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was not enough to keep a whole family going. It wasn’t that the shop was doing badly - it was ticking over well and would have provided for Marina and would even have slowly paid off the loan she took out to rebuild it after the storm.
    But on being reunited with Petta, Marina’s heart had been, perhaps, more generous than her circumstances allowed, which Irini could understand now she had a son of her own. However, with more mouths to feed and Angelos growing out of his clothes every month, there was just not enough coming in.
    Accounts were not something Petta would have ever thought of doing. The chances are that none of them would have noticed the shortfall until it was too late. But Irini had learnt the hard way to survive and trusted herself and only herself, so even when she found out about the shortfall, she did not tell Petta or Marina immediately but instead considered the problem for some time.
    ‘Marina?’ Irini had slipped out of the shop, through the courtyard, and into the house. Marina was in the kitchen making bread with Angelos. He was standing on a chair and had an apron on that hung all the way to the floor. Marina stood behind him, guiding his hands in the dough.
    ‘Hi Irini,’ Marina grinned, the skin around her eyes creasing into a thousand soft wrinkles. ‘Angelos is a master baker today.’
    Irini leaned over and kissed one of his floury cheeks. His eyes were shining with the fun he was having.
    ‘Clever boy,’ Irini addressed him, and his floury hands left the dough and came up around her neck for a hug. ‘You’ll put flour all over me!’ She feigned horror, which made him laugh and wiggle his fingers at her.
    ‘Well, it needs to be left to rise now so it’s time to wash our hands, Angelos,’ Marina encouraged. Washing hands proved to be an equal adventure, and bubbles took over from the flour, the flagstone floor slippery with flour and water. Irini briefly popped back to the shop when she heard the doorbell jangle and, after selling a packet of cigarettes, she asked Marina to take over for an hour. Angelos knew the shop as the source of sweeties and he was running across the courtyard before his hands had been dried, and before Marina had a chance to reply.
    ‘Just an errand I have to run,’ Irini explained.
    Finding a job in Saros was not the easiest task. The cafés and tavernas needed no one, and nor did any of the tourist shops. Wandering the streets, the sun was relentless and despite the relative lack of greenery, the cicadas were noisy. Every request for work that was met with a rejection pushed at her patience, but most irritatingly of all, the tourists in front of her all walked very slowly. She was almost at snapping point when she stopped at the kiosk on the front to buy a bottle of water.
    ‘Hot again,’ the woman serving said, looking up at the cloudless blue sky as if this were unusual for Greece in September. They do say that after August it’s winter, apo Augousto xeimonas , but the rain in September is always warm and this year, the summer seemed to be continuing forever.
    ‘Yes,’ Irini agreed, unscrewing the top of the cold bottle and wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘I don’t suppose you know of any jobs going, do you?’
    ‘Funny you should say that. Captain Yorgos,’ she pointed across to a rather grubby-looking yacht moored by the harbour wall with a sign on a pole saying Come Sailing, Day Trips , ‘was looking for someone for regular work, but only part-time, I think. But watch him, as he will try anything to keep his money in his pocket.’
    At dinner that evening, Petta came in and kissed her on the cheek and sat next to his son and gave him a green orange no bigger than his thumbnail to roll around the tray of his high seat.
    ‘Petta, how much time do you really need in the orchards?’ Irini opened.
    ‘Not much, really. I am still learning, but they grow themselves.’ He chuckled at his joke and leaned over to pick up the tiny