At about 2p.m. after a quick lunch of bread and a vegetable stew, which the kitchen volunteers had managed to rustle up from tins of lentils, beans, tomatoes and sweetcorn, she joined the large group heading for the village.
All the men who were young and fit enough were there, and a fair number of women. Some, of course, had to stay behind to look after children and the elderly.
Maya and Achilles took charge and stood on crates to address the gathering. Maya spoke first in English, then Achilles followed in Greek.
‘It’s going to be treacherous down there,’ she warned. ‘There’ll be lots of crumbling rocks, submerged objects and unsafe buildings and the water will be dirty and probably contaminated with sewage.
‘Don’t try any heroics. Check for foundation cracks or sagging roofs before entering any properties and if in doubt, stay out.
‘Remember this is mainly a fact-finding mission. The real clean-up will begin when the water’s fully retreated.’
Soon, they began the trek down the mountain. Some people were clutching shovels and other useful tools which Mark had managed to retrieve from the villa.
The air smelled of crushed thyme and dust and the insects had started their metallic droning again. Every few hundred metres, they passed new cracks in the earth, jagged like scars. Sometimes they heard a distant rumble – rockfall somewhere higher up – and froze till it stopped.
Maya led the way, her stride businesslike, though sweat darkened her white T-shirt. Cleo, Achilles and Tash walked side by side behind her.
The sea below shimmered brownish-green, littered with debris that bobbed in and out of the current.
About halfway down they met a shepherd, guiding his goats upward.
‘Careful,’ he told them in halting English. His face was tanned and weathered, his eyes, kind. ‘The bridge by the fig tree – gone.’
He pointed to a gully where the path dipped sharply.
‘Thank you,’ said Cleo. ‘Is the village very bad?’
He pulled a grim face. ‘Many houses broken but people escape to mountains. Alive. You good people, yes?’
‘We’re trying,’ Maya replied and he nodded, as though that were enough.
They continued picking their way carefully. At the broken bridge, they had to clamber across a heap of rocks and roots, helping each other one by one.
Cleo noticed Tash’s legs were shaking as she scrambled down, but Maya’s steady hand pulled her up the other side.
‘Nearly there,’ Cleo said, breathless but smiling. ‘See? Piece of cake.’
‘More like stale bread,’ Tash muttered, but she managed a small smile in return.
When they reached the steep stone steps leading to the harbour, they started to descend slowly, holding tight to the handrail as the ground was very slippery.
On the last section, Cleo stopped short.
‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed, staring at the murky water lapping round her toes.
‘Be very careful,’ Maya barked, before turning to address the folk behind them.
‘It looks as if the water’s still deep in places. Watch out for submerged objects and keep in pairs or better still, small groups. Don’t go wandering off on your own.’
No one had rubber boots or any other suitable clothing. Cleo watched Maya and Achilles step tentatively into the torrent, which was soon up to their thighs.
She was about to enter herself when Achilles turned, braced his arm and offered it to her to hold on to. She took it gratefully.
She wobbled for a moment in the current but his fist was clenched, his arm rock solid and she soon steadied herself and found her feet. Then she waited while he returned to do the same for Tash.
As they waded slowly through the harbour and up what was once the high street, Cleo stared left and right, emitting involuntary little gasps.
An eery silence filled the atmosphere and everywhere there was the smell of filthy water and mud – thick, earthy and sour, as well as something sharper, like metal or salt.
