One Last Greek Summer: And absolutely fabulous and laugh out loud brilliant summer romance!

By Mandy Baggot

'Sunshine in story form' Milly Johnson.

'A fabulous summer sizzler from the Queen of hot heroes!' Heidi Swain.

'A sizzling hot summer read from the Queen of Greek romance' Zara Stoneley.
Beth Martin is 31, newly divorced and wondering just what life holds for her...
Best-friend, Heidi, is adamant that all the answers lie in Corfu – the island where the girls partied away their youth. So cue a trip to a sun-drenched Greek island, ouzo cocktails, a trip down memory lane... and Alex Hallas, the man Beth has never quite forgotten.

As they dance under the stars, the sand beneath their toes, old feelings begin to resurface and Beth might just have a chance to take back her life. If they can learn to love the people they've become...
Praise for Mandy Baggot:
'A sizzling hot summer read from the Queen of Greek romance, this fabulous story left me longing for a trip of my own to Corfu. Funny, touching and romantic, it's the perfect beach read' Zara Stoneley, bestselling author of The Wedding Date.

'This is my favourite Mandy Baggot book to date! Definitely one to pack in your suitcase! Love, friendship, family, secrets and laughs all set in a gorgeous location' Sue Fortin, bestselling author of Sister Sister.

'I loved it! Funny, sexy and warmer than the Corfu sun - every beach bag deserves to have Mandy Baggot in it this summer!' Shari Low, bestselling author of With or Without You.

'Another heart-grabbing romance from Mandy Baggot and it's her best one yet!' Lucy Coleman, bestselling author of Summer on the Italian Lakes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Jun 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781789545562

Mandy Baggot

Mandy Baggot is a bestselling romance writer who loves giving readers that happy-ever-after. From sunshine romantic comedies set in Greece, to cosy curl-up winter reads, she's bringing gorgeous heroes and strong heroines readers can relate to. Mandy splits her time between Salisbury, Wiltshire and Corfu, Greece and has a passion for books, food, racehorses and all things Greek!

Book preview

One

London, UK

‘Where are the penis balloons? You said you were going to get penis balloons!’

‘I thought you meant condoms… are penis balloons even a real thing?’

‘You bought condoms. Really?’

‘I’ll take the condoms off your hands, Mikey.’

‘Ha… the condoms aren’t on my hands, Dave.’

Beth Martin smiled from outside the room, two inches of bent blind allowing her a view. Her Mountbatten Global colleagues were getting all hot and melty in her office, seemingly decorating the space with all kinds of workplace-inappropriate items. She fanned the collar of her corporate blouse away from her skin and pushed a sheaf of her was-perfectly-straight-this-morning, light-brown hair behind her ear. The air-conditioning was broken – for two whole hours now – and everyone was finally finding out what it was like to work in an English heatwave without the state-of-the-art temperature control. Beth guessed she might soon find that out for herself on a more permanent footing, if she went through with leaving her job… like she had finally left her marriage. Only four first interviews in the past eight months, only two going to the second stage and no job offers despite her wealth of experience. Now she was hanging in limbo. Leave? Remain? It was Brexit all over again.

‘Now, I am going to say this just one more time, to be absolutely, 200 per cent, completely, profoundly, all the other words ending in ly sure… Charles is in France today, isn’t he? For the whole day. As in, there’s not even the slightest chance he’s going to walk in here, see all this and sack each and every one of us. Especially me, who’s dressed for a party, not a firing.’ It was Heidi, Beth’s best friend making this sweeping statement. Blonde-haired, willowy Heidi, dressed today in a loose and ethically-sourced, statement cotton summer dress with PBA-free non-leather sandals, winding laces travelling halfway up her shin. She was coordinating everyone in the room like a cross between a shepherd and an overprotective mother. This was Heidi looking her best, in Beth’s opinion – genuine, not try-hard, or corporate and stiff. Professional steel was the attire they both usually wore on a daily basis when Charles was around. Charles Mountbatten, CEO of the company and Beth’s ex-husband.

