A Wedding in the Olive Garden

by Leah Fleming

  ‘Griff said they could use the guesthouse if things got too squashed but I think it’s homely in here and babies don’t take up much room, do they?’

  Mel laughed. It was clear Sara had no idea about bathing tubs, changing mats, buggies, cots, sterilising equipment, nappies, mattresses and liners but she said nothing. Perhaps Sara’s turn would come one day. They found a drawer full of baby clothes, knitted cardigans, pretty feeding scarves, baby-gros that would be far too large for this little tot.

  Mel knew there were still little cotton nightdresses somewhere in a case that Irini’s neighbours had made for her own babies. They were cool and just right for Pippa to use. At least her friend had quietly squirrelled away nappies and vests and a beautiful lacy shawl as fine as gossamer that looked locally knitted.

  ‘Have they got a name for her?’ Sara asked.

  ‘Not yet; they plan to wait a while and see what fits.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ll choose something Greek like Zoë or Phoebe, Xanthe or Daphne,’ Sara continued.

  ‘Knowing Pippa, it’ll be something alternative, a little hippy. Anyway, let’s give their place a once-over and put in some flowers and bring in the cards from the doorstep. Everyone will want to shower them with gifts and have a peek at the new one,’ said Mel. ‘The mother must rest before the visitors come.’

  ‘When I go back home, I’ll try and find something. I have a friend who designs children’s clothing, all organic cotton and ethically sourced and I’ll buy something for when she is bigger, to grow into. I’m so glad it all went well.’ Sara was ferreting about to find cleaning products. The house must be sparkling clean when they came home later in the week. Prem babies needed checking and Caliope would want to keep a close eye on her progress.

  ‘You’re not staying for Christmas then?’ Mel was disappointed.

  ‘No, I’ll leave early in December to get all the business side of things sorted. I do need some bookings for next summer but I may have left it too late already. Griff is sending photos and I hope there is something worth printing but I’ve seen a preview, not bad for an amateur.’

  Why was Sara so dismissive of Griff? He was one of the good guys in Mel’s book. She had hoped there was a spark between the two of them but evidently not. ‘Are you still going with the “Second Time Around” idea?’

  Sara was busy sweeping the floor. ‘Not sure now. The website is crucial and I’m not convinced I’ve got it right but I’ll have time to work on it back in Sheffield.’

  ‘How do you feel about going back?’ Mel hesitated to say that Sara could have months here to escape away from the realities of a British winter. Christmas was always an emotional time but it was up to her friend to decide. ‘I bet you’re dying to get back to see your friends… anyone special?’ She was fishing for information but none was forthcoming.

  ‘That song you sang in the garden ceremony had me in bits,’ Sara said. ‘I realise real love is about sharing, being there for each other like you and Spiro. “Our life is like a song…” I don’t think that will ever happen for me.’

  ‘One day your love will come along…’ Mel whispered.

  ‘But not yet, stop it! This won’t get the job done. Where’s the duster? You pack and I’ll clean, a bit of teamwork not sob stuff,’ Sara ordered.

  ‘Slave driver!’ Mel laughed.

  Going back home would be a test of Sara’s resolve. Was this island wedding planning business just a dream or a real goer? Only time would tell. Back in a Yorkshire winter, working on the project without sunshine, taverna life and Ariadne’s garden to hide in, should reveal how realistic her chances were of making this business a success.

  December

  17

  Sandra brought Jack his G and T by the pool. It was late afternoon but still warm and sunny as she sat down beside him. The appointment in Chania had gone well, things were still under control with stable tumour markers. The cancer wouldn’t go away but they were treating it like any other chronic disease. Her scan results were hopeful. There was still more time ahead to plan a future and there was only one thing on Sandra’s mind.

  ‘Wasn’t it grand to see the baby? It was kind of them to invite us after I sent that present. They want us to wet the baby’s head after the christening but it got me thinking, love – isn’t it time that me and thee got wed to make an honest woman of me before I pop my clogs?’

  ‘None of that talk,’ Jack snapped. ‘You’ll see me out.’

