they jointly pushed the luggage trolley, which threatened to topple over as they traversed the uneven ramp towards the car park. A man holding a sign with Penny’s name on was slumped against a vehicle. He flicked prayer beads in one hand and looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else but there.

‘Coooo-eeee!’ trilled Penny. ‘I believe this is for us.’

Ellen stopped abruptly, bringing the trolley to a sharp halt. As the man moved, the sleek line of the car he’d masked was revealed. The stunning low red convertible wouldn’t look out of place traversing the Arizona desert in a film, and it gleamed brightly in the afternoon light.

‘Penny, this is incredible!’ gasped Ellen. As extravagant as it was, she had concerns about the practicality of tackling the mountain roads in such a car, let alone navigating the narrow tracks down to the beaches she hoped to revisit. Penny looked delighted with herself and did a small jump while clapping her hands, and beamed as broadly as her cosmetically filled nasolabial folds permitted.

‘This time around, Ellen, we are doing Greece my way, in my style, and it starts now! What do you think, pretty gorge, eh?’

Ellen walked around the cherry red Mercedes and nodded her approval, trying not to imagine the coating of dust that would dull its shine within a kilometre. Or, minus the roof, what her new hair would resemble by the end of the main road. Bird nest on her head aside, she shook away any negativity, attempting to recapture the reckless, naive spirit of her eighteen-year-old self. If she was honest, she’d always been the sensible one of the pair. Until Aléxandros, but she was equally determined not to think about him. This trip was about her and Penny, not a man. She tied her neck scarf around her head, feeling like a fifties film star with her cats’-eye-shaped sunglasses.

‘It’s amazing, Pen,’ she said gratefully. ‘You didn’t need to splash out, though I admit, it’s better than hitchhiking like we did last time.’

‘I’ll say! And what’s Alan’s hard work all for if not for me to enjoy every moment we have left on this planet?’ Penny hopped into the driver’s seat and flourished a fifty-euro note at the hire-car man whom she had somehow convinced with a flick of her chestnut mane to load their luggage in the boot. ‘You can stick that in the back as well,’ she said, eyeing Ellen’s sewing machine critically.

‘I’ll just pop it by my feet. I don’t want it sliding about.’ She thought she heard Penny sigh and tut, but it could have been the distant grumble of a plane reverberating through the airport complex, bouncing off the mountain range.

As they reached the exit, preparing to turn left for Kardamyli, Penny revved the engine excessively and offered her palm to Ellen, hovering it above the gearstick. Ellen grabbed it and they clasped hands, replicating the iconic Thelma and Louise film moment of definitive sisterhood and friendship – both women in real life ignoring any looming tragedy the gesture had signalled in the movie. They giggled with excitement, elated by sunshine and a magic in the air. Ellen made a wish to the expanse of blue above for something special she hoped they’d each receive from this holiday.

‘Come on then, what are we waiting for? Nineteen eighty-eight round two, here we come!’ shrieked Ellen.

The playlist Penny had thoughtfully made for their journey brought their memories flooding back as they sang loudly and tunelessly murdered ‘Fast Car’ by Tracy Chapman, which had been their ‘anthem’. They used to play that song on repeat, attempting harmonies, and little had changed since with regards to their musical ability or lack thereof. Hearing it again at full volume with her best friend singing alongside her made Ellen feel high, elated with adrenaline and excitement.

‘Hello, Kardamyli, old chum,’ Penny said to the air as they slowly cruised through the village. Ellen tried to take it all in as the infectious relaxed pace of life in the village captivated her immediately; it was like stepping back through the decades. Stone frontages and terracotta roof tiles, plants in colourful pots placed in rows along windowsills, the square with large trees providing a leafy canopy playing host to locals and priests conversing the afternoon away. The fountain without water that housed stray cats was unchanged. Orange and olive trees scattered their pale blossoms like confetti on the breeze.

The aesthetics of the place may have been untouched, but Ellen had definitely altered. Like a ghost, she felt wisps of her teenage self gliding through the cobbled alleyways in search of ice cream, hand in hand with the man she loved. Ellen felt a quiet sadness for that young girl, urging her to survive from a parallel universe and to stay in Greece, never to leave. What could have been …

‘We did it; we’re here! Phew, those roads were a bit dodgy,’ said Penny as she pulled into a side street. ‘I’d forgotten about all those crazy turns. Look, my hands are dripping with sweat. That drop … one slip of the wheel and we’d have been done for! That is not how I want it all to end!’

‘I know, my knuckles are still white!’ Ellen laughed, stretching her fingers. ‘I suppose back then we were too busy living and being wild. I’m afraid to say it, but we might be too old and anxious to be that carefree again.’

Penny turned the ignition off and scoffed.

‘You speak for yourself. I refuse to age; in fact, I intend to behave exactly like I did last time I was here, and I suggest you do the same. With bells on!’ Her eyebrows rose as much as was permissible within her restrictive anti-ageing regime as she dipped her sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose. ‘Come on, Ellen, admit it. Aren’t you even curious about whether Aléxandros is still here? I never understood what happened between you two. You suddenly went cold after confessing undying love for him and banned me from discussing it again when we got on the plane.’

Ellen chilled despite the heat of late afternoon. She hadn’t told Penny about why she’d never returned to Kardamyli to claim his heart as she’d once talked about. She was ashamed and embarrassed at having been corralled into a terrible decision after what she’d seen at the airport when they were leaving that day. Her proclivity to feeling shame at her choices even when made out of love had started in that very moment and endured. Why would she inflict further pain upon herself by dissecting the impossible dilemma with her best friend? It was too late, and she was forced to live with the consequences.

Though Penny had pressed her for a time, she’d quickly lost interest. Ellen chose not to share what she’d seen, or rather who she’d seen, at the airport that blew the life she’d planned apart. She didn’t wish to delve into that part of the past then or now; it was pointless, though hearing Aléxandros’ name from Penny almost conjured him up as if he were standing beside her. Goose bumps rose on her arms, but she brushed off the thought. It wasn’t meant to be and that was the end of it, despite the trace of love that still lingered in her soul, like an unhealing scar. There was no ointment invented for that wound.

‘Old history, Pen.’ She felt her nostrils sting with the signal that tears weren’t too far away. It felt overwhelming to be in Kardamyli because it was more beautiful than she’d remembered from memory or from photographs. But everything was different now. Nothing could ever be the same, for a thousand reasons. ‘Let’s get settled and then head for sunset cocktails at Lela’s if it’s still there – in the spirit of reliving the good old times.’

‘Now you’re speaking my language! And yes, it’s still there – I already checked online,’ said Penny efficiently, striding towards reception. Ellen already feared for whoever was going to be tasked with lugging their bags to their rooms, before they’d even set foot in the hotel.

Chapter 8

The lobby was cool, decorated almost entirely in cream marble with streaks of orange – even the furniture was carved from slabs of the material. Through the windows, Ellen saw the synthetic turquoise waters of the swimming pool and beyond that, the striking natural blues of the Messenian Gulf. From the open terrace doors, she felt a breeze nudge forwards to caress her neck like an ancient kiss.

Greece was magical, almost more so than she remembered, and the reverberation of those who had gone ages before swirled around her, dancing on the wind, sharing their story with every breath of air the heavens exhaled. She reached into her bag for her passport and handed it to the girl behind the reception desk, her eyes not leaving the view.

‘Are you going to keep that with you the whole time?’ Penny asked as Ellen realised she was holding her sewing machine in its travel case, not wishing to leave it unattended in the car. A flash of irritation whipped through her since it was the second time her friend had mentioned her work with a hint of disparagement.

‘Of course not, just keeping it safe until I can set it up in my room,’ replied Ellen, feeling travel fatigue beginning to weigh down her body. She needed a nap or a cold shower – both would be heaven, but she suspected Penny had other ideas after her own suggestion of sunset drinks.

‘Is that a sewing machine?’ the girl asked in a thick Greek accent from behind the check-in counter as her long, painted fingernails tapped on a computer. Penny sighed in exasperation and went outside to look at the swimming pool.

‘Yes, though I’m on holiday, I still need to do a bit of work,’ said Ellen, grateful to be able to speak about her craft without passive-aggressive digs.

‘That is one of my dreams I never got to live,’ the girl said whimsically. ‘I longed to be a dressmaker like my grandmother, Dimitra. She makes clothes in the village with her own shop now for many years. She would love a … how you say … the kindred spirit to speak with.’ Her long eyelashes fluttered as she returned to her screen and Ellen beamed at the thought of another dressmaker nearby. Dimitra wasn’t here when they came all those years ago; Ellen would have noticed. Though Ellen’s Greek was terrible, the language of seams and stitches may be universal.

‘You are both checked in and my husband, Stavros, will take the luggage to your rooms.’ She handed back their passports along with room keys. ‘Enjoy your stay with us and let me know when you wish to meet my yiayiá, Dimitra. I am Théa. It is lovely to have you with us at our hotel. Maybe you can teach me some of your tricks for sewing. But don’t mention it to Yiayiá! She will never forgive me!’ She cackled a throaty laugh, then returned to her screen after giving Ellen’s sewing machine a longing look.

‘This is the life!’ said Penny, raising her Aperol Spritz to the expanse of ocean stretching beyond the terrace, and Ellen did the same. Lela’s Taverna was exactly as they recalled. They sat beneath the shade of a gnarly pomegranate tree and stared at the endless view of sea and sky, which was painted with an amber palette heralding sunset. ‘To dearest John. I’m sure he’s smiling down on us from wherever he is. I keep expecting him to appear and herd us to dinner. I miss him terribly and can’t imagine what it’s like for you,’ Penny said, meaning well, but Ellen didn’t want him in her day, nor the memory of him tarnishing Greece. Wherever he was, he certainly wasn’t smiling. She ignored her friend’s good intentions and instead made a toast of her own.

‘To Kardamyli and to us, Pen; back then, now and always.’ They clinked glasses, enjoying the early evening hum of the famous bar. ‘You know Lela used to be Patrick Leigh Fermor’s cook and housekeeper. That’s who wrote that book I chose for book club the other week,’ said Ellen. She felt the connection of an innocent selection join with the path that had led her back to Kardamyli. Fate and coincidence worked in the most unexpected ways, though it partly may have been her own subconscious urging her to revisit this most special of places.

‘Really? Well, I’d know that if I’d read it,’ said Penny almost apologetically. ‘Now, what do you fancy for dinner? I’m dying for a proper Greek salad.’

At the thought of food, Ellen’s appetite sprang to attention. ‘Anything!’ she said. ‘Where do you fancy? We could mooch about and see what we find.’

‘Sounds like a plan with no plan – just how we’re going to be while we’re here. No rules, no schedule, just us.’ Penny gulped at the dregs of her second drink, whereas Ellen had barely started hers. She frowned at her friend and wondered if she was quite herself. Maybe she’d ask gently over dinner, but knowing Penny of old, she always kept up appearances and would never confess to anything that allowed the façade of perfection to veer off course. Ellen knew from far too much experience that nobody’s life was perfect, no matter how it seemed from the outside.

When she returned to her room after their delicious supper of charred octopus tentacles and a classic Greek salad, Ellen opened the balcony doors.

The small, well-appointed apartment within the hotel was perfectly cosy, yet airy at the same time. She made a note to seek out a minimarket to stock the fridge in the kitchenette with snacks and local wine to sustain her while she worked. The old store used to be at the end of the village by a little bridge and she wondered if it was still there. And she must ask Théa at reception where her grandmother’s shop was too. It was unlikely Penny would wish to partake in an excursion to meet Dimitra, the local dressmaker.

Out to sea, the curves of the cliffs making up the headland were masked by ink-black sky. Only the silver orb of the moon sent shards of ethereal light to crest upon the gentle waves before being swallowed by a dark watery embrace. The fresh salty air seeped into her bloodstream as she leant on the balustrade, enjoying the peace and solitude of Kardamyli.

Over supper in a taverna at the top of the hill towards the outskirts of the village, Ellen had inquired after Penny’s husband, Alan, attempting to dig a little deeper into her friend’s life. It struck Ellen that, despite the number of years they’d known each other, they mostly raked over old times when they met up, or Penny spouted monologues about beauty treatments, fashion or her charity work; it had become superficial.

Ellen’s queries at dinner had been met with casual dismissal, leading her to believe something was going on that Penny wasn’t prepared to reveal. Though the same could be said of Ellen, having been unable to source the courage to confide the truth about her abusive home life, or the reason for the end of her entanglement with Aléxandros. All those choices to withhold the truth were born of her shame, desperately protecting those she loved, and she longed to be rid of that sense. None of those decisions had been her fault, yet she bore the brunt of the outcomes. But she didn’t want to be part of a fake relationship anymore, friend or otherwise; she’d wasted too much energy pretending to last several lifetimes.

As Aléxandros drifted across her mind, she knew she ought to feel guilty, thinking about him on John’s anniversary, but she couldn’t find it within herself. And a pride swelled in her chest at how far she’d come in her journey of widowhood. When John was alive, even a glimpse of an unacceptable thought would have caused her to physically cower in case he could read her mind, accusing her of something she hadn’t done – something which had occurred with alarming regularity; his jealousy and temper could be triggered in a moment. But he’d never known about Aléxandros. She’d forbidden Penny to ever mention him, saying that John didn’t wish to speak of the past and, thankfully, Penny had gone along with it, blinded by John’s position and credibility in the community. Or she’d conveniently forgotten, which was more likely.

The mental image of Aléxandros and his arms wrapped around her had been Ellen’s safe haven since she’d left him suddenly over thirty years ago. John and Aléxandros, who’d occupied such significant swathes of her life, had no clue about each other – not that their times overlapped, but in her memory they did. Aléxandros was as present in her marriage as he had been in her days the last time she was in this village. It was her small win over John and she cherished it like a war veteran would cling to a medal of valour.

She moved inside the apartment to her sewing machine and started to hem a pair of trousers she was making for the local MP back home. Ellen had been commissioned to make several pieces of business wear for the summer season; pantsuits and shift dresses in pastel hues, with an option of navy and black for more formal or solemn occasions in parliament.

There were yards of neatly folded fabric that she’d carefully rolled in her suitcase – some for work, along with extra scraps in case she had time to make something special for herself. She had an idea about a floaty skirt, ideal for a warm Greek evening, in a bright floral pattern. She’d brought with her the powder blue jumpsuit and a beautifully simple white dress she’d embroidered with delicate flowers; it would be perfect to wear for the upcoming May Day celebrations. She’d foreseen that occasion for the dress as she’d completed the embellishments. Yet again she’d had the same rush of feelings as making her jumpsuit: the overpowering scent of oranges, the subtle waft of citrus blossom and a feeling of utter contentment, followed by crushing anguish.

Her unsettling visions must be confused given the weight of her memories from Greece; they’d mistakenly attached themselves to fabric. She must have projected her nerves about returning to Kardamyli into the material, but Ellen didn’t want to second-guess herself, not with something she’d always been able to trust. The emotions she’d experienced with both garments had disarmed her. She tried her best to trust in the path that had planted her in this magical country again.

She set to work at the rickety wooden table in the corner of her room as the reassuring buzz of her sewing machine allowed her shoulders to relax even further, while through the open doors, the scents and sounds of night-time Greece spurred her on, bringing fragrant bursts of fruit, herbs and noisily chirruping cicadas. Their persistent song joined her machine in perfect harmony, a triad of notes fused like a heavenly chord. Ellen was where she was meant to be. She felt happy in her own skin, untethered and free, smiling to herself as she worked. It was so good to be away from everything and everyone, living on her own terms for a while. Being in the village was like greeting an old friend after a long overdue reunion.

The hours sped by until the moon had risen high in the sky and illuminated the room with a floodlight brighter than the little lamps dotted around the space. Her mind quietened as she completed a template pattern for a shift dress, and she only saw fabric, dressmaker’s chalk and threads. Ellen was truly at peace. Eventually, she fell into bed after closing the terrace doors, but she left the curtains open, wishing to be wrapped in magical lunar light until the beams of a new Greek dawn replaced it.

Chapter 9

‘Morning! How did you sleep?’ trilled Penny as she joined Ellen on the poolside patio of the hotel, having emerged from an adjacent cabana. She was draped in a sheer, voluminous ochre kaftan. Her wet hair, along with the soggy towel under her arm that dripped on the floor, indicated she had been doing some early morning laps. A subtle spark of annoyance briefly jabbed at Ellen’s insides. She’d been criticised for working on holiday, yet Penny wasn’t prepared to take a break from her disciplined routine of exercise or, no doubt, her need for pampering. It was doubly irritating because only yesterday Penny had declared they wouldn’t make any plans or stick to a schedule. One rule for her …

With the wisdom of age, Ellen realised it had always been thus. Penny was accustomed to the freedom of wealth, which gave her an entitlement that hadn’t ever jarred. Until now. Maybe Ellen wasn’t prepared to be bossed around anymore or told what to do. But she also wanted to keep the peace for the sake of their holiday. She’d learnt from her experience with John the importance of carefully picking one’s battles – if any should be fought at all.

Ellen had correctly anticipated her friend’s intentions for the day. ‘We have massages booked this morning after breakfast, so we’d better eat light. Then, there’s a group hike to the peaks of the Taygetus before it gets too warm.’ Ellen took a steeling breath, not wishing to get off on the wrong foot on their first full day in Kardamyli. They’d only had the odd overnight trip together over the years – when she was allowed – and this was the longest they’d spent with one another since they were eighteen. Ellen’s routine that she’d begun to resent had been hers alone to begrudge. Sharing it with her wilful best friend would be more of a challenge than she’d realised.

‘Lovely,’ she said with a forced smile. ‘Lucky I’ve only ordered yoghurt and the fruit plate and heaps of coffee. It’ll be a test of my fitness climbing that mountain – I fear for my hip!’ she joked, but Penny scoffed.

‘Ellen, I wish you’d stop talking like you’re eighty. You’re fifty-five and nowhere near over the hill. You need to find your spark again; it’s time to get back in that saddle before you get old before your time.’

‘If by saddle you mean a man, you can forget it. Who on earth wants to look at my kangaroo pouch and cottage cheese thighs? I’m perfectly happy on my own. It’s too soon anyway.’ Ellen hated playing the widow card, but it was the only way to stop the badgering. It did the trick, as Penny’s face fell in sympathy.

‘Sorry, Ellen. I’m being thoughtless.’ She reached her hand over the table and squeezed Ellen’s hand. ‘You must miss John terribly … The gap he’s left behind must be so surreal, everywhere reminding you he’s gone.’ Penny was right; the reminders that John was dead were constant, because she no longer had to be careful, or afraid of doing the wrong thing. She could spend the money she earned on whatever she chose, never needing to style her hair to cover a bruise or buy packs of ice to hold against her ribs to recover from being kicked, though she still concealed the worst scar beneath deliberately shaped necklines. But she felt terrible that she’d made her friend feel bad and resolved to quickly make up for it.

‘Well, it’s a good thing we’re in Greece, because it reminds me of nothing but some of the happiest times in my life. With you,’ she added pointedly, not wishing for Aléxandros to be brought into the morning, though it was too late – he was already occupying space in her head. She’d dreamed about him last night as random recollections clustered in her mind; running through his olive groves hand in hand, suntanning on the pebbles by the little harbour beach with the exotic smell of Hawaiian Tropic hanging in the air, diving deep into the crystal-clear sea, gliding underwater among the sand-coloured fishes.

Breakfast arrived and Ellen tucked into creamy, thick Greek yoghurt that had been generously drizzled in honey and scattered with crunchy assorted nuts. Becoming reacquainted with the sights, smells and flavours of Greece was like rushing back in time, and her spirit began to rise along with a long-forgotten sense of mischief. ‘Why don’t we do the hike tomorrow instead? After our massages, we could go down to that pebbly bit by the smaller harbour and throw ourselves into the sea. Then maybe have a coffee or, even better, an ouzo or three in the restaurant above the beach. I’m going to make every day a best-china-expensive-candle day and not waste a single moment.’

Penny’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘I’m rather enjoying this version of you. Maybe Greece is already casting its spell. I spy little glimpses of Ellen peeking through those musty old cracks.’

Ellen swiped at her friend’s arm playfully, pretending to be outraged. ‘Musty cracks? You’d better give me some of your salmon-sperm snail-mucus face cream in that case. Or maybe I’ll just use this.’ She took a spoonful of Greek yoghurt and smeared it on her cheek and Penny looked horrified.

‘Ellen, what are you doing? People will think you’ve gone mad!’

There was nobody around, but Ellen would have done the same even if there were an audience. It was like a naughty sprite had inhabited her body, and she was enjoying the look of horror on Penny’s face.

‘If I can’t behave like an old maid, then you can’t be a prim prude. Here – cheap face mask, I dare you.’ She held out a spoon newly dunked in the yoghurt and offered it to Penny.

‘It’s got nutty bits,’ she said, screwing up her nose.

‘Natural exfoliation – go on, practise what you preach!’

Eventually Penny surrendered and gracefully smeared both her cheeks with breakfast, and they both burst into laughter at the absurd turn the morning had taken. Any brief moments of terseness were replaced in an instant by unabashed silliness, such was the power of their old friendship. And Ellen was certain it would never change. It was a rare thing to have found and was to be cherished, and she ought not to question it. She only hoped, as they sat looking out to sea, cheeks smeared in yoghurt, that she was on the right path to find herself again. Surely the real her couldn’t be too far away.

The Fates

The second sister: Lachesis, the mother

The mother of the three Fates was the nurturer, abiding beside the path already chosen for mortals by her siblings. Regardless of foreseen mistakes and consequences that would bear out with abundant lessons for human spirits to learn, Lachesis would decide how long their life would last; that fragile string that represented the length of existence could snap at any second. But how that moment arose was for her elder sister to decide. The duration had been allotted by Lachesis and a date already set with nothing to be done to alter it.

No other being, mortal or godly, could shift the hands of the Fates.

Birth is, after all, the beacon of death. We cannot live without dying, just as we cannot love without enduring the excruciating cut of heartache.

Chapter 10

Despite Ellen’s misgivings about the beauty treatment Penny had booked for them both, she succumbed to an hour of invigorating pummelling and kneading. The massage was a much-needed fragranced slice of bliss. Her shoulders had been aching from hunching over her sewing machine, and expert fingers had eased away any lingering gristly knots.

Now, as she prepared to jump off the concrete wall into the water, her eyes glanced across the seascape towards the main port and then out to the lush green uninhabited island of Meropi. It was a few hundred metres offshore, illuminated by what seemed to be an unearthly glow in the sharp late-morning light. Her mind recalled swimming across the ocean with Penny, her latest squeeze of the week and Aléxandros, splashing and laughing beneath the baking sunbeams. The days had stretched endlessly beneath a sky that seemed to last forever, with no end and no beginning.

But there had been an end, and Ellen couldn’t help but replay that moment at Kalamata airport when she had seen someone she couldn’t unsee and been cajoled into keeping a secret, sacrificing her one chance at true love. She’d been so young and naive, foolishly agreeing to the hateful plan. Being in Kardamyli again, her memories had risen to the surface as if they were filled with air, unable to be pushed back down to the murky depths. She took a deep breath and jumped off the edge, hoping to drown her recollections. The shock of the cold jolted her firmly to the present and, as bubbles tickled her limbs like a thousand watery feathers, she eventually emerged, gratefully gasping for air.

‘Is it cold?’ asked Penny, who was tentatively kicking off her expensive espadrilles and fiddling with her ears. She bent down to her beach bag then zipped it up. ‘I thought you’d never come back up. What were you doing down there?’

‘It’s freezing, exhilarating, and completely glorious. Come in, Pen!’ shouted Ellen breathlessly, feeling the contrast of the sun on her face and her chilly submerged limbs as she trod water. Penny looked suspicious.

‘If you say it’s lovely once you get in, I’ll kill you!’

‘It’s lovely once you …’ Ellen laughed but before she could finish her sentence, Penny threw herself into the sea with a high-pitched shriek.

‘Jesus, it’s like bloody cryotherapy.’ She chattered her teeth for dramatic effect. It wasn’t that cold after a minute or two when the initial shock had dispersed, and eventually Penny calmed. ‘Well, that’s the end of my blow-dry. If I die of hypothermia, it’s entirely your fault. I don’t know why I listen to you.’

‘Because I’m such fun in Greece!’ cried Ellen, twirling around, kicking her legs beneath her wildly and raising her hands aloft. ‘All I needed to do is follow my instinct and be free. It’s easy!’

‘Maybe you had too much fruit at breakfast if you’re feeling queasy,’ panted Penny as she breast-stroked her way to warmer waters. ‘Though I’m fine and I had the same.’

‘I said easy, not queasy!’ Ellen realised this was the first hearing confusion they’d had since they left the UK, and before Penny had jumped into the sea she’d been doing something to her ears. Ellen had assumed she was adjusting her hair. But had she finally given in and sought out help for her hearing? She decided not to mention it; she didn’t want to embarrass her friend. They swam to the metal ladder and climbed back up to the harbour wall. Ellen fished out a towel from her bag and wrapped it around her while slipping her flip-flops on, discreetly turning her back on Penny while she dressed. Penny was so thin it was almost horrifying. Ellen adjusted her high-neck, racer-back swimsuit, ensuring no evidence that would prompt questions was exposed.

‘Shall we grab a drink in that taverna?’ Ellen asked loudly while suddenly becoming fascinated with a shoal of fish in the shallows.

‘You don’t have to shout!’ Penny said as Ellen faced her friend. ‘All right, I admit it, I … I’ve finally got … hearing aids. I’ve had them for a while but couldn’t pluck up the courage to use them at home, so I’m trying them out here.’ She confessed in a desperate whisper, as if the admission had cost her a limb. Ellen stepped forwards and placed a hand on her arm.

‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Pen,’ she began tenderly. ‘It’ll come to us all eventually.’

‘Well, I don’t see why it has to be me first!’ She looked tearful and frail. Ellen put an arm around her as they walked in step towards the eatery overlooking the sea. ‘I work so hard not to seem old. It’s all I seem to think about these days and … and …’ She began to cry and they stopped still.

‘And what, Penny? You are fabulous and beautiful and the only reason I noticed was because you hadn’t … you know, mixed up any words until we were in the water. Nobody will know they’re there. I can’t see them at all.’

‘Alan will trade me in for a younger model, some secretary with bouncing upright natural boobs and slimmer calves. I wouldn’t blame him.’ Her bottom lip was quivering as hard as her chin. Ellen couldn’t help but laugh – albeit kindly – at how absurd she was being.

‘Penny, listen to me. Alan loves you and your calves are perfection. There is no reason on earth for him to look elsewhere. He knows you’re not thirty, so I assure you, these things won’t come as a surprise.’

Penny nodded reluctantly but didn’t appear assuaged as they took a seat at a taverna table. The water was stunning in the beautiful light and appeared to have changed colour as the sun crossed the midday threshold, shape-shifting and evolving into something more beautiful. Just like Ellen hoped to do.

‘You know my hormones are up the creek. I’ve lost my urges and now my hearing’s deserted me. When did getting old become so exhausting and depressing?’ Penny said, clenching the sides of the table with her hands.

Ellen ordered two glasses of Metaxa, then poured a glass of water for them both.

‘My hormones too, believe me – I’ve forgotten what a full night’s sleep feels like, though I’m through the menopause thanks to my hysterectomy shoving me into it early. What a treat that was! But I think ageing has always been tiring, we just don’t expect it to happen in the way it does, and nobody can prepare you for it. Maybe because we’re in Kardamyli again, emulating our eighteen-year-old selves, it’s become horribly clear we aren’t those people anymore – inside or out,’ Ellen said, reflecting that despite the signs of age on her own body, returning to Kardamyli had given her an unexpected comfort in her skin. Most of it, at least. Whereas it seemed to have had the opposite effect on Penny. ‘I wish you’d find a way to be happy with yourself, Pen.’

Penny smiled sadly as she took a slice of warm sourdough from the breadbasket.

‘Here, look! I’m being me at eighteen, eating bloody carbs!’ She took a bite followed by a fortifying sip of her brandy as Ellen followed suit, both wincing at the burning sensation of the delicious drink. ‘Ellen … would you … ? Oh, it’s silly, forget it.’

‘What?’ asked Ellen, her brow furrowing in concern at Penny, who was chomping hungrily at the bread as if she hadn’t tasted anything so scrumptious for years, which was possibly true.

‘Would you, I mean, only if you have time, I know you’re working too but … when we were here before, you made me something to wear and I’ve never found anything since that made me feel quite so beautiful. Do you remember the night I wore it? I met that divine Frenchman and had the most exhilarating sex of my life!’ She sighed aloud, resting her head on her hand. ‘Before Alan, obviously,’ she added quickly.

Ellen ignored the image of Penny engaging in vigorous sex and instead conjured up a vision of the simple, elegant white cotton sundress she’d once created for her friend: strapless and ruched at the bodice, flowing down to Penny’s ankles. It was one of the easiest things she could attempt and would be the work of merely a few hours. She broke into a smile, reaching over the table for Penny’s hand.

‘What if I made it in another colour – a green perhaps? And there is nothing on this earth that would give me more joy than to make you feel as beautiful as you are.’

Penny nodded then said, ‘But surely Aléxandros is your lost font of joy.’

Ellen shot her a withering look. ‘That ship has long sailed and definitely sunk. And since we are getting older with every second, I suggest we don’t waste our time thinking about him. From now on, only new things and good things! It ended such a long time ago – I’ve said goodbye to it, now please, in exchange for a dress, could you do the same?’ Ellen hated the fact she was lying, but it was all she could do to rescue Penny’s sadness.

They clinked glasses.

‘Fine,’ said Penny. ‘Look, they have a rooster stew on the menu! Shall we try it? New things – hopefully good things? At least it’s protein,’ she said, screwing up her nose, and Ellen agreed, laughing at the ebb and flow of their friendship. Nothing stayed the same and nor should it. Their bond had its own rhythm and maybe she oughtn’t compare the now with before. The same could be applied to everything, especially here in Greece. Though Ellen had a sneaking suspicion Penny would bring up the subject of Aléxandros again. Goodness knows it was on her own mind, as it had been since they’d parted, when she told him a lie that she didn’t know was untrue at the time – that she’d come back to be with him. The only peace she’d managed to make was by the weight of guilt she bore: an atonement for breaking his heart, a living purgatory until her final breath.

But she knew when she inhaled her last, it would be Aléxandros’ name that would float from her lips like a whisper to the heavens – born of love with a desperate plea for forgiveness. Though it hadn’t been her fault, she shouldered the blame as she always did.

Chapter 11

After speaking to Tristan to check on the little ones and hear about their latest adventures, Ellen left Penny to relax by the hotel pool. Tristan had delivered on his promise to drop off regular treats for Bella and Barney, and she was reassured to hear that he’d fed the homeless woman and her dog who had been a life raft of sorts for her. Helping Bella had given Ellen a sense of worth; she could impact another’s life away from her sewing machine. At times, Bella felt like all she had, especially when Tristan was busy after the children arrived. She’d seen through John’s charm and was the only person who’d ever deduced the truth. Since Bella’s disclosure in the underpass before Ellen travelled to Greece, Ellen had found a comfort in the fact that nearby was an ally who’d recognised the pain she’d spent so long trying to hide – though she’d always live with those invisible scars.

Ellen needed to source some fabric for the dress she’d promised to make Penny, plus she wanted to explore a little of Kardamyli alone. Dimitra’s shop was a new world to unearth in the place she’d once known so well.

Théa at the hotel reception provided directions to her grandmother’s store and Ellen set off along the main drag to seek it out. Aside from the odd car zooming along the high street, the late afternoon felt more than laid-back; it was positively sleepy, a mandatory siesta. The population was small and today it felt more of a hamlet than a village; it was somewhere in between really. Ellen was enjoying the glimpse of authentic life these peaceful hours afforded. It had been the height of summer when they’d been before, crammed with tourists and visitors, not early in the season like now.

As she moseyed around the paved streets and cobbled alleyways, Ellen had the space to marvel at the beautifully blended modernity, elegantly laced around history. Shopfronts were lovingly encased within traditional Mani stone buildings, then the hillside beyond that ultimately led up to the imposing Taygetus mountain range. The vista was punctuated with an occasional cypress tree nestled within rows of neatly planted olive trees. Some of those had belonged to Aléxandros and she’d attempted to separate him from her surroundings since arriving, but it was nigh impossible.

She shook him away and tried to focus on the landscape without painful memories tarnishing her senses. A collision of greens peppered with the pungent scent of jasmine gently baking in the heat mixed sweetness into the air. Then, the crowning top note of the afternoon was a final flourish of orange blossom along with the last of the ripe winter oranges, each different variety yielding a year-round harvest. Both sang brightly upon the thermal waves, clinging to branches like wallflowers hovering on the outskirts of a school dance, longing to be picked. The smell made Ellen’s stomach yearn for a sweet treat, but material for Penny’s dress was more pressing than her need for home-made frozen yoghurt.

The fabric store that doubled as the dressmaker’s was simply called Dimitra’s. It was next door to a shop that sold local herbs, honey and delicious-looking jars of golden olive oil that were displayed in the window like a gourmet apothecary. The bell tinkled a jangling welcome as Ellen opened Dimitra’s door and the glorious sight of endless racks of material stacked from floor to ceiling greeted her. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams, though they were likely bits of fabric liberated by the blade of a scissor. She heard a sewing machine in the back, which stopped instantly and a woman whom she assumed to be the owner appeared. She had harsh features with dark, knowing eyes garnishing her olive skin, the same shade as Théa’s. Ellen was relishing the thought of locating her seamstress tribe in Kardamyli, but this old woman seemed hostile from the way she looked her customer up and down.

‘Yiá sas,’ Ellen began, greeting her in Greek. ‘Ti kánete?’ She followed up with a how are you? If the question had been asked of Ellen, she would have answered by saying she was in fabric nirvana. The Aladdin’s cave of material held every imaginable type and hue, with matching threads, complemented by sparkling adornments that glinted from a glass counter; it was her idea of heaven. Ellen nodded waiting for a response, but the woman narrowed her eyes then abruptly replied only with her name: ‘Dimitra.’ Then she fired off a stream of rapid Greek that Ellen couldn’t dream of following so she had to hold her hands up to stop the flow, not wishing to offend, but she’d already exhausted her limited supply of vocabulary, and the other words she knew, taught by Aléxandros, were not for public consumption.

‘I’m so sorry, I don’t speak much Greek at all, but I’m a dressmaker too. Your granddaughter, Théa, sent me,’ Ellen started tentatively, and Dimitra raised her eyebrows as a brief smile crossed her face followed by disgust. Ellen felt crestfallen. She’d been so excited to exchange pleasantries with one who shared her profession, but it seemed Dimitra was unwilling to engage. She decided to browse instead.

A bolt of cotton in a rich emerald green caught Ellen’s eye and her fingers grasped the corner, picturing the reimagined maxi dress she would make for Penny, replicating the one from years before but in a different colour.

‘This is very nice. You have the good eye,’ Dimitra said in halting English with slightly more warmth than before, leading Ellen to believe that fabrics were the key to unlocking friendliness. Dimitra pulled the vast stack of cotton from the rack with great effort, and Ellen went to help her but was dismissed with a hand gesture so stepped away. Though the material was incredibly heavy, this woman moved with an additional unseen burden; it was palpable. She was surely in her eighties and Dimitra’s weighted energy signalled the decades she held above Ellen.

At the countertop, Ellen estimated the amount she needed. The ripples of material being pulled from its confines, set free to be trimmed and sent onwards on its journey, was the thrilling beginning of the process. It was ritualistic, like a religious ceremony. Even the woman’s hostility couldn’t dull Ellen’s excitement at the prospect of making Penny’s dress. A vision danced across her mind’s eye, and she balked, stepping backwards and dropping her hands from the material. It was not what Ellen had conjured for the dress. In the image, she saw Penny lying down, asleep, though she looked peaceful. It was in contrast to her usual imaginings for her garments when she saw a magical moment in action. Perhaps it was symbolic, and this dress would give Penny the harmony she sought. Yes, that’s what it meant; she was certain. Again, Greece seemed to be confusing what she foresaw.

‘What are you making at the moment?’ Ellen asked in a last-ditch attempt to engage the woman. She’d need to return for other supplies during her stay, so needed her onside.

‘I have many traditional skirts to hem and jackets to make for our dancers at the May Day feast,’ said Dimitra with a huff before continuing. ‘Much to do and only me to make them and there will be weddings in the summer …’ She threw her hands to the heavens and Ellen smiled in sympathy, hoping they could find further common ground.

‘There is no speedy enough deadline for love! I had to fit and pin several bridesmaids’ dresses in a few days before I came to Greece. Now, I am set to task again, though this is my own labour of love alongside my actual work.’ Dimitra looked at her sharply with a frown furrowing her brow as she folded the material. Perhaps she felt territorial having another dressmaker in the village.

‘Our craft is dying breed.’ She gave a half laugh then began to cough, and Ellen wondered whether she’d missed a joke within Dimitra’s thick gravelly accent. After handing over some euros when the spluttering had subsided, she accepted the swathes of green wrapped in its paper package tied with brown string. It was charmingly old-fashioned, but then again, their vocation befitted the care Dimitra took in handing over a pile of threads that would become something greater than their sum. The woman took a seat behind the counter and folded her arms, indicating their transaction was over.

‘If you need any help … not that you can’t get it all done, I’m not saying that …’ Ellen blustered, feeling on edge. ‘I’d be happy to lend a hand if you …’ The look Dimitra gave her was like thunder, and Ellen wished she wasn’t such a people pleaser and had remained silent. ‘Forget I mentioned it. Thanks so much.’ Her cheeks heated and she suddenly felt claustrophobic in the shop she’d been looking forward to visiting. ‘Bye, then. Yiá sas,’ she said before closing the door firmly behind her. Her heart was beating faster than needed and she felt embarrassed about possibly insulting her fellow seamstress with an offer of assistance. She was only being kind, though what possessed her to suggest she be put to more work while on holiday? Penny would be livid, so it was best that Dimitra was horrified at her suggestion, signalling an end to the matter.

As Ellen walked back up the hill of the main street, she felt light-headed and wondered if the frozen yoghurt shop was still in business, as her mind conjured up the array of flavours she would find, but pagotó portokáli – orange ice cream – was Ellen’s absolute favourite. Heading for what she considered the prettiest nook in Kardamyli, she hoped to find the freshly made treats she’d had before. Her memory sprang into action, moments pressing forward like unreachable itches to scratch … arm in arm with Aléxandros after an evening in a taverna down in the little square, feasting on small plates, being fed new flavours, every sensation echoing on her tongue, so much so she could still taste the combination of cinnamon in a tomato sauce or the sharp tang of capers on a yellow split-pea dip, flecks of dill, a bitter yet sweet glistening black olive …

She pressed her fingers to her lips, the sensory memory so vivid she expected to find a smear of sauce there. She whipped around to look behind her, thinking she’d heard his voice, but it was only the strength of her recollections; he wasn’t there. That dinner together had been followed by a cold ice cream cone and tub of frozen yoghurt, sitting outside the store in the metal chairs beneath curling vines that crept along warm blonde stone. The sound of jazz echoing between the buildings, then a midnight swim followed by the feeling of complete and utter love, satiated by his strong body beneath the canopy of an ancient olive tree on the hillside above the village. It was almost too painfully delicious to set one foot in front of the other as feelings and memories she’d tried to abandon flashed through her body.

Ellen had put herself in Kardamyli today for a reason: to make sense of it all. She could only explain it away as an attempt to tie up the loose ends of life before she started over again; by exorcising the ghost of Aléxandros just as she was trying to dismiss the spectre of John. Both were hard to be rid of for very different reasons. But she longed to begin again properly with nothing to tether her to the past and only the future stretching before her like an everlasting Greek sea and sky; a thousand blues washed across the world with Ellen standing on the horizon between, wondering where on earth life would lead her to next.

The Fates

The three sisters were the ultimate seamstresses, feared and revered by gods, such was their unconquerable power.

Each human spirit had their future mapped at the Fates’ command; a chance encounter, a fortuitous moment … all had been seen by the mythical stitchers; discussed, judged and a sentence irretrievably passed.

Gods never levied their might simply for enjoyment. The hallowed threads were woven with the greatest care. It was incumbent on mortals to honour such craftsmanship, never to waste a moment.

One of the Fates had the ability to grant life to the unliving, to reverse the hand of destiny. Nothing was truly permanent; everything was fleeting and temporary.

Only the foolhardy mistook death as the end.

Chapter 12

‘I’ve started your dress,’ Ellen said as she leant against a stone wall to take a breather early the next morning. They were on their planned hike up to old Kardamyli and as far towards the peaks as they could possibly manage.

‘Oooh! I’m so excited,’ said Penny, jumping up and down at the thought of something new to wear. ‘Sorry I bailed early last night. I suddenly felt quite pooped and needed my bed. Maybe it’s all the mountain air, but hope you weren’t too lonely,’ Penny replied, shielding her eyes from the morning sun despite having a visor to protect her precious skin from the rays.

‘Not one bit,’ Ellen reassured her friend. ‘I sewed, scoffed olives, watched the sun set and had a cheeky glass or two of rosé.’ Though the reception she’d received from fellow dressmaker Dimitra had stung, she’d managed to lose herself in her work. ‘I was in my element.’

Penny suddenly grasped Ellen’s hand. ‘I feel like a dreadful friend, what with John’s anniversary so recently. I should have been with you.’ She looked so ashamed that Ellen felt compelled to console her with a hug.

‘And what would we have done – dredged up old times and made us both miserable? Please, Pen, I don’t want to talk about John. I really don’t, or anyone else. I just want to be here, in the present.’

‘As long as you’re sure.’ She looked uncertain then sighed sadly. ‘He’s left such a big gap in all of our lives, especially yours. I’ve never met anyone so admired and loved by everyone he met. Quite incredible when you think about it. You know you can tell me anything if you want to.’

‘And the same goes for you,’ Ellen added pointedly, then idly picked a sprig of rosemary growing wild among the ancient stone bricks, wondering what secrets they were both hiding from one another.

Ellen felt ashamed by the fact she’d concealed the most significant experience of her life, which would no doubt shape and influence every choice she ever made again when it came to allowing someone into her world – if ever she could. Her real desire lay in her need to rid herself of that lingering shame, because she deserved none of what had been inflicted upon her, not one single moment of it. She knew that now, but it had taken two years of soul seeking and heart searching to understand that it hadn’t been her fault. The challenge was finding a way to not only believe but also to embody that. She wasn’t a victim; she was a survivor who had been gaslit, controlled and abused into submission.

The online forums and articles she’d devoured after mustering the courage to type into a search engine ‘domestic abuse’ had opened a world of sisterhood and understanding and, above all, comfort. She wasn’t alone and Ellen was determined, for her own sanity, to work out who she really was. Though the knowledge hadn’t quite yet arrived, by unearthing the fabric shop in the village she already felt more grounded. And then there was Théa, the hotel receptionist. Ellen had been just the same when she first came to Kardamyli; longing to be a professional seamstress, not simply tinkering as a hobby, and she responded to those hopes and dreams like infectious vibrations in the air. She resolved to speak to Théa more about it when she next had the chance.

They continued walking and Penny nattered about old school friends she’d been in touch with, allowing Ellen’s mind to drift. As the years had marched along, she occasionally wondered if Penny really knew her anymore, but perhaps that was down to the sheer amount that Ellen had withheld from her best friend – for that she could accept the blame, though the cause wasn’t hers to shoulder. Were they still friends only because they’d known each other for so long? Penny had become increasingly selfish. She’d always been so to an extent, when they were in Greece before, but Ellen had been happy to tag along and forgive her shortcomings for the sake of their friendship. Of late, Penny filled their lunches, coffees and time together with tales of her own busyness, but there never seemed to be much of substance to tell, despite the amount of time Ellen spent listening to her endless endeavours. And she rarely enquired after Ellen. Now, a thought was beginning to trouble her: if they met for the first time today, would they have the connection they’d instantly felt when they were children? Time tested the strongest of bonds and often people drifted, but Ellen wondered what they were still clinging on to.

They hiked onwards past the evocative Mycenaean tombs, as the ground became rough and uneven underfoot. It was an immense honour to run a fingertip across a ruin that was thousands of years old, absorbing the energy of those who had walked this path before. History was immovable and all-encompassing, and in Greece the past was inescapable, even if you thought you’d left your own miles away. Reminders of what was lost and what once had been was evident with every piece of crumbling stone slowly being reclaimed by the dirt. But the scenery was magnificent, set against the backdrop of an early morning cornflower blue sky.

They followed the lengthy trail that would eventually lead to the hamlet of Petravóuni, through stunning olive groves whose trees boasted beautiful pale white blossom. The path became even rockier as they traversed the fortified old town of Kardamyli. Ellen risked a longing glance across the hillside to Aléxandros’ family’s trees, then forced herself into the moment again, ignoring her mental queries about who might now own the groves. Or, if they still belonged to him, the thought that he might be nearby. The higher they climbed, the more spectacular the views back across the sea. Eventually they arrived at the church of Agia Sophia, though it was locked up. Ellen and Penny sat on a wall and swigged from their water bottles, marvelling at the vista, breathing in the astonishing panorama.

‘Did we come here before?’ asked Ellen. She was certain they’d once done this trek or similar with Aléxandros but instead of this route, they’d followed the dried-up river gorge – all in flip-flops as opposed to the sensible walking shoes they’d donned for today.

‘Doesn’t everything seem brighter and more beautiful, now? I forgot to notice at the time.’ Penny took a long drink since the heat had increased at altitude. ‘Maybe we were too young to appreciate it; too silly wanting to gad about instead of pausing and seeing what was here in front of us.’ She sighed then adjusted her hair beneath her visor before returning to her water. Ellen wondered whether Penny had more to say; her words seemed uncharacteristically philosophical. They both sat in silence taking in their surroundings, the birdsong, winged insects that fluttered past on the mountain breeze wrapped in the heady scent of earthy plants and gentle sweetness from the flora.

‘Come on then. I’m not sure I can go any further and the church is shut. Can’t pray for our souls today,’ Ellen said, standing and pressing her hands to the small of her back. ‘Let’s head back down the way we came. I can’t trust my sense of direction and I am gasping for a cold beer.’ True on both accounts. She couldn’t trust her internal compass because it had led her to the wrong man against her will and her judgement. Though John had given her Tristan and in turn two beautiful grandchildren, there had to be some joy salvaged from her pain and she grasped on to that thought.

The kafenío down in the village square, nestled beneath shady trees, was busy given it was nudging towards lunchtime. Ellen must have subliminally herded them there, having thought about it yesterday, and the sunset supper she’d once had with Aléxandros. They ordered two local beers and Ellen chose a few small plates from the menu to graze upon, having worked up an appetite on their strenuous walk. The main street traffic was at a standstill as someone conversed with a priest through their car window. It was a rare occasion when horns weren’t blasted to hurry them along – nobody wished to suggest the mortal vessel for God’s word should be more succinct. As their bottles arrived, both women poured them into the ice-cold glasses and took large sips.

