The Greek Villa: A beautiful and utterly addictive summer holiday rom com

Chapter 11

‘Passport, tickets, money, bank cards,’ I repeat over to myself as I zip up my bag for the flight.

Evie’s husband is dropping us at the airport early, en route to taking the girls to their grandparents’ place in Cheshire.

‘I bet this is a lot more exciting than painting and doing the gardening,’ says Nick as he drops us off. ‘Although it was your idea to do that, not mine.’ He laughs, probably making the point that he isn’t an uncaring husband who has his wife painting whilst he’s playing golf. As if he needed to tell me that.

‘I expected you to organise something fun for yourself,’ he reinforces the point. ‘I was surprised you wanted to paint the ceiling.’

‘I know and I appreciate that, but with not long returning from Greece, I felt a bit guilty going again so soon,’ Evie says. ‘But as you are going golfing, I did think about going out with the girls from work, but then my best friend stepped up and insisted I go along with her on an all-expenses-paid weekend.’ She laughs.

‘Well, have a great time. I’ll miss you,’ he says warmly.

‘Yeah, right, after you’ve had a few on the nineteenth hole, you’ll forget I exist,’ she tells Nick, who places his hand on his heart and protests.

‘And I don’t keep tabs on how many times you go away you know, as long as it’s not every weekend.’ He winks.

‘As if I would.’ She reaches up and kisses him on the lips.

‘You never said you had been invited out with your work friends,’ I say as we head off into the airport.

‘Oh, I know, but it was a Magic Mike tribute thing for a hen do. I’m past the age of watching gyrating men thrust their pelvis in your face.’ She laughs.

‘Did you ever enjoy that sort of thing?’

‘Not really,’ she admits. ‘I always thought it looked rather unhygienic, rubbing cream on their bodies and asking women to lick it off.’ She gives a little shudder.

I’m not surprised by her comment as this is a woman who used to take her own bottled water into restaurants, such was her fear of germs. ‘You never know, they might fill bottles with tap water and charge for it. I can’t take the chance, not with my delicate stomach,’ she would say in her defence.

Many a time we had to make stops so she could use a loo somewhere, the rest of our taxi passengers sighing inwardly – and not always inwardly – due to her anxious tummy, each time vowing she would never drink again.

She seems a lot better these days, but that was after several years of having every test known to man performed by her GP, who concluded she was a picture of health. One or two friends at the time even dared to suggest she was a bit of a hypochondriac.

‘It’s anxiety,’ I told her one evening when she had been to the loo twice before the starter had arrived in a restaurant. ‘It must be if there is not actually anything medically wrong with you.’

‘Do you think so?’ she asked, wiping down the table and the arms of her chair with an antibacterial wipe.

‘I do.’ I raised an eyebrow as she put her wipes away, the air suddenly filled with the vague scent of pine, which I hoped the waiter didn’t think was my perfume.

‘You think I’m a nutcase,’ she’d said, and I told her no, she just needed to do some more relaxation and stop thinking about it so much. Mind over matter. But, of course, it is never as simple as that. Thankfully she discovered swimming and enjoyed it so much that she magically was able to build up her stamina and was overjoyed when she could manage over sixty lengths without shitting herself in the pool. It was an epiphany. From that day on, she was – almost – cured.

‘I’m shattered. These early mornings are a thing of the past for me at the weekend,’ says Evie as we board the plane and settle into our seats. ‘I’m usually only climbing out of bed at ten thirty, about the same time as the girls.’ She laughs.

‘Better than getting up in the middle of the night with babies, hey?’

‘No kidding,’ she says, yawning. ‘And I don’t think the girls were too happy being dragged out of bed so early either, but they’re young, they’ll survive.’

I can’t ever imagine waking during the night for an infant, surviving on only a few hours’ sleep, but then can anybody? I guess when the time comes, you just get on with it and I like to think a good audiobook would get me through the night feeds. If that time ever comes for me.

An hour into the flight, Evie is dozing and a while later, it seems so have I, as the captain is soon making an announcement about making the descent into Corfu Airport.

