Chapter 3
THREE
Ah, just look at that house, what I wouldn’t give to live in a place like that.’ I sigh.
I take in the white walls of the house on the television, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a huge garden as I file my gran’s toenails.
I could definitely live in a house like that. I would maybe need to employ a cleaner though, and perhaps a part-time nanny if I ever had a child. Possibly a personal trainer for that huge gym?
‘Take it easy, love, you’re filing my toenail, not my toes,’ says Gran, pulling her foot away sharply.
‘What? Oh gosh, sorry, Gran. I was miles away there.’
‘You’ve always been a dreamer,’ Gran says with a smile.
Maybe she’s right. Well, I know she is. Perhaps the time has come for me to work towards an actual goal. Still it’s fun to daydream, isn’t it?
There are lots of ‘wows’ from presenter Abbey Clancy as she is shown around the luxurious celebrity home. The upper floor, accessed by a glass lift, is bigger than our family home.
‘What would you do, rattling around in a place that size?’ Gran shakes her head. ‘And it could do with a bit of colour, everything seems to be in black and white.’
‘That’s the fashion,’ I tell her. ‘With a bit of grey thrown in.’
‘Hmm. Well, I think a lot of people’s houses all look the same these days,’ says Gran.
Gran certainly isn’t afraid of colour. The red-leather sofa is adorned with brightly coloured cushions and displays of fake flowers are dotted about the lounge.
Family photos adorn a wall covered in pink wallpaper that has a slight sheen, including those of me and my brother Lewis, who is in the army and currently in Gibraltar.
Gran worries about him all the time, but he stays in touch with us all, sending regular photos and updates.
When he is home on leave, we all enjoy a huge Sunday roast, at my parent’s house.
‘Well, each to their own taste, I guess,’ I say, and Gran gives a little, ‘Hmmf.’
I would do anything to live in a house like the one on the TV, I think dreamily, as Abbey is led upstairs by the homeowner.
I would have a huge walk-in wardrobe and a gigantic bathroom with a sunken bath.
Maybe even a music studio, where I could sing to my heart’s content and even try a little songwriting.
My bedroom in my parent’s house is modest, to say the least, but the upside is that I don’t have to pay an extortionate rent.
I moved back home after leaving the rented flat I was sharing with my boyfriend after we split up.
I loved that flat, with the large tree outside the bedroom window and the coffee shop on the corner, but there was no way I could afford the rent on my own, so that was that.
It felt weird returning home a year ago, and I cried for days in my old bedroom, clutching Bronte my childhood teddy bear to my chest every evening and swearing off men for life.
There was no cheating involved, but my ex just stopped trying. Truth be told, I think we both did. Our evenings going for beach walks or meeting up with friends at local eateries had been replaced by drinking wine at home and watching TV.
When I became excited by a forthcoming episode of a soap, I realised we were in a rut. I suggested we join a gym together or at least make more effort to see more of our couple friends and family, but I was met with a wall of silence.
It was clear that the relationship was beyond repair and the passion we had enjoyed at the beginning of the relationship had all but burned out.
Perhaps I should have heeded Mum’s words when she told me she thought we were rushing into things when we moved in together.
And thinking about it, we never really had that much in common.
I have always loved music and would listen to songs on the radio at home happily singing along to them, something I am sure my ex did not always appreciate.
Even so, I missed him when the inevitable split came, despite things having reached a natural conclusion. I guess three years is quite a long time to be with someone and I can’t deny that a part of me felt mad that I had wasted my time in a relationship that was destined to go nowhere.
I turn my attention back to my TV programme.
‘ This is your bathroom,’ gasps Abbey as she is shown into a room complete with a jacuzzi, and the biggest shower I have ever seen in my life. You could fit a whole family in there. The celebrity opens a door to reveal a small swimming pool and Abbey’s mouth falls open.
‘Right, done,’ I tell Gran as I put my nail file away.
‘Ooh that’s better, love, thank you,’ she says as she wiggles her toes, before placing her feet back into her fur-lined slippers.
She reaches into her handbag and fishes out a twenty-pound note.
‘Absolutely not,’ I tell her, pushing it away. ‘You have already given me some spends for Santorini, remember.’
Which I accepted reluctantly, but she insisted. And I will pay her back when I start work.
‘I’ve told you,’ She says with mild exasperation.
‘Who else will I spend it on? Your mum and dad are okay financially, so is your brother, and with your current employment situation being what it is,’ she says, reminding me that I am currently jobless and that I really ought to be searching for a job online.
‘But it isn’t just that,’ she continues.
‘I’d have paid more than twice that to have my toenails done privately and you are good to me.
’ She smiles fondly. ‘I appreciate everything you do for me.’
I thank her then, and tuck the money into my bag. I don’t use a lot of cash these days, but I have my eye on a little blue bag in the shopping precinct for my holiday, so I might buy that. It isn’t leather, but you would never know as it’s a good dupe.
‘Right, I’m off.’
‘Alright, love, and be careful crossing the roads, especially if you have those ear bugs in.’
‘Earbuds, Gran.’ I laugh.
