One Way Ticket (13 page)

“Of course. And will you be having
turkey?” I had to admit I hadn’t gotten a grip on Christmas traditions around
here, most homes seemed to have a tree but I didn’t know if the turkey dinner
was a universal thing.

He laughed a little.

I’ll take that as a no, I thought.

“We’ll probably have pastitsio or hiromeni.”

What or what?

“Pork,” he explained, “or our version of pasta.”

A small, old Cypriot lady (even smaller
than my aunt and more wrinkled), wearing a dress I noted, sidled up and offered
a plate of delicious looking biscuits. Not wanting to look greedy, I just took
two and attempted to nibble them politely instead of my usual wolfing action.

“These are traditional Christmas
biscuits,” Michalis told me. “This is Yiayia, my grandmother.” The old woman pulled
her face momentarily into what might have been a smile and sloped off before I
could say hello.

“Lovely,” I tried to say with my mouth
full of almond filling. I will say this, the Cypriots certainly know how to
make a good biscuit.

“You will be having an English Christmas?”
he asked.

“I don’t know, it depends on my aunt.”

“You like your Christmas pudding?”

Was that a comment on my size? I wasn’t
what you’d call big but I certainly wasn’t skinny either. I looked down at the
uneaten part of my second biscuit, appetite now gone.

“I mean, you like Christmas back home?”
Michalis quickly followed up, perhaps seeing the look on my face.

Christmas back home? I’d enjoyed last year’s,
but that was before everything had come to a head (and I had lost mine). It got
me to thinking about people back home, one person in particular and the things
he had said to me last Christmas. And how it had felt to discover they were lies,
all lies. Would he give a thought to me this year?

“Not necessarily,” I told Michalis. “This
year will certainly be different and I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

My good humour was lost, dwelling on the
past. Michalis spotted someone across the room and excused himself to go speak
to her. You couldn’t blame him.

Aunt June was back within moments. “What’s
the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Rubbish, it must be serious if it’s put
you off your food,” she said, indicating the biscuit I was nursing.

“Just thinking about Christmas back home.”

“Oh, you’re not going to miss all that
surely? Overcooked sprouts, dry turkey, lumpy white sauce.”

Suddenly, I felt all homesick again.

“Do I get the feeling we aren’t going to
be having a traditional Christmas dinner?” I asked.

“You’ll have to cook that yourself if you
want it. I haven’t eaten that sort of thing for years. Let’s stand over there,
there’s more room,” my aunt said, trying to nudge me along to where Michalis
was now standing.

“Will you give it up already,” I told her,
holding my ground. “I thought I was a xenos anyway.”

“Oh, Helena won’t think that. I’m sure
she’d like to see Michalis settled.”

“Well he’s not settling for me.”

Aunt June looked like I’d spoilt her fun. “I
think I’ll get a nice bit of pork or beef for Christmas. You don’t mind if Kostas
comes over, do you? He’ll be on his own otherwise.”

Christmas was shaping up to be a bit of a
letdown.

16 Let’s Get Down To Business

I couldn’t get over the fact
there wasn’t going to be a Christmas do at work. I’d never worked anywhere before
that didn’t have some kind of celebration. Party season back home usually meant
a few outings to a pub, club, or someone’s house, all involving an excess of
eating and drinking with numerous opportunities for personal humiliation. Apparently,
getting rat-arsed and falling facedown in a gutter wasn’t the Cypriot way to
celebrate Christmas. They didn’t know what they were missing.

Addi and I still weren’t talking, and Vara
didn’t have time even for a Christmas drink amongst her many seasonal
preparations, so it came down to the expat community’s Christmas celebrations
to save me. They offered a ‘turkey and tinsel’ evening or ‘mince pies and carol
singing’ at the community hall they called ‘the Club’. Neither one sounded like
a right raving night out, but I bought two tickets to the turkey one to get
back at Aunt June for not wanting a traditional Christmas dinner.

I was disappointed to find, when we
arrived, that Aunt June had arranged to be served a curry instead of the
traditional fare. Curse her and her contacts.

“You’re missing out on all this
nostalgia,” I told her as I forced down a soggy sprout, paper hat on head. The
organisers had gone to a lot of effort, supplying snowman patterned paper table
cloths and serviettes, and, I was delighted to see, Christmas crackers. There
was even a large (fake) Christmas tree in the middle of the room.

