One Way Ticket Page 3

  “You don’t want to drink the local coffee,” the middle aged man at the next table told me when my drink arrived, “you’ll be sat on the toilet all day”. His skin was the colour of strong tea but he sounded English. (This kind of tan on an Englishman is noteworthy because of its rarity, a number of them are so white there’s a tinge of blue involved.)

  “Just off the plane, are you?” he asked, even though I hadn’t acknowledged his first comment. “I can tell by the colour of you,” he continued (I may have a blue tinge myself). “On holiday?”

  This I couldn’t resist answering. “No, I’m here to stay.”

  “Another one realises life is so much better out here.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You and your family, is it?”

  “No, just me. Well, I have an elderly relative that lives here. I’ve come to look after her.” I liked the Mother Theresa ring of that sentence and revelled in the smug feeling it gave me.

  “Ah, the young woman coming to a foreign island out of family duty. Hoping for a bit of sun, sea and romance with a Greek god, I bet?”

  Had he just turned my portrait of self-sacrifice into a cheap romance novel?

  “Whereabouts are you staying?”

  I was still picturing myself on a beach with a hunky Cypriot, leaning against a donkey, all in silhouette. “Oh, up on the hill.”

  “Good view from up there. There’s quite an expat community going on here, they’ll rope you into something, I warn you.”

  “Right.” I tried to go back to my coffee.

  “Is it an old lady you’re looking after?” he asked.

  Was it going to turn out that he knew Aunt June too? This place wasn’t that small, surely? “Yes,” I replied, suddenly a bit curious.

  “You want to keep a good eye on her then, after what’s happened.” He held up the front cover of the newspaper he’d been reading.

  I had to lean in to see it. ‘Elderly British woman found dead’ the headline read.

  “What, murdered?” I asked, not able to read the small print.

  “The police are still trying to work it out. It used to be nice here when I first started coming. Now, it’s all nightclubs and tourists. If people are going to start getting murdered, I’ll have to find somewhere else.”

  “Quite.” I started to wonder myself what kind of place I’d moved to. Still, it was certainly easy to get talking to people around here, better than back home where trying to strike up a conversation with a stranger was a precarious venture. That had to be worth something.

  “I sell real estate,” the man announced, pulling out a business card from the top pocket of his shirt. “If you’re interested in an investment opportunity, give me a call.”

  Was everyone here trying to sell you something?

  He got up, seemingly oblivious to my disgust. “See you around, no doubt,” he said, then left.

  I watched the boat in the bay a little longer before facing the fact it was time to tell Aunt June about the job.

  “Never mind, dear,” was Aunt June’s response to the bad interview when I got home, “that was just your first go. Everyone messes up their first go.”

  Unfortunately, there was the second go, the third go and the fourth. I got turned down for a bartending job (you try adding up 2.65, 1.75 and 2.40 in your head), a typist job (apparently 16 words a minute isn’t good), and a gardening job (it looked like a weed to me), which exhausted all of Aunt June’s favours. I was so desperate, I even phoned the man from the café who’d given me his business card (he was called Richard), to see if he could introduce me to anyone that might need a willing employee, but he never returned my calls.

  I was on the verge of giving up hope and turning Aunt June’s villa into a massage parlour, when I received an invite to an interview at the police station.

  I rang to check it was for a job and not for any sheep related incidents or application fraud, and they assured me it was for the admin assistant role. Curious, as I hadn’t actually applied for it, I wasn’t fool enough to put my name down with the police. Sadly, Aunt June was.

  “You looked so down, dear, I filled it in for you. Lucky I did really, you were running out of time. If I hadn’t, you’d have missed out.”

  On what? Jail? Deportation? Oh, Aunt June.

  My options seemed few: I could revoke my application and raise Aunt June’s suspicions, or I could carry on and hope the Cypriot police didn’t look at their admin candidates too closely. Between the Cypriot police and my aunt, I knew which one I’d rather mess with.

  “You speak French, don’t you?” Aunt June asked as I got out of the car at the police building on the morning of my interview. She’d driven me there so she could use the car afterwards to visit a friend.

  “I did a bit at school a long time ago, why?”

  “I just remembered, I put down you speak French on your application form.”

  My body froze completely, apart from my mouth which opened and shut a few times of its own accord.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll all come back to you,” the harpy from hell told me brightly, as she leaned across to shut my car door. “Good luck darling, I’ll pick you up afterwards.”

  “Yes, I’ll give you a ring from the jail cell,” I murmured as she drove away, leaving me standing in the gutter like a lost child.

  How did I get into this mess? I’d spent the last few days practising Greek like mad; learning as many tourist phrases as I could think of, just to find at the last minute, my aunt had dropped me in it again. As I headed up the steps, I decided if things went pear shaped, I would feign innocence and blame her for identity theft.

  You would never have thought I had held the administrator job at EMJ Holdings for three years, practically running the health and safety department, if you had seen me waiting for that interview. Not only did I look pale, a sheen of sweat formed on my upper lip. I also kept forgetting basic Greek words like yes and good morning (but strangely could remember the ones for artichoke and headache).

