Romantic Comedy Box Set (Helen Grey Series Books 1 & 2)

by Hodge, Sibel

  Atila hurriedly kissed Ayshe and me and then left.

  ‘What was all that about then?’ I said.

  Ayshe shrugged. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  ‘Right. So, second on the agenda. What are we going to do about Ferret Face?’ Charlie asked. ‘Are you still going to the festival to try and speak to the President? Or did you manage to finally tell the authorities yesterday?’

  Kalem relayed the previous evening’s events. ‘So, we’re no further forward. We have to try and speak to the President at the festival somehow.’

  ‘OK, well I’ll put my thinking cap on.’ Charlie mimed putting a cap on. ‘We need to do something to catch his attention; or cause a distraction, or something, so you can get close to him to have a chat.’ He tapped his lips.

  ‘Easier said than done.’ I frowned.

  ‘Hmm. What can we do?’ Charlie carried on tapping. ‘Ooh, I know! How about I distract his bodyguards by streaking?’

  I giggled.

  Charlie looked hurt. ‘I’ve done it before. I did it at Wimbledon once. I had security guards and a whole TV crew chasing me. They said on the news that I was the best streaker they’d ever had.’ He grinned, looking rather pleased with himself. ‘And the security guards were quite fit if I remember.’

  ‘Somehow, I don’t think that would work quite as well at an apricot festival,’ Kalem said.

  ‘What about if Helen streaked?’ Charlie added, trying to be helpful.

  ‘Maybe I’ll add that to my list of possibilities.’ I rolled my eyes at him. ‘What else can we do?’

  ‘Throw darts at him?’ Charlie said.

  I gave Charlie another eye roll.

  ‘Mmm. Take your point. Probably no darts here. We could throw olives instead? Or apricots.’ Charlie looked at me for approval.

  ‘Also a possibility, as long as we want to get arrested,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve been to these festivals before, when I was a kid. They have lots of stalls selling local produce, little cafes set up, and lots of entertainment. I’m sure we’ll be able to get some opportunity to speak to him.’ Kalem shrugged. ‘It’s worth a try. What have we got to lose?’

  Ayshe nodded. ‘Well, it’s the only thing I can think of at the moment.’

  ‘In the meantime, we could see if Osman recognizes the photo of Ferret Face,’ Kalem said. ‘If he’s local, Osman will know him. He knows everybody. And if he is local, maybe we could find him and try to do something to put him out of action if all else fails. That way he won’t actually be able to do anything at the opening night, anyway.’

  ‘What, like drug him?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘I don’t know. We’d need to come up with some sort of plan. Look, why don’t we all go and see Osman and have a think on the way. I’m sure we can come up with something between us,’ Kalem said.

  ‘OK. What about a possible replacement wedding dress? Did you find one?’ I asked Charlie.

  He pursed his lips. ‘Er…no. I went to all the wedding shops I could find. Only French Fancies available.’

  ‘Shit! What am I going to get married in? A bikini and flip-flops?’ I ran a hand through my hair.

  ‘You can wear my new cream strappy shoes. I brought the ones with the heart shaped diamantes on them that you liked.’ Ayshe squeezed my hand and gave me an encouraging smile. ‘I’m not up for wearing high heels anyway at the moment. I might topple over. No sister-in-law of mine can get married in flip-flops.’

  ‘And I’ll trawl round all the non-weddingy shops,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll look in all the women’s boutiques. If we can’t find an actual wedding dress, I’ll find the next best thing. I promise. I’m your wedding planner. I will not let you down.’ He sprang to his feet. ‘Come on. We can’t sit around here all day chatting.’

  ****

  ‘Merhaba,’ Osman greeted us Hello in Turkish, wearing a white vest, rolled up trousers, and wellies, as we pulled up outside his rustic farm on the outskirts of town. ‘How are you all?’ he said, then turned to Charlie. ‘And who is this lovely lady? I don’t remember meeting you when we dropped off Helen and Kalem at the hotel.’

  ‘This is my best man, Charlie,’ Kalem said. ‘You did meet him the other night.’

  Osman looked slightly confused. It was an easy mistake to make, since Charlie was wearing the pink kilt, a white top with a big pink heart on the front, and a pink sweatband on his forehead. I have to say that I wasn’t entirely sure that his red, leopard print flip-flops went with the outfit, but I’d seen him in a lot worse, so I supposed I had to be grateful for small mercies.

