He is making a very reasonable point I suppose.
‘Point taken.’ We exchange a look of understanding. ‘But another thing – Garry says he can’t swim which has got to be bullshit, surely. I mean, we’re on a bloody boat.’ I’m on too much of a roll to stop. Every single thing about working with this whole team has been awful. ‘Andanother thing.’ I pause to take a quick breath. ‘He’s crap with money. He’s just guessing who owes what. And of course, I’ve introduced a new system, the Mallet Method as I’m calling it, to make sure that no one is incorrectly billed and I’ve tried to suggest various processes to make it more transparent, but will he adopt any of them? No, he won’t.’
I stop walking. We are yards from the boat. Emir turns to observe us. I lower my voice. ‘In fact, every time I mention the till receipts or accounts, he goes off on one.’
Jackson takes a while to answer. ‘I’ll look into it. If you could make notes and keep an eye on his practices, I’d appreciate it. And again, I’m sorry for putting you in this position but like I say, I didn’t really have much choice.’
Is now the right time to mention the unspeakable sexual activities of Shaun and Astrid? Perhaps not in front of barn owl ears over there, pretending not to listen when he is. I catch Emir admiring the paintwork on the bow, slowly trailing his fingers across the outline of the pattern to disguise his eavesdropping. I mean, what five-year-old does that?
‘Thank you,’ I say in a much calmer tone. ‘I needed to get that off my chest.’ We reach the gang plank, and Emir takes my hand as we slip off our shoes and make our way up onto the boat. As far as I know, the captain and the chefs are enjoying a free dinner and show with all of the other reps and guests at Akmars, and the whole place is peaceful and empty. We make our way past the striped double sun mattresses lying to either side of the deck, down the few steps leading to the covered dining room, through towards the shaded outside bar area at the rear of the boat. We all jump as we hear a loud shriek.
I recognise the two chefs immediately as they slam down shot glasses of whatever they were helping themselves to at the bar. Their eyes swivel between me and Jackson as they gibber to each other in Turkish, but stop talking abruptly when they spot Emir reaching up on tiptoes to peer over the bar.
Emir is very keen to translate for us while the chefs stare shame-facedly at me. They snatch two cloths and quickly get back to work. Emir spins round to face Jackson. He points a finger at the taller of the two skinny chefs. ‘He said, “Fuck me, I nearly shit myself.” And the other one said, “These idiots won’t speak Turkish so just smile and pretend like we’re cleaning. Shit a brick… it’s that kid from earlier.”’
Emir takes a dramatic inhale as though he is a top attorney in a court of law dishing out the final summary for the prosecution, before continuing. ‘And then the other one.’ He swings his finger to point at the other chef, whose face drains of colour. ‘He said, “Fucking typical. The one time we get to help ourselves to the good stuff and these bastards turn up out of nowhere to catch us stealing red-handed.”’
We watch as the two chefs grin sheepishly at us, bobbing their heads and pretending to shine glasses and dust the counter, perhaps hoping Jackson and I will develop joint early onset amnesia and forget this ever happened. I notice they are both still wearing the thick gold rope chains that Emir bribed them with earlier.
‘Well, seeing as you are the boss, why don’t I leave you to handle this little situation while I nip below to change mystinkyclothes?’ I race off, leaving Jackson speechless. I stop at the top of the spiral staircase. ‘I’ll bring the chessboard back up with me. I put it in the games cupboard earlier.’
I fly down the stairs and burst through into my room and try to ignore the unnecessary mess mountain the girls have left for me to wade through, if ever I want to, say… use my own bed or exit via the door in the event of a fire or some other emergency. I open the little porthole window to air the place out, thankful of the cool sea breeze wafting in, and pull off my fishy clothes. And because the whole place is such a pigsty, I throw them childishly on the floor. It takes all of five minutes to quickly wash my hair in my creamy coconut shampoo and conditioner and luxuriate in the feeling of smelling fresh and clean. I throw on some clean clothes – yes, I do wonder why I have instinctively pulled on a short denim skirt and flattering vest top and have used two precious minutes to run a stick of gloss over my lips and to lather cream all over my legs to make them look smooth and soft – run a brush through my wet hair and spray some ‘Beach Waves Magic’ on it and slip my feet into some sparkly sandals. I’m just about to climb the stairs when I remember the game of chess.
I double back, locate the correct cupboard door, yank it open… and gasp. I lock eyes with Shaun.
It takes a few seconds to register what’s going on.
So, it seems I’ve found the chessboard…andthe missing reps. Astrid is also in the games cupboard. She’s on her knees with Shaun’s hands cradling her head. Her mouth is full of cock. I’m not sure why, perhaps because I’m of a practical nature, but I ask Shaun why he isn’t supervising the guests at the show, and he gives me a bemused look and points to the top of Astrid’s head. Astrid herself is making a garbled sound. I suppose it would be difficult to form proper vowels with an appendage taking up so much space.
‘Well, if it’s not too much trouble, could you please hand me the chessboard?’ I ask, pointing to a spot behind him.
Shaun twists around to grab it from the shelf and gives me a thumbs up. I close the door quietly, try not to inwardly judge them and return to Jackson and Emir.
‘What’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ says Jackson. The chefs are nowhere to be seen.
‘I wish Ihadseen a ghost.’I will never unsee that image.
He tilts his head.
‘I’ll tell you later.’ I breathe out slowly as I sit down at the table next to him. Emir is sitting straight across from us and grabs at the board eagerly, spilling out the pieces, excited to set it all up. ‘I feel like I’ve been on this boat for over a hundred years. When did we set sail?’
Jackson checks his watch. ‘Um, about… nine hours ago. You only boarded yesterday evening.’
‘Yesterday sodding evening? Are you kidding?’
Emir’s head snaps up, his eyes shining.
I gently clear my throat. I am truly not cut out for babysitting. I hurriedly assemble the remaining pieces onto the board. ‘Jackson, are you ready to play?’
Jackson smirks. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’ He settles into his seat. ‘“You may learn much more from a game you lose than from a game you win.”’
‘Very wise. Who said that?’ Jackson looks like an Australian who follows tennis, and I am here for looking like the sporty type. I’m not all about the number crunching. ‘Pete Sampras? Andre Agassi?’
He shakes his head, a smirk tugging one side of his lovely lips. ‘José Capablanca,’ Jackson says with a deadpan expression.
‘Erm, was he a famous surfer?’
Jackson chuckles. ‘He’s the former world champion. Cuban chess master at the age of twelve, I do believe. Thought you’d know that what with you being a grandmaster champion yourself.’ He is trying not to snigger.