  ‘No, I won’t, and you know it. I just want our affairs to be in order, and besides, it will be lovely to tie the knot right here on the island.’

  ‘I thought it was the man who did the proposing, you brazen hussy,’ he laughed. ‘Are you sure you want a fuss?’

  ‘If cancer has taught me anything, it’s that time is a gift and to spend it wisely by having something to look forward to. That’s what living in each moment is about. We could make it as special a day as we want it to be: just you, me and a few old friends.’

  ‘And Julie?’ he said.

  ‘I was coming to that. I want us to go home for Christmas and I’ll visit her and talk things through. She could be my matron of honour.’ It was her dearest wish to set things straight.

  ‘Steady on, lass, I don’t want you getting upset. We both know what a wet blanket she can be.’

  ‘But I’ve made my mind up, Jack, it’s what I want.’

  ‘I see,’ said Jack, smiling. ‘Then you’d better get down on your knee and ask me proper. My knees aren’t up to it. If I get down I’ll not get up again. I suppose I’ll have to fork out for a wedding ring then,’ he laughed.

  ‘After all these years together only the best… No brass curtain rings from Woolworths for me,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll be lucky.’ He leaned over and kissed her. ‘We’ll make a right party of it but it’ll take some organising and I don’t want you getting exhausted.’

  ‘That’s where young Sara will come in. She can sort all the official stuff. I’d like to help her set up a business here and she’s from Yorkshire so she’ll do us proud.’

  ‘You’ve thought it all out, haven’t you?’

  ‘It just feels the right time. I’m feeling good and I want a celebration. You and me, we’ve been good together and I feel lucky to have found such fun second time around. So, why not make the most of it while we can?’ Sandra held his hands tightly.

  ‘There you go again, doom-mongering…’

  ‘I’m not, I’m being realistic. Here we are on our dream island, looking out at the horizon… Let’s share our good fortune with our friends and have a ball, Jack.’

  ‘Aye, happen you’re right; make hay while the sun shines.’

  *

  Griff arrived in London in time to visit his old friend Felix MacLeod and his partner Alexa and her daughter Olympia, who was nearly two. He brought them olive oil, fresh halva and a good bottle of Cretan rosé.

  ‘Good to see you, old chap. How is your island idyll going? Bored already?’ Felix shook his hand.

  ‘Interesting… Much better than I thought. Our courses are booking up for next season and I’m going to stay on.’ He turned to Alexa. ‘Your father is a great asset on the trust committee.’

  ‘They’re coming over next week,’ she said. ‘Will you be around too?’

  ‘For a while, until duty calls. My brother and his family expect me to stay and play Father Christmas for their children’s party.’

  ‘We’ve got a few friends coming at the weekend before everybody departs for the season, can you join us then? It’ll be the usual crowd but I’m afraid Flissa will be coming with her latest beau. Would you mind?’

  Griff did mind. She was the last person he wanted to see again but he smiled. ‘Not at all, she is all in the past now, but I won’t stay long.’ He made an excuse to get back to his old flat. It smelt damp and fusty. He ought to let it out but it was a useful bolthole. The tiny mews apartment was down a cobbled alley off Wigmore Street that once belonged to his moth
er’s family, passed on to Griff from the trust while his brother inherited the estate. When his business failed and he had to sell his own place, it was a relief to have this pad in town to call home. It was furnished, central enough, but it was hardly cosy or warm. Leaving St Nick’s was a wrench as he felt the keen wind and damp air in the London streets.

  It was a culture shock to return to crowds, the noise of police sirens in the night. There were neon lights, street decorations flashing, all very festive, but behind the jolly Santas it was all sell, sell, sell. In the backstreets were rough sleepers with pathetic little dogs for company which he couldn’t ignore. Christmas was a sad time for so many. He would spend some time as a volunteer in the night shelter of St Martin-in-the-Fields. There was no rush to get to Rufus and family.

