Chapter 4
Thought of the day…
If you feel out of sorts, wear your favourite outfit or slick on some bold red lippie.
‘Fake it till you make it’ really does work!
(And if it doesn’t, at least you look good.)
Despite being well-fed (I devoured every morsel on that tray), exhausted from the day’s journey, and wrung out from the emotional upheaval brought on by Tommy’s appearance, I barely slept that night.
I simply couldn’t get Tommy out of my mind. And I tried every trick in the book.
I even tried counting sheep, but that just reminded me of the Hebridean sheep that Tommy and I saw in the Scottish Highlands during a mini break.
Wide a-fucking-wake.
I tried meditating, but every time I cleared my mind, Tommy came marching back into it.
Tommy on our wedding day, beaming as I walked down the aisle towards him.
Tommy asleep on a lazy Sunday morning, rumpled but so, so handsome.
Tommy charming the old women at the bus stop with silly made-up stories about treasure hunting in Peru.
Tommy stopping to help a young mum get her pushchair down a set of steps.
Tommy coming in from a run, shirtless and sweaty, and chasing me around our flat trying to rub his sweat off on me, making me scream with laughter.
With each memory of him, the seams of my stitched-together heart started straining, some of the threads barely hanging on. And I knew there was no way I could spend even a minute more with Tommy without them coming apart entirely. So how was I supposed to spend an entire day with him?
I finally fell into a restless sleep around 3 a.m., my eyes popping open a mere four hours later.
I got up and made myself a double-shot espresso with a heaping spoonful of sugar, drinking it on the porch of my villa, staring numbly at the view down to the water.
I should have been awestruck by how beautiful it was on Aetheria, but I was too fraught to take it in properly.
Coffee drunk, the question of what to wear arose.
I went back inside and studied the outfits I’d unpacked when I arrived, settling on a pair of white tailored shorts, an off-the-shoulder Breton top, and espadrilles.
Casual, yet cute and perfect for PR photos and footage aboard a sailboat.
Nothing at all to do with wanting to look my best for Tommy.
I applied sunscreen and a touch of blush, waterproof mascara, peachy lip gloss, and enough concealer to make me look human, then gathered my hair into a low ponytail.
I packed my navy bikini, a sarong, sunscreen, a small makeup bag, and a book into my beach tote and slung it over my shoulder.
On the way out the door, I stepped in front of the full-length mirror, slid on my sunglasses, and scrutinised my appearance.
I was aiming for just-a-workday-in-paradise casual and no matter how I felt on the inside, at least I looked the part. Now it was time to face the music. Or, as it were, the man who broke my heart into a thousand pieces.
I waited outside my villa at the designated time and was collected in a golf cart by… you guessed it, Christos. Aphrodite was clearly having a laugh, parading him in front of me again.
‘Kalimera!’ he called out enthusiastically, his teeth even whiter in the morning sunshine.
‘And to you too,’ I replied. I climbed into the back of the golf cart, and we headed further up the hill to collect the other guests for the sailing trip.
‘So, you’re a driver as well as a waiter,’ I asked out of curiosity.
‘We all have multiple roles on Aetheria,’ he replied without elaborating.
If last night was anything to go by, he’s looking to add ‘guest services’ to his duties.
‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
‘Yes, thank you.’
No one ever wants the real answer to that question.
They’re either asking to be polite or they want to tell you how they slept.
Julian used to do that all the time. ‘How did you sleep, darling?’ he’d ask, and before I had a chance to answer, he’d commence a lengthy monologue, including a recap of his dreams.
If I hadn’t caught him repeatedly sticking his penis into other women, I may have divorced him for that alone. No one wants to hear about another person’s dreams either. And if they say they do, they’re lying.
We pulled up in front of a villa, a mirror image to mine, and an older couple was waiting outside.
He was tall, slim, and angular and wore pale-blue board shorts and a short-sleeved button-up shirt covered in flamingos.
In contrast, she was round and soft, with a warm, smiling face and a halo of brown curls.
She looked fabulous in her salmon-pink silk kaftan, and I took to her instantly.
‘Hello!’ she called out, waving enthusiastically as if we were a mile away.
‘Hello!’ I replied just as cheerily.
She climbed into the cart next to me and her husband sat next to Christos.
‘I’m Trudy and that’s my husband, Dale,’ she said as Christos made a U-turn and we headed back down the hill.
‘I’m Ally.’
‘Oh, I love that name. Is it short for Alison?’ she asked.
