Single for the Summer: The perfect feel-good romantic comedy set on a Greek island

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘This dress, this designer dress, was not made for moped-riding.’

  ‘No?’ He couldn’t resist teasing her a little. She was strung so tightly. ‘What was it designed for?’

  He saw her hesitate, not prepared for his reply.

  ‘For … going out for dinner … and for business …’

  ‘And standing still,’ he offered. ‘Like that craze on the Internet. The mannequin challenge.’

  ‘Oh!’ Sonya gasped. ‘Joey and his friends did that in full battle costume. It was so good. One of them had to stand with his axe poised over an enemy’s throat. I always thought one ill-placed sneeze and it might have all gone horribly wrong.’ She smiled. ‘But it didn’t.’

  ‘I will walk,’ Tess stated firmly.

  ‘Walk,’ he replied.

  ‘Yes, you know, one foot in front of the other. I’ve been doing it since I was thirteen months old, I’m quite accomplished at it.’

  His gaze slipped down her long, slim legs knowing instinctively what he was going to find on the dusty tarmac. And there they were: high-heeled pale shoes, thin straps he knew were not going to withstand a two-mile walk to his mother’s home.

  ‘It is up a mountain,’ Andras stated.

  ‘Point us in the right direction,’ Tess ordered.

  ‘Wait, what?’ Sonya chipped in. ‘Did you say “us”? Because I have a metatarsal issue that hasn’t ever been fully resolved and as much as the “leg-over” thing is worrying me, I’m not sure mountain-climbing is going to do my pre-existing condition any good.’

  ‘You cannot walk,’ Andras told Tess bluntly.

  ‘Watch me.’ She turned away and began strutting out onto the road heading for the way out of the village.

  Andras drove the moped forward, keeping her pace, the engine struggling to idle.

  She turned to him, still strutting in those high shoes, her face already reddening in response to the hot evening. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What are you doing?’ he responded.

  ‘I am going to find your mother’s house to eat a Greek god’s bodyweight in lamb.’

  ‘Tess, it is too far for you to walk.’ He shifted the moped further forward to keep in line with her. ‘Please, get on the bike.’

  She stopped abruptly then and turned to face him. A bead of perspiration was starting to weave its way down from her brow. She was hot. And she was doing him this huge favour. He should have borrowed a car.

  ‘You do not have to come,’ he stated, killing the engine. ‘I will say you are not feeling very well … or, I will tell the truth.’

  ‘No,’ she said immediately and with force.

  He looked at her a little quizzically.

  She shook her head, blonde hair shifting across her back. ‘No, don’t do that.’ She took a breath. ‘I want to come.’

  ‘You want to come?’ he repeated, with a swallow.

  ‘Because earlier, they told me not to come,’ she stated, her blue eyes looking directly into his.

  ‘They did?’

  ‘And no one does that to me and … Sonya is going through a … difficult time.’

  He watched her look over her shoulder at her friend. He turned then too, saw Babis aiding Sonya’s mount on to the pillion.

  ‘Sonya loves the boat.’ Tess sniffed. ‘I need you to take us out on the boat and—’

  He turned back to her. ‘And?’

  ‘And I’m going to need a computer.’

  ‘A computer.’

  ‘Do you have one?’

  ‘There is something wrong with your phone?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m going to need something bigger.’

  He felt the need to wet his lips. ‘Bigger?’

  ‘More substantial,’ she answered. Now he was starting to perspire a little himself.

  ‘For work,’ she said. ‘I have to do a bit of work while I’m here.’

  He nodded. ‘Of course. Work.’

  ‘So do you have one?’ Tess asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That works?’ she asked.

  He smiled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good,’ she answered. He watched her breathe out, smoothing her hair back and away from her face. ‘Why is it still so hot?’

  ‘This is Corfu in the summer,’ he reminded her. ‘Perhaps the breeze from the ride up the mountain would help.’

  Right on cue there was an ear-splitting shriek and Babis’s moped roared into life. Sonya was clinging on to the Greek man, red hair flying out from underneath the helmet. The woman waved a hand and then was gone, hammering up the incline on two wheels and leaving a trail of dust.

