Desperately Seeking Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  That having been said, Andras was starting to wish he was a giant tortoise who could just retreat into his shell until the whole big, fat, clichéd Greek wedding of his brother and his bride-to-be Kira was over.

  The tortoise seemed to agree, sticking out its tongue. The weight of the reptile challenged the core muscles he had just been working out as his mother’s eyes zeroed in on him like a drone set to destroy.

  ‘And what are you doing here anyway?’ Isadora exclaimed. ‘You said you were too busy for the procession this morning. You said you had a delivery.’

  ‘And now I have a tortoise,’ he quipped.

  ‘Put down that horror and get in line,’ Isadora ordered.

  ‘Mama,’ Andras protested.

  ‘Andras,’ Spiros began. ‘I think I hear the delivery truck now.’

  Andras took two steps back while the going was good, the tortoise still in his grip, and offered his brother a thankful glance. ‘I think you are right, Spiro.’

  ‘I do not hear a truck,’ Isadora stated. ‘And I have excellent ears.’

  ‘I should go,’ Andras told her, continuing to back away.

  ‘Perhaps you need some help, yes?’

  Spiros was raising his eyebrows higher than the island’s tallest peak of Mount Pantokrator. Andras had immense sympathy for his brother, but Spiros had known what getting married the full-on traditional Greek way was going to entail. However, Andras also knew the reason their mother had only one traditional wedding to get excited about was on him.

  ‘Do not even think about moving one step, Spiro,’ Isadora said, threat coating her tone.

  ‘Auntie Isadora,’ a small voice spoke. ‘I am hot.’

  All eyes went to six-year-old Helena who was wearing traditional Corfiot dress complete with a hat covered in white lace, with colourful red, yellow and pink flowers woven into it.

  ‘You cannot be hot,’ Isadora stated. ‘For the wedding it will be much, much warmer than this.’

  Spiros whispered, his voice close to Andras. ‘Help me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Andras replied, hugging the tortoise to his bare skin. ‘But I promise, I will keep the beer cold and the coffee hot. Whatever you need,’ Andras stated.

  ‘You know what I need,’ Spiros said softly. ‘I need you to find a buyer for my half of the restaurant.’

  Andras moved his eyes to the tortoise who was now poking its head slowly out of its shell in curiosity. He knew his brother had been patient. He knew he was running out of time. He had asked almost everyone he thought might have the means to invest. His options left were either to try to get a loan himself or face up to the reality of running the restaurant with his mother as his partner.

  ‘If there were any other way,’ Spiros said, nudging his brother’s arm.

  ‘I know,’ he answered. ‘It is OK. You have a new life waiting, and a new wife.’

  Andras watched Spiros’s eyes go to his fiancée, Kira, just a few metres away down the beach, her bare feet in the edge of the sea, her thick dark hair moving in the breeze, smiling sweetly even while being berated by Isadora. Spiros adored Kira. They were going to live a joyful life together on the mainland where, in a year or maybe sooner, Kira would deliver the first of a couple of gorgeous children.

  ‘I am a very lucky man,’ Spiros agreed with a contented sigh.

  ‘You should go,’ Andras said as the tortoise began to kick its legs. ‘Before Mama threatens you with what happened to Uncle Dimitri again.’

  Spiros laughed, nodding.

  ‘See you later,’ Andras said, about to turn away.

  ‘Andras,’ Spiros called.

  He stopped, faced his brother again. ‘What?’

  ‘She will kill me for telling you this,’ Spiros said, taking a look over his shoulder as if to ensure Isadora wasn’t in range.

  ‘Telling me what?’

  ‘Cousin Marietta,’ Spiros said. ‘Mama … she has plans for the two of you.’

  Andras looked over to the wedding party, all the women frantically flapping their hands in front of the face of the perspiring, radish-faced Helena. Cousin Marietta seemed to sense his scrutiny and looked up, waving her hand.

  ‘I’m sorry, Andras,’ Spiros said, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘But, it could be worse, yes?’ He nodded. ‘Uncle Vasilis has a building company and there are cows on her mother’s side of the family.’

  He couldn’t bring himself to even try to reply.

  ‘Windows for your house and meat for the menu, yes?’ Spiros said cheerfully.

  The tortoise made a noise – a cross between a cough and a laugh. Andras knew exactly how the animal felt. Suspended in mid-air, flailing and with a heavy weight on its back. The only difference was Andras didn’t have a shell to hide in.

  ‘I will see you later,’ he said to his brother, hugging the reptile to his side.

  Suddenly there was a chorus of screams from the wedding party and Andras looked up just in time to see Helena drop to the beach.

  ‘Loosen the hat!’ Isadora shouted. ‘But be careful not to crush the flowers. Andras! Get some water!’

  Four

  En route to Kalami, Corfu

  ‘According to the guidebook,’ Sonya said, staring out of the coach window, ‘there’s a must-see church near here called Ipapanti.’ She drew in a breath as if she was sucking the outside in. ‘Whitewashed walls and a garden filled with palms, agave and cacti.’ A sigh left her lips. ‘Just saying those words makes you feel Greek, doesn’t it?’ She turned a little in her seat, eyes looking to Tess. ‘Do you feel Greek?’

