Free The Santorini Summer by Christine Shaw Page A

four,’ she calls gaily and sets off alone.
    ‘Enjoy the museum,’ I say, but I doubt that she has heard me.
    The agenda for the day consists of the latest findings and theories about The Big Bang, as some of the younger volcanologists insisted upon calling the eruption of 1600BC. Since the Indian Ocean tsunami in 2004, scientists have had graphic evidence of the havoc such an event creates. The latest archaeological discoveries revealed that the explosion of Santorini must have been a truly massive one. The seismic wave which would have followed would have hit Crete within half an hour, causing catastrophic damage. The coastal settlements, including Knossus, would have been wiped out. The latest excavations at Akrotiri showed that the bull was a sacred symbol for the people of Santorini just as it was for Minoan Crete, that theirs was a wealthy and powerful state, familiar with the use of copper, and using the same cultivation methods that Plato tells us were used in Crete. So Santorini and Crete were connected culturally, and if they did not comprise Atlantis, then they suffered a very similar fate.
    Christos would have been in the forefront of these discussions, probably one of the speakers at the Conference, presenting the results of his life’s work and daring the doubters to dismiss his findings. I am here, officially, as an interested academic – I try to visit Santorini whenever a conference about its history is scheduled, and the scholars here knew me as someone with a personal interest in the subject – but in my heart I am here to see justice done to the man Christos would have become.
    There is a very pleasant courtyard behind the Centre, and I sit there in the shade waiting for Alexa. My fingers find my locket, as they often do at moments of relaxation, and I open it to look once more at the photograph of Christopher as a baby. He was a beautiful child. Naturally, every mother thinks her offspring is beautiful, but Christopher was one of those babies who attract strangers in the street. He had dark curls and huge brown eyes fringed with the longest lashes. His skin was olive-toned and without a single blemish. My mother fell in love with him the day of his birth and she adored him until the day she died, which made my life easier than it might otherwise have been.
    When I returned from Santorini I was still in a state of shock, but I had spun some story about having had a fall-out with one of the girls at the dig which had distressed me. My mother’s reaction was to suggest she should have a word with the Professor, but I managed to dissuade her by claiming that this would be seen as petty and might be reflected in my grades. I went back to Cambridge earlier than I needed to and threw myself into study. I did not tell Maureen or anyone else what had happened. I was aware of feeling tired and nauseous, but I put that down to heartbreak.
    Some mornings I would awake with a blank memory, and then it would slowly dawn on me that I would never see Christos again, and misery would make me curl up and howl. Most days I made it to lectures; sometimes, when I couldn’t control the weeping, I claimed a migraine.
    But after Maureen heard me vomiting in the toilet three mornings in a row, I confided in her because I had no one else to talk to and felt so helpless. She was a good friend then, insisting on taking me back to my room, making tea and forcing me to eat some toast. She asked no questions other than when the baby was due, but I told her the bare facts because I wanted to forestall any mention of Christos, whose very name spoken aloud could destroy any composure I had managed to find. She was appalled, not because of any moral issue but because of the disastrous effect my pregnancy would have on my academic career. I had been hoping to do an MA.
    ‘It’s such a crying shame. You’d have got a First for sure, and I’ll be lucky to get a Lower Second. It’s rotten luck.’
    My feelings were very confused. A