Game of Scones by Samantha Tonge Page A

open the front door, stepping onto the concrete path. ‘Say nothing to no one!’
    ‘Same to you about my wedding!’ I hissed and slammed the door.

Chapter Nine
    Something old? My gold dress watch.
    New? Bought for the holiday, satin underwear.
    Borrowed? Mum left her drop pearl earrings in the villa.
    Something blue? My favourite eyeshadow.
    Going through practicalities in my head, I kneaded the scone dough on the kitchen unit, having already mixed the edible gold glitter into the fresh strawberry conserve I’d bought from the Dellis’. I would assemble the scones last thing, before travelling to Taxos town hall for the wedding ceremony. I yawned. It was Friday and I’d got up early to prepare for the Big Day. It was nothing, absolutely zilch, nada, to do with keeping busy – keeping any doubtful thoughts at bay. No… I simply owed it to Henrik to make sure everything would run like clockwork. And I only had a few hours to myself before he whisked me off on my special outing.
    At just after half past seven, I’d sat on the patio with a cup of rich coffee, watching the sun rise to the chorus of dawn birds. Streaks of Turkish delight pink ushered in the bright orange circle, as it rose, turning mysterious shadows into familiar friends. In practical mode, I’d tried to imagine the dress Henrik must have chosen. Maybe Mum had offered her opinion. I’d resisted ringing in case she accidentally let slip to Henrik that I knew.
    A quick casual wedding for their daughter would suit my parents. It would fit with their overloaded schedule. Indeed they’d got married one lunch time, in a registry office, with two marketing canvassers, off the street, as witnesses.
    I smiled at what my best friend Trudy would think, to a surprise wedding. She’d got married last year and planned everything herself, down to the colour of the evening buffet napkins. Knowing she’d appreciate it, I’d even surprised her with personalised napkin rings for the top table. Whereas I – with my previous minimalist ideas when thinking about the possibility of marrying Henrik – had never been interested in thinking about details such as bridesmaids’ shoes or buttonholes for guests. I didn’t feel that need for control, which was because I am an extremely laidback person, no doubt.
    I kneaded the dough harder. It had no link to the fact that I didn’t feel as passionately about my marriage to Henrik as I should. There. I’d said it (in my head at least). This whole wedding business did seem rather matter-of-fact. Was that okay? Shouldn’t I feel more excited or be upset that my friends from England wouldn’t get an invite? I picked up the rolling pin. Grand affairs with doves and calico teal marquee tents were only for my romance novels, right? Whereas as Henrik and I were a pragmatic, unsentimental couple. This must explain why there were no flutters of anticipation in my stomach.
    Since his meeting with Stavros on Tuesday, we’d played the perfect holidaymakers by eating out, visiting places of interest and lounging on the beach. Henrik dropped no clues about the weekend ahead and I had to admire his cool. Fortunately Niko kept away. I didn’t even see him yesterday when I went into Taxos to take Grandma a batch of her favourite honey and dried fig scones. The apricot and chocolate ones had already gone.
    ‘You need building up, Grandma,’ I’d said and breathed in her grape-like smelling perfume. ‘Although you look really well today…’ It was great to see her out of bed, cross-stitching in a chair.
    ‘Happy to oblige, my little peach.’ She took the plate that I’d carried upstairs. As she bit into the scone, I sat on her bed. ‘Mmm… So, you have fun on your holiday?’ she said, between mouthfuls. ‘See much of Niko and Leila?’
    Fortunately for her irritating grandson, I agreed that shedding doubts on Leila’s intentions would only hurt Iris, so I just waffled about me and Henrik being busy, then mentioned our visit,