Page 3 of Not My Greek Wedding

‘Nice. It will bring out the colour of your eyes.’

‘I don’t have orange eyes. I’m not the Gruffalo.’

‘It isn’t orange.’ I laugh loudly.

Lulu has light brown, almost amber-coloured eyes.

Heading to the clothes department upstairs, I take advantage of a sale, and buy a turquoise-coloured bikini and sarong set. And I simply can’t resist a shorts playsuit in white, especially as it has a thirty per cent discount. I snap some photos to show my followers and will do a little voiceover later, before doing a walk around the shop, showing them some more discounted items.

‘Right, are we done then?’ asks Lulu when we step outside. It was raining earlier but the sun has come out now, which has pretty much been the same every single day of the summer thus far. Typical British weather that I can’t wait to get away from, and only two weeks to go!

‘Yep, I’m done. And don’t forget to ask Phil in the morning about those days off,’ I remind her, before we hug each other goodbye.

‘Oh, don’t you worry, it will be the first thing I do. I will let you know as soon as I find out.’

We go our separate ways, as Lulu is collecting her daughter from a bottomless brunch date, who, by the sound of her call a short time ago, is a little the worse for wear.

I am catching the number nine bus in the opposite direction to see my gran.

I hear a notification on my phone and open it to find my brother Lewis has sent me a picture of himself and some pals during their downtime from army exercises, all wearing sunglasses and clutching beers, beneath a bright blue sky. I tap out a reply telling him how I will be doing the same at Tasha’s wedding soon, and a tingle of excitement ripples through me.

Glancing out of the window at the grey sky, I can’t wait to get home and try on my things, and dream of being in Santorini, but first I need to see my gran. It’s another week until her podiatry appointment and her toenails need cutting. What a glamorous life I lead!

THREE

Ah, just look at that house, what I wouldn’t give to live in a place like that.’ I sigh.

I take in the white walls of the house on the television, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a huge garden as I file my gran’s toenails.

I could definitely live in a house like that. I would maybe need to employ a cleaner though, and perhaps a part-time nanny if I ever had a child. Possibly a personal trainer for that huge gym?

‘Take it easy, love, you’re filing my toenail, not my toes,’ says Gran, pulling her foot away sharply.

‘What? Oh gosh, sorry, Gran. I was miles away there.’

‘You’ve always been a dreamer,’ Gran says with a smile.

Maybe she’s right. Well, I know she is. Perhaps the time has come for me to work towards an actual goal. Still it’s fun to daydream, isn’t it?

There are lots of ‘wows’ from presenter Abbey Clancy as she is shown around the luxurious celebrity home. The upper floor, accessed by a glass lift, is bigger than our family home.

‘What would you do, rattling around in a place that size?’ Gran shakes her head. ‘And it could do with a bit of colour, everything seems to be in black and white.’

‘That’s the fashion,’ I tell her. ‘With a bit of grey thrown in.’

‘Hmm. Well, I think a lot of people’s houses all look the same these days,’ says Gran.

Gran certainly isn’t afraid of colour. The red-leather sofa is adorned with brightly coloured cushions and displays of fake flowers are dotted about the lounge.

Family photos adorn a wall covered in pink wallpaper that has a slight sheen, including those of me and my brother Lewis, who is in the army and currently in Gibraltar. Gran worries about him all the time, but he stays in touch with us all, sending regular photos and updates. When he is home on leave, we all enjoy a huge Sunday roast, at my parent’s house.

‘Well, each to their own taste, I guess,’ I say, and Gran gives a little, ‘Hmmf.’

I would do anything to live in a house like the one on the TV, I think dreamily, as Abbey is led upstairs by the homeowner. I would have a huge walk-in wardrobe and a gigantic bathroom with a sunken bath. Maybe even a music studio, where I could sing to my heart’s content and even try a little songwriting.

My bedroom in my parent’s house is modest, to say the least, but the upside is that I don’t have to pay an extortionate rent. I moved back home after leaving the rented flat I was sharing with my boyfriend after we split up. I loved that flat, with the large tree outside the bedroom window and the coffee shop on the corner, but there was no way I could afford the rent on my own, so that was that.

It felt weird returning home a year ago, and I cried for days in my old bedroom, clutching Bronte my childhood teddy bear to my chest every evening and swearing off men for life.

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