‘Well, that’s got everything we need.’ Kalem smiled at me as we headed back to the car.
‘Mmm.’ I forced a smile back.
****
After about fifteen minutes we took a left turn off the main road, heading towards the coast. I was used to the busy Motorways of the UK, but this was like we were the last few remaining people on earth, with hardly any traffic at all.
I gazed out the window at the sea to my left and the rolling, scorched fields to my right, covered in olive and carob trees. Further on, the Kyrenia mountain range was more visible. A range that swept from West to East, smothered with pine and fir trees.
‘That’s Five Finger Mountain.’ Kalem pointed to a section of the mountain, towering into the distance, as we sped by.
‘It looks more like Five Stubby Knuckle Mountain.’
‘There are a couple of legends about the name of the mountain. One of them says that a Byzantine hero called Dighenis jumped on the island of Cyprus to escape from the Arabs. As he grabbed hold of the mountain, he left the mark of his fingers there. Another legend said it was a giant who grabbed hold of it.
‘You’re not far from history and legends anywhere on this island, are you?’ I said, beginning to appreciate the allure of the place. Would definitely add to my list.
‘All of this mountain range is fantastic for hiking. Just wait till I get you up in those hills.’ He gave me a seductive grin.
The open window blasted me with hot air, warm rays, and a gorgeous pungent aroma of orange and lemon blossom from the orchards we passed. As we got further away from Kyrenia, we passed a golf course (must also add to my list as modern and sophisticated things) and several new beachside apartment complexes, interspersed with a vast expanse of undeveloped land. The whole journey gave me a feeling of space and light that I’d forgotten actually existed. After living in the UK all my life, where the sky is normally grey, black-grey, and a kind of bluish-grey, with houses crammed into every possible piece of land, it made such a refreshing change. It was like drinking in sunshine, giving me a buzz of energy. I seriously needed that at the moment to counteract the buzz of pure terror that I’d been feeling.
‘I think we turn right here.’ I re-read the map and directions that Deniz had scribbled on the back of Cosmo magazine for us.
‘I don’t recognize any of this. It’s changed so much since the last time I was here. I can’t even remember what the house looks like.’ Kalem turned off the main road and onto a more windy one that snaked uphill.
Half way up the hill we had to stop the car to let a procession of goats and sheep cross the road, like a countryside version of a traffic jam. They stared at us like they’d never seen a car before. The weird thing was that the goats actually looked the same as the sheep. The facial features were identical, and the only real difference was that the sheep looked like they’d just had a perm, whereas the goats were more into hair straighteners.
I watched them meander from one side of the road to the other, bells jangling around their necks, baaing and bleating away. Did they speak the same language? And if so, was it Geep or Shoat dialect?
‘Wow. It’s so…’ I struggled for a word.
‘Simple?’ He winked at me. ‘Now you know what I mean about wanting the simple things in life. This is what getting back to basics is all about. It’s like the UK was fifty years ago, before we became obsessed with convenience – everything’s on a much smaller scale here.’ He paused, grinning at me. ‘You know, if you think about it, the shops in the UK are saturated with lots of stuff that you just don’t need. Life here is much more straightforward with individual little shops selling essentials. Because of the inter-communal problems between Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots and the division of the island, North Cyprus has a remoteness and unspoiled quality with more of a culture about using what you already have and living off the land, instead of buying everything new.’
Yes, that was all very well, but I liked stuff. I know, I know, call me shallow and materialistic, but it was what I was used to. OK, maybe having fifty-six pairs of shoes and twenty-three handbags was going a tad overboard, but a girl had to be prepared for all possible eventualities. It made sense, didn’t it?
‘Here they have a slower pace of life so everyone has more time for each other,’ Kalem carried on. ‘We’ll have less stress. It’s cheaper, and you’ve got sunshine most of the year. Just the simple life. With less crime as well.’
Yes, unless you counted assassinating a businessman and stealing a priceless sculpture.
‘How about that for organic then?’ Kalem nodded towards the animals.