  ‘No,’ she answered shortly. ‘I feel like the flight left far too early and you swallowed too much Aperol.’ Tess looked back to her phone, gripping on to it as the coach bounced along the rutted roads at a pace to rival Lewis Hamilton.

  Damon Daniels. Thirty. Loves fine wine, good times and … my abs.

  Tess had scrolled down already and there Damon was in his profile photo, most of his face missing, a taut abdomen glowing from the screen. An obsessed gym bod who liked fine wine. Most of the gym bods she’d dated in the past would look at her like she was a freak if she drank more than one glass of wine on a week night. It was all H2O and infuser water bottles stuffed with fat-burning citrus fruits. Not even a sniff of Dr Pepper.

  She flipped back to the home screen of the new dating app she’d joined since Tinder Tony had started leaving her begging messages. Hooked Up, it was called. If she wasn’t careful there would be no dating apps left to sign up to. And she needed a date. To get right back on the proverbial horse after the proposal nightmare. Something organised for when she got home. Who was next? She went to press—

  ‘Aw, look, Tess! Look!’ Sonya exclaimed, tugging at the sleeve of Tess’s bright red, cardigan-cum-jacket. She had bought it because it looked a lot like one she’d seen in Harvey Nichols. ‘Sheep in the road, being steered by a man with a stick. Doesn’t that just warm your heart? Doesn’t it make you glad you’re here?’ Sonya sighed again. ‘It’s so peaceful. So not London.’

  Tess looked at her friend. Sonya’s eyes might be transfixed with the scene outside the window, but her friend’s right hand was at the bottom of her neck, fingers seeking out a necklace that wasn’t there. Tess dropped her phone into her bag and joined Sonya in gazing out at their view as the coach slowed to a crawl to avoid the farm animals.

  There was greenery to rival the Cornish moors here, intermixed with pockets of colour from budding flowers – yellows and lilacs – and, in the distance, as the land dropped steeply away from the road, was the sea. A sleek, almost still, wide ribbon of deep blue, sat at the bottom of this mountainous island. It was beautiful. It was nothing like Tess’s last holiday with Rachel in full-on Philandering Phil meltdown mode again – Centre Parcs, climate-controlled, spa-perfect dome habitation. This was foreign. Hot. Exciting. Maybe that’s what she was missing in her life. A foreign boyfriend. Olive-skinned perfection with a carefree attitude to match hers.

  ‘Well,
I think a week in that sea is going to do wonders for our skin,’ Tess stated.

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ Sonya answered. ‘And, apparently, if you smother the wet sand all over you like you’re in the Dead Sea or something, it gets rid of all your impurities.’

  ‘All of them?’ Tess asked.

  ‘I don’t think we’re talking soul-salvation and sin-cleansing,’ Sonya admitted. ‘But a little dermabrasion never hurt anyone.’ She sighed. ‘Joey liked to take care of his skin. In more of a Savlon way than a tea-tree-wipe way, but he had nice skin.’

  ‘He has nice skin, not that I looked at his skin that closely.’ Tess took Sonya’s hand, drawing it down and away from its necklace-searching. ‘What I mean is, he hasn’t died, there’s no need to refer to him in the past tense. Because he isn’t in your past. He’s just having a … man moment.’

  ‘A man moment? What’s a man moment?’ Sonya asked, turning in her seat to face Tess.

  She had no idea what a man moment was. It was just something that had come out of her mouth – possibly pinched from a Cosmopolitan article her sister had shown her one Kleenex-filled evening – that she hoped would make her friend feel better about this enforced break from her relationship. Now she had to deliver an explanation.

  ‘It’s just that stage they go through when they’re caught between still being a bit of a boy and … growing up.’

  ‘Joey’s twenty-seven,’ Sonya reminded her.

  ‘I know. But he’s still into Robot Wars, isn’t he?’

  ‘He does love Robot Wars.’ Sonya’s face fell. ‘Is there something wrong with that?’

  This wasn’t going well. Tess shook her head. ‘No, I was just thinking that maybe Joey’s caught between wanting more Robot Wars and less …’ She racked her brain for the right words. ‘Dunelm Mill.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Sonya asked. ‘That I constantly drag him around furnishing shops ensuring he knows the difference between a pillowslip and a pillowsham?’

  Tess swallowed. She didn’t even know the difference between a pillowslip and a pillowsham.

  ‘Have I got clingy? Is that what you’re saying?’ Sonya asked, face reddening. ‘Maybe I’ve got controlling and planned out his life for him so he’s feeling suffocated and stifled?’

  ‘No,’ Tess said, straightaway. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘We had that … odd conversation but … we’d moved past that and things were good. Things were frothy-coffees-in-Costa good.’

  ‘And they will be again.’ Tess smiled. ‘With chocolate curls on top.’

  ‘He said he liked Dunelm Mill.’ Sonya sniffed. ‘And I know he likes the little craft shop we go in on a Saturday, the one that does hand-painted tea sets with cute puppies and kittens on and … I didn’t hear him moaning about haberdashery when the wool we found at the knitting expo got turned into a jumper all his friends said looked like a Ralph Lauren.’

