Tess Parks has made up her mind: love isn’t for her.
When it comes to dating she has one rule: after six weeks with a guy, she ends it. So when her heartbroken best friend invites her for a girly getaway in Corfu, Tess is sure she can stick to their pact to stay single for the summer.
But then she meets the gorgeous restaurateur Andras…
To keep his overbearing mother off his back, Tess agrees to pretend to date him. But as the two spend time together, Tess begins to realise that this fake relationship is starting to feel like the best one she’s ever had…
A feel-good escapist beach read set against a beautiful Greek island backdrop. From the award-winning author of Truly, Madly, Greekly and Those Summer Nights.
Mandy Baggot is an award-winning romance writer. She loves the Greek island of Corfu, white wine, country music and handbags. Also a singer, she has taken part in ITV1‘s Who Dares Sings and The X-Factor.
Mandy is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Society of Authors and lives near Salisbury, Wiltshire, UK, with her husband and two daughters.
For Jenny, thank you for your never-ending support. This book couldn’t have been written without you xx
There were flowers, and not the corny, wilting garage roses boyfriends think will do when they’ve forgotten an anniversary. These were bright pink, the colour of Hubba Bubba, and they were peonies, Tess’s absolute favourites.
There were also candles, giving off a gentle scent of soft sands and vanilla, and a bottle of champagne in a silver cooler next to the table. Tess breathed in, taking in the table setting, soft Italian guitars playing familiar background music. She needed to calm, still her beating heart. She smoothed one trying-not-to-be nervous hand over her Stella McCartney trousers, closed her eyes and inhaled, tipping her head slightly, until her shoulder-length waves of blonde hair touched the middle of her back. It was only five weeks and two days. It was nothing more than Tony making an effort. Perhaps it was his birthday? Should she know when his birthday was after five weeks and two days? They had had fifteen little dates. Several dinners, a trip to see the latest blockbuster, and a lunch on the Thames. Simple. Enough.
She looked away from the table, catching the eye of the restaurant’s owner, Gianni. He was smiling at her as he polished champagne flutes and then … he winked. Fear began to spread through her like a rampaging bush fire.
‘Bae!’
Tony appeared from the direction of the toilets, wiping his hands together. She swallowed. Dressed in his trademark three-piece M&S work suit, dark grey trousers, waistcoat fully buttoned up, jacket a little too big for him. His skin tone said St Tropez – the fake tan, not the region in France – hair dark and plentiful and the smile that had caught her attention on Tinder. He had looked handsome on her arm at the last work dinner. Everyone had said so. But Tess wasn’t sure if that was entirely good when things were always destined to stay casual.
She smiled. ‘Hello.’
Tony slipped his arms around her, drawing her close and she breathed in the scent that had become almost familiar over the past five weeks and two days: Turtle Wax car polish and Spearmint Extra gum.
Tony was nice. Tony was really, really nice. He didn’t belch or fart in front of her, he didn’t pretend he could cook, and he had never, ever accidentally left any item of clothing or personal paraphernalia in her apartment. He turned up when he said he was going to. He didn’t make a fuss when she had to work late. But now there were flowers! Champagne! Candles! It was ridiculous to worry though, wasn’t it? After all, it was only five weeks and two days.
She let Tony go and steadied herself, one hand on the back of the nearest chair. ‘This is lovely.’ She nodded towards the floral display and the champagne. ‘But … I only have an hour for lunch, Tony. I have a client coming in at two thirty.’
He touched a finger to his nose and winked. ‘Don’t worry, bae, it’s all sorted. This is a special occasion.’
He pulled out the chair for her. Prickles spiked down her back like a dozen baby hedgehogs doing the Macarena along her spine. Special occasion. She really, really hoped it was his birthday.
‘Sit down, Tessa, or we’ll have to skip the starters. And believe me, you won’t want to miss them.’
Tessa. Yes, that was an annoying trait he had. He might not fart or belch but he did call her Tessa, which she hated and really should have told him during at least one of their fifteen dates. It wasn’t even her name. She was Tess. Just Tess.
She sat down, straightaway pulling her iPhone from her handbag and placing it on the table. A quick press of the home button, but no sign of a work emergency, only the wallpaper photo of her and best friend Sonya. High on vodka shots and a late-night kebab they had suffered the effects of for weeks, both of them gurning at the lens from beneath giant, pink furry sunglasses. That was one weekend in Brighton Tess would never forget. She had even met the fish and chips guy. Uncomplicated one-night-of-sex-and-a-fish-and-chips-lunch-the-next-day-guy.
She waited for Tony to take his seat then couldn’t help herself. ‘Tony, is it your birthday?’
‘What, bae?’
Bae was also a pet name that got on her nerves. And, if eavesdroppers didn’t keep up with the latest slang, they might assume she was being referred to as a body of water with a large mouth. Not exactly flattering.
‘Well, the flowers and the champagne …’ She swallowed. ‘The special occasion.’
Tony reached across the table, taking her hand in his and smoothing his thumb across her palm. ‘All in good time.’
The bush fire was spreading through her again. It was getting very near to being hotter than Idris Elba. This burning, bubbling, hellfire was close to needing water to be dropped from a squadron of planes.
‘So … it’s not your birthday?’ Tess asked, pushing the champagne glass forward a little in a move she hoped would spark action. She needed fortifying. And then she needed an escape plan.
