I don’t know whether it was the tear gas, submerging ourselves in a cold stream, or spending the night in a saturated tent, but that morning both of us woke up with a cold.

Ayamin groaned, and as she opened her eyes a drop of water had landed on her head.

‘Dannyyyyyy, she rasped, ‘My throat is killing me.’

I nodded, ‘You need some lemons, ginger, and honey – that’s like the ultimate cold cure.’

Ayamin laughed, it turned to a cough halfway through, ‘Hot chocolate, a sauna, and a warm hotel room wouldn’t go amiss.’

As she cuddled into me, I felt her forehead, it was hot. Ayamin’s eyes sprang open, ‘Don’t you dare throw me into that stream again.’

I laugh-coughed, then kissed her forehead, ‘Don’t worry about that. It might be a good idea to stay in bed today though.’

She nodded and leaned back, ‘What are you going to do?’

I shrugged, ‘I don’t know… something.’

I took off my dry clothes and wrung out the wet ones, then shuddered as I squeezed back into the cold t-shirt. It was depressing putting on wet clothes, but better than going to sleep in them.

I threw on our jacket and unzipped Winnie the Pooh. On the bed, Ayamin groaned as a slight breeze blew into the tent.

I climbed out, zipped up the door, and splashed through the water around our tent. It didn’t look like the water had got any higher, but at the same time, it hadn’t gone down very much.

Swollen grey rainclouds loomed in every direction.

As I walked, I thought about Ayamin, I’d done a pretty bad job of providing for us – I was basically living off the little money she had.

I decided to head for the town I’d bought our rice in. We needed something nutritious to get us through the colds.

I made it to the village just as the Sunday market opened. I sauntered up to one of the sellers hoping I could convince him to give me some of his leftovers.

The man just held up his hand the moment he saw me and said something in Greek. The only two words I understood were ‘no’ and ‘refugee’.

The other sellers had similar responses.

By the time I’d tried half the market, I was hungry, cold, and miserable. Because I couldn’t do anything about the first two, I decided to walk around the town to warm myself up. I felt my chest and felt the bones. I imagined Ayamin and I wasting away. I imagined us on one of those television charity advertisements where you can donate just a dollar a day to help a Danny in need.

As I was feeling sorry for myself, I noticed a lemon tree with plenty of fruit on it. The lemons belonged to a large house with a small brick wall in front of it. The sort of brick wall that I’d be able to leap over in a few steps.

I realised I’d stopped walking. I couldn’t see any movement through the windows of the house, just drab old furniture. The branches of the tree were straining with the weight of the lemons. Some were even rotting on the ground.

An image of Aya drinking lemons with honey appeared in my mind. I remembered her cough.

I casually glanced both ways down the street, no one was coming.

I bolted for the lemon tree, leaping the fence with ease. My adrenaline was pumping and a wicked smile filled my face; I’d forgotten how fun stealing was.

I’d been meaning to only take one or two lemons, but I ended up with more than ten. I stuffed them into the pockets and fold of my shirts and even bit down on one so I’d be able to carry it. Then I leapt back over the fence and casually walked down the road like nothing had happened.

Just as I reached the corner of the street, I heard someone yelling. It sounded like an old man. I pretended not to hear and turned down the next street before breaking into a run.

Standing beside a grey concrete wall. I took my t-shirt off and tied it into a small sack. I placed the lemons in it, then with a grin I walked back down the street.

It was only as I approached the market that I had a brainwave. With a grin, I found a little space beside an overhang and placed the shirt down with eight of my lemons on top.

I glanced around, only one other stall was selling lemons that I could see and they were charging three euros for four which was the same as half a loaf of bread.

I grinned, ‘Lemon!’

‘Lemon!’

‘Lemon!’

Around me, people began to stare, I just fixed them with a smile and gestured to my yellow fruit, ‘Lemon!’ I called again.

A middle-aged Greek woman with a staunch face came closer, she turned my lemons in her hands and raised an eyebrow.

She said something in Greek that went way over my head, not that it mattered, I just grinned a little wider and said, ‘Two lemon one euro.’

The women snorted, picked up four of my lemons and handed me two euro.

‘Lemóni,’ she said, pointing at the lemons, ‘lemóni.’

I picked one up, ‘Lemóni?’

She nodded, then placed her lemons in a bag and left.

Armed with my new and improved Greek vocabulary the rest of my lemóni disappeared fast, by midday I was carrying a loaf of bread, two lemons and a little sugar back to Ayamin. I’d been aiming to get her some honey, but even my lemóni weren’t enough for that beautiful nectar.