Chapter 8
EIGHT
The following morning there are hugs and squeals all round, as Owen and Tasha arrive in the village to have breakfast with their other wedding guests and make sure they are happy with their accommodation. As Owen chats to someone, Irene mentions a hen party to Tasha.
‘Surely you must have thought about it?’
We are sitting at tables in the Sea Breeze restaurant across the road, filling up several tables as waiters dash around.
‘Oh, Irene, I did think about it, but never really got around to arranging one,’ says Tasha.
‘I don’t mean anything fancy, and definitely no strippers.’ Irene chuckles. ‘I was thinking the four of us could go for a nice meal this evening?’
‘Maybe I ought to have arranged something,’ I say. ‘Sorry for being the most rubbish maid of honour.’
‘Don’t be silly. You being here for the wedding is more than enough, believe me,’ says Tasha kindly. ‘I don’t want to risk a hangover with the wedding being tomorrow, but perhaps we could have an early dinner,’ she muses. ‘In fact, yes that would be really lovely.’
‘We could have a nice meal and a mocktail or two?’ suggests Irene.
‘Then how can I refuse,’ Tasha replies with a wide smile. ‘I kind of did have one back home, but I would love to spend the evening before my wedding with my favourite aunts and my oldest friend,’ she says fondly.
‘Then it’s settled,’ says Irene. ‘An early meal, and a little drink. We must toast your future.’
‘Brilliant,’ says Tasha. ‘I look forward to it, although we did book a couples massage in the hotel, so I hope Owen won’t mind,’ she says a little uncertainly.
‘I’m sure he will understand. And traditionally you are not really supposed to see the groom the night before the wedding,’ says Irene.
‘I know, but as we are sharing a room, that isn’t likely to happen,’ she reminds her. ‘And as we have lived together for several years, I’m not sure tradition really applies. I’m hardly going to be the blushing bride,’ she says, with a peal of laughter.
‘But it’s bad luck. If you see your groom the night before the wedding you will have ugly children,’ says Irene, and I burst out laughing.
‘Irene. You can’t say that,’ says a shocked Patsy, shaking her head. ‘And I’m pretty sure you made that one up.’
‘Well, I might have.’ She chuckles. ‘Although, I swear I read it somewhere.’ She frowns in thought.
‘Luckily, I don’t hold with all that superstition then,’ says Tasha good-naturedly.
When Irene takes Owen to one side to ask if he minds if we steal Tasha this evening, I overhear him confess to her that he is not really fond of massages, but went along with it for Tasha.
‘And don’t worry, we will make sure we are all fit for tomorrow, including Tasha,’ Irene reassures him.
A taxi has been ordered to take the four of us to Tasha and Owen’s hotel tomorrow morning at eleven. One or two guests, including Tasha’s dad and his new girlfriend, are staying at the wedding hotel too.
Tasha did give people the option to stay at the hotel under their own expense, but was generous enough to book the apartments free of charge, which many guests have taken her up on.
Last night, Irene confessed she didn’t think she could have afforded the prices at the ‘posh’ hotel, and was grateful for the offer of the apartment stay.
‘I had to cut my hours down at work,’ she had confessed as we sipped ice-cold beer at the restaurant on the black beach the previous evening. ‘I’ve got a dodgy back and recently been told I am heading for type 2 diabetes,’ she tells me, and I recall Tasha saying that she hadn’t been well lately.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Has the doctor given you any advice?’ I had asked.
‘My doctor just told me to lose weight, which is easier said than done.’ She had sighed. ‘But after this wedding, I’m going to try hard to do something about it. Being here in this heat has made me realise that.’ She had said told me with conviction.
‘Ooh we will have to make sure we keep hydrated. Says Patsy as we finish our breakfast and she consults her weather app, ‘There is meant to be a heatwave starting tomorrow. It might be reaching forty degrees, but at least everywhere indoor has air conditioning, thank goodness.’
‘A heatwave? Dear Lord, as if it isn’t hot enough,’ moans Irene. ‘Even my eyelids are sweating.’
‘You’ll be fine ‘I assure her. ‘As long as you always have a bottle of water with you, as we all will,’
I had taken a picture of our delicious breakfast that included fruits, yoghurts, pastries and granola, along with a photo of the black sand beach, its blue and white umbrellas flapping gently in the breeze and quickly posted it to my socials.
It’s so beautiful here. I think of how fortunate I am to be at my childhood friend’s wedding. I fleetingly wonder if I will ever marry and, if I do, would it be in a place like this? Or maybe an English country mansion, with grounds sloping down to a river.
Gran doesn’t think it matters where you marry, and maybe she has a point.
Her and Grandad married in a registry office, and were happily wed for over forty years before he passed.
She thinks huge weddings are all for show, and has been to known to say, ‘The bigger the wedding, the quicker the divorce.’ Which is probably a bit unfair, although several people I know who have had the fancy nuptials are, in fact, now separated.
An hour later the groups disperse and head off to enjoy their day. I give Tasha a hug and tell her I will see her this evening.
It seems many of the guests are staying here for a week to enjoy a holiday before and after the wedding, thanks to Owen and Tasha footing the bill for the apartments.
‘So tell us about your social media stuff,’ says Irene as we stay at the café and order another coffee. ‘Is there any money to be made from that?’ she asks, before resisting a croissant on a nearby plate.
I tell her a little bit about it, before a waiter appears and asks if we have finished with our food.
‘Take it,’ says Irene, pushing the remains of breakfast away. ‘Or I’ll eat the lot.’ She laughs.
After settling the bill, Irene and Patsy opt to read on the beach beneath an umbrella, so I take myself for a little walk around the village before the sun reaches its height.
