by Hodge, Sibel
She patted my arm. ‘No, you’re right, of course, he wouldn’t be having an affair. My brain has just turned to pregnant mush, thinking all these stupid things. Just forget I said that.’
‘Forgotten.’ I smiled at her. ‘Charlie, are you still willing to go to the Plaza and try and find Ferret Face until we get back from sorting out the container?’
‘Absolutely. I always wanted to be a private dick!’
‘If you find him, just keep an eye on him and ring me. This is what he looks like.’ I handed him my camera with the picture of Ferret Face safely stored on it. ‘OK, let’s go and see Yasmin and Deniz.’
****
When we arrived at their door, there was another note addressed to the maid. Kalem snatched it up.
‘Oh God, I dread to think what is says.’ I rolled my eyes.
Kalem read it out loud. ‘“Dear Maid, please don’t leave the cheese and pickle condoms anymore, they leave an unpleasant after taste. The spicy ones are a little too spicy. Are they vindaloo, by any chance? Do you have any korma to madras spiciness varieties? If so, please leave ten. If not, I will make do with ten mild ones, but only under duress.”’ Kalem’s eyes nearly popped out. ‘What the hell are they doing? They’ll kill themselves.’ He banged on the door.
Yasmin opened it, looking terrible. The air conditioning was set to the highest temperature possible – sun-baked desert. Deniz had the covers pulled up to his chin with his nose buried in Cosmopolitan.
Yasmin climbed back into bed like it was a huge effort.
‘God, it’s boiling in here.’ I wafted a hand around in front of me to fan the air.
‘I’m freezing.’ Yasmin shivered, her teeth chattering.
‘Me too.’ Deniz peered over the magazine at us. ‘Have you brought me any condoms? I’ve got through eight packets from the mini-bar now.’
‘I don’t think you’re in any fit state to be thinking about condoms,’ I chided. ‘You need to conserve all your energy for getting well.’
‘I told you – he’s obsessed.’ Yasmin tutted. ‘He thinks the maid fancies him now.
‘She does!’ Deniz put the Cosmopolitan down.
‘She’s about seventeen. Why would she fancy a seventy-year-old, wrinkly little man?’ Yasmin snorted at him.
Deniz ignored her. ‘She wants me.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I can tell when a woman wants me.’
‘Have you seen the maid?’ I asked. ‘I didn’t think they’d come in if you had a Do not disturb sign on the door.’
‘Of course he hasn’t seen her. He keeps writing her notes about the mini-bar, though, and leaving them outside.’ Yasmin sighed.
‘The maid thinks I’m virile,’ Deniz said.
‘Oh, no, I feel sick again,’ Yasmin said.
So did I, just thinking about it.
‘How are you both, then? Any better?’ Kalem asked, trying to change the subject.
‘Worse.’ Deniz said.
Yasmin rested her palm on her forehead. ‘And my back’s killing me.’
I wasn’t surprised if he’d put away eight packets of condoms.
‘Still, at least Mr Seventy-year-old wrinkly man is keeping himself busy with magazines and not annoying me too much.’
Deniz looked at the magazine, shaking his head to himself. ‘It’s fascinating the things in here. Fascinating. Did you know that there was so much choice with a fu fu?’
Kalem and I all looked at each other, horrified about where this was all going to end up.
‘What’s a fu fu?’ Yasmin said.
‘You know – a woman’s lady garden.’ Deniz pointed to the magazine. ‘You can have the Playboy Strip, the Landing Strip, the Moustache – that one doesn’t sound very nice – the Triangle, the Brazilian, the Arrow. Wait until I get on to the next article: The Secret Diary of a Talking Penis (Age 35).
****
Kalem stood in the centre of Deniz and Yasmin’s bungalow, head tilted, wondering where to put our container full of stuff. ‘I’m going to move the furniture around so we’ve got room for all the boxes and extra furniture when it gets here.’
‘Do you want a hand?’ I asked.
‘No, you and Ayshe spend some time together and relax. It hasn’t exactly been the ideal pre-wedding couple of days we had in mind, and there’s not much else you can do until the container gets here anyway.’
‘That sounds good to me.’ I grabbed a couple of cushions for the sunbeds, and Ayshe and I positioned ourselves on the terrace for maximum tanning exposure.