‘South of France,’ Tilly piped up. ‘Ryanair flight from Marseille doesn’t leave until 5.20 p.m.’

‘And what if he gets an earlier flight?’ Heidi asked. ‘You know, change his plans at the last minute like he did last year when he turned up unannounced and caught us cheering on England in the World Cup.’ She took another breath and went wide-eyed. ‘Or drones! Have you allowed for the chance of illegal drone action?’

‘The other flight is at 2.30 p.m.,’ Tilly said, smiling. ‘With the time difference, and a car from Stansted, I calculate it’d be five o’clock before he made it here.’

‘Shall I blow some of these condoms up?’ Dave asked. ‘They’re basically balloons anyway, aren’t they?’

‘The way you use them,’ Mikey remarked. ‘You know, the really, really, super-small ones. The ones they put behind the counter for really, really, tiny, weeny, babies of baby mice…’

‘Boys, boys, penis-envy conversation isn’t going to get this room decorated, is it?’ Heidi asked. She checked her watch. ‘Where’s the bloody cake? Beth is never going to be in with Zara Newton for more than thirty minutes and we have… fifteen minutes left. Shit!’

Beth carried on watching secretary Tilly balancing on a chair on top of a table and looping bunting with ‘Kiss the Mrs Goodbye’ written on it over the cabinets, Dave blowing up condoms and turning the colour of a Comic Relief nose, Mikey putting Kettle Chips into containers she was sure usually housed her paperclips and rubber bands, and Heidi, in the centre, the orchestrator of this… divorce party. An official untying of the knot.

‘Right!’ Heidi announced. ‘I’m going to get the other nibbles from the kitchen and the plastic cups and the expensive champagne – which I’ve charged to Charles’s expense account!’

As a cheer went up, Beth moved, not wanting to be seen. She wasn’t going to spoil a surprise they seemed to have gone to great effort to organise. She headed towards the toilets.

A divorce party. Apparently, it was a legitimate thing now. Women, and some men, in the articles Beth had read, organised a celebration of being completely shit at keeping a relationship together. It was a gathering to congratulate the divorcee on successfully and, sometimes strategically, negotiating the rocky road of solicitors and animosity and fighting over who kept the box set of Peaky Blinders… and coming out the other side not too tear-stained and with a core of inner strength that would serve the singleton well as they sought out new relationship paths.

Beth looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. A mirror she had looked in a lot over the years. This reflective glass had shown her triumphant reflection when she’d won the Davis contract – her very first after she’d joined the firm. It had also shown her a very pissed face when she’d overindulged on company cocktails while wooing the Miltons, and got concussion from walloping her head on the same basin she was leaning on now. And this very mirror had almost mocked her when she had stood in front of it and sobbed at the end of her marriage. Years of loyal service and she had been discarded. For the next best thing. The woman she had trained to do her job when she’d been given a promotion.

‘Oh, hello, Beth. I didn’t see you there.’

And there she was. The woman who had replaced her in so many ways, strutting out of one of the cubicles and sashaying towards the adjacent sink. Kendra.

‘Kendra,’ Beth answered. There was no love lost, but she had to maintain a degree of professionalism while she was still working here. And she was still working here. Still juggling her options. Plus, if she left the bathroom now, Heidi wouldn’t be finished with her office and she’d have to make small talk with someone by the water cooler. Lately, since the separation, it always seemed to be Pablo from accounts. Her knowledge of his brother’s apprenticeship at a recruitment agency really did know no bounds.

‘It’s all official then,’ Kendra said, simultaneously washing her hands, sucking a breath mint and pouting into the mirror. ‘Your divorce.’

