My Big Fat Christmas Wedding

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘Pandora’s lace work is exquisite.’

  ‘And what does your mother think to its design?’ Sophie sipped her coffee, a twinkle in her tired eyes

  We both grinned. My parents had spent many summers, on a break from their executive lifestyles, holidaying in their Taxos villa, and were good friends with Georgios and Sophia.

  ‘As you know, Mum and Dad got married in a registry office.’ I chuckled. ‘She tries hard, but is always bemused by the fuss for traditional English weddings, let alone a floral, dance-filled Greek affair.’

  In a way this was a relief as Mum not being here meant one less opinion to consider. She was the opposite to Niko’s extended family, who had visited for our engagement party, sharing extravagant ideas about dresses, food and hair styles.

  ‘I wonder what my parents will think to the cake,’ I said, pleased to see Sophia’s eyes light up further. After Grandma’s recent illness, I hadn’t the heart to reject her unusual idea of a three-tiered blue and white wedding sponge, in the shape of a domed Greek church, with green and black olive marzipan branches draped around the bottom.

  ‘And that’s as far as Sophia and I got discussing the wedding,’ I said to Niko, several hours later. ‘The cleaning agency rang and needed her quick-smart at the airport.’ We sat cuddled together on the beach, in our coats, watching the moon disappear behind a cloud. I’d mulled over the family’s state of finances all afternoon and come up with an idea. ‘Sophia looked shattered as it was, without having to go into Kos Town.’ I glanced sideways at Niko, his curly hair shimmying in the breezy air. He leant forward and brushed my lips with his. Heart thumping, I closed my eyes, waiting for more, but he pulled away.

  ‘I worry too. And Papa works hard, taking on extra bar work. Hopefully this is the last winter Taxos will be as dead as Achilles. Once the Marine Museum is set up and the villagers have established their new businesses, surely our summer profits should rise enough to see us through the cold months?’

  This was the plan – that next year, tourists still chose Greece as a holiday destination. Yet the huge rise in VAT and its effect on restaurant bills meant bad news for tourists and the village’s taverna owners, including Niko’s parents.

  ‘At least the museum will attract school excursions all year round.’

  Niko nodded. ‘And we can but hope the flood of Syrian refugees arriving in Kos becomes a trickle.’.’

  ‘Stavros certainly hopes so.’ I’d bumped into the town mayor last week and all he could talk of was clean-up operations. But we both agreed - you can’t blame people for running to save their lives.’

  ‘True. Even though the crossing to here from Turkey is so treacherous.’

  ‘Their plight puts our financial problems with the wedding into perspective,’ I muttered. ‘Talking of which…would your parents consider…you see, Mum and Dad have just sold some shares.’

  Cheeks hot, I gazed out at the waves, a dark denim colour through the moonlight. The Santa beard froth of breakers momentarily crawled up the beach, only to be dragged backwards.

  Niko squeezed my arm before picking up a pebble which he tossed across the sand. I squinted through the darkness. It slid next to a large whelk shell.

  ‘We okay, Pippa. No worry about money. I didn’t like to say anything, as you’re so modest, but the villagers are helping out as well – because of everything you did, last summer.’

  ‘But it was nothing. Taxos is turning its own future around because of the community spirit.’

  ‘Pippa!’ He stood up and pulled me to my feet. My stomach flipped as his hands closed firmly around my hips. An enticing patch of chest became visible behind his open coat and shirt buttons.

  ‘Nothing? Let me see… You conquered your ex-boyfriend’s soulless development plans to turn this village into just another tourist resort; you inspired the villagers to set up their own businesses instead, offering services such as cycle tours and baking classes; you helped close the deal of a big Marine Museum being built in Taxos, to secure a degree of trade all year round. And you say nothing?’ He shook his head. ‘If you believe that then you live in cloud canary land.’

  ‘Cuckoo,’ I mumbled, cheeks hotter than ever.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘It’s cloud cuckoo land.’

  Niko’s eyes danced. ‘Don’t change the subject, my little fig. Face it. You are still the villagers’ hero. So, the Dellises are making special cheese for the wedding. Demetrios fires special bowls in his kiln, for the wedding breakfast…’ Niko listed further examples of the villagers’ generosity, his thumbs gently massaging the curve of my lower back, now and then sliding under the waistband of my jeans.