‘Ahhhhh,’ said Penny. ‘There is nothing like a Greek beer on a hot day. In fact, there’s nothing like a Greek.’ She lowered her sunglasses to the bridge of her nose and watched a lithe dark-skinned youth swagger along the path towards the sea where they’d bathed yesterday. He was shirtless with a towel slung over his shoulder and moved languidly to ensure all eyes were on him. ‘If only I was a few years younger …’ she mused.

‘Try a few decades.’ Ellen laughed.

‘Doesn’t hurt to look. It’s only window-shopping; I’m not being serious,’ huffed Penny. Thankfully, their food arrived to provide a distraction as the waiter talked them through the dishes.

‘Here is the black-eyed beans cooked with spinach, tomatoes and a little lemon. I suggest you crumble some of this, is very nice,’ he said setting down a small saucer of feta. ‘Then I have your oven-baked local cheese in filo with honey and sesame and your Mani salad with oranges and potatoes and finally the síglino – our special salted pork. Not supermarket meat! Kalí orexi!’ he declared, wishing them a good meal as he left.

‘I’ll be the size of Greece if we keep this up!’ Penny hesitated, then took a tiny spoon of each dish, placing them delicately on her plate.

‘No rules, you said, remember? Which means no diets,’ Ellen said, helping herself to a hearty portion. There would be time for laps of the pool or lengths in the sea to stave off the pounds that would creep on by indulging in such delicious food and drink. Which didn’t bother her as much as it did her friend. Penny relented and agreed to try a piece of the baked cheese in return for an agreement that Ellen would complete her dress in time for the May Day celebration – the day after tomorrow. The cheese was heavenly, sharp yet creamy with the added sweetness of the honey encased in crunchy filo pastry.

‘So, how’s Alan coping without you?’ asked Ellen as she wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and sipped her beer to chase away the saltiness of the wonderful dish. Penny seemed to tense and put her fork down beside her tiny meal. She flicked her hair, which hadn’t lost its bounce despite their hike, although it had caused a sweaty frizz in Ellen’s.

‘He’s always busy in his meetings, but I’m very lucky, I have such a wonderful life; I have no worries and I can do anything I want.’ That wasn’t what Ellen had asked, and she now knew for certain she wasn’t the only one at their table pretending. Penny already came from a comfortable family. Money had never been a worry, though she’d concerned herself to the point of preoccupation with marrying well. Which she had, yet it didn’t seem to be enough.

‘But you’re busy too and fill your time like nobody else I know. You and Alan make such a wonderful team, Pen. He adores you,’ said Ellen, beginning to worry if all wasn’t well with her friend as Penny swallowed another few fingers of beer.

‘Does he?’ she scoffed. ‘How would I know? We hardly have time for each other anymore. I’ve got my committees, my family’s foundation and he’s got … well, goodness knows what! Or who!’ Penny then drained her beer and signalled for another from the nearby waiter. Her alcohol to food ratio wasn’t matching up and the heat of the day coupled with the drink had loosened her tongue.

‘You don’t suspect … I mean, he …’ Ellen was about to say that Alan wouldn’t betray Penny’s trust, but who was she to assume? Nobody really knew what happened beneath another’s roof. Penny clumsily poured her new drink into the glass, creating a giant head, which resembled a frothy ice cream sundae.

‘He’s surrounded all day by nubile young things who would love a leg up in the company, probably by getting their leg over … and he comes home to me to deal with … oh I don’t know. I’m not feeling like myself because …’ She took off her sunglasses and polished them on her serviette. Ellen saw Penny’s large eyes were brimming with tears and she began to sniffle. ‘It’s just, when we agreed that we both didn’t want children, it was such a huge relief at the time and has been quite a blessing over the years. We have the freedom to drop everything and just … go. But you have no idea how lonely it is not being a mother, especially when all your friends have joined that club. And now there’s another I’m not a member of – the grandparent gang – and there’s nobody to leave anything to …’ She dissolved into tears and Ellen switched chairs, sitting in the one next to Penny’s, and put an arm around her shoulder, unable to console her and hoping she hadn’t contributed to these feelings her friend had clearly bottled up for years.

‘Oh, Pen, I had no idea. You should have said something, especially when I’m always going on about Tristan and the kids. I’m so sorry. I had no clue you felt this way.’ Ellen fished out another napkin from the breadbasket and after dusting off the crumbs, handed it to Penny who inelegantly blew her nose.

‘Did I make a mistake? I never wanted to have children, but now … now what do I have to show for my life? There’s nobody to inherit anything. I have nothing in common with our old school friends, who never invite me to their celebrations because they assume I wouldn’t want to go. It’s been like that for years and it’s nobody’s fault. Not having kids, I feel I have to prove how full and worthwhile my life is, to make up for no … no … legacy, I guess. I suppose I just shrug it off and carry on, feigning life is marvellous, when it feels a bit … not empty, but … oh for goodness’ sake! Ignore me, I’m talking nonsense. I cry at everything these days. Forget I ever mentioned it.’

She replaced her sunglasses and beamed a forced smile. Her mask was back on. ‘Now, do you fancy the beach or the spa this afternoon?’ Penny was trying to act normal, but Ellen refused to dismiss such important feelings so easily. It was the first real exchange they’d had in years and although Penny was hurting, it was a glimpse of who she was. Ellen wasn’t ready to let it go yet.

‘I wish you’d told me you were going through this. I’m sorry if I’ve fuelled any of that.’ She watched as Penny picked up a piece of bread and began to shred it on her plate.

‘When you planned that camping trip for Tristan’s tenth birthday, you didn’t include me,’ Penny said sullenly.

‘But you hate camping!’ exclaimed Ellen.

‘That’s not the point! I would have come because Tristan is my godson, but you just assumed, as everyone always does, that I wouldn’t be interested. And it hurts, because I am interested. It’s like saying I can’t participate because I’m missing something. I’m not enough.’ She fanned herself with her sun hat so energetically that shards of filo pastry scraps on the table scattered into Ellen’s lap. ‘It’s a discrimination everyone is guilty of, only they don’t know it, because it never occurs to them. What about all those poor women who actually can’t have children? At least mine was a choice, but it’s still sometimes painful. And if I hear one more woman on television or on the radio say how terrible it is when the invitations dry up when you become a mother … well try not being one and see how those invites disappear overnight!’

Ellen thought Penny was being harsh, because it was an incredibly lonely road becoming a mum, but she had sympathy for her point. It wasn’t something she’d ever considered and now that she did, she realised it was remiss of her not to have been cognisant. There wasn’t anything she could say. The street bustled around them, drowning out her own thoughts with every zoom of a moped or deafening rev of a car engine. She reached for Penny’s hand and spoke softly, knowing Penny could now hear her perfectly.

‘I’m truly sorry if I’ve been careless with your feelings; it’s the last thing I would ever want to do. You’re my best friend, Pen, and I’m glad you told me. I feel closer to you because of it, and though I can’t change what’s happened, I can be mindful from now on. How’s that? God, mindful, urgh, I sound like Cressida!’

Penny laughed. ‘You’ll be shipping us off to some vegan meditation retreat to sleep in a yurt at this rate.’ She continued to laugh as she adjusted the sun visor back onto her head. ‘Let’s go for a dip and then I might need a nap. Those beers have gone straight to my head and made me all maudlin!’

After paying the bill, they walked arm in arm down to the sea to cool off from the warmth of the day and the heat of their conversation. Though she was glad Penny had shared some of her private feelings, Ellen felt guiltier than ever that she’d been unable to confide her marital secret. But how could she? She didn’t know where to begin. And besides, there was no point. John was dead and it was down to her and her alone to forget the past as much as she could and decide if her little compass still worked and could be trusted to guide her forwards to something brighter; something this time, perhaps, that she actually deserved.

Chapter 13

While Penny was fast asleep in her room, Ellen returned to her sewing machine. The open patio doors allowed the late afternoon sunlight to stream in and with it came a welcome breeze that lifted the sheer curtain to gently billow like a diaphanous butterfly wing.

She’d made excellent progress with Penny’s dress and it was almost done, save for a fitting to pin the main seam before completion. The alarming vision she’d had yesterday at the dress shop didn’t manifest and Ellen ensured her heart felt only joy as she finished it, hoping that translated into the garment. It would certainly be ready for the May Day feast. Ellen had searched online for what the festivities would entail on Protomagiá, the Greek day that officially heralded the end of winter on the first of the month. As far as she could see, it was a wonderful way to welcome the spring with dancing, feasting and gathering wildflowers to weave into wreaths that would adorn the doors of houses and shops. A great excuse for a party.

A sharp rapping at the door broke her focus from a particularly tricky stitch and she stood, rubbing her eyes from the strain. Opening it, she found a frantic-looking Théa who was wringing her hands, and Ellen immediately stepped forwards.

‘My yiayiá, my grandmother, Dimitra she …’ Tears rolled down her face and she started to sob. Ellen ushered her into the room and guided her to a chair. She fetched a glass of water from the kitchenette and encouraged her to take a sip, then handed her a tissue.

‘Théa, take a deep breath. What’s happened?’ said Ellen gently.

‘She took a fall at work, yesterday evening, and must have been there for an hour before anyone found her. She will be in the hospital at Kalamata for a while. They think it’s her heart, so Yiayiá told me to come and find you.’

Ellen balked, not expecting to be involved in the scenario nor to have her own name in Dimitra’s mouth, given the greeting she’d received from the woman.

‘She wanted me? Why?’

‘To give you this.’ Théa handed over a large bronze key and Ellen looked at it quizzically, turning over the heavy cold metal in her fingers. ‘It’s for the shop.’ Ellen was further puzzled as to why Théa was passing on the gateway to her grandmother’s business, and at Dimitra’s request. ‘She had much to do before May Day, which is the day after tomorrow, and she asked me to tell you to help.’

Ellen couldn’t supress a small laugh of shock that bubbled up, born of surprise that Dimitra would ever ask her for anything – though she’d said ‘tell’, which was even more amusing. ‘Sorry,’ Ellen said after controlling herself. ‘I don’t understand what she wants me to do.’

‘I know my yiayiá can be … headstrong, let’s say, and the idea of another seamstress here, she may have felt threatened. But now we need you; Kardamyli needs you. Please, Ellen, rescue our celebrations.’ Ellen looked out at the sea, which was gilded with golden light as the sun began its descent, wondering what on earth she could do to be of use in this crisis aside from sew a hem or two. It slowly dawned upon Ellen what the demand was.

‘I’m … I’m sure I can lend a hand, but I should speak to my friend, Penny, really. We’re here on holiday and I wouldn’t want to leave her in the lurch.’ Ellen could only imagine Penny’s reaction at their fun being curtailed by a dressmaking emergency, but Théa looked crestfallen.

‘Of course. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just …’ She sat up straighter in the chair and finished her water. ‘No matter, we will find a way.’ She stood and went to leave.

‘Wait!’ Ellen cried, halting Théa in her tracks. ‘Of course I’ll help and make sure you have the best May Day celebrations.’

A wide grin spread across Théa’s face, and she moved back to Ellen, grabbing both of her hands.

‘Oh, thank you! You don’t know what this means to Kardamyli. Tomorrow morning I show you the instructions Yiayiá dictated. I have put them on the counter.’

Ellen nodded, wondering what on earth she’d agreed to. But in the spirit of a fresh beginning, the new, reinvigorated Ellen found an excitement nibbling away at her at the thought of setting up shop, albeit temporarily. Having decided back in London to use her cherished china every day and to light all the candles she was saving for best, now was not the time in her life to say no to anything. From now on, Ellen would say yes, not knowing where it would take her, because surely it couldn’t be to anywhere more dangerous than she’d already been.

After making a small cheese plate for Penny and checking on her, Ellen decided to investigate the dress shop so she knew what she was dealing with. Penny was woozy, making very little sense as Ellen had tried to coax her with a loaded cracker. After a stomach full of beers at lunchtime, a painkiller and a sleeping pill, she suspected she wouldn’t see her friend until the morning. When Penny was restored tomorrow, Ellen would explain her village rescue mission and offer a litany of promises she only hoped she could keep.

Darkness had fallen over Kardamyli, enveloping it in a deep blue velvet embrace. Chatter from people on their way to an assignation, the hum of patrons in tavernas and musical soundtracks in bars accompanied Ellen on her way down to Dimitra’s. Most of the stores were open, but her destination was shrouded in darkness. It was a square of charcoal in the stone row of glowing eateries and shops. Slipping the key into the lock, Ellen felt like an illicit cat burglar sneaking into a place of business after hours. It was terribly exciting and seemed a little naughty.

The door opened with a clunk and she slowly pushed it ajar. The sound of the overhead bell made her jump. She shook off her nerves, reassuring herself she wasn’t doing anything wrong. Fumbling for the light switch, the space was revealed before her, akin to being in a museum at night. It felt magical and incredibly special to be surrounded by the endless potential of material and threads. It was an incomparable joy for Ellen, and she couldn’t absorb all the colours; it was a sensory overload. Rather like Greece in the day that shone brighter than any beacon, in Dimitra’s shop there lived a rainbow of possibility in the form of silks, taffetas, chiffons and cottons, every possible kind stacked from floor to ceiling. The bolts almost whispered to her from the shadows. The premonition of what they could become called to her and she felt her fingers twitch with the urge to sketch and snip, fold and drape. She glided around touching rich crimsons, delicate lilacs, romantic creams and cerulean blues.

On the counter was a pile of scrawled pages, which must be the dictated instructions. The note on top was transcribed by Théa on Dimitra’s behalf. It read:

Dear Ellen,

I am thankful you agree to help. I wish I did not have to ask, but I find myself unable to complete the task I was assigned. You as a fellow dressmaker will understand the weight of responsibility that hangs on our shoulders, the dreams of others that rely upon our fingers to fix.

I hope that I will be well enough to return to help. But if not, these are the instructions for what remains.

With my thanks for helping our Kardamyli,

Dimitra

She smiled that Dimitra had presumed the outcome without question; she’d known Ellen would agree to assist. Walking into the back room, she found three sewing machines that were twice the size of her travel version. Stacks of white material with a delicate hand-embroidered pattern along the bottom were piled high and from what Ellen could deduce, this was what the skirts were due to be made from. She breathed a sigh of relief that the intricate work had been done. The stitching was impeccable; no gadget could have created such artisanal beauty. But from the note she’d skim-read, there were forty garments to be made and the same number of boleros required in navy felt.

She slumped into a chair. There were less than two days to deliver the task, and she would need an army to meet the deadline. That or an industrial urn of coffee. But, it seemed, there was only her to make it happen. Despite feeling overwhelmed, a bubble of anticipation lurking in her tummy started to spread. This magical corner of Greece had once given her the taste of what love was supposed to feel like, and if she never again felt the brush of the lips from a man she adored, or the caress of gentle fingers down her spine, coaxing her to a place greater than anywhere on earth, she’d had it once. Nobody could take that away. It was the gift she’d received from this village and was hers to lock into the secret part of her soul. No matter where she went or what happened next, she would always have Kardamyli to thank for Aléxandros.

The dancers’ measurements were written down. All she had to do was focus her mind and get to work. And that is exactly what she intended to do. If not for Dimitra, her memories or for herself, then for Kardamyli as a tribute of thanks for providing the backdrop to true love. Albeit one she’d been forced into leaving behind.

Chapter 14

Ellen had worked until the small hours having completed a decent number of the skirts, but there was so much more to be done. She’d wandered back to the hotel with only stray cats for company. Kardamyli was silent, aside from distant rumbles of thunder high up in the mountains. It was beautifully gothic and terribly romantic walking beneath the moon as it cast silver beams across the dark street. Ellen wasn’t frightened; she’d had enough fear to last ten lifetimes.

She awoke as the sunrise spilled warm pink light across her room and immediately sprang into action. Despite only having had a few hours’ slumber, there was an exhilarating urgency to her purpose and she couldn’t wait to start work. Though there was the small matter of Penny to deal with first. After an ice-cold shower that woke up every corner of her body, she brewed some coffee in the kitchenette then sent Penny a message suggesting an early breakfast together in the village. She looked at the almost completed emerald-green dress she’d promised her friend. Ellen would ensure it would be ready for May Day tomorrow, even if she had to tack it in her sleep. It may sweeten the blow of her absence for the next twenty-four hours, sewing as she’d never stitched before.

Penny seemed surprisingly breezy considering her state last night. ‘Morning! Another day in paradise,’ she said slinging an arm around Ellen’s shoulder, and they walked down the stairs and outside. The heat was like slamming against a wall compared to the cool marble interior of their lodgings. ‘Now, plans for today. I thought we could take that fabulous car for a drive and try to find that secret beach. Do you remember it? I don’t fancy walking too far.’

Ellen smiled at the memory of the beautiful horseshoe cove down a rough track, but she was going to have to take a raincheck when she conjured the courage to explain. They reached the breakfast place, which was opposite where they’d lunched yesterday, and took a seat at a roadside table.

‘The thing is …’ Ellen began. ‘I need to …’

‘Ooh, egg whites!’ exclaimed Penny, leafing through the menu, her face almost entirely covered in oversized sunglasses. ‘Thank goodness I can stick to some sort of healthy eating. At least this morning anyway. Sorry, what were you were saying?’

‘Well, I think we should do our drive in a couple of days, because … I …’ She was struggling to find the words and a girl came to take their order, giving her some space to locate a way to tell Penny.

After choosing their breakfasts, Penny leant forward on the table, resting on her elbows. ‘Come on, Ellen, spit it out.’

‘Well, there’s a problem with the May Day thing.’ She went on to explain about Dimitra’s illness. ‘And I said I’d help, but it’s only for today and tomorrow daytime; then we can celebrate. You can wear the green dress; it’ll be ready too by then.’

Penny sat back in her chair and folded her arms. ‘I don’t see how you’ll have time for me with all the work you’ve volunteered to do.’ She almost spat her words, and Ellen felt terrible.

‘You could always help – I mean, only if you wanted. It could be fun,’ Ellen ventured, but Penny shot down her suggestion.

‘I don’t know the first thing about dressmaking, as well you know. I can hardly sew on a bloody button. And coming to Greece only to be stuck in a fabric shop isn’t my idea of a holiday. I’ll take the car and find some fun by myself. It’s what I’m used to, after all. Enjoy your little sewing club, but you can count me out!’ She gathered her beach bag and flounced back up the hill to their hotel, leaving Ellen with an egg-white omelette and a large Greek pastry that oozed vanilla-flecked custard. It seemed breakfast had arrived with a side of guilt that hadn’t been on the menu. Penny would come around, surely, especially when she saw the finished green dress. Ellen would have to guess Penny’s measurements, though she worried that even one of her creations couldn’t be relied upon to cast its spell on her understandably very cross best friend.

Théa met Ellen at Dimitra’s shop as they’d agreed. Being creative was the perfect distraction from meandering around painful memory lane, which was at every turn in Kardamyli. She’d spotted Penny zooming along the street in the red convertible, though she hadn’t returned Ellen’s wave as she’d sped by.

Inside the store, Ellen explained to Théa that’s she’d begun making some pieces last night and Théa’s eyes lit up. She clearly had faith that it would get done, but Ellen wasn’t so certain.

‘I have some ladies to help you. Not accomplished, but they can at least cut the jacket patterns,’ Théa said as she fired up the coffee machine that would be heavily relied upon – almost as much as the sewing machines. ‘We do not need perfection, just anything for our dancers to wear. I am so sorry I cannot help. I wish I could so I’d learn more, but the hotel is busy. The dancers will arrive tonight for fittings at eight o clock.’

Ellen’s pulse picked up pace and she looked at her watch. She had ten hours to finish thirty skirts and pin forty boleros to sit snugly over their white shirts, which she thankfully didn’t have to create. She wished that Théa could have been part of this rescue mission, keeping it in the family while her granny was absent. But any tutelage would have to wait for another time.

‘Then I’d better get on with it,’ Ellen said, nodding warmly at the two elderly women who’d appeared in the shop despite the sign being set to CLOSED. Théa turned and greeted them in Greek.

‘This is Christína and Ionna. They speak no English, but I can translate, then I must get back to the hotel. I’m sorry again I cannot help. I would love to so very much.’ Théa seemed crestfallen not to be part of the task, but her work commitments overrode her heart, it appeared. Ellen looked at the two old women, whose fingers looked riddled with arthritis, but wonky hands were better than no hands at all.

‘Right,’ said Ellen, taking charge. She divided up the workspace so she would be based in the back and Ionna and Christína at the counter, cutting the navy felt for the little tops. If she could get the skirts all but completed to pin the waists tonight, then the final fastenings could be quickly hand-sewn in a couple of hours. The boleros she’d fit straight onto their bodies and then stitch for as long as her eyes remained open. She took a deep breath as Théa explained in Greek to the reinforcements what the plan was. Ellen handed large scissors to each woman with a smile and stacked the fabric and pattern cut-outs beside the cash register.

They were an unlikely team, but it was all she had to work with. She said a silent prayer to all the Greek gods in the hope that she wouldn’t let anyone down, but most of all that she wouldn’t let herself down.

Théa had delivered lunch and snacks in the form of delicious paninis stuffed with feta, olives and oregano-sprinkled tomatoes. Ellen only stopped for ten minutes, taking a brief break in the blazing sunshine outside. She felt like a mole emerging from underground and blinked rapidly, rubbing her eyes and massaging her lower back. She left Ionna and Christína sitting on a bench beside the storefront to leisurely enjoy their food while she returned to the machines.

Ellen shouldn’t have been so judgemental about the aged ladies tasked with helping her. They didn’t work at the pace she did, but what they had achieved was precise and wonderful; all the cut fabric pieces would be ready to assemble on the dancers this evening. It didn’t feel like quite the mountain to climb at this stage, though she didn’t wish to get ahead of herself. Regular cups of coffee were placed beside her in the rear of the store, but all Ellen saw as she sipped absent-mindedly was an endless blur of white material moving in front of her while she hemmed, turned, rehemmed, snipped and repeated. She would probably see full white cotton skirts when she closed her eyes in bed, though at what time that would be she couldn’t even begin to guess.

As the shadows lengthened, creeping over the shop, Théa popped her head around the door.

‘Kalispéra, Ellen. It is time; the dancers are here. I ask them all to wear their white shirts they will have on tomorrow night and thin leggings to make it easy and quick for you.’

Ellen couldn’t believe it was evening and eight o’clock already. She had sent Ionna and Christína home after they’d completed their task late this afternoon and, now, it was down to her and her alone. She wiped away sweat from her brow.

‘You didn’t think I’d leave you to face this without me, did you?’

Ellen turned with a start to find Penny standing with her hands on her hips, grinning broadly.

‘Pen! Oh, Pen, I’m so happy to see you!’

‘God, you look like hell and back. Come here, we can’t have you looking a bedraggled mess in front of the whole village.’ Penny took a brush from her leather handbag and tied Ellen’s choppy bob into a tiny ponytail, chasing away the stray hairs that were standing to attention. Ellen watched her reflected in the mirror.

‘It’s only until tomorrow, but I’m sorry about earlier. I missed you, old friend,’ she said when Penny had finished fussing.

‘Less of the old, but I missed you too. Sorry for being a grump. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back to our holiday. And tomorrow night will be so much fun. I’d better have something fabulous to wear.’ She grinned and buffed away the shine from Ellen’s brow with a compact of pressed powder. ‘Right, let’s do this!’

Ellen threw her arms around her oldest friend, grateful that an olive branch had been proffered; then they could resume their trip as soon as this was completed. Having Penny by her side gave her the confidence to organise the noisy chaos that was emanating from the shop floor.

‘Théa, could you ask everyone to line up and when Penny calls their names – which I’ve written down and attached to the skirts – they come in here and I can get going. Who’s first, Pen?’

‘Let’s start with Athinà,’ Penny said in a commanding tone, the one Ellen suspected she reserved for her charity committees, but she could certainly deploy it to great effect tonight.

A pretty curly-haired girl of around sixteen confidently stepped into the back room, but Ellen didn’t have time for niceties. She held out the skirt and took the bolero pieces and started to mark where she needed to sew with tailor’s chalk, adding pins with multicoloured bobbles on the ends. Her usual visions began to dance across her eyes: a feeling, a snapshot of events that would occur when Athinà wore this outfit, but Ellen had no luxury to pay them mind. One done. Penny summoned the next girl, followed by another and another until Ellen’s nimble fingers began to protest at the fiddly work. Eventually, as the last of the dancers left, Ellen and Penny along with Théa squashed onto the bench outside and rested their weary feet.

‘How is your grandmother?’ enquired Ellen.

‘A little better – asking whether everything will be ready in time, but I reassured her the village is in very safe hands,’ Théa said warmly.

‘Of course it is; there’s no better dressmaker,’ declared Penny, but Ellen shot her a look, not wishing to offend Dimitra’s prowess. ‘Aside from your granny, that is,’ Penny added diplomatically.

‘I’m glad Dimitra’s OK,’ Ellen said tenderly, thinking Théa must be a similar age to Tristan. He was too young to have buried a parent while still in his thirties. ‘It’s very frightening when a relative gets sick.’

They watched the dancers disperse into little groups, giggling and practising some of their steps in the road, showing off to the crowds of local boys that had gathered to observe. The sounds of catcalls and bravado echoed along the street. It was as amusing as it was fascinating watching the push-pull of adolescent courtship.

‘Are your parents alive?’ asked Théa, and Ellen shook her head as Penny matched her response. ‘I’m sorry for you both.’

‘It was a long time ago for me,’ Ellen reassured her. ‘We weren’t that close really. I’d sort of lost touch, which is awful when you think about it.’ She didn’t add that John had all but cut off contact with her mother and father the moment they were married, forbidding her from having any relationship outside of their home save for Penny and Alan, but only on his terms. Her school friends, family and acquaintances had all been set adrift along with her sense of self. He thought he could control her friendship with Penny because she was under his spell, impressed by his position in society. Even then, he still didn’t like it. It was yet another strain of guilt Ellen tried to bury away.

‘My dad died three years ago. My mamá and yiayiá, are all I have, aside from my husband, Stavros, and his family,’ said Théa. It was in a way a mirror of Tristan’s position of grief. The awareness that comes with the loss of one parent is that the same will happen again and then you’re alone, painfully orphaned no matter the age at which it occurs. An inevitable looming mortality arrives when a parent dies and death steps closer to you.

‘Getting old is miserable, isn’t it?’ said Penny, apparently to nobody.

‘Oh, I don’t know – would you want to go back to being young and unsure, broken hearts and all those games?’ Ellen said, nodding at the youngsters dawdling in the road.

‘You don’t have to be young to have a broken heart,’ Penny added softly, and Ellen wished they were alone so she could ask more. Instead, they sat together in silence, allowing the sounds of night-time Kardamyli to wash over them: music, cicadas, traffic, chatter. Théa then reached down into her shopping bag and lifted a container out. ‘I almost forgot. Here is kleftikó. I don’t know if you like it, but you must eat to keep your strength. My mother made it for the hotel dinner tonight and I saved you some.’

Ellen lifted the lid from the plastic box and the unmistakable scent of slow-roasted lamb cooked in herbs with onions and potatoes screamed at her appetite to respond, which it dutifully did. She hadn’t realised how ravenous she was until that moment; she’d been fuelled by adrenaline and coffee since lunch. Théa handed her a spoon and Ellen tucked straight in, appreciating every delicious mouthful.

‘Have you eaten, Pen? Oh my God, you have to try some,’ Ellen said.

‘I’ve had plenty; you go for it.’ Ellen suspected Penny hadn’t eaten more than would nourish a fly by the way she was looking at the food. Ellen tried to push away her muscle memory from the last time she’d eaten this dish, but it sprang forwards with the image of unwrapping a piece of parchment to reveal beautifully tender meat and vegetables, fragrant steam rising to dissolve into the evening air as she was fed a forkful. She shivered it away, wishing Aléxandros wouldn’t creep into her days and nights, yet he continued to do so like a directionless spirit with no purpose other than to nudge her past into the present.

‘You like? You have had before?’ asked Théa.

‘I love!’ replied Ellen. ‘Yes, a long, long time ago, when we first came to Kardamyli. It’s so far back in time, it’s like a dream – a beautiful, wonderful dream.’

‘I’ll say.’ Penny giggled, but thankfully said no more.

‘Dreams are what give us hope. We must never lose them,’ Théa said whimsically. But Ellen didn’t have many dreams. She’d shattered most of them and wasn’t sure she had the strength to make new ones. Though she did still have some hope to find a future, if nothing else. Perhaps she could help Théa follow her ambition to become a dressmaker … Ellen pondered the thought as she finished her food, savouring every fragrant mouthful.

‘Well, this kleftikó really was a dream come true. Thank you for being so kind and do send my love to Dimitra.’

‘Ellen, we can never thank you enough for what you’re doing,’ Théa said, packing away the empty plastic box.

‘Think nothing of it. You’ve fed me, welcomed me to your village; it’s the least I can do. Sewing is my version of offering food and shelter in the land of ultimate hospitality.’

Théa stood and supressed a yawn. ‘Don’t stay too late. Tomorrow is the big feast and you both must be ready for a very late night!’

‘Don’t worry about that. There’s life in these old gals yet,’ Ellen replied, and Penny swiped at her arm.

‘You speak for yourself, old gal! And now you mention it, beauty sleep calls,’ Penny said, enveloping Ellen in a cloud of expensive perfume within a hug. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ she whispered, and they all bade each other goodnight.

As Ellen walked back into the dress shop, she wondered how much life she had left to live, given their conversation with Théa about mortality. It was high time she started living for today. Tomorrow could wait; costumes for forty dancers could not.

Arachne

A mortal seamstress

It is no coincidence that Arachne, the weaver, gave her name to the creature we know as the spider. An arachnid threads together a silken pattern that is entirely premeditated and not a random collision of beauty as we all would deign to consider. No geometric shape to inspire a poet is placed afore them by chance as the dewdrops of dawn cling to exquisitely woven lines.

Yet the most intricate of designs can easily become a tangled mass of strands that cannot easily be undone. Arachne once opposed the fiercest of the goddesses, Athína, dazzling with her skill at the loom, boasting of her abilities. Her talent was her undoing and she was punished for her prowess and hubris.

In a fit of jealously, Athína spitefully turned Arachne into a spider.

Envy is not only consigned to the mortal realm.

Chapter 15

Ellen worked through the night. She hadn’t realised the time, until the silence on the street yielded to a humming from the odd car. Her watch told her it was just after 5 a.m.

Finishing the final seam on the very last costume, she massaged her neck and stretched her fingers, balling them into fists and extending them outwards again. Her mind whirled with the various scenarios the garments would find, like a confused movie playing on a loop, making her delirious. Looking around the sewing room, every available wall surface, cupboard and hanging rack was masked by the forty completed outfits ready for the feast. She smiled at the considerable evidence that justified her night of lost sleep.

After switching off the lights and machines, she locked the front door and walked along the road, down past the pretty yellow church at the far end of the village towards Ritsa beach. It was almost a mile of pale stones and pebbles, though it was deserted at this hour. Her legs felt heavy, but the immense satisfaction of finalising the task against all the odds pulsed through her body with the surety of success. She’d done it.

Her feet crunched on the shingle as she made her way unsteadily towards the tideline to sit for a while. As uncomfortable as it was beneath her, the peace of the morning beginning to break was as cleansing as a swim beneath the chilly lapping waves. Finishing the costumes symbolised more than just an epic feat of sewing; it meant she could do anything with nobody to stop her, tether her nor scold. She hadn’t needed to ask anyone’s permission and had even risked falling out with her friend to do what she’d wanted, such was her rediscovered freedom. Her spirit would never be curtailed again. She’d unearthed a determination and was desperate to cling on to it evermore.

Not even Penny had wallowed in her anger for long and it reinforced the decision Ellen had made to help Kardamyli. But before she found her bed, the soothing sound of the water gave her the rhythm to quiet and order her weary thoughts, allowing the swirling images attached to each costume to dissipate. But she felt in her bones that later tonight, magic was possible for anyone whose heart was open.

Looking down, she saw her fingers were red and her hands slightly swollen, but it was a sacrifice worth making. This morning’s sunrise felt significant somehow. Waves of exhaustion washed through her in time with the sea and she dropped her head onto her arms that lay across her knees. Without the resistance that rest would have afforded to summon restraint, she couldn’t help revisiting the last time she’d come to this beach.

‘Aléxandros.’ Ellen said his name aloud to the pastel peachy sky as the watery sun gently coaxed the beginning of the day forth. A snapshot crystallised in her mind: him emerging from the sea, droplets of water beading on his beautiful, tanned skin, a dusting of dark hair at his chest, another above the waistband of his swimming shorts, ripples of muscle creating tantalising grooves on his stomach. And his eyes, the colour of a thousand shades that made up a unique pale grey she’d never found in any fabric. They looked greener at sunset and tinged almost blue in the crisp morning light. The memory of him that she could command in a heartbeat was staggering. He took her breath away and every single thing she’d ever felt suddenly came rushing up to consume her like an earthquake inside.

She shivered as her tears came in the early morning chill and the waves seemed to crash harder on the shore. How could she still miss someone that she’d only had for a summer so badly? Between her sobs an unshakable regret arrived, caused by her caving to another’s will, obeying – at their insistence – to forgo returning to Kardamyli to claim his heart. It ate away at Ellen like a disease. She wanted to rip off her skin but she would never be rid of it. And it was all Aléxandros’ mother’s fault. Nýsa.

Surely she would be dead by now. If she’d only stood up to Nýsa and refused her desperate pleas at Kalamata airport, ignored her frantic begging to participate in her lie, she could have had a very different life. She would have gathered her things in the UK, then returned to Greece to be with Aléxandros. Nýsa was to blame for Ellen’s eternally unmended heart; it was the only stitch she couldn’t employ because there was no fixing it. Just as there wasn’t enough forgiveness inside her – then or all these years later – to forget the untruth she’d reluctantly borne witness to. No, she would never be told what to do again by anyone – of that she was certain.

And though Aléxandros may have resented Ellen for hurting him, at least he would never know what his mother had concealed. Even the strongest person would be damaged forever by such a dreadful, terrible deceit.

‘Hello?’ Ellen said croakily as she answered her phone, her eyes squinting in the sunlight.

‘Mum! You sound awful,’ Tristan said as Ellen reached for a bottle of water on her side table and gulped at it thirstily.

‘I’m fine, darling. Sorry, the phone woke me up, that’s all.’

‘Woke you? It’s nearly eleven, which makes it, what, almost one in the afternoon your time? Why are you sleeping? Are you sick?’

Ellen heard the panic rising in his voice and quickly reassured him.

‘No, Tristan, I’m absolutely fine, honestly. Long story, but I’ve had to help out the local dressmaker and pulled an all-nighter. I only got to bed a few hours ago.’ She took another swig from the bottle, feeling slightly restored from her little rest. She’d messaged Penny before falling asleep saying she’d meet her for lunch on the hotel terrace, so she ought to get moving.

‘That doesn’t sound like much of a holiday. Are you sure you’re all right?’ he pressed, though before Ellen could speak he continued. ‘I wish you wouldn’t run around making sure everyone else is OK when you’re supposed to be looking after yourself. Where’s Penny?’ he added suspiciously.

‘By the pool. I’m heading there now, actually. How are my gorgeous grandchildren and Cressida? Have you fed Barney and Bella? Is work OK?’

Tristan filled Ellen in on all the news, answering her barrage of questions in order while she dressed, cradling her phone beneath her ear. They hung up and he’d promised to message some photographs of the kids. Penny’s green dress was still unfinished, and she simply had to get it done before this evening. She’d never be forgiven if she reneged on that promise. And she wouldn’t.

Heading downstairs, Ellen ran into Théa, who flung her arms around her with such force she had to take a few steps backwards to stop them both from toppling over.

‘Ellen, you are a miracle worker! You finish everything! I don’t know how you did it but a thousand, million thank yous. I went to the store to find you and there were all the completed costumes. So beautifully and perfectly done, better than I’ve seen before – don’t tell my yiayiá! She says she owes you a great debt. And Kaló Mína! Is what we say on the first of the month.’ Ellen untangled herself from Théa’s enthusiastic hug, which had lasted longer than necessary.

‘It was my pleasure, truly,’ Ellen said, slipping on her sunglasses. ‘What time does everything start this evening?’

‘First, the children will gather wildflowers to make wreaths, but the main event is from seven – that’s when all the dancing begins and, of course, food! Please say you’ll be there!’

Ellen smiled, hoping she had enough energy for a big night out. ‘Penny and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ She already knew that for several people taking part in the procession tonight something special would happen; it was their destiny, and she couldn’t wait to see the spectacle of the celebration unfold.

Penny was lounging by the pool, concealed by a fashion magazine and an oversized sun hat with only a pair of sun-kissed legs in view. Ellen knew her well enough of old to recognise her signature pose. One limb was bent at the ideal angle to display her skinny, toned calves, and the straight leg had a perfectly pointed toe – a tactic she’d adopted with great success when they were teenagers gallivanting around Greece. And it seemed she hadn’t lost the knack since there was a man crouched beside her chatting animatedly.

Ellen stopped still for a while, trying to work out what was going on, whether it was harmless or something more. She hadn’t asked where Penny had gone to yesterday while she’d been ensconced in the fabric shop sewing. She’d whizzed off somewhere in the car and maybe here was her answer.

‘Pen!’ she shouted from the other side of the pool, and her friend dropped the magazine away from her face and broke into a broad grin, waving a hand aloft and waggling her fingers affectedly.

‘Ellen, you’ve returned to the land of the living! Come and meet Enzo. He has the most fabulous car that puts ours to shame!’ She ran her finger along Enzo’s forearm. Penny was in full-blown flirt mode, which had been her perpetual state when they were last in Greece together, though thankfully she’d never had designs on Aléxandros. At least none that she’d confessed. Luckily Ellen’s sunglasses would conceal her look of concern, but she moved over to the sunbeds with as much ease as she could muster.

‘Hi, I’m Ellen,’ she said, thrusting out her hand to the man, who stood to an inconsiderable height. His skin was glistening with copious amounts of tanning oil and his hair was plastered down with a similar quantity as it too gleamed in the afternoon sunshine. He must deposit slicks wherever he went.

‘Ciao, wonderful to meet you.’ He clasped her hand a little too firmly and a little too long as he ran his eyes up and down her body, then kissed her enthusiastically on both cheeks. Ellen was short, but he needed to stand on tiptoes to reach her. ‘I hear much about you from your very beautiful friend.’ Penny dissolved into a fit of coy giggles. ‘I am sorry for your recent loss. It is hard to say goodbye to such a long and happy marriage, I am sure. I would not know – I am the bachelor!’

Ellen bristled, instantly feeling aggrieved that Penny should discuss her personal circumstances with a stranger.

‘Enzo was telling me all about his family’s vineyard in Italy. It sounds heavenly and he’s promised an auction prize for my next charity gala!’

‘Are we going for lunch, Pen?’ Ellen said tightly, feeling protective over her friend; this oily man screamed lothario.

‘According to Enzo, there’s the most wonderful place down past Ritsa beach with a moussaka to die for! He said he’d take us in his car. Shall we go?’ It was unlikely Penny would eat more than a forkful of the traditional dish, but Ellen acquiesced with a nod. After all, she’d abandoned Penny yesterday and wanted to make up for it, but now she needed to play chaperone. Surely, for all Penny’s insecurities and constant need for attention, she wouldn’t seek it within the arms of this odious little man.

She watched her walking ahead with Enzo, giggling and chatting in hushed tones. Then she climbed into the passenger seat of a sleek black Italian sports car like she owned it. Enzo gestured expansively to Ellen, holding open the door with the driver’s seat pulled forwards to accommodate her. She squeezed in, not wishing to brush against a millimetre of his skin, the thought of which made her own prickle in disgust. At least he’d now put a shirt over his paunch. Gritting her teeth, she wished she’d stayed in bed instead of playing gooseberry, but she owed it to Penny and to Alan who had conveniently been forgotten about. Though of course it could all be perfectly innocent. Then she spotted Enzo’s chubby hand squeeze Penny’s slender thigh as her sun dress rode up her leg in the breeze, and Ellen shuddered, slumping back into her leather seat.

This was only happening because Ellen had wanted to do the right thing by the villagers rather than by her friend. And her decision that she’d been so proud of had led to a diminutive greaseball landing slap bang in the middle of their holiday. Why did there always have to be consequences for good deeds? It was as if fate was conspiring against her. Again.

Chapter 16

Lunch had been uncomfortable, and that was putting it mildly. Ellen felt like she was gatecrashing someone else’s date, which she wouldn’t have minded if her friend was single. To be fair, it was what Penny had done when Ellen had taken up with Aléxandros all those years ago. Penny hadn’t been a shy virgin back then and had certainly amused herself with several handsome men, making her own fun. But now they were adults with responsibilities – Penny more so than Ellen at this moment in terms of a relationship. She’d always been overtly confident in her sexuality and, despite her current insecurities about ageing, she could still command attention.

Ellen had excused herself after their delicious food, needing to finish the green dress, shower and maybe squeeze in another nap before the evening’s festivities. Company aside, the moussaka had delivered on Enzo’s promise and more – it was the best she’d ever tasted. She had plumped for a vegetarian version, and every mouthful was a flavour explosion of herbs and the sweet roasted char of fresh vegetables. It had sent her taste buds to new dimensions yet was so light and airy. Penny had hardly eaten more than a mouthful as usual, and Ellen was increasingly concerned about her extreme diet.

The walk back along the pathway, which stretched the length of the beach, past the taverna with the green scooter permanently parked outside and up to the yellow church, was a welcome break. She’d been here when she’d finished working at the crack of dawn earlier, though it already seemed like last week. Most things became muddled with time the longer life went on. Ellen often found herself thinking their first trip here in 1988 was only ten or fifteen years ago, yet the reality was quite different. Her marriage had blurred the hours and days, then the years had all rolled into one prolonged nightmare and, as she’d lost her sense of time passing, she’d lost herself in the maelstrom of misery.

There were so many complicated reasons why she hadn’t just simply walked away from her marriage, though the idea of leaving John rose up each time she’d tended to a bruise or wound, or reeled from his capacity for cruelty. But the practicalities of walking out had felt so far out of reach. There were too many questions, countless unknowns, and she couldn’t bear the idea of disrupting Tristan’s life or failing at her own, especially after what she’d done to Aléxandros. John also had all of her money and she had no clue how to exist outside the enforced boundaries of control. It had felt too daunting. So, she’d endured all John had thrown at her in every sense. Back then, the shame at having stayed would flood through her like sinking into scalding bathwater, uncomfortable and desperately painful yet filled with a hope that it would get better the longer she spent dwelling in the hurt. But it hadn’t. That humiliation still existed in her muscle memory and within the flashbacks of violence that sprang up, stinging like a bullet grazing her skin.

She hesitated outside the Orthodox church before heading up the hill to the main street. The yellow holy building was luminous in the afternoon sunshine and the terracotta tiles on the roofs, arches and main dome glowed like they were aflame. Ellen wanted to light a candle, compelled by some inner force, but she had so many things to ask for that she felt like a fraud to suddenly make several requests after such a prolonged absence. She’d given up praying for help years ago since none had arrived, despite the stream of incantations upwards. Eventually she’d abandoned her faith. Yet another thing she’d discarded.

Later that afternoon, Ellen tentatively knocked on Penny’s door, unsure of what she’d find on the other side. Thankfully she was alone and although she had a healthy glow on her cheeks, it could simply be the combination of compliments and sunshine that had given her skin a new rosiness. Ellen held the dress behind her back, wanting a grand reveal in the mirror.

‘Don’t look, but it’s finished! Are you ready?’

Penny jumped up and down on the spot then started to strip off her clothes.

‘Enzo is adorable isn’t he?’ she said, flinging her cover-up on a chair in the corner. Ellen didn’t need to ask any questions about her afternoon with the Italian, since Penny was desperate to extol his virtues. Her face became serious as she stood in her bikini bottoms, her hands covering her naked breasts. ‘It’s harmless fun, I promise you. I love Alan; it’s just things have been a bit tricky of late and I’ve missed the right sort of attention. We aren’t all as lucky as you were with John, Ellen. God, he’d hardly take his eyes off you. Alan used to say it was a bit much, but I always thought it terribly romantic.’

It was all Ellen could do not to correct her friend’s misplaced admiration. John’s hidden surveillance cameras meant Penny was correct; Ellen had never been out of his sight. Instead, she smiled and guided her friend away from the full-length mirror.

‘Goodness, Pen, there’s not an ounce of fat on you,’ said Ellen, then guided the dress over Penny’s head, really thinking she looked dangerously thin. ‘No peeking now, just look straight ahead.’

‘For all the good it’s done me.’ She huffed. ‘I’ve not had sex for months, not that I really fancy it much these days, but I don’t think Alan wants me anymore.’

‘Nonsense, you’re beautiful. I just wish you knew how so,’ said Ellen with a sigh. ‘But you’ve felt like this about your body since we were kids. You always thought you were fat, which is absurd when you’ve never been big. And the sex thing is just hormones. It will come back, I promise.’ Ellen hoped Penny would see what she saw when she looked at her reflection. When Ellen had stitched the final thread earlier, yet again she’d had the strange vision of Penny sleeping. She didn’t understand what it foretold, but some of her recent premonitions made little sense. Her only conclusion was that the sensory diversions of Greece had clouded her extra-special gift.

The dress skimmed Penny’s body perfectly, highlighting her slender form and softening the harsh edges of her hip bones that protruded through whatever she usually wore. It was one of the most beautiful things Ellen had ever made, sensational in its simplicity. She stood back and straightened the neckline, which sat snugly across Penny’s surgically enhanced bust. She’d added a thin strip of rubber along the seam so it would cling to her skin and remain upright without the bother of tugging it into place. The emerald fabric almost brushed the floor and pooled perfectly, elongating Penny’s frame, accentuating her toned arms and shoulders. She didn’t look any different from when Ellen had made her a similar dress decades ago.

‘Even if I do say so myself, it is perfection,’ Ellen said, taking Penny by the shoulders and turning her to face the mirror, nervously awaiting critique.

As Penny surveyed her reflection, her chocolate eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She slowly raised her fingers to her lips and whispered, ‘Ellen … I look … it’s …’ Then tears filled her large eyes and Ellen placed her hands around her.

‘You look beautiful, my friend. I hope you can see it now.’ Ellen was staggered by how stunning her friend looked. The sun had gently kissed her skin with a warm brown tint over the last few days and her glossy chestnut hair cascaded down her back. The contrast of her colouring against the rich green was striking and more than Ellen had hoped for. Penny turned and flung her arms around Ellen.

‘I absolutely love it. Sorry about being so down on myself. But tonight, I look good, so I feel good, which makes a change. Thank you for reminding me of something important.’

Penny grinned and gave Ellen a twirl.

‘What? That you’re beautiful inside and out?’

‘No, Ellen, you are. Thank you for being such an amazing friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Penny clung to her again and Ellen felt her friend’s breath shudder as if she was about to burst into tears. Ellen pulled back.

‘Well, you never need to find out what you’d do without me. I’m always here for you.’ She brushed away a stray tear that had stealthily made a bid for Penny’s chin. ‘Now, after I’m changed, it’s you, me, the dress and a big Kardamyli feast!’

