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added. ‘I don’t know what took place exactly,
leventi mou
, but nothing good, nothing nice.’
    Her son did not like to tell her that she had probably been disturbed by a real argument, between Christos and his friends. It did not seem worth upsetting her in this way. If the subject of
enosis
ever came up, Irini moved the conversation away. She did not want her sons to have anything to do with politics or violence. They had threatened to tear the island apart in those awful years, and she still believed they could. Nothing had been truly resolved.
    Markos stroked his mother’s hand, which rested on the table. Her skin was paper thin and there was a graze across her knuckles. He ran his fingers across it.
    ‘What did you do,
Mamma
?’
    ‘Just got a bit scratched cutting back the vine,’ she answered. ‘Nothing serious. It takes a long time to heal when you’re my age.’
    Markos looked down at his own smooth skin. His father always had rough, lacerated hands too and it was something he wanted to avoid for himself.
    Nowadays, when Markos went to the barber for his regular trim (though he was growing his silky hair much longer that summer), he also had his nails manicured. His cuticles were neatened and the nails filed. There was not a speck of dirt beneath them. With their daily massage in olive oil, they looked innocent, almost childlike. For Markos, these perfect hands demonstrated his success, showing that he never held anything heavier than a pen.
    ‘
Tse! Tse! Tse!
’
    His mother was feeding Mimikos with his seed.
    ‘
Tse! Tse! Tse!
How are those plants I gave you?’ she asked, hardly pausing between talking to her bird and to her son. ‘Have you remembered to water them?’
    He smiled. ‘
Mamma
, you know I haven’t. I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy …’
    ‘Working so hard,
leventi mou
, working so hard. No time even for a nice girl?’
    ‘Oh
Mamma
…’
    It was a joke between them. She was always hopeful. Every mother loved her son, but Markos’ beautiful looks made him easy to adore. She caressed his cheek as she had done ever since he was a baby, then allowed him to take her hand and kiss it.
    ‘I’m just holding out until I meet someone as beautiful as you,’ he said teasingly.
    ‘Yes, my sweetheart, but don’t leave it too long.’
    Like any mother she was a little impatient. Their daughter was two years married now but she would be very happy if her elder son found himself a wife. Things should happen in some kind of natural order, and besides, he was now twenty-eight.
    She was proud that her son had a job in the smartest hotel in town. It had been one of the consolations of moving from the country to Famagusta. She had always recognised that Markos would not be satisfied with a slow, humdrum life caring for orange trees. He might not have achieved good grades at school, but he was bright and she was sure that he had a promising future ahead of him.
    Markos rose to leave.
    ‘Look how smart you are!’ she said, running her fingers down his lapel. ‘You look so wonderful in that suit! Like a real businessman.’
    ‘It’s the grand opening tonight,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘The Papacostas are having a reception and they’re expecting lots of VIPs.’
    ‘How exciting.’ His mother beamed with pride that her son would be at such a gathering. ‘Who’s coming? Tell me who will be there.’
    His mother lived vicariously through her son’s career. She had never been to The Paradise Beach and knew it was even less likely that she would ever visit The Sunrise, but she always wanted to know what went on in these big hotels. Irini Georgiou would buy the next edition of the local newspaper and cut out pictures of the event, which would almost certainly be on the front page.
    ‘The Mayor and his wife,’ said Markos nonchalantly. ‘Lots of politicians from Nicosia, plenty of businessmen, friends of Mrs Papacosta’s father, even some overseas visitors …’
    ‘And will the nightclub