‘No,’ Tony responded. ‘I’m a Sagittarius, bae. The archer.’ He acted out pulling back the string from a bow and shooting an arrow into Gianni’s Renaissance paintings on the ceiling.
Impromptu mime. He did that a lot too. And he cracked his knuckles as often as other people breathed. But that was OK. Everyone had their quirks. And she had dated a lot worse. A lot worse.
‘Could I have some champagne?’ Tess asked, her voice a little hoarse.
‘Where’s my manners, eh? Not getting my lady a drink.’
My lady. Ownership issues. It was like the sadist from Wapping all over again. She closed her eyes for a second.
Recovering a little and refocusing, she watched Tony take the champagne out of the cooler, tear off the foil top and begin pressing and working the cork with his hands. One large pull and it popped, Tony adding the noise of an explosion for maximum effect as the frothy, bubbling liquid spilled over the top of the bottle. She could smell it. She could almost taste it. Right now, Tess had never craved a drink more. Tony had barely finished half-filling her glass when she picked it up, nuzzling the flute like a parched thoroughbred, and taking a hearty swig.
‘So,’ she began. ‘How’s work?’
‘Well,’ Tony answered, leaning a little over the table. ‘That’s partly why we’ve got champagne for lunch.’
Relief drenched the bush fire like a large, full-to-the-brim reservoir had been dumped on top of it. He was celebrating something to do with work! Yes! He wasn’t going to ask her to move in with him. She wanted to kiss his minty breath. Sweet, very tanned, easy-going Tony. He might still make the whole six weeks after all. They could maybe fit in a final trip to the West End.
‘You, bae, are looking at the new manager of the Hackney branch.’
‘Oh, Tony,’ she exclaimed. ‘Your own showroom!’ She was pleased for him. That was another thing about Tony. He worked hard. He understood her need to work hard too. She smiled and raised her glass. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks, bae. I know it’s Hackney and not the one I’d set my sights on, but it’s a big ol’ showroom and it’s a step up the ladder.’ He smiled. ‘Bigger and better things are coming.’ He put his hands together then blew them apart with another ‘boom’.
‘Your starters.’
It was Gianni, bringing scallops. Up until recently she would never have entertained eating that particularly dish but now Tess settled back in her chair, sipping some more champagne. She did so love scallops. Expensive, pint-sized, protein and cardiovascular health heavyweights that now reminded her how far she had come. Here Gianni did an amazing scallop, mushroom and parmesan recipe all parcelled back up in the shell.
Gianni put a plate down first in front of Tony and then slid a serving in front of Tess.
‘Thank you, Gianni,’ she said, looking up at the restaurant owner.
‘Enjoy,’ he replied, smiling.
And then it happened. Gianni winked again. Was there something in his eye? A sliver of unease edged back into Tess’s psyche. She looked across the table at Tony, only to find he was paying far more attention to her than he was to food. He usually ate with the gusto of a famished chocoholic let loose in Cadbury World.
Now, as she studied her plate, it wasn’t just the wink that was worrying her. It was the scallop shell. And somehow, today, the shells in front of her looked bigger than ever. If a shell had the capability of looking poignant it was utterly doing its very best right now.
Tess had found out two years ago that shells were very good for hiding things in. Romantic things. Sparkly, diamond and gold romantic things. Rings. The ring. An engagement ring. But, right now, here, it just wasn’t possible. It had only been five weeks and two days. Tony wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It was absurd to even think it. And she was so over it. She was changed.
‘All right, Tessa?’ Tony asked, a smile on his lips.
‘Yes,’ she answered, slugging back some more champagne. ‘Lovely. Mmm, scallops.’ She inhaled the sea aroma mixing with the garlic and herb dressing.
‘You going to eat them then?’ Tony asked. ‘Or just sniff them?’
She laughed. ‘You first.’ She looked down again at the plate. When she opened the shell there was going to be a diamond solitaire leaping out at her like a jack-in-the-box, only twice as scary. She checked herself. She was being mad. This was Tony. Tony had never even stayed the night at her apartment. She had stayed over with him, and there had been two lovely hotel breaks, but he never pushed. He seemed to know instinctively the limitations of the relationship. Which was one of the reasons why he had lasted this long. He had never got clingy or asked too much.
Tess put her fork to one of the shells on her plate, then, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she flipped off the top. Waiting half a second, she then opened her eyes. Anxiety evaporated. Nothing. Nothing but the scallops, mushrooms and cheese. Sweet relief!
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, I do love these.’ She dug her fork into the shell and put the contents into her mouth, letting the intense flavours coat her tongue. Gorgeous, gorgeous food. Just high levels of succulent taste sensation, and no engagement ring. She almost felt like she’d won the Postcode Lottery.
‘So, when do you get to move to Hackney?’ she asked.
‘Well,’ Tony said. ‘There’s going to be a transition period with the manager who’s retiring, but it could be as soon as next month.’
‘That’s great,’ Tess said, smiling. ‘Will you move over there? Or commute?’
‘Well … that depends,’ Tony answered.
‘On whether you can find a nice apartment?’ God, these scallops were extra divine today. She put the last morsel of the first one in her mouth.
‘Yeah, maybe a house, bae. Time to move on from the ol’ bachelor pad methinks.’