  ‘Turn away and close your eyes,’ Tess stated with a resigned sigh.

  He carried on looking at her, wondering what his gaze had to be diverted from.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ she demanded. ‘Because me getting on that thing’ – she pointed at the bike like it was a sworn enemy – ‘is going to be more overexposure than on the Playboy channel.’

  Still, his eyelids didn’t seem to want to commit.

  ‘Andras!’ she shouted.

  His eyes shut then. But, as he heard her shoes move on the gravelly road, then felt her hand on his shoulder, her body slowly slipping in close to his, every part of him was remembering the joy of female contact and rapidly starting to forget his current desire for absolute abstinence.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Tess asked, her arms clasped tight around him like a rock climber clinging to a life-saving precipice. ‘Just, make it quick and promise me wine when we get there.’

  ‘Kanena provlima,’ he replied, restarting the engine. ‘No problem.’

  Twenty-nine

  Isadora Georgiou’s house

  ‘I thought … I thought my heart was going to burst right out of my chest!’ Sonya pulled the helmet from her head.

  Tess shivered, her eyes on Andras as he parked their vehicle. She had just had the ride of her life. Her arms wrapped around a gorgeous Greek, winding around and up the mountainous terrain, spectacular scenery around each and every curve of the road – the sparkling sea, copses of olive trees, grazing goats and sheep, ancient ruins – a sliver of excitement had coiled right the way through her. She had never been anywhere quite like this before, and with her new dress barely covering her Brazilian, sat astride a throbbing engine, an easy, relaxed smile had spread right across her face.

  ‘I think I got arthritis on my arthritis,’ Sonya announced, crunching over the stones, legs wobbling.

  ‘Did you?’ Tess asked, still watching Andras. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to each elbow exposing those delicious forearms. She watched him get off the moped with a lot more ease than she had a few moments earlier. Black jeans just fitted enough to hint at what was beneath and that plain, pale blue cotton shirt covering those delectable abs.

  ‘Yes,’ Sonya said. ‘But, apart from the aching all over and the feeling like we might fly right over the ravine any second … oh my, I loved it!’ She giggled. ‘I’ve never been on a moped before. I almost can’t wait for the ride back.’

  Tess watched Andras as he spoke to Babis. Their journey had been equally as fast and thrilling as Sonya’s description, but along with the air of reckless abandon on terrifying not-even-B-roads, Andras had also been considerate. Perhaps it was because her fingernails had been digging into his flesh when he’d powered around a particularly tight turn, but nevertheless he had slowed down, calling over his shoulder to check she was all right the moment she tensed.

  ‘So, here we are,’ Sonya said, looking ahead at the very traditional one-storey building in front of them.

  ‘Here we are,’ Tess repeated. Despite its one level, the house was an imposing structure that seemed to sink back a long way, further than the eye could see from their current vantage point. Just in front of the property, bordering the rounded parking area-cum-garden were abundant flowering clematis bushes, followed by gunmetal grey urns each side of the door, filled with heady-scented lavender plants. It
seemed that every space on this island was filled with gorgeous plant-life – expertly nurtured – unlike Tess’s patch of garden at home.

  ‘Spiti Georgiou,’ Sonya stated, breathing in deep.

  Tess looked at her friend. ‘What?’ she queried.

  ‘Spiti is the Greek word for “house”.’

  The engine of Babis’s bike started up again and then the chef sped from the driveway, waving a hand at them both.

  ‘So,’ Tess said. ‘What’s the Greek for “I wonder if the mother and the cousin are going to poison our dinner”?’

  ‘Perhaps we should forget the translation and try to guess which one will try to do it first,’ Sonya remarked as Andras moved towards them. She flapped a mosquito away with her hand. ‘No, deep breaths, we mustn’t think like that.’ She closed her eyes and sucked in her lungs. ‘Because after all that sea air …’ She opened her eyes and grinned at Tess. ‘I’m really, really hungry.’