  He took my hand and we strolled along the beach, heading south towards our favourite fig tree. It stood by a disused shed, just in front of Caretta Cove where its namesake, the Loggerhead turtle, used to nest.

  ‘All is good. Wedding under control. My cousins bring food. Plus Uncle Christos has saved up several bottles of his homemade ouzo. Everything is in foot.’

  Chest aglow, I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was “in hand”.

  But still. Sophia and Georgios struggled. Plus I’d noticed lately how all the villagers felt the strain – including Niko. Over recent weeks I’d sensed his intense frustration at us having to live with his parents. Since he’d put that ring on my finger, he spoke non-stop of our future – a home of our own; having kids.

  ‘At one time fishermen were kings in Kos,’ he once said. ‘And now they scrabble for change to pay their bills.’

  Something needed doing to bring in extra income. We sat down under the tree which gave us little shelter without its large summer fragrant leaves and fleshy fruit. I shivered and looked out onto the coal-coloured horizon.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said.

  I turned to him. ‘What?’

  ‘I always know when you have something to say. You suck your lips inwards and a look of concentration comes over your face.’

  Immediately I relaxed my mouth and returned his grin. He shuffled to face me directly, like a child waiting for the start of a nativity play.

  ‘Okay. I’ve been thinking of how to bring more money into everyone’s pockets over the coming month. The Christmas fasting period is from the thirteenth to the twenty-fifth of December, right?’

  Niko nodded.

  ‘And our wedding is on Friday the twenty-ninth. I suggest from the Tuesday the twenty-sixth, directly after Christmas Day, up to our wedding, we hold…a Christmas market!’

  Nothing.

  ‘Niko! You could look more enthusiastic.’

  His face broke into a half-hearted smile. ‘Sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘But Kos Town holds a festive market every year.’

  ‘I know – remember that time I came over here in December, with Mum and Dad? It was our first Christmas without Granddad and Mum wanted to get away…’

  Niko shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

  ‘I can still picture the schoolchildren dancing in Santa outfits, the band and stalls filled with pottery items, festive food and baubles.’ It was also why I understood the Greeks’ different Christmas traditions, like exchanging gifts on the first of January instead of the twenty-fifth of December.

  ‘But why would shoppers come all the way to little Taxos, when they have everything they need in the island’s capital?’

  ‘For a start, they don’t have an afternoon teashop. Just think of the Christmas scones I could make, flavoured with cloves and zingy orange – or savoury sage and onion stuffing, to give my part of the market an English flavour. Also, let’s set up a traditional English Santa’s grotto, in Pippa’s Pantry.’

  Niko sat more upright.

  ‘We could put up a tent and decorate the inside with fake snow and logs. Cosmo could dress up as St Nicholas and hand out presents to children.’

  Niko chuckled. ‘Perfect. He is great with little ones who go to his bicycle shop with flat tyres.’

  ‘Demetrios could take a cut of the
profit if he provided cheap pottery items to put into the gift bags.’ As ideas spilled out of my mouth, Niko’s smile became lopsided.

  ‘It’s great, my inventive Pippa. A unique twist on the usual Christmas market, no? But whether it is enough to make a difference…’ He stared out to sea. ‘I no recognise my country any more. Yes, the sea swells. The sun shines. But people’s hearts no longer sing. Their eyes dull.’

  I tried to imagine this country’s turmoil happening back in England, and my chest squeezed.

  ‘Why don’t we hold a meeting in the taverna tomorrow evening and see what the villagers think?’ I said gently.

  He turned and stared deep into my eyes for a moment. ‘You right. And we need to work out the number of stalls, where to pitch them, how to cost products, promote our local theme, what to do if it rains…’

  I hugged him. It was great to brainstorm a project, just like I used to, on a daily basis, back in London. Don’t get me wrong, I loved running the teashop and expanding the business, but my mathematical mind kind of flexed occasionally, as if asking for more challenging equations to solve. Whereas my ex, Henrik, and I would talk late into the night about stockmarket price fluctuations and sell-offs, Niko was often too tired for much chat after a day out at sea, although…my stomach fluttered…he often found renewed energy once we slipped between the sheets, his kisses as light as snowflakes falling on every centimetre of my—

  ‘We must circulate flyers to attract the tourists in Kos Town,’ I suggested. Best to keep some memories about Niko to myself!