Tess smiled. ‘I hope you’re going to keep Tony’s Bar though.’ The retro eighties bar in Tony’s living space had optics, a flashing sign and a signed photograph of Rylan behind it.
‘Natch, bae.’
Tess flipped the top off the second scallop shell and dug in her fork.
‘Tessa,’ Tony said.
‘Yes?’ Tess replied. She put the fork into her mouth and bit on something hard. Fuck. What the hell was that?
‘Christ, don’t swallow!’ Tony ordered.
No man had ever said that to her before. She took his advice though and spat onto the plate. For just a millisecond, she realised swallowing would have been her preferred option. Or choking. Choking might have involved a nice, dramatic, hopefully quick ride out of here in an ambulance. As it was, she was breathing – just about – and staring at a ginormous diamond ring encased in saliva-coated parmesan.
Tess looked up, a hot flush already on her cheeks, just in time to see Tony slide from chair to parquet floor, dropping down on to one knee.
‘Tessa. Bae. Will you marry me?’
This was a disaster. Maybe this wasn’t in the same league as child labour in India or Boris Johnson becoming foreign secretary, but it was close. Tess couldn’t speak. Her eyes flitted from Tony – one knee at a right angle to the rest of his body, the other suctioned to the floor – to the plate and that … foreign body. The ring that had been in her mouth.
The sensory memory at the back of her throat was telling her it was still there. She swallowed, half-expecting to feel the giant diamond rolling over her airway like an Indiana Jones-style stone across an ancient tomb.
‘Bae?’ Tony said, dark eyes morphing into the sad, desperate eyes of an abandoned stray advertising Dogs Trust.
She still couldn’t speak but she really didn’t want him to speak either. The less he said the better. Perhaps she could pretend she hadn’t heard him. She could pluck the ring from the plate and declare her angst that she had almost met her maker because of Gianni’s lack of hygiene in the kitchen. But the problem with that course of action was that Tony was still on the floor in a position that could be one of only two things: he was either proposing or taking an inordinate amount of time to tie up his shoelaces.
She had to be brave here. Brave and kind. Let him down gently.
‘Tony,’ she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
‘Yes,’ he answered. He looked so expectant, so hopeful. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? She drew in a breath. Because she had only been dating him five weeks and two days and any sane person would not be considering marriage after only three Italian dinners, Tom Cruise and a couple of nights at a Radisson.
‘Tony, please, sit back down.’
He smiled then. ‘Oh no you don’t. I want to do this the right way, Tessa. The traditional way.’
And that was near enough what Adam had said. Another time, another plate of scallops, the metallic taste was in Tess’s mouth before she could do anything about it. That ring had been Adam’s grandmother’s, passed down that side of the family and apparently originating from the Mozambique diamond mines. That time she had cried. Cried so hard she thought her eyeballs were actually going to burst and shower the entire restaurant with the crop of tears she’d unknowingly cultivated. She had felt so totally, completely happy. Love Actually happy. Love was possible for her. Love was real. She was not going to be another daughter from divorced parents who couldn’t make a relationship work …
‘Tony,’ she tried again. ‘Please get up.’ She chanced a glance at the other diners, not wanting nice, decent, slightly Ambre-Solaired Tony to be embarrassed. She narrowed her eyes at the woman in blue who had a baby plum tomato on her fork midway between salad bowl and mouth, until the diner had the good grace to get on with her eating. Looking back to her date, she saw that Tony remained unmoved, like Angela Merkel on the subject of migration.
‘Tessa.’ Tony cleared his throat. ‘Will you—’
She couldn’t hear the words again. It was no good. She was either going to have to inflict blunt force trauma to the ear canal or use a desperate lie. What to do? Make it crystal clear and break his heart? Or tell a fib?
Tess leapt from her chair, phone in hand, like she’d just sat on a nest of wasps. ‘Oh my God, no!’ She put a hand to her chest where her heart was truly palpitating with shock and adrenalin.
‘What’s wrong?’ Tony asked, finally shifting his position, preparing to stand up.
‘It’s … my … cousin … she …’ She glanced first at her phone, then over at the ring, letting the engagement dread do its work on her. The sob was completely real. ‘She’s at the hospital.’
‘What?’ Tony said, standing up. He was up!
‘She’s … I need to go,’ Tess said, picking up her handbag and pushing her chair into the table.
‘Can I do anything? Drive you? Call you a cab? Come with you?’ Tony asked.
She shook her head, feeling immensely guilty. What was she going to do when he called her later to ask how her cousin was? Should she invent rapid childbirth or a small non-life threatening accident? What exactly was she going to do when he arranged another dinner to do this same thing all again? She swallowed. She could just say the words. She could just say, very, very quietly, quiet enough so the woman in blue with the Caprese salad didn’t hear, that she couldn’t marry him.
No, it was better this way. No public humiliation. No answers to the whys and wherefores. Tony didn’t know where she lived, or where she worked. She would just get rid of the phone number he used to call her on and … disappear. In the long run he would thank her, she was sure of that. He would find someone new. The new bae would jump at the chance of moving to Hackney and they would lead a blissful existence entertaining other car salesmen and making gin slings behind Tony’s Bar. Tony would be happy. Tess would be happy without him. It was going to end in five days anyway. They had had a good temporary life together.
