My candid outpouring and borderline-hysterical show of unadulterated vulnerability has repelled him to the point that he needed to flee. It takes me a few seconds to fully comprehend my predicament. The street is deserted. The hotel receptionist has gone. I need to find that nightclub and the only person who knows where it is, is currently trying to set a new world record for speed walking. He must think that my high levels of emotional intelligence and self-awareness mean that I’m too capable and proficient to need his immediate help.
Well, not on my watch.
He is the Good Samaritan that I desperately need right now despite his lack of willing and his distracting good looks.
Staying a few steps behind, I basically follow him up the street towards the main road at the top. I say road. There are no visible markings and the few cars that there are, are driving on either side of the track, swerving out of each other’s way instead of picking a side and sticking to it.
His face drops when he notices me scurrying after him, so I make sure to keep a little distance between us. But he soon does a double take, giving me a compassionate look. He slows considerably, allowing me to catch up. I remember he mentioned on the plane he had sisters. Perhaps some of them have been forced into wearing indecent costumes that have never known the thrill of a quiet night in, sipping tea and reading by the fire.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
Walking alongside me, he waits a few seconds before asking, ‘How come you’re on your own? Aren’t you with friends?’
I shake my head just as a motorbike beeps at us to get out of the way. ‘They left without me.’
He immediately nods in understanding, revealing those kind eyes that drew me in on the plane. ‘Struth. That’s a bit full on. Some friends!’
I shrug in response, trying not to get excited over the word ‘struth’. He sounds like someone fromNeighbours.
As we clear a series of lethal potholes at the side of the road, I nearly jump out of my skin as a minibus screeches to a stop right beside us. It is full of people, chickens, goats and rolled-up rugs pressed up against the dirty windows. There is no door on the bus, and the leathery-looking driver is missing a significant number of teeth as he treats us to a quick head flick and a gappy grin. It looks like a deathtrap. A road accident waiting to happen. Wait. The driver is actually sitting on an upended bucket. A worn out, filthy, plastic bucket! How am I, the most orderly and punctilious of women, supposed to deal with traffic in this chaotic part of the world when it is so completely out of control?
My reluctant Good Samaritan reaches for the handrail, jumps on and holds his hand out towards me. ‘Quick!’
Oh. My. Word. Every cell in my body is screaming not to get on.
As the bus rolls forward, ready to leave without me, his face suddenly softens, causing the final line of my university dissertation to spring to mind:The biggest risk in life is not taking any risks.
I meet his calm gaze. ‘It’s now or never. Up to you,’ he says.
I take a deep breath in and grasp his outstretched hand. As I jump aboard, the bus jolts violently a few times – just enough to throw me conveniently into his arms, before tearing off down the track.
5
I crane my neck round, scanning the bus. I see lots of locals crammed in with bags of potatoes, crates of aubergines and even livestock on their knees, and the odd tourist carrying bags overspilling with what look clearly like designer knockoffs, dotted between. The aisle is jampacked with people. There is no space. I’m amazed the driver stopped to pick us up and yet everyone seems completely at ease with this mode of higgledy-piggledy travel. We haven’t even paid any bus fare!
My plane guy has me clamped against him, basically holding me upright while he’s clinging to a pole where a door should be attached. He is preventing me from falling backwards, straight out onto the road. Our bodies are pressed tightly against each other. There’s an obvious, awkward energy between us.
‘Hey,’ I say, making eye contact, ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’ His voice sounds strained, maybe because he thinks I’m still on the verge of a meltdown.
The bus continues to career along amid lots of honking and blaring of horns until soon we stop for another small group of people. As they try their best to squeeze on board, as though expecting to defy the laws of physics, we shuffle up to make room.
‘Did you know dolmus actually meansstuffedin Turkish? You can see why, can’t you?’ I say mostly to his chest.Impressive definition.‘I looked it up in my Turkish-English dictionary before leaving home.’
He gives me a half-smile for my efforts and flicks a finger to indicate for me to move further up the bus. As we push our way along the aisle towards the back, I plough on with the conversation, determined to show him that I’m sane and well-adjusted and not such a hysterical mess.
I introduce myself over my shoulder. ‘I’m Maddie. England. Recently single.’Oh, my God.It’s like I’ve forgotten how to be normal.
‘Jackson. Australia. Also… recently single.’ His face shows no sign of enjoying this level of personal exchange.
I take a moment to compose myself. Be cool. Be calm. ‘So, are you here in Turkey for long, Jackson?’ I ask, forcing a casual tone as we come to a halt in a tiny space.
‘Not long, no,’ he says vaguely.
He is not making this conversation easy and I feel a sudden panicky urge to lighten the mood. ‘Just here until the film shoot ends, then?’ I joke.
He frowns, perplexed.