  I couldn’t stop thinking that if I didn’t get this job, I may have to go back to England after all (where he was). Then who would look after Aunt June? A large poster on the wall opposite my seat, appealing for information about the murder of the elderly woman from the newspaper Richard had shown me, only served as a reminder of my responsibility for my aunt now. I also couldn’t help imagining that at any moment a policeman could come along the corridor and march me straight down to the cells. By the time I was called into the room, I was a nervous wreck.

  Two stern looking, middle aged men were sat behind a desk. One motioned me to sit in the chair opposite. He explained the job involved providing admin support for the police unit that dealt primarily with tourist crimes and the expatriate community. I explained the fact that I was English was a big advantage as I could relate to the customers better and their funny ways (I wasn’t sure if the police force used the term ‘customer’ but it was the only word I could think of under pressure). The other man frowned through most of the interview but at least neither of them laughed when I tried to reply to one question in Greek.

  I left the interview with little hope but relieved I still had my freedom.

  Consequently, I was quite surprised to get a phone call an hour later telling me I had gotten the job.

  Oh, how we splurged that night, going out to celebrate at a nearby taverna (one of the few not turned into an international restaurant) and gorging ourselves on wonderful dishes of grilled halloumi and kleftiko.

  “This is delicious,” my aunt tried to say with a mouthful of slow roasted lamb. “Don’t normally have it, too expensive.”

  “Make the most of it,” I warned her, enjoying the squeaky sounds the cheese made on my teeth, “this job isn’t going to stretch to this kind of feast very often. We’ll only be able to afford a few small luxuries.”

  “Ooh! My magazine. From England. Perhaps I can start buying that again?”

  I smiled at her. “I e
xpect so.” It was nice to see such little things bringing so much pleasure. “We’d better hold off any purchases until I actually start the job though.”

  “Of course. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be marvellous!” Aunt June raised her glass to toast me and I felt the pleasure of something going right for the first time in a long while.

  It reminded me something from earlier. “Have you heard about that elderly woman they found dead? It was murder after all.”

  “I know, no one’s been talking of anything else.”

  I’d obviously been too caught up in my job search to notice. “It doesn’t happen here a lot, does it? Murder? I mean, I thought this was meant to be a safe place to live?”

  “No, it doesn’t happen very often, not as often as Spain,” my aunt said proudly as if that was a significant fact.

  “Good,” I told her. “I think.”

  A few security checks later (during which I was expecting to be escorted from the island at any moment), I was ready for my first day. I could hardly believe I’d gotten this far without being detected but I had, I was in. Aunt June handed me a packed lunch and kissed me goodbye proudly. She stood at the front door waving until I was out of sight of the villa. She was probably quite glad to have the place to herself for a while.

  On arrival at the police station, I was whisked away to get a security pass made and my photo taken, so it was mid morning before I made it to the area where I would be working. My department seemed to consist of lots of tiny offices leading off a main corridor, a contrast to the open plan style popular back home. Like the rest of the place, the rooms could have done with a lick of paint to liven up their dull beige coloured walls. The office furniture had seen better days too, it looked like the 1970s were making another appearance.

  As I was introduced around, I was surprised to see a familiar face talking to one of the police officers: my taxi driver.

  “Addi,” I said, after a few seconds trying to remember his name, “what are you doing here? Nothing serious, I trust?” Could one hope they were investigating the exorbitant taxi rates? Or perhaps his dodgy brandy dealing days were over?

  “Know Detective Constable Markou, do you?” the sergeant asked.

  4 Don’t Talk To Me About Work

  “Quite a few of us have second jobs,” Addi clarified later.

  That would explain why there were so few to go around.

  “I do taxi driving, Vara works at the supermarket, Andreas gives boat tours to tourists.”

  “You guys like to keep busy,” I said.

  “We have to, sometimes the pay in Cyprus isn’t so good.”

  Sometimes? All the time I’d say, but it was certainly better than nothing.

  I picked up the work easily enough, although I’d have to improve my Greek if I wanted to follow all the conversations in the department. A couple of my co-workers were particularly suspect. Sometimes, after a little laugh, they would glance at me before looking away. I was going to have to step up my Greek or burst not knowing what they were saying about me. The others had been friendly though, especially Addi, and Vara, the other admin assistant I shared my small office with. They helped me to settle in and laughed at some of my silly English notions - paperless offices, health and safety laws, data protection (they may have had a point).

  With the summer season well past, there were fewer tourists around so fewer tourist crimes. The department was instead focussing on the expatriate community and their (numerous) complaints. That’s where I came in.

  “So, apart from the heat, the food, the locals, the tourists, the cats, the insects, and the tv channels, you say you really like it here, Mr Day?” The ex-plumber from Sheffield had actually come in to complain about a parking problem but hadn’t been able to stop there. It was hard to understand why so many had moved here when they moaned about it so much. My first test in the job was keeping my mouth buttoned whilst they ranted on.