  Andras moistened his lips as he looked at the women. That dress. Totally inappropriate for riding in. The eye-averting Tess had made him do when she’d got on the moped hadn’t done anything to stop the fact her thighs had been closed around his hips on the drive. And his body had reacted to it without hesitation. Looking at her now, as he walked over the stones towards them, well, he was starting to realise that overcomplicating things had been a bad idea. His libido was in need, and there was no denying she was an attractive woman. Perhaps, after the dinner, despite his pledge to himself about meaningless sex, he would head into Corfu Town and find someone anonymous to lose himself in. That would scratch the itch for a while.

  He smiled at Tess and Sonya. ‘You are ready for dinner?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Sonya stated at once. ‘I can smell …’ She sniffed hard, nose in the air. ‘Spiced meats and … rosemary.’

  ‘Really?’ Tess answered, stepping forward. ‘All I can smell is Andras’s family’s disapproval of his non-Greek girlfriend.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’ve heard she’s a terribly bad influence from England who is going to commit him to a life of debauchery and all things unholy.’

  His eyes began to stray to the low-cut neckline of her dress and he quickly put the brakes on. He looked directly at her. ‘All things unholy?’

  He watched her swallow, the bravado melting a little.

  She nodded her head, confidence restoring. ‘Things like … not saying grace before we eat. Not marrying people we are related to.’ She batted her eyelashes. ‘Lots and lots of s—’

  ‘Souvlaki!’ Sonya announced. ‘I can definitely smell souvlaki.’

  Andras smiled and held his arm out, indicating the front door. ‘Shall we go in?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tess said. ‘Bring on the arsenic.’

  Stepping through the old wooden door, unsteady on its hinges, Tess opened her eyes as wide as they could go to try to find some light. This was not the typical house she had seen on A Place in the Sun – all white walls, multiple aspects letting in the natural light; the walls here were a muddy mushroom and she could barely see where she was stepping.

  ‘Is there no electricity?’ Tess asked, hands reaching forward, worried that if she lost Andras she would be twisting and turning through these narrow corridors for ever.

  ‘Ooo, cobwebs,’ Sonya said from behind Tess. ‘I do know from Marco Polo there are a few big species of spider in Corfu.’

  ‘I wish you hadn’t said that,’ Tess answered. ‘Andras, why is it so dark?’

  ‘I do not know,’ he responded. ‘A power cut perhaps?’

  ‘A power cut?’ Tess exclaimed. ‘No light at all when it gets dark?’ No plug to charge her phone was what she had really wanted to say.

  ‘No heat to cook the dinner,’ Sonya said, tone dismayed.

  ‘Is anyone even here?’ Tess asked.

  Suddenly the door opened and Tess was blinded by light. She stooped behind Andras, shielding her eyes as several shrieks pierced the air. Dots floating in her vision, she reached out sideways hoping for a nice, solid wall to cling to. Instead she felt … fur. She screamed, retracting her hand and falling sideways.

  ‘It’s a rat!’ Tess exclaimed, lips shaking with the words.

  ‘It’s not! It’s my hair! Ow!’ Sonya exclaimed, hand to her head.

  One of the shapes in front of them said something in Greek. Bright sunshine carried on stinging her retinas. Something else was spoken, and this time the urgency in the woman’s voice was enough to make Tess’s stomach fall a little. Something was wrong.

  Andras moved, leaving her and rushing past the group of women – she could just make them out now – into the deep bowels of this unconventional house.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Sonya asked as the women followed Andras.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tess replied. ‘But I need to get out of this creepy corridor.’

  ‘Traditional,’ Sonya stated. ‘Not creepy.’

  ‘What about the pitch-black to bright light combination?’ Tess asked. ‘That was creepy. It was like some sort of SAS tactic to throw us off balance.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Sonya asked.

  ‘I know so,’ Tess answered. ‘But we are not going to succumb.’

  ‘No,’ Sonya said, a little hesitant. ‘Unless they withhold food. Then I might just do anything for a gyros.’

  ‘Come on,’ Tess said, linking an arm with her friend. ‘I think my fake boyfriend might need us.’

  Thirty

  His cousins had told Andras it was an emergency and his first thought was for his mother. She might look as strong as an ox and have the demeanour of an angry, stubborn goat but she was close to seventy and she had been working furiously on this wedding for months. Then they had said it was Spiros. There had been no relief, just a further stomach-dropping motion as he ran through the house, heart pummelling his chest wall, fear gripping his every part. Spiros was hurt. But how hurt? And would the ambulance make it up here in time?

