Chapter 27
We arrive on deck to see the party atmosphere in full swing.
Everybody is either two-stepping as they sing along to ‘Red Red Wine’ on the decking area, or ironically, they are using the lyrics to request top-ups from their seats.
I can see Astrid, Tiffany and Shaun careering through the crowded dining area filling red wine glasses as they go.
I grab an apron, tie it around my waist and dash behind the bar.
‘Three margaritas, one Jiggy Jiggy and a Sex on the Love Ahoy!, please,’ yells Astrid as she flies past. ‘These Turkish policemen are really letting their hair down. Can you take a tray of shots over, please, Maddie?’
I glance around. She’s not wrong. The policemen are mingling amiably with the guests, and no one is looking remotely bothered that we are in the middle of a missing persons investigation or that I am the chief suspect or one of them.
As I’m busy fixing drinks, I notice the chessboard tucked away under the sink.
It instantly reminds me that I should be keeping an eye on Emir.
I cast my eye around and spot him sitting with his grandmother, whose eyes are drooping.
She clearly needs a nap. He looks distinctly bored, while his parents slow dance a few feet away, unable to keep their hands off one another.
I notice Mehmet chatting animatedly with a group of young women, so Emir’s options for company are limited.
I doubt Emir’s family will allow me near him, what with them thinking I pushed my supervisor off the boat, but it’s worth a try.
I make my way over, battling through a near-impenetrable ring of guests and policemen dancing with interlocked arms over each other’s shoulders, side-stepping in unison and dipping at the knees as they all bellow along in Turkish.
Under their watchful gaze, I manage to serve the drinks, swerving the tray in time with them, as they keep dancing, before heading to Emir.
‘Oh, thank God!’ yells his grandmother over the booming music. ‘You’re here. He’s talked of nothing else since you were carted away by the police.’
Slightly startled, I rebuff the accusation.
‘Firstly, I wasn’t carted away because I’m no longer the only prime suspect.
They are pointing the finger at Shaun. And secondly, it wasn’t the police, it was just the captain and…
’ I feel the blush coming long before it reaches my cheeks.
Honestly, what is wrong with me? ‘…and Jackson. The, erm, boss of LoveIt Holidays. And again, on behalf of the company, I’d like to apologise for any inconvenience—’
‘That’s good enough for me. Take him.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Take him. He’s missed you.’
Despite my worries, I manage to grin at the little boy. ‘And I’ve missed you, Emir. Do you fancy a game of chess while I work the bar?’
He’s already slid off his seat, coming round to take my hand and drag me away.
His grandmother slides along the bench and heaves up to her feet.
‘I’ll take a much-needed nap if you don’t mind.
Because I’m so old and frail, the police have ruled me out.
What a disgrace. I could bench press every last one of them. ’
Despite her protestations, Emir and I help her down the stairs before returning to the bar to see Jackson standing there, drumming his fingers on the bench and looking apprehensively around.
He and I studiously ignore each other as I settle Emir onto a high bar stool and dig around for the chessboard, placing the box in front of him to set up.
Emir is finding this new dynamic amusing, his little face flitting back and forth between us as I silently hold up a glass while Jackson gives an imperceptible nod of acknowledgement.
I diligently pour Jackson his favourite drink (not many men have the self-confidence to admit to preferring an Appletini Spritz over a pint of manly lager) and he silently accepts it.
I put a beer mat underneath to catch the drips while he nods his thanks all without a word spoken.
‘Can you play with us?’ Emir asks Jackson in his cutest I’m only a ickle boy voice. I see Jackson try not to visibly melt as he runs a hand through his hair. He looks to me for confirmation. I nod. If it’s what Emir wants, then who am I to argue? Our motto is always to keep the customers happy.
Emir claps his hands with delight and excitedly rips the top off the box while I serve Tiffany who has a drinks list as long as my leg. It’s a few minutes before I can pay Emir any attention.
‘Have you set all the pieces up, yet?’ I ask. ‘What? What’s wrong?’ Both Emir and Jackson have strange looks on their faces. Emir points to the chess box. I peer inside to see a bulging black leather pouch. ‘How did that get in there? Is it a wallet?’
