Page 5 of Not My Greek Wedding

‘Oh gosh, no, Owen is an absolute dream. He’s definitely the one.’ Her face breaks into a wide dreamy grin, telling me everything I need to know. ‘I’m just worried about everythingbeing perfect. I think people’s expectations of a Santorini wedding are going to be pretty sky high.’

Whenever we speak, I can detect more of an Australian accent in her voice.

‘And I’m sure it will be perfect,’ I reassure her. ‘Especially with your attention to detail.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She grins. ‘And we haven’t gone over the top, you know, there won’t be peacocks wandering about the place or anything like that.’

‘Oh, thank goodness, they freak me out a bit.’ I laugh.

I find any type of bird a bit unnerving. I think it goes back to a wedding I once attended, where doves were released and one made a beeline for me like a cruise missile, before landing on my head. My ex joked that the hair fascinator I was wearing must have reminded it of a bird’s nest.

‘We have gone for understated glamour, white tablecloths, black napkins, lemon trees in planters,’ she tells me. ‘Oh, and an arch of cream roses at the entrance to the restaurant.’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ I tell her, imagining my gran saying that the place sounds like it could do with a splash of colour.

‘I can’t wait to see you, and it’s so generous, footing the cost of the apartments,’ I tell her gratefully.

It’s actually a relief really, given my current financial situation.

‘Oh, not at all.’ She smiles. ‘Owen insisted on it. We got a great deal from the hotel chain with it being a block booking. I’m so thrilled you can make it.’ She says warmly.

They have also organised transport to take guests the short journey to Fira where they will marry at a luxurious hotel and where the wedding reception will also take place.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ I assure my oldest friend. ‘I can’t wait to see you get married.’

I met Owen a couple of years ago, when Tasha returned to the UK with him for a holiday. Even then I could see that they were made for each other. If I’m honest, the way they looked at each other made me realise that me and my ex never glanced at each other in such a way, apart from in the early stages of our relationship.

We chat for a while longer, and then I go back to perusing the jobs on a recruitment site.

There are a few admin posts including a doctor’s receptionist, a post at a plumber’s merchant and an assistant for a coffee shop in town. Coffee shops are so popular now I wonder whether I ought to train as a barista. Or maybe I could open an English tea shop, serving afternoon teas. Who am I kidding? I can just about afford a box of teabags never mind anything else!

Uploading my CV for the plumber’s merchant job, I cross my fingers as I send it off. Not exactly my dream role, but the money is decent. I spot another one for a receptionist at a local hotel, so I apply for that too.

I head into my bedroom then, to photograph a load of clothes that I can sell on a clothing site. At least it will keep things ticking over, which means I won’t need to delve into my modest redundancy fund too much.

I must resist the urge to buy more clothes. I have a ton of casual-wear freebies so I just need to find a dress to impress for the wedding. Maybe a white, off-the-shoulder number. On second thoughts, maybe not white for a wedding but whatever I choose, I want to look and feel good.

I take a final photo of a leather biker jacket that I no longer wear, and hope my haul sells for a good price, then I can buy myself something really special to wear for the wedding.

You just never know who you might meet in a place like Santorini…

FOUR

‘I have been given the time off work so it looks like I am coming to Santorini with you,’ Lulu squeals down the phone.

‘Oh, my goodness! That is the best news ever.’ I do a little fast running on the spot, something I always do when I am excited. My gran used to do it too, before her knees went.

‘Me neither. I can’t remember the last time I had a break away without the kids. Well, I say kids but I suppose they are adults now,’ she says, speaking of her eighteen- and almost twenty-year-old offspring. ‘Honestly though, you would think I had told them I was going away for a month.’

‘I’m sure they will manage. It might even do them some good,’ I suggest.

‘You never know, although Chloe asked if I was going to leave some money for takeaways. As if!’ She laughs. ‘I told her I would stock the fridge and freezer and that her and Tom could cook for themselves, which didn’t go down well,’ she tells me. ‘Even though they both know how to at least rustle up some pasta or a stir fry. Especially Tom, who is more than a decent cook. Would you believe Chloe actually sulked?’

‘I’m sure she’ll get over it,’ I say light-heartedly.

I resist the urge to tell her that her ‘kids’ never think about her being alone when they are off with their friends to Glastonbury or wherever for the weekend, and that she deserves a break from skivvying after them. I recall her being on the phone to me one weekend, slightly the worse for wear, and telling me how selfish Tom was when he never texted her for days or answered his phone when he went on his first lads’ holiday abroad. I might remind her of that at some point though, when her misplaced guilt will no doubt kick in when we are in Santorini.

‘So what you up to today then?’ she asks, having told me she is on her lunch break from work.

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