Chapter 1
It was going to be extremely hot in Greece, and she’d need enough clothes for three whole months.
Grace Foreman went to bite the price tag off a floaty pink dress, before remembering her recent dental work and the five hundred pounds she’d had to pay for the crown now sitting atop one of her back molars.
A quick ferret in her makeup bag produced some nail scissors and she snipped off the tag without looking at it too closely. The items she’d chosen weren’t expensive; it was all high street stuff, and in any case there was no one around to pass comment on what she’d bought. Phil had never questioned how much she spent on clothes when he was alive, which had been one of his many good points.
Behind her, the bed was covered with her purchases, the blue and white stripes of the duvet cover barely visible. Free accommodation was provided with the job she’d scored for herself at the language school on a little-known Greek island. But she had no idea about the washing facilities, or whether launderettes were even a thing there, so she’d need to cover all options. Or that’s what she told herself.
She’d only gone for the job on the spur of the moment and had been surprised to even get an interview. Surely there couldn’t be many other sixty-one-year-olds applying. That was borne out when she arrived at the company’s London office to find herself in the middle of a sea of twentysomethings.
Confident that her experience, forty years as a teacher and tutor, couldn’t be bettered, Grace had held her head high as she entered the interview room. She prided herself on being able to read people, and she’d been convinced that the initial reaction of the glamorous language school owner, Mrs Kokkinakis, to her had been relief, which was odd.
But the woman with the sad eyes had rung that same afternoon to say she’d got the job, so she wasn’t going to waste any time worrying about it.
Salaries were lower in Greece, but the money wasn’t such a big issue as she had her teaching pension to top things up. It was more important that she stopped herself going mad with boredom. The last thing she’d ever admit to in public was being lonely. She had friends, of course she did. Her days were filled with tutoring, the occasional lunch and plenty of walking and swimming. It was the evenings that killed her. Sitting alone in her Thameside cottage with an empty place at her side. She was so familiar with the output of the many TV streaming services that she could have been a critic.
Grace stared down at the bed. She’d possibly overdone it a little on the jewel-coloured shorts in blues, pinks and yellows, the leopard-print dresses in pastel tones, and the vests in every colour of the rainbow.
Strappy gold sandals and good old white pumps were also in the mix, and Grace turned to look at herself in the mirror one last time before she packed. She’d always been told she had good legs, hence the number of pairs of shorts.
She sucked in her stomach and pulled her top tight. Two pregnancies and two very big babies hadn’t helped her stomach, or her stretch marks, but they were marks of love, or that’s what she’d read in a soppy pregnancy book someone had given her many years ago. She’d bought a couple of tummy control swimsuits in navy and red to help things along, but at the last minute had thrown a leopard-print and a gold bikini into her basket. Bikinis hadn’t featured in her swimwear for a while, but you never know was her new motto.
The hairdresser had been able to fit her in at short notice, and her blonde hair was newly highlighted, which covered most of the grey. As usual, the hairdresser had suggested she had her hair cut, especially as she’d be in Greece at the hottest time of the year, but Grace was determined to keep it long. Shoulder-length bob be damned! She could always tie it up. If it was good enough for Jerry Hall, it was good enough for her.
Her younger daughter was due to arrive any moment, so she needed to get a move on and stop parading herself in front of the mirror, as her old dad would have said. She tipped a imaginary hat to her father and got down on her knees to feel under the bed for the suitcase.
Her hand grasped the edge of the fabric, and she tugged hard, but it seemed stuck on something. Lying flat on the floor, Grace edged under the bed on her stomach, the fronds of her beloved pink sheepskin rug tickling her nose. The murky world underneath the bed was a revelation. There wasn’t much light in the room at the best of times. It was north-facing, and she’d deliberately made it dark and womblike when she’d redecorated last year. The line of dust began where the boundary of how far she could get the vacuum cleaner under the wooden frame stopped.
A small collection of tissues, hairbands and a cheap pair of reading glasses rode above the dust like the curls of a wave. She’d never been what her mother would have called ‘a good housekeeper’, and she’d never wanted to be. Vaguely tidy and hygienic was more her style. Grace smiled, remembering her mother’s wince each time she’d entered the kitchen and he soft voice saying, ‘Do you mind if I give that oven a clean?’ No, she most certainly had not. Both her parents were long gone, but not forgotten.
The bulky suitcase rose up from the oatmeal sisal carpet – in fashion at the time, but a nightmare to clean, especially if you had an ancient rescue cat who had trouble keeping his food down. She missed Clooney, but not his tendency to vomit regularly in his final days.
