Page 9 of Not My Greek Wedding

‘Ah Fira.’ He nods. ‘A most beautiful place. Very popular with tourists.’

‘I believe so, although if it’s as pretty as it looks in the brochures I can understand why.’

We travel the rest of the journey in silence as I take in my surroundings, the quietness punctuated by an occasional comment from the driver, when he points out a place of interest. An olive oil factory here, a winery there and more than one church perched on a hill.

As the taxi driver negotiates bends and we climb higher, I am soon glancing down to a jumble of white buildings dotted with blue domes with the sparkling sea in the distance. As we descend the road and head to the village of Perissa, I can feel the excitement build in the pit of my stomach.

I had already paid for the taxi in advance, but I tip the driver when he unloads my hefty suitcase from the boot, and he thanks me warmly.

Standing outside the block of apartments that is literally across the road from a black sand beach, as most of the beaches are it being a volcanic island, I stand for a second and take in the view before I head inside.

Tasha and Owen will be staying in the hotel in Fira where the wedding is taking place, before heading off to a secluded island for a few days. I’m hoping I can take a few photos of the hotel that will look amazing on my social media platforms.

After being given the keys to my apartment, a white-painted room with pine furniture, I shower and change, then head out to a nearby bar and order myself a long, freezing cold beer and some halloumi fries. It’s late afternoon, but I want to save my appetite for a delicious dinner later at one of the many restaurants that line the road.

I give Mum a quick call to tell her I have arrived, before I ring Lulu. Gran was shouting in the background that I must remember to use a high sun factor, what with my fair skin, and I promised her I will.

‘I can’t wait for you to get here tomorrow,’ I tell Lulu, video calling and panning the phone around to show her my surroundings.

‘Oh wow, me neither. I’m finishing at midday on Friday, but my flight won’t land until about eight Greek time,’ says Lulu.

‘That’s fine. We can have dinner and a glass of wine and watch the sun go down.’

‘That sounds perfect.’ She sighs with pleasure. ‘Just the one glass though, we have a wedding to attend the following morning remember,’ she says.

‘Okay, Mum,’ I tease.

‘Gosh, sorry what am I like?’ She laughs. ‘I definitely need to get out more in the evening, I sound like an old-aged pensioner.’

‘Saying that though, some of the pensioners who order stuff from the catalogue are right party animals,’ I remind her and she agrees.

I’ve lost count of the number of black dresses and sparkly jackets that were ordered on the phone line. They would tell me about their nights out, or forthcoming cruises, some of them in their eighties.

‘Maybe I’ve become boring. Working and looking after a family tends to do that,’ says Lulu. ’And my trips to the gym are hardly what you call exciting. I do the same exercises and chat to the same people. It’s all a bit samey.’

‘Then we need to something about that,’ I tell her. ‘And perhaps we could do something fun when you are here.’

‘Sounds good.’

I am determined that Lulu will have a great time. She could probably have men queueing up to take her out if she gave out the right signals, but she does not give any hint that she is interested in a relationship, her confidence having taken a battering when her ex left.

‘You’re probably right. I am going to let my hair down. I might even chuck my mobile phone in my suitcase, and only check it in the evening,’ she says.

‘That’s more like it,’ I tell her, although I admit to finding that a bit unlikely. I guess it can be hard to step off a treadmill that you have been on for a long time, but if you can’t relax on a Greek island, then you would struggle to do it anywhere.

As I arrive back at my apartment, a large group of people are checking in at reception and I wonder if any of them are wedding guests?

As I am about to head upstairs, I notice the two women from the airport sitting in the bar area sipping a drink. It finally dawns on me who the lady with the fan is, so I head over to say hello.

‘Excuse me, but are you Tasha’s aunt?’ I ask her. She looks at me for a second, before recognition dawns.

‘Oh, my goodness, it’s Mia, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you in years,’ she exclaims.

She places her fan on the table, before she stands and pulls me in for a hug.

Irene, Tasha’s aunt, was a regular visitor to her house when we were growing up. I remember her when I was a teenager, slipping us a cheeky drink at family parties. She was always such fun.

‘I’m surprised you recognised me as I’ve changed a bit,’ she says. ‘I’ve piled on the pounds, but I blame the menopause.’ She chuckles. ‘I was never able to lose the weight after that,’ she tells me.

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