My Big Fat Christmas Wedding: A Funny And Heartwarming Christmas Romance. Samantha Tonge
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.’