‘Wow, that went quick, have I been asleep?’ asks Evie, before tying her long blonde-highlighted hair into a ponytail.

‘Asleep? The rest of the passengers had to put their headphones on to drown out the sound of your snoring.’ I shake my head.

‘You’re joking!’ She looks mortified.

‘Nope.’

She fishes her sunglasses from her bag and places them on, maybe in the hope no one will recognise her in the airport terminal, whispering and laughing at the snoring woman.

The handsome guy at the passport kiosk spends several seconds looking at me, and I resist the urge to give him a sultry look, or even a wink. Then I remember that my embarrassing passport photo bears no resemblance to my current look. These days I wear a long, layered cut and not a slightly out of control perm.

Stepping outside the airport building, the hot sun seems to work its way upwards, massaging my legs before landing on my face that I turn towards the sun, relishing the heat.

‘Oh, it’s good to be out of the UK, isn’t it?’ I sigh, putting all thoughts of the dreary weather back home out of my mind.

‘It is. I’m so sorry I never got the chance to paint that ceiling though. Not!’ Evie giggles as we go and collect the car, a nippy little Fiat Uno. We skirt through part of Corfu Town, taking in the hustle and bustle of traffic, and resolving to return to the Old Town and amble though its maze of streets, until we are out on the highway, that soon gives way to a coast road.

‘I can’t believe I’m here again.’ Evie fiddles with the radio and the sound of Greek music fills the air. She makes me giggle as she sings words she has no idea of the meaning of, with real feeling.

‘I’m thinking you should watch Greek TV if you want to learn the language,’ she advises me. ‘I once saw a travel programme where this guy in Syria said he learned American purely from watching movies.’

‘I’ll be sure to remember that.’ I raise an eyebrow, and wonder whether he spoke in an American accent.

‘I’m dying to see what this surprise is,’ she says, reminding me that I have managed to keep the house purchase a secret. ‘You did say it was something to do with water, so I’ve been imagining all sorts. I thought maybe a boat trip to another island, but as we are only here for the weekend, I can’t imagine you would do that,’ continues Evie, trying to prise information from me.

‘Just wait and see.’ I smile, and she huffs.

I hope she doesn’t think I have taken leave of my senses. I’m even less sure she will set foot inside the place, as she likes things clean and shiny, and I know it will be anything but. She also hates spiders, but then, so do I. Maybe I will have to take some photos of the inside and show them to her.

She sings the chorus at the top of her voice and has me laughing.

‘What do you suppose that means?’ she asks, before typing into Google Translate to discover it means ‘You are my one and only’. ‘Imagine some gorgeous Greek bloke whispering that to you.’ She sighs and I remind her she is a happily married woman. ‘I am, and I know I’m lucky, but after sixteen years together it isn’t all moonlight and roses, you know.’

That’s the thing with relationships, isn’t it? It’s not like in the movies, where people seem to be in a state of constant lust. The chemical that first attracts us to each other wears off over the years. At least for most people. So, what you are essentially left with is friendship, so you need to make sure you actually like the person you are with, and share some common interests. And work hard to keep the romance alive too, I guess.

We drive along roads flanked by fields, some with olive groves in the distance. With the window down and the Greek music playing, it’s suddenly as if I am on an entirely different planet, away from work and all thoughts of the comings and goings of daily life back home neatly filed away. The roads are bordered with yellow and red wildflowers growing beneath a hot sun and a brilliant blue sky.

In no time at all, we turn into a side road and at once glimpse the beach at Roda, with its orange and white umbrellas flapping gently on the sand and I feel my stomach turn over with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

As we pull up to the apartments, Thea is getting out of her car carrying bakery supplies, and smiles broadly when she sees us.

‘It is good to see you back so soon.’ She places some boxes on top of the car and gives us both a hug.

The owner of the apartment is away right now, so had left the key with Thea for us to collect.

‘It seems we can’t stay away. We are just over for a long weekend this time though. Oh, and we must have a snack as we have just arrived,’ I tell her, following her into the shop.