‘I have to go,’ she said, backing away and trying desperately not to look at the Rock of Gibraltar, glinting underneath the slivers of scallop.
‘Well, bae, call me, let me know you’re OK,’ Tony said, looking slightly bewildered.
He was so nice. But this was necessary. She had obviously let him get too close. Well, she certainly wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
‘Bye, Tony,’ she breathed.
Tess didn’t wait a second longer. She made for the door and the humid, London air outside that smelled like freedom.
It was almost 1.45 p.m. Running into the post room of McKenzie Falconer Media, Tess was already unscrewing the cap on one of the three plastic bottles in her hands.
And there was her best friend in the whole wide world, her rock, her anchor, the only person in London who knew everything: Sonya.
Sonya looked up from where she was laminating and binding and Tess immediately felt comforted. She had her best friend, right here, she had three bottles of full-fat Dr Pepper in her hands and Tony was six Tube stops away. She headed for the chair next to Sonya, currently occupied by a box of spiral binding coils. Before she had even reached the seat, Sonya had shifted the box and Tess plumped down, swigging at the first bottle like a liquid sugar junkie and dropping the other two on the desk.
‘Three, Tess?’
She managed to only nod her head. Anything more than nodding would send the dark, brown liquid spilling down her chin.
‘Really three?’ Sonya repeated. ‘Because last time you had three it was because your mum and dad were coming to visit. Together.’ A horrified look crossed her face. ‘Are your mum and dad coming to visit together again? Today? Sooner than today? I don’t think I’m going to be able to get all the ingredients to cook the mackerel hotpot before today and—’
‘Sonya,’ Tess said, finally taking the bottle out of her mouth. ‘My parents aren’t coming.’ She wasn’t sure either of her parents were ever going to visit again after last time. And it had absolutely nothing to do with Sonya’s skills in the kitchen. After The Day They Never Discussed, almost exactly twelve months ago, each sporadic visit was more awkward than the last. It was all eating, drinking tea and filling the silence with meaningless conversation until Tess took a call from ‘work’, made her excuses and her parents left. Why they even insisted on visiting together and putting on some weak pretence was beyond her. They had been divorced for years for God’s sake!
‘Oh. Oh, well then.’ She looked confused. ‘I don’t understand.’
Neither did Tess, not fully. All she knew was her heart was working overtime and she was waiting for the sugar rush to kick in. ‘Tony proposed to me.’
‘Shoot!’ Sonya exclaimed, clapping a hand to her mouth. She took her hand away again. ‘When? How? Why?’
And that’s how well Sonya knew her. Her friend understood what had happened was a disaster too. That’s why she had asked three one-word questions and not asked if Tess had accepted.
‘Just now, in Gianni’s.’ She took a breath. ‘With a scallop.’ She shook her head; this was sounding like a guess in Cluedo. ‘I don’t know.’
Tess slugged at the Dr Pepper again, trying to rid her mind of Tony’s anxious face and her mystery relative giving birth or cutting off their little finger in a cheeseboard incident.
‘Was he all right when you said no?’
‘I didn’t exactly say no,’ Tess admitted.
‘What?!’
‘I didn’t say yes.’ She breathed. ‘Of course I didn’t say yes. It’s been five weeks and two days and—’
Sonya held her hands up like barricades. ‘Keep out! No commitment allowed here.’
She nodded, eager to move the conversation on. A few seconds longer and her mind would be filled with images from that fateful day when commitment had meant grand humiliation. The vicar with the regretful smile, the knowing look from the chauffeur who had spun around that church twelve times too many, and her mother’s tearful expression as her daughter’s happiness flew out of the stained-glass window taking the rainy-day nest egg and their Experian credit score with it.
‘I ran away,’ she said, guilt taking a stab at her too. ‘I sort of ignored the ring bigger than Saturn and told him I had to get to the hospital.’
Sonya folded her arms across her chest. ‘I hope you didn’t use me again. Because one of these days your tall stories of me being rushed to A&E are going to give me bad karma. In fact, maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s why—’
‘I didn’t use you,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t use any names, or any definite injuries or incidents. I just left.’
‘So,’ Sonya said. ‘No one needs mackerel hotpot?’
Tess studied her friend a little more closely. There was something about her that wasn’t quite right. What was it? Her gorgeous auburn hair was neatly French pleated as usual for work, her slight overuse of blusher was in place, smart yet comfortable yellow shrug over her favourite black and daisy-print dress …
‘Is everything OK with you?’ Tess asked, screwing the lid back on her drink bottle.
‘Yes,’ Sonya answered. ‘Of course. Apart from having to get fifty-eight more of these bound before three o’clock because the big machine that does them in batches is broken and Ian, my new assistant, is also broken – although in relation to him you could probably swap the word “broken” for “hungover”.’ She held up the report she was in the process of fixing together. ‘And if anything else in my life turns to crap then I’m going to be very close to being broken too.’
And then it happened. Sonya let out a sob and put a hand to her chest, the region just below her neck that usually had a silver chain with a heart-shaped blue topaz stone set in it.
Tess didn’t hesitate a second longer. She shoved the bottles of Dr Pepper on to the shelf and went to her best friend, putting her arms around her and holding her close, breathing in VO5 and the coconut oil Sonya had taken to coating herself in.