  In the flat, his mind’s eye recalled sunsets over the Aegean, racing with Spartacus up the hill to the olive groves and the pinewoods. His dog was staying with the Papadakises as the boys wanted to take him out for walks. He had visited Pippa and Duke before he left, offering them the guesthouse again, but they said they were happy in the shack.

  He was introduced to the new baby who they had named Harmony, a hippy sort of name that suited her because she was a dark-haired beauty. Pippa carried her wrapped in a shawl where the baby sucked at her breasts, not a bit like his sister-in-law’s brood who were wheeled around the park in an ancient Silver Cross pram and fed by the clock. He was going to find a present for Harmony in Hamleys.

  Griff began to wonder if coming back for Christmas was a good idea. He had promised to meet up with Sara in Manchester to discuss her brochure and his photos. They were online and easy to access but he sensed she was happier to share her views with him in person.

  On Saturday night he donned his leather jacket and his best jeans and headed along to Felix’s house off Kensington High Street close to Olympia. He would not stay long, wishing to avoid Flissa where possible. How could he forget how she deserted him when the chips were down? Once his business partner had vanished to the Cayman Islands leaving Griff to face furious investors, she made feeble excuses and a sharp exit from his life. Flissa was ever the gold-digger and he hoped her latest find would see through her scheming.

  There was such a crush of gathered friends, he could barely squeeze through the door but then a familiar voice yelled, ‘Griff, how lovely to see you… Darling, this is Rufus’s brother, Jolyon de Grifford, but he only answers to Griff. And aren’t you tanned?’ She greeted him as if nothing had happened between them. ‘Meet Jace, he’s from Yorkshire but don’t hold that against him.’

  Griff had forgotten what a ridiculous hyena laugh Flissa had. Admittedly she was still glamorous, slim, dressed in her usual black, flashing scarlet nails that looked like talons. He nodded to the tall man politely. ‘You’re down for Christmas then?’

  ‘No, thank God, we’re off to St Lucia for the hols. Jace’s business takes him all over,’ Flissa butted in, flaunting her new beau’s success in front of him.

  Griff wanted to move on but Flissa grabbed his arm. ‘You okay? I hear you escaped to a Greek island, what fun…’

  Griff flashed his charm in her face. ‘Never better and you look as if you found a good asset in Jace.’ He couldn’t resist the sarcasm.

  ‘We met at a conference, not my usual type but these gruff Yorkshire men have a certain charm. A bit rough round the edges but you can’t have everything, can you?’

  ‘Good luck. Now I must see Felix.’ He extricated himself and found Felix handing round the bubbly.

  Once they all had a drink, Felix tapped a glass for attention until the room fell silent. ‘Everyone, I’ve something to announce.’ Alexa was standing next to Felix in a glorious fuchsia pink concoction that must have cost the earth. ‘Alexa has done me the great honour of agreeing to become my wife.’ Everyone cheered.

  ‘About time!’ someone yelled as Alexa held up the sparkling diamond on her engagement finger. Griff felt pleased for them both.

  ‘When, when?’ someone else shouted.

  ‘Next summer on her Greek island and you’re all invited.’ There was a cheer and Griff’s immediate thought was that this wedding would put Sara on the map. It was funny how protective he felt of her venture. ‘Congratulations to you… Can I kiss the bride? Do Chloë and Simon know?’

  ‘They were the first people we told, of course. Mummy is in ecstasy planning my nuptials but it’s months away. I just wanted a quiet affair but Felix wants to make it, well, we’ll see…’ Alexa confided to Griff.

  Griff swallowed his champagne and sidled out of the door. He had made an appearance and was genuinely thrilled for his oldest friend but it made his own isolation out of step with his contemporaries. One by one they were all pairing up again. Still, tonight he was helping down in the city shelter. He had offered a week’s volunteering in the kitchen, and then it would be time to make for Shropshire and the family. As Uncle Jolly, he had a role and a welcome awaiting there.

  He was glad that some street sleepers would have a nourishing meal: these were the strays of London. The retreat must, however, be his first priority. There was redecorating, finding guest speakers, keeping the house dry and the little museum updated. There would be lively nights at the taverna, a busy New Year ahead.