Chapter 17

The village was heaving with people who seemed to have come from far and wide to officially welcome in spring for Protomagiá. The mouth-watering hint of grilling meat hung in the air. Hand-tied garlands adorned the houses and shop frontages as delicate strings of wildflowers yielded their scent into the warm evening, competing with the barbecue to be the dominant smell. The atmosphere was utterly infectious. Music came from groups of people stationed outside bars, and snatches of song enveloped Penny and Ellen as their walk through the main street was punctuated with laughter and a carnival spirit.

Ellen was wearing the simple white dress she’d made for this trip with delicate capped sleeves embroidered with blue forget-me-nots. A line of them marked the seam beneath her bust as the empire-line style cascaded downwards to her ankles. The same flowers trailed along the neckline, which was set higher than she would have made for Penny. When she’d dressed earlier, she’d had the identical strange sensation as she’d slipped it on that she’d had when she’d made it; like feeling a thousand things at once yet being unable to pinpoint one, along with the overwhelming sweet scent of orange blossom. Again, her visions made no sense in Kardamyli. Her guiding radar was off, and her reliable instinct appeared to be skewed.

‘People are admiring my dress – and yours!’ squealed Penny. ‘I feel amazing, like I’ve been to some Parisian couture house, but all I had to do was beg my best friend.’ She twirled in time to the music as Ellen saw the admiring glances she was conjuring and felt the familiar satisfaction of seeing her design find its purpose. Penny was definitely not sleeping as she’d thought she’d foreseen.

‘Ellen! You’re just in time,’ shouted Théa breathlessly, giving her an enthusiastic hug. ‘The dancers are about to begin. You saved the day!’ Penny did yet another spin and Ellen feared she’d be permanently dizzy if she kept this up. But she was thrilled how much her friend seemed to love what she was wearing. It seemed to have given Penny an energy that she’d been lacking of late.

‘Ellen made this just for me – how many people can say they have a bespoke designer on tap?’ Penny beamed, rustling her dress like she was about to do a flamenco.

‘Well done for finding us, Théa. There must be hundreds of people here,’ said Ellen, laughing at Penny’s performance.

‘Well, you were easy to spot. I saw the most beautiful green dress and then I see you in this incredible white one beside it. Did you do this embroidery?’ Théa asked and gently touched the edge of Ellen’s short sleeve where the blue flowers clustered. ‘One day, I wish I could make something so beautiful.’ Before Ellen could respond with words of encouragement and her intention to teach Théa, the boom of a large drum sounded, echoing off the buildings lining the street, and the crowd roared.

‘Here they come,’ shouted Théa, and Ellen felt her heart beat in time with the percussion. What if she spotted a stray thread or uneven hem? She’d have the urge to fix it; she wanted it to be perfect. A traditional folk song was played by all the musicians dotted along the street and spectators started to sing along. The rhythm inspired by the tinkling bouzouki was contagious, and then the dancers appeared, cresting the brow of the hill as they performed their practised moves. White fabric swished in step, folding back to its resting place before spreading out as they spun, their fists fixed to their hips, little bolero jackets snugly hugging their bodies.

Ellen gasped with joy, overcome with the emotion of seeing her work displayed in such a magical way. She’d never imagined being part of such a celebration that wasn’t her own culture. It was a memory she’d never forget and she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so happy.

As the procession passed, Théa grabbed Ellen by the hand and pulled her into the thick of the dancing. Those gathered along the pavements also joined behind the main parade. She’d lost sight of Penny, but occasionally a flash of green in the crowd reassured her that she was still part of the party. A line formed and Ellen gripped the hands of strangers as they invited her into their world. There was freedom in her laughter, and the untethered joy within the community of celebration was exhilarating. Though she didn’t know the steps, she followed where others led, weaving beneath arms, clapping and jumping until she felt an incredible euphoria take hold, underpinning the choice to return to Kardamyli. She knew in the marrow of her bones it was where she was meant to be right now. It was as if another power had intervened and led her back here.

As Théa was also swallowed up by the throngs, Ellen danced alone with unbridled delight, her arms aloft, allowing the music into her body, and she’d never felt more alive. Men and women scooped her up into their groups of dancing, then she flitted onward to join another, moving through the streets of the village with ease. Then, everyone began to clap and stamp their feet as the song reached a crescendo and Ellen spun around, raising her face to the moonlight, the stars becoming a beautiful blur of silver above. As the music stopped, she too came to a standstill, applauding while she panted from the exertion, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

She pressed her hand to her chest and tried to move away from the crowd to the pavement. It was hard going, and she changed direction so many times, she’d lost sight of where she was heading; she was so slight in what felt like a crowd of giants. Spotting a shop sign she recognised, Ellen found her bearings and pressed forwards but couldn’t push her way through the dense layers of people. Suddenly, she felt a hand grab hers, pulling her from the masses, and she gladly held on to it. Emerging onto the side of the road disorientated and out of breath, she turned to thank her rescuer. But instead, she took a step back in shock. Then came horror, followed by complete joy that was immediately quashed by a terrible sense of guilt washing through her like a tsunami, unstoppable and all-consuming. She was experiencing all she’d foreseen as she’d finished this white dress but couldn’t understand at the time. Perhaps because she hadn’t entertained this moment would ever be possible.

The scent of orange blossom swirled around as her heart pounded louder than the drums of the musicians who had begun again. It was as if she’d floated away from her body, high above the village and over the peaks of the mountains, watching herself from afar. As she stared up into the face before her, she met exquisite pale grey eyes tinted with a whisper of green. The ones that had haunted her dreams for thirty-six years, eight months and thirty days.

Aléxandros.

Chapter 18

He stared back at her as Ellen’s eyes locked with his. Time appeared to freeze, then it blurred and melted away, puddling invisibly on the pavement, lapping at their feet as they stood on the tideline of their story. The years tracked backwards and it was as if eighteen-year-old Ellen was somehow standing in her older body, looking up at the man she had loved with all her heart and being. Those feelings came rushing forth with such intensity that she almost staggered back into the road.

‘Aléxandros …’ she began as his name dried on her lips. She’d spoken it into her pillow upon countless occasions, cried herself to sleep as she silently screamed his name through her tears, hoping he could hear her across time. Now he was in front of her, no other words arrived.

He exhaled heavily, and shook his head in disbelief, his eyes not leaving hers. His face was streaked with emotion, displaying a pain he couldn’t voice, but Ellen felt it in her heart. Then he smiled and offered his arms to her. It was such a surprise that she silently stepped into his broad frame, and as he folded around her, she sank into his embrace. Such a familiar strength enveloped her, yet neither of them were the same since they were last together. She’d left with a broken promise, snuffing out the flame of their future hope – all, unbeknown to him, because of his mother. As she lingered within his hold, she savoured every second that lengthened like a shadow at sunset. While she remained, there was no need to explain, no small talk required; they could just be. She felt complete and longed to cling to the sensation, because what happened next might unpick every notion of happiness she was experiencing.

Please, please someone pause time, let this be how my life ends, here with no recourse to the past, just present, now, this second and nothing more, she thought to herself, nestling her head against his chest. It felt like coming home, and if she were turned to dust, she would die peacefully. She bit her lip. Life wasn’t that simple; the end couldn’t be summoned just like that. Their moment came to a natural conclusion as she felt his body tense beneath her fingers and they bashfully untangled themselves. He pulled back and looked at her.

‘Ellen, it’s really you. You’re really here.’ He spoke with such unexpected warmth that it confused her. And to offer her his arms instead of being cold was mystifying. Then the realisation came crashing down and she felt weak, like her bones were turned to marshmallow. He hadn’t thought of her during the years that passed, nor did he mourn the idea of them as she had. She attempted to guard her heart and found as bright a smile as she could.

‘I’m on holiday with Penny, recapturing our youth or something …’ She could hardly meet his gaze. It was painful, like her body was on fire, being branded with the love she’d always felt for this man. And he’d once returned it. At least he didn’t seem angry. That was something to be rescued from her disappointment.

‘Ah, Penny.’ He laughed. ‘And tell me what mischief has she already found in Kardamyli?’ He recalled her precisely as she was, and little had changed since. Ellen couldn’t help but join his amusement.

‘Well, despite being married, she’s been enjoying a flirtation with some Italian. He’s very flash, very her,’ said Ellen, glad they were sticking to safe subjects. Then, Aléxandros’ face became serious.

‘And you, are you married?’ he glanced to her ring finger.

‘Widowed,’ she said quickly, bracing for the unnecessary sympathy her response conjured. He put a hand on her shoulder, which sent a thunderbolt through her body.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly, and despite the noise of the crowds around them, she could hear only him. She longed to tell him to save his pity, that she wasn’t sorry to be widowed; she was glad, grateful in fact, because now she was free. Except at this moment, she was trapped between the past and the present with all that had remained unresolved for decades. As she looked at Aléxandros, Ellen found him unaltered from the scenarios she’d replayed inside her head, aside from small indications of age. Though those signs made him even more attractive, with soft crinkles around his expressive eyes and a smattering of greys in his dark hair. She couldn’t stand to enquire after his marital status, despite the question pressing forwards on her lips. Then she saw the flash of gold, a band on his finger, and her heart sank at such stupidity, expecting him to have pined for her.

‘How is your mother?’ she asked tightly, and he shrugged his shoulders.

‘The same as always – opinionated, strong, determined, though her health isn’t the best. She is staying with me at the moment but lives only an hour away, near Kalamata. Though she is now too old to be behind a wheel, so cannot turn up as much as she’d like.’ He laughed at his thought before continuing. ‘The memories of our family house, reminders that my father is dead, became too much for her. So, she left. I still live there, running the business. She would love to see you again, I am sure.’

He seemed nervous, speaking quickly, but Ellen was certain Nýsa wouldn’t wish for a reunion. She raised her eyebrows without committing to anything, stunned that his liar mother was still alive. Ellen shuffled her feet, suddenly feeling awkward and incredibly tiny standing in front of him, having forgotten just how tall and broad he was. Though she’d imagined finding him again in her dreams, this was not the passionate meeting she’d hoped for. But how could it have been anything but discomfort? She’d kidded herself and had conveniently pushed to the back of her mind and heart how he would have felt about what she’d done, choosing some absurd romantic encounter as their grand reunion. It appeared that her teenage emotions hadn’t matured nor evolved when it came to Aléxandros, and the silence between them was now excruciating. She couldn’t find anything to say. She pretended to be enthralled by the music instead, smiling at strangers, waving at familiar faces, clapping in time – any distraction was welcome to avoid conversation.

‘I hear you saved the day with the costumes,’ he said, appearing to have become more nervous, unsure what to do with his hands and eventually putting them in his jeans pockets. He leant forwards to make himself heard as a troupe of revellers passed by. ‘So, you continue to sew and follow your passion, Ellen. I am happy for you.’

‘It was the least I could do …’ She tailed off, not wishing to finish her sentence, because it was her love for Kardamyli and her love of Aléxandros that had encouraged her to work all night – neither of which she could say aloud. She caught his scent, and it was utterly intoxicating, forcing a thousand more memories to cascade through her. She bravely dared to meet his stare in a move that proved to be masochistic. His eyes were as mesmerising as always, sparkling in the streetlights, with a hint of enjoyment perhaps, mischief maybe, and something else she couldn’t interpret. Ellen couldn’t bring herself to break their connection and it hurt her insides to be so close and not say everything she needed, beginning with sorry and concluding with thank you. How the thought of him had helped her survive the years of hell with John. None of those things were appropriate, and she felt her wounded heart constrict with longing as it thudded in time with the music.

‘So …’ he began.

‘So …’ she echoed, and they began to walk slowly along the pavement, dodging the throngs of people enjoying the festivities. ‘I’d better find Penny. It was lovely to see you again. It really was.’ She’d never meant anything more, but it felt hollow and pointless. The beginnings of tears pricked her eyes. Turning, not wishing to delay, she needed to be far away from him. ‘Goodnight, kaliníchta, Aléxandros,’ she said and moved ahead. He caught her hand, and she felt his warm palm wrap around hers.

‘Ellen, please. Don’t just walk away. Kaliníchta – is that it after all these years?’ She faced him and couldn’t help the droplets that spilled down her cheeks. How she loved him; it was agony. He stepped closer to her and the orange lamps from the stores and lights disappeared from her view, and it felt like it was only them in the street. ‘How long are you here for? I need to see you again.’

Her mouth had dried like the sand on the beach, but she managed to croak, ‘Another ten days. But Penny and I have plans tomorrow …’ She didn’t know why she was avoiding another meeting when it was what she had dreamed of for so long. But his wedding band put the chokehold on any rekindling she might yearn for. There wasn’t enough strength in her heart to endure this, but he persisted. ‘Then the day after. Please, Ellen. We should talk, don’t you think?’

And there it was: he wanted his own closure to understand her callous actions. Though there was no more reproval he could bestow than what she’d constantly inflicted upon herself, cursing ever having agreed to his mother’s hideous plan to leave Kardamyli and not return. Yet she was here again, participating in something that would inevitably hurt her, though it was her choice this time. They both deserved to understand the path that had led them to this May Day night in the village.

She could hardly speak, managing a nod of agreement to see him again. He retained eye contact as he handed over his mobile, asking for her number. Finally, as she broke their gaze, his phone screen blurred in the lamplight, the noise from the music and villagers overwhelmed her. If she exchanged her number for his, there would be no escape from providing an explanation as to why she’d left him. And that meant revealing the truth about what his mother made her do, which would blow his world apart. She didn’t wish to inflict that upon him; he didn’t deserve that. Yet he was unknowingly asking her to detonate that bomb. The truth would hurt him, and she’d caused him enough pain. She’d made that terrible decision to leave out of love and protection for Aléxandros and she would continue to do both of those things.

The sense of foreboding felt suffocating. There was no way out unscathed for either of them. He would send her word of where to meet. Ellen had waited so long to explain; another forty-eight hours hardly made a difference to more than three decades of hidden truth. He kissed her goodnight on both cheeks, and she savoured his scent. The sensation ricochetted through every part of her, waking up even the dustiest corners that had slumbered since he’d last touched her. But they were both different with time and experience. Aléxandros had a wedding ring. Though she wore hers, unlike Aléxandros, she did not belong to anyone else.

Chapter 19

The sleek red convertible was not ideal for the mountain roads, as Ellen had suspected. Dust was flying everywhere with the roof down and Penny was driving far too quickly, though apparently not fast enough for those following behind. Cars overtook them on blind bends, almost careering into the path of oncoming trucks, swerving at the last second to avoid them. It was like riding a perilous roller coaster.

The morning was beautifully cool and bright – ideal for blowing away the cobwebs of a very late night in the village. Coupled with the adrenaline from the car ride, Ellen was wide awake. She had no clue what time they’d returned to the hotel, but after a few ouzos, having found Penny in the crowd, she’d loosened up and managed to push the thought of Aléxandros away for an hour or so until she reached her bed. She still hadn’t mentioned it to her friend, but her phone wasn’t too far away from her grasp in case he called.

As they progressed to seek out the secret cove that neither of them could recall the precise location of, it began to feel like a pointless endeavour, but one Ellen endured to please her friend. The incline ahead was steep and Penny was making a hash of changing gears, over-revving the engine until it screamed.

‘Do you want me to drive?’ Ellen asked, becoming ever more anxious with each grinding protest from the car.

‘Would you mind? I think I overdid it last night and I’m not quite vibing with this stick shift thingy,’ she replied pulling into a lay-by with a panoramic view of the sea and a sheer drop beside it with no barrier. A vehicle that had been tailgating them beeped its horn as it zoomed by with a shout from the driver, ‘Maláka!’

‘Lovely!’ said Penny with a cackle. ‘I wonder what it means.’

‘Wanker,’ Ellen interpreted, having been taught every swear word in Greek by Aléxandros before. She’d memorised them as much as she’d locked the image of his pale grey eyes into her heart.

‘Ellen!’ shrieked Penny in mock horror. ‘Language! Where on earth did you learn that?’

Ellen shrugged, busily locating the lever to move the driver’s seat forwards. She needed to be much nearer to the wheel than Penny. Lifting her eyes, she saw her friend sit up on the bonnet holding her knees, looking out at the spectacular view stretching before them. Ellen joined her, worrying briefly about putting a dent in the paintwork as she heaved herself up beside her friend. Enjoying the quiet, save for the occasional toot from a horn accompanied by a wolf whistle, the view was a perfect picture postcard snapshot of the Mani Peninsula. Glinting silver lights danced across the sea in the distance, a clear sky without a single cloud to blight the blanket of blue above and making up the space between the horizon and their vantage point were scores of olive groves. Their leaves rustled like a contagious ripple as the breeze caught gnarled, twisted branches, bringing the sound rushing up towards them.

There was nowhere on earth like Greece, thought Ellen, and she only wished she hadn’t left it so long to return, but was blithely aware of the reasons why. She heard Penny sigh deeply next to her. It was a sigh of sadness, not the contentment Ellen currently felt as she absorbed the multicoloured glory of the country.

‘Pen?’ Ellen began, but she didn’t respond. ‘You know you can tell me anything, don’t you? Anything. I’d never judge; I hope you know that.’ Ellen was treading carefully in case Penny wanted to confess something about Enzo. He’d made a brief appearance last night, but seemed rather taken with a Dutch blonde, so hadn’t been as faithful a servant as he’d been before. There was something off about her friend, but that could also be that they hadn’t spent an extended amount of time together for so long. Not since they were last here. Penny turned her gaze slightly, then returned it to the mass of trees below.

‘When you look at all this, what do you think about?’ she asked, and Ellen considered her question.

‘How beautiful it all is, how small we are in the world.’ Ellen spoke her thoughts as they came. ‘That nothing is that important, because it doesn’t make a mark on any of this. All we are is a bunch of little people doing our best, I suppose. And none of us know how long we have.’

Penny laughed, though Ellen wasn’t deliberately being amusing. She stayed quiet and waited. Between the humming of the traffic, a large black hornet coasted on the breeze with a noise that rivalled a motorbike, and the screech of a hawk echoed around the valley below. Ellen reached for Penny’s hand and she allowed her to hold it as the increasing heat from the sun beat down on their shoulders.

‘What’s it all for, Ellen?’ Penny said softly, gesturing with her free hand to the landscape, though Ellen didn’t know what she meant. She sighed again. ‘If anything ever happened, with Alan and me, you’d make sure he was OK, wouldn’t you? Check in on him …’ She’d whispered so quietly that Ellen took a moment to process what she thought she’d heard. She watched Penny’s chin start to tremble, but she sniffed away her emotion before finding her voice again. ‘He ought to be free to do what he wants, not tied to me.’ Ellen was stunned but squeezed Penny’s hand to encourage her honesty. ‘This can’t be the only option. I want to feel something, only I don’t know what that something is.’ Her voice quivered.

‘Oh, Pen,’ Ellen said snaking her arm around Penny’s shoulder and leaning into her despite the sheen of sweat coating their sticky skin. ‘You need to follow your heart and do what’s right. I’ll support you, whatever you decide.’

‘What if I don’t know what my heart wants?’ Penny turned to face Ellen, crossing her slim legs beneath her like they used to in each other’s bedrooms, confiding their deepest secrets to one another as teenagers. But nothing either of them had shared in those days had serious connotations for their future selves. They’d been filled with romantic daydreams, absurdly wild aspirations for their grown-up lives, which pop star they planned to marry – nothing serious, though it felt so critical at the time. Now they were firmly in a future that had been impossible to imagine; none of those childhood fantasies had manifested. Ellen mirrored Penny’s movement with less elegance as her legs were clammy beneath her long wrap skirt, and she bundled up the fabric in her lap.

‘Do any of us ever know what our hearts really want?’ began Ellen. ‘Maybe we think we do and then when we get it, we’re disappointed. That saying about being careful what you wish for isn’t just an old wives’ tale; it’s pretty spot on.’

‘But you got what your heart wanted, Ellen. Even though John’s gone, you had an amazing love. I can’t help but wonder if I ever did and now it’s too late to find out.’ Penny sadly removed her sunglasses to clean them on her sheer cover-up. Ellen ground her teeth, wondering whether she could be bold enough to say something truthful about her marriage.

‘John wasn’t easy, Pen, believe me. I thought I loved him. But I think that was only at the beginning. I settled. Then when I realised, I … I was stuck,’ she said, and as painful as it was, she felt one of the chains that bound her within secrecy and untruth loosen its grip a little.

‘But he adored you. Whenever I saw you together, he was obsessed with you, Ellen. I wish Alan looked at me with half that attention.’

No you don’t, Ellen thought before saying aloud, ‘Pen, this isn’t about me and John, it’s about you and Alan. If you’re not happy, then goodness knows life is too precious to squander on the wrong thing. Believe me, I know, none of us have time to throw away,’ Ellen added as bravely as she could.

‘Believe me, I know too,’ Penny agreed, watching a car whizzing up the steep hill and disappearing out of sight in a cloud of dust. ‘And I know you loved John, whatever you say. You’re still grieving, which is fogging your brain, making you say things you don’t mean.’

No, Pen, I’m grieving for the husband I thought I had but didn’t, was what Ellen wanted to say. But this was Penny’s time to talk and Ellen wanted to give her that space to unburden. Instead, she looked over Penny’s shoulder to the sea and stayed quiet.

Penny jumped down to find her water bottle and took a glug before speaking, ‘Maybe nobody is who they seem. We fall in love with an idea, then the reality is different. With Alan, I thought we’d have this fabulous life of travel, food, adventures, no children to bind us, simply me and him. Which it was for a while, but then it all became too … routine. I know I’m selfish and you think me shallow.’ Ellen went to disagree but Penny held her hand up. ‘I know it too, but I’m bored, Ellen. I miss passion, dates, excitement. It’s all dissolved, like there’s nothing left to keep fighting for.’ She shook her head then drank more water thirstily. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘You won’t ever be alone, I promise you. And you’re never too old to find love again if that’s what you want.’

‘Is that what you want?’ Penny asked pointedly, and Ellen couldn’t conceal her awkward reunion with Aléxandros any longer. She glanced down at her hands then back to her best friend.

‘I do, Pen, more than anything.’ She jumped down from the bonnet and brushed the coating of dust from her skirt before facing Penny. The two friends looked at each other properly for what felt like the first time in forever. As adults they’d drifted apart but had kept up their friendship out of duty and loyalty. Ellen felt a spirit press at her, one who’d taken up an unwelcome residence, such was the weight of carrying secrets. Ellen was tired of them inhabiting her bones and wanted to truly be free.

‘I need to tell you something, Pen.’ Ellen’s serious tone prompted Penny to step forwards, her face riddled with concern. ‘I don’t want to hide this from you, as it changes everything. Or it might not, I don’t know, but you ought to know.’

‘You’re being terribly cryptic. What is it?’

‘It’s …’ Her courage retreated slightly at the thought of the interrogation this would summon.

‘Come on, tell me!’ pressed Penny, and Ellen took the deepest breath she could muster, ready to say the words she’d been burning to tell her friend since they’d got in the car that morning. Her heart rate increased as Penny stepped closer again.

‘I … I saw Aléxandros last night.’

Chapter 20

‘He’s still here? And you saw him?’ Penny exclaimed with glee. ‘How did he look? What did he say? Oh God, how did you feel?’ Ellen held up her hands to protect herself from the torrent of questions as Penny continued with her hands clutched to her heart. ‘It’s sooooo romantic. I must say I’m rather relieved, I thought you were going to tell me something awful for a moment. Not sure my nerves could take it.’

Ellen didn’t know which query to respond to first, but it definitely hadn’t been romantic. It was uncomfortable, laden with guilt and regret, though she was unable to admit those things without revealing why. She couldn’t let all her secrets out in one go, and besides, Penny was fragile. Ellen wanted to be a better friend than perhaps she had been for a long while. Friendship was two-way traffic that could easily become gridlocked without sufficient effort.

‘Let’s find that beach and grab something to eat. Then I’ll tell you everything you need to know. I think I might remember where it is. We’ve been going the wrong way,’ Ellen said, climbing into the driver’s seat. She needed to order her own thoughts about Aléxandros before revealing them to her friend.

The horseshoe bay was easy to miss on the winding road between Kardamyli and the coastal resort of Stoupa, but Ellen now recalled the route from the recesses of her memory. She felt better after an honest exchange with Penny and her tummy churned with anticipation of their next conversation. She found a parking spot at the top of the dirt track leading down to Delfina Beach and they carefully stepped their way along the makeshift path lined with firs. The little kantína was still there: a caravan of sorts dishing out toasties, snacks, meze and beers. You knew when your order was done because the chef would clang a noisy cowbell signalling the food was ready.

They took a seat at the long breakfast bar, surrounded by sweet-smelling pine trees looking out to sea from above the sand, and waited for their food and drinks. The beach was already busy with swimmers splashing about in the turquoise water. Deckchairs were placed beneath the shade of multicoloured parasols. This was a bring-your-own kind of set-up and it was charming in its rusticity; no fancy sunbeds with padded mattresses, nor waiters tending to your needs. This was Ellen’s kind of Greece. The cliffs hugged the little bay in a rocky embrace, sheltering it from the elements, and it felt much hotter than the forecast temperature had suggested. It was stunning and worth navigating the hairpin bends to rediscover it. The bell clanged, making them both jump, summoning Ellen to collect their beers in two oversized stein-shaped glasses.

‘How the hell am I supposed to drink out of that?’ Penny exclaimed.

Ellen laughed. ‘When in Greece … Yiá mas!’ she cheersed, and Penny reluctantly picked hers up in both hands, pretending it weighed a ton, and carefully clinked her glass.

‘Right, time to tell all, starting with how you felt after seeing him again,’ said Penny, carefully setting her drink down. Ellen’s eyes twinkled behind her sunglasses as she stepped into last night and recalled the jolt of affection, passion and lust that had risen to collide in her chest when she’d looked at his face. She felt it once more in this moment and it was like the tremor of an aftershock following an earthquake.

‘The same as I did before, like for the first time,’ Ellen said softly and plainly.

‘What?!’ shrieked Penny at an astonishing volume, and Ellen shushed her as everyone else at the bar turned their heads to stare. ‘Sorry, but what does this mean? Do you want to be with him? I mean you could if you …’

‘He’s married,’ Ellen interrupted, and Penny’s mouth formed an ‘oh’. ‘He has a wedding ring and I’m not shocked. I should have been prepared if I ever saw him again that he wouldn’t be here waiting for me. We’re not silly kids anymore. But he said he wants to see me tomorrow.’

‘Maybe a ring doesn’t matter when true love is at stake. You wear yours; he probably thinks you’re taken too,’ Penny said dismissively.

‘Pen! You can’t be serious. I told him I was widowed and anyway, marriage is sacred. You stick with it because it’s the right thing to do. It’s not a selfish undertaking, and it isn’t all unicorns and roses; it takes work. You don’t just decide to give up on a whim because it’s not perfect.’ Ellen stopped as she realised from Penny’s expression that she thought Ellen was criticising Penny’s feelings about Alan and their relationship. Penny’s face fell further, and Ellen knew she’d accidentally hurt her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean you and Alan, Pen. I meant …’

‘Well, we can’t all be blissfully wedded like you and John. Some of us live in the real world and you don’t know how lucky you had it.’ Now Penny had hurt Ellen just as badly, but because she couldn’t admit the truth about her marriage, she silently shouldered the stinging words.

‘Excuse me,’ said a tall, young girl with dark olive skin, who tapped Ellen on the shoulder, making her start. Ellen thought she looked familiar. ‘I’m Athinà. You make me the costume for May Day and I wanted to thank you.’

It was bad timing, though a pause in hostility between Ellen and Penny was welcome.

‘My pleasure. I’m happy it all went so well,’ Ellen said politely.

‘The boy I have liked for so long asked me on a date after our dancing and I said yes.’ The sweet innocence of the young girl warmed Ellen’s heart with the fact that something magical had happened to someone who wore her clothes. She recalled seeing the moment in her vision as she’d fitted her outfit. The excitement in Athinà’s nut-brown eyes was as clear as the ocean that sparkled in the sunshine. ‘I wondered, if you have the time, as Dimitra is still unwell, if you could make me another skirt but like yours you are wearing now. It’s so beautiful and my date with him is this weekend …’ She looked so desperate that Ellen wanted to say yes immediately, but she was mindful that she’d already interrupted this holiday with one sewing emergency, and didn’t know how forgiving Penny was feeling after their recent exchange.

‘Of course she’d love to help. Ellen loves nothing more than rescuing everyone. She’d absolutely dress you for your special date. She’s an expert on love and relationships too,’ Penny said spitefully. Ellen turned to look at her open-mouthed, not wishing to embroil Athinà in their own childish drama.

‘I … I’d …’ Ellen began, feeling like she was being backed into a corner and snared in a trap. If she said yes, then Penny would punish her for it. If she said no, she’d break this poor girl’s heart. It was a lose-lose situation that Ellen had no way of emerging from unscathed, a sensation she was far too familiar with. She certainly was no authority on relationships as Penny claimed, but she did with all of her heart believe in love and the magic of making clothes. ‘Come to the dress shop after five and I’d be happy to help.’

Penny’s look of disgust was outmanoeuvred by the expression of delight on the young girl’s face. If having seen Aléxandros again did nothing else, it reaffirmed her belief that there was love to be found around each corner of life. Sometimes one needed a push, or the right outfit to help you on your way to find it. That wasn’t about how you appeared from the outside; it was the way beautiful clothes made you feel on the inside. It was Ellen’s gift to share with the world, even if she’d allowed her own true love to pass her by. Now she would assist Athinà along her path, regardless of the consternation it could cause in her friendship. That was the price, and Ellen was acquainted with that push-pull bargaining nature of consequences. She only wished that one day she would find a time when she didn’t have to concede something precious to do what truly made her happy.

Chapter 21

The day at the beautiful horseshoe cove hadn’t gone to plan. Despite the stunning backdrop, Ellen and Penny’s time together at the beach had been riddled with tension, peppered with sniping and, worst of all, laced with excruciating silences.

Ellen had promised herself before coming to Greece that now was her time to find herself again. She’d been clear that she was no longer prepared to be put upon or punished for something that wasn’t of her own doing. She only wished she’d realised how unsatisfying her oldest friendship had become over the years. As her mind traced backwards, she realised that had always been her and Penny’s pattern. Her friend being far more headstrong and wilder, when any boy took her fancy, whether Ellen liked him or not, she’d dutifully make way for her far more rumbunctious pal. Or the outfits Penny demanded she make, Ellen prioritised over any other project. But that wasn’t just Penny’s pattern. Ellen’s default position suddenly became crystal clear: to concede and do the right thing for the sake of peace.

If Penny now wished to chastise Ellen for having misspoken and Ellen’s apology hadn’t sufficed, there was little more she could do. She refused to be anyone’s doormat or try to fix anyone but herself. Easy to think, hard to say, and almost impossible to do. But Ellen was now steadfast in her own regeneration.

As she marched down the street towards the dress shop, she tried to push away the swirling guilt at having upset her friend that made her blood run cold despite the heat of the late afternoon. She hadn’t heard from Aléxandros either, which was disappointing. This was the wrong state of mind in which to make a beautiful skirt for Athinà.

Stopping beside a windowsill with colourful pots of herbs, she rubbed her thumb against a leaf of holy basil. Raising it to her nose, she inhaled deeply, and the heady scent of Mediterranean life enveloped her, conjuring up long lunches and sun-drenched days that blended with evening before slowly succumbing to the exquisite serenity of night-time. Those images restored her senses, and she headed to Dimitra’s store.

Théa had said back at the hotel that her grandma was still in hospital but was more than happy for Ellen to continue to use the shop and take commissions if she wanted. Ellen didn’t want paying for her work; just to cover the cost of materials would be ample. The simple joy of dressmaking paid her more than any golden coin could. As she propped the door open with a bolt of magenta satin, air flowed into the stuffy shop and Ellen felt instantly at home. She walked around absorbing the rainbow-coloured rolls of fabrics stacked in such pleasing rows that their round ends looked like multihued honeycomb.

‘Kalispéra,’ came a confident voice from the doorway, and Ellen turned to find Athinà with a friend in tow.

‘Kalispéra,’ returned Ellen, greeting her good evening, then ushered the two girls to the back. ‘Let’s make you that perfect skirt, shall we?’

Athinà nodded enthusiastically, making her cherubic brown ringlets bounce on her tanned shoulders. Her friend was much quieter and seemed incredibly shy, and Ellen wanted to put her at ease. She also recognised her from the dancers’ troupe.

‘Hello, yiá sas, I’m Ellen.’ She held out her hand to the girl, who managed to raise her eyes. The dynamic between the two friends was clear: the confident, tall, slim, outgoing girl and the short, curvy quiet one. It was Penny and Ellen – though a little younger than when they’d first been in Greece. These two must be only just sixteen.

‘Delphí,’ said Athinà’s friend, offering her name, shaking Ellen’s hand briefly before returning her eyes to the sewing machines. It made Ellen want to reach out and reassure her that everything would be all right, to believe in herself and never live in another’s shadow because she had value for being the quieter, more observant girl. But that wasn’t her purpose this evening.

‘So, Athinà, I have your measurements from before, but I was thinking about this for your date.’ Ellen offered a sketch she’d made in her hotel room after the disastrous trip to the beach with Penny. It was similar to the style Ellen had been wearing, but this wrap design had a thread-through ribbon tie to sit low on the hips. The girl was leggy and slender and could afford a glimpse of tanned waist as was youngsters’ preference nowadays. Athinà’s pretty face lit up at the drawing.

‘Can you really make me this? My father said he would pay for anything I wanted.’ Delphí peered over Athinà’s shoulder and her eyes lit up too. Ellen smiled at her, which made her cheeks flush. Athinà turned to her friend with glee and spoke rapidly in Greek before facing Ellen again. ‘Would you make Delphí one too, so we can match? She doesn’t have a date – it’s not as urgent as my skirt – but we like to be the same. We are best friends.’ Ellen noticed Delphí’s shoulders sink a little at her friend’s words, highlighting her lack of romantic options, and again Ellen felt compelled to lift her up, to see her own beauty that was different and less obvious to Athinà’s, but just as valid.

‘I’d be happy to. You know my friend and I were just like you two once. We came here when we were eighteen,’ Ellen said as she took Delphí’s measurements. ‘Let’s choose a colour for you both.’ She continued to tell them the edited highlights of their first trip to Kardamyli and their questions in return were only about love and boys. It was all that had occupied Ellen and Penny’s minds too at the time. Athinà gravitated towards a light bubble-gum pink chiffon, which would be tricky to hem, but would work beautifully in the style Ellen had sketched. Whereas Delphí was drawn to a deep navy in the same fabric, which reminded Ellen of a Greek twilight sky. Both of them had similar colouring, and though Delphí’s skin tone was a little lighter and unable to conceal her blushes, their choices for the skirts were perfect. Ellen already saw each garment’s future and it gave her the happy momentum to make those visions a reality. Delphí’s destiny was more intriguing than Athinà’s and Ellen couldn’t wait to begin.

‘Will you let me know the cost?’ Athinà asked. ‘For mine?’

Ellen nodded and cut the amount of fabric she’d need, then selected a matching thread to complement the skirt along with a ribbon for the waistband. She wrote the amount on a slip of paper, adding a little so Dimitra’s store earned something while the owner was incapacitated. The girl slid over a handful of notes from her purse.

‘I should have asked for three, it’s so cheap!’ she declared with a swish of her ringlets. She scribbled her phone number on the quote so Ellen could let her know when it was ready. Then Athinà skipped to the full-length mirror in the back room, wrapping the pink fabric around her like a toga.

Delphí approached the counter, stopping Ellen from snipping at the navy material, and whispered, ‘I cannot afford for a skirt to be made.’ She looked pained and her bright green eyes pooled with tears. ‘My family does not have money like Athinà’s …’

‘Shhhh,’ said Ellen as she looked over her shoulder to check Athinà was out of earshot. ‘Please, let it be my gift. I want to.’

Delphí raised her eyebrows in shock. ‘But why would you help me?’ she said with a Greek accent thick like molasses.

‘Because it would be my honour, and I won’t say a word, I promise,’ Ellen said cutting the bolt of material with a flourish.

‘Thank you, efharistó polí, thank you so, so very much. I wanted to be a dressmaker like you when I grow up, but my family won’t allow it.’ Her eyes brimmed with even larger tears. Ellen allowed her to collect herself before Athinà suspected a conspiracy. She hurried to the back room and started to pin the baby pink fabric into place on Athinà. Then it was Delphí’s turn and eventually, after much giggling, they left, elated with their sophisticated trip to a dressmaker for a bespoke outfit. Ellen turned the sign to ‘Closed’, though she left it unlocked should Penny choose to appear. As the two girls walked away along the street hand in hand, it gave Ellen so much joy to see their excitement that she began work on the pieces immediately. Something in her heart locked into place, reaffirming her journey back to the village.

She worked for a few hours and made steady progress. She only stopped because her stomach was grumbling, urging her to eat. Picking up her bag, she looked at her phone, which had a blank screen. No battery. She’d had a long call with Tristan and the children, and had then used the torch on it for extra light, and must have carelessly run it down. The front door tinkled and she shouted to the front, ‘We’re closed!’ but footsteps sounded across the wooden shop floor. Ellen assumed it was Penny, so went out to the cash register. ‘Is that you, Pen?’

But it wasn’t her friend. She leant a hand on the counter to steady her surprise. For once she didn’t notice the colours of the materials surrounding her nor the glinting sequins in the glass cabinet. The promise and potential of fabric dissolved at the sight of him. Aléxandros had found her. Again.

Chapter 22

‘Ellen,’ he breathed out as he said her name, and she was unable to deduce whether it was a sigh of relief or something else. ‘I didn’t expect to find you here. I came to see Dimitra, thinking she was back at work – the light was on.’

She couldn’t help the sinking feeling that he hadn’t been seeking her out in every corner of the village. Instead, she attempted to treat this as an unexpected chance meeting, smoothed her hair and found a smile, hoping it didn’t reveal her joy at seeing him again.

‘I’m holding the fort for her. Can I help? Perhaps your mother needs another black dress?’ She couldn’t help her intentional dig and placed a hand on her hip, convincingly playing the role of shopkeeper. Aléxandros looked down at his blue linen shirt and Ellen followed his eyes to find two missing buttons in the middle. She couldn’t hold in her laugh. ‘What on earth have you done?’ Aléxandros joined her and she realised she’d forgotten just how infectious his laughter was; it reverberated around her heart like a sonic boom echoing off the headland.

‘I was checking my olive trees for pests and caught my shirt on a branch and so …’ He indicated his middle and pulled at one side of the shirt, revealing a tantalising glimpse of what was beneath. Ellen gulped then noticed a dusting of yellow pollen on his shoulder and the odd white petal in his hair. She drank in every inch of his body and face. The reality was more beautiful than the ancient photograph that was still tucked away beneath her pillow in London.

‘Well, I can help … I mean only if you have nobody else who could do it.’ She meant his wife, and her eyes flicked to his hand, which was holding a carrier bag, and found his ring finger still boasted a golden band. A metallic circle of torment symbolising missed opportunity.

‘There is no such skill beneath my roof.’ He shook his head with affection and Ellen balked with the love he must have for his wife and checked herself quickly as he spoke on. ‘You didn’t reply to my message.’

Ellen flushed with frustration. ‘My phone is dead. If I’d have seen your—’ She broke off with a smile, realising how bashful he made her feel, like she was a teenager again. But she needed to temper her emotions, which were ebbing and flowing. ‘Let me find a thread and buttons; you’ll have to come into the light by the counter.’ He moved towards her and placed his carrier bag on the floor while she busied herself in the button drawers, rummaging around until she found two that were almost an exact match. He was so near to her, she could smell his cologne again, which was the same as it always had been. She’d recalled it with clarity from her sensory memory, but now it was entering her lungs, making her light-headed as it sent a thousand darts into her body; peppercorn and olive oil – spicy, earthy, and perfectly him.

She held up one of the light blue buttons to his chest without daring to touch him through the material. As she lifted the seam where the button should sit on his shirt, her finger accidentally brushed his skin beneath the fabric and she flinched as if she’d scalded herself. Her breath came high as her heart thundered so hard she felt it knocking against her ribcage. It was difficult to swallow. The power of physical contact with him in such an intimate space made her drop the tiny disc and it bounced on the floor, rolling beneath a rack of fabric.

‘Dammit! There are only two left. We really need that button,’ she said, crouching down to look for it. He joined her on his hands and knees and they hunted around, shifting bolts of material, disturbing dust bunnies that rolled across the floorboards. She finally spotted it beneath one of the shelving frames and had to press her cheek to the floor to reach beneath it as far as she could. ‘Got it!’ She sat back on her knees and held it to the light. Aléxandros mirrored her stance and looked at her. She rubbed her shoulder, having overextended it to retrieve the button. Then his fingers reached slowly towards her face and Ellen felt as if she were suspended in water, being pulled down into the epicentre of a whirlpool as the world churned around them. Her eyes locked with his and she dared not take a breath in case she woke up from this dream. He retrieved a scrap of palest green satin that had found its way into her hair and held it out to her. It was the colour of his eyes in the evening light at a time when he was the last thing she saw before she closed hers.

‘Is like one of my olive leaves in your hair.’ He handed it to her with a glint of mischief in his sparkling eyes and pressed it into her open palm, holding his touch there for longer than needed. She dared to close her fingers around his and they sat on the floor staring at each other with their hands clasped. His actions sparked a memory, and she wondered whether he was thinking of the same thing. The first night they’d made love had been in the olive groves that his family owned above Kardamyli. He’d lain beside her on a blanket, fed her slices of tangy, salty goat’s cheese drizzled with golden honey, then sweet black grapes that burst a thousand flavours across her tongue. They’d sipped at rich red wine and talked for hours, imagining a future together, their hopes and dreams. Then he’d loved her body with his mouth and touch, followed by all of him in the balmy summer night with a million stars overhead as the only witnesses to their burgeoning love affair.

Afterwards, they’d picked the leaves and twigs from each other’s hair, laughing beneath the silver moonlight before needing each other again and again until the sky began to lighten and a new day claimed Kardamyli as Aléxandros claimed her heart with his. He’d said ‘I love you’ as the sun rose the next morning. She recalled precisely how long it was since that first declaration and counted the days like a clock tolling time: thirty-six years, eight months and thirty-one days. Her recollections caused her body to shudder with the tingle of an overwhelming longing for that time, to be young and unleashed, to possess the privilege of choice to be his again. Before fate had unwelcomely intervened via his mother.

As the memory dissolved and reality re-emerged, she needed to distance herself, as far as possible within the confines of the dressmaker’s shop. He was married. Her passions were threatening to override sensibility. It wasn’t right; he belonged to another. She pulled her hand away then prised herself up to standing as her knees creaked in protest. She couldn’t help but laugh. He rose up too and his joints made a similar noise. ‘We aren’t as young as we once were, Ellen.’ He smiled at her with such warmth that she couldn’t work out what he felt for her. It made her unsure and a little afraid because of the strength of her feelings, which hadn’t abated for more than three decades. In fact they’d returned with a vengeance. But she wasn’t the kind of woman to break up a happy home, despite the vivid images that had flashed through her mind and body.

‘Well, a lot of things are different since I was last here. I’m sure we’ve both changed. I know I have.’ She attempted to be flippant and dismissive but was worried it came off as callous. Her concern was on the mark, as he looked hurt by her words and shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. The gap where his buttons should have fastened his shirt gaped open and Ellen couldn’t help but glance at the dusting of dark hair on his dark, tanned skin.

‘Kardamyli has not changed, though of course many things do,’ he said with the weight of sadness. ‘You have not changed, Ellen. You are still beautiful. No, more so.’ Her breath caught in her throat and her mouth dried as she looked up to him in puzzlement. The inside of her head spun. She’d never felt such an overwhelming feeling of desire before, not since she’d last stood before him. So much so that she wondered whether she’d imagined his words. She’d certainly dreamed of him saying such things to her over the years. To stick to safe ground, in case she’d plucked his compliment from her imagination, she decided to fix his shirt instead.

‘Let’s try and make you presentable again.’ She moved to the counter and threaded a needle deftly, taking a seat on the stool beside the cash register.

‘Should I take my shirt off?’ he asked.

‘No!’ Ellen cried far too loudly for the size of the shop. ‘No, no need. If you could just stand here, please,’ she said formally, indicating the space in front of her. He was perhaps as close as he dared; near enough for her to complete her work but not to make contact again. It was worse in a way to be in such proximity without folding into him. She urged herself to focus on the stitches, frowning in concentration, urging her heart to lose itself in the task. The repetitive action of needle piercing fabric, through the little hole in the button centre, pulling the long thread back, then back into the material soothed her nerves. She surrendered to the rhythm and tried to block out the subject, hardly daring to meet his gaze which she felt burning on her face. Each time her eyes briefly flicked up to his, she found a look of amusement. His pale eyes were greyer in the artificial light of the shop and she couldn’t help but respond with her own smile that caused the butterflies in her stomach to beat their wings even harder. She could taste his scent on her tongue, he was so tantalisingly close, but he was married and that was the fundamental fracture in any illusion she had been foolishly entertaining. The sharp metallic snip of the scissors cut through her fantasies along with the cotton, having completed one button. Then she started on the next.

‘What was your message you sent to me?’ she asked, trying to break the tension.

He hummed a small laugh. ‘I wondered if you wanted to have a drink with me tonight. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow, but I assumed when I heard nothing that you had plans with Penny.’

Ellen didn’t want to leap to any conclusions. The memories of him had sustained her over so many years that every move she now made risked breaking them apart.

‘Penny and I … we had a few cross words. I would have thought you’d be busy. You said your mother was staying with you and your wife wouldn’t spare you surely at such short …’

‘My wife?’ he cut across her. ‘Ellen, I am like you. What do you call in English the man whose wife has died? I am not the widow – what is this word?’

‘Widower,’ Ellen said gently, meeting his gaze and pausing her sewing. ‘I’m so sorry, Aléxandros.’ She placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed it gently.

‘Magdeline was her name. She died ten years ago from breast cancer, very young. Too young.’

Ellen briefly closed her eyes before starting the final button on his shirt. Now there were three ghosts between them: John, Magdeline and the actions of his mother, Nýsa, who had forced Ellen to be a conspirator in concealing a vital truth from Aléxandros. The result of which had broken their hearts and yet still could cause more pain. Because Nýsa was worse than a ghost, she could still threaten Ellen with the horror of that secret. And if Aléxandros insisted on knowing the truth, Ellen would have no choice but to tell him. He would be devastated. Nýsa was the most dangerous of all the phantoms and had the power to significantly wreck their lives. For the second time.

The Fates

The third sister: Atropos, the crone

The final sister was perhaps the most feared, for she had the power to sever the mortal cord with one flash of her blade. This was the finale of the Fates’ labours, the sister siblings who determined every outcome from birth towards the last act, the end. That ultimate scene was drawn by Atropos and was hers alone to decree. She was the seamstress who wove the concluding thread in the tapestry of life.

Atropos revelled in her force of delivering the finite slice, the cut that triumphed over destiny and indelibly sealed fate, consigning mortals to dwell in an unbreathable catacomb, awaiting judgement for their actions.

