Page 37 of Summer in Greece

He nodded. ‘It was in use when the Britannic went down, though not lit, of course, as the Britannic went down in daylight.’

‘Did she sink far from here?’

‘No, just over a mile, or three kilometres if you like, out from the lighthouse there, and a little to the right.’ Diamond light glanced off the perpetual motion of the bay ‘Why do you want to dive the Britannic?’ he asked.

‘My great-grandmother was a nurse on the ship.’

His eyebrows went up. ‘That’s interesting, did she survive?’

‘Yes, she did.’

He turned his attention back to the open water. ‘There’s talk about it being made into a museum, did you know?’

She shook her head. ‘Surely they’re not going to try and lift part of it? That would be impossible. She’s nine hundred feet long. Without a doubt she’d break up and a century-old ecosystem would be lost, all because some entrepreneur wants to make a few bob.’ She caught his calming look and wondered how many panicked dive students he had settled with that steady gaze.

‘No, they’re considering taking submersibles down. We’re trying to put a small museum dedicated to the Kea wrecks together. So far, it’s just a few bits of memorabilia that the locals gathered in their nets over the century, or bits that washed up just after it happened. A couple of cork lifesavers with the name stencilled on. A lifeboat, complete with oars, though the plaque has gone to Liverpool’s maritime museum; and some enlarged pictures of the Britannic’s construction in Belfast. There’s a video too, sponsored by one of the dive-equipment manufactures. I’ll take you to have a look if you like. Tell me about your great-grandmother.’

‘Nothing much to tell, yet. I’m just starting to look into her life. First World War and all that. She passed away in ’98, a few days after her hundredth birthday.’

‘A great age. Jacques Cousteau took one of the surviving nurses down in a submersible to see the wreck. Sheila MacBeth was in her eighties at that time. Those nurses were quite remarkable women by all accounts.’

When he smiled, the knots in her shoulders melted away. ‘No, I didn’t know. That was kind of him, and brave of her.’

‘Your great-grandmother must have had some stories to tell.’

‘I guess she did, but I was only thirteen when she died. My mother was heartbroken. You see, her mother died just after giving birth, so my great-grandmother stepped into my grandmother’s role. She was quite wonderful.’

‘You were lucky; most of us never get to meet our great-grandparents, or hear their experiences.’

‘Gran Gertie was a strong woman. I loved her very much, but I didn’t know about her being on the Britannic until recently. She was unbelievably brave. You see, you had to be a minimum of twenty-three to be accepted in the Voluntary Aid Detachment, but she was so determined to nurse the wounded soldiers, she lied about her age and got away with it.’

‘She sounds cute.’

‘Cute?’

He raised his hand as if to stop her words hitting him. ‘Sorry, wrong word, perhaps. I didn’t mean . . . she just sounded cool, that’s all.’ He stood.

‘No, it’s me who’s sorry – ignore me, I’m just tired.’ She smiled. ‘I was travelling through the night and then I noticed a turtle nesting just before dawn so I stayed up to watch. Such an amazing thing . . .’ Damn, she wasn’t going to tell anyone. She blamed her loose tongue on lack of sleep. Lids heavy now, skin itchy, and her brain running on five per cent battery. ‘Anyway, it was so magical, I sat on the beach for another hour and watched.’ She sighed. ‘Must go for some shut-eye, Harry, I’m in danger of nodding off while I speak.’

‘Poor you.’ He laughed gently and sat down again. ‘Just before you go, can I ask, was she tagged, the turtle, did you notice?’

‘I didn’t. It wasn’t quite light, but I’ll check the photos.’

‘You took snaps in the dark? She’d be disorientated by the flash. Did you happen to see if she made it back to the sea?’ He stared at the waterline.

She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder. ‘No, once I’d taken some selfies of me catching a ride on her back, I left.’ She forced her eyelids up and caught the shock on his face and would have laughed if she’d had the energy. Harry, she realised, was simply concerned for the turtle’s welfare.

‘Oh . . . you’re joking, right?’ He looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Sorry. Sometimes, tourists, you know, have no idea.’

‘I need to go. Thanks for the lift,’ she said, pushing herself to her feet then headed towards her room, across the road.

Shelly stood on her balcony for a moment. Below, Harry swung the quadbike around and headed back to the dive centre. She peered out towards the distant lighthouse and imagined her great-grandmother sleeping in one of the nearby houses, exhausted from her ordeal, or looking out at the very same view.

Minutes later, she slid under a crisp white sheet, closed her eyes, and drifted into a dream that recalled scenes from the first Greek island she had ever visited, Paros.

In her mind, she was floating on her back, arms and legs spread. The sun, warm, on her face and belly, and the absolute bliss of being on holiday, alone, with her first, real, boyfriend. The glory of being in love, of sleeping in his arms, of knowing he loved her. The certainty that one day they would marry, have children, and live happily ever after.

Shelly slept with a smile on her lips, hugging her pillow. ‘David . . .’ she murmured in her dreams.