by Sandy Barker
One Summer in Santorini
SANDY BARKER
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Copyright © Sandy Barker 2019
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover illustration © Shutterstock
Sandy Barker asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008354343
Ebook Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008354336
Version: 2019-05-28
For Ben, my very own someone
Table of Contents
Cover
Title page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Publisher
Chapter One
I woke suddenly, and even though I was forty thousand feet in the air, I already felt jet-lagged. You know that unique mix of queasiness and exhaustion? That.
I hate long-haul flying. Wait, let me correct that, I hate long-haul flying in economy. Flying across the world when I’ve been upgraded to business class is awesome – I highly recommend it. But this wasn’t one of those times.
I checked my watch. I had slept for five hours – if we’re calling it ‘sleeping’ – more like ‘dozing upright’. Either way, I felt achy and groggy. I yawned a big, ugly yawn, the kind I usually reserved for solitary moments – one of the few benefits of sitting in a cabin full of people I’d never see again.
I stretched my neck from side to side and pushed my palms into my eye sockets. My eyes wanted to be anywhere else, and I didn’t blame them. I dug around in the seat pocket for my eye drops, tipped my head back, and irrigated my eyes with soothing coolness. Resting my head against the seat, I longed for a bed – any bed. I just wanted to lie flat so I could stretch out my stiff muscles. I certainly didn’t want to be cooped up with all those strangers, sitting in a ridiculously uncomfortable seat, breathing that stale, nasty air.
Yup, I’d definitely woken up on the wrong side of the plane.
Still, irritable was better than anxious. For weeks, I’d been fighting mini panic attacks about the trip, and that wasn’t like me. I’d travelled quite a lot and was more than capable of handling whatever catastrophe came my way. In fact, catastrophes had become such a regular part of my travels, I was starting to wonder what I’d done in a past life to piss off the travel gods.
One flight to Melbourne was cancelled outright. A flight out of Chile was delayed for so long I had to sleep on the airport floor. There was a hotel reservation in Florence that disappeared, and while I was arguing with the manager, my iPad was stolen from my bag. Not forgetting the time my whole suitcase somehow vanished between Sydney and Auckland. On the next trip, my new suitcase emerged a mangled mess on the baggage carousel – hello LA and, yes, fellow passengers, those are my knickers, thank you very much. And I barely recovered from a raging case of malaria in Peru. Okay, so it wasn’t actually malaria. It was salmonella, but it still knocked me on my bum for five days when I was supposed to be hiking the Inca Trail.
I looked out the window at the passing clouds. Maybe all the panic was because I hadn’t travelled in more than a year; I’d lost my mojo. Still, I should have been excited. After one night in London, I was flying to Santorini. Yes, the Santorini – of Greek Island fame.
Even though it was only for a night, I was really looking forward to London, as I was seeing my little sis and I’d missed her like crazy. Catherine – Cat – had moved to England years before. Actually, we’d moved there together, but she stayed and I moved back to Australia. We only saw each other in the flesh every couple of years when she came to Sydney or I went to London. I knew she’d ease my worries – real or imagined – with a firm dose of tough love. It was one of the many, many reasons she was my best friend.
The rest of the flight was pretty uneventful. I had a breakfast of rubbery eggs and something that resembled a sausage, washed my face with a moist towelette, and watched three episodes of FRIENDS back to back. Finally back on terra firma, I disembarked and shuffled along the hallways of Heathrow, cleared immigration, and before long, I was waiting at baggage claim for my backpack. I was normally a suitcase kind of a girl, but the brochure had said to pack light. Apparently, there wasn’t much space inside the yacht.
Oh, did I forget to mention that? My trip started in Santorini and then I’d be sailing around the Greek Islands for ten days. Not by myself – I don’t know how to sail. The skipper would be doing the sailing, and there’d be some other people with us, but most importantly there would be me – on a yacht!
As I watched bag after bag pop out of the baggage chute and tumble down onto the carousel, I finally started to feel it, the excitement. There you are, you elusive little minx! It bubbled up inside me, and I had a sort of ‘baggage claim epiphany’. I was going to Santorini! In Greece! And then to a bunch of other Greek Islands!
I could picture myself on the bow of the yacht wearing my new tangerine bikini and duty-free Prada sunglasses, which both looked fantastic on me by the way, the wind whipping through my hair like Kate Winslet in Titanic. Only before the iceberg. And about a hundred years later. Oh, and sans Leo.
Finally, after what felt like a millennium, my bag appeared. Good thing too, as my yacht fantasy was degenerating into an 80s music video. I grabbed for the handle, fumbled with it a bit, then lugged it off the carousel. It wasn’t big, but it was filled to the brim with the perfect Greek Island trousseau: the obligatory summer dresses, bikinis, shorts, flowing skirts, cute tops, and a sunhat. I was a travelling cliché and I didn’t care. Did I mention I was going to Greece?