Chapter 23

Ellen snipped at the thread, having delivered the final stitch. She longed to clothe Aléxandros with her love, drape her affection across his body and then soothe away the hurt she’d inflicted. She wanted to tell him to forget their past and abandon themselves to the moment. She craved a thousand things, but not one of those that raced through her mind travelled from her lips.

Instead, she said, ‘There! You’re ready for another Kardamyli night.’ She smoothed the newly placed buttons against the seam and left her hand on his chest for a moment and bravely looked into his eyes. As their stare connected, she desperately wished for so much, but there wasn’t the time in this life nor the thousand ages to come to say all she needed to.

He looked down at his shirt, clasped her hand against his body and said simply, ‘Thank you, Ellen mou. My Ellen. You must know I still think of you this way.’ As he raised his gaze from her handiwork back to her, she felt his heart beating in the middle of her palm resting against him. He’d known her before, and he still knew her now despite all that had happened since they were last together. ‘Can we sit and talk? I have red wine that I bought to take home with me, but please, can we finally have a conversation that’s been too long in the making? I need to know why you left.’

She’d known it would come eventually, and a nervous panic rose from the pit of her stomach. How could she have envisioned he would still be in the village, and yet here they were. Old friends, former lovers reconnecting, trying to politely bridge the passing of time. It would be a matter of whose broken heart had mended the most and who possessed the greatest capacity for forgiveness. As her pulse quickened, she realised she didn’t know what on earth she was doing, but she had to trust it would somehow work out for the best and was meant to be this way. No matter whose feelings were the casualty. That was destiny, wasn’t it? Surrendering in favour of the choices that had been predetermined by fate, yet still felt like free will in the second you made a decision. She hastened to the mugs beside the coffee machine, which weren’t the elegant home for wine that their conversation deserved, but were all she had to hand. She was suddenly terrified at the thought of hurting him if he pressed for answers. He didn’t know what he was asking her to tell him. She didn’t want to do it and cause such immense hurt. Aléxandros smiled at the proffered mugs.

‘Rustic, but fitting. Honest, perhaps.’ He poured a generous measure into each cup then sat on the floor, leaning his back against the side of the counter, and she sank down to join him. ‘So, Ellen … first tell me about your life since we parted.’

It was such a loaded request that there was no polite way to respond without unearthing her darkest experience. He didn’t say ‘since you left’, which was promising. It was too early in their reunion to divulge her past yet too late in her life to hide away what she’d been through, especially to him. She’d hidden it from Penny and all that achieved was to highlight the chasm between them.

The way Aléxandros had called her ‘my Ellen’ was like a dagger to her gut. He clearly still cared for her and she returned it, yet it was tainted by secrets including the private damage she carried. She could only be honest to a point, which was no foundation for anything meaningful.

‘You want me to explain, don’t you? Why I left so suddenly and didn’t come back to Kardamyli after I promised I would,’ she said, hardly able to look at him for shame.

He examined his cup nestled within his large hands. He lifted it and drank deeply before responding. ‘If you wish to offer an explanation now after so long … it would help. We don’t owe each other anything, but my heart still longs to understand. I cannot be untruthful and act like you didn’t hurt me. Broke me.’ His eyes glistened in the low light and his brow furrowed as he turned his head to her. Hearing his words was more painful than she could have imagined. There was no escape from the heartache she’d inflicted. The confirmation of what she’d caused was brought to life, embodied beside her, and it crushed her all over again. But it hadn’t been her fault.

‘Aléxandros … I …’ She didn’t know how to soothe away the years with a sentence without revealing what his mother had made her promise not to. That secret wasn’t hers to tell; it was Nýsa’s. But some of the burdens she bore needed to be shed. ‘Please know this: you were all I thought of. I didn’t go a day without you in my heart and in my prayers – for what they’re worth.’ Her religion was lacking, hence why she hadn’t ventured into the village church.

He dropped his gaze away and she moved to sit in front of him, needing to make him understand. She grabbed his hand, which still clung to his cup, imploring him with touch to hear her. ‘Please, Aléxandros, I thought about you all the time. And I can’t tell you in enough ways how sorry I am, and believe me, life punished me for it in the end. But know this: I’m so, so very sorry I let you down.’ Tears fell from her eyes as she spoke. She had nothing to lose by apologising in the hope that he may be able to forgive her and it would be enough for him.

As they sat opposite one another on the floor of the dressmaker’s shop nervously sipping red wine, it harkened back to the many picnics they’d had in the past, but those had always ended in declarations of love and physical expressions of their need for one another. Yet here as they solemnly faced each other, it felt like a makeshift confession booth with no penance to be found nor absolution from her past sins.

‘Ellen, I don’t know how you can say such things.’ She removed her hand and watched him grip his mug of wine so hard that his knuckles blanched and she feared it would shatter in his grasp. ‘You promised you would come back and then nothing. No phone calls, letters – you disappeared from my life like a ghost, and now you are here in Kardamyli, and all I wish to do is take you in my arms and pretend like none of it happened and be how we once were. But how can I?’

Ellen had never wished for anything more and couldn’t help herself. ‘Let’s not rake over the past; let’s just be here tonight, only you and me. Can’t we just for a few moments pretend nothing bad ever happened?’

His head shot up to face her with an expression of such bold desire that it was all she could do not to rip the newly sewn buttons from his shirt.

‘It’s impossible,’ he said gravely, his voice husky with desire. She knew that of old. Then he smiled and shook his head. ‘You know, I wondered how I would feel if I saw you; maybe I’d be angry or whether all those feelings for you had disappeared over time. Seeing you in the street was like a dream. I watched you dancing and didn’t think you were real, like I was imagining it. Then three decades of emotions have coursed through my mind ever since; my dreams, my days are only filled with us.’ He smiled sadly and looked away. ‘Though I loved my wife, God rest her soul, it was never the same as with you.’

Ellen’s breath was ragged as she sought out some control. She closed her eyes and more tears tracked down her cheeks; crying for the time she’d squandered with the wrong man when she should have been here in Kardamyli with Aléxandros. As she opened her eyes, she saw his jaw was set rigid as he stared at the shelves piled high with material. She gave him the space to say what he needed, desperate to hear his thoughts. ‘For years I wanted answers I couldn’t have, and now, here in front of you, I realise that it doesn’t change what happened. But I won’t feel complete until I know your reasons for leaving.’ He stood and put his empty mug on the countertop. ‘We are older now and have even less time to waste on the past. Both of us watched someone we care about die – my wife and your husband. Nothing, yet everything, matters, Ellen.’ He offered his hand, encouraging her to stand.

He’s going to say goodbye, she thought. It couldn’t ever have been any other way.

She scolded her own naive notion that they could rekindle their love and mend one another’s hearts. He continued to hold her hand as she stood, and caressed her palm with his thumb tenderly, looking at her fingers, as if he were examining every line before saying it was over. She saw the pain of regret flash across his face and steadied herself for his words. He raised her hand and brushed his lips to her skin. She shivered with longing yet braced herself for him to walk away. Aléxandros reached behind her neck and gently pulled her towards him.

‘But what matters most in life,’ he whispered, ‘is love.’

She moved nearer, willingly, like she was floating through the air to press her body against his, wishing time to slow so she could remember every second of this moment. He leant forwards as he cupped her cheek and found her lips with his. Ellen’s arms coiled around his neck as their passion rose, crashing into one another. It was like coming home. Their mouths fitted together like only those of old lovers can. They were so familiar with every movement, touch and sensation. Ellen abandoned herself to the elation of being in Aléxandros’ arms again after decades of needing him, as more tears streamed down her face; the remorse-tinged droplets of joy couldn’t quell her desire for a moment. While she remained in his embrace, reality could wait, questions would be stemmed, explanations were unnecessary.

But like a spectre in the corner, she felt the truth lurking, anticipating its freedom, and with it would come retribution and honesty. Inevitably, it would spell more heartbreak for them both; more so for Aléxandros than anyone else. It was unavoidable and down to Ellen alone to unlock that dark cell where she’d been a prisoner, to finally, after so long, set herself free. But it might obliterate any chance of a future with the man she loved.

Chapter 24

Sleep hadn’t found Ellen after seeing Aléxandros. Her lips felt swollen from kissing him over and over again. It was like they were teenagers, exploring each other for the first time, just stopping short of inappropriate on Dimitra’s shop floor. They’d parted with the promise of another assignation the next day. She knew she’d eventually have to confess why she left. She couldn’t delay again, and he would keep asking her to explain. She longed to protect him from the pain he would feel but there wasn’t a way out of it. Having mulled it over all night, there was no alternative reason she could offer him outside of the truth. Ellen couldn’t entertain the idea of crushing him, because once he discovered what had really happened, everything he thought he knew would be broken to shreds.

As the moon rose and set, yielding to dawn, Ellen gave up trying to doze and went for a long walk. She snipped at some branches from a blossoming olive tree above the village with her tailor’s scissors. Their full spring blooms boasted delicate white flowers that would transform into a bountiful harvest come the autumn. Ellen figured an olive branch literally and metaphorically would be the fitting way to return to plain sailing with Penny. Or at least, that was the plan.

Her whole body was alive, humming from Aléxandros’ touch, but it was tempered with so many complex emotions she couldn’t pinpoint them individually, though the overriding one was guilt. Guilt for what she’d hidden from him and all she’d concealed from Penny over the years. It ran as hard through her bloodstream as the life-sustaining liquid that fuelled her veins. This morning, she could put one of those right, and it may go some way to explaining the circumstances for their disagreement on the beach yesterday lunchtime. Her new chapter of honesty would truly begin now. It was the only way to move onwards.

Rapping on Penny’s apartment door, she heard a male voice from within, so shrunk backwards, wishing she hadn’t been so hasty. Enzo opened it, greeting her with his usual bravado.

‘Buongiorno!’ he said, oiling his way across the threshold to greet her with two unwelcome kisses on each cheek. ‘I bring you and Penny the coffee and breakfast! Maybe you can cheer her up. She is not her usual gregarious self this morning.’ Thankfully he left after promising to take them both for sunset drinks, which Ellen managed to avoid agreeing to, ushering him away with a nod and a half smile. She was so tired of pretending.

Stepping into the apartment, she found Penny sitting on the balcony, staring out to sea. A platter of Greek pastries remained untouched before her and two large iced coffees sat in glistening glasses on the table.

‘Pen?’ Ellen ventured tentatively. Penny glanced briefly her way then returned her gaze to the expanse of twinkling ocean. She looked pale, and Ellen was concerned their disagreement signalled something else above her struggles with Alan. They would to an extent indicate such a pallor, but it felt like more. It was now or never, thought Ellen as she proffered her bunch of leaves, flowers and twigs at her friend. She turned her head again and raised an eyebrow as much as she was able.

‘An olive branch. In Greece. How original.’ She smirked, accepting the offering and putting it beside her frappé.

‘We need to talk,’ Ellen said, taking charge of the niceties and sitting opposite her oldest friend. Meeting Aléxandros again and the words they’d exchanged pressed on her; nobody had time to carelessly cast aside, and nothing really mattered in the scheme of life. Though what Ellen had hidden did matter. It was beyond the time for truth and authenticity. But Penny didn’t look well; she wasn’t glowing and glossy – she looked in stark contrast to how Ellen was used to seeing her. Though over the years, they’d only chosen to show the parts of themselves they were willing to. They were both being laid bare in Greece; their guards were dropping in Kardamyli. Penny took a sip of her coffee and, with a sharp wince, pressed her hand to her cheek then her head.

‘Too cold,’ she muttered. ‘Let me take a painkiller. I’ll be back in a mo.’

Ellen waited on the balcony and watched a boat traverse the glinting silver horizon. Greece looked so perfect from this vantage point, but she was acutely aware from Penny’s confession and from her own life that nothing was ever as it seemed, no matter how pristine and how beautiful it looked from afar. Penny slumped back into her seat. ‘Right, you were saying?’

‘I want to say that I’m sorry for upsetting you,’ Ellen began carefully. ‘And I am so sorry for what you’ve been going through. I had no idea.’ Penny looked at the floor and shifted on her seat. ‘I didn’t mean what I said about marriage in relation to you and Alan, I was actually talking about something else. You took it the wrong way and I understand why you did and I’m sorry. So, I need to be honest and tell you something. The truth.’

Penny raised her head at the gravity of Ellen’s tone. ‘Ellen, what is it? Don’t scare me.’ Penny’s reaction became frantic, which surprised Ellen who quickly assuaged her.

‘I’m fine, absolutely fine. Well, now I am. Sort of. But I need to talk about John.’

Penny nodded sympathetically as Ellen summoned the courage from the pit of her belly to share the reality about her marriage: a widow’s confession she’d never admitted to anyone.

‘What about John?’ asked Penny tenderly, and Ellen almost squirmed at how kind she was being when what she had to say was the embodiment of unkindness, as she searched for a way to say the unsayable. This wasn’t a speech she’d rehearsed since she’d thought she could bury it as she had her husband. The man who had taunted her with every conceivable method of cruelty and then had unearthed new ways to hound her. It couldn’t be sugar-coated. She couldn’t protect herself from the truth any longer, nor her friend, though she’d always shield Tristan from the reality.

‘He … he wasn’t very nice to me,’ Ellen began with a gross understatement, then speedily checked herself for undervaluing her experience. It made her laugh, then her smile faded before she re-entered her own story. ‘That doesn’t even cover it … He … he hurt me. In every imaginable way.’ It was like she was away from her body and tried to talk about it without emotion, but felt her muscles twitch as a thousand flashbacks began to ricochet through her mind, causing the marrow and sinew of her being to relive the physical and emotional pain he’d inflicted.

A heavy crystal ornament held above her head, threatening to smash her brains in.

Curled up on the floor, cowering in a foetal position, protecting her pregnant belly from his feet.

A hand closing around her throat, spittle landing on her lips.

‘You disgust me. Who do you think you are? You are nothing.’

‘What?’ said Penny, her mouth dropping open in shock. ‘John? He … he …’ She couldn’t finish the sentence because it was horrifying. Ellen nodded and tried to elaborate.

‘It wasn’t always physical. In a way, the emotional abuse was … It’s difficult to explain, but it was almost the worst part. The financial control was another thing, but I could …’ She choked on her words but forged through them. ‘I feel awful saying it, but a slap across the face or a kick to my ribs were easier to deal with in some ways than his words. Being handed a bunch of notes to run the house each week, never having access to the money I’d earned, because … because bruises fade, bones mend eventually, though the fear doesn’t, but to hear I was useless … ugly … unlovable … Those words were like a hundred knives to my heart. Every. Single. Day. Until I believed it was true. That I wouldn’t ever find anyone to love me and he was all I had. His love, that love, it’s what he said I deserved.’ Ellen broke apart and sobbed into her hands which covered her face, unable to believe she was talking about herself, her own feelings, and that this had actually happened to her. She cried into the confines of her palms until she couldn’t breathe properly. A silence stretched while her tears subsided, then at last, she bravely raised her head and looked to her friend.

‘John? Your John?’ Penny said aghast. ‘But … but he loved you. He adored you. He’d never do those things.’ She took a large drink of her coffee, before sitting back in her chair like someone had winded her. ‘He wasn’t the sort. I knew him. I … I simply can’t believe it. John? But he was in the police. A commander. No. Not John. He was lovely.’

Ellen assumed it was the shock descending on her friend as she digested the unpicking of someone she’d known for so long. A person so respected in the community, a pillar of society, upholding the law of the land. Yet in private, he was someone quite different. The quiet moments of shock were as grave as Ellen’s truth, which began to spread through the room.

Eventually Penny resumed her thinking aloud: ‘I just can’t believe it. You were married for more than thirty years. It can’t have been … I mean, you stayed with him. He wouldn’t … Sorry, I just can’t believe John would do that.’ She leant over the table and reached for Ellen’s hand. ‘He adored you. That wasn’t the man I knew at all and it wasn’t the two of you together that I ever saw.’

Ellen nodded solemnly. ‘But that was the truth behind our closed doors, and I haven’t told anyone. Nobody. Who could I tell? He forced me to be estranged from my parents. I lost touch almost with every friend I ever had apart from you. But I can’t hear you say how perfect we were for another moment. Because we weren’t. In fact, we were the opposite. I stayed because I didn’t know who I was or how to be without him. And if I told anyone, then I’d have to leave, and I didn’t know where to go. What could I have ever said to Tristan if I’d left?’

Penny’s eyes widened. ‘You haven’t told him have you?’

‘No!’ Ellen cried. ‘I wouldn’t. Ever! John was a wonderful father; those parts you saw of them together were the only true bits of John you knew, and I can’t take that away. It would ruin all of Tristan’s memories. He doesn’t deserve that.’

Penny pulled her hair into a low bun at the nape of her neck and shook her head. ‘You think you know someone … I never had any clue. Why didn’t you say anything? Alan and I would have helped. You could have walked away at any time if you’d wanted to. You should have left if it was really that bad.’

Ellen hung her head, wishing she didn’t have a reminder of the indignity that existed in her bones, one of the many reasons why she’d remained in the marriage. Then she realised, Penny was fuelling those feelings of disgrace with her response. But Ellen couldn’t shift them, because she was stunned and had seamlessly slipped back into that old shell of shame.

‘I didn’t know how to leave,’ Ellen said stoically. ‘I was embarrassed and thought I could make it better, fix him, be the perfect wife so he never got cross. And I loved him, Pen. Or thought I did at the start. After he’d … hit me, he would be so sorry, promising it wouldn’t happen again, but it aways did. And then suddenly it was ten years later, then twenty and there was Tristan to think about and now … here we are.’

‘Oh, Ellen,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me? Not once did you even hint at it when you say it happened so often.’

‘Because I couldn’t! I was afraid and ashamed,’ said Ellen, her pitch rising again. ‘How could I tell you? You put us on a pedestal, and you’re always so busy that we never really spoke properly for years – apart from the odd call or lunch. And then at book club, all we’d talk about is what we’ve done the last month; we never went beneath the surface. What, I’m going to just blurt out while offering you a bowl of olives: “Oh and my news is that my husband stabbed me this morning with a fork in my side and I had to pull it out in the bathroom, dripping with blood and screaming in pain, but biting into a towel because I didn’t want him to get angrier with the noise I made”?!’

‘He stabbed you?’ she said slowly, then her tone immediately switched. ‘So, it’s my fault now? God, Ellen, you can’t blame me for you not leaving. You should have called the police or got help.’

‘The police?! He was the police! Why aren’t you hearing me?’ Ellen could feel her heart hammering against her chest. This wasn’t how friends behaved; this wasn’t the reaction she was expecting. To justify and explain away years of abuse simply because it didn’t fit with Penny’s idea of Ellen’s marriage was a staggering betrayal. The realisation of the state of their friendship bloomed throughout her as it became horribly clear; they really didn’t know each other at all.

‘I am hearing you. And calm down! Other people can hear you too.’ Penny looked around to check who was in earshot on the adjacent balcony and the one below. It nudged at Ellen’s shortening fuse further as Penny turned back to her, speaking in hissing, urgent tones. ‘But John was such a wonderful man, so well respected. Everyone loved him; I simply cannot believe this. He’d do anything for anyone. He always supported the local Rotary when I was president and spoke at all our dinners; he was wonderful and kind, talking about the importance of policing at the heart of community, always on the news …’ She shot Ellen a look of accusation then looked away to the sky. ‘I can’t take it all in and I only have your word for it. It’s not like he’s here to defend himself.’

‘Don’t you believe me?’ Ellen asked, feeling the blood drain away from her face. ‘You think I would invent this? Yes, he spoke about community to anyone who’d entertain him, all the while controlling and eradicating my own community.’

‘Darling, it’s not that I think you invented it …’ Penny smiled with a sickening sweetness that made Ellen’s stomach churn. ‘It’s just, well, you might as well know that John came to see me, the week before his heart attack as it turned out. If I’d known it was the last time I’d ever see him … He called and said he needed to chat. We met for a coffee and he warned me that he thought you were imagining things. He was worried you weren’t quite yourself and your temper was becoming ever so short, saying you’d changed and were inventing stuff that wasn’t true. He said he was concerned, that you lived in a bit of a fantasy world. He cared about you so much – it was obvious.’

‘What?!’ Ellen stood up, unable to sit still from the sucker punch to her middle.

‘Ellen, sit down. He was only worried. He loved you. Anyone could see that. I think this is all a delayed reaction. You’re still in shock. His death was so sudden.’ She picked at the flowers from the fruitless olive branch that still lay on the table. The petals scattered and flecks of yellow pollen stained the surface. ‘Maybe we should head back to London early. I don’t think you’re up to being here and what with running into Aléxandros, you’re a bit … muddled and not thinking straight. Perhaps you ought to see a doctor.’

A rage like she’d never known bubbled through Ellen’s core. Her hideous truth and real experience were being decimated by her so-called best friend. And John, her husband and assumed protector, had got there before her in order to shield himself. He was a policeman after all and it seemed he had committed the perfect crime by going behind her back and manipulating Penny. He was still controlling her from his grave, and it seemed his public persona with its bountiful charm and skill had been successful. He’d ruined almost every relationship she’d cherished and, worst of all, he’d dismantled the one she had with herself.

‘I don’t need a doctor,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I need to be away from you.’ Ellen pushed her chair snug against the patio table, making it rock on its legs. ‘If you’d told me something like this, I would never disbelieve you, no matter what anyone else had suggested—’ She broke off as her voice cracked and she looked out at the perfect sheet of glistening water that surrounded Kardamyli. ‘I’m sorry, but you need to do some deep thinking for a change since I’m the only one of us being truly honest and authentic. And I’m sorry that this trip isn’t all about you, spas and treatments and awful Italian men with superficial fun. But I am telling you, this happened. To me! For more than thirty years, it was my life. And all you can say is, “he was lovely”!? You’re like a complete stranger.’

Ellen went to leave then turned around and fixed her so-called best friend with as icy a stare as she could muster, since her eyes were blurred with tears. ‘I don’t know who you are anymore, Pen, and worst of all … I’m not sure I ever did.’

Ellen walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

The Fates

The three sisters

Threads spun by the Fates were unchangeable and immoveable unless they decided otherwise – such was their game, toying with the precious and perilous.

If they bestowed upon a mortal a vast kingdom which belonged to another who was deceased, so the dead man could come to life in order to fulfil his fortune and reclaim his lands.

He who is fated to be a carpenter will become one even if his hands have been removed.

A man whom the sisters decide shall be an eminent archer will never miss a mark, even though he has lost both his eyes.

By resigning to fate, we find our true place and purpose in the world … as painful as the journey towards destiny can be.

Chapter 25

Ellen didn’t know where to go, having left Penny’s hotel room. Her face felt scrubbed raw of its skin and utterly numb. She was reeling. How could Penny discount her years of experience just because it didn’t fit with her own perception? Penny had filed her and John away in a box labelled ‘the ideal couple’. Now it had been challenged, Penny didn’t have the urge nor, apparently, the emotional intelligence to re-categorise them. Or entertain the fact that she’d got it horribly wrong. Everyone had. John and Ellen by his design had become experts of concealment.

As she strode along the pavements of Kardamyli with no direction in mind, she attempted to process her feelings or find some understanding for Penny’s reaction and the fact that John, unbeknown to her, had interfered in that friendship. There was no way on the planet that she would ever dismiss Penny’s truth – certainly not one shared with such a candid and brutal an explanation as Ellen had delivered. Yet, as she thought the words, her mind travelled back to the beach yesterday. Was she a good enough friend to Penny? Had she truly supported her friend’s honesty and received it with the love she was asking of her? Her heart sank at the idea at her own betrayal of her oldest friend, adding to her extensive catalogue of guilt, but this wasn’t the same. Not even close. Though sorrow wasn’t a competition and woes mustn’t be compared.

She found herself moving to the end of the main street then along the path up the hillside to Aléxandros’ house, which used to belong to his parents. She hadn’t intended to come here but had blindly wandered the streets, searching for comfort, seeking out something to make her feel anything but what was hurting her heart. And yet she’d arrived at the place that currently housed the purveyor of her original scars. Nýsa was staying with Aléxandros, and this house was the last part of the village Ellen ought to visit. But her conditioning at John’s hands had made her far too accustomed to punishment and emotional flagellation, because why else would she put herself in such a precarious position?

Her hand hesitated above the doorbell, then caressed the brass knocker, which was in the shape of a hand. She really needed a hand to hold but wished she had gone to Dimitra’s shop instead. Her craft was the only part of her life untarnished by pain or hurt and had always been a blissful escape from all that was sullied. She still had to finish Athinà’s skirt for the final fitting tonight.

Before she could press the bell, the door opened and there he was, the person her soul longed for and called to across the years. Her bloodshot eyes sought out his and she fell into his arms.

‘Ellen.’ Aléxandros took her into his embrace without question, and then – after he folded his arms around her – he soothed her, rubbing her back and kissing the side of her head. After some time, he asked another question she couldn’t completely answer. ‘What is wrong, my love?’ There was so much unsaid, yet within his arms, she felt a connection to who she used to be, the woman she’d hoped to rediscover in this beautiful Greek village. But she’d been kidding herself. She was changed beyond recognition, yet Aléxandros saw her both as she used to be and simply as she was. Her heartbeat stilled, nudging away the rage she’d felt at Penny, but now it took on a different pulse: his unique rhythm.

‘What has happened?’ he asked again as Ellen burrowed her face into his chest.

‘I had an awful fight with Penny. It was dreadful, the worst, Aléxandros.’ She raised her head to look at him and found his sweet face. Her eyes traced his cheekbones, his stubble from yesterday that he hadn’t shaved away and his beautiful eyes that were bluer than grey in this morning light.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he proffered gently.

Ellen shook her head and reached for him, bringing her lips crashing towards his. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to talk. I want you.’

He pulled her into the hallway of his simple stone home and kicked the door shut as she pressed him against the wall, their desire for one another returning to where they’d left off last night.

‘We said we would talk,’ he said as he kissed her throat and she flung her head backwards, wanting to lose herself in every joyful sensation beneath his hands. The feelings floating through her body had been dormant since he last put her hands at her waist, wrapping around her back, tracing her breasts, summoning groans from her throat, guttural sounds of yearning and need. She had no cares about her imperfect lumps and bumps beneath his fingertips. It was her body, aged with time, and it was hers to offer to him. She needed to feel his love, longed for him, burned for him. Again, she fleetingly acknowledged her guilt in what she had done to this beautiful man, but instead she wanted to give herself to him because she chose to. It wasn’t being taken against her will, she needed to feel alive beneath his touch, and she took his hand and pressed it where she needed it, gasping with desire, frantic in her movements.

‘Please, Aléxandros,’ she shuddered between snatched breaths. ‘Please, I need you.’

She unbuttoned his jeans and pulled his shirt from his waistband, needing his skin against hers. She kissed every inch of him she had access to but still it wasn’t enough.

‘Ellen,’ he began, his desire as clear as the sun was high in the sky, as she traced her hands along his contours, drinking in every inch of the man she’d loved with all her body and soul for so long. ‘Please, not like this. Let me take you to my bed.’

She gathered herself as he took her hand and allowed him to lead her upstairs, then her senses realigned with the present and her mind raced with the reality of her day thus far. She’d survived John’s cruelty by thinking of Aléxandros. And he had no idea how he’d saved her even after she’d annihilated their love. Yet here he was inviting her into his world, to physically love her as he’d done countless times before, but he hadn’t met this Ellen properly, damaged and in so much pain. Yet beneath her layers, the girl she once was pushed through the fabric of her agony, which clothed her in an outfit she hadn’t sewed nor ever could.

As they reached his room, he sat down on the edge of the bed and brought her between his legs. She ran her hands through his thick dark hair, studying his face. He was so beautiful. This man whose image had sustained her darkest hours was hers for the taking. But her courage faltered and she couldn’t go through with it. Not while she was unable to be honest. The truth hurt once but lies hurt a thousand times over. The new, determined Ellen had to be authentic, because she’d done herself a grave disservice by pretending.

‘Where is your mother?’ she asked.

He laughed and pulled her yet closer, wrapping his arms around her waist.

‘In this moment, the one thing you ask me is about my mother?’

Ellen couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Sorry,’ she said, acknowledging her unusual query. ‘I don’t want to be interrupted.’

Aléxandros lay back on his elbows on the bedspread, inviting her to join him, and she was breathless at the thought. ‘She won’t be back for hours and in a couple of days leaves for Kalamata. We can have our own space if that’s what you want.’ His eyes raked up and down her body, but she had no care for her dishevelled, unbuttoned appearance, even with her old high-necked sports bra covering what she needed to remain hidden. For now. She wasn’t ready to let him see yet. ‘Ellen, tell me, what brought you here?’

‘I told you, I had a terrible disagreement with Penny,’ she said, not wishing to rake over that old ground. But was he asking about today or about before? Her conversation with Penny still stung; no, worse, it blistered. Penny’s reaction to her confession had been abhorrent. Blaming Ellen for not leaving, shaming her for remaining in an abusive space and then suggesting she and Alan could have come to the rescue if she’d really needed that much help. The only person who could rescue Ellen was herself. Aléxandros was not her saviour; only she could be that. But she could seek out a haven within his arms, even though she had hurt him horribly and yet still may crush him further if he requested her explanation as to why she never returned.

Oh, this was all such a terrible mess. He was offering sanctuary and she was tempted to accept it. But if she did, she’d be a hypocrite. ‘I … What brought me here today was that fight with Pen. But what brought me back to Kardamyli was a different reason. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder if I’d find you again, though it’s so much more than that. I don’t have the strength to talk about it. And I’m sorry, I know you want answers; you said so last night, and you’re right, but I cannot give you them today. Not right now. You deserve so much more. I should go.’ Ellen turned to move to the door, but he caught her hand.

‘Stop apologising, Ellen, and I don’t want you to leave.’ He laughed with such sadness it could almost have been a sob. ‘I cannot trust if you will ever come back. So, please, stay for this moment. Let me be your friend if nothing else.’ His eyes met hers with such pain that she felt it rebound around her heart. Like an echo of thunder high up in the mountains, it went around and around and she waited for it to dull, but it barely did. It continued like a whisper from the past and a prophecy of their unknown future.

She hung her head. ‘I know I hurt you, but I cannot explain myself today. I will tell you everything, but in this second, I have nothing left. I don’t expect your forgiveness, only your understanding, and I’m not sure I’m even worthy of that.’

He nodded seriously. ‘You have it. But we can’t hide forever about what happened all those years ago. You need to tell me why, and though this is not the moment, I will ask you again, my love. You can’t blame me for wanting to understand. But, for now, I am simply glad you are here. Come.’ He pushed himself to lie up on the bed, his head nestled within the plump feather pillows, and opened his arms to her. ‘Let me hold you. It is all I thought of since you left. The idea of having you in my arms was all I dreamed of, Ellen. Every day apart was like a never-ending nightmare. Please, come to me.’

No other invitation was required, and she climbed into his arms, bringing with her her pain at Penny’s reaction, her past agony within John’s reign of horror, followed by the all-consuming guilt she felt for ever having hurt this wonderful, kind man who had loved her so profoundly. Even with that said, the temptation of him was almost too great to resist, though she allowed him to take her into his strong embrace. It felt like home. She felt protected and safe; it was where she was meant to be. The weight of her trip to Greece thus far bore down, sending her quickly into unconsciousness and there she slept, never happier, for decades, basking in the exquisite slumber of real love. And she felt that love with every breath he inhaled and exhaled, stroking her arm, her face, and the kisses he bestowed on her head as she slipped into the deepest sleep. A touch laden with the purest love she’d craved for so long, and now that she had it, it was so overwhelming that her body needed to render her into senseless oblivion to truly appreciate it.

Ellen didn’t know how to permit his love to enter her damaged heart, not while he didn’t possess the truth. That was the final piece of their painful jigsaw and there was no choice but to be brave and slot it into place, hoping for the best while expecting the very worst.

Chapter 26

Ellen found herself in Aléxandros’ bed, but he wasn’t beside her. She sat up, rubbing her eyes without any idea how long she’d slumbered. Her empty stomach told her it was around lunchtime, and she needed to complete her commissions for Athinà and sweet little Delphí.

She moved to the mirror to check her appearance for the scale of dishevelment. On the dressing table in front of her was a photograph of Aléxandros and a beautiful woman in an ornate silver frame. Ellen couldn’t resist picking it up for a closer look. Although the image was in black and white, she could see the lady had flawless dark skin and large, bright twinkling eyes. There were flowers in her hair and it was obviously a wedding picture. A rise of pity swelled in her chest. Aléxandros had endured his own grief, sharing the same heartache that Ellen had at their being parted, and then as life evolved his poor wife had died so young, in her forties. From his expression in the memento between her hands, he had loved her dearly. But she knew better than to judge reality from appearances, despite how unavoidable it currently was in front of her.

She glanced at herself in the mirror and fluffed up her flattened hair. It was a dark rabbit hole to venture down, comparing herself to the ghost of Aléxandros’ wife, but in the moment it was impossible to avoid such a losing battle. Yet what she found in the looking glass surprised her. Her own skin was fair, though not enough to burn, and she saw a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She glowed from the Grecian sun’s kisses, though she suspected it wasn’t only the work of the sunshine that gave her such radiance. It was Aléxandros’ kisses too. They still had so many conversations to navigate, but for now, she needed to work and lose herself in her task by stitching and sewing away her thoughts, to reclaim her sanity and pause the pain for a few hours at least.

As she moved down the staircase, she heard voices coming from the kitchen and froze on a step in the middle. The unmistakable gruff, coarse voice of Nýsa was rattling off commands in Greek. The last person she wished to see was Aléxandros’ mother. But Ellen didn’t want to run out on him; she’d made that mistake once and wouldn’t repeat it. The old woman was busy cooking, if the smells permeating the air from behind the closed kitchen door were anything to go by. She sat on the stair and sent Aléxandros a message on her phone.

I don’t want to interrupt but I have to leave. I’m in the hallway – please don’t say I’m here. x

Pressing send, she waited, hoping his mobile was nearby. A muffled beep sounded, then the door opened, and he broke into a smile as he discovered her hugging her knees on the step like a teenager in trouble. That’s exactly how she felt inside but couldn’t admit why.

‘I need to work,’ Ellen said in hushed tones, not wishing to alert Nýsa to her presence. ‘There’s two young girls depending on me for the chance at love.’ She giggled, feeling illicit in their secret exchange. Aléxandros came to sit next to her and put his hand on her knee.

‘We mustn’t stand in the way of love. But why are we whispering?’ he asked as his large frame filled the step they were sharing.

‘Because, I don’t want to disturb you.’ She indicated the kitchen with her head, then leant in to brush her lips to his, partly from desire and partly because it would stop him speaking so they’d remain undiscovered. ‘I’ll see you later, maybe?’

She stood and he took her hand and kissed it, looking up at her with his beautiful kind eyes that were the colour of liquid mercury in the hallway light. ‘I’ll be in my office in the olive groves. Join me when you are finished with Eros’s work.’

‘Surely you mean Cupid,’ she suggested, deliberately teasing him.

‘Ellen, please.’ He clutched at his heart, pretending to be in pain at her jibe. ‘In all the good Greek things I have taught you, you must not confuse the gods of love. You never know when you may need his help.’ He smiled with such seduction that Ellen felt her resistance falter, urging her to take him upstairs again, but then she remembered who was in the next room. ‘I will be there until late, and I think it should be where we have the conversation about your leaving. I cannot go on without knowing why,’ he continued gently but firmly, then he smiled, and Ellen was grateful that he hadn’t quickened to anger at her avoidance of confession. ‘You recall where my olive groves are, Ellen mou?’

My Ellen.

It was like a million butterflies had been released into her heart when he said that, and she grinned more broadly than she thought her face capable of. He knew she’d remember the precise location of his family farm where they’d first made love. It felt like a lifetime ago, another Ellen ago. But along with the lingering lost love in his bedroom, the whisper of who she once was stepped forwards. She felt happy, though she wasn’t the fantasist she’d been accused of by John, who’d suggested such vicious, scurrilous lies to Penny. Ellen was cruelly aware she would have to explain why she left Kardamyli, which would break his heart all over again, possibly finitely. Why did love come with such a heavy caveat? She was out of options and needed every available drop of courage to deliver the real story. He stood and folded around her, kissing her with such passion, she feared she would topple over the wooden banister that pressed into her back.

‘It cannot be!’ She heard rasping from the end of the hallway and turned to see Nýsa shuffling along below her, peering up at the staircase, her eyes narrowed with what looked like fury and alarm. The tiny woman had always been so expressive with her frosty demeanour, and Ellen had hoped never to be on the receiving end of her gaze again. Yet here she was glaring up at her. Ellen’s heart began to thump, now for a different reason. ‘Is it really you? We thought we would never see you again,’ Nýsa said in such an accusatory tone that Ellen feared she could be turned to dust in an instant.

The diminutive old woman had aged considerably, and time had not been kind. She was stooped with such a dramatic C-shaped curve in her upper spine that she needed a cane to prop herself upright. Ellen felt a flash of pity and hoped she wasn’t in pain. But those beady dark eyes were unchanged. Ellen felt them bore into her like a pair of charcoal darts. She was dressed head to toe in her widow’s weeds as before. Nothing much had altered; Nýsa certainly hadn’t. But Ellen had.

‘Nýsa! And after so many years.’ Ellen attempted forced politeness, even if Nýsa didn’t deserve a moment of her kindness. But Nýsa was her elder and Ellen knew how seriously the Greeks cherished their aged family members. Nýsa inhaled through her nostrils, which made a whistling noise, as if Ellen’s presence scented the air with something distasteful, overshadowing the delicious cooking smells wafting around. Nýsa looked to Aléxandros as if to summon an explanation, but Ellen needed to be away from this hideous reunion; it was vastly uncomfortable.

As she quickly padded down to the bottom step, she nodded at Aléxandros, indicating she was leaving, but Nýsa interrupted their farewell. ‘Aléxandros, I feel a little light-headed. Could you fetch me some water, please, and take the pastítsio from the oven? Ellen, perhaps you could hold my arm while my dear son comes to my rescue.’ Dutifully, he went to the kitchen, oblivious that Nýsa had skilfully orchestrated a moment alone. Her bony fingers gripped at Ellen’s arm. Always wily, cunning and calculated. She straightened up as much as she could to look at Ellen and almost spat her words.

‘You see how my son obeys my every word? Let me be very clear and very quick. If you ever reveal what we agreed, I will never forgive you. And believe me, I will make sure my son never forgives you either. He may have fallen back in love from the way he looks at you, but I will not permit it. You know the lengths I am prepared to go. I have no hesitation in poisoning him against you.’ Her fingers pinched Ellen’s arm as she spoke, removing any fleeting joy from the suggestion about Aléxandros’ feelings. ‘End this affair or I will find a way to do it for you. Why would you cause the man you love immeasurable pain and break his life apart? You wouldn’t dare. You don’t have it in you.’

Ellen’s rage, which had subsided to a simmer following her argument with Penny and then diminished almost completely following her sleep in Aléxandros’ embrace, instantly began to boil. She wouldn’t permit anyone to tell her what to do ever again, not even this frail little old woman – whom she knew from past experience had a heart of pure steel. Ellen drew herself upright. She may be small, but she towered over this tiny, aged force.

‘You are the reason his heart will be broken, because of what you made me do,’ Ellen said with as much hushed severity as she could without completely losing her temper, prising Nýsa’s fingers one by one from her arm as she spoke. ‘But let me be very clear. I’m not some teenager you can bully anymore. If you don’t tell him, I will. He wants to know, he’s asked me several times and I cannot delay much more. I will give you twenty-four hours and, believe me, it will be you Aléxandros cannot forgive. Because I will tell him the truth, something you should acquaint yourself with. Quickly. Tell him by tomorrow night or I will.’

Her eyes glanced to the flickering candle on the console table beside a photograph of Aléxandros’ father, Thános, surrounded by depictions of saints as was their custom after someone had died. Ellen paused and looked at it with such sadness that it briefly dulled her rage. She shook her head before fixing Nýsa with a look that said more than she had time to convey.

Aléxandros reappeared, concern for his mother plain on his face; it made Ellen adore him all the more at how trusting and loving he was. She wished she could shield him, but he had to know what had really happened all those years ago from his mother’s lips, not hers. He would have so many questions, ones that Ellen didn’t possess answers for. It wasn’t her story to tell, though she had her own version. In the meantime, she needed to avoid any confrontation that would force her hand. And there was the rub; she couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be than in his arms again.

After attentively watching Nýsa sip at her water, Aléxandros stepped towards Ellen, placing his hands on her shoulders, and she felt his warmth spread within her, instantly stifling her anger.

‘Come for dinner tomorrow evening with us. It’s my mother’s last night in Kardamyli. I’d like you to be here,’ he said, taking Ellen’s hand in his. Behind him, Ellen saw Nýsa’s look of horror directed at her son’s back. The clock was now ticking and a series of events were in action that neither women could have foreseen. It was like a runaway train careering along the tracks towards devastation, and all Ellen could do was watch and bear witness. There wasn’t any way she could refuse his invitation. No. She couldn’t conceal anything anymore; that much she’d vowed to herself. She’d unwittingly backed herself into a corner and inadvertently brought forth a court of truth in Aléxandros’ home, and he had no idea what his innocent suggestion meant for them all. But most of all what it would change for him. Which was everything.

The truth would shatter his world, but while he kept pressing for it, there was no alternative for Ellen but to confess if his mother failed to. Both of the women in that hallway would break his heart in a way he couldn’t ever conceive, casting one of them as his executioner at his own request. Tomorrow night would seal their fate and determine once and for all whether or not they had a future together.

Chapter 27

There! The last stitch on Delphí’s skirt was completed and Ellen snipped the thread connecting it to the machine. She already felt in her bones the swell of confidence the girl would experience the moment she wore it. In fact, she saw what would happen, and Ellen was excited for Delphí because she would find the strength to shape her course towards somewhere unexpected. At least her vision for the girl wasn’t skewed or confused as it had been with Penny’s dress. Maybe she was too close to the subject to be objective.

‘Pop it on and let me see how it looks now,’ Ellen said, holding up the beautiful fabric to the light, and the young girl needed little encouragement. Her face illuminated as she saw her image in the full-length fitting-room mirror. Having cut the second skirt on the bias for Delphí as opposed to the straight cut for her taller friend, this one flattered Delphí’s curves and elongated her body. Ellen watched her take in the way the material hugged and draped, as if she couldn’t believe she looked so beautiful. And she did. Ellen stood behind her shoulder and moved the fastening at the waist around a little to sit on the side of her hip.

‘Perfect,’ she whispered in Delphí’s ear as Athinà danced around in the background like a leggy nymph in her already finished garment. She was in danger of snagging the delicate chiffon on a rack at this rate, but in contrast, Delphí dared not touch her own piece of clothing, aside from studiously examining the stitching along the hem, treating it with reverence and awe. ‘May it bring you luck and all you desire, Delphí.’ The young girl flushed. ‘And love, if that’s what you want.’ Ellen hoped it gave her a love of herself rather than focusing her attention on another to validate her. But she admitted she’d been the same when she was a teenager, confusing affection from a man to vapidly boost her confidence. Until she’d met Aléxandros.

Delphí turned to Ellen, her eyes watering in gratitude. ‘How can I ever thank you?’

‘Just promise me you will always be true to yourself and follow your dreams. That is how you can thank me.’

She broke into a huge smile. ‘I promise I will, Ellen. I long to sew like you too, and I love it so much, but I could never make something like this,’ she said bashfully.

‘I bet you could. It’s not that complicated – have you ever tried?’ Ellen asked, but Delphí shook her head.

‘I’m afraid of getting it wrong.’ She dropped her head, and Ellen’s heart panged with an urge to rescue this young woman who lacked any self-esteem – the opposite of her best friend, who was now twirling out on the street, showing off for anyone to see.

‘It’s better to fail having had a go rather than regret never knowing if you could have succeeded. I’m not in Greece for very long, but maybe you can help me in your spare time? I’d be happy to teach you some tricks if you like. I have a handful of dresses to make anyway before I leave.’

‘Oh.’ The girl was elated and seemed to grow another two inches in height. ‘I would love nothing more. My parents expect me to leave school this summer and then work in their restaurant. I already do at weekends, but I would love to be a seamstress like you. Perhaps even study it properly if I won a scholarship.’

Ellen took both her hands. ‘Then let me help you take a step towards your dreams.’

Ellen eventually managed to prise the skirt from Athinà and folded both items in their separate tissue-paper packages, tied with a piece of ribbon to match the colour of each skirt. The girls skipped off hand in hand and in her mind’s eye she saw their younger versions through the years. Then she viewed her and Penny’s friendship across the ages, which tugged forlornly at her heart.

The scraps of leftover fabric from the skirts were enough to make a little vest top for Théa. Ellen guessed at her measurements and made the navy into the front panel and the pink for the back, lining them with a light cream fabric that left an inch trim below the bottom hem. It was prudent not to let precious material go to waste, and the colour block of contrasting shades worked beautifully. A snapshot of a moment in time swam before her eyes, and Ellen knew Théa would find her true path with this simple item of clothing to help her on her way. She deserved it and it was a gift Ellen could happily bestow. Toiling away in Dimitra’s shop had given her the space to navigate her own complex journey forwards and a much-needed haven given the dramas swirling around.

As she returned to the machine, her joy at having crafted such beautiful clothes for the girls lost its shine as she considered her best friend again. They’d hardly visited any of the old sights she’d thought about seeing while back in London, and they’d been in Greece a week already. Now Ellen seemed to have set up a temporary sewing shop in the village to hide away from the conflict that surrounded her. It had begun as a one-off rescue mission for May Day but had become so much more, yet felt right amid the turmoil. She couldn’t deny the comfort Dimitra’s store brought her; it was her world to exist within, one she was in charge of and could command with elegance and grace – a glimpse of treasure to salvage from the wreckage of this holiday.

But meeting Aléxandros tonight in his olive groves simply had to be postponed. She’d insisted Nýsa tell him the truth by tomorrow night and Ellen didn’t want to surpass the old woman’s chance to do the right thing. It would allow the person who had set off a chain of terrible events decades ago to detonate the grenade of justice herself. Ellen had merely pulled the pin and handed it to Nýsa, urging her to do the right thing. If it was left to Ellen alone, she couldn’t stand the thought of being the one to deliver the news. None of this was fair, but whichever scenario played out, he would, either way, be utterly devastated. He’d inadvertently backed Ellen into a corner and she in turn had pushed Nýsa into a corner of her own. The only exit route for them all was the truth, with Aléxandros as the casualty.

She sighed and unpicked some stitches that weren’t perfectly even. Penny still hadn’t contacted her, and Ellen was determined not to be the first to reach out. Penny owed her an apology, but there weren’t enough words to smooth over the way she’d made Ellen feel. It felt like an ending, almost a death. The thought made her shudder as the hairs on her arms rose. She’d already offered Penny an olive branch, which had been accepted then twisted and set aflame like a marker to the gates of Hades. Recreating their girl’s trip had been a terrible mistake; it had only highlighted the distance between them, which now seemed impassable. She’d said everything wrong; every terrible phrase or cliché had found its way out of Penny’s mouth and scarred Ellen as much as her late husband had.

