‘Are you sure?’
Emir nods.
‘Where can he be?’ I wonder out loud.
‘I’ll have somedondurma,’ says Emir, pointing at a platter of desserts lying on a refrigerated shelf behind a glass cabinet door. ‘And… I’ll take somehelva.’
‘No. Sorry. Not until you’ve eaten some proper?—’
‘Or I will tell my mother that the rep with the big nose called them skanky rich fuckers.’
I gasp. ‘She didn’t!’ I mean, it’s not a million miles from calling them ‘lazy high-fucking-maintenance nightmares’ but still… details matter. ‘But, Emir, you agreed not to…’
He grins playfully, causing me to hesitate. Now that I think about it, he simply tapped his nose. He didn’t agree to anything. ‘You’re a slippery one, aren’t you?’
He winks at me. This child cannot be five years old. Otherwise, God help the world when he becomes an adult. ‘Yes, okay then. But for the record, I will not tolerate any further blackmail. Understood?’
He nods enthusiastically as I reach into the cabinet and take out a large slice of syrupy flaky pastry covered in crushed pistachio nuts and filled with a green chewy ice cream. It looks unbelievably delicious. Emir swipes it from me and wolfs it down in two bites. I can practically see the sugar penetrating his veins as his eyes widen like saucers. While he’s licking his fingers, we become transfixed by one of the chefs beating the living daylights out of some pork loins with a giant wooden mallet. The pork is now wafer thin. He brings the mallet down hard onto the meat as though to show off. Suddenly, the handle flies through the air and smashes against the fridge door, leaving the mallet broken in two. The wooden block has become separated from its handle. The chef shrugs and reaches up to grab another mallet from a string of utensils hanging from the ceiling. I stare at the wooden block. It has a long, pointy nail protruding from it. It has given me an idea. ‘Emir, ask this man if it is okay for me to use this block of wood for something, please.’
Emir obliges and the chef picks up both parts of the mallet and hands them over. ‘Chock-tesh-ekoor-ederim,’ I say thanking him. ‘Right, Emir, let’s go find Garry.’
I gently yank his hand in the direction of the staff accommodation. As we hurry down the narrow corridor towards Garry’s cabin, I notice the cleaning cupboard door is slightly open. There’s a noise inside. It sounds like someone humming a happy tune to themselves. I hover outside, hoping that we won’t find anyone doing anything they shouldn’t, as an unwelcome flashback of Shaun slapping Astrid’s bare backside and yelling ‘Yeeha!’ invades my brain. I cover Emir’s eyes with one hand and, with the other, fling it open. Garry is bent double, rummaging around. He suddenly springs upright and bellows, ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘What amIdoing?’ I retort. ‘What areyoudoing here? It’s lunchtime and you’re skiving! Astrid is working her bollocks off up therealone.’
‘How dare you accuse me of skiving. I’m trying to find…’ He swivels around and grabs at the first thing he sees. ‘This!’
I tilt my head. ‘Really? We’re having a mini crisis upstairs. We’re grossly understaffed and making a terrible first impression on the guests, and you think the thing that we most need is a window squeegee?’
Garry looks livid. ‘I’ll be up in a second.’
‘Why not now?’ I’m like a dog with a bone. ‘What’s more important than keeping our guests happy and making sure they enjoy a top-notch experience second to none? Your words, Garry. Your words.’ There’s just something about this guy that I don’t like.
‘Fine,’ he spits, slamming the door shut and barging past us. We watch him go.
A small voice says, ‘Nice one.’ I think I may have accidently gone up in Emir’s expectations.
‘Please forget all of that bad language, Emir. Adults sometimes get a bit carried away.’ He turns his little innocent face up towards me. ‘And to be honest, Emir, I forgot you were there.’
‘Yes. Sometimes I think I am invisible. It is one of my superhero powers.’
‘Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant I got caught up in arguing with Garry. He doesn’t like me, so, unfortunately, it might happen a lot.’
‘Because you caught him doing something he shouldn’t?’
I frown. ‘No. Well, I’m not sure what he was doing actually.’
‘You didn’t see what he hid in his pocket when you opened the door?’
‘No.’
‘I did.’ Emir grins. ‘We should blackmail him.’
I stare down at Emir in disbelief. ‘How do you even know what blackmail is? You do know that it is wrong, don’t you?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s just business. My father does it all the time at Hello Chicken and More.’
What?I take the executive decision not to follow up this disturbing announcement, but instead, hurry upstairs to help with the lunch service. As we dash up the steps, Emir asks me if I want to know what Garry was doing.