“I’m happy with my turkey tikka,” my aunt
smiled smugly, skewering a chunk with her fork.

Not for long, I reckoned. I’d told the
kitchen staff my aunt liked her curry extra hot. I know it was a bit mean, but
I was confident they came from the same school of cookery as my aunt, hot to
them probably meant an extra twist of the pepper pot.

It became clear I had underestimated them
when the perspiration started to become visible on my aunt’s brow. When mixing
in some of the bread sauce didn’t help cool it down, I found myself swapping my
beloved Christmas dinner for her stomach pumping nightmare.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought,” she
said, wiping the last of my turkey around the plate to pick up what was left of
the gravy and cranberry sauce. “The turkey was lovely and moist, and those
roast potatoes so crispy.”

“Really?” I said dryly, eyeing her plate
enviously. I’d only managed a small amount of the curry and was picking at the
boiled rice.

“Mmm. Best Christmas dinner I’ve had in
ages.”

“Great,” I commented, trying not to look
at the mess congealing on my plate.

“Maybe I will try a bit of Christmas
pudding, after all, it’s a long time since I had any. Are you going to have
some?”

The curry’s full effect hit me at that
moment and I had to make a dash for the loo.

From inside the cubicle I could hear two
women outside complaining about the police’s failure to catch Tina Lloyd’s
murderer. Just what I needed. Couldn’t I go anywhere without hearing people
banging on about this case? I let out a groan.

“Are you alright, Jennifer?” I heard my
aunt call back. I hadn’t realises she’d come into the bathroom behind me. “It
sounds serious.”

“No, I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Shall I save you some dessert? There’s
brandy cream.”

The thought of that made me let out
another groan.

“I’ll leave you to it,” my aunt said. I
heard the door bang as she left.

“You know who I think the police should
talk to about Tina’s death, anyway,” the conversation outside my cubicle started
up again.

“You’re convinced it was them?” the second
voice asked.

This sounded interesting. Suddenly I was
all ears, and stopped mid-, well, I probably don’t need to give too much detail.

“Oh, absolutely. But they never speak to
the right people, the police,” the first woman answered. “No doubt they’ll get
away with it.”

“I know, the police are hopeless.” It was
the second woman again. “Perhaps you should do an anonymous tip or something?”

I couldn’t stand it anymore. “You can tell
me,” I shouted through the cubicle door, “I’ll pass it on.”

There was the sound of rustling and footsteps,
then a door banging shut.

“Hello?” I called but to no answer, they’d
left.

I tried to rush but the curry had its own
agenda. By the time I made it out, the dessert plates were being cleared away
and there was no way of telling who the two women I’d overheard in the loo were.
Unless… I rushed over to my aunt who was talking to an elderly woman I didn’t
know.

“Aunt June−”

“Jennifer isn’t feeling very well,” she
explained to the woman.

“I need to ask−” I tried to
interrupt.

 “You missed a lovely dessert,” my aunt went
on, regardless, “the brandy cream was gorgeous…”

For a moment, I debated going back to the
toilet again.

“…in fact the whole meal was good.”

“Yeah, did you see who was in the toilet?”
I finally managed to ask.

“No, who?”

“There were two women in there.”

“Were there?”

Argh. “Didn’t you see them?”

“I didn’t really look, I was worried about
you. Are you alright now?”

Pulling out a nearby chair, I sat down,
gingerly, defeated.

“It’s not the same without Tina here,” the
other woman told my aunt.

“Of course, we miss her,” my aunt agreed.

While they talked, I considered what I had
done to deserve such a lousy evening.

“I hope they catch her murderer soon, I
just don’t feel safe,” the other woman said, “do you?”

“Oh, I don’t let these things bother me,”
Aunt June told her. “You just have to carry on.”

“I heard they questioned Shirley’s husband
about it,” the other woman whispered, glancing round at a nearby table where a
faded, washed out looking woman was sitting alone. “I always thought he was a
bit funny sometimes. Terrible, isn’t it, to think you could be standing next to
a murderer?”

I perked up again. This place had suddenly
become a veritable hotbed of gossip about Tina Lloyd’s murder. I’d never dreamt
it would be possible to get so much out of a turkey dinner.

“Shirley’s husband?” I queried hopefully.

Kate O’Neill interrupted us before my aunt
or the other woman could answer. “Are you coming to our party tomorrow night
ladies? Jennifer?” My name was tacked on in a voice that sounded as if she was
hoping I’d say no.