He wasn’t the sort. He’d never do those things. You should have left …

He was lovely.

It was astonishing, baffling, hateful, but most of all, Ellen felt completely betrayed. Because the one person she thought she trusted enough to say those words aloud to had not only disbelieved her but had sided with the man who’d inflicted untethered violence upon her. Ellen felt alone in her grief and isolated within her truth. Now that she knew who Penny really was, she needed to grieve for a best friend who appeared to be anything but.

‘How is your grandmother doing?’ Ellen asked when she reached the hotel and found Théa behind reception. She looked tired and Ellen noted the hours she worked must be exhausting.

‘She needs to have surgery, which means more days in the hospital. But she has heard through the grapevines that you are keeping her business going and for that she is very happy.’

Ellen smiled. ‘I’m not doing much – just took a commission for some local girls. I wish there was more I could do. I wondered if I may use the machines for my own work and I’d take any jobs that come up or finish anything your grandmother needs. She mentioned something about weddings … Please, just let me know. Oh, and I made this for you.’

Ellen held up the top and Théa gasped as she accepted the delicate two-tone piece. ‘It’s stunning, Ellen.’ She gulped away her words as she examined the stitches around the scoop neck, marvelling at the invisible seams at the sides. ‘Thank you, this is so unexpected. It’s been a while since I have anything new to wear. I am chained to this desk with no time for shopping. My family wouldn’t let me join my yiayiá to sew as I’d hoped.’ Théa looked so despondent that Ellen longed to reassure her in some way, though she didn’t wish to interfere in family dynamics, which she knew could be most complicated. But she could make a gentle suggestion. Two aspiring seamstresses in one village seemed like too good an opportunity to waste. Delphí and Théa both longed to carve out a different path for themselves, and maybe Ellen could nudge them onwards.

‘Then perhaps, if Dimitra is going to be out of action for a little longer, you could run the shop?’

Théa frantically shook her head. ‘I … I couldn’t. I don’t know enough, not like you or Yiayiá. And who would attend to the reception at the hotel?’

‘Maybe you could cut your hours,’ Ellen said casually, noticing a fire appear in Théa’s eyes at their discussion. Her instinct had been correct in using subtle persuasion. And she’d already seen the contents of Théa’s heart as she’d made the top for her. ‘How many times a day do people need you?’

Théa frowned and thought a while. ‘In the mornings and in the evenings, but not so much.’

‘You could leave a phone number for people to contact you and maybe you reopen the store and be there full-time. You’re only down the hill if you’re needed back here. And what about Stavros?’ Ellen recalled Théa’s husband who had helped them with their luggage on the first day, who was now nowhere to be seen. The blaring television from the back room was a constant, and goodness knows Théa was always out front, so someone was enjoying sports all day, contributing very little.

Théa harrumphed. ‘Stavros is busy watching basketball and drinking coffee.’ She raised her eyebrows, indicating Ellen should understand.

‘I think you can make it work – it’s up to you of course. And Delphí, in the village, is keen to learn. She could be your apprentice when she is free …’ Ellen left it there, hoping she’d planted enough seeds for Théa to make the change she’d already foreseen.

As she walked up the marble stairs to her room, her phone beeped with a message and she felt her nerves rise in the hope it was Penny, willing to make amends. Ellen wanted to see if their friendship had a future, one richer and more meaningful than their recent past. As she looked at her mobile, her blood ran even faster. It was Aléxandros asking if she would meet him at his office soon. How could they spend another few hours together without discussing the thirty-six-year-old elephant in the room? She was running out of time to deflect and if she skilfully avoided his queries tonight, it would all come out tomorrow because of her belligerent ultimatum to Nýsa.

She couldn’t undo what had transpired for any of them after she’d seen Nýsa at the airport that fateful day, and Aléxandros had left her with no choice but to confess if his mother reneged. He had no clue what he was asking to know, information that would change his entire life and hurt him terribly. She only hoped Nýsa took on the responsibility of delivering such crushing news. As terrifying as it was to have it taken out of her hands, Ellen couldn’t live with the guilt for another moment. She had to trust what had been laid out for her future.

Sending him a reply, she said there was a lot of work to do on her commissions, which wasn’t a lie, but she suggested they could perhaps meet in the village for a couple of hours. She may have lost her confidence along the way at John’s hands, but she was still a woman who possessed the skill and wiles of her gender. Ellen needed to find something to distract Aléxandros. It didn’t take much of a stretch to work out how to do that. She was determined to stick to an honest path from now on, no matter the cost to her heart. Her options were either sex or food to occupy his appetite, and she chose the latter.

Chapter 28

Forcing them both along memory lane may have seemed a masochistic move, but it was all Ellen could come up with for an evening with Aléxandros, enticing him into the village for dinner. Meeting in his olive grove would require her to unearth every ounce of self-control she’d ever possessed. She was still digesting the turmoil of her fight with Penny and having seen Nýsa again, and she wasn’t sure how much energy she had in reserve to resist him. Or deflect his quest for answers. Entering into anything more physical than they already had would be unfair until he knew why she’d left.

The taverna set slightly above the main port with beautiful views towards Meropi island was an ideal choice, and one they had previously visited several times. Painted white farmhouse-style chairs with tables to match covered in checked blue and white tablecloths broke up the pale colour scheme. Candles flickered beside little jars that boasted sprigs of fresh green rosemary, creating shadows that crept like fingers through the delicate herb fronds. The light segued from twilight into evening as the sky deepened. It was perfect Greek simplicity.

The restaurant was busy with patrons as Ellen took a seat to the sounds of clinking cutlery coupled with wafts of tempting smells that teased at her hunger. She nervously waited for Aléxandros at the waterfront table while she searched for someone to take her drink order, which they eventually did. She cradled her glass of chilled red wine, which was so contrary to everything she’d been taught, thinking it should be served warm. Here in Greece, usual rules didn’t apply. Even the usual source of comfort in the basket of freshly baked sourdough couldn’t lure her from tension. Her eyes traced the bottle containing golden olive oil that glowed like a shrine on a church altar in the tealight’s flame, highlighting every bubble suspended in the heavenly liquid. Her senses were sharp and on high alert as she sat upright in her chair.

Ellen saw him before he spotted her as he entered from the side of the taverna. He greeted friends and acquaintances with handshakes or slaps on the back, and the formal two kisses for wives and female companions. She’d forgotten just how much Kardamyli was a village in the truest sense; everyone knew everybody and, with that, all the ins and outs of their lives. She suddenly began to wonder what people had been told about her. Had information been disclosed about the end of their love affair? Although it happened years ago, small communities had long memories.

Watching Aléxandros unseen summoned her desire to life, dispelling any nerves for a moment as she admired his figure and effortless confidence stopping short of arrogance. He was a beautiful man who had once been hers and she’d let him go against her will. And there was the rub, the jarring spike of a thorn eternally embedded in her heart. Her whole journey had been a series of events that had corralled her into a position that wasn’t of her choosing nor making. Now, she was stuck in no-man’s land, somewhere between truth and deceit. She just had to wait until tomorrow night when, she hoped, honesty would set them all free. But Aléxandros would be hurt and that was the unavoidable consequence she bore again at the hands of Nýsa.

Aléxandros locked eyes with her across the distance and broke into a smile, one that lit up the whole terrace, yet Ellen saw only him as the other diners along with the hum of their chatter faded away. She stood, pushing her chair back with a loud scrape on the tiled floor, but paid no mind. As he reached her side, he cupped her elbow with his hand and kissed her on one cheek, their noses brushing as he went to press his lips to the other side of her face. They were so close and she caught his peppery yet sweet scent, which ignited a direct line to her appetite of a very different kind than one required in a taverna.

‘Kalispéra, Ellen mou. You look beautiful.’ He pulled back a little to stare at her as if he were drinking her in, but she couldn’t say a word, only look into his eyes and attempt to control her heart rate. His hand remained on her arm then travelled to her waist, looking at her with something that screamed longing. ‘Did you make this?’ He looked at what she was wearing and she glanced down at her light blue jumpsuit which was indeed one of her creations. The one she’d made back in London for this trip, and then absorbed the cascade of peculiar, colliding emotions in a vision that had made little sense at the time. She realised she’d already felt this moment; no wonder it had confused her before, but she’d known those sensations were significant, only she couldn’t interpret them. She couldn’t possibly have foreseen being with Aléxandros when she wore it.

She allowed him to hold her chair as she took a seat once more, watching his every move as he went to sit opposite. Smiling, Ellen was straining to keep reality firmly within her grasp, clinging desperately to the knowledge that this was nowhere near perfect. There were so many secrets, a thousand unsaid obstacles. Yet she was unable to resist the fantasy of being in Kardamyli together, imagining she’d never left and this was truly her life, erasing any bruises or cruelty as if they had never happened. Nothing else existed when she was with Aléxandros, and Ellen abandoned herself to the fairy tale of the moment. Then she glanced uneasily around, again considering what people knew about her. She caught furtive glances, observed whispered conversations, then wondered if she was inventing it. Guilt weighed her down so heavily that perhaps she was fabricating their being the centre of village gossip.

He pulled her attention back with his open palm in the middle of the table, inviting her hand into his. It felt right and she tried so hard to exist only within their touch, but it was too transitory a peace. Ellen returned to the present as the waiter appeared with a glass of red wine for Aléxandros, breaking their connection. He greeted Aléxandros like an old friend then listed the specials in Greek. Reeling off dishes at such speed, they were hard to catch aside from the odd familiar word.

‘Please, order for me,’ she said not wishing to delay with translation. ‘I eat anything and everything – I’m not as trim as I used to be.’ She laughed in self-deprecation. Aléxandros ordered then returned his attention to her.

‘I remember you used to say things about your body before. You said that it wasn’t this enough or that enough, but I already thought you were beautiful then.’ He took a slow sip of his wine. His eyes flickered to the candle then back to Ellen. ‘And my opinion has not changed. You are as beautiful to me as you always were. More so in fact.’

Ellen’s heart hammered in her chest – they hadn’t even had their starters yet. He didn’t know she was marked; her scars were well hidden so far in every sense.

‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t the happy couple!’ a voice exclaimed, diverting their focus once again away from one another.

‘Pen!’ Ellen said as she saw her friend, who looked tired, yet perfectly glossy to anyone who didn’t know her well. Not that Ellen thought she knew her well anymore. She was wearing the green dress again that Ellen had made for the Protomagiá celebrations and was preening and primping her way around the table. That special moment between them already felt like it never happened, but part of Ellen’s soul remained glad that her friend felt confident in that dress. Perhaps a little too much by the looks of her demeanour.

‘Aléxandros.’ Penny grinned, offering her cheek to him as he stood to greet her. ‘As handsome as you always were. Men always seem to age better than us ladies.’ She rested her hand on his chest as she spoke and looked at Ellen with a grin as if nothing had transpired between them.

‘You look well, Penny – exactly the same,’ he said, and Ellen felt a twinge of something akin to jealousy arrive at the fact that Penny had not only interrupted – having ignored her since their argument – but she now also appeared to be flirting with Aléxandros. She wasn’t sure how much more she could stand of this push-pull of her heart when this trip was supposed to be about healing, almost emancipation. Yet Penny had undone it with one sentence, dismissing her painful and private experience about her marriage.

He was lovely.

Penny’s words about John pinged throughout her mind, then body, and she felt her temper rise but pushed it down as much as she could. She’d never been the sort to be easily angered, always acquiescing for the sake of peace, not wishing to ever provoke John’s ire. Because she’d known what would happen. But now, in these uncharted waters, the time was past for tolerating the unacceptable. Too many confrontations had morphed into obstacles standing between her and happiness. Or resolution at least, and an attempt at closure. Penny was a roadblock that prevented Ellen from truly leaving her past behind, because her friend seemed unwilling to travel with her on that journey.

‘Are you dining alone?’ Aléxandros asked as Penny glanced to Ellen again, now with such a glassy, blank stare, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was medicated. How could she have no feelings about what Ellen had shared and, worse than that, not have reached out with a word of kindness, let alone an apology?

‘Yes, Aléxandros. I’m all alone,’ said Penny, batting her eyelashes and glancing sadly to the floor. She may as well take a sad lonely seat on a bench outside the Taj Mahal to make her point that she was flying solo.

‘Then you should join us,’ he said, looking to Ellen for agreement. But since his words were already floating off towards Meropi island, the invitation was in the air and Ellen was backed into a corner. Again. She smiled tightly, which was as close to a reluctant yes as she could locate. A waiter speedily set an extra place at Aléxandros’ gesture and Penny sat opposite Ellen, next to Aléxandros, with a look of triumph on her face, almost spiteful, smug. She didn’t know what game her so-called best friend was playing, but Ellen wanted to be as far away from this supper table as she could. This was definitely not a date. It was turning out to be hell on a blue and white tablecloth.

Her phone suddenly vibrated, saving the day, cutting through this awful friendship stand-off and, upon seeing it was Tristan calling, she excused herself from the table.

‘Mum?’ He sounded frantic and Ellen began to panic about the children, any consternation paling into insignificance.

‘Darling, what is it? Is everyone OK?’

‘Yes, but you should know that Bella’s gone. And Barney the dog. I went to feed them today, but they weren’t in the underpass. Their things weren’t there either. I think they’ve moved on. I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you as soon as I could. But, there’s something else.’ He took a deep breath, and though the pause was torture for Ellen, she waited until he spoke again. ‘Mum, I need to know … Who is Aléxandros?’

Chapter 29

Ellen’s heart pounded with the resonance of a bass drum as she processed the news about Bella and Barney and at the same time tried to work out how to respond to Tristan’s question. How on earth could he know anything about Aléxandros?

Having walked down to the harbour, she searched the water as if it could provide an answer, staring at the cypress trees on the hill, scanning the lights around the headland that twinkled as night crept across Kardamyli. A knot wove itself into the middle of her chest, and she stifled a sob, feeling so upset about Bella and Barney, though she wasn’t sure they were what she was trying not to cry about. From this vantage point, Bella had felt like one of the most genuine people in her life because Ellen had the freedom to be honest with her if she chose to. Bella was as close to a real friend that Ellen felt she’d had for a very long time; she’d anchored her to reality. It was something she’d been able to keep away from John, and their friendship had been an escape.

Bella had also hinted that she was a survivor; she certainly survived life on the streets, but there was a connection between them that transcended social norms. Bella leaving the underpass after eight years indicated the end of an era, heralded a chapter of change, or more accurately, it had prompted a can of worms that Tristan was now prising open, which could spell the end of something more significant.

‘Mum, did you hear me?’ he pressed.

‘Sorry, darling, I’m at dinner with Penny.’ Which wasn’t untrue, though she daren’t utter Aléxandros’ name, even if it already crested on the air between London and Greece. ‘It’s rather noisy and the sea is …’ She was babbling, finding excuses for why she hadn’t responded to his query.

‘Mum, tell me, did you have an affair with a man called Aléxandros?’ Tristan asked. The waver of vulnerability within his attempt to take charge of the scenario forced another crack into her already fractured heart. ‘Please, I need to know.’

‘Darling, no! No! I would never,’ she said, trying to convince him. Reliving her time with Aléxandros had merely been a daydream, a lucid fantasy to endure her terrible marriage. Though she admitted she was guilty of a betrayal of sorts because her heart had never belonged to John. But she forced an explanation. ‘Aléxandros was someone I met a long, long time ago, before your father. It was when Penny and I were last in Greece together, but we were silly teenagers. How … how do you even know about him?’ She tried to ask the question breezily, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She still couldn’t fathom what circumstances would force Aléxandros’ name from her son’s lips.

‘I went to your house to fry up some bacon for Barney. And I was being a typical estate agent, plumping cushions, checking every room and a Polaroid fell out from under your pillow. It was … a bit of a shock seeing you with another man. I know it’s clearly from a while ago, but on the back of the photograph, you’d written “Ellen and Aléxandros” with a heart drawn beside it. I thought that maybe … oh I don’t know what I thought.’

Ellen’s emotions swelled as she veered between protecting her son and her new vow to be truthful.

‘Tristan, I’m so sorry you doubted me. I was never unfaithful to your father, but yes, Aléxandros was someone I … I cared for a long time ago, before your dad.’ She tried to regulate her breathing, unable to believe how her secret world had collided with her son’s present – someone she had pledged to protect from the reality of her marriage, and that was a promise she would never break. But she had to be honest. ‘I want you to know that, quite unexpectedly, I’ve actually seen Aléxandros again, here in Kardamyli. It wasn’t planned, just one of those things … fate or …’ As she tailed off, she knew how flimsy it sounded. Ellen only hoped that Tristan would believe her. Someone surely had to at some point.

‘Right,’ he said with his usual practicality. Thankfully having avoided inheriting John’s temper, he hadn’t flown off the handle. Yet. ‘So, are you together now or something?’

The reluctance to entertain this conversation was palpable through the telephone for both of them, and the suspicion that had crept into his voice was a like a knife wound to an already open artery.

‘Oh Tristan, I don’t know what it is, old friends catching up, I suppose. I’m not sure. It was all a bit of a surprise. I hope you believe me, love,’ she said, beginning to wish she’d stuck to her dull routine in London, existing in the what-ifs and should-have-beens, silently bemoaning a lifetime of regret and grief. Pretending that she and everything was all right, though none of it was anything that resembled OK.

‘Mum, I want you to be happy. I can’t say I like it, but I don’t want you alone and sad. And if this reunion with … Aléxandros … turns into …’ He stopped and Ellen’s pulse was drumming so hard, she felt it in the concrete beneath her feet. ‘Sorry, I’m not sure I can do this. Tomorrow maybe. Love you.’

‘I love you too …’ But he’d hung up abruptly, missing her response. Ellen felt as wretched as the day she got on the plane back to England at eighteen years old, leaving Aléxandros and her hopes and dreams behind. Now, here in the village she loved, where the man who’d always had a claim to her heart still lived, she felt foolhardy entering into an adventure with Penny to recapture their youth. It highlighted just how complicated life became with age as opposed to the silliness of an innocent teenage escapade. She now had a son, two grandchildren, a home, a job. She was kidding herself too in trying to recreate her secret long-held fantasy that she and Aléxandros were meant to be together. They couldn’t be. Fate never worked out the way you hoped and it was a nonsense to wish it so.

Ellen sank to the ground and tried to calm her breathing. It felt like the start of a panic attack. She longed to travel back in time to when Penny had suggested coming here at book club just a couple of weeks ago and to tell her no immediately. Firmly and definitively, shutting it down. So much was shifting, pulled from her charge. And now dearest homeless Bella and her lovely dog Barney were gone. It was truly the end of a part of Ellen; all she’d come to know and rely upon had evaporated. Aside from her love for Tristan and the children, she wasn’t sure who she was or where she belonged anymore. And stupidly she’d thought that in Greece all would be revealed to solve her problems, pinning her hopes on a holiday to mend everything. Yet the opposite had happened. Dwelling somewhere between predictability and being utterly out of control, she was flailing, like jumping out of an aeroplane without a parachute, frantically flapping at the air, wishing for life-saving purchase, grappling with nothing but hope.

She didn’t wish to return to the dinner table, but she wasn’t willing to abandon Aléxandros. Or Penny, even though they were barely speaking. At least they had years to catch up on, countless exploits of Penny’s to reminisce about. She doubted Aléxandros would get a word in. She toyed with her phone in her hand as she sat on the concrete jetty that reached out to the sea like a stone limb. What she really wanted to do was retreat to her happy place: a sewing machine. It soothed her when everything around her felt too overwhelming.

‘Ellen.’ She heard Aléxandros call her name and turned her head to him. Her name in his voice sent comforting echoes around her like a cashmere blanket. ‘Is everything all right?’ The concern in his face tugged at her heart, making tears press forwards with such force she was no longer able to stymie them. He crouched down beside her.

‘I … It’s nothing really … only it isn’t …’ she started when she could catch a breath between sniffles. ‘A homeless woman and her dog that I used to leave food for every day for years have moved on. She was my friend. My son phoned to tell me. I didn’t get to say goodbye.’ As he wrapped his arms around her, she cried into his chest for Bella and for Barney, sending a prayer upwards to whomever listened to such incantations that they’d be guided towards safety with nothing but kindness to greet them. Ellen continued to weep for them along with her broken friendship with Penny and for the terrible fear she harboured at having to tell Aléxandros the real story should Nýsa refuse to be truthful tomorrow. Greece thus far was a mess, and she craved her fabrics and threads to transport her away from this darkness.

She untangled herself from Aléxandros, who handed her a cotton handkerchief from his pocket.

‘It is always sad when someone we care for leaves us.’ Ellen looked up at him sharply. Was he talking about his dead wife or about Ellen leaving? She couldn’t tell as she stared into his eyes, which had become greener in the evening light or coloured from an emotion she couldn’t read. Then he smiled and his hand found her cheek, travelling gently to the back of her neck. She longed to fold into him again, to feel nothing and everything all at once, but she had to bide her time until after dinner with Nýsa tomorrow.

‘I should go. I’m not great company and I ought to work—’ She broke off as he shook his head.

‘There is no need to explain. You have learnt of something sad. I understand. I can hear more of Penny’s news after all these years; she already has much to talk about. She hasn’t changed, from what I’ve seen so far!’ His laughter was like a balm for her soul. ‘Please, let me know how you are. Don’t be alone, Ellen. Because you’re not.’ His kindness brought her tears surging forth again, but she managed to swallow them away. She accepted his hand to help her up. ‘Ellen, I know you have heard bad news tonight, but I have to ask you something.’ She gazed up at the man to whom she would give the world; anything he wanted she would find for him if she didn’t already possess it. ‘Tomorrow, please, I need you to tell me why you left Kardamyli. It is a pain in my chest I cannot shift, and I’m unable to pretend any longer. Please, Ellen mou, it is time. You owe me the truth, and as painful as it may be to hear, I have to know.’

The Fates

The sisterhood of stitching was an unbreakable bond. A magical strand wove and united those who mastered the skill. The simplicity of the craft was a service to family and community, and ultimately to honour the chosen benefactor of their hearts.

But as in every pattern, an anomaly might occur. A dropped tack, a pull in a hem, or a snag could not only ruin the aesthetic but the very fabric of the garment. As a moth would gnaw away at silk, imperfections appear, sparking the slow, inevitable disintegration. Even the most skilled of seamstresses would be unable to mend or put back together what was already ruined.

Chapter 30

Having parted with Aléxandros, Ellen stopped at the hotel for her bolts of fabric, then headed down the hill to Dimitra’s. The lights glowed from the dressmaker’s shop as she neared. Through the window, she saw Delphí and Théa sitting at the machines in the back, both hunched over in concentration. The sight warmed her heart, delighted that a little encouragement had inspired them both to hone their skills and make a starting bid for their dreams. The bell tinkled as she entered and Delphí immediately blushed, looking guilty as if she’d been caught out, but Théa sprang up to greet her.

‘Ellen! You’re here – join us,’ she began excitedly and gave her a hug. Théa turned and gestured to her new sewing partner, who smiled shyly, but Ellen could see she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

‘I’d love to. I have a little work of my own to do,’ Ellen said, following Théa’s keen invitation. She removed the folds of material from her tote for her commission from home. The three women took their chairs in a neat row. The machines struck up their chorus of soothing hums filling the room like a gentle swarm of bees harvesting precious pollen. It was strange to have company as she sewed, but Ellen responded to the vibrations around her that seemed to create a special energy in the air, and she worked as fast as she ever had. Though, since arriving in Kardamyli, she’d had to work at speed. Perhaps all the turbulence of the trip so far was meant to be, like a puddle of silk having unravelled from its roll then spilling onto the floor before being gathered up and put right again.

Ellen donned her white dressmaker’s gloves for working with pale fabrics. One smudge of dirt and the whole thing would be ruined. This was one of the pieces for her local MP. The world of politics and London seemed like another universe from this little village. The pedal vibrated beneath her foot as she pressed down, lifted up a little, then downwards again in the dance of her work. She had the feeling of utter contentment – one she’d always located in her dressmaking when the reality of her world became suffocating. It felt right to be sewing in Kardamyli, like she was truly at home. That wasn’t about Aléxandros; it was the climate, the citrus-scented air, the two women sewing by her side … Something special had wrapped its arms around her heart and called her back for a reason.

The three of them spoke freely and merrily as they sewed. Occasionally Delphí asked for guidance or would proudly show her work. She appeared to be making a similar skirt to the one Ellen had already made for her and her friend Athinà. She was a fast learner and had clearly studied how the piece was constructed; she was doing a fine job. Théa’s skills were more advanced and it would be a terrible shame if she didn’t use them here, beneath the roof of her yiayiá’s store.

An idea began to crystallise, forcing Ellen to move to the mirror. As she held up the two side panels of a shift dress in a rich buttercream colour, she visualised the finished product and saw an image from the future of when it would be worn and where. Her dress would be seen by millions of people, photographed and splashed across the newspapers. The vision was as thrilling as the thought that initially drew her away from the machine. A plan was taking shape in her mind, bubbling furiously beneath the layers of her imagination. Though it was about Théa and Delphí first and foremost, it was also about herself. She smiled at her own reflection. Trying to squeeze yourself into a life that no longer fitted was a pointless endeavour if it was the wrong size, so change was necessary. However, it depended on several things colliding and landing in the perfect order, all of which were out of her hands.

Later, after leaving Dimitra’s, she returned to the hotel having devoured a small tub of orange ice cream as a reward for her impromptu tuition session. To Ellen’s surprise, her room door was ajar and she rushed in thinking the worst, but instead found Penny in the gloom, sitting on the end of her bed wringing her hands.

‘Pen, what are you doing in the dark?’ Ellen asked, closing the door behind her. She wanted to ask how she’d come to be in her apartment, but that wasn’t the most pressing query.

‘He loves you.’ Penny turned her head towards Ellen. Her expression was cold and still glassy. ‘It’s obvious. And I’m glad. If it’s really what you want.’ She didn’t seem glad at all. As Ellen switched on the other lamps, she saw Penny’s face was contorted with the effects of alcohol and possibly something else. Ellen suspected she was self-medicating. She was taken aback by her friend’s opening gambit, and unlatched the double terrace doors. It was suddenly hard to breathe; the atmosphere was stifling.

‘Penny, I don’t want to talk about Aléxandros. I want to talk about you and me.’

Penny set her hands behind her on the bedsheet and leant on them, draping herself for maximum nonchalant effect as if Ellen was in her room instead of the other way around. She clearly wasn’t embarking upon an apology tour.

‘What about us?’ Penny dismissed with a casual wave of her hand before leaning on it once more. ‘We had a disagreement. It doesn’t matter; it’s what friends do.’ How easy it was for her to dispense with something so painful that had cut Ellen to the core. ‘Anyway, I want to hear about your plans with Alex.’

Nobody had ever called Aléxandros that before and it prickled at Ellen’s skin.

‘Pen, the way you spoke to me about John made …’ It had made her feel so much, she couldn’t find the words. ‘You disbelieved what I told you, explained away something that wasn’t only profound; it was devastating. And the one person I’d hoped would feel sympathy or rally to my defence said every single thing you’re not supposed to say to people like me.’

‘People like you?! And what is that exactly, Ellen?’ The words were slurred but her tone was accusatory, sharp like a knife, cutting through what had been their bond. She found herself physically shrinking, desperately working out how to fix their friendship, before pulling herself up short. It wasn’t down to her to mend what was broken, nor would she allow anyone she cared for to chide her for no reason. Truth was now her armour and she mentally slipped it around her body. The inner strength she’d only become acquainted with following John’s death began to weave a band of steel around her spine and she stood up straighter, revelling in the might of self-belief.

‘I’ll tell you who people like me are. I am a wife. I am a mother. And I am a survivor.’ With every sentence, she walked a step towards Penny, who remained lounging on the bed. As she stood in front of her oldest friend, she glared at her, but Penny couldn’t hold her gaze and glanced to the open doors instead. Ellen wasn’t deterred and continued to speak to Penny’s perfectly sculpted profile. ‘I’m a survivor of a cruelty you couldn’t even imagine, a survivor of being gaslit every single day, hurt so badly physically and emotionally, doubting myself, questioning my own sanity, constantly criticised, pulled apart until I’d forgotten who I was. But I am very, very clear about who I am now. And about who I was married to. You appear to be confused about that, so let me help you understand once and for all.’

The beginnings of tears stung her eyes, painfully pricking at her vision, but she ordered them to subside, garnering resolve to not only encourage her friend to hear her, but also to allow her voice which had been trapped for so long to be truly liberated. ‘John inflicted unfathomable abuse. No, he wasn’t the man you thought you knew, but he was the one I lived with – the husband who lay in my bed and forced himself upon me. Someone I trusted and once thought I loved, who masterfully unravelled every ounce of self-worth I’d ever possessed. He squashed my spirit and remoulded me into a ghost of who I used to be, but I managed to pretend so nobody would notice. And you didn’t. I used to think it was my fault, that I’d allowed it to happen or done something so terrible to deserve it. But believe me, nobody ever deserves what I went through. And do you know what the saddest thing about it all is?’ Ellen didn’t wait for an answer, but Penny almost imperceptibly shook her head, stunned into silent shock. ‘That you, not only as a woman but also as my best friend, have let me down more than he ever did. You doubted me and were manipulated by his lies, the master puppeteer of everything. And I’m glad he is dead! Be shocked, be appalled – I really don’t care. Because you will never comprehend how much I wanted to escape him, but I couldn’t until the moment he died. I am so very, very grateful he is gone. I’m different, and I’m finding myself for the first time in forever.’

Penny scoffed in bewilderment and looked up at Ellen. ‘You certainly are different. All this swooping in and rescuing this silly Greek village, making dresses for strangers – it’s like you’re on some kind of ridiculous quest, when you’ve essentially ignored me since we got here, and taken up with Alex. And also hardly spoken to Tristan, who called me by the way to—’

‘You didn’t tell him about John, did you?’ Ellen interrupted, suddenly frantic at the damage her friend had the power to reap.

‘Of course not! But he’s worried about you and somehow knows about Alex. I was very vague. Your little love affair is a secret. For now.’

‘Is that a threat?’ Ellen asked, her eyes narrowing at what her friend was suggesting. ‘And it’s not Alex; his name is Aléxandros.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, stop being so over the top. All your John stuff, your Greek lover and now your son in the mix, I don’t know why I’m embroiled in all your family nonsense.’

Ellen could no longer contain herself. She’d been so taken aback by Penny’s reaction at her first confession and never expected to have to prove her truth, but there was only one way to.

‘My family nonsense?!’ She pulled up her top to display the four-pronged dots of a scar she bore on her waist where John had stabbed her with a fork over a seemingly regular Sunday breakfast. Though it had been a surface wound, it had stuck fast in her side and she’d been forced into the bathroom to pull it from her own flesh. ‘Is this nonsense?’ She turned around to show a mottled scar on her lower back where he had plunged a lit taper candle into her body. The pink, puckered circle beside her spine with a teardrop shape beneath as if the wound were weeping, marked eternally by the scalding wax that had seared and branded her. She’d been forced to sleep on her side for weeks. Then finally she showed the line that marked the entry to her heart and had disfigured the edge of her breast. Her skin would be tattooed forever by violence. Every time she caught her reflection, the reminder of him was there. She didn’t care about exposing her body to make the point as her mind replayed the awful moment of escalation that made her fear for her life.

‘You will not go out looking like that. You’re disgusting, like some dried-up old whore touting for business. Go and get changed this instant. And take those heels off right now,’ John commanded.

‘But, but I made this.’ Ellen looked down at her modest, beautifully crafted black dress under her jacket in a silk blend. Her hands brushed her hips, knowing the dress she’d expertly cut was perfect. Obediently, she stepped out of her kitten-heeled mules and let them tip onto their sides, exposing their perfect leather soles. The shoes were already scarred by this second in time, invisibly tarnished within their pristine beauty. Perhaps John was right. Maybe she was overdressed for her school reunion. But Penny had been to Harrods and bought a special designer outfit, and Ellen wanted to make a splash with her old classmates since she hadn’t been allowed to see any of them for years.

She dared to meet John’s eye and saw the familiar flash of anger and immediately began to tremble.

‘Take off that jacket,’ he snarled, and she dutifully obeyed, placing it neatly on the work surface. Then he picked up his whisky with a dash of ginger that she loyally made for him each night in his favourite crystal highball tumbler. He drank the remains of the amber liquid before clenching it in his fist, then raised his hand in the air and took aim. Ellen’s eyes widened and she ducked at the last minute as the sound of shattering pierced her ears. She cowered, then saw the dent in the tiles on the wall behind her and knew it was another piece of evidence in their home she would have to discreetly fix. Large chunks of crystal lay across the hob and on the floor. She daren’t move. The set of glasses had been a wedding gift. There were now only two left of the six. Barefoot, having obeyed his order, Ellen could cut herself if she took one single step. She was trapped. John walked towards her. The slow crunch of glass beneath his shoes echoed in the kitchen. Then, he grabbed her by the throat, seething and panting in his temper.

‘Who do you think you are? Making your stupid clothes, thinking you’re the big I am because you get fatuous notes from the idiot tarts you sew for.’ He laughed with an unkindness Ellen hadn’t thought possible. ‘I read them all, every pitiful one. But let me tell you the truth that none of those letters say. You are nothing. Nobody.’ His hand reached for a pointed shard of crystal from the counter that looked like an arrow. He held it against her neck beside his other hand, which still gripped her, tightening like a flesh-and-bone garotte. Ellen felt her knees cave and her bladder weaken. This is how it ends, she thought. This is how it really ends.

She heard herself whimper aloud and began to pray in her head as her neck stung beneath the blade.

‘You are NOT going tonight. You will sit in our bedroom and think about what you’ve done, you stupid, useless, ugly woman,’ he spat. He lowered the point of crystal towards her chest. ‘Nobody else would ever want you. Do you understand me? You are mine.’ His hand left her throat and grabbed at a clump of her hair, pulling her closer. She felt revulsion at the scent of sour whisky that blasted across her face but knew she couldn’t show it. John pressed the tip of the glass against her heart and pushed harder, looking her in the eye as if the idea of her pain and fear fascinated him. She didn’t know what happened next apart from the blinding white light of excruciating agony, clutching at her skin, sinking to the floor as the pale kitchen tiles speckled with red. The blood that soaked through her beautiful dress resembled the colour of scarlet satin.

He stepped over her and soon she heard his calm tones on the telephone, charming Penny, apologising on Ellen’s behalf with a convincing lie about why she couldn’t attend tonight. He was so persuasive, and she heard him chuckle at something Penny said before suggesting arranging a lunch. Darts of pain streaked across her bleeding, damaged skin.

‘And you had the audacity to say, “he was lovely”,’ Ellen said, replacing her clothing, re-covering her scar and her dignity, daring her friend to challenge her. ‘I want you to leave, Penny. Get out.’

Penny sprang unsteadily to her feet, water brimming in her large chestnut eyes.

‘Ellen.’ She began to cry. Her perfect makeup was now streaked with tracks of tears that cascaded in a continuous stream. ‘I had no idea. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry he did … that he would ever …’ Disbelief had robbed her of words, but Penny had stolen their friendship by siding with Ellen’s abuser.

‘Leave,’ Ellen said with such strength that Penny took a wobbly step backwards. ‘I won’t justify what I’ve been through to make you care enough about me. Go!’

Penny reluctantly moved to leave, hovering beside the door before deciding it was best she wasn’t there anymore. Ellen lay down on the bed and broke apart for all she’d lost, when she’d hoped for so much more. She’d returned to Greece to find herself, but at this moment, she was merely a husk, hurt and dismantled by those she’d loved and trusted. The crushing realisation descended; she was too old and too marred by life to start again. Aléxandros hadn’t seen her scars that made her even uglier, deformed. He’d be repulsed. John was right. Who would ever want her?

Chapter 31

Throughout the night, Ellen could hardly withstand her own tossing and turning. During the scant moments when a brief sleep arrived, she’d wake with a start, so hot and sweaty that air conditioning was urgently needed. Then it became too cold and she’d had to get up again to switch it off. And repeat … From the darkness, the beginnings of what would become today peeked through the curtains as the sky transformed into dawn.

As she dressed, she knew she couldn’t protect Tristan forever, though he didn’t deserve to ever have his paternal memories marred. That was the remaining morsel of truth that Ellen would take to her grave, forever shielding her son from the reality of the husband his father really was. But it was too early in the morning to call Tristan and too late to justify why she deserved a chance at love.

And yet that was also a tangled mess because of dinner at Aléxandros’ house tonight. If either she or Nýsa told the truth, there would be nothing left to reveal. The idea was freeing in principle, and though Ellen didn’t want to hurt him, it was now inescapable. Whichever way the truth arrived, Aléxandros’ world would implode, and she was partly responsible by having pushed Nýsa to confess. He was already pressing for answers, and the saying ‘be careful what you wish for’ couldn’t be more apt. He’d also inferred that the only way for them to continue was to be honest, and with that he needed the reason why she’d disappeared. There was no way forward without clarity; however, she felt dreadful in anticipation of the secret he would uncover. She did owe him an explanation, but Aléxandros had unwittingly invited a world of greater pain into his heart by needing the truth. She only hoped that Nýsa told him in private before she arrived for dinner. She didn’t wish to be party to a conversation that would cause so much agony.

Downstairs she found a note propped against a plant on the hotel reception desk, saying:

I am at Dimitra’s dress shop working for this morning. Please call if you need urgent attention, or ring the bell many, many times and Stavros will, I hope, help you.

Best wishes,

Théa

Her phone number followed the message and Ellen grinned as she lifted it to read again. She almost did a happy dance on the spot, thrilled that Théa was being bold and following her heart. The events that conspired to lead her to her dream were unfortunate since Dimitra was still in hospital, but every lesson in life seemed fated to play out that way. The tug and release of love and pain mirrored the rise and fall of each breath unconsciously taken; necessary to feed life, fuel true joy and garner the strength to navigate the storms life cast upon us all. This morning felt like a rebirth of sorts. The light seemed sharper, and Ellen had access to every emotion, ones she’d stifled across the decades. Greece hadn’t changed overnight, but Ellen fundamentally had.

In the dress shop, there was a tangible excitement in the air as Ellen arrived. The door was open, allowing the light breeze to whirl around the fabrics, scattering stray threads into corners then brushing them into the centre of the floor like multicoloured tumbleweeds. There was an obvious lightness to Théa’s demeanour as she sprung up from her seat to greet Ellen with customary gusto, but she was glowing with something more than her usual energy.

‘Ellen! But this is no vacation. You are here again to work. And you seem tired. I get you coffee.’ She went to the machine and poured a thick dose of rocket fuel into a mug and handed it to Ellen.

‘I’m fine, just a bit of friendship drama, so I’m running away to sew!’ Ellen took a sip of scalding liquid, which had the consistency of treacle, but the effect was instant and she felt the caffeine ignite her body. Settling at the machine, she pulled on her white gloves and returned to the final details of the cream dress for her commission. The last job would be to adjust the dressmaker’s mannequin in the corner and complete the remaining seams by hand. She took an immense pride in her skill and in the fact that nobody could ever tell the difference between mechanical and human stitches.

‘If you wish to talk about it, I do understand some of the difficulties. It is about your friend, Penny, yes? You are both very different, I think, like Delphí and Athinà,’ Théa said, focusing on her own work.

Ellen laughed. ‘Very different, yes, just like those two girls. Penny and I have known each other since we were children, more than forty years. We were bridesmaids at each other’s weddings, she’s godmother to my son, but I’m not sure we really know each other anymore.’

Théa hummed agreement in tune with her machine. ‘My yiayiá is a student of the philosophers and always said to me when I had troubles with a girl at my school: “A friend to all is a friend to none.” Forgive me, but perhaps Penny is that person and I know that you are not. Sometimes those we think are the closest to us are actually the nemesis.’

It was astonishing that a virtual stranger had seen through the flimsy veil of her relationship with Penny, when before Greece, Ellen had thought she could depend upon her. But was all lost? She wished it wasn’t, but how could they go back to how they were? It would take a considerable apology to find a place anywhere close to where Ellen could contemplate re-entering their friendship. She only hoped that the urge to fix everything didn’t cloud her thoughts when it came to Penny. It was a hangover from what she’d done to Aléxandros, conspiring in a terrible secret and then promptly exiting his life. From that moment onwards, she’d harboured an innate desire to mend every problem so she’d never be at fault again. Which she managed to do everywhere aside from her marriage – that had defied explanation. Now, Ellen was proud of her resilience and strength and only hoped she could utilise it. But whatever may shape-shift and change, all she could do was create this dress and believe she could eventually repair the damage to her heart.

‘Did I offend you?’ Théa asked, breaking through Ellen’s thoughts. ‘About your friend?’

‘No, not at all. You’re right,’ Ellen said, smiling sadly, grateful for Théa’s wisdom and the accuracy of her assessment. ‘But I wonder if for the sake of all those years, with so much time invested, I should give up just like that? Yes, she has hurt me, more than I care to explain, but we’ve known each other for so long, there must be something worth recovering.’

Théa raised her eyebrows as she snipped a bobbin thread.

‘Nobody can decide that but you. If it’s important enough, then yes, it’s worth it. We can’t always control what our hearts want. I have Stavros, after all.’ She laughed raucously.

Ellen leant over and looked at the beautiful zig-zag hem that Théa had completed. She then demonstrated a hand-stitched French knot that could be used for decorative effect as an extra flourish or for the centre of hand-sewn flowers. She encouraged Théa to practise, then drew some designs for a set of simple dresses that were easy to make and would suffice for bridesmaids’ outfits, should Théa continue with her endeavours. As they were huddled together, Théa’s head suddenly turned as the clearing of a throat caught her attention. Ellen looked towards the sound a moment after.

‘Your customer, I believe.’ Théa’s eyes glinted with mischief. Ellen felt her cheeks heat at the sight of Aléxandros in the dress shop. The way he filled the room took Ellen by surprise, as if she was seeing him for the first time. She only wished she were, so she could prevent her mistakes.

‘Kaliméra,’ he said as he moved to her and kissed each cheek, before pushing a tendril of her hair back from her face. He looked at her with such a familiar affection that Ellen didn’t know how to respond; it confused her and tempted her all at once. He looked down at her hands and grinned, his face illuminating, and she realised he was looking at her gloves. ‘I was heading to church, but I wanted to see you first. Apparently, you are now a butler, Ellen mou.’

There it was again, within his jest the fact he considered her to be his. It was so painful because of what was yet to come when he would learn why she left. She also needed to find a moment to be honest about her marriage so he could understand her more, absorb the gaps between the chapters of their story – she didn’t want to hide anything again. There wasn’t enough time before dinner to explain that, nor was it something she could simply launch into. He also had his own journey of grief to share when the time was right. Maybe that was why he was going to the church: to pray for his dead wife. And yet, she wanted him like she needed to inhale and exhale, like the sun needed the moon or as the sea sought out the shore; he was her heartbeat. The sense of foreboding was like a pending storm, threatening to break, thickening the air without relief until it was an effort to catch a breath.

‘You do not speak, Ellen.’ He traced her face with his beautiful eyes, seeking out answers she couldn’t provide. ‘I’m interrupting your work. I only wanted to see how you were after the news about your friend and her dog.’ His kindness was astonishing. Who could she pray to that would grant her pleas and erase every decision she’d ever made that kept her apart from this man? He was so generous in spirit, and loved her as she loved him. Holding the moment, she felt his feelings envelop her body in an invisible embrace, radiating into each corner of the room like the first sunbeam to break through a dark, cloudy day.

When Nýsa or Ellen explained what happened all those years ago, it would surely be the last time he’d look at her like this. Once you dig up the past, it can never be buried again. As she gazed at him, she tried to memorise every feature and each line on his face. Her mind and heart took a thousand snapshots, committing them to muscle memory to call upon during the lonely hours when she’d weep for what she’d lost the second time. Though he said she was his and she thought of him as hers, until there were no more secrets that could never be true. She rallied and gathered herself.

‘I’m OK. I need to speak with my son again, and Penny …’ She tried to stop the choke of emotion, but the wounds that she’d bared to her friend to prove she wasn’t lying about John had been her most vulnerable moment, forcing the terrible evidence of abuse into their glorious Greek trip. Her scars had not only sullied their vacation but had marred their friendship. ‘I always get emotional when I work,’ she said, which was true, but her swell of feeling was about so much more. He ran his hands up and down her arms to soothe her. The comfort of his gesture she felt everywhere, sparking her desire into life, but still she needed to press it backwards. ‘I will see you tonight. What time do you want me?’ she asked as Aléxandros dropped his hands from her shoulders, then lifted the backs of his fingers to follow the contour of her high cheekbone on one side of her face.

‘I always want you.’ He smiled then looked embarrassed, and Ellen loved him more for his candour. She felt the same but wouldn’t abandon herself to him until he knew Nýsa’s dreadful story. ‘After dinner, I want us to talk about what happened. We can’t put it off again or avoid this unspoken burden that lives between us. I need the truth about the moment that changed my life. There is no future without it and you understand that I have to know.’

Ellen nodded, agreeing with a silent gulp.

‘Come at seven o’clock. My mother is cooking.’

Probably cyanide-laced briám, Ellen thought as she conjured up the image of the old woman drizzling roasted vegetables with poisonous liquid so her treachery could be buried forever. Whatever dish was served up this evening, Ellen would bravely swallow every mouthful. Revenge was apparently best served cold, but humble pie could be consumed at any temperature. Ellen had set this night in motion and she needed to be the strong woman she now knew herself to be, and face Aléxandros’ mother, who had inadvertently destroyed her life. It would soon be time to break bread with her enemy.

The Fates

It was impossible to deny the joy the three sisters took in the melancholy of mortals. Collectively they moved as one, like a three-headed predator, stealthily travelling through the shadows of time. Though resurrection wasn’t unattainable, redemption took such considerable effort that most humans were unable to ever locate it.

Misery fuelled the appetites of the gods and, though there was a sadness in the choices the three women made for some of their charges, they were incapable of feeling true regret. Many didn’t deserve their fate, had done little to warrant their long walk along a cruel, unrelenting path, but such were the whims of mythical deity.

Yet their grace to reward and be merciful – should favour occasionally be won – outweighed the torment they inflicted.

Chapter 32

Ellen put the final touches to her appearance. She was ready too early for dinner but wasn’t ready for tonight at all. The fact that Penny was in the hotel room next door jarred – so close and yet so very far away from where they used to be. She had six days left to endure with her in Greece and then … she had absolutely no idea.

A knock at the door drew her to her feet. Nobody was there, but in the empty hallway sat two small branches of olive and orange blossom. The offer suggested a truce, symbols denoting surrender and purity, yet at the same time it asked a question that required forgiveness. Their beauty was as weighted as the pollen that forced the delicate pale flower heads to dip their gaze. Ellen filled a tall glass with water and displayed the adorned twigs on her dressing table, leaving them there for another day. Perhaps this trip was meant to be a gateway to be rid of what no longer served her, as opposed to all the hopes she’d attached to it. Whichever it was, there was no point working out how to avoid her trials. She applied a final slick of clear lip gloss and left to embrace what the night held.