I gazed at them as they wandered around, nibbling the ground here and there as the fancy took them. Either some of them had missed out on their daily milking sessions or there was a Pamela Anderson fan club amongst the sheep and goat world of North Cyprus, because their udders were huge! Poor things. Some of their udders were nearly dragging on the ground and looked severely painful. Ouch.
‘What’s happening?’ I pointed to one of the goats who looked like she’d overstuffed herself on the olives. ‘Why’s she making so much noise?’
The goat collapsed onto her side, making funny noises. ‘Oh! Is she going to die? Maybe her udders are about to explode with milk, or she’s eaten too much. Goats do that, don’t they? I read about one who ate so much it popped.’ I grabbed the door handle. ‘We have to help her. I don’t want any exploding, popping goats on my watch.’
Kalem chuckled. ‘She’s not going to explode. She’s just pregnant. And if we stay really quiet, you might just see her kid being born.’
In ten minutes, I witnessed the goat give birth to a tiny, wrinkly little baby, covered in blood and goo. As soon as it was born, mummy goat licked it clean and gently nudged it with her nose, encouraging it to stand up. About another fifteen minutes later, the baby attempted to stand on wobbly legs.
‘You see, you wouldn’t get this in the UK, would you?’ Kalem said.
If I was honest with myself, it really was a truly amazing sight. And simple. Maybe Kalem was actually right about getting back to basics. But could I sacrifice my love of stuff for all things au naturel?
He shifted the Land Rover into gear, leaving mummy and baby to enjoy each other as we drove up the windy hill with houses dotted here and there.
I glanced at the handwritten directions that Deniz had scrawled for us on the back of Cosmo. ‘Well, the house number is fifteen, so we’re nearly there. There’s fourteen. And,’ I sat up in my seat, craning my neck for the first glimpse of what would be our new home in paradise. ‘Oh,’ I let out an involuntary sigh, because coming into view was a dilapidated, ancient looking square building. It wasn’t anything like the modern style villas I’d seen on the journey here, with a pool, whitewashed walls, wooden shutters, and sandstone arches. It was…well, the only way I could describe it was a wreck.
On the upside, it had four walls and a roof. On the downside, it didn’t have much else going for it. The house stood on an overgrown piece of land, littered with what looked like years’ worth of weeds. There was even the skeleton of a dead goat near the front of the building. I didn’t know if it had died of natural causes or the shock of seeing such a scary house.
The open shutters hung precariously from the windows, peeling paint curling up from their surfaces. The windows were covered in grime and dust, giving the whole place a spooky, haunted house feel. A porch of sorts had been strung together out of rusty iron, and the only thing with any life in it, a brilliant pink bougainvillea bush, climbed out of control over the top of it.
‘How long did you say it’s been since your mum and dad stayed here?’ I asked, stepping out of the car.
I cupped my hands around my eyes to shield them from the glaring sunshine. Maybe it was a peculiar mirage. Or a trick of the light, even. I squeezed my eyes shut. Slowly, I opened one. Then the other. Damn. Not a mirage. It was still there, in all its state of disrepair.
‘Two years.’ Kal
em stared at the house, looking confused. ‘But it looks more like twenty.’
I gnawed on my quivering lip. It would take more than a clean to make it OK. It needed one of those TV shows to come along with a bus full of people and do a complete makeover. Or failing that, a bulldozer.
‘Well, this is certainly simple,’ I said, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice and failing miserably.
Kalem hugged me into his toned chest. ‘It probably looks worse than it is. Maybe the inside is a lot better.’
‘Mmm,’ I agreed, although, judging by the outside, I wasn’t quite convinced.
Kalem dug a key out of his pocket and slipped his fingers through mine, leading me towards the front door. At one time, it would’ve been a traditional Cypriot wooden door, etched with carvings on the outside, with a small opening in the front to let the air ventilate through whilst keeping the door closed. Now, it was just a rotten chunk of wood.