Heading towards the edge of the main street, I spot a car hire place that is offering incredibly cheap hire rates, and I negotiate a great deal for a car, before calling Lulu and telling her I will collect her from the airport in the morning rather than her take a taxi.
She had messaged me earlier, apologising that she was taking a later flight than the planned two p.m. one after an incident at home – which she said she would fill me in on later – and wouldn’t now be arriving until early tomorrow morning.
I didn’t mind, though it’s just a shame she will miss Tasha’s impromptu hen evening.
‘What? Are you absolutely sure you don’t mind picking me up?’
‘Positive.’
‘Then, thanks. Have you ever driven abroad though?’ she asks me doubtfully.
‘Actually, yes,’ I tell her, recalling a holiday with my boyfriend, who had one too many drinks one evening, and I drove us home in the darkness. It was a mountain village in Spain, and I was terrified. I don’t tell her that though. Besides, it will be broad daylight by the time I collect her.
I drive slowly along the beach road, getting accustomed to the car, and stopping here and there to take a photo of a boat, or a pretty stretch of beach where I take a selfie.
Driving to the far end of the road, I park up and walk to the white church with the rugged mountains in the background. The door is locked, but I take a photo of the exterior.
The church is so tiny I imagine you would not be able to fit many guests inside. I can see myself getting married somewhere like that, if I did marry, as I don’t have a large family, or an awful lot of friends. Not that my social media following would give any clue to that, I think to myself.
I climb into my hire car and drive the short distance to the apartments, where I park the car at the rear of the building. I take a shower and upload some more photos to my social media, before I get myself ready for the evening.
‘Welcome, ladies,’ says the elderly Greek man who guides us to our table inside the stylish restaurant set with white-cotton tablecloths.
Despite the smart interior, the food prices are reasonable, if the menu on the board outside is anything to go by.
I reserved a table earlier in case it got busy, and as we step inside I am enticed by the tantalising smell coming from the kitchen.
We enjoy a delicious meal of creamy moussaka for Irene and Patsy, while Tasha and I opt for a slow-cooked casserole, bursting with chunks of tasty chicken and peppers and topped with feta cheese.
We also enjoy a couple of delicious fruity mocktails, although we do have one glass of wine with our meal.
Our meal is finished off with some tasty baklava as we sit around chatting, enjoying the spectacular sea view.
‘Oh, Tasha, you really couldn’t have picked a nicer place to get married,’ I tell my friend, taking in our surroundings. ‘I am in love with Santorini already, and I haven’t even seen half of it yet.’
‘I thought it would be somewhere most people would enjoy.’ She smiles. ‘Not to mention it being a little closer than Australia! Greece is a very popular destination and I’m thrilled that so many people have made the journey here for the wedding,’ she says gratefully.
We have a wonderful evening, laughing and sharing memories, and all too soon it’s time to head off as Owen arrives to collect Tasha.
‘Owen!’ she says in surprise. ‘What are you doing here? I was about to call a taxi.’
‘I didn’t have anything to drink, so thought I would come and collect you. I sent Irene a text earlier to keep you here until I arrived.’ He smiles.
‘Good job she wasn’t covering a stripper in whipped cream then,’ Irene says with a wink and Owen roars with laughter.
‘Hmm. It seems a little tame around here for that sort of thing,’ he says, glancing about.
‘And it’s a good job you are not superstitious, seeing the bride before the wedding,’ says Irene. ‘Or you might risk having?—’
‘Oh, shut up, Irene,’ says Patsy, cutting her off and I can’t help but laugh.
On the way back to the apartments, after saying goodnight to Owen and Tasha, I decide to take a few photos on the beach.
‘You two go on ahead if you like,’ I tell Patsy and Irene.
‘As if we would leave you,’ says Irene. ‘Come on, I’ll take your photos if you like as I don’t suppose you would want me in them.’
‘Or me,’ adds Patsy. ‘You don’t want us oldies ruining your image.’ She laughs.
‘Don’t be silly.’ I smile, although truthfully, I probably wouldn’t add a family photo onto my TikTok account. I would store that in my personal photo album and maybe share it on Facebook.
There is a huge, flat rock near the water’s edge and I perch myself on it, my hair blowing in a gentle breeze as Irene snaps away.
A couple walk past holding hands, before stopping to kiss, clearly enjoying the romantic setting. The moon is out now, bathing the tips of the rolling waves in a silvery white glow. I suddenly feel a little bit foolish sitting here alone having my photo taken in the semi-darkness.
‘Thanks, ladies. I will walk back with you now,’ I say, sliding off the rock.
‘If you’re sure. I hope your photos are okay, love. I’m no David Bailey,’ says Irene.
‘Who’s he?’ I ask and Patsy rolls her eyes and laughs.
‘Gosh, I feel ancient now,’ she says. ‘Although saying that, he was at his height in the nineteen eighties. I met him once, you know.’
‘You never did,’ gasps Irene.
‘I did. I went to London on a weekend with college. He was in a bar with two blokes. I asked him for his autograph and he was very polite as I recall,’ she says wistfully.
‘Do people still ask for autographs these days? Or do they ask for a selfie, and, if so, I wonder how often is it declined?’ muses Irene.
‘Goodness knows,’ Patsy says with a grin. ‘I can hardly believe that London trip was over forty years ago.’
‘Good Lord, was it really?’ gasps Irene. ‘I think I need another drink.’
‘I think you’ve had enough for one night,’ says Patsy, linking arms with her.
‘Don’t be a party pooper, the night is young,’ protests Irene, giggling.
‘Which we most certainly are not,’ says Patsy, which earns her a gentle shove on the arm. ‘Okay, maybe we will have a nightcap at the hotel bar.’
They chuckle all the way back to the hotel, Irene giggling away and I get the feeling this holiday is going to be a whole lot of fun.