Will, who was of average height and athletic looking, like his mother, offered to help instead, but Hector hung back.
‘Why don’t you take one end, Hector, and Will can take the other,’ Louise said firmly. ‘Just till we reach smooth ground again.’
Lily and Amelia chatted excitedly all the way up, but the others were mostly silent. The steps were extremely steep and even without her bag, Stella soon felt out of breath and her legs ached.
At one point, she stumbled, banging her knee on the step above. Pain whipped through her body and she closed her eyes, wincing.
Louise spun round.
‘Are you okay?’
Stella nodded. Her knee was throbbing but there was nothing to be done. She’d no doubt have a big ugly bruise there tomorrow, to add to all the others.
Her mind flashed to Al. He used to tease her because she was constantly covered in bumps and bruises. He said she looked like the kid at school who was always getting into scraps.
In the early days of their relationship, he used to say, only half joking, people would think he’d beaten her up. She could still picture him lying in bed with her one lazy Sunday morning. They were on their first proper holiday together, in Barcelona. They’d just made love and it was hot, so they’d thrown off the covers and were sprawled, side by side, only their thighs touching, listening to the steady slowing of their heartbeats.
After a few moments, he’d rolled over, propped up on one elbow, and begun to count her scratches and bruises, kissing each one ever so softly ‘to make it better’.
He could be so tender like that, with the children too. When they hurt themselves, they always wanted him to treat the wound, not Stella. They said he was calm and gentle and they barely felt it, whereas she could freak out at the sight of blood and make them more anxious, too.
A wave of sickness came over her.Al. Don’t think about him.
Rubbing her knee, she rose and gave a brave smile before ploughing on. Soon, even super fit Louise was panting and had to slow down. Katerina, meanwhile, sprang on, oblivious, until she reached the top.
‘That’s the hardest part done!’ she cried, turning round. She wasn’t smiling but Stella noticed her black eyes sparkling with amusement.
She must think them a soft lot; she probably skipped up and down those steps every day without even thinking about it. No wonder Cretans were renowned for their longevity.
When at last everyone had joined the housekeeper at the summit, there began a long, slow ascent up a gravelly donkey track.
Assorted trees dotted the dry landscape – pine and olive, lemon, orange and fig – along with myriad wildflowers: pink, blue, white, yellow and purple. The scent of wild thyme and sage filled their nostrils, and at one point, Katerina paused to point out some rough wooden beehive boxes, stacked one on top of another on a stony plateau.
Painted in vivid primary colours with metal catches on the front, they looked very jolly, like Jack in the Boxes.
‘We make the best honey in the world,’ Katerina announced proudly. ‘Because of our wide variety of trees and flowers, and our temperate climate.’
‘I hate honey,’ muttered Hector, but she didn’t seem to hear.
A herd of goats, with jangling gold bells round their necks, were perched on rocks a little way off. On spotting the group, they bleated loudly. It was a pitiful, wavering sort of sound, a series of cries of varying pitches, high and low.
A few of the animals turned tail and scrambled higher up, but once they realised the strangers weren’t a threat, they went back to munching on the blades of grass growing between the rocks.
Dragging her heavy suitcase, Stella berated herself yet again for packing so badly. May was one of the best times to visit Crete but it was still hot, much warmer than she was used to, and she was uncomfortably sweaty in her jeans and long-sleeved white cotton top.
Up to now, they hadn’t seen a soul. Soon, though, they came to a tumbledown stone cottage with a rusty, vine-covered pergola outside, providing some shade.
The brown painted shutters were open downstairs and glossy red tomatoes were drying on a large tray on the front step.
At the side of the house, an elderly bent woman in a black headscarf was tending to a flock of chickens beside a rickety wooden henhouse. Some items of white washing were hanging on an olive tree nearby.
The woman nodded and grinned as they passed, revealing black stumpy teeth.
‘That’s Eleni Manousaki,’ Katerina whisper-shouted, once they were out of hearing. ‘She lives alone, like me. Her husband died years ago and they didn’t have children. She’s got bad arthritis. She knows I’m just up the road if she needs anything, but she hates interference. She seems to manage remarkably well, the poor old thing.’
Stella smiled to herself. Katerina must have been about the same age as her neighbour, but clearly considered herself in a different league entirely, and far more youthful.
It was humbling to think how hard both women’s lives must be, up here on the rocky mountain, and how doughty and cheerful they seemed.