Beth nodded. ‘Yes, all official and absolute.’ She even had the documents to prove it should anyone ask. Was Kendra asking? Maybe she wanted a copy for herself. Perhaps Beth could duplicate an A3-sized version and laminate it for her. Maybe Kendra would frame it and hang it over the marble fireplace in Beth’s ex-living room. She ran the tap, for something to do, and to try and compose herself. This wasn’t really Kendra’s fault. Kendra was simply a file in the divorce cabinet. And, with everything being finalised, all Kendra really should be to Beth was a slightly irritating colleague. Because if someone like Kendra could end her marriage, then the union had obviously been rocking on unstable ground already. And, if she was truthful, it had been. For most of its life span. Possibly since Charles had stopped indulging her love for Midsomer Murders and insisted they watched something high-brow… in Norwegian.

‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’ Kendra said, fingers still preening.

‘Nice?’ Was this woman really suggesting divorce was nice? Nothing about it had been nice. It was exhausting. By the end, she was sure Charles had stopped even attempting a decent deceit about the adultery. Just like deleting Neil Dudgeon from her TV repertoire.

‘New beginnings,’ Kendra elaborated. ‘Fresh starts.’

In the linen I chose for the master suite, Beth thought. No, she must not be bitter. She had made this decision, slightly forced or not. She was in control.

‘Where do you think you’ll go?’ Kendra asked, finishing with the hair-fluffing and looking at Beth head-on.

‘Kendra, I moved out of the house last year,’ Beth said. ‘You know that very well.’ The rumour was that Kendra had moved her shoe collection in and it had taken over the dressing area and the utility room. Office gossip had said when Christian Louboutin ran low on stock, they had Kendra on speed dial.

‘No, silly, I meant here. Where are you going to go after Mountbatten Global?’

So, did Kendra know she had been looking for a job since the separation? She had tried to keep that on the downlow. She didn’t love her job here, but it paid well and Heidi was here. Those two things had kept her going when the application rejections had been served. She hadn’t applied for anything new in a few months; the initial pain at having to see Kendra every day and Charles almost acting like nothing between them had changed, had subsided. And no other company seemed to want her. Even now, she was still finding stability with the name Mountbatten.

‘Oh, Kendra, whoever you’ve been speaking to has given you false hope,’ Beth said, stepping just a few inches closer to her. ‘I’m not leaving Mountbatten Global.’ The bitterness was back. Kendra had slithered into her life like a flat-bellied slowworm.

‘What?’ Kendra sputtered like Bear Grylls had given her something alive, slimy and gross to eat. Maybe a slowworm. ‘But… why would you stay?’

‘Because I can,’ Beth stated, eyes fixed on the younger model. ‘And because I want to.’ She sucked in a breath, still eyeballing her nemesis. ‘Besides, I know you would really, really miss me if I left. All that advice I’ve given you over the past couple of years, how to communicate effectively… how to lure my husband.’ She was literally channelling Alexis from Dynasty now.

‘Ex-husband,’ Kendra stated hurriedly.

‘Yes,’ Beth said. ‘Yes, if I were you I’d get used to saying that.’ She gave Kendra one last lingering stare. ‘Because, just in case Charles doesn’t get bored with you before he puts a ring on your finger, next time it will be you having the divorce party.’ She smiled, watching the woman’s face fall. ‘Ciao.’

Beth’s bravado lasted as far as that water cooler, Pablo raising a plastic cup in recognition as she neared. She was still a bundle of crushed futures and upset, facing directionless weeks ahead if she couldn’t get her act together. What exactly was she going to do with her life now everything had changed?

Two

‘Please say it was a good surprise,’ Heidi said, throwing herself down next to Beth on the office sofa Charles had had shipped in from India. Nearly everything Charles bought had to be shipped halfway across the world, Beth remembered. Even some of his groceries. His needs were anything but basic, the delivery costs sometimes being more expensive than the actual product, but his lavish living didn’t stop with himself. One of his best traits was his generosity. That’s how Beth had ended up here in the beginning.