‘What a crazy couple of days,’ Ayshe sighed.
‘You’re telling me.’ I tilted my face to the sun and closed my eyes. ‘Crazy and scary. This is more like it, though. I could get used to this. God, I hope Charlie manages to find Ferret Face.’
‘And what about the wedding dress? Has Charlie found a replacement?’
‘No,’ I groaned and opened my eyes. ‘I don’t want a replacement. I want my one.’
‘Of course!’ Ayshe slapped her head. ‘It’s got your nan’s charm sewn into it. Oh no! Helen, I forgot.’
‘I know. I have to have that charm at my wedding. Apart from the fact that it will feel like some part of Nan is there with me, I’ve got this horrible feeling that if I don’t get it back, our wedding will be doomed to bad luck from the start. Everything isn’t going particularly well now, and we haven’t even got married yet.’
She reached over and squeezed my hand. ‘I’m sure everything will work out OK.’
But I wasn’t so sure. ‘And if I don’t get it back, how can I get married in Osman’s mum’s dress? It’s hideous.’
‘I know, but she’ll be offended if you don’t wear it.’
‘I’ll just have to think up some excuse. I don’t want to offend her, but it’s the most important day of my life. I wanted it to be perfect,’ I groaned.
‘Have you got any dresses in the container that you could use as a wedding dress?’
I thought about my vast shopaholic wardrobe. ‘OK, maybe there is something I could probably wear, but that isn’t the point. I want my perfect dress.’ I flapped a hand in the air. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to think about this for five minutes. I’m sick of thinking about gun-wielding maniacs and yucky statues. Say something to take my mind off it.’
Ayshe sank back in the cushions. ‘OK. Barack Obama, David Cameron, and Nelson Mandela. Who would you marry, sleep with, or throw off a cliff?’
‘Ooh, that’s an easy one. I’d marry Nelson, sleep with Barack, and throw David off a cliff.’ I giggled. ‘Your turn. Superman, Batman, and Spiderman.’
‘No! It has to be real people.’
‘Who says so?’ I laughed.
‘Oh, OK, then. Superman’s got a dodgy haircut and a bit of a Kryptonite issue, Batman looks sexy in black rubber, and Spiderman’s quite agile. Hmm. I’d marry Batman, sleep with Spiderman, and throw Superman off a cliff.’ Ayshe giggled. ‘Right, let me think of a hard one.’ She tapped her lips. ‘I know. George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Antonio Banderas.’
‘That is hard. I want to marry all of them. Well, wouldn’t mind sleeping with all of them either, actually.’
‘No you have to choose,’ she said.
‘I’d marry Antonio, sleep with Brad, and throw George off the cliff.’
‘How could you throw George off a cliff?’ She cackled.
‘You made me!’
‘Container’s here,’ Kalem shouted from the house, interrupting our howls of laughter.
I got up. ‘You and Bump stay here and chill out while we get everything sorted.’ I wandered into the house and looked out of the lounge window.
A huge lorry with our twenty-foot container on the back had pulled up outside. Behind it, a Customs and Excise vehicle parked. A short guy got out, followed by a taller one, who looked a bit like Julio Iglesias.
‘OK, so what’s the procedure?’ I asked Kalem.
‘We’ll unload all the stuff, and the customs men might ask us to open up a few bo
xes and make sure the contents are the same as what is listed on the inventory we provided. Simple. As long as you don’t do anything strange.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Me? Strange?’
‘Yes. Probably best if you just let me do the talking.’ He wandered towards the front door.
‘Fine. I just hope they don’t ask to look in the box with my Rabbit in it.’
He stopped suddenly and swung around to face me. ‘Didn’t you pack it in your case?’
‘No, was I supposed to?’
‘I thought you knew they might look in some of the boxes!’
‘Well, it’s a good job I didn’t pack it in my case, isn’t it? Otherwise Ferret Face might have got it instead.’ I shivered at the thought. ‘Urgh! Imagine that.’
‘Oh, God. What else have you got in those boxes?’ Kalem gave me a worried look.
‘Nothing. Apart from our personal stuff and the usual household items.’
‘You’re sure?’
I suddenly remembered something else. ‘Oh, and twenty-eight packets of custard cream biscuits.’
