Under a
Greek Spell
Simone Hubbard
Copyright © 2019 Simone Hubbard
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Matador
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ISBN 9781789019964
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
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Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
In loving memory of my husband Martin Hubbard who passed away shortly after I started writing this book.
Contents
Prologue
Pamela
1.Stephanie
2.Stephanie
3.Helen
4.Stephanie
5.Helen
6.Stephanie
7.Helen
8.Stephanie
9.Stephanie
10.Helen
11.Stephanie
12.Helen
13.Stephanie
14.Helen
15.Stephanie
16.Helen
17.Helen
18.Stephanie
19.Helen
20.Stephanie
21.Helen
22.Stephanie
23.Helen
24.Stephanie
25.Stephanie
26.Helen
27.Stephanie
28.Helen
29.Stephanie
30.Pamela
References
Thank you
Afterword
Prologue
Pamela
It’s not very often that I can say this, but I was rendered speechless two hours ago.
My daughters Helen and Stephanie, and my hubby Michael, have organised this wonderful surprise birthday party for me at our local golf club. I didn’t have a clue. I’ve no idea how they kept it a surprise. Thinking back, in the last few weeks, there have been a couple of conversations that ended abruptly when I entered the room.
My friends from work are here too. I’m a part-time nurse in the A & E department of our local hospital. I really can’t imagine how they’ve kept it a secret. They can’t even do the Secret Santa without revealing who’s bought what for who.
I’d hoped to be retiring at sixty. That pipe dream went out of the window with all the hullabaloo of the banking crisis. Michael is in the same boat. Luckily, we didn’t have all our eggs in one basket, so to speak, and we can retire together in a couple of years’ time and travel the world.
Because I love travelling so much, Helen’s arranged a wonderful Greek islands cruise on a clipper ship, which sets sail on 15 May. It’s a present from everyone for my sixtieth birthday and for our fortieth wedding anniversary, which will be in the summer. I think they’ve all had enough of me rattling on about Greek islands, Greek mythology, Greek gods – in fact, anything using the G-word. Michael and I have been to a few of the islands over the years but there are so many more to see. The clipper ship cruise is perfect as it covers a good number of islands, especially the smaller ones that don’t have an airport. A few months ago, Helen asked me to book a couple of weeks off work. I thought she was going to send us on one of her freebie trips. I’d no idea she was planning such an extravagant holiday. She’s thirty-three now and has worked in the travel industry since leaving school. She’s senior management at a local travel agent, so she was able to pull some strings. It’s a perk of her job, to which she’s very dedicated. She threw herself into her work after her best friend died of cancer. It was her way of dealing with it.
I do think her boss, Daniel, takes advantage of her at times. He’s always changing his mind at the last minute about one thing or another, which often results in Helen cancelling personal commitments and letting down her friends and family. She’s always at the office early and never finishes on time. A career is all well and good, but, as I keep subtly reminding her, if she wants children she’s got to recognise that she’s not getting any younger. A good starting point would be a stable relationship, but Helen seems to be struggling to find ‘the one’. There’s no sign of her latest boyfriend today. Michael and I still haven’t met him and they’ve been seeing each other for a while now.
Then there’s Stephanie. She’s a couple of years younger than Helen. She’d been married five years when she broached the shall-we-start-a-family topic with her husband. Richard decided that he didn’t want kids and walked out on her in January.
Of course, Michael thinks I should mind my own business, but, at this rate, we’ll be grandparents to sperm-bank grandchildren, like Sally at work. That’s all we heard about for months. She’d suddenly come out with the most bizarre statements, such as ‘Just think, the baby could have blue blood,’ or ‘The baby might turn out to be a talented musician.’ We switched off in the end, what with all the different outcomes this grandchild of hers could have.
No party, of course, would be complete without some family members and, as the saying goes, you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family. My older sister Angela and I are like chalk and cheese. When we reached our forties, we agreed to disagree and move on. She’s got an amazing memory, which is a pain in the neck most of the time. Talk about how elephants never forget – she must have been one in a former life. I can’t imagine how Tim, her husband, has put up with her for almost forty-five years. But his repertoire of replies speaks for itself: ‘Yes, dear’, ‘Whatever you say, dear’, ‘Of course, dear…’
Angela does, however, have two very adorable grandchildren, Jack and Lily. Jack’s five and absolutely full of mischief. Lily’s three and angelic looking, with blue eyes and curly blonde hair. She’s a little bit tamer than Jack but I’m sure she’ll come out of her shell when she starts preschool in September. They’re running around at the moment, chasing each other and popping balloons. Every time one bursts, Lily runs crying to her Uncle Tom. He’s Angela’s son and he’s with his latest girlfriend, Skye.