  Sonya was looking close to a teary meltdown and a couple of their travelling companions were peering across the aisle at them now the sheep issue outside seemed to have been resolved and they were back to being on their way.

  ‘Sonya, this isn’t the end,’ Tess stated, softly. ‘You and Joey are perfect for each other … but perhaps he just needs a little time out to realise that.’

  Sonya whispered. ‘Is that what happened with Adam?’ She lowered her voice even more. ‘Did you have a break, you know, before the … break-up?’

  And there it was. That ache low down in the very depths of her stomach, no longer a sharp jab like a heavyweight boxing champion had sucker-punched her, more like a focused, steely fencing expert had foiled her with a precision riposte. She didn’t talk about Adam. Back when she’d told Sonya about Adam it had been after three too many Margarita cocktails. She had rattled through the altar-jilting humiliation of a year ago, ridding herself of all the tears of loss and hurt and trying to ignore the first notes of Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’. The man she’d loved so hard, so deeply, had not only shattered her future and broken her heart, his actions had made her leave Buckinghamshire and permanently altered her relationship with both her parents.

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  But maybe, if they had, they would still be together. She pulled in a breath, her hand already reaching into her bag for her phone. Did she really believe that?

  ‘I just … don’t know what I’m going to do if he isn’t going to be in my life any more,’ Sonya admitted.

  Tess wrapped her right hand around her phone and put her left hand on top of her friend’s, delivering a comforting pat. ‘Trust me, it won’t come to that. I have experience, well, you know, with Rachel and—’

  ‘Philandering Phil,’ Sonya added.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Joey’s quite the catch, you know,’ Sonya said, eyes moving back to the window. ‘When he’s in his battle re-enactment costume you should see the heads that turn.’ She sighed. ‘And I don’t want to think about his head being turned by some busty Cavalier damsel at the Tiverton show next month. What if we’re not back together by next month?’

  ‘Sonya, you’re a catch,’ Tess assured her. ‘And you’re the girl with the almost-engagement necklace that’s going to turn into a definite-engagement ring as soon as Joey realises he can’t live without you.’ She smiled. ‘I give it three days tops before he’s calling.’

  Tess pulled her phone out of her bag and tapped on Hooked Up.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Sonya inquired, holding on to the seat back as the coach took a sharp turn.

  ‘Finding me a new man to come home to.’ She grinned. ‘After I’ve practised on a Greek one here, obviously.’

  ‘What?’ Sonya asked. ‘Are you kidding with me?’ She laughed, slapping her hands down on to her thighs. ‘Now who’s had too much Aperol?’

  Tess looked at her friend, bemused. Had she said something funny? She knew Sonya would rather she found a man from ‘more conventional’ methods – like one of Joey’s Roundhead-dressed friends – but with the relationship shelf life moving faster than a civil war sword, apps were easier and far less personal.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Tess stated, her voice tinged with some of the nervousness she felt about Sonya’s reaction.

  ‘We can look. Obviously we’re going to look,’ Sonya said. ‘But no touching.’ She grinned. ‘Strictly girl time.’

  ‘What?’ She had barely managed to get the word out of her mouth.

  ‘No men,’ Sonya stated. ‘We said so on the plane. Just you and me, swimming in the sea with dolphins and slathering ourselves with wet sand, drinking Greek wine and eating all the dishes ending in “a”.’ She sighed, her hand moving to the bottom of her neck again before she seemed to catch what she was doing and return it to her lap. ‘Us time, Tess. Absolutely no men.’ She giggled. ‘Apart from the looking.’

  Tess felt sick. She couldn’t do it. The longest she had been without a date on her arm, since the Adam situation, was forty-eight hours. And that was because for twenty-four of those hours she had been head down in a project at work and for the other twenty-four the dating app she’d been using was undergoing website maintenance. She had to have someone. Anyone. A focus. A male distraction. Someone to post photos of on Facebook.

  ‘I’m not sure I—’ Tess started. She wasn’t not sure, she was quite sure this was something she wasn’t going to be able to do for a day, let alone a week.

  ‘Hush,’ Sonya interrupted. ‘Now you have to make me a promise.’ She pointed a finger, moving it up and down like she was training a dog. ‘Promise me you’ll stay completely and utterly single for this holiday. No waiters. No barmen. No tourists, even if they look like Jared Padalecki. No hooking up at all. Just girls enjoying being girls, without boys.’

  Now Sonya sounded like a will.i.am song. She swallowed, wishing she had indulged in Italian aperitifs on the flight.

  ‘Promise,’ Sonya said again, blinking those warm, green, honest eyes.

  She could do it for her bes
t friend. Her best friend who was in relationship limbo and had paid for this holiday. She dropped her phone back into her bag and said the words. ‘I promise.’

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9781473559974

  Version 1.0

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  Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing

  20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

  London SW1V 2SA

  Ebury Press is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © Mandy Baggot, 2018

  Cover illustration by Lucy Truman; lettering by Stephen Raw; Cover: www.headdesign.co.uk

  Mandy Baggot has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First published by Ebury Press in 2018

  www.penguin.co.uk

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781785039249