  ‘Where are Deniz and Yasmin?’ Osman asked.

  ‘They’ve got food poisoning,’ Ayshe said. ‘They’re confined to their room until they feel better.’

  ‘Deniz has food poisoning? I remember him eating all sorts when we were children. He never got ill.’ Osman smiled, reminiscing. ‘One time he ate a raw snake.’

  ‘I’ve eaten a few of those in my time.’ Charlie nodded, although I didn’t think they were quite talking about the same variety.

  ‘We must have Turkish coffee. Mother will want to read your coffee cup,’ Osman said to me as he started off up the dirt track to the simple, flat-roofed old Cypriot house with blue wooden shutters, archways, and hand-carved wooden doors.

  There was a lean-to over the front door, made with what looked like off-cuts of ancient wooden beams. Hundreds of potted plants lined the small terrace underneath.

  Under the shade of a tall eucalyptus tree at the rear of the house I could see large pens of goats and sheep, babbling away to each other in Shoat language.

  ‘How is Kuzu?’ I tried to spy her in one of the pens.

  ‘She’s very well. She can now find Kedi with no help.’

  ‘Who’s Kedi?’ I asked.

  ‘Our cat.’

  ‘And what does Kedi mean in Turkish?’ I asked.

  ‘Cat,’ Ayshe said.

  The house was basic and sparsely furnished with old wooden chairs and tables. The armchair that I’d seen on top of the car at the airport took centre stage in front of a huge, iron wood-burning stove in the kitchen-diner. It was spotlessly clean, though, but it looked like Osman wasn’t really into DIY.

  Kuzu came running towards us, wagging her woolly little tail.

  Charlie clapped his hands together. ‘I want one! She’s so cute.’

  Kuzu chewed on the bottom of my dress. I bent down to stroke her, scratching behind her ear, which she seemed to particularly enjoy.

  ‘She likes you.’ Osman grinned. ‘Maybe I’ll give her to you as a wedding present.’

  ‘Do you keep her in the house?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Yes. I hand-reared her after her mother died. She follows me everywhere.’ Osman petted her on the head.

  Osman’s mum appeared, grinning and pinching our cheeks. She set about making the coffee in a small pan on top of the burner, squawking in high-pitched and animated Turkish to us all.

  I thought I could make out her saying a sentence with the words “cucumber” and “toilet” in it, but I must’ve been mistaken because I couldn’t possibly imagine what she was talking about. Maybe Charlie would know.

  She handed us all small, ornate Turkish coffee cups, which must have been reserved especially for guests. I sipped on the strong coffee, feeling the caffeine rush zap through me like a bolt of adrenaline.

  Charlie downed his in one go, forgetting about the thick, pasty granules left at the bottom of the cup that weren’t for drinking.

  He coughed and spluttered loudly, tears streaming down his eyes.

  I slapped him on the back.

  Osman’s mum shook her head and said something to Ayshe.

  ‘She says there’s an ancient saying that the one who swallows the seed of the coffee will turn into a donkey.’ Ayshe laughed.

  ‘Which particular part of the anatomy will turn into a donkey?’ Charlie looked pretty excited at the prospect.

  Kalem pulled the camera out of my bag
and showed the digital picture of Ferret Face to Osman. ‘Do you recognize this man?’

  Osman stared at the picture. Frowned. Stared some more. Scratched his curly, long hair. ‘No. He’s not Turkish Cypriot,’ Osman said.

  ‘How do you know?’ I asked.

  ‘You can tell by his facial features. This is a small island, where most people are related to each other in one way or another. Practically everyone you meet will be a cousin of a cousin of a cousin.’ Osman pulled up a wooden chair. It creaked under his weight. ‘In the old days, people lived in small villages and didn’t go outside the village to look for a wife or husband. People intermarried with cousins. It’s easy to tell who is Cypriot and who isn’t.’ He pointed to the camera. ‘This man has tiny little eyes, like a mouse, and a pointed nose and chin. He looks like a ferret. No, this man isn’t Cypriot. He definitely looks foreign. Maybe Syrian or Israeli. Why do you want to know?’