  Of course, my talents were wasted in the role, I mean I’d been an administrator back home, for goodness sake, but there were some upsides to it. I’d never pay a parking fine again for a start, and I got to read all the juicy details of what went on at the seedier end of local expat society when I typed up reports of the investigations. And believe me, it got quite seedy. Currency frauds, peeping toms, swingers parties (I’ll never look at the words ‘come as you are’ on a party invite in the same light again). It was gripping stuff, even though I didn’t know the people personally, better than reading the newspapers.

  When Aunt June’s friends found out where I was working, I was inundated with requests to help their cousin’s brother-in-law’s nephew get his building permit/lap dance club licence/golf club membership. Okay, perhaps the lap dance club bit was an exaggeration. That hadn’t hit Kythios yet, but it was probably only a matter of time. I’d adjusted to the fact the place wasn’t an unspoilt haven anymore (lucky really as I’d never have gotten a job otherwise), and come to enjoy living here, especially now most of the tourists had gone home and the bakery was still staying open.

  In fact, I’d already gotten into a routine of sorts with Aunt June. She went out a lot with friends, I went out a lot to work. I kept telling myself that was just the way it seemed and as soon as I’d established my own friendships I’d be swanning off every evening as well. In the meantime, I was getting quite good at d.i.y. (and I mean that in the home improvement sense of the word).

  “Good day off?” Vara asked me, as I came in one morning after a day spent trying to tame the triffid that grew around Aunt June’s villa. My co-worker was a friendly, if plain looking, woman in her early twenties, with an interesting line of ear piercings running up the edge of one ear, and a love of bright coloured clothing. Today, she was wearing a turquoise shirt that would have given me the pallor of a corpse but made her look gloriously sunkissed.

  “Hmm, okay I guess. Got wet trying to do some gardening.” The rain my aunt had warned me was on its way had come down suddenly, one minute there were just a few clouds in the sky, the next enormous raindrops were pounding down. In the couple of minutes it had taken me to get indoors, I was soaked.

  “Yes, isn’t it great the rain’s started?” Vara said.

  Her response had me flummoxed. That sort of talk could get you slapped in England. “Is it?”

  “I hope my father will stop going on about his ruined garden now.”

  I keep forgetting there’s been a drought here and the locals really want rain, it’s an alien concept to anyone coming from the British Isles. “My aunt’s plants seem to be doing well enough without it,” I told her, rubbing an arm still aching from the effort of the day before.

  “You should have seen my Enzo−” Vara started.

  But I never found out what or who her Enzo was because Sergeant H strode into the office at that point and called me over. (His surname isn’t really H, it’s just so long and involves so many ‘ou’, that everyone calls him H.)

  “Jennifer, we have a problem. Follow me.”

  I knew it, they’ve found out what I did back home. I could feel my mouth drying up as I pictured him frogmarching me out of the building. Legs trembling, I followed him into an office where another man was already seated. Sergeant H shut the door behind us.

  “There was an incident at Whispering Hills a couple of weeks ago,” the man behind the desk began.

  Whispering Hills? That was a nearby suburb of expats, mostly British. This couldn’t be anything to do with me and my ‘incident’. I let myself relax a little.

  “A resident was found dead. You’ve probably heard about it. You will need to go there with the sergeant to, what’s the word…?”

  Interrogate? Strip search? Bribe?

  “Liaise?” he queried.

  I nodded, a little disappointed.

  “Liaise with the other residents. You must remain calm and ensure nobody panics, yes?”

  Panic? Wasn’t it a bit late for that?

  “It is very important for everyone to believe
Whispering Hills is still a safe place to live.”

  “I understand,” I lied.

  “Off you go then.”

  Back at my desk, I collected my bag, plus a notepad and pen, not really sure what they wanted me to do. I’d seen some of the other admin staff go off sometimes, but this was the first time I’d been asked to accompany one of the officers.

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked H as we pulled out of the police station car park. I wanted to be clear before we arrived on site.

  “You will be there when I interview the neighbours. Sometimes, some of the phrases people use, you will explain them to me.”

  “Like a translator?”

  “Yes, just like.”

  Now that I could understand. “So, this is the old lady?”

  “Yes. At first we hoped it was natural causes, but it wasn’t. We have a lot of old women living here, some of them on their own. Like the captain said, we don’t want to create a panic. Tourism is very important to the island.”

  “I see.”

  “We’re going to use a room in a nearby, empty apartment to interview some more of the neighbours.”

  Word must have gotten out about our imminent arrival because there was already a crowd gathering outside when we arrived. So much for keeping it quiet. The sergeant looked upset when he saw them.

  “What did you expect when you have a load of old people with a lot of time on their hands?” I told him. “This sort of situation is tailor made for them.”

  “We’re meant to stop the people getting upset,” he moaned.

  “Upset? Are you kidding? Look at those faces, they’re loving it. This’ll give them something to talk about for weeks. You should probably give the murderer a community award at the end of this for bringing people together.”

  I could tell by the look on his face I had overstepped things with that remark. I kept my mouth shut and followed him into the apartment.