He slid the key in the lock, and the lock fell out, landing on the other side of the door with a loud thud. I heard something inside squeak and the patter of tiny claws scurry away.
Great. It was probably infested with rats and cockroaches and lots of other nibbly, squeaky creatures as well.
Kalem pushed the door open but met with some resistance on the other side. He barged his shoulder into it, and it gave way, sending him hurtling into the house at twenty miles an hour.
He managed to put the brakes on, and we surveyed the large hallway and derelict kitchen in front of us.
‘OK, so probably not better inside,’ I murmured, wandering around. One room was worse than the last.
‘I don’t remember it being like this.’ Kalem shook his head.
‘Yes, but you were only ten when you last came here.’ I flipped the light switch on, but nothing happened.
I tried again another couple of times really fast to see if that helped. Maybe there was a knack to it. No. Still nothing happened. No electric? How was I supposed to live with no electric? What about hair straighteners and epilators? Not to mention essentials like a fridge, cooker, washing machine, and air conditioning.
Agh!
I forced down the lump in my throat.
Things were just going from bad to worse. All I wanted was the perfect wedding and a happy new start to our life in an exotic country abroad. Was that too much to ask? It was that bloody curse of Queen Cleopatra that had jinxed everything. Bitch! How dare she jinx me. I hadn’t done anything to her. I was just a normal person with normal dreams. What had I done to deserve a dose of jinxing?
This was all getting too much now. We’d only left the UK twenty-four hours before, and it had been the worst day of my life. How could our lives go so badly wrong in such a short amount of time? Should I tell Kalem that I couldn’t take any more? That we should just go back to the UK after we’d got married. I know he’d have to give up his dream job and ideas about the simple life. But I didn’t think I could stand it here.
I thought about my list and added this house onto it. Now I had some overwhelming reasons not to stay here:
1) Crazy extended family.
2) Involved in assassination and art heist.
3) Cursed by Queen Cleopatra’s statue.
4) Spooky demons and giants running around mountains scaring the shit out of people.
5) Haunted, derelict house full of yucky things (well, didn’t know if it was haunted, but it probably was, if the goat was anything to go by).
6) No convenient superstores or big shopping malls.
7) French Fancy wedding dresses.
8) Erol Hussein.
9) No custard creams.
Compared with the reasons to actually stay here:
1) Kalem and his dream job.
2) Sunshine.
3) Beaches.
4) A Disney Castle.
5) The Holy Grail and Indiana Jones (who might visit again, and I quite fancied him).
6) A dual carriageway.
7) Picturesque harbour.
8) Steeped in history and ancient buildings.
9) Golf course (didn’t actually play but never say never).
10) Relaxing, unstressy pace of life.
11) Undeveloped countryside.
12) Space and light.
13) Sheepy goats roaming countryside willy-nilly, giving birth (was very sweet).
14) Organic food.
15) Cheaper.
OK, so my second list was longer, but my first list was a lot scarier.
Kalem’s voice cut into my thoughts of doubt. ‘No, I’m sure the house wasn’t even this shape. It had more windows, and it was more of a rectangle.’ He rushed out through the kitchen door to the back of the house. ‘And it had a swimming pool.’
I had a hard time seeing anything through the two metre weeds towering over the garden, but Kalem grabbed an old plank of wood lying on the ground, beating the weeds down.
I could hear an electric pylon humming loudly nearby. Great. On top of everything, we’d be living next to a loud, and probably dangerous, electric pylon!
‘Why haven’t we got electric when I can hear that bloody pylon so loud?’ I asked as Kalem worked his way around the garden.
‘It’s not a pylon. It’s the cicadas.’
‘What are they?’ I poked a finger in my ear to try and lessen the deafening hum.
‘They’re little bugs that come out in the summer. They click their wings together to make that noise. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. It’s probably so loud because it’s in the garden somewhere.’ He finished beating down the weeds to reveal a garden with no swimming pool at all. He held his hand out to me. ‘Let me see that magazine with the directions.’
I handed it to him.