‘What’s happened? Where’s your necklace?’ Tess asked softly.
‘I … took it off,’ Sonya forced out between sobs.
‘What?’ Something was wrong. Sonya never took the necklace off. This was a necklace that had almost half-strangled her that weekend in Brighton when it got caught in a safety chain on the waltzers. It was omnipresent. There in every picture Tess had of her.
‘I took it off,’ Sonya repeated, moving out of Tess’s arms and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘But why?’ Tess asked. ‘I know, in the past, I’ve suggested changing things up a bit when we’ve been in Accessorize but it’s the necklace. The almost-engagement necklace.’
Sonya nodded sadly. ‘I know.’
‘Then …’
‘Joey,’ Sonya stated through juddering lips. ‘He’s …’
Now Tess felt sick. Joey was Sonya’s boyfriend of at least a million years. They had been together since before Spotify took over the world. If something had happened to him then her worries about Tinder Tony would pale a shade lighter than Edward Cullen.
‘He told me he wants us to go on a break.’
No. No, this could not be happening. Sonya and Joey may not be married or even properly engaged but they were the absolute epitome of the perfect couple. They were two halves of a beautiful, laughing, smiling, Pokémon Go-chasing whole. Tess might be determined that commitment was never going to be in her future but Sonya and Joey, they were the real deal. They were the beacon of hope in an ever-disposable world. They were nothing like Tess’s sister Rachel and her ex-husband, Philandering Phil.
‘He said he needed some space and when I said, what did that mean, he didn’t really answer. I said, did he not want to do ballroom dancing with me any more, because that would be OK, one of the moves sets my tendonitis off anyway, and he said it was more than that.’ She took a breath. ‘So I said maybe we could do something a little bit out there – like not have lunch at Zizzi every Sunday – or we could, you know, try a couple of new positions … in the bedroom … or maybe even out of it and …’ Sonya swallowed. ‘He wouldn’t talk. At all. Not even when I mentioned the Summer Medieval Fayre to try to lighten the mood.’
Joey not talking about battle re-enactment was like David Walliams not acting camp. This was bad.
‘So I said, what about Corfu?’ Sonya carried on. ‘When I booked it he was so excited. He told me all the different varieties of butterfly that live on the island and I told him all the Greek dishes ending in the letter “a” I wanted us to try. I’ve been so looking forward to quality time, just the two of us, relaxing, talking, not talking, trying … new positions.’
‘Sonya, what did he say?’
‘He said …’ She breathed in hard. ‘He said he didn’t want to go.’ Sonya sobbed again. ‘It’s next week, Tess. I’m not going to get my money back and I can’t go on my own and … forget all the incidental crap. My relationship! The only relationship I’ve ever had is … could be … over.’ She sighed. ‘Joey won’t answer my calls or the thirty-five texts I’ve sent him since yesterday. Yes, I counted. I just don’t know what to do,’ Sonya admitted. ‘For the first time ever, I don’t know what to do.’
Tess took hold of her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘It’s OK.’ She took a breath. ‘Because it’s all going to be all right.’
‘It is?’
She couldn’t vouch for Joey’s next move but she could certainly help. ‘I know exactly what to do.’
‘You do?’ Sonya asked, brown eyes wide. ‘Are you going to call him? I just need to talk to him. He might listen to you.’
‘No, Sonya,’ Tess said. ‘I’m not going to call him. And neither are you.’
A plan was forming. Her escape from the proposal disaster without any half-truths or fake relatives. She would call Tony – when she was far away – with a carefully prepared script. Greece, with her best friend. She was owed holiday. She had nothing to keep her here for a week. Maybe she could even find a little holiday romance. Not six weeks, just an easy seven nights of sun, sea and nothing serious. Exactly the way she liked it. The way it had to be.
Tess smiled. ‘I’ve got thirty minutes before my next client. I’ll bind as many of these as I can while you drink this.’ She passed a bottle of Dr Pepper over. ‘Then you can tell me where we’re staying in Corfu.’ She watched Sonya’s expression lighten just a little. ‘And most importantly, what I really need to know is does it have an infinity pool?’
The sun was just coming up. Faint fingers of golden light beginning to appear on the horizon, that part between azure sea and the promise of cornflower-blue sky dappled pink, peach and violet.
Andras Georgiou hung from the beamed ceiling of his restaurant, hands, forearms, shoulders, core, all bearing his weight as he gazed out at the view that never failed to steal his breath. The pebbled shoreline of the bay of Kalami, the towering cypress trees either side of the beach scene and the village houses, scattered among the greenery.
He raised his body upwards slowly, focusing on the view and not the strain of the morning exercise – abs crunching, biceps tightening – and as he lowered his bare abdomen down he paused, his vision once more drawn to the beach.
‘Straight lines! I need straight lines! Paulo! Do you even know what a straight line is?! One foot, in front of the other, not wishy-washy and all together! One, two, three, four.’
Andras listened to his mother Isadora’s voice giving orders as he pulled his body up again, watching the group of people making their way across the pebbles in something resembling a conga line.
‘Spiro! If you do not know what a straight line is I fear for your marriage!’ There was a loaded pause that sounded close to menacing even from this far away. ‘Remember what happened to Uncle Dimitri.’
