“Maybe we’ll see a dear little sea-horse!” exclaimed eight-year-old Beatrice, not to be put off. “And then daddy will get lost again,” she continued excitedly, “taking us to an ancient ruin. I expect it will be that sort of holiday.”
Lenka, a nurse by profession, and just off a 12-hour shift, said firmly, without opening her eyes: “Lying on the beach each day, is what it’ll be.”
“Great,” Natalya said, bitterly. “We literally could’ve just hired a sun-tan bed.” And a terrible gloom settled over her, only made worse by the relentlessly cheery tone of Beatrice. “The sea, I think I can see the sea!”
She couldn’t, at least not yet. It was just the endless blue sky. But that didn’t dampen her enthusiasm either. “Oh! They even have oranges growing on their trees!”
And then, after we had sped along the highway from Larnaca, finally arriving at the tucked-away little villa, something rather odd happened. We got out of the car, looked around at the ripening figs and pomegranates, then up to the lotus trees of the dusty hills beyond, and suddenly we all found ourselves simply breathing in the air and listening to the crickets.
“Right, straight down to the beach,” declared Lenka, after a moment, and headed off, towel under her arm. There was nothing to do but put on our flip-flops and follow.