He studied it for a while. ‘I don’t think this says fifteen. I think it says sixteen. Dad’s got such messy handwriting.’
I grabbed the paper off him, scrutinizing it for dear life. Please say sixteen. Please say sixteen. Oh, no, hang on a minute. What if sixteen is even worse?
‘I don’t know. It’s hard to tell.’ I scratched my head.
‘It’s definitely sixteen. Let’s go and find it.’ Kalem’s long legs were halfway to the Land Rover.
Please don’t be worse than fifteen!
We crawled further up the hill until number sixteen came into view.
I exhaled with relief. Finally, something seemed to be going right. From the outside, the house looked old, but it had obviously been lovingly renovated in the last ten years or so. It was a one storey whitewashed bungalow, with masses of huge windows and dark wooden shutters. A cobbled path led from the gate to the solid wood door. And the flourishing garden…well, even Alan Titchmarsh would’ve been proud of it. It was positively blooming. I spied pink and white oleander bushes, deep red bougainvillea trailing around archways and walls, and tall palm trees, rustling their leaves in the gentle breeze in front of a shaded terrace area that wrapped around the entire building.
I sniffed the air, my nose tingling with the intoxicating scent of Cyprus jasmine, frangipani, and lemon trees. Ooh, I would get my early evening G and T after all.
‘Wow!’ I grinned.
Oh, yes. This was much, much better.
‘Ah, yes. This is definitely the place. I remember it now. All my boyhood memories of holidays here are coming back to me.’
We wandered around the garden. It had a small swimming pool, surrounded by more plants in various stages of bloom. And the view!
I rushed to the garden wall to the right of the plot, staring into a ravine on the other side of the wall that dipped low and then climbed up again in the distance. It was dotted with pine and old olive trees with gnarled trunks. A couple of straggling sheep (or goats) grazed in the bottom of it. From the front of the garden, I could see the sea. Imagine! I’d lived in a claustrophobic city all my life, miles away from the sea, where the air was heavy with traffic smells. Yes, there was countryside nearby, but at that moment, I didn’t think anything could compare to t
he unspoiled beauty before my eyes.
To the rear of the house were uninterrupted views of the mountain range, ripe with green trees and bushes.
Wow. This was going to be so fantastic. I didn’t think I could ever get tired of this view. I could sit on the terrace in the morning with my cup of coffee, staring at it forever.
Unless we got whacked by Ferret Face, of course.
No, I couldn’t think about that now. I wanted to enjoy this spectacular moment. Even if it wouldn’t last.
‘Look, fresh olives.’ I pointed to an olive tree at the bottom of the garden with a collection of black olives on the ground underneath that had fallen from its branches. I’d never actually tasted fresh ones before. Normally, I bought some off the deli counter from my local supermarket. How cool would it be to have your own olives to slip into a martini? I reached down to pick one up as Kalem busied himself staring at the rest of the garden. The olive looked a bit dry. Maybe they were better if you picked them straight off the tree. Oh, well, I’d have a try anyway. Maybe it was a good idea to start embracing the living off the land thing. I was just about to pop it in my mouth when Kalem yelled, ‘No!’ with a horrified look on his face.
‘What?’ I asked. Were they poisonous if you ate them fresh rather than deli’d to death?
‘That’s not an olive. It's sheep’s plop!’
‘Ew!’ I threw the plop on the ground and went in search of a sink to wash my hands.
Inside was home to lots of cream Turkish marble floors, black wrought iron, hand-carved wooden furniture, and curtains made of muslin. I found functional ceiling fans in every room for the scorching summer heat, and a kitchen decked out in wooden units and worktops. It was all fresh and clean and bright.
‘This is lovely.’ I clapped my hands together.
‘I preferred the first house. It was much simpler.’ Kalem grinned at me.
‘Oh, I’d better check the electric.’ I flipped on a switch as dusk descended outside. ‘Hurrah! Electric as well. Never thought I’d get excited about something I normally take for granted.’
Six Pack of Sleuths: Comedy Mysteries Page 39
