Oh look, another dumb airhead who thought she could tame him.
I went in with my eyes open. I didn’t want a relationship with him. I didn’t even want a repeat of what happened. I just wanted him not to disappear. Hell, even one conversation would have helped. A scrap of sympathy, a modicum of support. He was the only person who could have made my life that tiny bit more bearable, by shouldering half of the burden.
Instead, he had the gall to blame me for breaking Leo’s heart – as if he wasn’t the reason for the break-up, as if everything that happened afterwards was all my fault.
Guess I was just his latest dumb airhead after all.
What would have been a welcome break in Cyprus and a chance for Theo’s wheelchair-bound grandmother to meet Tig is now going to be one big stressful exercise in avoiding Mark.
The only luck I’ve had is that, like Yan, Mark couldn’t get six days off work, so the pair of them aren’t flying out for another twenty-four hours, which means I get to relax for one whole Mark-free day.Whoop-di-friggin-doo.
I usually love flying. It’s a great excuse to buy loads of paperbacks and cosmetics because everyone knows that airport math is different. I walk around the duty-free, scanning the rows of eyeshadows and perfumes, but I can’t summon enough enthusiasm for the new range of Dior lipsticks, or the latest summer scent from Escada. Not that I’ve got space for any purchases. All our carry-on luggage is packed to bursting because even though we’d paid for extra hold baggage we were still over our permitted weight. Probably because half our suitcases were stuffed with presents for relatives.
‘It’s M&S shortbread,’ Tig had moaned when the check-in staff had told us we needed to remove some items. ‘I specifically got the one that said it was buttery andlight.’
The only good thing about not having slept properly last night is that I zonk out for most of the four-hour flight. I get woken about forty-five minutes before we land by Theo clambering over our seats in an obvious hurry to get to the loo.
‘Is he okay?’ I ask Tig, yawning.
‘He gets a little air-sick,’ she explains, in between mouthfuls of egg sandwich.
I sigh. ‘Did you have to bring such a smelly sarnie?’
Tig rolls her eyes. ‘Have you seen what they’re charging for food? I’m not made of money.’
With the time difference it’s 4 p.m. when we land in Larnaca.
No matter how old I am or what sort of crappy mood I’m in, stepping off the plane in Cyprus always feels magical. No hermetically sealed jetty – you’re exposed to the elements immediately and get to experience that incredible shot of heat: half jet-engine, half blissful Mediterranean island.
Somehow, sunshine makes everything better.
Our cousin Mario owns a car rental place, and he’s waiting for us in the arrival lounge holding a cardboard sign that readsWelcome beautiful cousins and Tig, which Tig pretends to be offended by.
There’s a lot of hugging and backslapping and complaints that it’s been too long since he’s seen us. ‘You all need some colour in your cheeks.’
‘Apart from Theo,’ sniggers Pen.
Mario looks confused but is far too polite to ask questions about the man who’s about to marry into the family. Tig however has no such qualms.
‘He gets travel-sick – that’s why his face is green.’
Mario asks if he needs a doctor or a pharmacy, but Theo assures him he’ll be fine now he’s on solid ground.
We exchange tins of shortbread for the car keys and say our goodbyes to Mario, but not before arranging to meet up tomorrow night.
We make our way to the car park to locate our rental. Mario has given us an upgrade which is just as well because, even though the car looks roomy, we still don’t manage to get all our luggage in the boot, so Pen, who hogged the front passenger seat, has to sit with a suitcase on her lap. Both Theo and I are insured,but I take the executive decision to drive so he can rest. For once, Tig is actively taking care of him, snuggling him against her side in the back seat. Still, I can’t help periodically checking my rear-view mirror in case she reverts to type and whips out another egg sandwich.
Things keep getting better and better. First, the upgraded car withexcellentair-conditioning and now the villa is knocking our socks off. We’ve got our own gated gravelled drive which splits up into two paths with one leading to the front door of the terracotta-roofed three-storey villa and the other to the garden, complete with a sparkling deep blue pool. Ancient cypress trees offer natural shade as we stroll around, gasping at every detail: wooden slatted sun loungers with cream-coloured umbrellas fluttering in the breeze; an outdoor dining table with a canopy and a brick-built barbecue.
Inside, everything is either glass or stone with a cosy living room featuring three tan leather sofas and a kitchen with everything you could ask for, including a fancy-pants coffee machine with more buttons and levers than a cockpit.
Five bedrooms are arranged over three floors which means I don’t have to share with Pen,andthey all have en-suite bathrooms with gleaming chrome showers. The house belongs to a friend of Mark’s who’s letting us have it for free – we’re just covering the cleaning bill.
Theo has perked right up, so after we all pick rooms (mine is small-ish and on the ground floor but has a private patio and a gate that leads straight to the garden and pool), he suggests a quick trip to the supermarket to stock up on essentials like bread, milk, and alcohol.
We each throw in twenty euros, and Theo sets off, taking Tig and Pen with him.
I crank up the AC in my room and start unpacking. The wardrobe is way bigger than I need and, for once, I hang up everything, even using the built-in drawers.