Trays of cakes and bread rolls are displayed beneath glass counters and have me drooling. Sticky squares of baklava sit alongside honey and nut cake, lemon and orange cake and Thea’s speciality, fig bread. We take one of the loaves, along with a slice each of a honeyed pistachio sponge, and some bottled water from the fridge.

We head across the road and, after nipping to the small nearby supermarket for ham and salad, assemble lunch on the apartment balcony that has a glimpse of the beach.

‘Can you imagine owning a holiday home in a place like this,’ I comment as I slide a cube of salty feta into my mouth and admire the view.

‘I can. That is all I can do though, imagine. Besides, I don’t think it’s very accessible in the winter, is it? And the weather can change a bit in Corfu.’ Evie takes a glug of cold water.

She has a point, but I don’t suppose I was thinking of being here over the winter. Unless, of course, I can’t bear to tear myself away from the beautiful home I envisage creating, then I could take an internal flight from Athens.

‘Anyway, eat up, we need to go and collect something.’

I feel the nerves in my stomach, hoping Evie will approve of my, some might say, impulsive purchase.

‘Collect something? Is this part of the surprise you’ve been talking about?’ Evie eyes me suspiciously.

‘It might be. Actually, yes, it is.’

‘Ooh great. Let’s go,’ Evie says, finishing the last of her water and picking up her bag.

‘After that we can hit the beach if you like,’ I suggest.

‘Shall we unpack first and grab our beach stuff then?’ she asks.

‘No, we’ll come back and do that. We’re not going far,’ I say, with a little touch of mystery.

Outside, Evie expects us to climb into the car, so is surprised when I tell her we are walking. Five minutes later, we turn into the street next to a bike hire shop and I glance at my watch, my heart beating wildly. We enter the cool estate agent’s office with a marble floor and a young estate agent dressed in a blue short-sleeved shirt and dark trousers greets us with a smile.

‘Kalispera. You are Claudia?’ He recognises me from a video call and greets me with a welcoming smile.

‘I am, and this is my friend Evie.’

‘Congratulations on your purchase.’ He smiles, handing me the key. ‘I hope you will be very happy here.’

‘Happy with what?’ Evie looks confused.

‘The villa, of course.’ Now it’s the estate agent’s turn to look puzzled as he glances from me to my friend.

‘It’s a surprise,’ I explain and he nods a little uncertainly, probably as he takes in Evie’s mouth that is gaping open.

Outside in the blazing sunshine once more, Evie appears to have been rendered speechless.

‘You’ve bought a villa here in Greece?’ she says eventually, an excitement in her voice almost reaching fever pitch. ‘Is this the surprise?’

‘No, I’m marrying a Greek bloke tomorrow who I’ve been messaging, I wondered if you could be my bridesmaid… Of course the villa is the surprise!’

‘Oh my goodness! Wow, well this really is a surprise. Have you used your inheritance money?’ She looks a little doubtful.

‘I have. I just thought, when would I get an opportunity like this ever again?’ I tell her brightly.

‘That’s true. Oh, I can’t wait to see it. But why are we staying in an apartment if you have a home here?’ she asks, looking bemused.

‘Well, it isn’t exactly finished yet. In fact.’ I pause for a minute, anticipating the shock. ‘It isn’t what you might call exactly habitable right now.’

‘Oh, please don’t tell me you have bought an old ruin,’ says Evie, her cautious enthusiasm having completely evaporated.

‘Not an old ruin, no, but it does need some work. I bought it from an online auction, it was an absolute bargain, so I couldn’t resist,’ I say, full of positivity.

‘There’s usually a reason for that,’ she says, unconvinced.

‘Oh, where is your sense of adventure.’ I laugh, trying to convince myself as well as her, I realise. Not for the first time I wonder whether I might have made a huge mistake. ‘Anyway, come on, it’s literally a five-minute walk from here. The sea is almost within touching distance. There is no way I could afford a fully restored house in such a location without having to renovate it.’

‘I guess not. Lead the way,’ says Evie, painting a smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.