The party was still in half-swing, crisps all but eaten, music a muted Paloma Faith, expensive champagne finished and cheaper plonk opened, Happy Divorce Day cake cut into and sliced up. Tilly was dancing, wearing the penis hoopla headgear they had taken it in turns to don après Bollinger. Beth smiled at her friend. ‘It was a good surprise.’

‘But…’ Heidi said, poking a root vegetable crisp into her mouth and crunching it up.

‘No buts… apart from the ones on those napkins,’ Beth said, indicating the pile of serviettes featuring cartoon men pulling moonies. ‘You do remember it’s a divorce party not a hen party.’

‘And if we were in America, where they have occasion-wear for absolutely every life scenario, you could complain about my lack of due diligence but… Asid’s Party Store was all I had to work with and it could be worse, I could have bought the Grim Reaper funeral bunting.’

‘There’s funeral bunting?! That seems so wrong,’ Beth told her.

‘Doesn’t it? I mean there’s Tin-Star-style black comedy and there’s black comedy.’ Heidi smiled, passing Beth the bowl of snacks. ‘But… you’re looking good today.’

‘Meaning I’ve looked less-than-good prior to today?’ She touched her now slightly frizzy shoulder-length hair as if stroking it would revive any lost lustre. At the height of the break-up she had actually shed hair and worried she would be using caffeine shampoo forever. She’d tried a bit, not enjoyed the smell and decided to drink more coffee.

‘No… well… a bit. But we all have our off days, don’t we?’

‘Thanks, Heidi.’

‘I’m simply saying that today you look composed and together and ready for—’

‘Fresh starts and new beginnings?’ Beth answered on an out-breath. ‘You sound like Kendra. Someone who was confident that I would be leaving Mountbatten Global before my name has been changed on my driving licence.’

‘God! Aren’t you?!’ Heidi exclaimed, almost coughing out a beetroot chip. ‘I thought you had interviews lined up.’

‘I did,’ Beth replied. ‘I didn’t get any of the jobs.’

‘So you’ve given up?’ Heidi doffed her friend on the shoulder. ‘You can’t bear to leave me, can you?’ Heidi said. ‘Well, I want you to know that I will still come to your house with crappy movies and air-fried snacks. Anyway, you hate the job.’

‘I don’t hate the job.’ Did she? Did she hate what she did? Looking after investments and helping people with too much money make the most out of it. Yes, maybe it wasn’t raising funds for the Samaritans or helping to rescue a Thai boys’ football team from a cave, but it was a job… and a job that had paid her when she had needed it most.

‘And it’s not like you need the money,’ Heidi stated, grabbing another crisp. ‘I mean, you made sure of that when you signed the pre-nup, right?’

Beth smiled at her friend, wanting not to answer. She hadn’t been stupid going into her marriage. She had just seen no reason to sign up to anything. What was Charles’s was Charles’s. And she had nothing he could claim. Anyway, it was unromantic to make a marital union about paperwork and their marriage did need to be in some way romantic. Because, as much as Beth had wanted it to be, as much as she had told herself that it would be given time, it had been more about safety and security… and her mum.

‘Beth!’ Heidi exclaimed. ‘Please tell me you didn’t just let him walk away with everything.’

‘Not everything,’ Beth said quickly. ‘I keep the house he bought for my mum. You know, where I’m living now.’ It was perfectly comfortable. Who needed three bathrooms, a walk-in closet and lights that turned on by themselves anyway? Especially now, when the whole house was apparently filled with Kendra’s footwear…

‘Are you out of your mind? He’s a millionaire! And he cheated on you. And made you come in here every day and deal with that. And that awful, creepy, brainless bint.’