‘You’re not supposed to bring food in a container,’ he hissed.
I shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure if you could get them here or not, so I packed a few to tide me over, just in case.’
‘What else is in there that shouldn’t be?’ Kalem’s olive skin turned pasty.
‘Nothing else!’
‘What did you describe the Rabbit as on the inventory?’
‘Pet equipment.’
He stared at me.
‘Well, it’s a Rabbit!’
‘What about the box with the custard creams in it?’
I tilted my head to the side, thinking. ‘Um…I think I put them in with the pots and pans. Come on, they’re not going to be interested in opening a box with pet equipment and pots and pans in it, are they?’ I dragged him outside.
Hellos all round. Then Julio asked us to inspect the seal number on the container against our inventory paperwork. Yes, it was the same one. Could we please cut the seal in front of them? Yes, did that. Then down to business.
Two burly guys with the lorry driver helped Kalem and me unload the boxes into the house as Shorty and Julio stood by the side, looking into the container for secret contraband with serious looks on their faces.
‘What’s that?’ Julio pointed to a table top patio heater I’d recently bought.
‘A patio heater,’ I said, climbing off the container with it.
They looked at each other, glanced up at the scorching sun, and burst out laughing. ‘In Cyprus? Ha-ha.’
I was just about to say that I could use it in winter and then thought about Kalem telling me to leave the talking to him, so I just smiled at them. I didn’t want to get arrested for smuggling custard creams into the country on top of everything else. I admit that I did have a teensy habit of letting my mouth run away with me sometimes, so maybe it was for the best if I just kept schtum.
Julio peered at one of the larger boxes, checking the number on it. He ran a finger down the inventory list to check what the contents were listed as. ‘Gas barbeque,’ he said, glancing up at us. ‘Is this a barbeque?’
‘Yes,’ I said, avoiding Kalem’s eyes.
‘No,’ Kalem said at the same time.
Kalem looked at me, puzzled. ‘But we haven’t got a barbeque. I knew I should have done the inventory myself. Let me have a look at the list, there must be some mistake.’ Kalem held his hand out to Julio, so he could inspect the inventory list.
Julio ignored his hand and frowned. ‘Open it.’
‘Yes, well, the thing is, we have actually got a gas barbeque.’ I pulled an embarrassed face at Kalem.
‘Why would we need a gas barbeque when we can cook on a natural charcoal barbeque? Or better still, we could cook in the traditional Cypriot clay oven that Mum and Dad have got in the garden,’ Kalem said to me, attacking the tape on the outside of the box with a utility knife.
‘I bought it as a surprise for you,’ I said. ‘You know – for our new al fresco lifestyle. It’s all bells and whistles.’
‘How much was it?’ Kalem asked me.
I avoided his gaze. ‘Er…a few hundred pounds.’
‘How many is a few?’ Kalem said.
‘Well…slightly more than four hundred pounds.’
Julio and Shorty stood around as Kalem opened the top of the box, revealing a supersized, top of the range gas barbeque, complete with an external wok ring looming up from the side like a giant steering wheel.
‘Four hundred pounds! On a barbeque? What, does it convert into a sit on lawnmower? Or a golf buggy?’ Kalem pointed to the wok ring. ‘Or maybe it’s a satellite dish.’
‘OK, no need to get funny about it,’ I huffed. ‘I thought it would be a nice surprise.’
‘That doesn’t look like a barbeque.’ Julio suddenly looked more serious and official. ‘What’s that?’ He pointed to the wok ring as well. ‘A steering wheel?’
‘It does look like a golf buggy.’ Shorty tried to turn the wok ring around and around, as if he was trying to steer it.
‘No! It’s a wok ring,’ I cried.
Shorty and Julio exchanged puzzled looks.
‘It could be a satellite dish,’ Julio said to Shorty. ‘You have to pay extra for electrical equipment.’ He got a calculator out of his pocket and started working out how much import tax we’d have to pay. ‘That will be two thousand lira tax for a satellite dish.’
‘Two thousand lira!’ I said. ‘But it’s not a satellite dish or a golf buggy. It’s a barbeque!’