Grace stretched out her arm to grab the handle. As she pulled the case out from under the bed, she saw something small and dark that it had been snagged on, which lay just out of reach.
She took a deep breath and dived in, grabbed the offending item and held it up to the light.
It was a sock, a navy-blue sock with a Father Christmas motif on the ankle. Phil’s sock, part of a pair he’d been given for his last Christmas, just a few months before his death There certainly hadn’t been any other men in her bedroom in the past three and a half years. Grace held it to her face and sniffed. Nothing, except a vague musty tang. No trace of Phil.
She sank to the floor, still clasping the sock.
Why were her hands suddenly wet?
Silent tears had crept up on her and the overflow was threatening to run all the way down to her elbows.
‘Mum? Mum, where are you?’
Flo’s voice floated up the stairs and Grace stood up carefully.
‘Coming!’
Her voice sounded shaky, even to herself, but she couldn’t let her daughter find her slumped on the carpet crying over a sock.
Flo and her wife, Jilly, were waiting in the kitchen, their own brightly coloured backpacks at their feet. Her daughter flew into her arms.
‘It’s so lovely to see you, Mum.’
She held Grace at arm’s length and narrowed her eyes.
‘Are you OK? You look like you’ve been crying.’
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, thought Grace. It was a bit early for the whole role reversal thing, where the children started being the responsible ones. She shook herself to get rid of the image of the sock lying alone and unloved under the bed.
‘Don’t be silly. It’s just a bit of hay fever. We’re into June now and you know how I am. Give me a proper hug. And you, Jilly.’
Grace pulled both women in, but not before she’d seen the look of concern pass between them.
‘Sit down. Can I make you both a cup of tea?’
Her daughter’s suspicious eyes were something to be avoided at all costs.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘Yes. Earl Grey or builder’s?’
‘Builder’s, please,’ both women answered at once.
Bustling with the tea things gave Grace a chance to recover. She was really grateful to them for coming to stay while she was away, keeping an eye on the house. As lecturers at a prestigious northern university, they had a big block of time off over the summer, and when Grace rang to suggest a change of scene, her daughter had insisted they were thrilled with it.
‘We’d love to look after the cottage, Mum. College life can be so claustrophobic, bumping into the same people all the time. And you know how much Jilly likes to kayak. We can spend our days on the water.’
‘If you’re sure…’
‘What you’re doing is so exciting, spending the summer in Greece on a crazy whim. You, who never goes anywhere.’
It wasn’t that crazy, and she did get out occasionally, but she’d let it pass.
Grace put the tea things on the table, with a plate of cheese scones from the local bakery.
‘Tuck in. They’re your favourite.’
Her daughter’s face creased into a smile, blonde hair flying everywhere, and Grace noted the answering smile on her daughter-in-law’s face, dark cropped hair framing he beautiful angular features. These two would make anyone smile. Their love was so obvious that Grace wanted to reach out and touch it.
Would she ever feel even a tiny percentage of that sort of love again? Did she even want someone new in her life? Someone who might become ill and die? Grace blocked out a vision of her husband lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by tubes. She honestly didn’t know the answer to her own questions.
It hadn’t been plain sailing for her younger daughter to find happiness. A string of unsatisfactory relationships with men had finally led Flo to see who was patiently waiting right under her nose. Jilly had played the long game and won her princess. Some of Grace’s elderly relatives had been a bit funny about Flo and Jilly’s relationship, and they’d been erased from Grace’s contact list. She was just happy her daughter was happy. And at least Phil had lived to see it.
While Flo and Jilly went out on the river for a quick kaya now the rain had eased up, Grace took the opportunity to finally pack and change the sheets on her bed for her guests. The festive sock was carefully wrapped in a handkerchief and stored away in the back of a drawer.
Dinner was to be a Thai takeaway for the three of them, and once she’d put in the order, Grace placed her iPad in the middle of the table and called the others down.
‘Let’s see if your sister’s up before our food arrives. I know it’s late, but she’s such a night owl, I’m sure she’ll still be awake.’
Grace crossed her fingers under the table.
Lottie answered after just one ring, wide awake and sitting at her kitchen island in tiny white silk shorts pyjamas, her dark hair and eyes so like Phil’s it always gave Grace a jolt.
‘Mum! Sis! And Jilly! What a treat.’
A flurry of waving and air kisses gave Grace the chance to put on her breezy not-bothered-that-you-live nine-thousand-miles-away-and-I-never-see-you smile.
‘Are you all ready for your Greek adventure then, Mum? Got the thong bikinis and the condoms packed?’