  ‘Flyers? Strange word, dear Pippa,’ said a deep voice. Georgios’ bald head appeared from the distance. With his generous eyebrows and moustache he took on an almost werewolf appearance in the dim light. He yawned and tightened his scarf – hand-knitted by Grandma of course. Ooh, she could knit a range of winter wear for the market and… I took a deep breath. Okay. With only three weeks to go, my plans had to stay realistic.

  ‘Papa? Everything okay?’ said Niko and brushed sand off the back of his trousers.

  Georgios pulled down his woollen hat. ‘Very. Your mother so happy that the Marine Museum building work is finally showing real signs of progressing, with the foundations finished today. Now she in one of her ouzo moods.’

  We laughed. Sophia didn’t drink much and it only took a couple of those liquorice drinks to bring out her creative side – in other words some sharp dance moves.

  ‘I’ve come to call you in,’ he said and rubbed his hands together. ‘It is unusually cold this evening, no?’

  ‘We are in our twenties – not twelve!’ Playfully Niko lifted his arms into the air. ‘You don’t need to fetch us home.’

  Despite the chilly air, warmth surged through my limbs as the men clapped each other’s shoulders. Family values meant everything in this village and made up for the lack of fashion stores, cinemas and gyms and…okay. I admit it – after four months now on the island, just sometimes I missed my old life. In the summer, Taxos hadn’t seemed so utterly different to busy London, due to chatting villagers out in the sun, along with the soundtrack of mopeds, braying donkeys and cicadas, plus shop owners and fishermen shouting to one another. But in the quiet winter, and despite the more dynamic atmosphere of nearby Kos Town, my thoughts occasionally focused on what I’d left behind. A sigh escaped my lips – like the eclectic London architecture, the adrenaline-fuelled pace of city life, with its tube trains, black taxis and red buses. I also missed spontaneous spending, Niko was loath to accept help from my savings. I’d longed to travel just to Athens last month, for a famous harvest festival, but could tell Niko was worried about the expense with Christmas and our wedding looming. He knew better than to try to tell me what to do – and vice versa. I’d still bought that new winter jacket last month and he’d ignored me last week when I said the sea was too rough for him to go out. Yet lately I’d sensed an undercurrent of…of something deeper dividing us.

  I inhaled. Honestly, talk about wedding nerves. Everything would be fine! I linked arms with both men and we trudged across the sand. An owl hooted. Mmm. Nothing beat the smell of those briny waves, laced with wood smoke lingering from the barbecue. How could I be so silly, to miss the musty smell of the underground and exhaust-fume fragranced London pavements?

  ‘The market sounds like a good idea,’ said Georgios. ‘Perhaps everything look up a little, now. Word is, ThinkBig Development pushes for the Marine Museum project to be finished as quickly as possible.’ He turned to me. ‘In fact, tonight Stavros said he’d just received a text message from your old friend Henrik.’

  For some reason my pulse rate increased.

  ‘Henrik flies over tomorrow, to make a report for ThinkBig on the next stage of development. He and Stavros will meet for lunch, to catch up.’

  ‘Great,’ I said, voice shrill at this unexpected mention of my ex.

  The six-foot-four height, oat-coloured hair, those crinkly slate eyes – at one time all those things would have put a silly grin on my face.

  Georgios turned up his collar with his free hand. ‘He is only here for two days, so I doubt we will see him.’ He chuckled. ‘And I was looking forward to getting him happy, happy on retsina again.’

  My Greek family-to-be amazed me – how little propensity they had to hold a grudge. After all, only a few months ago, Henrik had arrived here all set on turning Taxos into some character-less, concrete holiday location. At least he’d finally seen the sense to back down – and accept me and Niko as a couple.

  Gosh. Henrik here? I’d only seen him once since our break-up. I pulled Niko closer, as if to protect myself from any…any inappropriate feelings that might still linger. Goodness knows why, I mean honestly… I had no particular desire to see my ex again. None whatsoever.