Before her dinner assignation, she decided to stop for a drink. A bar at the top of the hill drew her up the incline with the tempting sounds of piano jazz. Inside, the rich mahogany wood of the bar gleamed, reflecting the setting embers of the sun through the open doors. She ordered a small glass of local red wine and, from one of the patio tables, watched Kardamyli go by as she slowly sipped her drink. There had been a brief rain shower that had heightened the fragrance of the orange tree flowers as they dried off in the fading sunshine, hanging heavier than ever from their branches or clustered on the ground, creating a pale carpet of petals. Overhead trailed thick vines that knitted together, creating a leafy roof over the bar terrace, intertwined with an early blooming jasmine, which sent subtle perfume into the May air.

She finished her wine, steadying her rising nerves as a waft of earth tinged with the bitter tang of mountain herbs travelled on the breeze from the hills. Ellen felt a strange calm descend as if a sprite had whispered on the wind to coax away her worries.

She paid for her drink along with a bottle of the fruity red, not wishing to be a guest who turned up empty-handed. With a fortifying breath, she began the walk to Aléxandros’ house. She thought it peculiar to willingly head to a place that had the power to change her world as she knew it. Perhaps it was already determined by some higher force and there was little she could do to sway what was written. As she journeyed towards his home, she found her strength, and her body began to fizz. Tonight the last secret would be released to those who sorely deserved the truth.

With a confident knock on the door, Ellen waited, her heartbeat drumming loudly but steadily. Eventually the door opened and Ellen was taken aback to find Nýsa there.

‘Kalispéra,’ Ellen said with a tight smile, hating to be wrong-footed, before crossing the threshold. She scrutinised Nýsa’s face for a clue, but only found her eyes were wider than usual, propping up her hooded lids.

‘You dare to wish me a good evening in my language, yet I cannot say you are welcome,’ Nýsa said, wheezing as she clutched at the doorframe to hold herself upright. ‘My son is—’

‘Your son invited me as his guest. I assume you’ve told him what you made me do at the airport? He has demanded to know several times,’ Ellen interrupted boldly, unable to find a single endearing quality about this woman.

‘I have not. I couldn’t … find the words,’ Nýsa replied defiantly. ‘Do not tell him. It would break his heart. Why would you wish to hurt someone you loved in this way?’

‘Mamá?’ Aléxandros called his mother before Ellen could respond to Nýsa. Then he appeared. ‘Ellen, come in.’ She couldn’t help but smile as she saw him and proffered the bottle of wine. ‘You didn’t need to bring anything. You alone are more than enough.’

Nýsa shuffled off with a tut and a filthy glare as Ellen accepted a kiss from Aléxandros. She savoured the feel of his lips, the taste of his skin, in case it was their last. ‘My mother is very tense. It would have been my father’s birthday today,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I am glad you are here to share it with us.’ Ellen’s heart dropped through the floor as she glanced to his father’s picture on the hallway console, and she felt even worse about the ultimatum she’d put into play on this day of all days. She wished he’d mentioned it to her earlier; she would have found a way to prevent what she’d started. But he’d begged her for answers and there wasn’t a way to postpone again. It now explained why he was heading for church when he popped into the shop this afternoon

Her legs felt wobbly as she entered the large kitchen, engulfed by the smell of a hearty meat dish cooking on the farmhouse-style range. Cinnamon and the scent of onions swirled around her, depositing sweetness in the sour flavour of the evening. Nýsa was tending to the large saucepan on the hob, shaking it occasionally rather than stirring. Ellen’s senses were on high alert and she could hear the staccato pop of bubbles escaping from a simmering sauce.

‘My mother has made us stifádo. Beef stew was my father’s favourite. Tonight, we honour him together,’ said Aléxandros, pouring Ellen a generous glass of wine. A spoon clattered to the floor from Nýsa’s grasp and her son dutifully rushed to retrieve it. He rinsed it under the tap before drying it with some kitchen paper. Nýsa held Ellen’s gaze darkly, taking the spoon then turning her back once more. This was unbearable. ‘Yiá mas.’ Aléxandros raised his glass to Ellen’s.

‘To your father,’ Ellen said, taking a large gulp and feeling horribly uncomfortable, but her toast was deliberate.

‘And to us,’ added Aléxandros as Nýsa began to cough at the stove, the expert of deflection. Ellen set her glass on the table. She couldn’t trust her grip not to falter as Nýsa’s had. Aléxandros held out a chair at the round wooden dining table in the corner of the kitchen and Ellen was grateful to be off her shaky legs. Setting down a platter piled with toasted bread, which was drizzled with golden olive oil and dusted with green flecks of oregano, he then added an oversized dish of the decanted stew beside his chair before fetching three bowls. There was enough stifádo to feed the whole village. Ellen fiddled with her napkin, which she’d draped over her lap, automatically examining the stitches at the hem and approving of the beautifully crafted linen in a pale lilac, matching the tablecloth.

Nýsa slowly made her way to sit, huffing with the effort, but Ellen was suspicious of her laboured performance. Aléxandros ladled the portions, handing out bowls in turn. A heady smell from the slow-cooked beef urged Ellen to eat, but she couldn’t take a mouthful. She prodded at the little white onions nestled in the stew, poking them beneath the surface, then allowing them to bob up again.

‘Are you not hungry, Ellen mou?’ asked Aléxandros.

‘Oh, I am, it’s just that—’ She broke off and looked to Nýsa, whose spoon was suspended in mid-air towards to her open mouth. Rich tomato sauce dripped back into her bowl with plops that seemed to echo in the cavernous kitchen. ‘Nýsa, didn’t you mention you had something to tell Aléxandros?’ He turned his head to look at his mother with a quizzical expression, though she continued to stare at Ellen, whose hands had started to tremble at the awful pain the man she loved was about to feel.

‘Mamá?’ Aléxandros asked, and the silence stretched as their party of three all seemed to hold a collective breath. ‘I think I know what’s going on,’ Aléxandros said as he sat back in his chair. Both Ellen and Nýsa whipped their heads to him.

‘You do?’ Ellen said, feeling her nerves travel to her fingers, making them shake even more, so she held them tightly in her lap.

‘Yes.’ Aléxandros took a sip of his wine. ‘The most important women in my life are trying to protect me from the sadness of today, but it is my role to protect you both. You are all I have left.’ Ellen felt his words in the pit of her stomach, like a hot knife slicing through a block of butter. She reached for his hand. He had to know; this was desperately unfair.

‘Aléxandros, know that you mean everything to me. But I have to explain why I left Kardamyli and didn’t come back. You’ve mentioned it so many times,’ Ellen began, her voice betraying her nerves as it wavered. From the corner of her eye she saw Nýsa rest her spoon of stew back into the bowl.

‘Ellen, is this really the time?’ he said, glancing briefly to his mother then nervously adjusting his glass by its stem. ‘I suggested we speak after dinner. Alone.’

‘I’m afraid it’s precisely the time. Because I saw something, or rather people, at the airport who made me vow never to return. I saw with your mother someone who I thought was … I mean it definitely was because … Sorry, I’m not being very clear.’

‘Ellen, óchi, no,’ Nýsa whispered hoarsely and began to cross herself furiously, muttering a prayer. Aléxandros shot his mother a strange look at her sudden piety, but Ellen wasn’t deterred.

‘You remember when you first brought me to this house and I met your mother. She was still living here then.’ Ellen risked a brief glance at Nýsa. ‘We had supper together at this table and you talked about how proud you were of your olive groves that you had taken charge of the year before, running the whole business?’

Aléxandros nodded, then smiled uneasily. ‘I do. I recall it as if it were yesterday. We met the year after my father died.’ He frowned as he spoke, but Ellen was glad he had such clarity in his memories. It would help.

‘You spoke about your father and how he started the company with your grandfather,’ Ellen continued, ensuring her recollections were accurate, which was validated by Aléxandros nodding in agreement. ‘After dinner, you showed me photographs of your dad, Thános, and I held you as you wept for him. You looked so alike. I could see you in him; you have the same eyes. Unmistakable. And you were so proud to be the third generation in charge. All you knew, your father taught you, and his father before him.’ Ellen broke off to take a quick drink. Her mouth was as dry as sand.

‘Ellen, I don’t see what my olive trees have to do with …’

‘It is not olive trees of which she speaks,’ Nýsa finally chimed in, and Ellen felt a hope swell in her chest that the old woman would now tell the truth, along with a crushing dread of how Aléxandros was about to feel. ‘When your father died, you were away on national service, helping with the crisis in Athens.’

Aléxandros was puzzled by his mother’s statement. ‘How could I forget?’ he said before turning to Ellen. ‘That year before we met, there was a terrible summer heatwave and more than a thousand people died. My unit in the military was tasked with delivering aid and helping wherever we could.’ As he spoke, he stared at his supper, frowning, his painful recollections resurfacing. ‘I told you some of it, Ellen, but it was terrible. The morgues were overcrowded; graves couldn’t be dug quickly enough. I have never seen anything like it. The streets were deserted; it was like an apocalypse and we were at war with the elements. We worked day and night to help, but in the end our military helicopter became a flying mortuary, collecting bodies with as much dignity as possible. My father was one of those who perished. My parents had been in Athens too at the time, which I didn’t know. My mother couldn’t contact me to tell me he had died because we were on operational duty, working tirelessly. I didn’t even know he had been buried. He was already gone from my life when I heard the news. I missed his funeral and the chance to say goodbye.’

Ellen’s eyes filled with tears at the gravity of his experience, remembering he had only told her scant details before. His wounds had still been too raw at the time, it having been only twelve months after that dreadful heatwave and his awful loss.

‘Aléxandros, I’m so sorry.’ She looked briefly to his mother who was also staring at her bowl of food. ‘Did you get time off to visit his grave?’

Aléxandros shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to and I have never been to where he is laid to rest in Athens. I came home to Kardamyli, as they reduced my time in service since it was down to me to run the business alone in my father’s place.’

The silence in the kitchen became painfully loud as they all contemplated his story. Ellen had barely begun her account before Nýsa interjected and now, conveniently, the old woman was quiet.

‘Nýsa, I believe you had started to tell Aléxandros about—’

‘All right!’ she shouted, and both Ellen and Aléxandros recoiled from her sudden outburst. It was so unexpected that it appeared to shock Nýsa too. ‘This is difficult for us all, because what Ellen wishes me to tell you is something that I made her promise never to reveal. It is why she never returned to Kardamyli.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Aléxandros said as he looked between his mother and Ellen. ‘What does Ellen leaving have to do with you, Mamá?’ He was suspicious and concerned. A guard was descending across his heart like shopfront shutters. Ellen needed tonight to be over; it was becoming a torture, yet the story had barely begun.

‘When Ellen was returning to England after your summer together, she saw me at the airport,’ Nýsa continued, and Ellen couldn’t help but admire her courage, though it was necessary no matter the aftermath. ‘I wasn’t alone. I was with someone else and she found me out in a lie.’ She looked panicked and glanced to Ellen for help, but the circle of untruths needed to be completed by Nýsa alone. It was terrible to witness, but it was the only way. Aléxandros did not speak but tilted his head to the side, encouraging his mother to elaborate with a serious expression. His jaw was so tight that Ellen could see his cheek muscle holding the tension, clamping his mouth shut.

‘Aléxandros, I am sorry.’ Nýsa’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I am sorry that my lie kept you and Ellen apart. It is my fault that love slipped through your fingers. You seemed so happy with her, especially after all you’d been through, but it was taken from my hands. What she uncovered that day … who she saw me with, I couldn’t hide. It would have brought great shame on our family. Committing adultery, planning to leave a marriage and a child for another person is inexcusable. Death is preferable to such unforgivable behaviour.’ She crossed herself; whether for effect or for the salvation of her soul, Ellen couldn’t deduce.

‘Mamá, what are you saying? You were unfaithful to my father and Ellen found you with … with another man?’ Aléxandros asked, his voice quiet and vulnerable yet with a steel that demanded response.

‘No, my dear son, it was Thános, your father, who was going to leave me for another woman. Such dishonour would have tarred us all and the business would be at threat. The lie I told you … I never believed you could ever uncover. Until Ellen came along and saw me with … with him.’

Aléxandros stood up so suddenly, the screech of the chair on the terracotta tiles was akin to nails on chalkboard. ‘With who?’ he demanded.

‘With … with your …’ Nýsa choked on her voice and nodded sadly, unable to finish the sentence.

‘You mean to tell me that my … he … Tell me who Ellen saw you with. I want to hear you say it. Say it!’ Tears began to fall from his eyes, which had turned an almost electric green in the lamplight and from the sheer emotion of the moment.

Nýsa nodded again, crushing her napkin, wringing it between her hands as if it were saturated. ‘Aléxandros, you must understand, there was no choice.’ She slowly rose to her feet, imploring her son with her hands as if she were begging for alms. ‘Though I told you your father had died in the heat, he was going to leave us anyway. It is the reason I made up that terrible story. Which was not true. And now you know. But there was no other way.’ Nýsa sank slowly back into her chair, defeated by the truth and lost to her lies. ‘He is still alive, I believe, living in Athens. I am sorry, but that day at the airport, Ellen saw me with Thános, your father.’

Aléxandros turned and walked out of the kitchen. Ellen and Nýsa jumped as the front door slammed with a force like an earthquake.

Chapter 33

The two women stared at one another across the dinner table, digesting their part in Aléxandros’ hurt, unable to digest their supper.

‘You should eat,’ Nýsa croaked, her eyes watering as she stirred her stew. It was the last thing Ellen wished to do, and she couldn’t believe they were Nýsa’s first words. Ellen’s spoon remained unused beside her bowl, aside from tinkering with tiny pearl onions earlier. Sweat beaded on her forehead though she felt cold, and her heart was pounding with a collision of familiar emotions: guilt, shame, frustration, fear … She looked to the door that Aléxandros had thundered through moments before, longing for him to reappear, but that space remained empty. Nýsa broke a piece of bread apart and dunked it into her dish before discarding it. The crumb slowly turned red, absorbing the sauce which then stealthily swallowed the little chunk of loaf until it was barely visible.

Ellen couldn’t cope with the silence; she was uncomfortable in the house alone with Nýsa and was wondering whether she should go after Aléxandros. Instinctively, she knew he would need space to process the devastating news he’d heard. She needed to see him as much as she needed to make sense of Nýsa’s story. That moment at Kalamata airport when Ellen was eighteen had shifted the course of her life, and what had happened to her next was indirectly the result of being forced to cave to Nýsa’s insistence that she never come back. But she hadn’t known the precise reasons why until Nýsa’s scant explanation just now. Ahead of any conversation with Aléxandros, arming herself with as many of the available facts as possible would surely help. It couldn’t do any more harm. She was complicit and implicated enough already.

‘When did you last see your husband?’ Ellen said, tentatively breaking the deadlock. ‘I suppose it’s strange to call him that.’ Nýsa raised her eyebrows and sighed while staring at her food.

‘It has been many years since last I saw Thános. We do not speak. After we agreed it was best he … disappeared … we only met once at Kalamata airport as he still wished to provide for Aléxandros and give me money to ensure he was cared for. That was when you saw us. It was our punishment from God. That one and only time we met, we were discovered. By you.’ She pressed her eyes shut as if she wished to delete the memory, then crossed herself several times. ‘It was a foolish mistake and so careless. He wired money a few more times after that and then I never heard from him again. He may really be dead for all I know, and I do not wish to. I despise him for what he made me do, to put me in such a position.’

She clasped her hands together like she was trying to undo that moment. Goodness knows Ellen had wished she’d looked in another direction that day. She also slowly began to realise that Nýsa hadn’t been the main culprit in the dreadful scheme. ‘You wouldn’t understand, Ellen. Life in Kardamyli is more complicated than just holidays, the blue sea and beaches. It’s not all romance and sunshine in Greece.’ Ellen heard the bitterness in her voice, but blaming the country for her predicament seemed a bit much, though the conservative culture appeared to have trapped Nýsa into that awful choice – the consequences of which had resonated for them all over the years. Now, it collided unwelcomely with their present, affecting all their futures.

‘I know it’s not my culture, but it seems extreme to pretend someone is dead when they were only having an affair. It doesn’t make sense,’ Ellen ventured. ‘At least you don’t have to wear black anymore. Not now you’ve told the truth.’ Her eyes traced Nýsa’s standard widow’s garb, which was tragic in its falsehood. At her words, Nýsa’s beady eyes narrowed and her expression became even more strained than usual.

‘I have lived for these many years pretending. There is little left of my life, so what use is the truth to me now? You made me confess and yet where has it got me? My son will never forgive us for this and it is your fault,’ she spat, thrusting a gnarled finger towards Ellen to make her point, finally meeting her eyes. ‘I will die alone, which is what I deserve.’

‘Don’t you dare blame me, Nýsa,’ Ellen said assertively, refusing to shoulder any more responsibility than she already did for her part in the terrible scheme. ‘You forced me to leave knowing it would hurt your son just as he is hurting now. You pretended Thános was dead, Aléxandros’ father! Let’s not lose sight of the facts.’ Even though Ellen had been aware that Thános was still alive, seeing Aléxandros’ reaction play out before her was more horrifying than she could have imagined. Poor, poor Aléxandros; how would he ever trust anyone who loved him again? Ellen shivered in the darkening kitchen as she realised that he may never trust her again.

‘You could never understand.’ Nýsa spoke so suddenly that it jolted Ellen’s nerves. She lifted her glass and took a sip of the wine she’d bought to be a good guest. She was anything but. ‘The shame and disgrace that would be directed at me and my family for being left because of adultery is far worse than death. I wanted to die and wished I could have instead of all this. But to ensure there was a business and any future for my only son, there was no option. Don’t you see? Breaking a marriage vow is a terrible sin. It may sound old-fashioned to you, but that is the truth. I came up with the solution, but Thános was the one who put me in such an impossible place. He is truly to blame, but Aléxandros will never see it that way. I was only trying to protect my child; there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make him safe.’

Ellen considered her explanation and couldn’t imagine the pressure Nýsa had been under to arrive at this sole route out of disgrace. That horrendous lie had thrust Aléxandros into the depths of grief at only nineteen years old, condemning him to live a fatherless life. Yet his mother knew all the while that Thános was alive, and bore witness to her son’s grief, keeping the secret. Yet Thános was prepared to exist having abandoned his family and business. Ellen unexpectedly found compassion for the woman.

‘Are you a mother, Ellen?’ Nýsa asked, cutting through her myriad thoughts. She nodded, and the old woman continued. ‘Then you understand the lengths you are willing to go to out of protection. To decide how much sorrow a mother is prepared to share with her child or what should be withheld.’

It dawned upon Ellen that she too had sheltered Tristan from the truth about John; not lying about it, just avoiding revealing the reality. Was it dishonesty by omission? Or simply her job as a parent to ensure her son would never experience the devastation such information would cause? Both mothers around that dinner table had gone to great pains to shield their sons from the agony wielded by their respective fathers. Though the circumstances were poles apart, the reasoning had similarities. Both Thános and John had perpetrated unfathomable cruelty on their wives and sons; Ellen and Nýsa had much more in common than she’d ever anticipated.

Ellen located as much warmth as she could. ‘I’m truly sorry you had to live with this. It must have been terrible,’ she said gently, her empathy rising. Nýsa pulled a handkerchief from her black dress pocket and dabbed at her eyes before folding a neat square, adjusting it, then doubling the cotton over once again until the seams lined up. It was painful to watch her arthritic fingers mangle the fabric.

‘I … I wished it had all been different and …’ She raised her gaze from her hanky to meet Ellen’s. ‘And I am sorry I kept you from Aléxandros. His heart was broken when you left and it was my doing. You had made him smile again during your summer together after what he thought was his father’s death during his brutal conscription. I had hope that he would be happy and find a future with you. But you do understand I couldn’t have let you return because you discovered Thános was still alive. I will go home to Kalamata tomorrow and I doubt I will see my son ever again. Not before I am dead. I pray to be with the saints and that God forgives me for my awful deeds.’

‘It is not your deed that needs to be forgiven. Thános was to blame,’ Ellen said softly, having resented and blamed the wrong person for her broken heart across the decades.

Mother to mother, there was an unspoken bond that she hadn’t fully comprehended until this moment. There were choices and decisions you made out of love, weighing up a thousand outcomes and scenarios before landing upon the one that would hurt your own flesh and blood the least. The resolve she would live and die by was to never tell Tristan about John. He didn’t deserve for the happy recollections of his childhood to be sullied by the man his father really was. Tristan would never find peace because he couldn’t challenge a ghost, and he would only have Ellen’s word for what had transpired. She didn’t ever wish to risk an ounce of disbelief from someone she loved again.

The exchange with Nýsa had cemented her choice to keep the abuse away from her son but didn’t solve the situation with Aléxandros, and Ellen wasn’t sure what would. She needed to find him and reassure him that he was only hurting because he was so desperately loved by two women who had no way out at the time. Whether he would entertain that explanation …

Suddenly the little village felt like a sprawling metropolis, and Ellen was at a loss to know where to begin.

Chapter 34

Ellen instinctively sensed that her starting place should be the church. Given what Aléxandros had learnt at dinner, he may wish for spiritual guidance since those on earth had thoroughly failed him.

As she pushed open the heavy oak door, she saw he was the only one sitting piously in the rows of wooden chairs. The scent of candle wax hung heavily in the air, along with remnants of incense from a service. Flames flickered around the church beside tributes to various saints, sending shadows to chase invisible demons into gloomy corners.

Aléxandros’ head was bowed in prayer or despair, she couldn’t tell which, but his hands were clasped in front of him, his body language screaming anything but peaceful repose. Her muffled footsteps down the aisle alerted him through the silence, and he turned his head, then looked back to the altar. Ellen longed to reach for him, but she hadn’t alighted on what to say nor how to explain her part in it all. It also wasn’t her place to speak on his mother’s behalf.

‘Aléxandros,’ she began, her voice echoing in the emptiness, and she winced at how loudly she’d spoken as her words travelled upwards into the cavernous dome. ‘I’m sorry that …’ She stopped, unsure what she was apologising for. This wasn’t directly her fault. Though she’d been complicit in Nýsa’s lie, the blame lay firmly with Thános; they were all casualties of that man’s actions. But she’d been a love-struck eighteen-year-old, eager to please and do as she was told. His mother’s threat at the time had made her so afraid, despite wanting Aléxandros more than anything.

He turned to her again. His pale eyes were watering, and it hurt deeply to see him so upset. He held her stare for a long time, then she took a seat across the aisle. The small space between them, the crimson carpeted floor, felt like an age rather than a metre. Eventually, he spoke.

‘It now makes sense, why you left and never came back after what we’d shared, all the promises we made to one another that summer.’ His voice wavered, and he looked away to the golden cross sitting on the dressed altar. ‘And it was such a great love, one I had never thought existed. Then it was gone, you were gone and I couldn’t understand why. Now, I know, it makes sense why you’ve avoided telling me these past few days.’ Ellen expected this conversation to be painful whenever it arrived, but she couldn’t imagine the torment Aléxandros was dealing with. Though there hadn’t been a way for her to explain why she hadn’t returned without revealing his mother’s secret, this was worse than she’d ever predicted. Ellen had never felt so wretched.

‘It doesn’t have to be gone,’ she said in a small voice. The idea of losing him now that she’d only just found him again was awful. But she couldn’t dwell on the illusion of what they’d been and what they might yet be. She’d done that over the past three decades and the time for pretending was over; she’d vowed as much to herself. ‘Aléxandros, look at me.’ She leant forwards, imploring him to face her from his chair. ‘I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but please understand, for what it’s worth, I never stopped loving you. I thought about you every day and regretted leaving so much, it haunted me. I didn’t have a choice at the time. I was young and stupid, and I wish I could change that. Believe me, I still do. I’m so sorry for what your mother hid from you because—’

‘Hid from me?’ he interrupted, aghast. ‘She lied to me in the very worst way, pretended my father who I loved so much was dead. She let me believe he was gone and then made me think you didn’t care for me at all, that our whole summer together was another lie. My own flesh and blood forced you to leave when I had begun to believe in life and in love again after losing my babá. I thought we had a future that we could build together. Ellen, I saw it so clearly, the children we would have … and my own mother stole my dream away.’

‘But she didn’t act alone,’ Ellen said softly. She couldn’t deny his summary because he was correct in part, but the empathy she’d felt for Nýsa over the dinner table rose up. Thános was the root of the lies they’d all participated in. Though that would mean little to Aléxandros in this moment; he was angry and in so much pain.

‘I wish I’d never found out, because it means that my father willingly abandoned me. He lived in the same country all this time and not one word. How could he do that to his only son? I don’t know who to be angriest with. How my mother could watch this plan unfold I will never be able to comprehend. You abandoned me as well.’ There was so much agony plain on his beautiful face that Ellen’s eyes brimmed with tears, frantically searching her mind for a way to make his heartache disappear. ‘How can I ever trust anyone who says they love me again? Everyone I’ve ever cared for has left me.’

It was the final blow. He stood up and strode to the front of the church, his hands in his pockets as he stopped in front of a depiction of the Virgin Mary, the Holy Mother, shaking his head. Ellen couldn’t bear to be away from him and moved closer. As she inhaled the heady scent of the molten candle wax and absorbed the beautifully tragic images of the holy family and saints, she began to unshackle herself from every part of her former life with each step towards Aléxandros. Her friends that she’d allowed to drift away at John’s command, the mess between her and Penny, and her house in London that had been anything but a sanctuary of safety. Now that Bella and Barney had moved on, perhaps it was time that Ellen did the same. She couldn’t be without this wonderful man. She was worthy of real happiness and true love, and it was almost within reach. Yet if it wasn’t destined to be, she would begrudgingly accept her fate. But first, she had to offer one final plea.

‘Aléxandros, you must believe that I love you with all of my heart. We both know there is no time to waste; we’ve been apart for so long. Yes, I know the truth is terrible and the reasons why I left are probably more dreadful than you could ever have dreamed of in your darkest moments, but I’m here and I don’t want to leave. I won’t ever leave if that is what you want. I have nothing more to lose than I’ve already lost. Please, let me help you believe in our love again, to learn to trust me.’ Tears spilled down her face, while the droplets still gathered in her eyes caught flickers of the candle flames, which danced across her vision like a silent firework.

She stepped a little nearer and put a hand on his arm. His skin was cold, rippled with goose bumps, and she shivered. She hadn’t realised how chilly the church was until now. He slowly faced her and he couldn’t help but smile as she looked up at him. The small dose of warmth from him was a relief. He took her face in his hands and brushed tears away with his thumbs, but still they came. Dropping one hand away, he left the other on her shoulder and she longed to rest her face on it. He glanced at the ornate altar and then back at Ellen.

‘I imagined standing here in this very spot with you, in this church, but on a very different occasion.’ His words did nothing to stymie her tears. It was excruciating to not only rake over the past but also to dissect a future that was stunted by Nýsa and Thános. He laughed and wiped his own eyes with a fist. ‘And yet, here we are with so much hurt not only between us but because of us too. Ellen, I don’t know …’ As his thought tailed off into nothing, she closed her eyes, whispering a silent prayer to the heavens, begging that Aléxandros wouldn’t give up on them.

Please, please, God, don’t let it be over.

She prayed that he would find a way to heal his heart, which had once more been broken. There was only so much someone could take before they admitted defeat. She’d craved him in her lowest moments; his light had given her a sliver of hope to endure the darkness within her marriage. And now here in the church, the pain of her own past gave her enough strength to battle for what was right, what she deserved. Ellen bravely found her voice, willing to shout for what she wanted; even if it was their last chance, it was her war to fight.

‘Aléxandros, we have to decide what it is are we living for. Not just you and me; all of us, even if it’s only the ghost of an idea. Regret is no place to exist. It is such a waste of time and God knows, that’s what I’ve done ever since I left you. I wished it had been so different. I’d pray until I stopped praying because nobody ever answered me. But I ask you now and to anyone who is listening, please, let’s not throw away this second chance we’ve been given, no matter how terrible it has been to get here, not just today but for decades. And for all I’ve been through, just to be with you again is already worth it. I know you’ve heard awful things tonight, but should that stop what might be our last chance at love?’

She stepped forwards until their bodies were inches apart, and as he towered above her, she felt how much he cared; it radiated from him like warmth from a fire. ‘You said we had a great love and we still do. It isn’t finished yet. Is it?’ she whispered, then wrapped her arms tightly around his broad frame, pressing her head to his chest. She heard his heartbeat increase as he folded around her, holding her head close to him, encasing her in love and comfort. Even if it was the last time they would ever feel one another’s touch, she’d used her honest voice and had refused to apologise for her feelings.

The clearing of a throat startled them both and they broke apart guiltily. Walking forwards from the vestry was a priest with a long black beard, dressed in his dark cassock, adjusting his white pastoral stole draped around his neck. Ellen’s seamstress eye, despite the shock of interruption, couldn’t help but absorb the applique pale blue crosses down each side of the fabric. It was beautiful embroidery. The priest spoke, drawing her gaze away from his garb.

‘Forgive me, I couldn’t help but overhear. You are in my office, after all.’ He laughed, and his voice danced around them, slightly lightening the mood. Aléxandros spoke in Greek as he approached the holy man, with both his palms facing up. He dipped his head as the priest made the sign of the cross, delivering a blessing, then Aléxandros kissed his hand in deference.

The priest slowly walked to the middle of the altar and Aléxandros returned to Ellen’s side. He still hadn’t answered her question as to whether or not they were finished. She was also keen for any guidance they could get. It was as if the priest heard her thought.

‘May I offer my counsel?’

Both Ellen and Aléxandros nodded as they stood in front of him, as if they were about to receive communion.

‘It seems you have much history, and it is obvious to me that there is affection and love. With history comes many lessons, naturally, but our task is to learn them and become better than we were, not only for ourselves, but for those we care for: our family, our neighbours, our friends. And inevitably with richness of relationships comes the need for forgiveness. It appears to be what you both are searching for: that rare trait which has the power to release any man from his cage. Imagine being caught in a huntsman’s snare and all along the key to release the metal jaws of the trap sat within your own pocket. All you must do is be still, cease writhing in pain and reach for the solution that will free you. We all hold the means to unlock what comes next, but to do that, we have to liberate ourselves.’ The man was young, but had the wisdom of one thrice his years. Ellen looked up at Aléxandros beside her, studying his reaction.

‘Páter Christodoulos, this is Ellen,’ was all he said, and the priest smiled.

‘You are welcome, Ellen. I hope you find what you pray for, though in part I think you have found it, yes?’ She could only whisper agreement through her discomfort under the scrutiny of their unexpected holy therapist, when really she longed to know what Aléxandros was thinking. But perhaps he needed the advice of the priest, especially when it came to the complexity of what he’d learnt about his father. She ought to give him space.

‘I should let you two talk. We can speak later.’ She touched Aléxandros’ arm tenderly, and he looked at her in gratitude.

‘I will call you,’ he said with so much warmth that her hope about their future which had risen and fallen now became a spark that she longed to reignite into a blazing flame. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Father,’ she said, and had to stop herself from curtseying. She didn’t know how to act in this situation and was in danger of embarrassing herself.

‘Before you go, Ellen, let me share this thought with you. With both of you.’ He was standing on the step before them as if he were about to deliver a sermon to a partly unwilling flock. ‘In all the trials we face over time, there is something that remains true, despite the hardships, the hurt and the sadness that is sent to test us. What I have learnt is that love is easy; it is life that is hard.’

It was so accurate that Ellen almost laughed aloud or burst into noisy tears. She did neither, because loving Aléxandros wasn’t the difficult part at all; it was everything and everyone else that got in their way, halting their relationship and quashing its potential far too early. Father Christodoulos’ words were apt for their current scenario too, because nothing had changed over the years; their love seemed as strong as it had always been. It was the people who surrounded them that presented obstacles.

‘Humour me,’ the wise man continued. ‘Take one another’s hands and look at each other. Truly see who is in front of you and ask if you believe my words: that love is easy, but life is hard. Do you believe that to be correct, Ellen and Aléxandros?’ Ellen heard the front door of the church bang shut, though she paid no mind to whomever had entered. Ellen searched Aléxandros’ face for love and found it – in his eyes and in his expression, and she felt it from his heart.

‘Well, do you?’ repeated the priest.

‘I do,’ they both said in unison, their eyes still locked together and, for a split second, it was as if they’d never been separated, like a piece of heavenly magic had been woven around them. Ellen felt the glow of hope glimmer deep inside. Perhaps all was not lost, and they could yet reclaim the mess they’d made of each other’s hearts.

‘No!’ They heard a screeching cry and turned around abruptly. ‘You are absolutely not getting married without me, Ellen! I completely forbid it! Father, I object!’

Ellen’s mouth dropped open in shock as Penny rushed up the aisle towards them, frantically waving her hand aloft like she was hailing a taxi.

‘God help me!’ exclaimed Ellen.

‘Oh, He will,’ the priest replied with a chuckle.

Chapter 35

Ellen dragged Penny by her arm out of the church. She was the last person she wanted to see, especially having interrupted such a tender moment.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Ellen rounded on her friend when they were outside. ‘Of course I’m not getting married! Have you got heatstroke?’

Penny looked suitably ashamed as her skin flushed, just visible in the evening light.

‘Sorry, I’ve been looking for you everywhere and then I thought I’d light a candle for our friendship and there you were.’

Ellen was surprised at her friend’s sudden piety and was briefly moved by her gesture, before the memory of Penny’s appalling behaviour rippled through her like an angry wave cresting towards the shore. She folded her arms then walked at pace towards the pebble beach. She reached the road where the green scooter was always parked and turned to Penny.

‘You have two minutes to say your piece,’ Ellen said, glaring at her friend.

‘What? I … I …’ Penny stammered, and it seemed their roles had reversed, with Ellen being the dominant personality and Penny unsure of herself. She paused as if to stem her panic then took a deep breath. ‘I wanted to say how terrible I feel, Ellen. I’m so, so sorry that I behaved so horribly. It was a shock when you told me, and I said all the wrong things that you didn’t deserve to hear.’ Ellen raised an eyebrow, noticing how tired and drawn Penny looked. Maybe she’d been as affected as Ellen by their falling-out, but still, her actions were inexcusable.

‘One minute left,’ Ellen said, looking at her watch for effect, not letting Penny off the hook easily. Penny grabbed Ellen firmly then thought better of it.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to … You’re making me rush and I don’t want to get it wrong. Again.’ Ellen looked to her watch once more, which made Penny shuffle from foot to foot in a tizz. ‘Ellen, please. Stop timing me. I know I don’t deserve an ounce of your sympathy, but I’ve felt hideous being here without you. It made me realise that I need you, now more than ever. Please, please, let me make it up to you.’

Ellen looked to the twinkling lights of a ship crossing the horizon as music began to play at the little taverna near where they stood. Snatches of the priest’s words about mercy echoed through her mind.

‘With history comes many lessons … inevitably with richness of relationships comes the need for forgiveness.’

She was hoping Aléxandros would find forgiveness for his mother and to an extent for her, as she had also withheld the monstrous truth about Thános. It would be hypocritical to refuse Penny’s pleas for clemency, though she wasn’t quite ready yet to grant her a full pardon. Ellen sighed, wishing she didn’t have a need to fix everything, be it dresses, buttons or matters of the heart. Penny continued, taking Ellen’s silence as permission to further plead her case.

‘And I’m sorry I said he was lovely, because that was clearly only for show; it wasn’t who John really was and you dealt with that alone for so many years.’ Penny began to weep and covered her mouth in horror – Ellen supposed at the memory of the scars she’d shown her. ‘I only wish you’d told me, though I understand why you didn’t. Given the way I reacted, I doubt you’d want to tell me anything ever again.’ She took Ellen’s hand and held it tightly. ‘But I’m here for you if you need. I promise you I’ll be better. Cross my heart and …’

Ellen glanced down at their hands, hers reluctantly joined with her oldest friend’s. She gently squeezed Penny’s fingers then looked at her in the glowing lights from the taverna, which had cast their surroundings in a wash of warm orange.

‘I have to be honest from now on, Pen. I’ve wasted years pretending, and I need to work out what I want from my next chapter and who I want in it.’

Penny’s bottom lip quivered, and her brown eyes widened, flooding with more tears. ‘You mean you might not want me in your life anymore? Ellen, please, don’t throw away our friendship just because I’m a selfish idiot with a big mouth who doesn’t think before they speak. Please,’ she added frantically. Ellen wanted her to cease her manic pleading.

‘That’s enough, Pen, no more begging. I need some time to think and there’s a lot going on with Aléxandros and his family. And I have to speak to Tristan too since he found out about Aléxandros, but only when he is ready,’ Ellen said, removing her hand, which prompted a strange shriek from Penny as she tried to stifle a sob.

‘You’re doing it again, Ellen. I know you feel like you can’t trust me, but you’re dealing with all these things alone. It doesn’t feel much like it, I’m sure, but I’m your best friend. We pinkie swore when we were little that we’d always tell each other everything.’

Ellen scoffed at the irony, when in truth neither woman had done that for years.

‘It’s too complicated to go into now,’ Ellen said, feeling utterly wrung out by dinner with Nýsa and comforting Aléxandros in the church; though what use she’d been to him she would have no clue until he sent word. ‘I need a drink.’

Penny grinned. ‘That’s more like it; now you’re speaking my language.’ But Ellen stopped her from racing into the taverna thinking all was forgiven.

‘It doesn’t mean we are back to normal; far from it. Maybe it’s time for a new pinkie swear.’ She held out her little finger to Penny, who dutifully extended hers. ‘We swear from now on always to tell each other the truth, to never pretend that everything’s perfect and to be honest from now until the day we die.’

Penny gulped and her chin trembled again before sniffing in a deep breath and pulling herself together.

‘Until the day we die,’ Penny said in a solemn though shaky voice. ‘Pinkie swear.’

Ellen was torn between mending things with Penny and fixing the potential of her future with Aléxandros. But since Aléxandros had agreed to speak later on following his guidance from the priest, the thought of enduring another six days in Greece with Penny stuck in such a monstrous limbo was insufferable. Despite Penny’s untimely interruption of such a special moment in the church, Ellen wanted to reimagine her life and she simply couldn’t discard their friendship like a surplus scrap of fabric. History had to surely count for something. She decided to allow Penny to accompany her into the taverna for a much-needed liquid leveller.

The two old friends tentatively danced around one another with words, being polite and respectful. Ellen updated Penny on her brief conversation with Tristan about Aléxandros and her hopes that he would understand when he was able to speak further about the subject. Then she followed on with the reason why she never came back to Kardamyli and what she’d been forced to promise. Penny’s shock was genuine and as Ellen repeated the tale aloud for the first time in all its gruesome, heartbreaking detail, she wasn’t sure Aléxandros would ever recover. That level of deceit had been deployed by someone with a heart of stone – which she’d believed for so long to be Nýsa but was in fact Thános.

‘I know I’m not a mother – far too absorbed with myself as you well know,’ said Penny self-deprecatingly. ‘But I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for Nýsa. That is the act of a seriously desperate woman. Not even the worst kind of person would lie like that unless it was the only way.’

It was what Ellen now believed too. She was glad she had someone to talk to about it, as weighted as it was. That’s what friends were for, wasn’t it? To say the things you can barely admit to yourself, let alone anyone else? Though they’d agreed to be more open in the future, Ellen was still nervous about Penny’s reproachment. Fool me once … What she was sharing was far too important to dismiss. But she had to trust her at some point without making it a test. And so far, Penny was coming through.

‘What about your work? Have you been back to the dress shop?’ she asked.

‘Pen, you don’t have to try so hard. You’re not interested in my sewing,’ Ellen replied, longing to return to their natural rhythm rather than the odd glimpse of it quickly replaced by formal tension. Though she was glad that Penny seemed brighter and as sober as she’d seen her on the trip so far, despite the glass of wine in her hand.

‘I am interested,’ Penny insisted, taking a sip of her rosé. ‘Look, in the spirit of being honest, I pretend not to care because I’m jealous. Horribly jealous, OK? You have this incredible gift to make beautiful things out of nothing. You have some weird magic that you weave into everything you make and the people who wear them are transformed. Including me. I am truly astounded by your talent, and it comes so easily. Whereas I am good for nothing. I’m not asking you to feel sorry for me or anything like that and I’m not being self-involved. Well, no more than usual. But I envy you, I really do.’

Ellen was taken aback. To her, Penny was glamorous, successful and driven; all the things she wasn’t.

‘Me? But why? You are beautiful, men can’t take their eyes off you when you walk past, and you raise tons for charity every year. You drum up support out of thin air because you’re so passionate about it. It’s so inspiring and I could never do that in a million years.’

Penny shrugged coyly but smiled broadly. ‘Look at us telling the truth. Maybe that’s why we’ve been friends for so long, because we’re so different. How’s this for honesty … I’ve faked every orgasm with Alan and now it’s too late to train him or send him to sex boot camp.’

Ellen spluttered her wine back into her glass. ‘I really don’t want to think about you and Alan in the bedroom, Pen. But thank you for sharing.’ She laughed. ‘All right, my turn: I can’t bloody stand Cressida. I wish Tristan had found someone …’

‘Kind? Charming? Less up herself?’

‘Penny!’ Ellen pretended to be horrified, despite feeling a little guilty. ‘You missed out less flaky and not a total snob.’ They both burst into laughter, united in their character assassination of Ellen’s daughter-in-law. Ellen took a slice of bread from the basket, suddenly hungry since she’d had no supper. She ran her finger along the tempting light brown crust, before speaking softly.

‘You never had an inkling about John, did you?’

Penny shook her head. ‘Never! I now know he was so attentive for sinister reasons, but I never suspected because you were both … or appeared so … together,’ Penny said carefully, and Ellen agreed, imagining what they must have seemed like from the outside peering in. Then Penny looked uncomfortable and let out a shuddering sigh. ‘I’m so sorry again, Ellen, that you thought I didn’t believe you. I suppose I didn’t want to. And then when you showed me … what he’d done to your … the violence behind that … It makes sense why you always wear a higher neck and keep yourself covered up. I can’t think about someone hurting you so terribly. I couldn’t sleep imagining it all and the strength it must have taken to live with that for years and then imagining how I would react in that situation. You’re braver than I could ever be. I do believe you and I’m sorry it seemed like I didn’t, though it probably doesn’t matter now. It’s all a bit late and my damage is done.’

‘Apart from a broken heart, there is nothing in the world that can’t be mended, Pen. Trust me, I can fix anything. Well, almost anything.’

‘What about you and Aléxandros?’ Penny asked. Ellen’s eyes roamed around the taverna at couples and families dining together, cheersing and feasting on the delicious Greek fayre. That was a question that Ellen couldn’t answer with all honesty, because the truth was, she had absolutely no idea how to make it better, or if there was a future for them together. All she could do was love Aléxandros with the purity he deserved, that he’d had for thirty-six years, nine months and one day.

Chapter 36

Penny and Ellen walked back up the hill to the village after finishing their drinks in the taverna. Ellen had sent Aléxandros a message earlier and, although he’d read it, there was no reply.

‘Bad form to leave you on “read”,’ Penny said, then checked herself. ‘But I’m sure he’s only planning his next move – that or he’s digging a ditch to put Nýsa in!’

‘Penny! He wouldn’t; he’s not like that,’ Ellen replied snippily. Penny was still on thin ice with her.

‘I didn’t mean that he’s the type to … I’m getting rather good at putting my foot in it, aren’t I?’ she asked, which didn’t need a response. Ellen left her sentence on ‘read’. As they neared Dimitra’s store, they saw that the lights were on which, given the late hour, was a surprise.

‘I’d better check everything’s all right,’ said Ellen, fishing the key from her bag. But she didn’t need it since the shop was already unlocked. ‘Hello?’ she said, tentatively stepping inside followed by Penny. Delphí appeared from the back room.

‘Sorry,’ she gasped. ‘You gave me a fright. Théa said I could use the machines; you don’t mind, do you?’

‘Delphí!’ Ellen exclaimed as she took in the young woman’s clothing.

‘Oh wow,’ Penny enthused. ‘Love the outfit!’

Delphí looked down at her dress and fiddled shyly with the waistband. From the pins lining the neckline, she’d clearly made it herself. The buttercup yellow wrap dress was based on the design of the skirt Ellen had created for her. Théa must have taught her how to fashion sleeves – that or she’d watched Ellen speedily making dresses for her own commission and adapted the pattern she’d cut. This girl was super-talented.

‘What do you think? I hope I don’t look silly.’ Delphí looked terribly unsure of herself. Yet as she’d appeared moments before, there had been a glimpse of the woman she would become before her teenage self overrode any confidence.

‘Delphí, it’s beautiful and such a stunning colour.’ Ellen moved over to examine the structure more closely. ‘You’ve done an incredible job. Turn around and let me see how it moves.’

Delphí dutifully spun, letting out a girlish giggle as she did so.

‘It’s not finished. The seams are still pinned, and I need some help attaching the sleeves. Would you show me how? I wasn’t sure which stitch to use.’

‘I … I mean, maybe I could find some time tomorrow.’ Ellen glanced at Penny, not wishing to disrupt their first steps towards reconciliation – and they were still supposed to be on holiday together.

‘Stay, Ellen,’ Penny said, smiling. ‘I’m happy to watch. I might even learn how to thread a needle if I hang around long enough.’

Ellen sent Delphí to the back room to change so they could work on the dress.

‘Are you sure? You really don’t have to,’ Ellen said as the two friends stood on the shop floor. Penny put a hand on Ellen’s arm and squeezed it.

‘I honestly want to.’ She shooed Ellen towards the sewing machines. ‘Now, go and help that fabulous girl. You’re her idol and she is desperate to learn from you. Actually, I think we could all learn something from you. I’m so proud to have you as my friend – if you’ll still have me, that is.’

Ellen felt the swell of emotion in the pit of her stomach. It was lovely to have ‘normal’ Penny back, or as normal as she’d ever been. This was the kind, supportive version who had seldomly frequented their exchanges in recent years. And she didn’t seem to be mixing whatever meds she took and was as lucid as Ellen had seen her of late. The liberation Ellen felt at having shared her private story, no matter how poorly it had initially been received, coursed through her body. And now, since she and Penny had taken an updated vow of honesty, she was energised by their mutual agreement to be truthful, though actions spoke much louder than any words.

‘Don’t be so needy, Pen!’ Ellen joked. ‘Of course we’re friends – just don’t press it. I’m still a bit bruised – poor choice of words, I know – but it’s how I feel. We’ll be fine eventually; we have to be. Who else will I talk to?’ She put her arms around Penny, who clung to her like a limpet.

‘I can’t do without you, and I have nobody else to talk to either,’ Penny said, her voice muffled in Ellen’s hair. ‘Ooh, that smells divine – what shampoo are you using?’ she said, pulling back and touching Ellen’s tousled blonde bob, prompting an eye roll followed by a laugh. Friendships ebbed and flowed like the tide as the years passed, but in this moment, Penny and Ellen had almost switched parts in their drama. Ellen was calling the shots and Penny was following her lead. Not that it would last, but for now Ellen took strength from the fact that she was brave, she was a survivor and she had a vast wisdom of experience to share.