I dragged the backpack over to one of the airport trolleys, swung it aboard, plopped my beautiful new leather handbag on top, and headed for the ‘Nothing to Declare’ exit. The only thing I had to declare was that I was going sailing on the Aegean, and I didn’t think the Customs agents gave a crap about that.
Cat was waiting behind the silver railing on the other side of the security door. We look almost identical, except I am five-foot-six and she’s five-foot-nothing. She says she’s five-foot-one-and-three-quarters, but she’s not. She did get the good hair, though – cow. It’s the o
nly thing I hate about her. While I’m stuck with masses of curls – the really curly ones that do whatever the hell they like – she has thick cascading, chestnut waves. Like I said, cow.
‘You’re here!’ she declared, ducking under the railing and throwing her little arms around my neck. I stopped pushing the trolley and returned the hug. We stepped back and regarded each other.
‘You look fab!’ I squeaked, tears in my eyes.
‘You too!’ she lied.
‘I just got off a twenty-eight-hour flight. I look like crap.’
‘You’re right, but it’s nothing a shower and a good night’s sleep won’t cure. Come on.’ She took over pushing my trolley, and I followed obediently as she parted the crowd with a series of slightly rude ‘excuse mes’.
*
Back in her Docklands flat, my hair wet from the best shower I’d ever had, I sat on her couch, a cup of tea in one hand and a chocolate biscuit in the other. We emailed and FaceTimed regularly – we weren’t estranged or anything – but nothing was the same as actually being together, and we chatted non-stop, catching up on all the things that sisters chat about.
‘So, tomorrow you fly to Athens and then what?’
‘I pretty much fly straight to Santorini. The stopover in Athens is only four hours. I thought about sightseeing but knowing me, I’d get caught in a traffic jam on the way back to the airport and miss my island-hopper.’
‘You probably would.’
‘Thank you. No really, I mean it,’ I replied, my voice thick with sisterly sarcasm.
‘What? You do tend to have shitty luck when you travel.’ See? But impending bad luck aside, I happily realised that excitement was thrashing anxiety’s ass.
‘Cat, I’m going to Santorini tomorrow!’
‘So, that’s where you’re going,’ she said, giving me crap. Jealous. I ignored her.
‘It’s just … It feels like I booked this trip ages ago. And, yeah, I was excited at the time, but it’s been months. After a while it stopped feeling real.’ I grinned at her. ‘Until now. I can’t believe I’m really going!’ Then I stopped grinning. ‘I’m not being too obnoxious, am I?’
She smiled. ‘No, I’m happy for you. Really, I am.’ So not jealous, then.
‘I wish you could come.’
‘So do I, but there’s no way I could.’ Cat was a teacher like me, but while I was on holidays, her school year had just started.
‘Probably for the best. It could be a huge disaster of a trip.’ My inner pessimist was back, the lurker.
‘Don’t say that. It won’t be a disaster.’
‘You don’t know that. You just said I have shitty luck. And I do! Every time I travel somewhere, things go wrong. Look at last time in Peru! Plus, I won’t know anyone, and …’
‘Sarah, it’s not every time. I was only teasing. And Peru was ages ago. It’s a little bad luck now and then …’ She trailed off, shrugging. ‘Besides, you used to run tours for weeks at a time – for fifty people! You’re an experienced traveller.’
‘I know, but …’
‘But nothing. Random bad luck aside, you’re you. You know how to make friends with strangers. And you’ve been around.’ I threw her a stern look. ‘You know what I mean. I mean you’ve literally been around. You’ll be fine.’
See? Tough love. Everything she said made sense, but …
‘But what if it’s completely horrible?’ She laughed at me. I probably deserved it. No, I definitely did.
‘It’s not going to be horrible. It’s going to be amazing, and you’ll probably meet some really cool people.’ Then she hit me with the one thing I didn’t want to hear. ‘You know, you might meet someone.’ And then she gave me that look – you know the one.
And in an instant, my sister, my best friend in the entire world, joined the ‘poor Sarah’ pity party.
‘Did you really say that?’ I asked, shooting fiery daggers from my eyes.
‘What?’ She feigned innocence, her eyes widening.
‘You know exactly what!’ I didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes got even bigger. ‘Do you know how many people have said that to me since I booked this bloody trip?’
She shook her head, giant eyes fixed to mine.
‘A bazillion!’ Okay, so sometimes I tend towards the hyperbole. It was probably more like twelve, but in my world, that’s a lot of people.
‘Fine!’ she retaliated. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was such a sore point.’
‘Well, it is. I’ve been single for, what, a few months? Right now, I just want to be on my own.’
‘Great!’
‘I mean, can’t I go on this trip, and have it be about me? Seeing somewhere new and hanging out and sailing and shit?’ I was whipping myself into quite the little frenzy.
‘All right. Yes. I’m sorry. I hope you don’t meet anyone.’
‘Thank you.’ It came out angry.