  I debated about whether we should tell him. I quickly decided that maybe we should just spill the beans on what was going on. Maybe Osman could help us find him. Then I decided equally as quickly not to. What would a shepherd know about dealing with a crime of this magnitude? Probably not much more than us. And if we did tell him, then he’d tell Yasmin and Deniz that we were caught up in this whole scary thing. They would freak. And what if they had a stroke? Or a heart attack? Especially as they were ill. And they were getting on a bit now, too. The shock could kill them. Even I’d been having palpitations, so what could it do to them? Maybe it was psychological, but as soon as I thought that, I could feel my heartbeat jumping around.

  No, we absolutely, definitely, one-hundred-percent couldn’t tell him.

  I glanced at Kalem. He shook his head slightly at me, affirming what I thought.

  ‘Er…I thought he looked like someone I used to know,’ I said vaguely, hoping Osman wouldn’t think that was a strange explanation.

  Osman paused for a while, watchful, as if pondering my answer.

  I held my breath, wondering if he was going to question us further.

  Then Osman slapped Kalem on the back. ‘So, it’s the big day on Sunday. How are all the plans going?’

  I let out my breath and smiled. I didn’t know if he was suspicious or if he was just being too courteous to probe further.

  ‘Well, we still need to find a wedding dress. Helen’s case went missing, and we don’t know if we’ll get it back,’ Kalem said.

  Charlie jumped up. ‘I’m on it. Let me borrow the Land Rover, and I’ll go hunting.’

  Kalem’s mobile rang. He went outside to take the call. When he came back in, he looked pale.

  ‘Who was that?’ I asked him.

  ‘It was the University. My new boss wants to have a chat with me immediately. And he didn’t sound very happy. Charlie, can you drop me off at the University? I’ll quickly pop in and see my boss, and you can drop me back here before you go shopping.’

  ‘No problemo.’ Charlie waved to Osman and his mum. ‘Byeee.’

  ‘Is that OK with you?’ Kalem kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Osman’s mum asked Osman something as the boys left.

  He turned to me. ‘Yes, of course!’

  ‘What did she say?’ I asked, smiling at her.

  ‘She says that she still has her wedding dress, and you must wear it if yours has gone missing.’

  I swallowed back a lump that had suddenly appeared in my throat, and my smile evaporated into thin air.

  ‘I’ll go and get it.’ Osman disappeared.

  I didn’t want to be ungrateful or anything, but Osman’s mum looked like she was about a hundred years old. I couldn’t get married in some frumpy looking wedding dress that came up to my chin. All floppy and flappy down to the ground. Probably with moth holes in it, too.

  ‘No!’ I said, a little too quickly. ‘Really, it’s OK. I’m sure I’ll find something else.’ I beamed back at her.

  Ayshe translated it to her, then waited for the reply. ‘She says she can’t take no for an answer. It would make her really proud. She says you have to wear it.’

  Oh, my God! ‘Tell her I can’t possibly take it. Charlie will find me something else and there won’t be a problem.’ I was so desperate for her not to give it to me that the sentence came out like one long word.

  ‘She’ll think it’s really rude if you say no. She’ll get upset.’ Ayshe pulled a just-take-it-we’ll-think-of-something-later face.

  ‘Here it is.’ Osman came back in the room, carrying the dress folded up in tissue paper.

  ‘Er…thank you.’ I took the package, trying to sound like it was the best thing since Vera Wang’s wedding collection.

  I rested it on my knee, not daring to sneak a peek at it for fear my face might give me away. Maybe if I didn’t look at it Osman’s mum wouldn’t say anything else and just forget about it.

  Osman’s mum smiled a gappy-toothed smile at me, then said something else.

  ‘She wants you to open it,’ Ayshe translated.

  Bugger. Wishful thinking. With shaky hands I unwrapped the paper.

  Actually, I was wrong. It wasn’t a frumpy wedding dress. It was far worse.

  All eyes were on me as I took in the brownish-white stained dress with a hint of mildew and something else that I didn’t even want to think about. Sheep’s poo perhaps. Even a super strength dry cleaner couldn’t get that lot out. It had long sleeves, a high neck, and was about five sizes too big for me. I think it used to be made of lace and, believe it or not, maybe sheep’s wool. But now it was just, well, holey was the only word I could use. I fought the urge to scratch myself.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I croaked.