Andras shook his dark head of hair and let go of the beam, dropping to the floor. He picked up his abandoned T-shirt, wiping the sweat from his body and moving through the restaurant. This wedding preparation was getting out of hand. Yesterday, his mother had moved a group of six diners from their table so she could stick her tape measure across it. When he had protested, suggesting that the tables for six were all of uniform size, she had glared at him like only she, or maybe she and Al Pacino, could.
‘What is this?’ It was his mother again, shrieking at the very top end of her vocal range. ‘It is a monster! Where is my stick?’
‘Mama, it is a tortoise, that is all.’
‘It is the size of a small car!’
Andras baulked then, knowing exactly what they had stumbled upon. He dropped his T-shirt on to the counter and hurried down the steps, heading for the wooden boardwalk and the beach.
By the time he had jumped from platform to stones, his Nikes crunching as he jogged, his mother, his brother, Spiros and all the members of the family who had already arrived for the wedding, were bent over the ‘monster’.
‘It is dead!’ his mother answered.
‘No, it is still breathing,’ Spiros replied.
‘Where is my stick?’
‘Mama, please, leave him.’ Andras bustled into the group and put both arms around the bulky animal, lifting it off the stones and away from the harmful intentions of his family.
‘It is prehistoric! A dinosaur! What is it doing here? Is it bad luck?’ Isadora sucked in a breath. ‘Antonia, look this up in wedding customs. What does a monster on the beach before a wedding mean?’
‘The tortoise being here has nothing to do with bad luck, good luck, or any sign from the gods,’ Andras informed her.
‘And you know this, do you?’ Isadora questioned, her eyes like glistening black olives.
‘I know that he has been here a week already so …’ Andras started.
‘He,’ Isadora stated. ‘I do not want to know how you know it is a he. It is hideous and it cannot be here for the wedding.’ She paused, observing the giant tortoise as it retracted its head. ‘Unless it can be cooked.’
Andras shielded the animal, taking a step back from the party of people. ‘I will make sure it is nowhere near the restaurant for the wedding.’
‘Nowhere near the restaurant?’ Isadora queried. ‘I don’t want this monster anywhere near the village.’
That having been said, Andras was starting to wish he was a giant tortoise who could just retreat into his shell until the whole big, fat, clichéd Greek wedding of his brother and his bride-to-be Kira was over.
The tortoise seemed to agree, sticking out its tongue. The weight of the reptile challenged the core muscles he had just been working out as his mother’s eyes zeroed in on him like a drone set to destroy.
‘And what are you doing here anyway?’ Isadora exclaimed. ‘You said you were too busy for the procession this morning. You said you had a delivery.’
‘And now I have a tortoise,’ he quipped.
‘Put down that horror and get in line,’ Isadora ordered.
‘Mama,’ Andras protested.
‘Andras,’ Spiros began. ‘I think I hear the delivery truck now.’
Andras took two steps back while the going was good, the tortoise still in his grip, and offered his brother a thankful glance. ‘I think you are right, Spiro.’
‘I do not hear a truck,’ Isadora stated. ‘And I have excellent ears.’
‘I should go,’ Andras told her, continuing to back away.
‘Perhaps you need some help, yes?’
Spiros was raising his eyebrows higher than the island’s tallest peak of Mount Pantokrator. Andras had immense sympathy for his brother, but Spiros had known what getting married the full-on traditional Greek way was going to entail. However, Andras also knew the reason their mother had only one traditional wedding to get excited about was on him.
‘Do not even think about moving one step, Spiro,’ Isadora said, threat coating her tone.
‘Auntie Isadora,’ a small voice spoke. ‘I am hot.’
All eyes went to six-year-old Helena who was wearing traditional Corfiot dress complete with a hat covered in white lace, with colourful red, yellow and pink flowers woven into it.
‘You cannot be hot,’ Isadora stated. ‘For the wedding it will be much, much warmer than this.’
Spiros whispered, his voice close to Andras. ‘Help me.’
‘Sorry,’ Andras replied, hugging the tortoise to his bare skin. ‘But I promise, I will keep the beer cold and the coffee hot. Whatever you need,’ Andras stated.
‘You know what I need,’ Spiros said softly. ‘I need you to find a buyer for my half of the restaurant.’
Andras moved his eyes to the tortoise who was now poking its head slowly out of its shell in curiosity. He knew his brother had been patient. He knew he was running out of time. He had asked almost everyone he thought might have the means to invest. His options left were either to try to get a loan himself or face up to the reality of running the restaurant with his mother as his partner.
‘If there were any other way,’ Spiros said, nudging his brother’s arm.
‘I know,’ he answered. ‘It is OK. You have a new life waiting, and a new wife.’
Andras watched Spiros’s eyes go to his fiancée, Kira, just a few metres away down the beach, her bare feet in the edge of the sea, her thick dark hair moving in the breeze, smiling sweetly even while being berated by Isadora. Spiros adored Kira. They were going to live a joyful life together on the mainland where, in a year or maybe sooner, Kira would deliver the first of a couple of gorgeous children.
‘I am a very lucky man,’ Spiros agreed with a contented sigh.
‘You should go,’ Andras said as the tortoise began to kick its legs. ‘Before Mama threatens you with what happened to Uncle Dimitri again.’
Spiros laughed, nodding.
‘See you later,’ Andras said, about to turn away.