‘And, especially not someone cute, who makes you laugh, and is an all-round great guy. Actually, I hope all the men you meet are old and mean and ugly. No! Better yet, I hope there are no men. I hope you sail around the Greek Islands with a bunch of lesbians! I hope you go to Lesbos and are surrounded by lesbians!’ She pinned me down with a ‘so there’ stare, and after a beat, we both fell about laughing. My laughter quickly turned into a yawn. ‘How are you doing over there?’ she asked.
‘Good!’ I replied with more enthusiasm than I felt. She looked dubious. ‘Okay, I’m shattered, but I need to stay up and get on European time. I’ll be fine. The tea’s kicking in.’
‘How about a top-up then?’
‘Yes! Definitely more tea.’ I drained the last of my mug and handed it to her. She took it into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
With her back to me, she asked, ‘So, as long as you’re staying up for a while, do you want to talk about it?’
‘It?’ She turned to face me, looking mildly uncomfortable, like she was holding in a fart or something. ‘What?’ I asked, knowing exactly what she meant.
‘Neil.’ My break-up with Neil was literally the last thing I wanted to talk about. I would have put a lively conversation about Trump’s presidency, or the Syrian crisis, or even Brexit ahead of talking about the pile of shit I’d called my boyfriend for almost a year.
‘Not really.’ I feigned what I hoped looked like indifference.
‘Oh. All right.’ I could see the disappointment on her face. I could also see her mind working. ‘It’s just … well, we never really talked about it. Properly, I mean.’
She was right. I hadn’t wanted to talk to anybody about what happened with Neil – not my girlfriends, not my Sydney bestie, Lindsey – not even Cat. It was too humiliating.
‘True, but …’ I hesitated. Please don’t make me relive it all now when I am so exhausted. I’d rather stick a fork in my eye. I thought that, but what I said was: ‘Okay, you’re right.’
She brought fresh cups of tea back to the couch and pushed the chocolate biscuits towards me. She knew me so well. ‘So, what happened?’ She folded her legs under her and looked at me expectantly.
‘Well, Neil was a dickhead, and it took me far too long to get rid of him.’ I took a bite of a chocolate biscuit.
‘But I don’t get it. If he was so bad, why did you stay with him for so long?’ It was a question I’d asked myself a thousand times. I swallowed the hard lump of biscuit.
‘I really don’t know. I mean, almost immediately there were all these alarm bells going off. And I kept dismissing them – time and again. I told myself it wasn’t weird that he wouldn’t meet my friends, or that he never wanted to go anywhere or do anything. You know, I realised after we broke up that I stopped travelling when I met him. He wouldn’t even go away for the weekend with me. That’s why this trip … well, it’s not just the chance to return to Greece. It’s more. I knew as soon as we broke up, I had to go somewhere – anywhere.’
I looked over at my sister, and she was nodding sympathetically like she
got it. It felt great to be ‘got’.
‘Oh, and he hated it when something good happened to me.’ Cat’s brow furrowed, questioning me. ‘You know when I got promoted to head of department?’ She nodded. ‘Well, I told him, and he said – and I quote – “Well, thanks for rubbing it in. Right after I got passed over for that promotion. Now I feel like shit. Nice one, Sarah.”’
‘He did not!’
‘He bloody did. And even then, I didn’t end it.’
‘Jesus. So, who was this slapper he cheated with?’
‘A friend.’
‘Hardly,’ she scoffed. ‘Do I know her?’
‘No, she was a new friend – from yoga – or at least, I thought she was my friend.’
‘But, how did they meet?’
‘At my place, would you believe it? I’d invited her over for a barbecue and I didn’t think anything of them talking for most of the night. I was just happy he was finally meeting my friends. Apparently, it started right after that.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘Well, he started acting way weirder than usual, so I figured something was up. Then I did something I never thought I would do – something truly awful.’
‘What?’ I could see the suspense was killing her, but I had never revealed this detail to anyone before. I sucked in my breath through my teeth.
‘I still can’t believe I did this. I hacked into his email account.’
‘Oh my god! That’s brilliant. How?’ I laughed with relief, loving her for saying it was ‘brilliant’, rather than ‘stupid and illegal’.
‘Well, it wasn’t exactly hacking. I guessed his password, and I got in.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yep. Second try. It was his footy team.’
‘What an idiot.’
‘Yep. And there was an email trail of the whole thing. Months it had been going on – and get this, the whole time she was telling me to my face about this great new guy she was seeing.’
‘Utter bitch!’
‘I know!’ I bit into the biscuit and chewed furiously. Cat was perched on the edge of her seat. ‘So, I confronted him about it, and he lied to my face and told me not to be ridiculous. I looked at him – straight in the eye – and said, “I know for a fact you’ve been fucking her, you lying cheat. That cow can’t keep her legs or her mouth shut. So, we’re done. Never contact me again. Oh, and I hope you catch her chlamydia.” Then I left his place, and that was it.’ I shoved the rest of the biscuit in my mouth.
