Hot Greek Summer
Prologue
Forty-eight hours earlier …
‘It looks like a pink sugar cube.’
Winnie flicked her Havaianas off onto the warm sand and slid her huge sunglasses down her nose to get a better look at Villa Valentina.
‘Well, they weren’t lying when they said it was on the beach,’ Stella murmured, grabbing hold of Winnie’s elbow while she bent double to slip her jewelled flip-flops off the backs of her heels.
Beside them, Frankie dropped her oversized shoulder bag on the sand and lifted the brim of the pink floppy sunhat she’d bought at least a decade ago, inspired by the effortlessly chic Kristin Scott Thomas in Four Weddings .
‘What it looks like to me, ladies, is heaven.’
For a second, all three women stood shoulder to shoulder in contemplative silence. Life had dealt each of them an unexpectedly rough hand over recent months, and this weekend was very much needed to take stock, swear like troopers and sink as much ouzo as Skelidos could supply them with.
‘Do you think it’s too early for a G she’d known Stella and Frankie for as far back as sentient memory allowed.
Born within four weeks of each other a stone’s throw apart on the same street, the three of them had been united by both age and the fact that they were the only girls amongst the rowdy rabble of neighbourhood boys.
It was a happy coincidence that they’d turned out to be similar in far more than birthdays; they shared a sharp sense of humour and a strong, abiding loyalty that bound them closer than sisters, albeit all very different in looks and temperament.
‘Is that an actual tattoo, Win?’
Frankie leaned forward to get a closer look at the flowers circling Winnie’s ankle.
Winnie paused and turned back.
‘Temporary. I’m trying it on for size.’
‘Shame you couldn’t have done the same thing with your husband,’ Stella said, throwing in a gentle wink to soften her words.
In truth the comment didn’t sting, because, in point of fact, it was pretty darn accurate.
Rory, he of the wild dark curls and sparkly eyes, the man who’d pursued her endlessly and showered her with his ardent love, had turned out to be the very same guy who’d abruptly turned the shower off to an icy water-torture trickle once the chase down the aisle in front of all of their friends was over.
Winnie was a different woman because of him.
She’d spent the first thirty-three years of her life merrily believing the schmaltzy songs on the radio; these days she flicked stations at the opening bars of a slow song, tossing the radio an accusatory look, as if it were personally responsible for Rory’s flimsy heart.
She favoured girl-power Little Mix anthems now, belted out at the top of her lungs with the hard-won knowledge that there was no such thing as forever when it comes to love.
‘Let that be the last mention of him this weekend,’ Winnie said, lifting her face to the already warm morning sunshine.
‘As of now, his name is on the banned list, along with Gavin.’ She glanced at Frankie as she mentioned her friend’s soon-to-be-ex-husband.
‘And Jones even her mother had gone off it within a month and everyone had called her Winnie from thereon in.
‘That would be me.’ She stepped forward and held out her hand, smiling uncertainly at Ajax. ‘And this is Frankie and Stella.’ She glanced behind him at the B the weight on her shoulders was a little lighter, the melancholy in her heart a little less oppressive.
Even though the effects would most likely wear off as soon as they touched down back in the UK, she’d be stronger and tougher for a couple of days off from feeling like a fool.