‘Andras,’ Spiros called.
He stopped, faced his brother again. ‘What?’
‘She will kill me for telling you this,’ Spiros said, taking a look over his shoulder as if to ensure Isadora wasn’t in range.
‘Telling me what?’
‘Cousin Marietta,’ Spiros said. ‘Mama … she has plans for the two of you.’
Andras looked over to the wedding party, all the women frantically flapping their hands in front of the face of the perspiring, radish-faced Helena. Cousin Marietta seemed to sense his scrutiny and looked up, waving her hand.
‘I’m sorry, Andras,’ Spiros said, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘But, it could be worse, yes?’ He nodded. ‘Uncle Vasilis has a building company and there are cows on her mother’s side of the family.’
He couldn’t bring himself to even try to reply.
‘Windows for your house and meat for the menu, yes?’ Spiros said cheerfully.
The tortoise made a noise – a cross between a cough and a laugh. Andras knew exactly how the animal felt. Suspended in mid-air, flailing and with a heavy weight on its back. The only difference was Andras didn’t have a shell to hide in.
‘I will see you later,’ he said to his brother, hugging the reptile to his side.
Suddenly there was a chorus of screams from the wedding party and Andras looked up just in time to see Helena drop to the beach.
‘Loosen the hat!’ Isadora shouted. ‘But be careful not to crush the flowers. Andras! Get some water!’
‘According to the guidebook,’ Sonya said, staring out of the coach window, ‘there’s a must-see church near here called Ipapanti.’ She drew in a breath as if she was sucking the outside in. ‘Whitewashed walls and a garden filled with palms, agave and cacti.’ A sigh left her lips. ‘Just saying those words makes you feel Greek, doesn’t it?’ She turned a little in her seat, eyes looking to Tess. ‘Do you feel Greek?’
‘No,’ she answered shortly. ‘I feel like the flight left far too early and you swallowed too much Aperol.’ Tess looked back to her phone, gripping on to it as the coach bounced along the rutted roads at a pace to rival Lewis Hamilton.
Damon Daniels. Thirty. Loves fine wine, good times and … my abs.
Tess had scrolled down already and there Damon was in his profile photo, most of his face missing, a taut abdomen glowing from the screen. An obsessed gym bod who liked fine wine. Most of the gym bods she’d dated in the past would look at her like she was a freak if she drank more than one glass of wine on a week night. It was all H2O and infuser water bottles stuffed with fat-burning citrus fruits. Not even a sniff of Dr Pepper.
She flipped back to the home screen of the new dating app she’d joined since Tinder Tony had started leaving her begging messages. Hooked Up, it was called. If she wasn’t careful there would be no dating apps left to sign up to. And she needed a date. To get right back on the proverbial horse after the proposal nightmare. Something organised for when she got home. Who was next? She went to press—
‘Aw, look, Tess! Look!’ Sonya exclaimed, tugging at the sleeve of Tess’s bright red, cardigan-cum-jacket. She had bought it because it looked a lot like one she’d seen in Harvey Nichols. ‘Sheep in the road, being steered by a man with a stick. Doesn’t that just warm your heart? Doesn’t it make you glad you’re here?’ Sonya sighed again. ‘It’s so peaceful. So not London.’
Tess looked at her friend. Sonya’s eyes might be transfixed with the scene outside the window, but her friend’s right hand was at the bottom of her neck, fingers seeking out a necklace that wasn’t there. Tess dropped her phone into her bag and joined Sonya in gazing out at their view as the coach slowed to a crawl to avoid the farm animals.
There was greenery to rival the Cornish moors here, intermixed with pockets of colour from budding flowers – yellows and lilacs – and, in the distance, as the land dropped steeply away from the road, was the sea. A sleek, almost still, wide ribbon of deep blue, sat at the bottom of this mountainous island. It was beautiful. It was nothing like Tess’s last holiday with Rachel in full-on Philandering Phil meltdown mode again – Centre Parcs, climate-controlled, spa-perfect dome habitation. This was foreign. Hot. Exciting. Maybe that’s what she was missing in her life. A foreign boyfriend. Olive-skinned perfection with a carefree attitude to match hers.
‘Well, I think a week in that sea is going to do wonders for our skin,’ Tess stated.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Sonya answered. ‘And, apparently, if you smother the wet sand all over you like you’re in the Dead Sea or something, it gets rid of all your impurities.’
‘All of them?’ Tess asked.
‘I don’t think we’re talking soul-salvation and sin-cleansing,’ Sonya admitted. ‘But a little dermabrasion never hurt anyone.’ She sighed. ‘Joey liked to take care of his skin. In more of a Savlon way than a tea-tree-wipe way, but he had nice skin.’
‘He has nice skin, not that I looked at his skin that closely.’ Tess took Sonya’s hand, drawing it down and away from its necklace-searching. ‘What I mean is, he hasn’t died, there’s no need to refer to him in the past tense. Because he isn’t in your past. He’s just having a … man moment.’
‘A man moment? What’s a man moment?’ Sonya asked, turning in her seat to face Tess.
She had no idea what a man moment was. It was just something that had come out of her mouth – possibly pinched from a Cosmopolitan article her sister had shown her one Kleenex-filled evening – that she hoped would make her friend feel better about this enforced break from her relationship. Now she had to deliver an explanation.