‘No, just Ally,’ I replied with a smile.
‘Well, I was lumped with Gertrude, which is an awful name. And Trudy’s only marginally better.’
‘I think Trudy suits you,’ I said. ‘It’s cheerful.’
‘Oh, you’re a sweetheart, you are,’ she replied. ‘So, going by your accent, you’re from England?’
‘Yes. A Londoner, born and bred. What about you, where are you from?’
‘We’re Canadian – from Ottawa,’ she replied. ‘I was a teacher – I taught the third grade for thirty-five years – and Dale was in tech. But we’re both retired now.’
‘And how did you end up on Aetheria?’
‘Julian invited us.’
‘Oh, so you’re friends of his?’ I asked.
When Julian and I were married, I only met a handful of his friends.
Most of the people we socialised with were his business associates and their wives.
The wives didn’t care for me much, which in retrospect doesn’t surprise me.
I was fresh-faced and largely optimistic about life, whereas they were predominantly jaded-but-pretending-to-be-happy women who were obsessed with one-upping each other and, without exception, hated their husbands.
It’s no wonder I never fit in.
‘Hmm, kinda,’ Trudy replied. ‘He and Dale did a project together late last year.’
She left it at that, and I got the sense that Trudy was not particularly keen on Julian.
‘So, what do you do?’ she asked. ‘Your job, I mean.’
‘I run my own company – supporting people who are going through a divorce,’ I replied. If pressed, I would explain further but I found that this usually satisfied people’s curiosity, and I certainly didn’t want to come off as braggy.
‘Wow, that’s fantastic – good for you, hun,’ she said, which could have sounded patronising but didn’t. ‘And are you divorced?’ she asked with the kind of head tilt that signposts pre-emptive sympathy.
‘Er, yes actually,’ I replied, leaving it at that.
Trudy didn’t seem to know that Julian and I were once married, but I wasn’t going to volunteer that information. She and Dale were Julian’s guests and he could tell them if he wanted to.
‘Oh, that’s too bad,’ she said, shooting me the pitying smile I’d expected.
People often commiserated when they found out I was divorced, but I was content with my life – and proud of what I’d built.
With women and men looking to the Diva for inspiration and support, hoping to emerge empowered from one of the most difficult times of their lives, I had a responsibility – one I took very seriously.
That’s why I focused on self-care, saying no, and setting boundaries – and yes, sex positivity. Never underestimate the power of reclaiming your sexual agency.
‘Though, lord knows I’ve contemplated divorcing Dale a dozen or more times over the years,’ Trudy confided, drawing me back to the conversation. ‘But that’s marriage, isn’t it? Most of the time you love ’em to bits, but every once in a while, you fantasise about being single.’
She laughed to herself, then sighed wistfully as she gazed at the back of Dale’s head.
It was a good thing he and Christos were deep in conversation – something about golf.
I doubted he’d be thrilled about Trudy’s take on marriage.
‘Yep,’ Trudy continued, ‘Dale can be a real pain in the ass, but I love him. I’m not going anywhere. ’
That was a lot to unpack. Not the least of which was that even happily married people, which I suspected Dale and Trudy were, fantasised about being single sometimes. But for those people, divorce wasn’t a serious option. They worked through it and found a way to stay.
With Rick and Julian, staying married would have been disastrous. I knew that with total certainty – I still do. But with Tommy…
Had we given up on us too easily? Or maybe it was all my doing – had I given up too easily?
I’d been so sure we could only be happy living in our London flat and doing London things with our London people.
What if I’d been willing to compromise, joining Tommy in far-flung places and working remotely instead of going into the office?
This was the big, bad, hairy question rattling around my head as I rode in a golf cart on a tiny Greek island, seated next to Trudy from Ottawa.
But nothing good could come from conducting a deep dive into my marriage with Tommy. Not right then, anyway. Besides, we’d arrived.
The three of us climbed out of the golf cart and I hitched my beach tote onto my shoulder and looked around.
‘Oh wow,’ I whispered to myself. Docked beside the pier was the most beautiful sailboat I’d ever seen. Not that I knew much about sailboats, mind you, but everything on it gleamed – the hull, the chrome, even the polished teak.
‘Have a wonderful day,’ said Christos, flashing that brilliant smile of his. He drove off, and Dale, Trudy, and I wandered down the pier towards the sailboat.
‘She’s a beauty,’ said Dale with obvious appreciation.
‘Good morning! Welcome!’