‘Yes, whatever. Those electric cars are quiet enough without you wearing earbuds. Make sure you use a crossing,’ she advises.
‘I always do, Gran, don’t worry.’
I peck her on the cheek as the programme credits roll, and a clip is shown of the house Abbey is visiting in the next episode that could not be more different. The Victorian house has a lounge with bold-patterned wallpaper and a huge pink sofa. The room is dotted with large plants in copper pots.
‘Now that’s more like it,’ says Gran, sipping her tea. ‘See you soon, love.’
I head off home and fire up my laptop to browse some jobsites.
Not before I look at some pictures of Santorini though, and sigh with pleasure at the bright blue skies and white buildings.
I can’t wait to be there rubbing oil onto my skin and lying on a beach, before heading off in the evening to sample the nightlife.
And, of course, the wedding! Tasha will make the most beautiful bride and Owen is so handsome their wedding photos are bound to be just adorable.
Tasha and I were friends throughout high school, although we knew each other even earlier than that as we lived in the same street but went to different primary schools.
As young kids we spent summers in and out of each other’s gardens, playing in paddling pools when we were little, to enjoying family BBQs as we got older.
After studying interior design Tasha went on holiday to Australia, where she met her husband-to-be, Owen, a property developer.
She stayed for a while and designed the interior of one of his building projects as love blossomed.
After several long-haul flights back and forth, she eventually gained her visa.
We have had some great times over the years and a bucket load of memories to look back on in the future.
Breaking into my thoughts, as I am sitting daydreaming, Tasha video calls me.
‘My friend! How are you?’ I ask, thrilled to be looking at her face and speaking to her. ‘I have literally just been thinking about you.’ I smile.
‘I’m great, thanks, getting a bit stressed about the wedding though,’ she admits.
‘That’s only natural, isn’t it?’ I frown, hoping all is okay.
‘It is, so everyone tells me. I don’t know why I’m such a bag of nerves, I think it’s just excitement,’ she says.
‘Definitely not cold feet then? Sorry, I must ask.’
‘Oh gosh, no, Owen is an absolute dream. He’s definitely the one.’ Her face breaks into a wide dreamy grin, telling me everything I need to know. ‘I’m just worried about everything being perfect. I think people’s expectations of a Santorini wedding are going to be pretty sky high.’
Whenever we speak, I can detect more of an Australian accent in her voice.
‘And I’m sure it will be perfect,’ I reassure her. ‘Especially with your attention to detail.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She grins. ‘And we haven’t gone over the top, you know, there won’t be peacocks wandering about the place or anything like that.’
‘Oh, thank goodness, they freak me out a bit.’ I laugh.
I find any type of bird a bit unnerving. I think it goes back to a wedding I once attended, where doves were released and one made a beeline for me like a cruise missile, before landing on my head. My ex joked that the hair fascinator I was wearing must have reminded it of a bird’s nest.
‘We have gone for understated glamour, white tablecloths, black napkins, lemon trees in planters,’ she tells me. ‘Oh, and an arch of cream roses at the entrance to the restaurant.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ I tell her, imagining my gran saying that the place sounds like it could do with a splash of colour.
‘I can’t wait to see you, and it’s so generous, footing the cost of the apartments,’ I tell her gratefully.
It’s actually a relief really, given my current financial situation.
‘Oh, not at all.’ She smiles. ‘Owen insisted on it. We got a great deal from the hotel chain with it being a block booking. I’m so thrilled you can make it.’ She says warmly.
They have also organised transport to take guests the short journey to Fira where they will marry at a luxurious hotel and where the wedding reception will also take place.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ I assure my oldest friend. ‘I can’t wait to see you get married.’
I met Owen a couple of years ago, when Tasha returned to the UK with him for a holiday.
Even then I could see that they were made for each other.
If I’m honest, the way they looked at each other made me realise that me and my ex never glanced at each other in such a way, apart from in the early stages of our relationship.
We chat for a while longer, and then I go back to perusing the jobs on a recruitment site.
There are a few admin posts including a doctor’s receptionist, a post at a plumber’s merchant and an assistant for a coffee shop in town.
Coffee shops are so popular now I wonder whether I ought to train as a barista.
Or maybe I could open an English tea shop, serving afternoon teas.
Who am I kidding? I can just about afford a box of teabags never mind anything else!
Uploading my CV for the plumber’s merchant job, I cross my fingers as I send it off. Not exactly my dream role, but the money is decent. I spot another one for a receptionist at a local hotel, so I apply for that too.
I head into my bedroom then, to photograph a load of clothes that I can sell on a clothing site. At least it will keep things ticking over, which means I won’t need to delve into my modest redundancy fund too much.
I must resist the urge to buy more clothes. I have a ton of casual-wear freebies so I just need to find a dress to impress for the wedding. Maybe a white, off-the-shoulder number. On second thoughts, maybe not white for a wedding but whatever I choose, I want to look and feel good.
I take a final photo of a leather biker jacket that I no longer wear, and hope my haul sells for a good price, then I can buy myself something really special to wear for the wedding.
You just never know who you might meet in a place like Santorini…