He’s very polite under pressure. ‘No thanks,’ I say. ‘There’s a shortcut through this door here. It leads straight into the staff area.’ I point to the door marked staff entrance in Turkish. ‘It’ll take me approximately four and a half seconds to reach my door.’
Jackson’s mouth twitches. ‘Very specific.’
‘I’ve timed it.’
‘Of course you have.’
‘I pay attention to detail.’
Jackson steps towards me. ‘I like that about you.’
I step backwards. ‘Well, I like that you’re honest. And not afraid to tell a girl that you’re no longer interested in her romantically because you don’t allow yourself to make emotional connections in the workplace.’ He can’t have it both ways. Blowing hot and cold with the wind just because he thought I’d killed someone.
Jackson considers this for a moment and just as I’m wondering what sort of witty retort he’ll come back with (that I can also turn very much to my advantage), an almighty row breaks out behind the door. Muffled voices speaking in Turkish and the clanging of pans. Jackson and I glance warily at one another before I push on the door. We peer through to see three of the policemen manhandling the tall skinny cook up the staff stairs. The captain spots us spying and immediately scurries over. He shows us Garry’s driving licence. ‘He has the same surname as the cook.’
I gasp. ‘So, what does that mean?’ I place my thumb and finger on either side of the bridge of my nose. My brain is beginning to hurt.
‘We don’t know but it is too much of a coincidence, so the police are taking him back to shore to question him there.’
‘But I thought they were waiting forty-eight hours before they officially took over?’ Jackson states.
The captain nods. ‘They are. They have taken him because he does not have any papers to work here in Turkey.’
‘But how did he get a job on board this gulet?’
The captain looks shamefaced. ‘Garry showed me all the paperwork. I trusted him. This is my fault.’
‘You weren’t the only one to be fooled by Garry’s shoddy paperwork,’ I say, clapping him on the back. ‘I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it soon.’ The loud roar of a speedboat starting up drowns out the end of my sentence.
‘Speaking of which, it’s probably time I made a move back to shore too,’ says Jackson.
‘Goodnight then,’ I say shyly. I’m gutted we are parting before we get a chance to explore this ridiculous policy of his for not getting emotionally attached.
‘Goodnight then,’ he says, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. With one last lingering look, Jackson turns to leave. ‘See you in the morning.’
My heart skips a beat while my stomach is filled with butterflies.
I. Am. Totally. And. Utterly. Besotted.
28
After waking from the best sleep of my life, I’m almost relieved to be leaving today now that it looks more unlikely I’ll be frogmarched straight to jail. I’m even more pleased to see Astrid and Tiffany have also woken in a good mood, perhaps because they are getting rid of me. Either way, as we respectfully tiptoe around each other for the bathroom (after you, no after you), take turns for the one mirror (here, use my anti-frizz serum) and they even pick up their clothes from the floor by my bed (how did that get there, I’m so sorry) and more, we still, bizarrely, do not mention the missing person. It’s as though he never happened. Like when Prince changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol and the world just went along with it, no questions asked. We also do not mention their clashing alibis for the evening in question or their errant behaviour or their animosity towards each other. Instead, Astrid and Tiffany behave like the best of friends.
‘Astrid, honey. Shall we take turns on the bar today?’
‘Sure thing, babe.’
‘And alternate between dining and room tidy?’
‘Great idea, Tiff. I’ll do breakfast service while you and Mads do towel refresh for any guests wanting it. Although I imagine it’ll be like a zombie apocalypse if they don’t sleep off their hangovers this morning. Last night was such a messy one.’ Astrid lets out a tinkling laugh and we join in even though I’m not sure what the joke is. It’s as though we’ve become Stepford wives while we’re trapped here out at sea.
‘Did either of you know that Garry was Greek?’ I ask, causing a flurry of titters.
‘Figures. Randy sod.’ Tiff rolls her eyes at Astrid, who returns a meaningful look. They know all about randy men, that’s for sure.
‘Real name Garribald Geopapadopolopoudos,’ I tell them. ‘Or something like that.’
‘I had no clue but at least that’s better than Gee Dawg and Gee Man,’ scoffs Tiffany, giving Astrid another secretive look. She shudders. ‘I think life at sea without him will be easier.’