She sought out Delphí and began another impromptu tutoring session, yet it didn’t feel like teaching; it was joyful and entirely born of endless passion for her craft. Delphí responded with enthusiasm and set to work. When Ellen had shown her the next steps with the dress, the girl pulled on Ellen’s tailor’s gloves to handle the delicate garment, relaxed and began to chatter. Penny was sitting in the corner with her eyes closed. Ellen was encouraged by the effort she’d made to stay, even though her friend seemed to be heading for unconsciousness.

‘Théa thinks her grandmother is going to give up the shop. It’s why I’m here so late, because there might be nowhere to practise soon.’ She looked forlorn at the thought and pushed her hair back from her eyes. ‘I will work in my parents’ restaurant as they’ve always wished after graduating in the summer.’

‘Wouldn’t they let you do a sewing course first? I could speak to them if you like,’ Ellen offered, but Delphí shook her head.

‘They are set on me joining the family business. And we can’t afford for me to study beyond regular school, and they need me in the taverna. So I will smell of grilled meat forever.’ Ellen was crushed on her behalf and was reminded to ask Théa about Dimitra, hoping she hadn’t taken a turn for the worse. It didn’t sound good if she was considering getting rid of the shop. Ellen was frustrated that Delphí’s hopes were being thwarted at the first hurdle by a force out of her control. It felt like such a waste of an instinctive talent and Ellen wondered if she could convince Delphí’s parents otherwise. Though she’d had her fair share of family dramas and oughtn’t interfere.

A prickle travelled along her back. The idea she’d had when she was working in this room on the MP’s dress tickled at her insides, but she couldn’t put that plan into action. Yet. There were several interdependencies that required a faith in something otherworldly to guide her, although she was certain it was the right course of action, though the detail in the notion was as flimsy as the original thought. But as she helped Delphí guide the crepe fabric through the machine, she saw the end goal in her mind’s eye. Beneath her fingers as the material moved along in time to the machine’s rhythm, she visualised it as clearly as she saw her reflection in the mirror.

‘Come on, sleepy head, it’s late – nearly eleven,’ Ellen said, gently shaking Penny awake from her chair at the back of the shop. Penny groaned as she came to, then massaged her neck. Her head had been bobbing and nodding as much as Delphí’s sewing needle.

‘I wasn’t asleep, just resting my eyes,’ she said, before standing as she slowly grinned and stretched her arms above her head. ‘Nope, not true, I was out for the count. Did you get much done?’

‘Finished!’ Delphí beamed, pointing to the mannequin in the corner.

‘Oh, it’s gorgeous! You two make quite the team,’ Penny said with genuine enthusiasm, her hands on her hips as she examined the garment. ‘Imagine if you went into business, you could knock out twenty of these a day in every size, shape and colour, like the Dolce and Gabbana of Kardamyli!’

‘I wish!’ Delphí said, laughing as she gathered her things.

‘Me too,’ agreed Ellen. ‘Come on, let’s call it a night – and well done, Delphí. You’ve really come on leaps and bounds since I first saw your work.’

‘Thanks to you and to Théa. And I forgot to say, the skirt you made for me, well, I wore it and the boy I liked has asked me on a date. Except …’ Her eyes swam, which stopped her.

‘Except?’ Penny asked, suddenly concerned.

‘It was the same boy that Athinà liked and now she won’t speak to me. So I told him no. Now I don’t have a date or a friend.’

Ellen’s heart panged. ‘I know it feels terrible now, Delphí, but I promise it will get better. Talk to her; make Athinà listen. She’ll forgive you, because you’ve done nothing wrong. And if she doesn’t, then she wasn’t a very good friend to begin with,’ she said, realising her words applied to both Penny and herself too. Why was it women had the capacity to be both the very best and the very worst of friends? Currently she and Penny were hovering in between, but at least they were now being authentic.

‘Maybe you could make her something as an olive branch. Fashion fixes everything – well almost everything,’ Penny suggested, and Ellen thought it a brilliant idea. Delphí looked at her and then back to the sewing machine.

‘Do you think I could? I don’t know what to make,’ she replied.

‘That’s a wonderful plan, Pen. Delphí, come in here tomorrow alone and trust your instinct. Find the fabric and then imagine a moment when Athinà wears it and you’ll be guided, I assure you.’

Delphí’s eyes lit up with delight as they roamed the shelves of material, and Ellen innately knew an idea was already taking shape. Their little work session had inspired them both, and Penny – it appeared – was also benefiting. It was heartening to see her dispense advice to Delphí, who was a little lost in both life and her friendship. But Ellen was determined to change one if not both of those things. So much was shifting, which was terrifyingly exciting, like the start of a new adventure.

A loud ping from her phone collided with the final church bell toll of the evening and she retrieved her mobile from her bag. She looked at Penny, who immediately knew who it was.

‘Ellen, go to him,’ she said with a kindness that was swiftly replaced by mischief. ‘And I want to hear all the juicy details tomorrow.’

Ellen only hoped there would be something to tell. But as she knew from a stitch gone wrong or a mismatched pattern piece, the only way to find a fix was to unpick it completely before putting it back together again.

The Fates

Though the three sisters revelled in tragedy, their fascination with mortals was unquenchable; observing them swiftly dance from elation to misery was a captivating mystery to the gods. Humans believed they had a choice in their fate, but each element of their course was already deftly plotted with a mythological compass.

In the afterlife, they wouldn’t be judged solely by the deeds they had done, but by how they reacted to the trials sent to test them.

Chapter 37

Using her phone torch to guide her, Ellen walked the path alongside one of the village tavernas towards Aléxandros’ office, which was set up on the hillside behind the main street and beyond his house. As the incline steepened, so did her misgivings about his reaction to the evening’s tumultuous events. All she could do was offer a listening ear, honesty, and arms to seek comfort in.

She found him perched on the stoop outside his office building, which was elevated to have a full view of the olive groves. She recalled from the summer she’d spent here before how spectacular the sea view in the distance was. Tonight, there was only the odd glow from a car traversing the main village drag. The dull light dispensed from his workplace lengthened the shadows of their surroundings, making each tree seem as though it had a companion. As she approached, his head was bent over as his arms rested on his knees. It was the posture of a broken man, one who had been emotionally battered.

‘Aléxandros?’ she said softly so as not to startle him. ‘I got your message.’ Ellen was suddenly nervous and unsure of the precise reason for his summoning of her: a break-up or a dissection of his trauma. She braced herself for every eventuality as she took a seat next to him. As she reached a hand for his knee, he didn’t flinch, allowing it to rest there. In the cool peace of the evening, the sound of cicadas was almost deafening. Above, the clear sky boasted a million silver specks. Satellites traversing the Milky Way were visible and she wondered how many shooting stars she’d spot if she focused upwards. During her first summer with Aléxandros, they had grown so used to the sight, making hundreds of wishes as they’d lain beneath these trees. But not one of those wishes had materialised, apart from the one she’d made asking to love him forever.

Aléxandros put his hand on hers and turned his head. His tears, which had now dried, still left streaks on his face. It was painful to see him laid bare. His eyes glistened as she stared back, ready for any words that would indicate his feelings. Ellen was certain there weren’t enough languages in the world to describe the complexity of his emotions, but still she waited.

‘Love is easy; life is hard,’ he began, echoing the earlier words of the priest. He gave a soft laugh, but it wasn’t one of amusement. ‘I never thought just how hard life could be. I am exhausted; my body aches like I’ve run the Taygetus marathon. And yet I have little to show for those exertions, apart from a pain here that won’t go away.’ His hand left Ellen’s and pressed to his shirt where his heart was hiding beneath the fabric.

‘It must seem so unfair. I can’t pretend to understand how you must feel. Your heartbreak …’

‘Which heartbreak of mine do you suppose we discuss?’ he interrupted, his voice laced with bitterness. ‘My father abandoning me, orchestrating this horror; my mother lying about it; or the fact that their choices conspired to make you leave me. And you agreed. Or my wife dying so young. Tell me where we should start, because I cannot decide which is the worst.’ She accepted how hurt he was and there was little she could say to assuage him.

‘Whichever one you want to talk about,’ she said, trying not to shoulder blame, though it was hard. Seeing someone she loved so broken apart compelled Ellen to find a solution, but there was no such repair. This was down to him alone to find his peace. If he ever could. She could only stand beside him with affection and empathy, both of which she had in spades. He turned his body to face her and took both her hands. The contact sent warmth flooding through her.

‘I want to know … were you going to come back to me before my mother intervened? Be honest; I have to know the truth. Our plan to be together – would it have happened the way we dreamed if it weren’t for her and my father’s lies?’

Ellen thought carefully. Her response may cast Nýsa and more so Thános into further disgrace, but she couldn’t avoid the facts and nodded. At the confirmation, Aléxandros closed his eyes tightly, almost wincing in anticipation of what she would say next.

‘Yes,’ Ellen began softly. ‘I was going to do what we talked about – pack up my things from my parents’ and come here to be with you. But then, you know what happened, seeing your father at the airport …’ He removed his hands and dropped his head into them, his knuckles whitening as his fingers gripped at his skull. A mosquito landed on her arm and she brushed it away, not moving her gaze from Aléxandros. They were firmly trapped in a halfway house of the what-ifs and what-could-have-beens and it was torture. ‘Can you ever forgive me, or any of us who played a terrible part?’ She had to ask; they could go around in circles forever, but the past couldn’t be changed. He slowly lifted his head, and another bug landed on her hand, which she flicked away. Insects had no role in this conversation.

‘As much as what you did hurt me beyond belief, I now know that it wasn’t your doing. Of course, I blamed you at the time, because I couldn’t understand why, after all the promises we made, you disappeared. But when I saw you back in the village again, all those feelings of anger went away and there was only love. More love than I could ever have thought my heart capable of. I asked you, begged for the truth and now I have it. I wish I didn’t know. It changes everything. Except how I feel. My love for you never went away, Ellen. As much as I tried to ignore it, it grew over the years.’

He stood and walked towards the brow of the hill, below which his olive trees stretched for acres. He spoke towards them, occasionally looking up to the heavens. ‘Even my late wife, she somehow knew she never had all of me. We married later in life and it was a convenience; she was a spinster and I was a bachelor so being together stopped any gossip. This isn’t unusual, to marry and solve a problem this way. Not very romantic, but there was nothing like the feelings we had. Not even a scratch on the surface. I cared for her and loved her as much as I could, but it wasn’t the true passion I’d hoped to find after us. Turns out, there was only one love; there was only you.’

Ellen had shared his experience. John never had her whole heart; there was nothing she could do to convince him, and she suspected he knew, and resented her for it, though she’d never admitted as much. Nothing she did was ever enough, and even if she had loved him completely, he still would have behaved the same. Either way, it fuelled his incessant punishment. By the time he’d died, she had nothing left to give; he’d beaten it out of her.

After hearing Aléxandros’ words, she could hardly get to her feet, her legs were shaking so much. But she persisted, managing to walk to him. They stood side by side as an animal screeched from below, either calling into the night for its mate or trying to escape a predator. The solar lamps dotted around the groves attracted clusters of moths dancing in the beams, and a gentle breeze caught the leaves, sending rustling throughout his lands along with the sweet scent of orange blossom that hadn’t been here before; it was new. Aléxandros waved his hand to the air, swatting away another bug. Ellen caught his hand and pressed it to his heart, running her fingers beneath the opening of his shirt at his chest.

‘I will never break your heart again. I promise you, as long as Greece has olive trees, I am yours. S’agapó, Aléxandros,’ she said, and he laughed so loudly, a bird was startled from its roost. It flapped away crossly squawking to seek out another perch.

‘Now, who taught you to say I love you in Greek?’ he said, clasping her hand at his chest then facing her. Ellen smiled the first true smile of their exchange and shrugged.

‘Just some guy that I’ve loved for a lifetime. Though he always laughs when I try to speak his language.’

‘Ah, maybe he thinks it’s cute.’ He took a step towards her. ‘Tell me, how long have you loved this man?’

Without hesitation, Ellen answered, ‘Thirty-six years, nine months, one day and maybe two hours.’

He raised an eyebrow and grinned at her. ‘Anyone would think you were keeping count and missed me,’ he said, and she was surprised at how flippant and playful he was being in comparison to how their conversation had started. But gallows humour was sometimes the only way to navigate the incomprehensible. ‘Come, let us walk,’ he said, leading her along a neat pathway carved between the rows of trees. The refined tinge of olive blossom along with its sweet-smelling orange tree counterparts whispered around the groves. It was a new top note in the perfume of their love affair and the scent heightened a sensation of hope, that they could resurrect something from the ashes of their past.

After walking almost to the middle of the vast acreage, Aléxandros eventually spoke. ‘Did your late husband know about us, our history?’ At the unexpected mention of John in their beautiful night, she had to prevent herself stepping backwards, but instead Ellen swallowed steadily as she stood still and managed a reply.

‘No. He knew nothing, and he never had all of me. I was always yours, Aléxandros.’ She couldn’t help her hands trembling to even speak of John. Aléxandros noticed the shift in her mood and a look of concern crossed his face.

‘Ellen, what is wrong? I know you must be grieving still, but you look pale.’ He stared at her as if he was trying to read her mind, but this was not the time to share her bleak story. He already had enough to cope with.

In the middle of the olive grove, the branches felt alive with night-time sprites and insects, like an energy was weaving between the plants, swirling around, coiling like an invisible mist. She couldn’t look away from him, and urged herself to be brave. Then, Aléxandros suddenly lifted his hand into the air with his palm facing towards Ellen, and she watched it wide-eyed as it travelled towards her with a swipe in her direction.

She immediately ducked to the ground with a yelp to avoid it, shouting, ‘No! Please, no!’ cowering in as small a crouch as she could, pressing her hands into the earth.

‘Ellen!’ he cried, kneeling in front of her and placing his hands on her shoulders. She was shaking uncontrollably and couldn’t stop the tears that came spilling out at her gut reaction. ‘It was a mosquito. I was only … Look at me, Ellen, my love, please.’ She felt embarrassed that she’d been disarmed. Her body was still accustomed to expecting the worst, too acquainted with cruelty. She hated her muscle memory for revealing more than she’d wished to in this moment, but she defiantly met his eyes through her watery gaze. Her breath was high and ragged, and she was ashamed she’d reacted in that way, especially to a man who loved her wholly and would never hurt her. On that she would stake her life. She wiped her face with a balled-up fist, leaving the scent of soil beneath her nostrils.

‘Ellen, what did he do to you? How did he hurt you? Tell me,’ Aléxandros said tenderly, his own eyes watering as he stroked her hair, inviting her into his arms. She wordlessly fell into his embrace and allowed him to hold her. They clung to one another on the ground, in the honest earth among the trees, embedded in the dirt of their past. She urged her pounding heart to absorb the safety of the love Aléxandros had always harboured for her and had professed once again. ‘I would never, ever hurt you, my sweet, beautiful Ellen, my only love,’ he said in between kisses to her head, her face and finally her lips. Ellen’s heart began a different rhythm as she succumbed to her passion, which rose in turn with his.

In the darkness of the night, she lost herself in their love, reaffirming her promise to him that she would never break his heart again. She pledged it definitively with her body and soul, just as she fervently believed Aléxandros would never harm her. His eyes widened then softened with tears as he found her scars, which were illuminated by the pale lights in the olive grove. There was no need for words. He traced his lips along the violent marks that marred her body, and Ellen reclaimed them as part of her, the badges of honour that signalled her survival. She didn’t hide them – the time for pretence was a distant memory; it was the moment to shed all old skins and inhabit this new one.

There among the very trees that had witnessed the beginning of their connection decades before, Ellen invited Aléxandros to retake that space within her that had always belonged to him since their first summer together. It was what they both needed, like an exorcism of all that had gone before, and for a delicious slice of that night they could imagine they’d never been apart. Everything else could wait. Ellen and Aléxandros could not.

Chapter 38

The insipid, powerless beams of dawn roused Ellen from her sleep, piercing her eyelids, forcing them open. She was wrapped in a blanket nestled within a furrow beside a line of olive trees in Aléxandros’ arms. Waking after their physical reconnection was all she could have dreamed of, and though she had over many years, those imaginings had been a pitiful imitation. The notion of reclaiming her body and the choice in giving it, not only to a man she loved but to one who loved her purely in return, was a release like no other.

It was almost six in the morning according to her phone, which had been hiding beneath layers of discarded clothing. There were a few messages from Tristan asking for a call and several cheeky memes from Penny demanding details. Reality disturbed her blissful state like an electric shock as the weight of what still remained unresolved descended: Nýsa and Tristan. Though Ellen and Aléxandros had reaffirmed their love for one another, it still didn’t provide a clear path forwards without more sacrifice. Her mind flashed back to standing in front of the altar with the priest presiding over them. Behind him had shone a golden depiction of Jesus nailed to the cross: the ultimate symbol of pain in the name of love. Why did there always have to be something lost in the name of gain?

She had to shower the earth from her hair, then see Penny and find out from Théa how her grandmother was. It would be a terrible shame for both Dimitra and the village if Dimitra sold the store. Ellen needed to establish if there was any truth in what she’d heard last night from Delphí, who was also counting on her for guidance to learn her craft. Though Ellen was grateful to be wanted, she wondered when the day would come when she could solely be steered by her own needs as opposed to those she loved or those who depended upon her. There was no such day, and the acceptance of the thought gave her the energy to make choices in the future that bettered herself and those around her.

As she sat up, baring the scar that streaked across her heart to the sunrise, she allowed the rays to illuminate her skin. Ellen looked up to the sky and she saw they were beneath a large orange tree. He must have planted it since she was last here, hence the heady scent she’d noted last night. As her eyes traced her beautiful surroundings, there were several of the trees dotted around and found that their bodies were decorated with sweet-scented blossom petals. They’d been beneath an olive tree the first night they declared love for one another decades ago, and it felt fitting that the beginning of their next chapter had a new fragrant witness to their love.

Aléxandros was slumbering with a smile on his lips that urged her to kiss him and stir sleep from his body with hers. He was irresistible and her appetite, now reawakened, was insatiable. But she tempered her desire and quietly observed him instead. It was a dream come true to be here, and though there was no excuse for the cruelty she’d endured over too many years, to be here now, in this moment, Ellen had more than paid her dues in exchange for happiness. She deserved this joy. But Aléxandros didn’t deserve his pain. As she looked at him, her thoughts must have interrupted his sleep.

‘Kaliméra, agápi mou,’ he said – good morning, my love. ‘Come here, let me see you. I want to see all of you.’ He lazily pulled Ellen towards him, and she tried to cover her marks with an item of clothing, he gently tugged it away as he opened his beautiful pale grey eyes, taking in all of her body. She let him see all she’d hidden from the world as he reached for her with his hands, his gaze absorbing every blemish. She was literally laid bare and felt the trappings of the past loosen, though she was yet to fully divulge the whole story of her marriage. Perhaps some things defied words and acquired an understanding without the need for explanation.

Aléxandros traced his fingers along her scar that cut the place where her heart lay beneath, over the indelible line, which penetrated the edge of her breast, before sitting forwards and trailing his tongue along the mark that marked such violent horror, transforming it into a pleasure that belonged only to them. She felt him inhabit every part of her as they fitted together once again in the crisp cold of morning. As the sky lightened, urging delicate golden pinks to become blues, so he entered her body and filled it with a love like a heavenly layer of sunshine was laced across her skin; an old love that was theirs to celebrate and breathe another life into, propelling it onwards into their new beyond. They held on to each other as if everything depended upon it until Ellen cried out and grasped Aléxandros as he moved within her, languishing in each sensation that had been stored up in reserve for him for so long.

As they dressed, Aléxandros pointed towards the edge of the olive grove, where the sun was burnishing the leaves with colours akin to a rich honey drizzled along the illuminated, tinted branches.

‘It is another day with our golden angel kisses, and I have you back in my life, Ellen. There is nothing we cannot overcome.’ He stood behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her waist. This was how love was supposed to feel, without fear, no condition, just the purest of emotions: feral, base, exciting and all-consuming in the most surprisingly delicious ways. It was knowledge from another point in time that was aged, a meeting in a life before this one. It transcended definition and explanation like it was fated and meant to be.

‘You planted orange trees,’ she said, laughing as a gust of wind showered them with petals.

‘The flavour of your favourite ice cream. It reminded me of you,’ he replied, tightening his grip around her, signalling how much they’d pined for one another across time. She didn’t want to dampen their morning, but she needed to ask him a question.

‘Your mother leaves for Kalamata today. Will you speak with her before she leaves?’ She felt him sigh into her shoulder and kiss the skin beneath his breath.

‘I will try, but she is not who I thought she was. And never will be again. How can I be anything but resentful?’ he said forlornly. ‘I woke in the night and watched you sleep and I realised that I only want people who choose me. That does not include my father. You, my love, are all I need. He made his decision with my mother and has no part in my future. He has been dead to me for years and now, he most certainly is.’

Ellen’s face fell at the idea that he’d arrived at such a sad place, though she had no comprehension of how she’d feel in the same circumstance. But perhaps there was some hope for Nýsa; something had to be salvaged from such misery.

‘I know it’s hard to hear, but your mother was trying to do what was the best version of awful. She had few options and none of them were good, and your father forced her into that place. No, she isn’t blameless, but every decision she faced would have hurt you and she made one of the handful of choices she had.’ She turned to face him, still in his arms; it was too important to say to the trees. ‘There was no winning for anybody. Though it wasn’t right, it was the closest she could get to it at the time. I hate to admit it because of what it cost both you and me, but I can’t deny that I feel sad for her. It wasn’t really her fault. I blamed her for years until I knew what was behind her cruelty, or who was. It must be awful to hear that about your father, but it’s the truth.’

‘I arrived at the same conclusion, though I don’t know how to forgive either of them for keeping us apart. She is nearby and available to blame. I don’t know and I don’t care where he is. It will take me time.’ As he spoke, his fingers gently traced the top of her breastbone and further down to brush the tip of the scar that she’d expertly concealed with skilful necklines on every garment she’d worn since she was cut. ‘I think this happened to you because of my parents forcing you to leave, and that I cannot excuse.’ His jaw clenched tightly as he continued to caress her skin. He couldn’t protect her from what had already happened, and she saw that it pained him.

As much as his assessment sparked Ellen’s sense of injustice, she still couldn’t help but wonder if the path she had been made to walk heightened this feeling of elation, making it all the more acute because of what she’d been through. Nobody deserved it, but maybe it was her destiny to emerge stronger; not as a victim but one who was willing to dispense love and care to everyone she encountered with the renewed faith of survival. And to find forgiveness for the wrongdoing that had peppered their story. Whatever her fate was, she longed for Aléxandros to find a semblance of peace with his mother. They had all in some way forced the truth about the past into their present, and now the consequences were collectively theirs to navigate.

Back in her hotel room, Ellen tried not to hold her breath as she waited for Tristan to answer her call. The messages he’d sent asked for her to contact him this morning, saying they ought to chat. It was casual in tone. Ellen anticipated guilt at the decision she’d made. It was all part of her grand plan, which had formed over the last few days – the pieces of which were yet to all fall into place. But it seemed to be heading in the right direction. She’d promised she would never leave Aléxandros again and she would stick by that pledge no matter the cost. And that was the tricky aspect about following your own heart’s desire: there was always a sacrifice.

‘Mum, hi! How are you?’ he answered cheerily.

‘Fine, darling. Actually, better than fine,’ she responded, slightly unsettled by his breezy manner given how tense it had been when they’d last spoken.

‘I wanted to apologise for being short before.’ He was being slightly formal, but Ellen knew he was compensating for nerves. ‘I suppose seeing you with someone else, even if it was in an old photo, was a bit of a shock. But I’ve had some time to think and chat it through with Cress and she convinced me that you deserve to be happy with someone.’

Ellen was further taken aback by the fact that Cressida had been in support of her fledging renewed liaison with Aléxandros.

‘Oh, Tristan … I …’ She couldn’t find the words to express her relief and a lump in her throat stuck hard. But she forged through because she wanted to be truthful, though she couldn’t shower John with platitudes as a widow usually would. ‘It doesn’t mean he will replace your … father.’

‘Does Aléxandros, make you happy, Mum?’

‘Yes,’ she replied gently, trying not to enthuse too much out of sensitivity for her son. ‘He does.’ She heard him sigh and tried not to feel remorse for her choices.

‘So, what does this mean? Are you moving to Greece, or is he coming to England? I mean, how serious is it?’ Ellen detected the tremble in Tristan’s voice and couldn’t ignore the wrench that squeezed at her heart. But she had to live for herself. Tristan was a grown man with a family of his own. He didn’t need her to parent him, though she would always be his mother.

‘I don’t know yet, but yes, it is serious. Being here feels like home and that’s not about Aléxandros; it’s about Greece.’ She smiled as she traced through her days in Kardamyli. ‘You’d laugh, but I’ve been sewing and helping in the village dress shop since we last spoke, and also teaching a couple of local girls.’

Tristan laughed as she’d thought he would. ‘Trust you, Mum, dashing around to help anyone who asks. As Cress said, you need something more in your life than just sewing and it sounds like you’ve found it.’

The thought of Cressida’s patronising voice made Ellen’s teeth itch, imagining Cressida’s condescending dismissal of her work, but she couldn’t deny she was grateful to her daughter-in-law for persuading Tristan to support her happiness. She sat at the table where her travel sewing machine was. She’d hardly used it since making Penny’s dress; the shop had become her new workspace.

‘Anyway, enough about my business, tell me how those babies are?’ She smiled, then suddenly realised that if she moved to Greece to be with Aléxandros, her precious time with her grandchildren would be consigned to school holidays only. There was the first price to pay.

‘They’re missing you horribly, but I guess they’d better get used to it if you’re thinking of moving,’ Tristan said sadly but recovered quickly. ‘But the idea of splashing about in the sea I think would appeal. Better get some more swimming lessons booked in, hadn’t we?’ Ellen was glad he was being so positive. ‘It’s taken a day or two to come around to the idea of you being with someone else, but like I said before, I don’t want you unhappy and lonely, and obviously I want to meet this Aléxandros – put him through his paces. But if he makes you half as happy as Dad did, then I approve.’

Ellen shuddered at the thought. It was like trying to compare night and day, hot and cold, sweet and sour – neither man bore any resemblance to the other. She chatted easily with Tristan for several more minutes and he filled her in on his plans to expand his business and how well work was going. Then she let his happy reminiscences of John wash over her, imagining he was talking about someone he knew that she didn’t; trips camping together, taking him to Scout meetings, doing a speech at his school assembly or making a birthday treasure hunt to test Tristan and his friend’s detective skills. It was the stranger she’d witnessed being an exemplary, loving father who’d behaved so very differently in private. But Tristan was allowed to have his memories because they were his, and they were true. It struck her again that there were two fathers in her story who had put the women they were supposed to love in untenable situations. Thános and John had forced Nýsa and Ellen into secrecy, and both mothers had pledged to protect their sons at great cost to themselves. It further cemented her understanding about the stage of life she had reached; Tristan didn’t need her nor depend upon her anymore. He had carved his own path and built his happiness.

There was much she could learn from her beautiful boy, and it made her more determined to focus on her next chapter. It was time for the new Ellen to finally take the reins and gallop towards a future that was entirely of her making.

Chapter 39

‘Do not scrimp on the details. I want to hear every single thing no matter how small, or … huge.’ Penny giggled suggestively, adjusting her towel on a lounger. Ellen chose to gloss over her innuendos, which had arrived in quick succession since they’d set up camp beside the hotel pool.

Ellen spritzed her legs with more suncream since the day was now stiflingly warm, and yet so much had happened since sunrise. She couldn’t help the smile that crept across her lips as the image of being on the ground among the olive and orange trees flashed through her mind. In fact, last night and this morning was playing on a loop; it was a challenge to focus on anything else. She’d outlined the scantest details she was prepared to share with Penny, who had whooped with delight when she’d heard what had transpired in the earth: the venue for Ellen’s sleepover.

As they both settled to bask in the sun, sipping at fruity mocktails, Ellen pulled on her straw hat, feeling truly content, especially having had such a positive call with Tristan. Her racer-back swimsuit that concealed her heart scar in a daring scarlet seemed a fitting colour for the way she felt, like some kind of temptress or seductress. She had never been either of those things, but something within her had been awakened beneath Aléxandros’ touch, like reconnecting with the long-forgotten version of herself, the one she’d hoped to find in Greece but had feared was lost forever.

‘I’ve realised something, these past few days,’ Ellen began as she stretched out on the sunbed. Penny turned on her side attentively to hear more, resting her head in her hand. ‘That the terrible things we all go through, those moments of grief or immense pain that seem inexplicable at the time, are all part of a bigger plan that’s already mapped out.’

‘My God, you did have a spiritual awakening in that olive grove,’ Penny joked, before taking a sip of her drink.

‘You know what I mean, Pen. It’s a way to make sense of the sadness, and it’s only possible to reflect on bad times when there’s happiness and you’re through the worst. It doesn’t excuse what John did, nothing could, but now, looking back from this point in time, the journey to this place makes a sort of messed-up sense. It’s terrible to appreciate real love like that, but it’s the only way I can try and put it to rest once and for all. And I have to find peace otherwise it’s a waste of life.’ Penny reached for her hand.

‘Ellen, good things happen to bad people and dreadful things happen to the very best. Nobody warrants what you went through, but like you say, you survived and so many don’t. And here you are with so many options in front of you and that makes me so, so happy.’ Penny removed her oversized black sunglasses and wiped at her eyes, smudging her mascara. Ellen sat up, unsure what Penny was crying about. ‘Most things don’t make sense, Ellen. They defy comprehension, and your courage to face your past is inspiring, and not only that, you’re making sure it doesn’t stop your future. I wish …’

‘Pen, what is it?’ Ellen moved to sit beside her. ‘Tell me, why are you crying?’

‘Because I’m happy for you and not in the least bit jealous. It’s ever so confusing to feel like that.’ Ellen burst out laughing and Penny eventually joined in. ‘I’ve had my own little epiphany since I’ve been here too. That even though Alan and I have been going through a rough patch, I need to trust in the way things are meant to be. I’ve concluded that I have been selfish beyond the realms of acceptable, not only as a friend but as a wife.’ Penny turned to sit cross-legged on her bed and Ellen in turn mirrored her, both reaching for their cover-ups to drape over their laps. ‘I put so much effort into the causes I work with, but it became a filler to make up for what I thought I was missing – passion and love and real meaning. Which I do have with Alan; I always have. I’m just spoilt, and nothing is ever good enough. I must have made him feel awful and I hope it’s not dead in the water already.’ She put her sunglasses back on with a sniff and picked up her drink. ‘I’m going to try and do better with the time I have left. I’ll stop being so self-absorbed and obsessing about my appearance, and put energy into things that matter before it’s too late. And that includes you.’

She raised her glass and Ellen found hers to return the toast. The emotional awareness that Penny had been lacking for as long as Ellen could remember had finally found its way towards her friend, and it was as shocking as it was surprising.

‘Pen, you don’t have to …’

‘No, I won’t let you make excuses for me. You’ve been kind, forgiving and amazing. Whereas I’ve been brutal, behaved appallingly and shown little compassion. But that all changes right now. After a swim, I’m taking you to lunch down the coast to Agios Nikolaos. Get your glad rags on and let’s get back on our girls’ trip!’

Ellen watched Penny dive lithely into the pool and swim with the smooth stroke of a seasoned professional. She checked her phone and found no word from Aléxandros. His mother wasn’t due to leave until this afternoon, so Ellen sent him a message to let him know what her plans were for the rest of the day. She only hoped that she fitted in with his. No. She stopped her thought and shoved it aside. This was her crossroads moment, if her idea came to fruition. From now on it would be if he fitted in with her plans.

The fishing village of Agios Nikolaos was as charming as Ellen recalled and little had altered. These small nooks on the mainland remained unspoilt given they tended to be centred around a street, like Kardamyli, or around a harbour such as this one; there was little that could ruin their authenticity.

Ellen had driven as Penny had said she was feeling quite shattered after her strenuous laps of the pool before they’d retired to the hotel to change. Ellen noted this wasn’t the first time on their holiday that Penny had grown unexpectedly fatigued and it concerned her, but they’d pledged not to keep secrets from one another, so perhaps she was simply wrung out from their loaded conversations. She’d managed to sing along at considerable volume to the playlist from their schooldays as they coasted along the roads to their lunch spot. Their anthem, ‘Fast Car’, had taken on an even greater meaning as they’d joined in, renewed and determined to reinvigorate their friendship in line with the lyrics.

As they walked towards a taverna with painted blue chairs set on the seafront, both women attracted admiring glances from locals taking in the day over espresso freddos at the various kafenía. Penny was wearing her green strapless dress again and Ellen her embroidered white one – the outfits they’d worn on the May Day feast night, which felt like last May as opposed to only four days ago.

They ordered a selection of small plates, a glass of rosé for Penny and an alcohol-free beer for Ellen since she intended to drive them home. Penny still looked pale and was picking at her food again yet chatting happily.

‘I never expected us to go through so much on this trip, Ellen,’ she said sipping her wine. ‘I thought it would all be giggles and fun, but even for our horrible fights, I think we will be better for it. I hope so at least. I know I’m not through the woods with you yet, but I hope you can forgive me for the way I behaved. We mustn’t let the sun go down on another argument.’ She grinned and held out her little finger and Ellen shook it with hers, feeling the promise of returning not only to how things were before, but of growing a more meaningful version of their friendship. ‘I’ve been thinking back to all the times I saw you with a bruise on your cheek, or that plaster cast on your hand that meant you couldn’t sew for a month, or a rib you’d cracked, and I just thought you’d become really clumsy. Stupid, stupid me. I should have known, or guessed, but I didn’t. Over the years when I thought about it, you were nervy, less sure of who you were, and I paid no attention. I’m so ashamed I failed to see it. Or maybe I didn’t want to.’

Ellen looked at her with pain in her blue eyes, noticing Penny’s hands were shaking. ‘Hey,’ she began, grabbing her friend’s clammy, trembling fingers to steady them. ‘It’s nobody’s fault to bear. I just couldn’t find a way to tell you, Pen.’ There was nothing else to say. The shade beneath the table parasols was welcome as the sun blazed brightly. There was a poor excuse for a sea breeze that only wafted more warm air around. As their plates were cleared away and a platter of watermelon set down, Penny excused herself to go to the loo. After standing with great effort, she moved slowly away. Ellen frowned as she watched Penny gingerly walking into the taverna before a message from Aléxandros distracted her. She called him while she had a free moment and he answered immediately.

‘Yiá sou, agápi mou,’ he began with an informal hello and ‘my love’. Ellen’s stomach was tickled by a thousand butterfly wings.

‘Hello yourself.’ She grinned, unable to conceal her happiness. ‘How is it at your house, dare I ask?’

He laughed with a warm, deep sound that she felt in her heart across the distance. ‘Tense, difficult, angry, sad … Where do I start?’

‘Is there anything I can do?’ Ellen asked.

‘No, just be there for me when she is gone. I cannot forgive her at this time, Ellen, but I understand her reasoning, as much as it hurts. My father was the one at fault. She was trying to protect me, I know, but it’s too raw to comprehend,’ he said sadly. ‘Maybe some things aren’t meant to ever be resolved. The lesson is to find acceptance with that. I’m sure my priest would encourage me to tread the path of forgiveness.’ Ellen heard him sigh with the heaviness his predicament required and wished there was more she could do. ‘I miss you.’

‘I miss you too, agápi mou.’ Aléxandros laughed warmly at her attempt at Greek. ‘But you are right, there are things we have to find peace with that defy reasoning. Your mother is old, and she’s been in pain too for so long. Don’t miss the chance to let her know that you still love her.’

‘You are beautiful and wise, Ellen mou. And right. I drive my mother to Kalamata soon and will be back for sunset, my favourite time of day. I always used to think of you when the sun said goodnight to Kardamyli.’

If Ellen had been standing up, she would have swooned at the poetry of his words, delivered in his beautiful accent.

‘Well, I have no response to match that other than I love you.’ She was unaccustomed to such feelings of happiness, like she was in a dream.

‘Say it in my language,’ he said huskily, which was like a dart to all the places he’d inhabited last night and this morning.

‘You’ll only laugh again, but … S’agapó, Aléxandros.’ She felt shy and did her best at the pronunciation.

‘You are perfect,’ she heard the smile in his voice.

‘Drive safely and—’

‘Please, miss! Your friend … there is problem,’ shouted the waiter from the taverna doorway before rushing to her table.

‘What is it?’ Aléxandros asked, hearing the commotion, as tenderness was replaced by panic.

‘I … I … don’t know,’ Ellen replied before speaking to the waiter frantically. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Please you must come. We have called the ambulance.’

‘Ellen, go! Phone when you know more,’ Aléxandros said, and Ellen nodded before wordlessly hanging up and dashing into the taverna in a daze, terrified of what she might find.

Chapter 40

Ellen rushed into Aléxandros’ arms the moment she saw him stride through the sliding doors of Kalamata Hospital’s emergency room.

‘Thank you for coming – you didn’t have to. What about Nýsa?’ Ellen asked from the comfort of his embrace.

‘You worry so much about everyone else, Ellen. It is one of the many things I love about you,’ he said, pulling away and smoothing the hair from her face. Their gaze connected and she felt reassured that she was choosing the right path, though Penny’s sudden illness was not part of her grand plan, which may now be on pause. ‘My mother is back at home in the city, and I took your advice. She knows I love her, but I need the space to understand. Most importantly, is there news about Penny?’ he asked.

‘Nothing yet. She fainted in the bathroom at the taverna. It was horrible. She was just lying there like she was … She looked …’ Ellen couldn’t say it. As she’d found Penny on the tiled floor it connected with the vision that had manifested the moment she’d selected the emerald green fabric to make Penny’s dress, but she had dismissed it, not comprehending what it could mean. Her instinct was sadly correct. As she’d completed the final stitch, once more she’d seen Penny asleep but with an otherworldly sheen that at the time Ellen couldn’t interpret. Or didn’t want to entertain. But the static image having come to life was more horrifying than what she’d foreseen. Waiting to find out what was wrong was intolerable. She’d called Alan and left him a message, trying to avoid summoning alarm, impressing the importance that he phone her back. Aléxandros pulled her into his arms again, holding Ellen in his tight embrace until a little calm descended. Eventually, he returned to the facts of the situation.

‘Has she been ill?’ he asked as they took a seat together in the stark waiting area, clustered with people holding handkerchiefs to bleeding wounds, sick children draped limply in a mother’s arms or those in wheelchairs grimacing in pain, all desperate to be seen.

Ellen shook her head. ‘No, not as such, but I’ve noticed she’s been … I can’t quite put my finger on it, but she’s so thin and gets tired easily, but who doesn’t at our age? I’m so worried, Aléxandros. I don’t know what to do. I need to mend this, fix her. I can’t …’ Her tears spilled from her eyes like someone had turned on a tap. As he held her, she clung to him, afraid to let go, scared of what may happen next. Poor Penny. And there wasn’t a single thing Ellen could do to help.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, a doctor appeared and called her name, beckoning her to follow him through double doors. She insisted Aléxandros accompany her and they were led to a private waiting room, which propelled Ellen’s heartbeat to a thunderous pace. Alan still hadn’t called her back. The clinical scent of disinfectant returned her to countless visits of her own to A&E in London to have a fractured wrist set, various body parts X-rayed, and then the dreadful twelve stitches administered across her heart. Each time she chose a different hospital so as not to alert anyone to the danger she was in. But it was all surely there on her records, though John was always by her side to ensure no questions were ever asked, not of such a decorated police officer. He often wore his uniform to deflect any queries and it had been a successful tactic. The injuries were explained away with grace and ease, denouncing her false clumsiness. She couldn’t bring herself to draw a black circle on her palm and discreetly show it to a clinician, citing domestic abuse, a silent inked cry for help.

She shook away her memories and tried to steady her breathing, but she couldn’t find an ounce of serenity until she was equipped with knowledge. She focused on the doctor, waiting for the tiniest scrap of information to clutch on to.

‘So, Penny says you are her next of kin since her husband is in the UK and they both gave me permission to share what has happened. She tells me you are sisters without the blood and are best friends for more than forty years,’ he said with a kind smile and Ellen’s eyes began to water once more, touched by Penny’s suggestion. They’d always pretended they were sisters, but that hadn’t felt the case for so long. Not until now. She imagined Penny wielding her considerable skills of flirtation even in her incapacitated state.

‘Please, doctor, tell me what happened,’ Ellen said, her voice tremoring, betraying her attempt to tend to the business at hand.

‘It is unusual to tell non-family members this information; however, your friend is … how to say … very persuasive. So, she is terribly anaemic, which would have of course caused dizziness in someone healthy. And she’s very underweight, but this is to be expected,’ he said consulting his notes on a clipboard, flipping over one paper before returning to the first page.

‘I know, she exercises loads and eats very little, but she’s always been like that and was totally fine,’ Ellen said, unable to understand why now, why today, what was different?

‘Yes, she is quite the determined character. But you must know the appetite can be terribly affected with this condition and coupled with the anaemia, the blood tests we returned have shown considerable abnormalities, but is not a shock given what she is dealing with.’

‘What?’ Ellen cried. ‘Abnormalities … what do you mean this condition, and you said anaemia in someone healthy, but she is healthy, so healthy. I don’t understand what you’re saying.’ Ellen looked frantically to Aléxandros, who simply took her hand and, as his eyes connected with hers, his encouragement gave her strength to ask the question she didn’t want the answer to. ‘Please, doctor, you said Penny and Alan gave consent to share her medical information, so I beg of you, speak plainly. What is wrong with my … my sister?’

The doctor put his clipboard to the side and sat forwards in his chair. ‘It is clear to me that you do not know the full story, so I am sorry to be the one to tell you this.’ He took a deep, slow breath. Ellen felt for him. Nobody could be trained to deliver bad news; you only got one chance to do it well. ‘Your friend has a metastasis of stage-four cancer. This she already told me. Apparently the tumour began in her ear and caused significant hearing loss; it then spread to her neck.’ Ellen gripped her mouth with her hand, consumed with guilt at the endless laughs at Penny’s expense, the jokes they’d shared about her inability to hear and absurd mix-ups. The doctor continued as Ellen, engrossed in remorse-laden horror, bravely absorbed the news. ‘But it had already spread to her lymph nodes by the time she had tests, biopsies, and the unfortunate diagnosis identifying the cause. With these additional symptoms and chronically low blood pressure, it is likely that it has now moved to her blood system. I am truly sorry, but after your friend goes home, which she should do as soon as she is well enough, I must unfortunately tell you that she will never return to Greece again.’

‘Pen?’ Ellen said, gently squeezing her arm. The green dress she’d lovingly made was draped over a chair beside her bed. Without a scrap of makeup and despite the unfortunate polyester hospital gown, Penny looked utterly beautiful. There wasn’t a line on her face. Her long eyelashes slowly fluttered open, then promptly filled with tears.

‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. After all we promised, I just couldn’t say it. Please forgive …’ she started, but Ellen shushed her.

‘Don’t you dare apologise, Pen. Of course, I wish you’d told me. I could have helped or been a listening ear.’

‘At least you have a bloody ear that works – who on earth gets cancer in their ear? Apparently, me. Maybe it was the last facelift – they pulled too tight.’ She smiled sadly, and it was so like her to make light of the gravest of scenarios. ‘But I could have helped you, Ellen, been your shoulder, but we both chose silence because it was all too painful and horrid to say aloud.’ Her eyes flicked to Aléxandros and her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘We’ve done the same, haven’t we? Pretended for too long to be someone we aren’t. Silly buggers!’ She giggled a throaty laugh and Ellen loved her even more for it.

‘Don’t get overexcited; you need to rest.’ Ellen proffered the cup of water with its straw and Penny took a few sips then screwed up her nose.

‘Not Evian, darling,’ she said with a grimace. ‘And speaking of overexcited, the porter who wheeled me onto the ward. Lord, I could happily see out my days with him. He was like Jason and I’d love a peek at his Argonauts!’

‘Don’t! You’re not seeing out your days in this hospital. I’m taking you home as soon as you’re fit enough. To Alan,’ Ellen said pointedly. ‘I’m guessing he knows.’

‘He does. We’ve just spoken again and he says for you not to worry. He encouraged me to come here with you because he said it could be my last hurrah. It’s so annoying being married to someone who is always right, because as it turns out, this is it, Ellen. You and me, Thelma and Louise, except I’m the one heading over the cliff and you get to begin an adventure with your own Brad Pitt.’ She nodded at Aléxandros and grasped Ellen’s hand fiercely. ‘But don’t you bloody well forget about me!’

Ellen dissolved into floods of tears witnessing the strength of her friend, whom she’d thought so flimsy at times, and was floored by her courage. If only it didn’t take the harshest extremities of life to be brought back together. That was the cruel and twisted hand that had been dealt. Yet all the platitudes Penny had directed at Ellen for surviving were as true of her. They were chosen family, finally finding a place to lift one another up and be a support like nobody else could. That was the greatest testimony to female friendship and sisterhood, and one Ellen would cherish for as long as they had left together.

Chapter 41

While Penny was resting, the doctors assured Ellen that she would be able to leave hospital in a couple of days if her blood pressure stabilised and she was fully rehydrated.

She allowed Aléxandros to lead her down the long corridor since she’d paid little mind to where she’d been taken. He suggested she wait by the exit while he fetched some coffee and she was grateful; he knew what she needed even before she realised it herself. Ellen was exhausted, stunned into a haze by the afternoon’s events. Despite leaving Penny in surprisingly high spirits, it felt too contrary to link such a terminal sentence with her vibrant friend.

‘Ellen!’ It was Théa, who had appeared in the hospital reception. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

Ellen explained briefly about Penny fainting though she didn’t elaborate; she couldn’t bring herself to say Penny’s diagnosis aloud yet, so she swiftly changed subjects.

‘How is Dimitra?’ Ellen enquired. ‘I hope she’s improving.’

‘She is,’ Théa said in relief. ‘Much better, though she has had to accept she needs to take life easy. She is going to give up the store.’ She looked crestfallen, the same reaction as Delphí had had when she’d mentioned it.

‘Is there no way for you to take it on?’ Ellen suggested. ‘You’re so good, and Delphí is such a quick learner. I think you’d do well. Both of you.’

Théa looked even more dejected as she stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets and scuffed her foot against a skirting board. ‘My family couldn’t afford it, what with running the hotel, and my yiayiá needs to sell it to make ends meet. She will need care now. There is no other way.’

Ellen put a hand on her shoulder. ‘It would be such a shame for the village to lose a business and a huge waste of your talent.’ Ellen smiled, her expression failing to match the solemnity of her words, though Théa was looking at the floor so didn’t notice. Her idea was developing further. If learning about Penny’s illness had taught her little else, it was that life was too precious and fleeting. Chances should be grabbed with both hands and wrung dry of the opportunity. Though she was still in shock, she was blessed with a long future ahead to make plans for. Penny, heartbreakingly, was not. ‘Could I speak with your grandmother? Only if she is well enough.’

Théa agreed with a puzzled look and gave her directions to Dimitra’s ward. Ellen asked if Théa could wait for Aléxandros and explain where she’d gone, promising she wouldn’t be long.

