Page 39 of All You Need is Greece

Further on, a few Greeks stroll by, wearing jeans and zipped-up jackets, clearly feeling the slight change in temperature as autumn approaches, although I think it is still perfectly pleasant. Artemis also has a puffer jacket on the back seat of the car, I noticed.

‘So what would your weekend look like back home?’ asks Artemis as we drive along. ‘Do you like to go out and party?’

‘Not partying exactly, although the town where I live does have a few decent bars and restaurants. We have a train station into the city too, so sometimes I head there with my friends. Often, though, it’s a takeaway and a movie,’ I tell him. That is unless Jess succeeds in saving me from myself and dragging me out to socialise.

I don’t tell him how I miss the weekends I spent with Marco, dining at the restaurant on a Saturday evening or taking long walks in the Lake District on a Monday when the restaurant is closed. Sometimes, he would sneak off from work early on a Sunday if it was quiet, and we would take the hour drive to a hotel in the Lakes and spend the night there. The next morning, we would take a long walk along our favourite lake, Ullswater. Once we passed a rather grand country hotel, which I thought would make a perfect wedding venue, although clearly I was alone with those thoughts. I wondered whether Marco might have suggested a wedding in Italy, had he shared my thoughts about marriage that is.

A short while later, the long stretch of the beach at Malia appears before us, hundreds of sunbeds with orange and white beach umbrellas stretched across the sand gently flapping in the sea breeze. The endless golden sand is flanked by snack bars and restaurants. It also looks pretty quiet.

We decide to park up near the old town and walk the streets full of sand-coloured buildings, the familiar grey broken flagstones on the floors. A large restaurant has terracotta walls decorated with dozens of colourful plates and huge pots of flowers standing on a wooden terrace, beneath a huge lemon tree. The vibrant white walls of some of the buildings are contrasted by brown, weathered-looking village houses with stone arch doorways and metal grids at the windows. At the end of one of the winding roads, two mopeds stand against a graffitied wall at the end of a row of houses. I notice a sign then on a rough stone wall that points us in the direction of the village centre. Walking on, we pass a fruit and vegetable van, loaded with melons, with several women queueing to buy one. A family walk out of a nearby supermarket loaded down with shopping; a young boy with black hair is bouncing a ball. Presently, the narrow streets give way to a large square surrounded by tavernas.

‘I had no idea the old town looked like this,’ I say as we walk. ‘You kind of think places like Malia are just beaches and bars. You forget that people actually live here.’

‘Malia was little more than a fishing harbour, and one of the first major settlements of the Minoan civilisation. These streets are literally thousands of years old,’ Artemis tells me knowledgably.

Approaching the square, my eye is drawn to a particularly pretty-looking restaurant, its walls painted orange and the front filled with colourful flowers in blue pots.

‘Would you like a drink? Maybe some lunch?’ asks Artemis as we step onto the outside terrace that is set with white tablecloths and small vases holding a single flower at the centre of the table.

‘A refreshing drink would be nice, but maybe we could have a swim before some food?’ I suggest, something Hannah told me about to avoid cramping.

‘Sure.’

I have some ice-cold freshly squeezed orange juice, whilst Artemis opts for a beer. He also orders some olives and snacks.

Sitting chatting, talk suddenly turns to our respective careers, and Artemis tells me he has been offered a promotion.

‘To manage a sales team,’ he tells me as he picks up a feta-stuffed olive.

‘That sounds amazing. I take it it’s something you are interested in, managing a sales team, I mean?’

‘It’s strange, but not particularly. Although it seems I am just good at it.’

It’s not difficult to imagine. Especially if he is face to face with customers, charming them with his easy, engaging manner. Not to mention those looks.

‘It sounds like an exciting opportunity I suppose, but I must say you don’t sound very excited.’ I pop a salty olive into my mouth.

‘It is a good opportunity and there would be a substantial pay rise. There is only one problem.’ He picks up a handful of nuts. ‘The post is in Heraklion, over an hour’s drive away.’

‘And I take it you would not want the commute?’

‘Not particularly. The city can be very busy in the morning. Besides, my mother is not getting any younger. Maybe I ought to stay a little closer,’ he ponders as he takes a sip of his beer.

His comment makes me think about my own parents. Will my mother decide I need to look after her when she becomes old? Although, unfortunately, I don’t think she will reach an old age if she continues to lead the lifestyle she does at present. Even so, I guess it’s something we all have to think about in the future, our elderly parents. Once more, it saddens me to think of any old person not having a family.

‘I can see what you mean. But I’m sure your mum would want what is best for you, and she has friends in the village, doesn’t she? And according to Judith, your mother is as strong as an ox.’

‘It’s true. And maybe a fresh start is exactly what I need.’

‘Maybe it is.’ I smile.

We finish up our drinks and snacks and take the walk along the road to Malia Beach, passing bars pumping club music out, even though most of them are empty at this hour. The golden sand stretched out in front of us seems to go on forever, with the glittering blue sea beyond. I pay for two sunbeds before Artemis has a chance, and we settle down on our beds close to the water’s edge. For a few minutes, I just lie there, listening to the soothing sounds of the waves crashing against the shore, watching swimmers in the water and people on jet skis. Glancing around the beach, I notice lots of young people sleeping, beach towels pulled up to their chins and probably sleeping off last night’s partying. A couple of teenage girls run past then, giggling, before they tread into the water and start screaming.

‘That’s not as warm as I thought it would be!’ says the English girl, racing out again onto the sand, her laughing friend running behind her.

‘Maybe I will give the swimming a miss.’ I turn to Artemis, who has his arms folded behind his head, stretched out just staring up at the sky.

‘You cannot come to the beach and not swim. And I’m sure it isn’t cold as the sun is so warm,’ he argues.

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