  Barrelling out of the door and on to the lawn he could see, across the grass, someone laying on their back. He looked nowhere else, just to the unmoving form of his brother.

  ‘Have you called the ambulance?’ he shouted. ‘Done anything for him?’

  He skidded as he dropped to his knees, arriving at his brother’s side and immediately reaching to loosen the top button of Spiros’s shirt. Why had no one done that already?

  ‘What happened here?’ he asked, looking to his relatives who all seemed remarkably calm.

  He looked back to his brother’s lifeless form. ‘Spiro!’ he said, voice tight. ‘Can you hear me?’

  There was no reply. His brother’s eyes were tight shut, his skin a little flushed. What did that mean? Pale, grey skin was worse than coloured cheeks, wasn’t it? Unless, like his father, it was a stroke.

  ‘Spiro,’ he said again, this time more urgently. He put a hand to his neck, hoping to feel the thump of a heartbeat.

  ‘He had a fall,’ Marietta stated.

  ‘What sort of fall?’ Andras asked. He pressed the back of his hand a little harder to his brother’s neck.

  Suddenly Spiros’s eyes snapped open and he grinned from ear to ear. ‘A fall from a donkey!’ He laughed loud. ‘Hee haw! Hee haw!’

  Confusion flooded Andras as, all at once, there were cheers, laughter and hands clapping together. He sat back on his haunches as his brother rolled up, still laughing. Then, in his periphery, came the donkey being led by Helena in Corfiot dress again, cheeks as pink as a radish.

  ‘Smile, Andras,’ Marietta said, her hands on his shoulders. ‘Spiros has completed another task on his list thanks to you.’

  Spiros smiled at him. ‘The donkey you organised arrived half an hour ago.’ He laughed. ‘It seemed like too good an opportunity to miss.’

  He still had no idea what was going on except that his heart was still somewhat in crisis, not knowing whether it was safe to feel relieved. He swallowed, unable to comment.

  ‘Opportunity for …’ he said.

  ‘To make a joke with the
best man,’ Marietta answered.

  Spiros slapped his shoulder. ‘It was on my list.’

  Those scrolls! To make a joke with him? From where he was sitting it was more a case of them making a joke of him. He got to his feet feeling nothing but humiliated and angry.

  ‘Come, Andras.’

  He turned around at his mother’s voice. How could she be in on this? To let him be convinced something terrible had happened to his brother?

  ‘This …’ He loosened the top button of his shirt. ‘This is not funny.’

  ‘Andras,’ Isadora said. ‘It was a simple joke. A joke that has been played in our family for years. You remember when Mikalis got married?’

  He didn’t remember his cousin Mikalis’s wedding. The only memories he had right now were of finding his father’s car at the side of the road and him unconscious inside it. He had pulled him out of the vehicle, got down on his knees in the dirt and tried to find some response, just like he had with Spiros.

  Spiros laughed. ‘Mikalis made his whole body look like he had the most terrible disease and his best man had no idea what to do.’ He laughed again. ‘They actually got all the way to Corfu Town, to the hospital, asking for the doctor in charge of special diseases, before Mikalis had to admit it was just paint!’

  Andras looked back to the house. Tess and Sonya were out on the lawn, their eyes on the scene. Had they witnessed this hoax? This deliberate attempt to make him look stupid? He gritted his teeth together, seething. ‘Excuse me, I should get a drink for my girlfriend.’ He looked directly at his mother then. ‘It seems no one is attending to our guests.’

  He heard Isadora inhale deeply before she replied. ‘There is wine in jugs on the table. Or does “your girlfriend from England” usually need someone to serve her like in Downton Abbey?’

  ‘I will see to the drinks, Isadora,’ Marietta said, getting ready to move.

  ‘No,’ Andras snapped. ‘You have done enough.’ He tried to calm down, adrenalin still rushing through him. ‘I will do it.’

  ‘Andras, I did not think …’ Spiros began tentatively. Was his brother finally realising just what memories his prank had evoked? ‘I did not think that …’