‘Of course, sweetie. It’s all that’s in my suitcase.’
Grace wanted to reach in, grab her eldest daughter and pull her through the screen. She’d been gone for five years now, living in Perth, Australia, with a much younger blond diving instructor who’d swept her off her feet and persuaded her to return with him to his home city. They now ran a diving school together. Grace had got nothing against Brad personally, but the absence of her daughter from her life hurt so much more than she’d ever let on to anyone, except maybe her best friend, Sofia, and only after a vat of dry white wine.
If she’d lived abroad at that age, all her parents would have got was the occasional letter or a rushed call from a payphone, so she was lucky to be able to see and hear her daughter whenever she liked. Touch and smell she would have to do without. There was a bottle of her daughter’s distinctive scent she’d left behind in the cottage, which Grace occasionally sprayed in the air when no one was about.
‘What’s the score with the language school? Do you get plenty of time off? Are there lots of cool bars on your island? When Brad and I visited Ios you couldn’t move for bars, and Australians.’
Grace stopped trying to count the new freckles on her daughter’s nose.
‘As far as I can make out, it’s nothing like that. There are tourists on my island, of course, but plenty of them are Greeks. There’s a thriving year-round community, and I think Australians are few and far between, thank goodness.’
Grace quickly rowed back as Lottie’s boyfriend loomed behind her daughter, put his arms over her shoulders and kissed her on the top of the head.
‘No offence, Brad.’
‘None taken, Mrs F.’
‘Call me Grace, please.’
Grace paused as her daughter angled her head back so Brad could move in for a full-on snog.
Flo put her hands over her eyes.
‘Yuk. Make them stop, Mum!’
Everywhere she looked, the whole world seemed to be part of a couple, two people exchanging glances and more. She’d stopped accepting invites to dinner parties for that very reason. And if anyone said anything along the lines of ‘John lost his wife last year. I know you’ll have lots in common,’ she could cheerfully strangle them.
Her married friends were obsessed with getting her coupled up again, but if she did accept an invitation as a solo guest, some of the women gave her a wide berth and acted as if she was desperate to cop off with their husbands.
The behaviour of the men who’d sidled up to her and made it clear that they’d be up for playing away from home was a shock as well. Thankfully none of her close friends’ husbands, but she’d stopped going to the village greengrocer’s after a rather too enthusiastic demonstration by the owner of how fresh his bananas were and plenty of winking, while his wife served a line of customers. Married men were definitely not her bag.
‘Mum! Hello? You were saying?’
‘Sorry, miles away. It’s not a party place. It’s a working island in the Cyclades with a lovely main town lined with marble streets. Anyway, I’m going to be grafting too hard to hang about in bars.’
Lottie blew her a kiss.
‘You say that now. We’ve seen you in party animal mode, remember. Two wines and you’ll be up on the table.’
Grace pursed her lips.
‘But seriously, Mum, we want you to enjoy yourself as well. Ever since Dad…’
Grace grabbed for Flo and Jilly’s hands as Lottie reached for Brad’s.
‘Died, you’ve been like a hermit. It’s time to get out there again. You’re a good-looking woman with plenty of life left in you.’
‘Thank you, Oprah.’ But Grace smiled to take the sting out of her words. ‘I’m not looking for a man in Greece, sweetheart. Believe me, that’s the last thing on my mind. Anyway, from the website it looks like the people I’m going to be working with are in their thirties at the most. I’m the oldest by a mile.’
Grace could see her daughter about to speak, and she wagged her finger at the screen.
‘And before you say it, madam, I am absolutely not in the market for a toy boy.’
‘Don’t rule it out. It works for some of us.’
Lottie’s adoring look at Brad had her sister miming sticking her fingers down her throat.
A ring on the doorbell was the sign Grace needed to shut down this particular conversation.
‘Right, there’s our takeaway. I’ll ring when I’m settled. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
With the food despatched, Grace’s eyelids began to droop. She decided to leave Flo and Jilly to it.
‘Remember, we’ve got to leave at eight in the morning.’
Grace opened her eyes again in time to see Flo raise her eyebrows at Jilly.
‘Yeah, we know. We’re driving you. We’ve got it covered.’
Both women toasted her with the last of the sauvignon blanc, and her daughter stood on tiptoe to kiss her goodnight.
‘Don’t fret, Mother. You’ll be leaving these grey skies far behind and basking in Greek sunshine this time tomorrow.’
To find out what happens next in Still Got It, you can purchase the book here, in paperback or eBook format.
Still Got It: ©️ Claire Carver 2025