Putting it like that, she could see why Heidi might think she was mad. But for the five years she and Charles had been married he had cared for her, before his eyes – and other body parts – had wandered. What saddened Beth the most about the relationship’s demise was the fact that love hadn’t grown. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her mum’s need for a knight in shining armour, they might never have even made it to the altar. Charles had given her, and her mum, everything they needed just because he had the means and because he wanted Beth in his bedroom as well as his boardroom. And Beth had accepted that because her mum needed her to and because, well, it would be OK. She liked Charles. He made her laugh. It hadn’t only been about the financials. Also, there had been lots of internet articles prior to their big day suggesting that a marriage with its foundations based round a strong friendship did exceptionally well…

‘Money doesn’t make the world go round,’ Beth sighed. Except it had for the five years she had been Mrs Mountbatten. She had made her mum’s world continue a little longer with money, until even the private healthcare hadn’t been enough to save her.

‘No one ever said that, you know,’ Heidi answered. ‘No one.’

‘Come on, Heidi. I thought, with your values, you might be the one person who would understand why I wouldn’t take anything away from the marriage.’

‘Because I don’t eat trans-fats and I go to the gym?’

‘No, because…’

‘I’m gay?’

‘No! Because you believe in… equality and… stuff.’

‘Don’t you believe in equality and stuff?!’ Heidi exclaimed. ‘Because, from where this lesbian is sitting, believing in equality is the whole crux of this issue.’

‘Yes. I mean, no. Not in this case. I mean…’ Beth let her voice tail off. She didn’t know what she meant. She just needed a break. Some time to not think about the collapse of this relationship. A true period of being on her own. Being Beth Martin again. Whoever Beth Martin was now, after so many years, a wedding, a funeral and now, a divorce party.

‘Listen,’ Heidi said, a little bit softer. ‘I know you’ve had a rough time of it, but please don’t let him carry on taking you for a ride now. He had the affair. He did the dirty.’

‘Did he really though?’ Beth asked as the music turned emotional Christina Perry.

‘What do you mean by that?’

Was her untying-of-the-knot party the time and place to go into detail about the guilt she felt for her part in using Charles to make sure her mum’s last days were comfortable? Heidi knew the circumstances, of course, but Beth had also told Heidi that she had loved Charles. She could admit to herself now that she hadn’t loved Charles. She had hoped she would one day. She had obviously really liked him a lot and he hadn’t asked any more of her. So, in reality, the loss she was feeling now was more to do with pride. He had looked elsewhere for someone who did love him… or at least appeared to. And if she didn’t love him, who was Beth to feel any bitterness? He had just moved on, probably because of her apathy.

‘You know what we need,’ Heidi stated suddenly, putting the bowl of snacks down in between them.

‘More champagne?’ Beth suggested.

‘Definitely, yes, but that wasn’t what I was going to say.’ Heidi smiled then, a little like someone who was just about to push you hard down a death slide at a water park. ‘We need a holiday.’

‘Yes, that would be nice,’ Beth agreed. ‘But obviously impossible right now.’

‘Why impossible?’ Heidi asked, turning a little on the sofa.

‘Because I should still be looking for a new job.’

‘Um, I thought you just told me you weren’t leaving.’

‘I… don’t know.’ It was so annoying that Kendra’s words had unsettled her. She shouldn’t even be thinking about acting on anything said by someone who’d watched every episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians.

‘And that’s the perfect starting point for a holiday. A refresh button on your life. It’ll give you a chance to decide what to do. It’ll get us both out of this place for a couple of weeks.’

‘A couple of weeks! I can’t go away for a couple of weeks. I’ve got so much on here!’

‘Delegate,’ Heidi said, swooping up her glass of wine from the side table next to the sofa. ‘To Kendra. That bitch has your husband, you may as well give her the paperwork to go with it.’

The last holiday Beth had was with Charles, two years ago now, before he started going away ‘solo’. Sex Of Loose Origins was how Beth had thought of it. Still, their last trip to Bali had been a disaster. Charles had spent most of the time on the phone to clients, ranting and raving, while she tried to make the most of their plush suite with a swim-up pool overlooking palms, blue sky and white sand. Then the storm had hit. A storm that had lasted for days and turned the five-star couple’s resort into something that could take top-billing on a series entitled Holidays From Hell: Badder than Bad.

