I smile down at him. He’s a sweetie really. ‘You know how to make hors d’oeuvres? I’m impressed.’
‘No. Of course not. But I need you to help me plan revenge on that lady.’ He points to Astrid. ‘She pushed me in the water. You cross one. You cross them all.’
17
I knock on Emir’s door to ask his parents if they can change him into some clothes ready for the evening ahead and later, dinner at Akmars. The door opens a fraction. His father, looking dishevelled, peers out. ‘Oh, you’re back. So soon?’
‘Well, it’s been three hours.’
‘Did you have a nice time, son?’ he asks through the crack.
Emir gushes that he had the best time of his whole life, which causes my heart to melt a little. ‘Erm, we just need a change of clothes for him so that he’s ready for dinner at Akmars.’
‘And she’s going to teach me how to play chess.’
Oh, that’s right. I did try to bribe him earlier that if he let go of my neck while we were snorkelling, I’d teach him how to be a grandmaster chess player like me. I haven’t actually played much since I was a kid myself, but he’ll never know the difference. ‘I’ll come back for him in… say, thirty minutes?’
‘FIVE!’ yells a muffled woman’s voice from within the room.
‘Okay,’ I say, raising my eyebrows. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’
* * *
After a quick shower, I change into my uniform, collect Emir, and we rush to the kitchen to help the chefs who are arranging aperitifs onto platters for us to take up to the bar area. While everyone else is getting glammed up, I am rushing around serving drinks at the bar. Emir is sitting quietly on a high stool busy learning how to play chess with me, deep in thought and not, I hope, plotting revenge. When his randy parents eventually waft by, dressed for the Oscars and wearing more gold chains, medallions and flashy rings than you’d find on Mr T, they stop to chat.
‘How lovely to see Emir learning a new skill.’ His mother beams at him, leaning down to place an air kiss somewhere near his cheek.
‘Actually, he’s a complete natural at it. He’s picked it up extraordinarily quickly.’
‘We’re very impressed with the way you handle him. Are you a nursery nurse by trade?’
‘No, I’m an accountant. I’m here to make sure all the books are present and correct and ready for?—’
‘Have a lovely evening!’ she shrills. ‘Bye, darling. Mummy will see you later.’ She is whisked away by the elbow to another part of the decking by her husband, who keeps glancing back at me as though I’m from the Inland Revenue and about to suggest the Turkish Ministry of Finance take a deep dive into his accounts.
* * *
Almost two hours later, after several games of chess with Emir, copious rounds of drinks and cocktails poured and served and me running up and down to the kitchen to help replenish the platters of aperitifs and nibbles, it is time for everyone to disembark. I hear the captain announce that he will fill out the papers to register our docking and then the gang plank will go down.
He’s just about to say something about disembarking safely when he is interrupted by Garry bellowing to the crowd, ‘It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for, folks!’
No, it’s not. It’s the moment that makes me want to feign sudden paralysis. I am exhausted.
‘We have for you afive-star,five-hour,ten-course tasting session with all the booze and belly dancing you can stomach at the famous… Akmars!’
The crowd cheer. Every guest looks red-carpet ready. I look wistfully at the women’s immaculate hair and make-up, their glamorous chiffon dresses swirling gracefully across their bodies, their feet teetering in sparkly, towering, strappy sandals. They are the epitome of sophistication and elegance. Clouds of expensive fragrance fill the air.
‘Akmars is to the left of the promenade as we face the port of Palamutbuku. You can’t miss it. The manager and I will be outside to greet you,’ Garry informs the guests. ‘And the restaurant staff will handle your every need; in fact, we have the entire restaurant booked out till midnight, before it’s back on board for a nightcap.’
I hurriedly finish collecting and washing the glasses and wipe my hands dry on a nearby tea towel only to catch sight of my dishevelled appearance in the mirror behind the bar. Bird’s nest on top of head – check. Stained blouse – check. Haggard, make-up-less face – check. Flabbergasted expression (me wondering why I took this job in the first place and whether I’ll ever get to work at head office) – check.
I grab the pad of receipts and begin to total up which guests from which rooms ordered what and as I slide the receipts gently onto the long, pointy nail coming out of the wooden block from the broken mallet (a very basic yet incredibly efficient bill holder), I notice that there are already receipts for drinks and aperitifs in the pad that are yet to be torn out. I flick through and immediately notice that someone, probably Garry seeing that no one else is remotely interested in finance, has ‘guestimated’ what each of the guests has consumed. He has charged Emir’s grandmother when she doesn’t even drink. How is that possible? He’s charging them extortionate amounts. To make matters worse, I spot that he has also added port tax to their bills.
I feel my heartbeat begin to quicken. Something is definitely not right here. The numbers are all wrong. Before I can figure out what to do about it, I glance around for Emir. But he is no longer sitting happily playing chess.Shit.Where the hell is he? I glance quickly around the throng of guests and spot his parents draining their cocktails and chatting to a group of similar-aged men and women. His father is jokingly reaching up to sling his arm around a veritable man-mountain. Possibly the biggest human that I’ve ever seen. Perhaps he is blocking Emir from view. I crane my neck to see. Emir is not with them. I spot his grandmother sitting alone. He is not with her.
Think. Think. Where could he be? Apart from his addiction to sugar and gold objects that don’t belong to him, what do I know? An idea pings into my head.
I race down the stairs to the kitchen at breakneck speed to catch sight of Emir stuffing his face with baklava. The two chefs are encouraging him as they hold up a gold rope chain each.