As she marched back along the clinical corridors, Ellen felt her purpose grow with every step. The idea she’d manifested in the dress shop a few days ago was taking shape, and it seemed as if something had intervened by putting Théa in her path today. There was no time to fritter away and Ellen wanted to implement her scheme as soon as possible; she left Greece in five days. Though Penny ought to go home sooner, Ellen smiled, already expecting considerable resistance from her friend. No matter how critically ill, she was as headstrong as ever – even the doctor had diagnosed her with flirtatious belligerence.

Dimitra was surprised to have Ellen as a visitor and immediately cast a suspicious look at her when she entered the little cubicle. She soon warmed up as Ellen respectfully relayed the work she’d been doing with Delphí and her granddaughter.

‘You have kept my little shop busy, it seems. I want to thank you – now I have the chance in person – for your help with the May Day celebrations. It wouldn’t have been the same if you hadn’t stepped in. Kardamyli will always thank you for it,’ Dimitra said. Ellen scrutinised the old woman, who seemed so tiny as if she were swaddled in her bedclothes, tucked in tightly. There was a colour in her cheeks, much more than when Ellen had first met her. After exchanging further niceties, Ellen plucked up the courage to suggest something that would alter several people’s lives, including her own. She had no idea how responsive Dimitra would be, but the idea was like a gnat buzzing around her brain and Ellen knew deep in her spirit this was truly meant to be. As she outlined the proposition, Dimitra’s face lightened, and a broad smile crept slowly across her wrinkled features.

‘I think this is a most wonderful solution and yet again, Kardamyli will be grateful. You must have been sent to help us like this. To help me – a complete stranger.’

Ellen reached for the old woman’s hand, which rested on top of the bedsheet. ‘That’s the thing – community survives on the kindness of strangers. You know, I used to leave food for a homeless woman and her dog each day and now they’ve moved on – I hope, to happier times. I was able to play a tiny part in her life and she was a great comfort to me and she never knew just how much. And my best friend, Penny, raises so much for good causes, helping because it’s her mission in life.’ Ellen’s lip trembled as she mentioned Penny but she pressed on. ‘Now I can do the same for this magical place. Your village has given me a second chance at love, which I could never repay. This idea solves several problems at once, and it would be an honour to support some people who have become very special.’ Ellen was surprised to find the tears in her own eyes were matched by Dimitra’s. ‘Aléxandros can help with the official paperwork, the translation and red tape, but I’d like to get things moving as soon as we can. I don’t want to cause any stress, but time is of the essence.’

‘On the contrary, Ellen, you have lifted a burden from my shoulders. I will contact my lawyer today. Théa can assist, since she has a vested interest in your cunning scheme.’ Dimitra chuckled, and Ellen was relieved, spotting a mischievous twinkle in her beady eyes. ‘Théa has also told me about Aléxandros. He is a very good man. Not much stays a secret for long in Kardamyli.’

The irony was, so many things had remained secret in Kardamyli, until Ellen had returned: Nýsa hiding Aléxandros’ father, and all that Ellen and Penny had hidden from one another for too long. Now there was a clear way ahead and excitement bubbled within her about the direction she was taking. Choosing. Only it was tinged with deep sadness, because Penny would never get to see it come to fruition.

Her dearest and oldest friend wouldn’t witness Ellen take ownership of Dimitra’s dress shop, using the money from John’s pension and lump sum that she’d allowed to accumulate. Ellen would transform her future and that of Théa and Delphí. She would make them both equal partners with her in the store and they could run it under her supervision. As soon as she was able, she hoped to live in Kardamyli and work alongside those wonderful young women. And be with the man she loved. But given Penny’s news, Ellen was afraid she would have to break her promise to Aléxandros never to leave him. She intended to return to the UK with Penny and be by her side until …

She scrunched the corner of Dimitra’s bedsheet in her hand, willing her tears to pause until she was alone. The renewed pinkie swear of friendship flashed through her mind; vowing never to pretend things were perfect and to be honest … from now until the day we die.

After driving back to her hotel, following behind Aléxandros’ truck, Ellen felt completely shattered. The winding mountain roads from Kalamata had kept her alert along with the double shot of iced black coffee that Aléxandros had bought. She needed to unveil her master plan to him and reveal the caveat that came with it, which would hurt him again. These past few days had been a roller coaster of elation and pain; why did the opposing sides of the same coin have to be such needy bedfellows, when surely they all deserved a prolonged period of joy? It made Ellen resolve to accept the happiness wherever she could find it and never take it for granted.

Unlocking her hotel room, she found the space was stifling having been without air conditioning all day, and Ellen flung open the terrace doors, inviting the sea breeze in.

‘There’s wine in the fridge. I think we both need it,’ she said to Aléxandros, having just enough energy to move to the patio chair and flop into it. The gravity of Penny’s diagnosis was descending, and she had so many questions for her, but then again, what was the point? Penny had the means to get the very best treatment and if there was nothing to be done, there was no reason to query her decision to let it play out as fate intended. All she could do was be the best friend possible for however long there was left.

Aléxandros placed two glasses on the table and sat beside her, taking her hand.

‘I am so sorry about Penny. It’s the most terrible news,’ he said tenderly. After taking a sip of her wine, absorbing the colours of sunset painted across the sky, she turned her head to him.

‘I need to tell Tristan; Pen is his godmother. Poor Tristan, he’s had enough grief and now this …’

‘So have you, Ellen, but you’re not alone. I’m here.’ His eyes glistened, taking on her pain as it was reflected back at her.

‘But this must bring back awful memories for you, with your wife. I’m so sorry.’ But he raised his finger to her lips and gently hushed her.

‘This is about today, now, us and your best friend.’ Ellen was struck by his capacity for kindness, so contrary to all she’d been shown by John in the vast chasm between their first meeting years ago and now what she hoped would become their final chapters.

‘I don’t know where to start,’ she said, though what Ellen really wanted to say was I can’t believe she hid this from me, but she’d have done the same and she understood the reasons behind her best friend’s decision. Penny had wanted this to be their last girls’ trip without the heaviness of her illness weighing over them. Though it wouldn’t have made their disagreements any less painful, Ellen was determined to ensure their fights weren’t a source of regret in times to come. ‘It’s bad. She can’t have long … weeks at the most.’ Her voice cracked and she couldn’t stop the tears that she’d tried to curtail in the hospital. But now she could set them free. Aléxandros held her while she wept, kissed her head as she uttered between sobs, ‘It’s so unfair,’ and found her a tissue as she whispered, ‘I can’t believe it.’ When her tears subsided enough for her to speak again, she felt the sting of injustice rise.

‘She’s so young, Aléxandros. How can this be happening? She’s spent her life being healthy and now her body is riddled with this awful disease. I can’t lose her, but I have no choice. How can I prepare to say goodbye to someone who’s always been in my life? We grew up together. She’s been there since …’ Ellen wiped her eyes, then said to the heavens more than to him, ‘We learnt our truth too late.’ Then she looked at Aléxandros and repeated her words. It was as valid for him as it was for Penny and for her.

‘But at least we have the truth, agápi mou. We have love, all of us, which is more than most people have in their lifetime.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it, imprinting his mouth onto her skin with the urgency of overwhelming love; she felt it in her heart. ‘What can I do to help you?’

Ellen reached for him and softly met his lips with hers, grateful for his counsel and compassion; there was no right thing to say and his support was all she needed, along with his love. Their kisses punctuated her tears; the swell of emotions were conflicting and all-encompassing – the perilous tightrope between life and death with love linking the two.

When they broke apart, Ellen said, ‘There is one thing you can do to help me … I need to speak to a lawyer.’

Chapter 42

Three days later

‘Would you take my arm for goodness’ sake?’ Ellen exclaimed as Penny tried to emerge from the ridiculous convertible unaided.

‘I’m not dead yet, darling,’ she said, climbing gently out of the car, using the door as leverage.

‘Not even remotely amusing,’ Ellen replied, holding Penny’s elbow to guide her back to the hotel. ‘And I don’t know why you refused to change your flight. You need to go home; the doctor said so.’ Penny stopped and put her hands on her hips. Even after only three days in hospital, she’d lost more weight and the beautiful green dress Ellen had made for her friend, which she still insisted on wearing, now barely clung to her frame.

‘Right, I will say this once, so I suggest you listen. We only have two nights left here after today and if I hadn’t fainted, leading you to find out about this stupid disease, what would we be doing? Planning day trips, sightseeing, nights of drinking and delicious food, dancing and gooseberry fun for me with you and Alex.’ Ellen didn’t correct the shortening of Aléxandros’ name and allowed Penny to continue. ‘So please, can we act normal? And besides, given your cunning plan is falling into place with the shop, I think a little celebration is in order, don’t you?’

Ellen knew there was no point challenging Penny, and she was happy for her to have her way. She smiled, soaking in the moment.

‘What exactly did you have in mind?’ she asked with amusement as they linked arms, slowly walking into the hotel reception. Théa greeted them with a generous hug each.

‘Ah, Théa, exactly the person,’ Penny said, commanding attention. ‘Get Stavros. We will need him too. I propose we hold a party to herald the new era of Dimitra’s dress shop. What’s that wonderful taverna with music – Yiory … something about a back garden, do you know it?’

Théa nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, Yioryitsa’s Backyard. It is the perfect place for a party! Stavros!’ She summoned her husband, who appeared from the side room looking somewhat surprised. Neither Ellen nor Penny had seen him since he’d hauled their luggage upon arrival, though they’d heard the television blasting sports commentary throughout their stay.

‘Now, I’m going to be organising this party from the comfort of my bed or a lounger by the pool. But the day after tomorrow, for our last night, I want us to hold a proper Greek celebration to thank Ellen for what she’s done for Kardamyli and the fact that she’s going into business with your wife! Isn’t it marvellous, Stavros? You must be so pleased for her and little Delphí.’ Penny didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Since Ellen is going to be moving here to be with the love of her life, it’s a way for the whole village to welcome her – don’t you think it’s the most fabulous idea?’ Penny again needed no response; she was in full planning mode.

‘It’s a wonderful excuse for a celebration,’ said Théa, almost jumping up and down on the spot, though Stavros looked less than impressed. ‘We are both at your disposal, anything you need!’

‘I think you should rest, Pen,’ Ellen said, urging her to go to her room.

‘Rest?! I’ve been flat on my back for three days – and not in the good sense – there is life to live and fun to organise!’ Théa laughed and Stavros blushed at Penny’s suggestive mood. Ellen rolled her eyes, but the admiration she had for her best friend was immeasurable. Sharing the heaviness of her diagnosis had unleashed a more energised Penny than Ellen had ever seen before. Honesty had truly set them both free.

While Penny had been in hospital, Ellen had attended her bedside and they’d laughed, cried and consoled one another through their mutual pain, re-establishing their connection, which had deepened to a place Ellen hadn’t thought possible, and they were better for it. The experience had taught her so much – not only about her friend but also about the power of being authentic and the unseen burdens that everyone carried.

Aléxandros had dutifully visited the hospital, bringing snacks and smuggling in wine for Penny to enjoy, and Ellen loved him even more for his care. He had paid another visit to his mother in Kalamata, and they were making slow but hopefully steady progress towards healing and reconciliation.

‘Théa, I will make a list of all we need and then Stavros can be the liaison, as you have enough to do dividing your time between the shop and the hotel. Let’s put your man to work.’ Stavros looked horrified and shrunk within his bulky vest-clad frame, smoothing his black hair in discomfort. ‘We can get it all done easily.’ Penny scribbled her number and email address on a pad then created a message group, which Stavros begrudgingly added his number to. Ellen saw Penny’s shoulders dip with fatigue and decided to override her headstrong friend and take her to her room.

As they carefully walked arm in arm up the marble stairs, Ellen clung on to every moment, no matter how mundane or insignificant. She couldn’t hold back the stinging tears and allowed them to drop from her eyes, making no sound, but Penny knew her of old and picked up on it immediately.

‘If you’re going to weep every ten minutes, then I’d rather cut you off now.’ She stopped and turned to face Ellen in the hallway between their two rooms, taking both her hands. ‘You know I didn’t want to tell you because you’ve had enough grief – before I knew what you’d actually been going through – and I would still stand by that choice if I hadn’t taken a tumble in the loo at our lunch. Horribly undignified and not at all how I would have planned it. Let’s forget about stupid cancer until we have no alternative. Please,’ she added softly. ‘I’ve had enough appointments and leaflets thrust into my hands about end-of-life care and whatnot and I don’t want it in my language until it’s all there is left. Cancer can sod off!’ Penny cackled and Ellen threw her arms around her frail friend. She put on such a good show, but she was breathing heavily from climbing the stairs. It was now painfully clear she was terribly unwell. Ellen kicked herself for not noticing something dangerous was amiss, but Penny was a determined character who would go to the greatest lengths to keep up appearances. And Ellen had too, until there was no option. They were more similar than she’d ever realised.

‘I love you, Pen. I wish we hadn’t argued …’

‘That was entirely my fault and I don’t want to hear another peep about it. I forbid you to tread on eggshells around me just because of this nonsense.’ Penny untangled herself from Ellen. ‘Let’s just be us. While we still can.’

‘Oh, Pen.’ Ellen couldn’t help but cry.

‘For God’s sake, get it all out now, because I won’t take it much more.’ She smiled. ‘And you should know I told Tristan earlier to save you having that horrid conversation.’

Ellen had been building up to tell her son about his godmother’s diagnosis when she left the hospital. Then she’d planned to tell him the awful news when she knew what the plan was. She was grateful it had been taken out of her hands, but now she needed to check in with him. After unlocking Penny’s door and escorting her in, she opened the windows and doors.

‘So, no more secrets. That’s it, we are done, and everyone knows what they should. See what a marvellous friend I am after all?’ Penny said with an expansive arm gesture.

Ellen turned to look at Penny in the middle of the room, the sun’s beams kissing her skin, coating it in a golden sheen. She took a snapshot with her mind, consigning it to the most precious place in her heart.

‘You are the best friend I will ever have, Pen.’

Ellen had never meant anything more.

Chapter 43

Two days later

Yesterday, Ellen went to Kalamata with Aléxandros to visit his lawyer to begin the process to purchase and transfer the deeds of Dimitra’s shop. Greek bureaucracy was legendary for being slow, but apparently, the promise of cash and a private sale, coupled with an extortionate fee to expediate the process, meant that drawing up the notarised contracts, arranging her Greek tax number and finally completing the private sale would be a relatively swift and straightforward transaction. The solicitor was also able to assist with the relevant visas when the time arrived.

Never in her wildest dreams had she thought any of this possible. Having been trapped in a living hell for so long, all she had been able to do was imagine what life could have been, grasping for it like trying to cling on to morning mist; a flimsy imagining, an out-of-reach dream. Ellen couldn’t have predicted the future that now lay before her. It was disconcerting to have everything she wished for, but there was no time to second-guess her good luck; surely she deserved it after such a perilous journey. Yet the pain wasn’t over; Penny’s illness loomed on the horizon like a pending storm, lurking like a spectre on the periphery, waiting to unleash more sorrow. Life was never a smooth crossing over choppy waters, but it made Ellen resolute to hold on to good fortune and, most of all, to love.

While she dressed in her room for the party in her honour, Ellen glanced at her sewing machine, which was packed away in its travel case, recalling the moment she set foot in the hotel armed with the hope she’d harboured for this holiday with Penny. Those aspirations had all been dashed and then unexpectedly reimagined into something she never could have spun at a loom; no crochet stitch nor expert weaver could have unravelled then fixed the mesh of wounds that had travelled unseen to Greece, packed in both their suitcases.

Clipping on some beautiful gold drop earrings that Aléxandros had surprised her with as an unexpected gift, she stood in front of the mirror in her underwear as she had back in her little workroom at home, seconds before deciding to return to Kardamyli. Her scars were the same, but she was not. Ellen now had real, authentic love and acceptance not only from the man she adored, but from herself. Her fingertips traced the faint pink line embedded in her chest, brushing the edge of her lace underwear. It was hers to claim and to never apologise for; it hadn’t been her fault. No longer would she conceal it nor hide from the truth.

Selecting a long olive-green dress from her wardrobe that she’d brought with her, despite thinking it would likely remain on its hanger and she’d never wear it, she ran her fingers over the soft fabric. Upon finishing it on her machine at home, the feeling of liberation and solace she’d experienced as she’d snipped the final thread had urged her to pack it. That aspirational sensation of one day wearing it and not covering up her mark completely had felt so far from her grasp at the time that she couldn’t conjure up such a moment. She’d brought it to Greece as a reminder of hope. The strength of the woman who would unapologetically slip it on was the person she had longed to become. Even if it was left unworn on this trip, it was something she could aim for. Now, she knew why she’d had that premonition, which had been so unclear at the time. The dress fell perfectly into place over her skin as she guided it over her head. The V-shaped neckline daringly exposed a tiny part of her scar and she proudly stared at herself in the mirror. Yes, she was ready, bold, brave and renewed.

Penny had gone on ahead to put the finishing touches to the party, and Ellen took the moment to speak to Tristan again. When she’d called him after discovering Penny had broken the news, he had taken it as hard as she’d anticipated. But he also shared her determination to enjoy the moments that remained and reaffirmed his blessing of her intended path forwards, offering to take on the listing for her house when she was ready to sell up. He was excited about the dress shop and said he was proud that she was following her dreams. He also thoroughly approved of her investment in real estate to have financial independence and a business.

Tonight, Tristan’s phone went straight to voicemail, so she left him a message sending him and Cressida love and extra hugs for the children, reassuring him she was here if he needed to talk. Her mind travelled back to the gilt cross in the church down in the village, the symbol of ultimate sacrifice for the greater good, the reminder that love was not possible without pain. Ellen only wished she didn’t feel like she’d already had a lifetime of agony. Now to be faced with a goodbye to her oldest friend with no clear timescale was a weight she would carry heavily in her heart each day until the end and beyond. She sniffed away the tears that threatened each time she allowed herself to think of the painful blot on the landscape of her future happiness and pressed on to enjoy the moment. The unwavering cruelty of life and fate was inescapable.

Aléxandros met her on the road by the village cake shop before escorting her to the gathering. He looked terribly handsome in the evening lowlight, dressed in a navy linen shirt and jeans. Towering above her as she reached him, his eyes took in her appearance and he smiled, the glint of green dancing within his grey eyes.

‘You have never looked more beautiful,’ he said, and his fingers brushed her cheek and travelled along the length of her throat down to her chest, gently brushing the edge of her scar. She shivered with desire. ‘I love you, sweet Ellen mou. In my olive groves, beneath the orange blossom and everywhere life will take us.’ He dipped his head to find her lips with his and, without a care for who could see them, they clung together in the street, reigniting their passion. She’d missed him, even though they’d been apart only for a handful of hours.

Since Penny had returned from hospital, Ellen hadn’t wanted to be too far from her friend, so Aléxandros had stayed in her hotel bed, making their time together feel like a romantic trip within a holiday. He left to work but soon returned to her. During the night hours, they’d visualised their future and though eventually she knew she would move in with him, for now, the flat above the dress shop that was used as a storeroom would be her home when it was all made official. She wanted to bask in the fun of dating, reacquainting themselves with one another, making up for the years of lost time. It seemed it was never too late to begin again, which was as thrilling as her new enterprise as a business owner. But before any of that could start, she had to return to England tomorrow.

They walked hand in hand towards the venue and the noise greeted them before they rounded the corner. Tinkling notes from a bouzouki enticed them forwards where they found musicians in full flow, dancers crowding the courtyard and strings of lights festooning the exposed stone walls and branches. The taverna was like a sensory oasis, with lush foliage punctuated by the shocking pink of bougainvillea. Beneath the trees were scores of familiar faces from her time in Kardamyli. Upon her arrival they turned and began to cheer, some waving white napkins overhead, and Ellen felt her cheeks redden. Penny stepped front and centre of all those gathered and hushed the revellers.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the beneficiary of our celebrations tonight … Ellen!’ The roar was deafening, and Ellen felt Aléxandros’ hand slip around her waist in reassurance. Penny was quite remarkable, thought Ellen, as she watched her friend commanding proceedings like a conductor presiding over an orchestra. ‘Now, we eat, we dance, and we honour the soon-to-be new owner of Dimitra’s!’

Music struck up again and the scent of charred meat danced its way across the night air as Penny walked towards her.

‘Pen, this is too much. I don’t feel worthy,’ Ellen said bashfully, feeling terribly out of place in the spotlight.

‘You are more than worthy, isn’t she, Alex?’ Penny declared, looking to Aléxandros to agree with her.

‘She deserves the world,’ he said, squeezing Ellen’s waist gently, and she rested her head against him.

‘And you’d better give her the world, or I shall haunt you from my grave,’ said Penny in jest. Ellen looked from one to the other as they sparred good-naturedly, two such important people in her life who were an integral part of her metamorphosis into this next era. Though only one would witness her new life. Tomorrow, Ellen would leave Greece to take Penny home and wouldn’t return until after … She couldn’t bear to think of it and she didn’t know how long she would be away from Aléxandros. When she did come back to Kardamyli, she would have lost her best friend and the elation of beginning once more would always be tainted by who was missing.

She spotted Dimitra in a wheelchair, holding court beneath a large pomegranate tree, and both dressmakers caught one another’s eye and nodded, their skill and craft fused across the distance. Ellen felt the approval from the old woman in her bones. Théa moved excitedly towards her and Ellen turned to Aléxandros before greeting one of her new business partners.

‘Don’t let go of my hand. I need you,’ said Ellen. He smiled at her and lifted her hand to his lips.

‘I will never let you go, agápi mou,’ he said, and it was all she could do to stop herself from running out of the taverna because she had to leave him again. There was no option but to fly to London tomorrow with no return date in sight. Surely, he knew in his heart she would come back, but he may feel that history was repeating itself. Ellen only hoped he trusted her, especially since he’d already been hurt by everyone he loved. She wanted to heal his wounds, just as he had embraced hers.

‘Kalispéra! Look at all these people here to welcome you to our village,’ said Théa, flinging her arms around Ellen as per usual. ‘We are so happy to have you as part of our community, and also to give this wonderful man the smile that has been missing from him for too long.’ Théa raised her eyebrows at Aléxandros.

‘Théa, I have known you since you were born, and your relationship advice is always forthcoming whether I wish for it or not,’ Aléxandros responded with a wry smile. ‘This is village life, Ellen. We know everyone and their business, and what we don’t know, we invent! I hope you are prepared.’

‘I have you, I have somewhere to sew, it’s already like a dream, so people can say what they want.’ She smiled, the infectious music working its way into her body, making her giddy and carefree. ‘Delphí!’ The young woman had surreptitiously appeared beside Théa in her customary shy manner, wearing the striking yellow dress she’d made herself.

‘Ellen, my parents would like to meet you, to thank you for my opportunity, paying for me to properly learn this craft and study and then to work as a dressmaker in the business. I don’t think there is a way to express my gratitude. You have taught me, inspired me, and now you have given me a future I only have prayed for. How can I ever thank you for this generosity? It beats smelling of grilled lamb!’ The tears that glistened in Delphí’s eyes stirred Ellen’s emotions to match and she couldn’t find any words to respond, only a warm smile and a hug. She hadn’t noticed Penny, who’d elegantly wafted into their gathering.

‘Ellen can meet your parents in a moment, Delphí, because there’s someone else she needs to speak to first.’ Penny tugged at her elbow, drawing her away from Aléxandros. She looked back at him, but he was grinning knowingly at her. What more had they concocted, when this party was beyond sufficient?

‘What are you up to, Pen?’ Ellen said, allowing herself to be dragged towards the entrance to the courtyard. Since Penny didn’t answer, she looked back at the party, hardly believing that her friend had made this happen in a couple of days. ‘This is amazing. You don’t need to do anything else.’

‘There was one more thing I actually did need to do,’ Penny said with a broad grin.

‘If this is going to make me cry …’

‘It’s not about me … well it is a little bit – isn’t everything?’ She laughed.

‘You said it,’ replied Ellen in amusement.

Penny nodded beyond Ellen’s shoulder, encouraging her to turn around. Ellen frowned before following Penny’s gaze, then covered her mouth in shock.

‘Tristan! Wha … what are you doing here?’ She ran towards him and embraced her son with all the love in her body. It was so strange yet utterly glorious to see him in Kardamyli, so out of context but so right. As he pulled back, she looked up at him, her beautiful son.

‘Who do you think insisted I come here at once?’ He indicated Penny. ‘I thought I should see for myself what trouble she’d got you into, but it seems you managed to find your own mischief, Mum. You’ve been rather busy.’

Ellen gulped, acutely aware that a few paces away was Aléxandros and down the road was the shop she was about to buy. Though she needed nobody’s permission to live her life, she was still Tristan’s mother no matter how old he was.

‘Tristan, look, I know this all seems rather sudden, but …’ He put his hands on her shoulders, and she ceased speaking.

‘Mum, I’ve already met Aléxandros. He took me for a beer yesterday then to his olive groves and I’ve seen the dress store. The flat needs some work, but if anyone can make it beautiful, it’s you. Penny of course facilitated all the introductions and showed me around in the few moments you left her bedside.’ Ellen turned, open-mouthed, to her astonishing friend, Aléxandros and then back to her son. ‘If you’re happy, then I want nothing more than this for you. And he seems like a decent chap,’ he said lowering his voice, and though Ellen was relieved, she saw what he was holding back. Emotion about his father. Few were prepared for the moment their surviving parent moved on with someone else. No amount of reassurance in the world would lessen the feeling of a replacement being ushered in, no matter what Ellen said to the contrary.

‘He is a good man and he makes me happy. But I’m coming back to London to be with Penny and I don’t know when I can call this place home. It must be a shock but it’s what I want. I know it’s hard for you, but I hope, eventually, you can support this,’ she said with care as he moved his hands to her arms.

‘I do. I want nothing more than for you to be happy. I’m not sure I’ve seen you glow like this for a long time—’ He suddenly broke off as his eyes glanced down at the edge of the scar peeking out from her neckline and Ellen balked as Tristan’s shoulders rose in alarm. ‘God, Mum, what the hell is that?’

Chapter 44

Tristan frowned as a horrified expression darkened his face, unable to tear his eyes away from the scar for a few moments before politely meeting Ellen’s eyes.

She’d pledged to be honest from now on, but this was the only subject she could never be truthful about. All of the lies and secrets that Aléxandros’ mother had told were out of protection for her son, and Ellen was reluctantly forced into her own corner to replicate that principle. Revealing the real John to Tristan couldn’t ever be justified. She could preserve his memory for her son, not wishing her own pain to cloud the happy remembrance of his entire life. Seeing what had happened to Aléxandros after learning the reality of his parents’ deception made her even more determined to maintain Tristan’s precious memories and keep them safe for him.

She looked down at the start of the line that engraved a permanent reminder of her survival and tensed in preparation for the lie laced with the best of reasons and purest intentions. Crossing her fingers behind her back, Ellen silently asked for forgiveness in advance.

‘Oh, that was a silly accident years and years ago. Before you were born – it taught me to be much more careful with my sewing scissors; just a nasty old scratch,’ she bluffed convincingly, reminding herself of the countless injuries she’d explained away before. His concern seemed to be placated as his shoulders dropped. ‘We should join the party. I can’t believe you’re here! You coming, Pen?’

‘Me miss a party? Never!’ she said, and both women linked arms either side of Tristan and returned to the gathering where a line of people were now dancing, the music as loud as ever. It seemed like most of the village was packed into the little courtyard. Ellen tensed as Aléxandros strode over with his hand outstretched to greet her son. Again, she was heartened to see their warm greeting of one another – at least the Fates were smiling on her in that respect.

‘Good to see you again, Aléxandros. Now, I need a whistle-stop tour of Greek food since I’ll be here more often. What do you recommend?’ Tristan said, and Ellen loved him so deeply, she thought her heart would burst.

‘Well, Voula is the most wonderful chef. So, I would say the grilled lamb, and you must try her speciality: a cheese pasta made with a very secret sauce,’ Aléxandros said, and Ellen watched the two men she loved with all her heart move towards the considerable buffet table, which was dutifully replenished every few moments by the talented cook and owner.

‘It seems this has all worked out rather well,’ Penny said as they watched Tristan and Aléxandros easily conversing over plates of food. ‘You can applaud me later. One more thing,’ she said, and Ellen turned to her.

‘We are not doing the Dirty Dancing lift if that’s what you’re after,’ Ellen joked.

‘No, those days are long gone, I’m afraid.’ Penny smiled as Ellen searched her features for any signs of fatigue. She looked so beautiful in the light cast by the glowing strings between the trees and the flickering candles on the tables dotted around the periphery. It was hard to believe there was anything wrong with her, but the truth invisibly held them tightly in its vice-like grip. ‘When we get back to England, would you … would you make me—’ Penny broke off and looked up to the inky night sky to quell her obvious tears. She rallied as ever and returned her gaze to Ellen. ‘Would you make me my very last dress?’ Ellen’s tears were unstoppable and spilled over as she took Penny’s hand. ‘You know, the one when they put me in the coffin—’

‘Yes, Pen, I got what you meant!’ she interrupted, wishing the subject hadn’t arisen in the beautiful night, but neither could avoid it. She nodded to steel herself further. ‘I’d be honoured. I’d do anything for you.’ Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to stem her sobs at Penny’s heartbreaking request. ‘Maybe no crinoline, though. It would be impossible to stuff you in. Other than that, anything goes!’

‘Ha, very funny! I need to be properly dressed to meet my maker, and there is nobody who could do me justice like you, my fabulous old friend,’ she said, wiping her own eyes.

‘Oi, less of the old.’ Ellen elbowed Penny gently in her side, enjoying the rhythm of their friendship.

‘Now, I asked the band to learn our song. I want you to dance with me – one last dance in Greece!’

‘Oh, Pen, don’t,’ Ellen began, feeling the knot in her throat tightening again.

‘You see, the benefit of being terminally ill is that you have to do precisely as I wish.’ Penny giggled, and Ellen raised her eyebrows and tilted her head but couldn’t help a smile.

‘And what was your excuse before cancer?’ Ellen asked as Penny swiped her on the arm playfully then led them to the middle of the dance floor. After Penny nodded at the musicians, the opening acoustic strains of ‘Fast Car’ by Tracy Chapman began, played by Greek folk instruments. The two old friends held one another without a care for how peculiar the villagers may think them. They twirled and spun around, singing at the top of their voices until the flowers and fairy lights became a wonderful blur of magenta and gold. The scented air enveloped them with its sweet, warm fragrance as they both said a farewell to their Greece and, in a way, to one another, consigning their past and their childhood to the night and focusing on the precious threads of their future, which, though frayed, still remained.

Others joined in around them, but in that second, Ellen saw only her best friend. It was as if they were suddenly eighteen again, without a single care, living only in the present, untethered, led by joy and passion towards only what pleased them, celebrating everything and nothing; there was nothing to lose and everything to gain. They’d only needed each other back then and despite their travails while recreating this trip, it remained just as true. Their deep bond had endured, survived and flourished. Now, as she clung on to Penny, singing softly into her shoulder as her friend did the same, she realised that sometimes a painful ending could also signal a beginning. When Penny died, the next chapter of Ellen’s own life would be able to start. It was crushing and cruel, but it was the truth.

As her tears silently fell, she glanced up and saw Tristan and Aléxandros watching on, their faces beaming with unconditional love. Her heart gripped on to that snapshot and absorbed the special people surrounding her that she couldn’t imagine her life without. Then, as Ellen danced in her best friend’s arms, her mind travelled back to a classroom at the beginning of secondary school. She and Penny were eleven, meeting one another for the first time, swapping magazines, aspirations, dreams and a million hopes. Instant soul mates, best friends, ride or die. The world and their futures felt like a thousand endless summers stretching ahead, each one taken for granted until it could no longer be assumed. There was no love without loss, no life without death and no bond without pain. Saying hello was the first step on a journey towards finding the strength to say goodbye.

Ellen held on tightly to her dearest friend, committing the moment to a precious bank of memories that would sustain her throughout the inevitable heartbreak to come. She allowed the words of the wise priest to return to her:

‘Love is easy; it is life that is hard.’

Epilogue

The next day, Kalamata airport

Ellen accepted her suitcase from Aléxandros; unable to meet his gaze, she set it on the ground beside her sewing machine. She didn’t want to leave Greece; she didn’t want to leave him.

Ellen lifted her blotchy, red eyes to his beautiful pale grey stare. Just as it did before, the landscape teased her with its tranquil beauty. The flags that fluttered in the gentle breeze could be the same ones that witnessed their first parting. And the Peloponnese mountains provided the dramatic backdrop, unchanged peaks for thousands of years, bearing testimony to much more than their love affair, which seemed to be stunted with every chance they were afforded. Ellen refused to allow that to be their legacy; they would be together, if only she knew when.

‘I’ll go and check in and see if Penny and Tristan are OK,’ she managed, feeling the weight of their history bearing down. They’d already been here but this time, somehow, it had to end differently. Aléxandros needed to trust her, believe she would come back. She reached up to kiss him and whispered, ‘This is not our goodbye, I promise. And I will keep that promise. It’s just not as simple as I’d hoped. I have to go back and I know you’ll visit, but my life is here with you. “When” is the only question I don’t have the answer to. We will be in Kardamyli together; I feel it. And that is my truth.’ He said nothing in return and her heart sank.

She moved towards the airport building and stopped briefly, glancing to the end of the walkway where she’d seen Nýsa and Thános when she was eighteen – the moment that had shifted everything. Today, that space was empty: no covert meetings, only the perimeter fence. Inside the airport, Penny was commanding Tristan to attend to her every need and thankfully Ellen’s beloved son was happy to comply. As Ellen joined the queue beside them, she saw them grinning at each other, whispering in conspiracy and giggling. She wanted to be part of the joke, not wanting to miss those silly moments along with the sombre ones. They were reminiscing about the party last night and exchanging recollections. Ellen’s heart swelled with a fleeting flood of joy. Because she needed to muster the courage to kiss Aléxandros goodbye for an unknown amount of time. It was an agonising thought.

Ellen agreed to meet Tristan and Penny airside, then she stepped back into the afternoon heat, allowing the sun to soak into her skin. She looked around for Aléxandros, but he wasn’t there. Her panic began to rise as she searched along the ramp, beyond the groups of taxi drivers waiting for their fares, smoking, sipping iced coffees from plastic-domed containers. Every detail and sound became pronounced while she diligently sought out the man whose heart she’d once broken by abandoning him here, pushing away the thought that he could be capable of returning that unwelcome favour.

A family of tourists were dropped off in a smart black people carrier, followed by a coachload of travellers. The airport that moments ago had seemed so quiet was suddenly teeming with people, making it harder to search for him. Travellers blocked her way, and to check the other end of the building, she needed to return to the very place she’d seen Nýsa and Thános all those years ago. Reluctantly but doggedly, she headed down that end of the walkway, dodging cases and carry-ons, stepping over the legs of teenagers sprawled on the floor sipping beer from cans. As she reached the spot, she slowly scanned her surroundings before spinning back to face the airport. Suddenly, she found herself in front of Aléxandros and gasped, almost stepping back in shock, shaking with relief.

‘Ellen, agápi mou, come here.’ He pulled her into the safety of his arms, and she felt her body relax, but still they had to part. She raised her head to look at him, to drink in his beautiful features so she could conjure them up when she was without him.

‘I thought …’ She looked around, wishing they weren’t standing where his mother had forced her to leave while his father had hidden behind the building in cowardice. He caught her gaze and sentiment.

‘This is where it happened, isn’t it?’ he asked, and Ellen nodded. ‘Then today, we rewrite our history. Together, you and me. Did you think I would leave you?’ He smiled kindly and smoothed her hair away from her face. ‘I promised I would never hurt you or let you go, my beautiful Ellen.’

Her bottom lip began to tremble. ‘But I have to go, Aléxandros. I know I said I wouldn’t leave you either, but you understand, don’t you? You trust me?’

‘I do. You asked for my heart and with that you have my soul; we were meant to be together. I wish there weren’t so many tears shed for us to find the happiness we both deserve.’ He brushed his lips to hers and Ellen held his face, pushing her fingers into his thick, dark hair.

‘I love you, agápi mou,’ she said, and he laughed, breaking the tension. ‘Will you ever stop finding my Greek funny?’

‘Never,’ he said. ‘Speak my language to me always. But you should go, my love. It is time,’ he said, and Ellen’s stomach dropped. She kissed him again, wanting to convey the depth of her feelings for him with every brush of their lips, each contact of their skin, but it would never be enough. They had barely slept over the past few nights as the countdown to today ticked ominously; making love through the early hours, coiled in one another’s arms, unable to satiate their desire for each other. The memories they’d made needed to sustain their time apart.

‘I’ll call when I land,’ she said, beginning to cry. ‘I love you. Please know I’m coming back.’

‘And I love you, Ellen; I know you will,’ he said, and she had no more energy in reserve to say another word. Trudging towards departures, she was unable to look at him. It was too painful. Taking one last sweeping glance at Greece, absorbing the startling cobalt sky and the snow-peaked tips of the mountain range, she took one more step away from the man she loved, feeling a crack appear in her barely mended heart.

‘Ellen!’ she heard Aléxandros shout just before the doors closed behind her. ‘You forgot something!’ She turned and saw him pull a large suitcase from behind where he stood, having masked it with his frame. She didn’t understand, and asked a question with her eyes.

‘We won’t ever say goodbye again. So, I’m coming with you.’

She covered her mouth as tears of joy spilled down her cheeks.

‘But you didn’t say … how …’ She was overcome with the rush of feelings, unable to make sense of her thoughts.

‘Tristan suggested it and I agreed. We have your son’s permission, and I accept his grace and blessing. And Penny may have helped, naturally.’

Ellen laughed and felt such pride swell at her son’s maturity and kindness along with her best friend’s, but the practical part of her brain sparked into life.

‘But what about your work?’ Ellen asked, wanting to believe this was real and not a wonderful daydream, that they could truly rewrite their history and break the pattern of broken hearts that was their story so far.

‘It’s only branches of blossom – the real work is in autumn when the olive trees fruit, as you will see. This time, I am coming with you, my love. We are going to your home.’

Ellen looked at him and accepted the love he was offering, because she knew she deserved to be loved without condition, without control and without judgement.

‘Aléxandros mou … My Aléxandros. Home for me isn’t in England and it isn’t in Greece,’ Ellen said, and he frowned. She put her arms around his middle and stared into the eyes that had kept her company during decades of estrangement, the years of torment and pain she’d endured, longing for his lost love. And now she finally had it, given and returned in equal measure. ‘Home isn’t a country or a place; it’s wherever we are in the world. Together. It’s where we were always meant to be. You can call it destiny, but you and I, with one another – that’s where we belong. And do you know what?’

‘What, agápi mou?’ he replied with his beautiful smile.

‘Never mind destiny, I’m taking charge and I decide that today and for the rest of eternity, I choose love.’ She pressed her lips to his, cementing the decision that led her back to Kardamyli and firmly towards a future of her own design. This new Ellen, the one who loved so hard, would now, tomorrow and forever choose Aléxandros. Because she chose herself and what she wanted for her life.

When she’d walked through the airport doors without saying goodbye before, she’d hoped and prayed that time would fix her broken heart. Instead, Ellen had mended her own wounds, and with a newfound resilience, she’d not only realised fate’s ready-made plan, but given it a new purpose. Or perhaps, she’d found the power and unearthed the strength to alter her own fate.

And it had taken precisely thirty-six years, nine months and eight days.

Acknowledgements

(contains spoilers!)

I firstly want to say a special thank you to the lovely lady from Mawnan WI in Cornwall who shared her distant Greek family story about a relative who concealed the fact that her husband had left her for another woman by pretending he had died! It was so shocking to hear … before the reasons began to make sense. Though this happened a long while ago, many of those conservative taboos still preside over parts of Greece, and it was too irresistible not to include in this story. (Always be careful what you tell an author!!!)

I know the power of the spoken word is incredible, but the power of the written word transcends that beyond measure. And with that comes immense responsibility. As my authoring journey continues, I am grateful more than I can ever express to those readers who share their personal experiences on the issues I write about. Every reader who reaches out, whether it’s with a photograph of where you’re reading, a picture of the food you’ve made inspired by a moment in a book or with a private story from a chapter of your own life, thank you for connecting. I’ve said it before, but this writing lark is blooming lonely, existing only with a cast of made-up characters in my head, dwelling within imagination with nobody but invented folks for company! Yet you lovely people online, in email, DM, or whatever form our connection manifests, mean everything. So, thank you from the bottom of my sun-kissed, desperately romantic heart for all your support, encouragement and love.

If you want to see Kardamyli for yourself from anywhere in the world, I wholeheartedly recommend the fabulous Instagram account @newsfromthevillage. Naz Zaven is so passionate about his village and kindly answered my many annoying questions! You’ll also fall in love with superstar Julie, the dog featured on his feed! I adore Kardamyli and have been there many times over the years, and though there isn’t a feast as such to mark the first day of May – or Protomagiá – there are many festivals during the year and nobody does a celebration like the Greeks, especially in Kardamyli! I did also plant some fictional orange trees in the main street, but you know me and citrus fruits …

If you’ve read any of my novels, then you know I don’t shy away from hard-hitting subjects. Yes, there is always love, friendship, hope, a sweeping romance, beautiful Greece and scrumptious food and humour, but beneath it all is life – the highs and the lows: grief, loss, experience and heartache in all its painful forms. It is my privilege to shine a light on issues that not only affect women but are told from their points of view.

When I had the idea for the character of Ellen, I knew I needed to consult the experts. I spoke to an amazing woman called Rae from the UK-based domestic abuse charity, Refuge. I learned with horror that – at the time of writing this in 2025 – on average, one woman is killed by a current or former partner every five days in England and Wales (stat from Office of National Statistics, 2025). And those numbers don’t even scratch the surface since domestic abuse is severely unreported. Rae told me that there are still so many associated stigmas and that all too often those misconceptions are exacerbated in media reporting. With the grace of fiction, I had the space and time to write every terrible cliché that people say and think of when considering victims of domestic abuse – man on women in this instance – why didn’t you leave him, etc? Penny was a fictional foil who was a vehicle for all the awful things that are said to survivors. I also discovered just how financial coercive control is becoming ever more prevalent, and I wanted to add that element into Ellen’s former world as yet another cruelty she endured in her albeit imaginary but terrible marriage. Abuse among those in societal positions of power is also of growing concern for charities working in this space, hence creating a fictional character who was highly regarded in public service as the perpetrator. This element of the story is entirely invented – as it all is – but I felt such an acute responsibility in writing this storyline and wanted to highlight these areas of peril so we are all aware and can do better to protect those who are hiding beneath the cloak of abuse in plain sight.

Thank you to all the women who have shared their painful and precious experiences of domestic abuse with me, and I am in awe of the incredible work Refuge does, powering onwards to save and change lives every day. Please, if you need help, they are there. You’re not alone, I promise; please don’t suffer in silence, but reach out to those who will support you to survive. There is a community waiting to help and to protect you.

Auntie Kay, your misheard mishaps have given Sophie and I more comedy that you could ever have intended, so forgive me for including them – Diwali and Gwen Stefani needed to be shared with the wider world, and at least Uncle Alan completes the Moss chain with a character name (sorry about sex boot camp – eeeeww!). Our family would be duller without the Moss/Grummets in our lives providing endless giggles for Dad, Tony and me, with anecdotes to fill several more novels!

To my family and friends, my dearest Erika, my sweet birthday twin, you inspire me in a thousand ways and I thank you from the deepest part of my soul. A love that I will always be grateful for is the one I have for my darling brother, David, and to Jennifer and your beautiful children, Dylan and Darcy – I see our dearest Mum in those not so little babies! And thank you Dylan, you will never know how you rescued us.

I want to thank the astonishing team at Avon and my impossibly graceful and elegant editor, Helen Huthwaite, for being an exceptional lunch chum and flawless sounding board – and for never sounding bored … You see how I learn the grammar, Oxford commas aside?! Every single one of you at Avon, HarperCollins, pour such love into each story you send out into the world, from desk editors, editorial assistants, sales, cover design, marketing … it’s such a fabulous village that I’m incredibly proud and blessed to exist and live within. And thank you, Helena Newton, for copy editing me again with such love and care. Dearest Sophie Antonellis, efharistó polí for once again painstakingly Greek-checking my story! I owe you a mega hug, three chicken gyros and ten thousand acute accents!

And you, Kate Burke, my sweet eternal Grease 2 fan and fellow rock chick, I am honoured and thankful to work with someone that I consider a great friend if not a displaced sibling – but I’m glad we found our way to one another (thanks, TC!), and that I can do such a convincing impression of you. And Team Blake Friedmann, thank you for bringing my books to life across the world – Nicole and James, you rock!

I’d like to pay tribute to Pedio Books who generously publish everything I write in the beautiful Greek language. The co-owner, Pavlos Christofilou, sadly died in 2025 and I send all my love to his family, loved ones and colleagues who were inspired by his vision for publishing in Greece and who will continue to honour his memory in the years to come.

And you, TC, my first reader, joiner of blonde writer and blonde agent (which you may now regret), chief cheerleader and encourager when I inevitably lose my mind around 60k words. How is this number five?! It’s thanks to you that this all started. Your unswerving encouragement and belief in me cannot be repaid with enough platitudes of thanks nor plates of portokalopita; I cannot cook enough Greek lemon oregano potatoes to convey how blessed I feel to love you and be loved in return – the greatest gift any of us could wish for and deign to imagine. To poorly paraphrase a Beatle … love has all the answers and that’s all we can be sure of.

Love is easy, it’s life that is hard, but with the power of the village we build and choose to surround ourselves with, on I go, thanks to you all, along my much-blessed way!

Refuge’s National Domestic Abuse Helpline website: www.nationaldahelpline.org.uk Helpline number: 0808 2000 247

Keep Reading

If you loved Beneath the Orange Blossom, don’t miss the soul-stirring novel, Under the Lemon Tree!

UK readers, click here to find out more.

US readers, click here to find out more.

If you loved Under the Lemon Tree, don’t miss the breathtaking, escapist debut novel from Emma Cowell.

UK readers, click here to find out more.

US readers, click here to find out more.

Then follow up with the second sweeping, emotional, romantic escape from Emma Cowell.

UK readers, click here to find out more.

US readers, click here to find out more.

Then escape to the beautiful Greek Island of Hydra third moving novel from Emma Cowell.

UK readers, click here to find out more.

US readers, click here to find out more.

About the Author

Emma is based in Greece with her husband, Tony who is also a writer. A former actress and BBC presenter, segueing from being paid to talk for a living into writing was a natural progression, since story telling has been at the heart of her career to date. Outside of work, Emma is a keen angler and is attempting to improve her Greek language skills … she is yet to achieve a level of proficiency outside of tavernas and bakeries. Beneath the Orange Blossom is Emma’s fifth novel.

For more info, visit www.emmacowell.com. You can follow Emma on Instagram @emmacowellauthor or X @emmacowellbooks. or Facebook EmmaCowellAuthor

By the Same Author:

One Last Letter from Greece

The House in the Olive Grove

The Island Love Song

Under the Lemon Tree

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