‘Somewhere hot,’ Heidi said immediately, eyes wandering to mid-distance. ‘The climate and the local women.’

‘How long is it since you’ve had a date now?’ Beth asked. A sensible change of subject, because she couldn’t go away no matter how nice it was to dream about.

‘Almost two months,’ Heidi breathed. ‘My lady parts basically think I’ve sold them for transplant.’

‘Two months isn’t that long.’

‘It is when you’ve decided to change the way you search for a partner and it doesn’t seem to be working,’ Heidi sighed. ‘I’m over all this meaningless, one-night crap. And I’m done with all these wannabe lesbians I’m starting to find on dating apps.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘I’m sorry, but shaving your head, fangirling over Brendon Urie and getting a tattoo of the Pride flag doesn’t make you gay. Who you love comes from within, in my book.’

‘And you’re too scared to get a tattoo.’

‘I knew you’d say that!’ Heidi exclaimed. ‘Here I am, pouring my heart out about fake lesbians and love and you bring it all down to my fear of needles.’

‘And now we definitely need another drink.’ Beth stood up to fetch the bottle of wine on the table across the room, still housing the leftover snacks and the divorce cake. Heidi grabbed her arm.

‘Come on, Beth, a holiday. Two little weeks for us both to rewind… and unwind.’

Just the thought of a little sun on her face, warming her skin, the surf on her toes, no demands on her life from work or her ex-husband-at-work or the future Mrs Kendra Mountbatten…

‘What seems to be occurring in here?’ Charles’s voice boomed from the doorway of the room.

‘Oh, Jesus!’ Heidi spilt forth, knocking the bowl of parsnip, sweet potato and beetroot snacks to the floor as she rapidly got to her feet.

‘No, not Jesus, Heidi, just me, your boss,’ Charles greeted, all smiles. ‘Is it someone’s birthday?’

‘It’s mine!’ Tilly announced quickly, backing up to the cake and shielding it from view. Beth saw her mouth the words ‘so sorry’.

‘We were just getting back to work,’ Dave said, edging towards the door, Mike following his lead, orange Wotsit crumbs staining both their sets of fingers.

‘Actually,’ Beth said, looking at Charles. ‘It’s a divorce party.’ It appeared that the early afternoon alcohol had given her some liquid courage. She stood close to her ex-husband, taking him in anew as she lay down the challenge. Six-foot-tall, on the skinny side of slim, handsome in a clean-cut way, with his blond hair, blue eyes and Scandinavian air…

‘I see,’ Charles answered, his eyes matching hers.

What was he going to say next? Was he going to pull rank and order everyone back to business? Or was the kind, caring, funny Charles, Beth thought she could fall in love with once upon a time, going to join them in toasting the end of their relationship? Perhaps she should pre-empt his decision…

‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ Beth strode towards the table, picked up a fresh glass and poured what was left in one of the bottles into it. It barely made the halfway mark, but she walked back over to him, holding it out like a Pinot-Grigio-style olive branch.

Charles observed the two inches of wine first, then his eyes met Beth’s. Was that regret she could see? A miniscule, but not unnoticeable tremble on his lips? Was this confident, captain of industry weakening in a room with his employees over a glass of warm white wine?

‘I would love to join you,’ Charles answered, very hesitantly, not at all self-assured. ‘But I re-scheduled an appointment for five o’clock from the airport.’ He seemed to take a stabilising breath, then, ‘Tilly,’ he called, ‘when you’ve taken the dick off your head could I see you in my office?’

And, just like that, the party was over.