  After a hectic night at the shelter he walked back in the small hours through the shadowy streets, feeling grateful there was a part of him yearning for the quiet beauty of Santaniki, the retreat and the doggy antics of Spartacus. He couldn’t wait to return.

  18

  Sara’s Christmas flew past with a relaxing visit home due to her parents’ thoughtfulness. There were just the three of them enjoying TV and going for walks to pubs in the Peak District. She had time to put the final touches to her online brochure, its layout and text. She took presents from Mel to her family and was feted by her sister, Rosita, with wonderful home-made panettone. They in turn gave her things Mel requested that Sara was happy to take back.

  Griff emailed to suggest meeting up at Salford Quays and she invited her mother to come too, to enjoy a night together to go to the theatre and the museums in Media City. It was easy to feel guilty in deserting them to live on a Greek island but they were in good health and happy that she was finding her feet again.

  ‘Who is this chap you’re meeting?’ her dad asked.

  ‘Only Griff, he runs the artists’ place… you know, the novelist’s house.’

  ‘I loved her books,’ her mum replied.

  ‘Then you must come over and visit in the summer and that’s an order,’ Sara said. They would squeeze into Ariadne Villa’s second bedroom and she would enjoy showing them around the island.

  ‘So, you’re staying on then?’ She sensed her mother’s disappointment.

  ‘I can’t run the business from here. I have to be on the spot just in case things go awry. Like when Pippa’s photographer didn’t turn up for the wedding. It would have been a disaster but Griff stepped in and his pictures are good.’

  ‘He sounds an interesting young man,’ said her father with a wink.

  ‘Hardly young… just a friend so don’t go getting any ideas. He’s Mel and Spiro’s mate, not really mine.’ Sara felt mean for dismissing Griff so readily but she didn’t want to raise any hopes of romance.

  ‘We’re so glad you’ve settled down, back to your old self. We were so worried for you. Troubled hearts go with us wherever we flee to… But I can see you are putting it all behind you.’ Sara could see the concern on her mum’s face.

  ‘I’m fine now, honestly. It was right to get away. I still blush when I think of it all and I’m sorry I embarrassed you as well.’

  ‘We’re proud of you. You stood up for yourself when it mattered. What you did, you had to… You were let down big time.’

  ‘Let’s not talk about that any more,’ Sara replied. ‘I’ve better things to think about now.’

  ‘That’s my girl, I can see the spark back in your eyes. Just you go back and make it all happen. We�
�ll come to see you when the weather gets better. It’s been lovely having you here and don’t leave it so long next time.’

  *

  In the end her mum got a bad cold and stayed put. Sara headed for Media City on the train, wrapped in a faux fur coat and beret to meet up with Griff who was waiting by the Imperial War Museum. It was strange to see him in a leather jacket with a long scarf, jeans and boots, not shorts and sandals. He looked good, she had to admit.

  It was a freezing morning so they headed into the museum’s café for an early lunch. She showed him her layout and Griff made suggestions as they sat choosing the most romantic of his photographs. ‘You are selling a dream, an idyllic celebration, and it’s your brochure that will clinch it. I brought a few I picked up online,’ he said, pulling up rival wedding planning sites to compare with hers. ‘Still thinking about the second time around theme?’

  ‘Yes, but I want to remain flexible too,’ she replied. She was touched that he seemed genuinely concerned about her progress.

  ‘Then the brochure must make sure that you aim in that direction without losing any other couples who might be interested in just an island destination. The text is important, more important than the pictures.’

  Sara pulled up her online notes. ‘I’m not sure I’ve got it right. The menu on the top needs sharpening up, and I need more details of legalities, costings, catering, location. All options must be clear in the overall package but I’ve decided not to offer guest accommodation – that they must sort out for themselves according to their budget. You’re right, though, I need better text.’

  ‘I can help you if you like,’ Griff said. ‘Send me a copy and I can look it over. You need to get this out straight away. After New Year is when couples make plans, so not much time.’ He leaned in towards her, raising an eyebrow. She caught a whiff of expensive aftershave.