Emir nods. ‘Yes. It has lots of money in it.’
‘How would you know?’ I say, already knowing the answer.
‘Because I took it.’
‘And hid it in this box?’
‘Yes. I am very clever. Only you and me look in this box. All these morons’ – he sweeps his arm around the vicinity – ‘don’t know how to play.’
How to respond? I have to admit, he may have learned these new words from me. I’m a terrible influence. My language under duress has been appalling.
I clear my throat. ‘I think what Emir is trying to say is that—’
Jackson interrupts, leaning over to grab the wallet. ‘No worries. It’s hardly the time for semantics. Emir, who did you take this from?’
Emir is quick to respond. ‘The mean man, of course.’
Jackson stops, his hand holding the wallet mid-air. ‘You took this from Garry Gee? The man who is missing?’
Emir nods firmly. ‘And his watch. And…’ He rummages in his pocket and pulls out a gold link chain. ‘This medal.’
We stare as he plonks it in front of us.
The medallion shows a crest and some foreign words that I don’t recognise.
Neither does Jackson. ‘Let’s look in the wallet,’ he says as we huddle together.
Emir looks about to burst, he’s so happy.
Probably because we haven’t scolded him or lectured him on the moral wrongdoings of stealing, but more because we’ve instinctively included him in the mystery solving.
‘I’m almost too nervous to look,’ I say, wiping my hands down my apron.
I watch Jackson’s fingers prise the wallet open and slide out a wad of notes.
‘Emir, can you count this please?’ Then he slides out several ID cards and places them out in front of us on the bench.
‘His driving licence. His Littlewoods discount loyalty card. His Mecca Bingo membership. His PADI diver’s licence.
Oh, this is interesting,’ Jackson says. ‘It’s a Greek ID card. ’
‘Look,’ I say, pointing at the PADI licence. ‘Why would a man who can’t swim be a qualified diver?’
Jackson strokes his stubbled chin as though he is starring in an advert for Gillette, the best a man can get (very attractive, very sensual). I can barely take my eyes off him – his chiselled jawline, his generous lips (not too much but just right for a soft landing) and his perfect nose…
Emir bats my arm. ‘Because he was lying,’ he pipes up. ‘I lie all the time. All the time,’ he boasts proudly.
‘The wet diving suit.’ I suddenly remember.
‘The black flipper on the island,’ Emir squeals.
‘They must be connected,’ I say to him while Jackson looks on, impressed.
‘And look at this,’ he says, holding up the driving licence. ‘Garry’s real name is Garribald Hensig Geopapadopolopoudos.’
Emir erupts into a fit of giggles and almost falls off the stool. Jackson catches him just in time. Emir is wheezing for breath. ‘Say it again. Again!’
Jackson, trying not to smirk (this is a potential murder investigation after all), repeats himself. ‘Garribald Hensig Geopapadopolopoudos.’ This time I can’t hold my giggles in either.
Soon, the three of us are rolling about laughing. It’s a much welcome release of tension even if it is entirely inappropriate and paradoxical amid such a serious situation.
‘Hensig!’ cries Emir and doubles over into peals of laughter.
‘Hensig? That’s what you find funny?’ Tears are streaming down my face. ‘Hensig? Not Geo-poppy-whatty-lis?’
Jackson is gasping for breath too, doubled over. ‘I haven’t laughed like this in forever. Geo-poppy-stroppy-floppy-lis.’
Maybe we have all developed a psychological disorder. I point to the licence, gasping for breath. ‘I think you’ll find it’s pronounced—’
‘Geo-papa-dopo-lopoudos. It’s a common Greek name.’ The captain reaches out to inspect the chain and medallion. ‘And this is a Greek military medal. Glad to see you’re all taking this investigation so seriously. Who does it belong to?’
We take a moment to dry our eyes and recover ourselves. ‘Garry.’
* * *
This new information has thrown a different light on proceedings.
Once the captain has liaised with the Turkish policemen (all completely shitfaced and relatively uncaring), they agree that something fishy is afoot.