Three

Foot braced on the seat of a Danish cow horn dining chair – the set had been a gift from Charles to her mother shipped from who-knew-where – Beth tugged at the band of platinum on her ring finger. It was time. She had given it the appropriate amount of mourning and now it was all about moving on. The printer-ink dry on the decree absolute, today’s divorce party: there was no going back now. The only way was up… and off.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the metal tightening round her finger joint. Why wasn’t it coming away from her skin? She had lubricated it with Fairy Liquid, having run her hands under cold water for ten minutes, but still it wouldn’t budge. It had never been this tight. Not since Charles had slipped it on at the country hotel, surrounded by her mother, their friends and a muster of peacocks.

Beth remembered the first time she had met Charles Mountbatten. She’d passed the initial interview stage at Mountbatten Global and was at the next phase where they put all the successful candidates in a boardroom together, fired a lot of information at them and then tested them in an intense business-meeting-style face-off. Beth had felt at the time that it was like being lined up in front of a firing squad who were poised to try and shoot you down with annuity facts.

Charles had walked into the room unannounced and asked the newbies a question. Beth had known immediately that this tall, lean, powerful-looking man was the CEO. In between looking up alternative therapies, and any other treatment that could benefit her mum, she had searched for Charles Mountbatten on Google. Beth had really, really wanted the job. She needed to be the one paying all the bills, relieving the stress from her mum so she could focus entirely on her recovery.

Everyone else in the room that day had seemed completely flustered by the question. There had been a lot of power-jacket-flapping and shifting in chairs and clearing of throats accompanying glazed eyes and uncomfortable half-smiles. But Beth had known the answer because she had read a 2007 interview where Charles had told the finance magazine his slightly off-beat technique for sorting the wheat from the chaff.

Beth had raised her hand in the air, trying to impart total confidence and none of the desperation she was feeling…

‘Yes,’ Charles had said, his eyes dropping to her chest, presumably to look at her name badge. ‘Beth Martin… what do you think is the first thing you should do in the morning to ensure great business success?’ He’d looked absolutely interested in what she was going to say to him, his vivid blue eyes encouraging.

‘Wake up,’ Beth had answered, knowingly. ‘If you don’t wake up, then you’re literally dead in the game.’

The woman sat to her left had snorted, as if Beth was the epitome of pathetic. There were a few other noises, underplayed but definitely there, but Beth had held the CEO’s eyes, knowing she had got the answer correct and just hoping it was enough.

‘Well, Beth Martin,’ Charles had said. ‘Welcome to Mountbatten Global.’

Now, Beth cried out loud in both pain and determination, leg tensing, fingers gripping, but still the wedding ring stayed put. Did jewellers still have the means to remove rings these days? She really didn’t want a visit to the hospital. She gave it one more tug, then her foot fell off the chair at exactly the same time the doorbell rang.

‘Greece,’ Heidi announced as she barrelled through the door, one arm laden down with what looked like brochures, the other spilling with snacks, fingers tightly coiled round a litre bottle of wine.

‘Like olive oil?’ Beth asked, catching a packet of falling Kettle Chips – the balsamic vinegar ones Heidi knew she could eat a whole packet of.

‘Olives… ouzo… octopus. I can almost taste it all.’

Beth followed her friend into the sitting room, a bit confused. ‘I’m not sure how an octopus is going to get my wedding ring off.’

‘What?’ Heidi exclaimed, dumping the wine and the bulging carrier bag on the coffee table and turning to face Beth.

‘The grease… to get this thing off my finger.’

‘You haven’t taken it off yet?!’ Heidi grabbed at Beth’s hand, holding it up and inspecting it like it was a potential heirloom on Dickinson’s Real Deal.

‘It isn’t that I haven’t tried,’ Beth answered as Heidi gave it a pluck. ‘It’s stuck.’

