A Greek Affair

‘We had the conversation several years ago and she never refers to it. Rosie has accepted that her father isn’t coming back and she knows how much she’s loved by the people she does have around her. Her teacher says she’s one of the most well-adjusted kids she’s ever met. Checking that she isn’t having any problems is the first thing I ask at every parents’ evening I attend.’

‘That’s because she’s bubbly, like you. The glass is always half-full and if you both continue through life with that ethos, then you won’t come to any real harm. But the day will come when Rosie will want to spread her wings. What happens when it’s time to let go a little, as she wants to spend more and more time with her friends? It’s a natural progression. If an opportunity to find love comes along, Leah, don’t look in the other direction. Think about it, that’s all I’m saying.’

As we grab coats and don our shoes, it’s a quick hug all round before we head out.

‘Thanks, Mum. You are a star and thank Dad for being the taxi service, yet again.’

‘That’s what we’re here for, honey. And was that a yes to the sleepover?’

Rosie’s eyes light up.

‘A sleepover with Grandma and Granddad, tonight?’

I roll my eyes. ‘Guess it’s a yes, Mum,’ I mutter, as I steer Rosie out of the door. We’re already eight minutes late and it’s going to be impossible to get a parking space anywhere near the school. Oh well, I guess winning a prestigious award doesn’t make you that special, after all!

~

Sally and I are lying at opposite ends of the sofa, a glass of white Grenache in our hands as we toast each other.

‘I really was rooting for you, Sally. I feel awful because you are one of the blogging icons.’

She shakes her head, mid-sip.

‘I won it the very first year and just sporting that nominee badge again for the next twelve months will boost my income nicely. I’ve already had two very lucrative new clients jump on board since the announcement ten days ago. Besides, you and Rosie have taken it up a notch. I love her little feature, advising kids on what to pack and reviewing games, gadgets and items that will slot nicely into that case of hers. She’s become quite the intrepid little traveller since you began blogging.’

It’s true; we’ve been on over a dozen fully-paid trips abroad already, and five within the UK.

‘It was her idea, actually and although I do proofread her posts, it’s entirely her own work. We talk through what she wants to say but I don’t interfere, I simply steer. She loves the freebies and testing things out is fun. But last night came as a total shock and you’re right, the offers have already started to roll in. This could finally allow me to give up the freelance photography work.’

‘You are a deserving winner, Leah, and you should be proud of what you’ve achieved. If I was going to lose to anyone, I’m delighted that it’s you because it’s about time life gave you a break.’

I turn down the corners of my mouth in mock self-pity. ‘I agree. This abandoned mother, parenting her only child, is in dire need of a lucky break.’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘No, that came out all wrong and you know it. What I mean is that you must stop feeling guilty for walking away with the award, lady. And anyone who works as hard as you do, deserves to reap their rewards. You’ve paid your dues, it wasn’t a lucky break at all. Now this is your time to shine.’

It’s been seven long years, and although those years have been a nightmare, I kept pushing forward.

‘You’re right, of course. I’m tired and I have to head up to North Wales tomorrow to take some shots of a trout farm for a magazine feature.’

Sally gives me a sympathetic look.

‘But that’s a three-and-a-half-hour trip from the Forest of Dean. Up and back in a day?’

I nod. ‘Yep. The photos will probably only take an hour. I’ll drop Rosie off at school and head straight up there. Mum and Dad will collect her in the afternoon and wait here until I get back.’

‘I don’t know how you do it, Leah. Fingers crossed those advertising and sponsorship deals come in thick and fast. What’s the daily hit rate, now?’

‘It eclipsed fifteen thousand unique hits for the first time, yesterday.’

She looks me in the eye.

‘You need to put up your advertising rates in line with your new status as the winner of such a prestigious award.’

Cradling the glass in my hands, I admit that’s not something I’d considered. But Sally is right and that alone could make all the difference. And, yes, there is a little thrill that courses through my veins hearing someone else refer to me as a winner.

‘Anyway, what did you think of the outfit? I didn’t look too dressy, did I? Posh frocks aren’t really my thing.’

‘It was perfect – you looked the business. And that’s quite an ass … et you have going on there now, girl. It suits you; the gaunt look wasn’t really your style.’

I smile. We both agree on that score.