I had trouble remembering her name until Angela sniped, ‘It’s not difficult, Pamela. If she married Tom, she’d be “Skye Bridge.”’ That made me laugh, but Angela wasn’t for seeing the funny side. She didn’t find it particularly funny, either, when I discovered that there’s a Tom Uglys Bridge in Sydney and Snapchatted it to her.
At the moment, Skye is flailing her arms about trying to keep the children away from her cream dress. Angela informs me that there’s no way on God’s earth that Tom will have children. He absolutely hates them with a passion. So it looks like he and Skye are well suited. It’s such a shame. Just think,
they could have Brooklyn and Sydney Bridge to complete the set.
It looks like Tom’s trying to coerce Jack and Lily to play over near his sister Amy, their mum, and Angela’s eldest child. She’s here with her husband. It doesn’t look like they’ve slept for months. I’m surmising that the last time they slept properly was when Jack and Lily had a sleepover at Angela’s. It took Angela and Tim a week to get over that. Angela said that Michael and I could have them next time, ‘Being as though you have no grandchildren.’
Our neighbours from either side of us are here and were in on the secret too. One of the most staggering things is that neither side let the cat out of the bag despite me seeing them nearly every day and telling them that I was having a low-key birthday with just close family.
Ron, our neighbour on the right, helped Michael and the girls decorate the golf club with banners and balloons yesterday. Meanwhile, Jen, Ron’s wife, was putting the finishing touches on the cake. They’d booked me into a beauty salon for some serious pampering to get me out of the way. I was there for almost three hours.
Stephanie was assigned the task of organising the cake; she somehow found out that Jen is a fantastic baker. I’ve told Jen loads of times to get herself on Bake Off. The cake has been given centre stage and has had more photos taken of it than I have. I’ve heard Stephanie trying to take credit for the golfing theme idea too. It’s a putting green, with ‘60’ piped on it in the shape of little golf balls and, underneath that, a couple of golf clubs crossed over. I can’t imagine how Jen’s been able to contain herself. She’s certainly enjoying the attention her masterpiece is receiving, although I did hear someone say that Ron helped her make it.
I’m just shocked and absolutely delighted that so many friends and family are here. Good job I’ve made an effort with a pretty ‘spring collection’ dress and make-up. That’s probably why they said we were going to the posh hotel down the road – so I didn’t turn up in my jeans. I bought the dress with Steph, who’s a sales assistant at Debenhams. I remember thinking she was being very particular as she made me buy matching shoes and handbag.
I did also think it was a bit strange when Michael wanted to pop to the golf club to drop some things off en route to the meal, especially when he insisted I go in with him. I thought I’d be polite and see who was about. I was speechless when he opened the door. I thought, ‘What’s everyone doing here?’ I’ve been in a whirlwind ever since.
* * *
Ooh, the lights have been dimmed. Helen and Steph are standing at the door, holding the cake, which is now alight with candles.
‘Hush everyone! After three,’ Helen shouts. ‘One, two, three! Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Pamela … Pam … Mum … Aunty Pamelaaaa, happy birthday to you!’
Helen and Stephanie are whispering, ‘Make a wish, Mum.’ I take a deep breath, close my eyes and blow out my candles, nearly setting fire to myself in the process. A little voice in my head is saying, ‘Be careful what you wish for, Pamela.’ But it’s too late. I’ve made my wish and now there’s no going back…
Chapter 1
Stephanie
Oh, excitement, I’ve got a text! My phone’s just pinged to let me know that someone in the world wants to tell me something. My heart does a little flutter. It’s probably just one of those silly messages about making a compensation claim, but you never know. I put the washing up on hold and peel off my bright yellow rubber gloves to see who wants me. I’m willing to take the risk that I could ultimately be disappointed, and that my time would be better spent sticking with the washing up instead of being hoodwinked into looking at a text. I open my phone and it’s a text off my sister, Helen. I press the little message box to open it.
Hi, how does 10 nights
in the Caribbean sound?
Flying on 18 May xx
Oh my God, is she serious? When I was moaning about having two weeks off work with nowhere to go, I didn’t think Helen was even listening, let alone planning something as elaborate as this. Within seconds, I’m speed-dialling her number. I’m fit to burst – a holiday, and not just any old holiday, but one to the Caribbean, where I’ve always wanted to go.
She answers within one ring. ‘Hi, Steph! Thought you’d be straight on the phone with that invitation. What do you think?’ Helen sounds very pleased with herself.
‘How the hell have you managed to wangle this? The Caribbean – that’s amazing! Where exactly are we going?’ My head whirs with the excitement of it all. A few minutes ago I was doing the washing up and now I’m being whisked off to the Caribbean.
‘I’ve wangled it, as you so nicely put it, by working some very long hours. When you said you’d got time booked off work and nowhere to go, I had a light-bulb moment. You’ve been through so much lately that I thought I’d treat you to a cruise round the Caribbean. Cruising is a new line that we’re adding next year. I volunteered to try it out and do the review.’