  Osman’s mum beamed back at me.

  ‘Good. That’s all settled then,’ Osman said to me. ‘Would you like to help me milk the sheep? They need milking now. Mother can read your Turkish coffee cup afterwards.’

  ‘Er…OK.’ How hard could it be? And when in Rome, as they say. In fact, it would be really sweet, milking a cute little Kuzu lookalike.

  ‘Good. Follow me.’ He strolled out the back door, wellies squeaking as he went.

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Ayshe said.

  Ayshe, Osman’s mum, and I followed Osman towards the pen. Ooh, the smell was a lot stronger here.

  Osman grabbed a well-used looking white bucket and handed it to me.

  Ayshe and Osman’s mum leaned over the pen, stroking the sheep.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ I asked, waving the bucket at him.

  ‘Collect the milk, of course.’ He grinned.

  ‘Right.’ I frowned and whispered to Ayshe, ‘Don’t they have one of those milking machines that clamp on their nipples?’

  ‘Would you want something clamped on your nipples?’ Ayshe whispered back.

  Well, when you put it like that, probably not.

  Osman waved his arm at the sheep. ‘As you can see, we do things in the old, traditional way here still.’

  ‘I see. And how do I milk them, exactly?’ I asked.

  Osman opened the large pen and herded a giant, hairy, dirty sheep into a small pen at the side. It went straight up to a trough of grains and munched away. He crouched down behind the sheep and held his hand out for the bucket.

  The poor thing’s swollen udders looked about to burst.

  He put both chubby hands round two teats and squeezed in a rhythmic motion from top to bottom. ‘OK, you just squeeze the teats like this.’

  The sheep didn’t look too bothered, though. It didn’t even seem to notice.

  Osman quickly filled a third of the bucket, then led the sheep back into the main pen. He returned with another one who trotted off to the food, taking the opportunity for a quick chowfest.

  Osman smiled at me. ‘Your turn.’ He handed me the bucket.

  I glanced behind at Ayshe and Osman’s mum, who were watching me with interest. Ayshe gave me an encouraging nod.

  I crouched down behind the sheep. Wh
oa! It was even smellier from this angle. And it had crusty bits round its backside. Why did I agree to this?

  ‘That’s it; put your hands round the teats,’ Osman said.

  I squeezed and squeezed like I’d seen Osman do, but nothing would come out. ‘I can’t do it.’

  ‘Keep trying, you’ll get the hang of it in a minute.’

  No, still nothing. The sheep looked up from her food, turned round in my direction, and I could have sworn she gave me a dirty look.

  ‘I’ll get another one.’ He led Grumpy Sheep back to the pen and returned with another.

  I clasped my hands round the teats again. This time I got a drip. Just the one, mind you.

  ‘I can’t do it. You make it look so easy.’ I carried on trying anyway until my hands hurt. I dreaded to think how her poor teats felt. My boobs started hurting in sympathy.

  ‘OK, try one more.’ Osman brought another one in.

  This one had a really big tail hanging down, encrusted in…well, you know. I scrunched up my face and turned it sideways, holding my breath as the smell was so overpowering. I lifted up the tail with one hand, feeling for its udders with the other. Where are they? I bet he wouldn’t let me finish until I’d found one, and the idea of milking sheep didn’t seem too appealing anymore. I carried on, my hands searching by touch. I wasn’t going to stick my head under there, that’s for sure.

  ‘Ah, found it!’ I grabbed its warm udder, trying to find the teat. ‘Huh? This sheep has only got one teat.’ I turned my head back around again.

  Osman and his mum howled with laughter behind me.

  ‘That’s because it’s a ram!’ Osman guffawed.

  ‘Urgh! I dropped its thingy and scrambled far out of sheep thingy squeezing distance.

  Ayshe had to shove her hand in her mouth to stop the laughter.

  Osman doubled over, clutching his stomach. Osman’s mum gave me a gappy-toothed cackle.

  ‘Oh, look, Helen, you made the ram smile!’ Ayshe giggled at me.

  Yes, playing practical jokes must definitely be a Cypriot thing.

  I held my dirty palms up in the air to him, giggling. ‘Come here, Osman, I want to give you a big hug.’

  He backed away and legged it out of the pen, back into the house. ‘No, no!’