They are now reconsidering my slight frame, my average height, my sad-looking eyes, my terrible nest of hair and quiet, chess-playing demeanour as a non-threat.
Suddenly, the sun begins setting, and the darkness brings with it a renewed appetite among the guests for more food, more drinks and an unassuageable thirst for more Now That’s What I Call Music.
As the party swirls on around us, after a third attempt at trying to win at chess, Jackson admits defeat. ‘You two make a great team.’
Emir emits a huge yawn that stretches across his entire face. ‘Maddie is my favourite person I am boss of.’
I’m about to correct him when he yawns again, his eyes drooping. ‘Okay, boss. Time for bed. We’ll solve this mystery in the morning.’
Jackson cradles him in his arms, and we take him down the guest staircase to his room.
I knock gently on the door, and his grandmother opens it.
She eyes the sleeping child and opens the door wide.
‘My daughter is upstairs partying as though she’s still a Club 18–30 rep.
This is where she and her husband first met.
Here on this very boat,’ she says, laughing.
‘But I’m far too old… I mean tired for all that partying.
I’ll stay snoozing in this armchair until they come down.
You two lovebirds get yourselves back upstairs for a break. ’
My eyes spring open, causing her to cackle as she closes the door on us. ‘Oh, but we’re not…’ I try to say.
‘I wasn’t born yesterday, honey.’
Jackson looks at me as we hang about in the corridor in awkward silence. ‘I guess we need to try a bit harder to stay away from each other.’
All I want to do at this present moment in time is stick my tongue down his throat. Luckily for me, thanks to this whole fiasco, I’ve developed a modicum of self-control. ‘Uh-huh. We need to keep things looking more professional.’
He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor. ‘Yup. Indeed. So, do you want me to walk you to your cabin?’
He’s very polite under pressure. ‘No thanks,’ I say. ‘There’s a shortcut through this door here. It leads straight into the staff area.’ I point to the door marked staff entrance in Turkish. ‘It’ll take me approximately four and a half seconds to reach my door.’
Jackson’s mouth twitches. ‘Very specific.’
‘I’ve timed it.’
‘Of course you have.’
‘I pay attention to detail.’
Jackson steps towards me. ‘I like that about you.’
I step backwards. ‘Well, I like that you’re honest. And not afraid to tell a girl that you’re no longer interested in her romantically because you don’t allow yourself to make emotional connections in the workplace.
’ He can’t have it both ways. Blowing hot and cold with the wind just because he thought I’d killed someone.
Jackson considers this for a moment and just as I’m wondering what sort of witty retort he’ll come back with (that I can also turn very much to my advantage), an almighty row breaks out behind the door.
Muffled voices speaking in Turkish and the clanging of pans.
Jackson and I glance warily at one another before I push on the door.
We peer through to see three of the policemen manhandling the tall skinny cook up the staff stairs.
The captain spots us spying and immediately scurries over.
He shows us Garry’s driving licence. ‘He has the same surname as the cook.’
I gasp. ‘So, what does that mean?’ I place my thumb and finger on either side of the bridge of my nose. My brain is beginning to hurt.
‘We don’t know but it is too much of a coincidence, so the police are taking him back to shore to question him there.’
‘But I thought they were waiting forty-eight hours before they officially took over?’ Jackson states.
The captain nods. ‘They are. They have taken him because he does not have any papers to work here in Turkey.’
‘But how did he get a job on board this gulet?’
The captain looks shamefaced. ‘Garry showed me all the paperwork. I trusted him. This is my fault.’
‘You weren’t the only one to be fooled by Garry’s shoddy paperwork,’ I say, clapping him on the back. ‘I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it soon.’ The loud roar of a speedboat starting up drowns out the end of my sentence.
‘Speaking of which, it’s probably time I made a move back to shore too,’ says Jackson.
‘Goodnight then,’ I say shyly. I’m gutted we are parting before we get a chance to explore this ridiculous policy of his for not getting emotionally attached.
‘Goodnight then,’ he says, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. With one last lingering look, Jackson turns to leave. ‘See you in the morning.’
My heart skips a beat while my stomach is filled with butterflies.
I. Am. Totally. And. Utterly. Besotted.