‘Yep. I finally fill out a dress from the front to the back, again. My problem now is that if I’m going to be sitting down in front of the laptop every day from here on in, how am I going to maintain it and not pile on the pounds?’

‘When you’ve cracked that one,’ Sally says, jiggling her growing jelly-belly, ‘let me know.’

A New Routine (#ulink_0796f57b-ae3b-5d82-8bcc-280682fd7d0f)

The problem with being the sole breadwinner is that you can’t afford to take any risks, whatsoever. There is no safety net. Running this little, two-bed stone cottage in the middle of the Forest of Dean is a modest enough outlay by a lot of people’s standards. However, I do appreciate the fact that we are still luckier than many, because I’m a survivor and Rosie is, too. We have learnt to live quite happily within our means. Yes, I’d love the big house with half an acre and two cars sitting on the drive. Who wouldn’t? But the cottage is pretty, and we’re surrounded by stunning views and forest walks.

To the front of the property is a road which leads on down to a cul-de-sac. We don’t get passing traffic, only neighbours coming and going. While our rear garden is small, it backs onto a swathe of forestry commission land. We have all the benefits of some beautiful, old trees with none of the worry of having to maintain them.

We don’t want for anything and I figure that teaching Rosie to live on a budget is a good discipline. It’s something that has become second nature to her and she’s used to making choices and accepting that she can’t simply ask and have.

I was holidaying in Italy when Antonio Castelli first crossed my path; his dark hair and wide smile was the first thing that attracted me to him. When I returned three months later to meet his parents, Guido and Zita, we had already fallen madly in love – the sort of madness that empties your head of everything else – and life became a waiting game. It was agony being parted and I lived for our evening chats via Skype and the constant stream of texts we exchanged daily. I slept with my phone under my pillow and I know Antonio did the same.

Then we had the agonising decision of where we would settle after the wedding. I felt awful for his family when, after careful consideration, we decided to make the UK our home. Mum and Dad were relieved, but knowing that Antonio’s family were so far away was a little cloud on our new horizon. And the paperwork to make it happen was the next nightmare on our journey.

Little did I know that less than three years later it would all be over, leaving me clutching little Rosie to ease the pain in my heart. But now that’s all firmly in the past and I’m extremely proud of my confident little nine-year-old, who is probably a little bit wiser than her years because of what we’ve been through. I was determined to conquer whatever obstacles life placed in front of us because nothing is going to rob us of the happiness we deserve.

I scan down the emails in my inbox and a smile breaks out on my face. One of the emails is a link to the press release issued by the Traveller Abroad publicity team and there it is – a photo, front and centre, the Caroline Blakely handing little old me the trophy.

When I rang the photographic agency to break the news that I was drastically cutting back on my hours, they were shocked, but for me it’s a step forward. Next on the to-do list is a total re-design of the website, taking out anything related to my photographic work. Then I need to maximise advertising space, add a rolling banner so that I can accommodate a number of premium rate advertisers instead of just the one, and review my schedule of charges.

I reach out for my coffee mug, only to find it empty.

‘Now that’s another thing you need to tackle, Leah,’ I admonish myself.

If I’m going to be sitting here working very long days, and nights, in order to develop The Sun Seeker’s Guide to a Happy Holiday into one of the best blogs out there, I need to stop comfort eating. It’s a habit I’ve developed to get me through those long evenings with only the glow of the computer screen to keep me company. I’m the first to admit that I often find myself reaching out for a biscuit, or four, and after a string of cups of very strong coffee I tell myself it’s wine o’clock. Okay, so I only have the one glass but it’s a large one, as I convince myself I deserve a reward for working such long hours.

All that stops now – no cheating. Also, no biscuits, or cake, or chocolate. One coffee to get me going in the morning and then I’m on the water and herbal teas.

A wicked grin creeps over my face. But think of the upside! No more dashing around the house before breakfast getting suited and booted, spending half an hour on hair and make-up. I can throw on a jumper over my PJs and leave early enough to get that prized parking space right next to the school gates. The only space nestled between the end of the zig-zag lines and the start of the double yellows. The one everyone covets so they can watch their little darlings walk the three strides up to the member of staff on duty who ushers them inside.

I glance across at the sparkly crystal award sitting in pride of place in the middle of the bookshelf. Sally was right: I deserve this and I’m going to make it work.

~

‘Mum, are you really going to be around all the time now?’