‘Joe Wicks’s workout DVD,’ Heidi announced, dropping Beth’s hand. ‘I think it was more from pressing the skip button on the remote control but there are some rings I still can’t wear because they’re looser than Lisa Riley’s old clothes.’ Heidi brandished the brochures at Beth. ‘Now, Greece – G-R-E-E-C-E – the homeland of bronzed gods and goddesses, turquoise seas, cloudless skies and sand so hot it takes all the bad skin off without the need for a pre-holiday foot spa.’

‘You’re still thinking about a holiday,’ Beth said, picking crisps from the bag and heading to the kitchen for snack bowls. There was more than the balsamic flavour, there were tortilla chips and bacon rashers… no sign of an air-dried vegetable anywhere. This was most unlike Healthy Living Heidi.

‘I need one! I’m craving one! Just thinking about it is making me smell Piz Buin!’ Heidi followed her, brochures wafting in the air.

‘And you should go,’ Beth answered, opening a cupboard door. ‘It’s just not the right time for me.’

‘Is this the woman fresh out of her divorce party talking or someone I don’t know wearing a Beth Mountbatten body-suit?’

‘Martin,’ Beth said quickly. ‘It’s back to Beth Martin now.’ She opened bags of crisps.

‘Sorry,’ Heidi breathed. ‘But, come on! Greece!’ She waved a TUI Summer Sun in Beth’s face, featuring azure sea, golden sand and a contented couple in vacation garb looking suitably smug and holding hands. ‘Remember Corfu?’

Ever since Heidi had mentioned Greece, Corfu was all Beth had been able to think about. Ten years had gone by since the best holiday she had ever had. It had been the real Greece, eating pittas stuffed with gyros, drinking ouzo shots with breakfast, dancing until dawn and no strings attached… how carefree she had been at twenty-one. Back then she had had dreams and a whole world waiting for her to launch herself into it.

Heidi answered her own question. ‘We were badass, weren’t we?’

‘You were badass. I was just moderately naughty.’

‘And when you think about everything we did; doesn’t it give you goose bumps?’ Heidi shivered as Beth offered her a bowl of supermarket own-brand Frazzles. Beth watched her friend intently, wanting to know if she was really going to eat the bacon-flavoured snacks. Heidi’s fingers dipped into the bowl…

‘You snogged a man on that holiday,’ Beth reminded.

‘God!’ Heidi exclaimed at full volume, fingers retracting from the bowl faster than Adele fans clicking to get concert tickets. ‘What are you doing offering me these?! They’re like a million grams of fat per bag!’

‘You bought them,’ Beth reminded.

‘For you!’

‘Oh, so it’s OK for me to clog up my heart with a million grams of fat.’

‘Well, I figured you were already halfway down that road.’

‘What? Now I’m thirty-one and divorced and destined to be visiting Cat’s Protection any day now? Is that what you mean?’

‘I never said that!’

‘You didn’t have to.’ Beth could actually feel her eyes tearing up. What was this – delayed shock at her single status? There had been many days when she had felt miserable and a little bit hopeless but now she just felt sad and… as though she were on a wobbly tightrope. What was she going to do? What did come next for her?

‘Fuck this,’ Heidi stated. ‘Give me the bacon snacks.’ She grabbed a handful of the maize shapes and shoved them into her mouth in one go. ‘That’s my punishment!’ Heidi said, speaking through her chewing, bits of rashers sticking to her teeth. ‘And my reminder, that kissing men is bad.’ She chewed some more, making a face that said she wasn’t really enjoying the experience. ‘I was at a crisis point. I don’t remember his name. Perhaps I should remember his name. What I do know is his flaccid tongue definitely helped tip me over the edge of my cliff of destiny.’

‘His name was Derek and he was from Pontefract,’ Beth said helpfully.

‘How do you remember that?’ Heidi asked, bacon bits still clinging to her lips.

‘He was the last man you ever got intimate with.’ Beth headed back to the living room, snack bowls in hand. ‘As your best friend it’s my duty to remember that for moments exactly like this.’

Heidi began pointing then, following Beth, one hand coddling the