I’m not sure where to begin. ‘Emir, put down those pastries. It’s time to go.’ He is mid bite as he turns to me and obediently places the baklava back down. His cheeks are sticky with honey, his eyes wide and round. I lower my voice. ‘Did you bribe these two with gold chains?’ I nod discreetly in their direction.
Emir nods enthusiastically.
‘But where did you get them?’ I pause. ‘Wait. Don’t tell me.’ I’ve too much to do without a full-scale investigation on my hands. ‘Come on. Follow me or we’ll be late for the dinner. I need to go back to my room to change first. I can’t have Jackson seeing me like this.’ At the thought of him, I become all flustered again.
‘Who is Jackson?’ Emir asks, sliding from the stool and discreetly popping the rest of the baklava in his pocket.
‘Erm, no one… Someone. I mean, he’s the boss. No big deal,’ I say weirdly while fussing with my hair. ‘He’s just doing a spot check.’
Just as Emir opens his mouth, I suspect to ask more questions, Shaun bursts through the door into the kitchen, startling us and causing the chefs to quickly stuff their ‘gifts’ away. In their haste, one of them accidentally elbows a tray of fish heads and entrails, sending it spinning across the bench towards me. Excruciatingly, it connects sharply with my hip, which prevents it from falling to the floor but causes most of the fish guts to splat against me. Typical. I take a calming, zen-like breath in and clench my fists at my sides.
‘Hurry,’ Shaun booms, while I peel fish gunk off my shirt. ‘We’re taking the family group photo. It’s also going in the LoveIt Holidays catalogue. Garry wants you and the kid upstairs pronto.’ He swivels around and races back out. I look down at my filthy uniform, covered in stains and drink spills. And now fish innards. Oh. My. Effing. Word. It’s like Garry is doing this on purpose. A thought crosses my mind. Is he trying to get me fired? To get me out of the way?
By the time we have posed for the photographer, who is halfway up the mast to get an aerial view of the large group, I am seriously running out of time to get changed. The photographer is yelling down to us instructions on how best to arrange ourselves. Emir is with his parents looking proud of himself, puffing out his chest and gazing adoringly up at them. Finally, all the immaculately dressed guests are grouped together; the smart-looking captain resplendent in white uniform and hat stands proudly with the two happy-looking chefs; the Bodrum South reps, pristine in crisp fresh uniforms, are in a line in front of everyone and I… I am standing at the end… looking and smelling like shit.
Once the photographer has taken pictures from every conceivable angle, the horn sounds to let us know that the gang plank is being lowered, ready for disembarking. Emir’s parents rush over to me just as I make my break for freedom to get changed.
‘Here he is,’ his mother chirps. ‘He couldn’t wait to be reunited with his favourite babysitter.’ She sniffs the air, her face perplexed. ‘What the bloody hell is that?’
‘It’s fish. Someone spilled a tray over me.’ I watch, stunned, as she all but sprints away.
‘Have fun, darling!’ she yells over her shoulder at Emir. ‘Mummy loves you!’
‘Wait!’ I call. ‘I can’t possibly look after… I need to go and…’
It’s no use. She’s ignoring me to rejoin her lover and have a fabulous childfree evening. I let out a monumental huff of frustration. Emir has a hurt expression on his face. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean…’
But Emir gives me a long, dark look through his thick lashes before darting off towards his parents and the surge of guests stampeding down the plank.
I sprint after him, calling for him to wait, but there’s such a racket of excitable chatter that my voice is swallowed up in the noise.
Even though I’m horrified that Jackson will see me looking a right state, my priority is getting to Emir. As I try to barge past everyone and hurry down to the docking area, I spot Garry and the captain. As I scurry past, I overhear them discussing port fees and witness them signing paperwork. My mind flies back to university and a particularly fascinating (some of my peers had the cheek to call itdry) lecture on International Water Taxes and Law. Something niggles in my brain, but I don’t have time for that now.
I charge over to the restaurant hoping to see Emir inside. At least the entire venue is booked out solely for us, so there shouldn’t be too many people or tables to search. I spot Emir’s parents immediately. They are right at the front. Probably so that Emir has a good view. I crane my neck, but I can’t see him. I swivel my eyes around. His grandmother is sitting with another group on the next table laughing with the giant man from earlier but still no sign of Emir. My heart sinks as I scan the room, not a child in sight. An ominous feeling crawls across my skin. I race to the toilets but there’s no sign of him there either. Shit, where is he? Suddenly the lights go out, flames soar up into the air forming a ring of fire and three belly dancers run into the centre of the room, wafting huge chiffon veils behind them, to ear-splitting traditional music.
I race back outside to alert the team. I spot Astrid, Shaun and Tiffany not far away. They are staring across to the other side of the marina.
It’s then that I notice Jackson, getting off a dolmus. It stops me in my tracks. The entire LoveIt Holidays team seem in a mad hurry to escape his company and within minutes have disappeared among the crowd of tourists milling about, before I can elicit their help.
I race back up the gang plank onto the boat yelling for Emir. I throw myself down the stairs and run towards the kitchen. ‘Have you seen Emir?’ I shout to the chefs who are busy cleaning down the benches and giant griddle. They stop to give me a mystified look. ‘The child. The one who gave you those,’ I say, pointing to the shiny gold chains around their necks. They shake their heads.
I fly down both corridors to check he’s not in any of the rooms. My voice hoarse from yelling his name, I check every cupboard and every place I can think of before leaping back up the spiral stairs two steps at a time. My heart is pounding with fear as I hurl myself down the plank back towards the dock. Jackson is walking briskly through the crowd towards the boat.
He catches sight of me, briefly rooting him to the spot, while I’m panting to catch my breath. Jackson’s expression is hard to read. It might be somewhere between confused and worried. He is head to toe in a pristine LoveIt Holidays manager’s uniform of short-sleeved white shirt open at the neck, navy blue smart shorts that loosely hug his athletic legs and top-of-the-range white deck shoes. However, I must remember that I am still furious with him for banishing me to a week on board a luxurious gulet boat with this bunch of crazy lunatics. And, more importantly, I’m in the middle of a missing persons search.
‘Hi,’ he says, frowning. ‘What’s wrong? Are you okay?’
‘Hi,’ I reply croakily, flying past him, smelling like I’ve come off a double shift at the herring factory and looking like I rolled around in the fish guts before leaving.
‘How’s it going?’ He spins round trying to keep up with me as I search the crowd for Emir.
I indicate my filth-encrusted uniform with a flourish of my hand. I am clearly not living my best life. ‘How do you think it’s going?’
‘I came to see how you are. Can you slow down?’
‘No. I’ve accidently upset the child in my care. I need to find him.’ I hear the panic in my voice.
‘Have you? How? Why?’ he says, sounding slightly disconcerted, scurrying to keep up. ‘Where is he?’
