‘What? Are you absolutely sure you don’t mind picking me up?’
‘Positive.’
‘Then, thanks. Have you ever driven abroad though?’ she asks me doubtfully.
‘Actually, yes,’ I tell her, recalling a holiday with my boyfriend, who had one too many drinks one evening, and I drove us home in the darkness. It was a mountain village in Spain, and I was terrified. I don’t tell her that though. Besides, it will be broad daylight by the time I collect her.
I drive slowly along the beach road, getting accustomed to the car, and stopping here and there to take a photo of a boat, or a pretty stretch of beach where I take a selfie.
Driving to the far end of the road, I park up and walk to the white church with the rugged mountains in the background. The door is locked, but I take a photo of the exterior.
The church is so tiny I imagine you would not be able to fit many guests inside. I can see myself getting married somewhere like that, if I did marry, as I don’t have a large family, or an awful lot of friends. Not that my social media following would give any clue to that, I think to myself.
I climb into my hire car and drive the short distance to the apartments, where I park the car at the rear of the building. I take a shower and upload some more photos to my social media, before I get myself ready for the evening.
‘Welcome, ladies,’ says the elderly Greek man who guides us to our table inside the stylish restaurant set with white-cotton tablecloths. Despite the smart interior, the food prices are reasonable, if the menu on the board outside is anything to go by. I reserved a table earlier in case it got busy, and as we step inside I am enticed by the tantalising smell coming from the kitchen.
We enjoy a delicious meal of creamy moussaka for Irene and Patsy, while Tasha and I opt for a slow-cooked casserole, bursting with chunks of tasty chicken and peppers and topped with feta cheese. We also enjoy a couple of delicious fruity mocktails, although we do have one glass of wine with our meal.
Our meal is finished off with some tasty baklava as we sit around chatting, enjoying the spectacular sea view.
‘Oh, Tasha, you really couldn’t have picked a nicer place to get married,’ I tell my friend, taking in our surroundings. ‘I am in love with Santorini already, and I haven’t even seen half of it yet.’
‘I thought it would be somewhere most people would enjoy.’ She smiles. ‘Not to mention it being a little closer than Australia! Greece is a very popular destination and I’m thrilled that so many people have made the journey here for the wedding,’ she says gratefully.
We have a wonderful evening, laughing and sharing memories, and all too soon it’s time to head off as Owen arrives to collect Tasha.
‘Owen!’ she says in surprise. ‘What are you doing here? I was about to call a taxi.’
‘I didn’t have anything to drink, so thought I would come and collect you. I sent Irene a text earlier to keep you here until I arrived.’ He smiles.
‘Good job she wasn’t covering a stripper in whipped cream then,’ Irene says with a wink and Owen roars with laughter.
‘Hmm. It seems a little tame around here for that sort of thing,’ he says, glancing about.
‘And it’s a good job you are not superstitious, seeing the bride before the wedding,’ says Irene. ‘Or you might risk having?—’
‘Oh, shut up, Irene,’ says Patsy, cutting her off and I can’t help but laugh.
On the way back to the apartments, after saying goodnight to Owen and Tasha, I decide to take a few photos on the beach.
‘You two go on ahead if you like,’ I tell Patsy and Irene.
‘As if we would leave you,’ says Irene. ‘Come on, I’ll take your photos if you like as I don’t suppose you would want me in them.’
‘Or me,’ adds Patsy. ‘You don’t want us oldies ruining your image.’ She laughs.
‘Don’t be silly.’ I smile, although truthfully, I probably wouldn’t add a family photo onto my TikTok account. I would store that in my personal photo album and maybe share it on Facebook.
There is a huge, flat rock near the water’s edge and I perch myself on it, my hair blowing in a gentle breeze as Irene snaps away.
A couple walk past holding hands, before stopping to kiss, clearly enjoying the romantic setting. The moon is out now, bathing the tips of the rolling waves in a silvery white glow. I suddenly feel a little bit foolish sitting here alone having my photo taken in the semi-darkness.
‘Thanks, ladies. I will walk back with you now,’ I say, sliding off the rock.
‘If you’re sure. I hope your photos are okay, love. I’m no David Bailey,’ says Irene.
‘Who’s he?’ I ask and Patsy rolls her eyes and laughs.
