Emir nods firmly. ‘And his watch. And…’ He rummages in his pocket and pulls out a gold link chain. ‘This medal.’
We stare as he plonks it in front of us. The medallion shows a crest and some foreign words that I don’t recognise. Neither does Jackson. ‘Let’s look in the wallet,’ he says as we huddle together. Emir looks about to burst, he’s so happy. Probably because we haven’t scolded him or lectured him on the moral wrongdoings of stealing, but more because we’ve instinctively included him in the mystery solving.
‘I’m almost too nervous to look,’ I say, wiping my hands down my apron. I watch Jackson’s fingers prise the wallet open and slide out a wad of notes. ‘Emir, can you count this please?’ Then he slides out several ID cards and places them out in front of us on the bench. ‘His driving licence. His Littlewoods discount loyalty card. His Mecca Bingo membership. His PADI diver’s licence. Oh, this is interesting,’ Jackson says. ‘It’s a Greek ID card.’
‘Look,’ I say, pointing at the PADI licence. ‘Why would a man who can’t swim be a qualified diver?’
Jackson strokes his stubbled chin as though he is starring in an advert for Gillette, the best a man can get (very attractive, very sensual). I can barely take my eyes off him – his chiselled jawline, his generous lips (not too much but just right for a soft landing) and his perfect nose…
Emir bats my arm. ‘Because he was lying,’ he pipes up. ‘I lie all the time.Allthe time,’ he boasts proudly.
‘The wet diving suit.’ I suddenly remember.
‘The black flipper on the island,’ Emir squeals.
‘They must be connected,’ I say to him while Jackson looks on, impressed.
‘And look at this,’ he says, holding up the driving licence. ‘Garry’s real name is Garribald Hensig Geopapadopolopoudos.’
Emir erupts into a fit of giggles and almost falls off the stool. Jackson catches him just in time. Emir is wheezing for breath. ‘Say it again. Again!’
Jackson, trying not to smirk (this is a potential murder investigation after all), repeats himself. ‘Garribald Hensig Geopapadopolopoudos.’ This time I can’t hold my giggles in either.
Soon, the three of us are rolling about laughing. It’s a much welcome release of tension even if it is entirely inappropriate and paradoxical amid such a serious situation.
‘Hensig!’ cries Emir and doubles over into peals of laughter.
‘Hensig? That’s what you find funny?’ Tears are streaming down my face. ‘Hensig? Not Geo-poppy-whatty-lis?’
Jackson is gasping for breath too, doubled over. ‘I haven’t laughed like this in forever. Geo-poppy-stroppy-floppy-lis.’
Maybe we have all developed a psychological disorder. I point to the licence, gasping for breath. ‘I think you’ll find it’s pronounced?—’
‘Geo-papa-dopo-lopoudos. It’s a common Greek name.’ The captain reaches out to inspect the chain and medallion. ‘And this is a Greek military medal. Glad to see you’re all taking this investigation so seriously. Who does it belong to?’
We take a moment to dry our eyes and recover ourselves. ‘Garry.’
* * *
This new information has thrown a different light on proceedings. Once the captain has liaised with the Turkish policemen (all completely shitfaced and relatively uncaring), they agree that something fishy is afoot. They are now reconsidering my slight frame, my average height, my sad-looking eyes, my terrible nest of hair and quiet, chess-playing demeanour as a non-threat. Suddenly, the sun begins setting, and the darkness brings with it a renewed appetite among the guests for more food, more drinks and an unassuageable thirst for moreNow That’s What I Call Music.
As the party swirls on around us, after a third attempt at trying to win at chess, Jackson admits defeat. ‘You two make a great team.’
Emir emits a huge yawn that stretches across his entire face. ‘Maddie is my favourite person I am boss of.’
I’m about to correct him when he yawns again, his eyes drooping. ‘Okay, boss. Time for bed. We’ll solve this mystery in the morning.’
Jackson cradles him in his arms, and we take him down the guest staircase to his room. I knock gently on the door, and his grandmother opens it. She eyes the sleeping child and opens the door wide. ‘My daughter is upstairs partying as though she’s still a Club 18–30 rep. This is where she and her husband first met. Here on this very boat,’ she says, laughing. ‘But I’m far too old… I mean tired for all that partying. I’ll stay snoozing in this armchair until they come down. You two lovebirds get yourselves back upstairs for a break.’
My eyes spring open, causing her to cackle as she closes the door on us. ‘Oh, but we’re not…’ I try to say.
‘I wasn’t born yesterday, honey.’
Jackson looks at me as we hang about in the corridor in awkward silence. ‘I guess we need to try a bit harder to stay away from each other.’
All I want to do at this present moment in time is stick my tongue down his throat. Luckily for me, thanks to this whole fiasco, I’ve developed a modicum of self-control. ‘Uh-huh. We need to keep things looking more professional.’
He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor. ‘Yup. Indeed. So, do you want me to walk you to your cabin?’