‘Well, so far the barbeque will have cost us an absolute fortune,’ Kalem said the word barbeque as if it were an imposter and only pretending to be one. ‘I thought we were supposed to be living the simple life.’
‘I thought it would be a nice surprise,’ I said, head down, staring at my feet.
‘OK, if it’s a barbeque, you give us a demonstration,’ Julio said to me.
‘Right. OK. No problem at all.’ Then hopefully we could get this little misunderstanding cleared up and get on with things. ‘I just need a wok.’ I looked at Julio’s copy of the inventory to see which box my wok was in. ‘There’s a box of pots and pans in here somewhere. I’ll just grab one of those, and we can be cooking with gas,’ I quipped, then noticed their serious faces. ‘So to speak.’
Oh, no. Wait a minute. I had a mental head-slapping moment. The custard creams were in the pots and pans box. I couldn’t draw attention to those. They already thought we were importing bloody satellite dishes. I didn’t want to get into any more trouble.
‘Hmm. Probably best if I get a wok from inside the house. Your mum and dad must have one in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.’ I zoomed off the back of the container like a spaceship in sight of Area 51.
By the time I’d rummaged around in all the cupboards, Julio, Shorty, and Kalem had lugged the barbeque into the garden and hooked it up to the gas bottle that was connected to the kitchen cooker.
‘Da-da!’ I waved a wok around. ‘Here we go.’
After a demonstration that Jamie Oliver would have been proud of, they finally let us carry on with unloading the boxes, and a sweaty forty-five minutes later, we were down to a few boxes at the back of the container.
Shorty pointed to one of the boxes. ‘There is a hole in that one.’
I climbed into the container to get a better look. He was right. There was a hole. And it looked like something had scratched or gnawed its way through.
Urgh! Rats. I bet we had a rat somewhere in the container when we loaded it up. Just my luck! I hoped it hadn’t chewed up all my clothes or the sofa or done a plop in my knickers or – agh! I noticed my scrawled label stuck on the box. Shit. It was the pots and pans box. Help! They were going to find the custard creams.
Shorty and Julio climbed aboard.
‘Open it up,’ Julio said.
Oh, no. Not good. I slowly bent down and undid the packing tape, wondering how many years I’d g
et for this. This was it. I was going to be arrested and hauled off to jail.
Shorty leaned over my shoulder as I opened the box.
I held my breath.
He rummaged around inside. Amongst the saucepans and frying pans, he found twenty-eight packets of empty custard cream wrappers.
He narrowed his eyes and said something to Julio in Turkish.
Kalem jumped on board. ‘Everything OK?’
Shorty turned around to Kalem, waving a custard cream wrapper at him in a vaguely threatening manner. ‘What’s this?’
And that’s when I heard a funny squeaky noise from behind the other boxes.
I ran to the opposite end of the container. ‘Rat!’ I pointed a shaky finger. ‘Rat!’
Julio moved the other boxes out of the way. Shorty and Kalem huddled around to get a better look.
‘What?’ I yelled. ‘Is it a rat?’
Kalem slowly bent down and picked something up from the floor. He turned around to show me what he was holding. In his arms, he had a skinny bundle of grey, fluffy fur, which looked suspiciously like our previous next door neighbour’s cat.
The poor thing was obviously worn out and must have been severely dehydrated. Well, I suppose I would be as well, stuck in a container for several weeks with no water and only the custard creams to eat. It looked at me with sad, fragile-looking eyes, and made a funny squeak, like it had lost its meow.
My hand flew to my face. ‘Oh, my god!’ I walked towards Kalem. ‘It looks like Smoky, our old neighbour’s cat. He must’ve climbed in the container when we were loading it up.’ I stroked his soft fur and thought I could just about make out a faint purr. ‘We need to get him to the vet as soon as possible.’
Shorty and Julio were having some sort of hushed conversation. Now I was probably going to get arrested for cat and custard cream smuggling, but I didn’t care. I might be able to live with that – well, OK, maybe not – but I couldn’t cope with knowing that poor Smoky might die, and I would be responsible for murdering my neighbour’s innocent cat.
‘You take it to the vet and come back.’ Julio pointed at me with a stern look on his face. ‘Do you know where one is?’
I shook my head.
‘My wife is a vet in Kyrenia. You go there.’ Julio rattled off some directions to me.
