‘Slipping through my fingers all the time / I try to capture every minute …,” mourns Meryl Streep in Mamma Mia! as we drive along a dusty road lined with goats and olive trees to Kefalos beach. I glance over at my girl – rosy cheeks, sun-kissed hair, phone glued to hand – and I’m overcome with emotion and involuntarily snort tears down my face.
“Mum, are you actually crying?” laughs Lola. “You’re so soft!”
Yes, so soft that I have to pull over and recompose myself. Never has a song resonated so much.
My daughter Lola – and her twin sister, Nancy – are now 17. It’s their first year at sixth-form college and their lives revolve entirely around their friends and having fun – just as they should. But, while I encourage my children’s independence, I worry that my threadbare apron strings are about to snap.
It’s been a tough few years. I’ve separated from their father, and both girls have had anxiety and depression post-Covid. Last summer I took all the kids – Lola, Nancy and their brother, Angus – to Rome. It was a great holiday, but they bickered and fought for my attention. With three children, it can be hard to give each the laser-focused time they want or need. And twins can be competitive, especially when it comes to attention.
I’ve found that one-on-one time is beneficial to our relationship and their wellbeing. We’re not the only ones to recognise this. Mum-and‑daughter trips are increasingly popular among Lola’s friends. Last year I took Angus, who is 21, on a work trip to Stockholm and we came back more connected than ever.
Lola’s had a fascination with Greece ever since she saw Mamma Mia! aged six. When I suggested we go away for a few days over Easter, Greece was top of her list. (Nancy’s next.)
I booked a cheap hotel in Kos Town and it’s not long before we’re living the Greek dream with the film’s score as our soundtrack. Kos is perfect for an off-season holiday. The third largest island in the Dodecanese – closer to Turkey than Athens – it’s already warm in April. We soon fall into an easy routine: I wake early and read my novel on the balcony overlooking the sea, while the teenager slides out of bed hours later, only seconds before breakfast ends. We mooch around town, shopping for silver jewellery and trinkets for her friends, stopping for coffee and Cokes in pretty bougainvillea-strewn cafes. We like the buzz of Kos Town.
We flip-flop between the beaches, explore the towns, and lunch on Greek salad and chips in waterfront restaurants as twinkly eyed septuagenarian waiters flutter attentively around us. We practise our basic Greek – little more than kalimera and efcharisto – and Lola gets to see me relaxed, a person in my own right, not just her mother. Without the temptation to see her friends, Lola starts to open up to me about her life. We talk about friends, boys, college, and, for a moment, I see the world through a 17-year-old’s eyes. I wait for her to bring up the separation of her parents, ready to reassure her if need be, but she doesn’t. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or not.
A 10-minute drive north of Kos Town is Thermes beach, where we soak in mineral-rich thermal waters in a natural sea pool. Kefalos on the south-east coast is our favourite. We have the beach to ourselves and swim in the cool but oh-so-clear Aegean waters.
When my children were small, holidays were very different, focused on keeping the three of them happy, fed and entertained, often with me and their father playing tag team so the other could get some lounger time. Now my daughter and I chat like adults as we sunbathe.
After shopping, Lola’s keen to explore. Kos is the birthplace of Hippocrates, the ancient healer who taught his disciples under the plane tree on Plateia Platanou. We potter around the ancient agora, the remains of the old town, and see the Odeon of Kos amphitheatre. I even convince the teen to spend an hour at Asclepieion, just outside Kos Town. Built in 357BC, the vast medicine school and healing centre is the island’s most famous archaeological site.
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Lola is studying history of art at A-level, and delights in teaching her uncultured mother the differences in the columns as we wander around the ancient ruins of the propylaeum, the altar of Kyparissis Apollo and the first temple of Asclepius.
At dinner in a taverna, we chat easily about my work, her friends and our daft dog over smoky souvlaki and chips. Lola has passionate views on everything from politics to K-pop. We talk about our mutual love of Taylor Swift, her excitement (and my concerns) about her attending Reading festival this summer. And when a rather enchanted young waiter offers us ouzo on the house, she says, “Go on, Mum – I’m nearly 18”, with a twinkle in her eye.
Looking at the young lady my daughter is becoming, I can’t help but think how quickly it’s all gone. Abba’s Slipping Through My Fingers is about a mother’s regret as her daughter grows up. The song has become our in-joke over the week and she plays it just to get me to cry.
As it is the start of the season, Bar Street – the party centre of Kos Town – isn’t open, much to my relief and Lola’s disappointment. Instead, I treat her to a “baby’s first cocktail” in H2O, a gorgeous sunset bar right on the sea wall, as she earnestly vows to return here post‑A‑levels to work.
Over our few days in Kos, I get a glimpse of the adult Lola is to become, and it’s a joy to watch her spread her wings. I’d love to think that these one-on-one trips – with all three – will become an annual affair. Especially if I pick up the bill. On the way home, my exhausted girl rests her head on my shoulder. She might be growing up, but her soppy mum is always here for a cuddle.
Infinity hotel in Kos Town (booked through booking.com) has twin rooms from £50 a night, including breakfast, out of season. Car hire from Kos airport was provided by Hertz. For further information on Kos, visit discovergreece.com