‘It’s just that stage they go through when they’re caught between still being a bit of a boy and … growing up.’
‘Joey’s twenty-seven,’ Sonya reminded her.
‘I know. But he’s still into Robot Wars, isn’t he?’
‘He does love Robot Wars.’ Sonya’s face fell. ‘Is there something wrong with that?’
This wasn’t going well. Tess shook her head. ‘No, I was just thinking that maybe Joey’s caught between wanting more Robot Wars and less …’ She racked her brain for the right words. ‘Dunelm Mill.’
‘What does that mean?’ Sonya asked. ‘That I constantly drag him around furnishing shops ensuring he knows the difference between a pillowslip and a pillowsham?’
Tess swallowed. She didn’t even know the difference between a pillowslip and a pillowsham.
‘Have I got clingy? Is that what you’re saying?’ Sonya asked, face reddening. ‘Maybe I’ve got controlling and planned out his life for him so he’s feeling suffocated and stifled?’
‘No,’ Tess said, straightaway. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘We had that … odd conversation but … we’d moved past that and things were good. Things were frothy-coffees-in-Costa good.’
‘And they will be again.’ Tess smiled. ‘With chocolate curls on top.’
‘He said he liked Dunelm Mill.’ Sonya sniffed. ‘And I know he likes the little craft shop we go in on a Saturday, the one that does hand-painted tea sets with cute puppies and kittens on and … I didn’t hear him moaning about haberdashery when the wool we found at the knitting expo got turned into a jumper all his friends said looked like a Ralph Lauren.’
Sonya was looking close to a teary meltdown and a couple of their travelling companions were peering across the aisle at them now the sheep issue outside seemed to have been resolved and they were back to being on their way.
‘Sonya, this isn’t the end,’ Tess stated, softly. ‘You and Joey are perfect for each other … but perhaps he just needs a little time out to realise that.’
Sonya whispered. ‘Is that what happened with Adam?’ She lowered her voice even more. ‘Did you have a break, you know, before the … break-up?’
And there it was. That ache low down in the very depths of her stomach, no longer a sharp jab like a heavyweight boxing champion had sucker-punched her, more like a focused, steely fencing expert had foiled her with a precision riposte. She didn’t talk about Adam. Back when she’d told Sonya about Adam it had been after three too many Margarita cocktails. She had rattled through the altar-jilting humiliation of a year ago, ridding herself of all the tears of loss and hurt and trying to ignore the first notes of Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’. The man she’d loved so hard, so deeply, had not only shattered her future and broken her heart, his actions had made her leave Buckinghamshire and permanently altered her relationship with both her parents.
She shook her head. ‘No.’
But maybe, if they had, they would still be together. She pulled in a breath, her hand already reaching into her bag for her phone. Did she really believe that?
‘I just … don’t know what I’m going to do if he isn’t going to be in my life any more,’ Sonya admitted.
Tess wrapped her right hand around her phone and put her left hand on top of her friend’s, delivering a comforting pat. ‘Trust me, it won’t come to that. I have experience, well, you know, with Rachel and—’
‘Philandering Phil,’ Sonya added.
‘Quite.’
‘Joey’s quite the catch, you know,’ Sonya said, eyes moving back to the window. ‘When he’s in his battle re-enactment costume you should see the heads that turn.’ She sighed. ‘And I don’t want to think about his head being turned by some busty Cavalier damsel at the Tiverton show next month. What if we’re not back together by next month?’
‘Sonya, you’re a catch,’ Tess assured her. ‘And you’re the girl with the almost-engagement necklace that’s going to turn into a definite-engagement ring as soon as Joey realises he can’t live without you.’ She smiled. ‘I give it three days tops before he’s calling.’
Tess pulled her phone out of her bag and tapped on Hooked Up.
‘What are you doing?’ Sonya inquired, holding on to the seat back as the coach took a sharp turn.
‘Finding me a new man to come home to.’ She grinned. ‘After I’ve practised on a Greek one here, obviously.’
‘What?’ Sonya asked. ‘Are you kidding with me?’ She laughed, slapping her hands down on to her thighs. ‘Now who’s had too much Aperol?’
Tess looked at her friend, bemused. Had she said something funny? She knew Sonya would rather she found a man from ‘more conventional’ methods – like one of Joey’s Roundhead-dressed friends – but with the relationship shelf life moving faster than a civil war sword, apps were easier and far less personal.
‘I don’t get it,’ Tess stated, her voice tinged with some of the nervousness she felt about Sonya’s reaction.
‘We can look. Obviously we’re going to look,’ Sonya said. ‘But no touching.’ She grinned. ‘Strictly girl time.’
‘What?’ She had barely managed to get the word out of her mouth.
‘No men,’ Sonya stated. ‘We said so on the plane. Just you and me, swimming in the sea with dolphins and slathering ourselves with wet sand, drinking Greek wine and eating all the dishes ending in “a”.’ She sighed, her hand moving to the bottom of her neck again before she seemed to catch what she was doing and return it to her lap. ‘Us time, Tess. Absolutely no men.’ She giggled. ‘Apart from the looking.’
Tess felt sick. She couldn’t do it. The longest she had been without a date on her arm, since the Adam situation, was forty-eight hours. And that was because for twenty-four of those hours she had been head down in a project at work and for