  However as Georgios and Niko laughed amiably about Sophia again, why did I suddenly experience a fizzing sensation in my chest? More likely it was because my brain twitched and a zillion questions jumped into my head that I would ask him about mutual friends, plus our favourite city spots at Christmas, his job, the latest stockmarket figures…everything that, back in London, used to turn me on.

  Chapter Two

  The palm of my hand ran over the smooth surface, fingers trailing across tasty contours. Was there anything more sensuous than firm, creamy scone dough, rolled out, its bumps of coloured ingredients promising bursts of different flavours?

  Okay – Niko’s chest might come a close second, taut from hauling fishing boats onto the beach. My mind filled, for a moment, with an image of the way his mouth would quirk up on one side, as if daring me to kiss the corner, although, truth be told, my knees became more wobbly at the sound of his crazily caring, Greekish tones – especially when he teased me if my baklava came out of the oven drier than a beached bunch of seaweed. There were several local dishes that still got the better of me.

  Humming, I picked up the circular scone cutter. In a couple of hours the taverna would buzz with villagers, here to discuss my Christmas market idea. We’d set a meeting for late afternoon, after Saturday trade had finished. I’d already made cranberry and white chocolate scones to test out. This batch boasted festive sage and onion, plus a handful of chopped walnuts (my secret ingredient for a great British stuffing recipe).

  Mmm. What a taste-bud seducing smell. Cue happy memories from Christmases past, even though Mum and Dad were never far from their smartphones and we usually ate out in a swanky restaurant. More than once I’d wished to spend the day at home, the three of us basting the turkey. I’d never seen the Queen’s speech, nor eagerly searched for chocolates on a Christmas tree. My busy parents would simply pull a ready-decorated pop-up one out of the loft.

  My lips upturned. That’s why this Christmas was going to be really special. Just like the one from my childhood when we visited Taxos. Georgios and Sophia had insisted that we join their family celebrations. What fun, with everyone mucking in with cooking and washing up, before playing cards. Georgios even got Dad dancing, after they’d share
d a carafe of red wine. We’d enjoyed board games whilst snacking on pomegranates and nuts. Mandarins and fairy lights added sparkle and colour to every room. Late evening, Niko and I had snuck off to the beach with torches and hidden in a boat to scoff a secret midnight feast.

  ‘Those Christmas cookies were yummy,’ I said, still reminiscing, a few hours later, as villagers arrived.

  Niko chuckled. ‘I could hardly see what I was eating as we pulled the tarpaulin over us to keep warm.

  ‘I pushed it off quick enough when that slimy frog jumped into my lap.’

  Harmonica in one hand, Cosmo strode in. He embraced us before sniffing loudly.

  ‘Ya sou, talented Pippa. What scone recipe do you please us with today?’

  ‘Guess,’ I said, as potter Demetrios came over, shook Niko’s hand and kissed me on both cheeks. The two men breathed in deeply.

  ‘Tea?’ said Cosmo, brow furrowed.

  I shook my head. ‘Not a bad attempt, though.’ Sage was an ingredient of a favourite hot Greek beverage.

  ‘Asapargus and walnut?’ said Demetrios, who had taken off his scarf to reveal one of his signature brightly coloured cravats – today’s was lagoon-blue.

  ‘Close,’ I said and took a plate from passing Sophia. I offered the men the sage and onion scones. ‘They are stuffing flavour,’ I announced.

  ‘Huh?’ they said, in unison.

  ‘What this stuffing?’ said Cosmo, tired eyes a-twinkle. ‘Stuffing is a material to fill cushions and soft toys, no? Whereas this has…mmm…real flavour.’

  Someone tugged at my elbow and I looked down – it was Theo, the eldest son of the Dellis farmers. In one hand he clutched a Nintendo. Almost out of primary school, he spoke a few words of English.

  ‘White chocolate good, Pippa,’ he said, flecks of cranberry around his mouth.

  I ruffled his wavy locks and bent down to explain, in my best Greek, that I’d put two aside in the kitchen for him and his little brother to take home. Puzzlement crossed his face, so Niko quickly translated. I might have been missing mathematical problems to solve, but linguistically I’d never felt more challenged.