Suddenly, I don’t feel so good. I sit down. My head’s spinning and I already feel seasick just at the mention of the word ‘cruise’. ‘Sorry, Helen, did you just say cruuuuuuuz?’
The word resonates round in my head. Cruise, she said cruise. I can’t believe she’s said cruise. Surely she remembers my boat dramas from childhood? She can’t seriously think that I could or would willingly go on a bloody cruise.
‘Yes, Steph, a cruise. Isn’t it wonderful? A different island every day, starting in Barbados, with two nights in a five-star hotel on the south coast. Then visiting St Lucia, St Martin, Tortola, St Thomas, Curaçao, Grenada and then back to Barbados for another two nights on the west coast before we head home.’ Helen reels the amazing itinerary off in her professional work-voice. The place names trip off her tongue like the well-travelled professional she is. ‘And we’ll be flying business class. That will be an amazing experience for you… Stephanie, are you still there?’
‘Yes, I’m here. I’m really sorry, Helen, I don’t do boats and I can’t possibly go on a cruise with you. I’ve never got over that time when our boat was put under arrest by the Spanish military and we were all disembarked in Bilbao at gunpoint. It’s scarred me for life. Then there was the time I woke up alone in our cabin. I was found wandering round the corridors by a member of staff. I was searching frantically for Mum, Dad and you. I thought you’d all left me. Oh, and the time I lost Barney, my little blue bear, on yet another holiday. I had to be carried off the boat, crying hysterically, by Dad. And did I mention my awful seasickness? It takes me a week to walk in a straight line again. I’m sorry, Helen, but me and boats are a no go. I’m sure I drowned on the Titanic in a previous life.’
‘Right, Steph, if you’ve quite finished. I know you’ve had more than your fair share of grievances on boats. I was there, remember? But look on the bright side: we didn’t get shot, you didn’t fall overboard, you can have an injection for seasickness and Barney turned up eight months later in one of Dad’s shoes! You need to face your fears, not run away from them. So what about some holiday-clothes shopping?’
There’s no arguing with Helen. I’m going on a cruise, whether I like it or not. I suppose I can take some seasickness tablets the minute I get on the boat. Let’s face it, the Caribbean Sea should be pretty calm. Hopefully we won’t get so drunk that I topple overboard. Barney can stay at home. I don’t even know where he is. I’m assuming he’s with all the other bears in the spare room… Note to self, check where Barney is.
‘We could go tomorrow. I’m rostered off,’ I reply, feeling defeated but slightly excited again at the chance of seeing some sun.
I need to be realistic. There’s no way I could afford to go away on this scale, and it’s just the tonic I need after the last few months. Not to mention that it’s been the most miserable, wet winter and spring ever. Everyone’s talking about getting away for a week in the sun and here I am, being ungrateful about a free cruise around the Caribbean wi
th my sister. Get a bloody grip, woman. I constantly moaned to Richard, my soon to be ex-husband, about travelling abroad more. But the first opportunity that comes my way, I get into a right state. Be positive, Stephanie, embrace all opportunities. In fact, remember your New Year’s mantra: go with the flow, go where the wind takes you. I just didn’t expect the wind to take me that far and on a bloody cruise.
‘Sorry, no, I can’t do tomorrow. James is coming over tonight and is hopefully stopping. I don’t want to push him out of the door, if you get my drift.’ Helen’s voice has changed into its James mode. I bristle at the mention of his name.
‘Have you got this arrangement in writing, Helen? Going on past form, he’ll cancel and you’ll be spending another evening on your own,’ I retort, and immediately regret it.
He’s let Helen down so many times. I’ve never even met the guy and I could happily throttle him or hit him over the head with his trumpet or whatever it is that he plays in his jazz band. He works at the same travel agency as Helen. I don’t think it helps that she’s a senior manager and James is junior to her. It’s always at the back of my mind that he’s using her to get promoted. But when I’ve half mentioned this idea to Helen, she dismisses it as ridiculous. I’ve lost count of the ‘Yes, but this’ and ‘Yes, but that’ excuses that she has at the ready for every time he lets her down. They say love is blind, and in Helen’s case it most definitely is.
‘Yes, he’s just texted,’ she answers in a dreamy voice.
‘Right, back to shopping.’ I try and reel her out of her trance. ‘What about Sunday? Can you pick me up at 11? We can have brunch at Kouros cafe where we’ve been wanting to try.’
‘Yes, Sunday works for me. We can also check out the photos from Mum’s party and choose some for an album that I’m doing for her.’
‘It was a fab party, wasn’t it? She loved it. Her face, though, when she first came in the room! I hope you’ve got a good photo of that.’
Under a Greek Spell Page 1