“Oh yes, I’ll be there, wouldn’t miss it.”
Aunt June answered. “I don’t know about Jennifer.”

Until two minutes ago, wild horses
wouldn’t have been able to drag me to that party. Now I realised what a
potential goldmine of information it could be. “Sure, count me in,” I said.

“I did hope she may have some friends of her
own by now, but there you go,” my aunt told them.

“Aunt June!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eye on her.” My
aunt dropped her voice to a loud whisper. “There won’t be any repeat of ‘last
time’.”

I was rooted to my seat, mortified to be
spoken about like that when I was sitting right there. Luckily, Frank barged in
and stole Kate away before my face could get any redder and air traffic control
started directing planes my way. I stared at my aunt.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“What was it you were saying about
Shirley’s husband?” I asked the other woman I still hadn’t discovered the name
of. “He’s not called Paul, is he?”

“I’d really better be going,” she said,
looking at her watch. “I didn’t realise how late it was.”

“Yes, we’d better get off too,” my aunt
announced. “Kostas said he was coming over later.”

“Is Shirley’s husband called Paul?” I almost
shouted as my aunt picked up her coat and started putting it on.

“No, he’s Gordon. Why? What’s wrong with
you?”

“Nothing, just another idea bites the
dust.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? You have
been a bit funny tonight.”

“Well, the napalm curry didn’t help.”

“Ready to go?” my aunt asked expectantly,
clutching her handbag.

I really wanted to go around the room and
eavesdrop on people’s conversations now I’d realised they may be talking about
Tina Lloyd, but the curry was threatening to start round two, so I gave in.

“Thank you, Jennifer, that was a lovely
Christmas dinner. I can’t imagine what the ladies were thinking making the
curry so hot, though. It was a shame you missed out on your turkey.”

“Hmm,” I seethed from the passenger seat. My
aunt was driving us home so my hands were free to clutch my stomach.

 “You’re not upset about what I said to
Kate? You told me yourself you’d had a row with Addi, and Vara didn’t want to hang
out with you.”

“I don’t need you to point out I’m a bit
short on the friend front, I am well aware of that.” I shifted in my seat to
make the ache in my stomach more comfortable. “Ever since certain…incidents
back home, I’ve found it hard to open up and trust people, that’s all. It’s just
something I need to work on.”

“When are you going to tell me about it,
what happened back home? It might help to get it off your chest.”

Will it heck. “One day.”

“Well, I don’t mind you tagging along with
me in the meantime,” Aunt June added.

Could my life get any sadder?

The answer, of course, was yes.
Frank and Kate’s party was a definite low point. I’d anticipated the inevitable
sea of white hair and corduroy (I’m surprised more house fires aren’t started
at OAP get-togethers, the amount of static electricity their clothing can
produce). Even the overwhelming scent of herbal cough sweets in the air didn’t
phase me. It was the cry of ‘Christmas Karaoke’ that did me in. And this time, there
was no bottle of gin to fall back on, I’d had to promise my aunt not to touch a
drop. I watched the rush to bagsy the best songs with a feeling akin to
despair.

Cast adrift in a sea of what appeared to
be the world’s largest gathering of geriatric Elvis fans with only a lemonade
to comfort me, I decided it was now or never and began my task of undercover
interrogation. Fools rush in, I believe.

Sidling around the room, I couldn’t hear
any conversations about Tina going on, everyone seemed obsessed with the latest
episode of a new reality show that had been on satellite television earlier. I
could see I would have to subtly steer the conversations in the right direction.

One group of women were talking about ‘the
cute one’ in ‘Say It Isn’t So’. I wasn’t sure if that was a boy band or a new
campaign at the health clinic but decided to shoulder in.

 “How’s the world treating you?” I managed
to ask one standing on the edge of the group. “All ready for Christmas?”

“I wish,” she replied, looking me over. “Funny
how time slips away, I’m nowhere near ready, I haven’t even got my sprouts yet.
It won’t seem like Christmas without them.”

“No, how true.” I couldn’t imagine where
you got sprouts in Cyprus. “How do you feel about Tina’s killer still being on
the loose?”

“How do you think? How would you like to
be looking at people you know, wondering if they were involved?”

“I understand just how you feel.”

“Really? Well, perhaps your lot should hurry
up and catch the killer,” she went on, “That’s what they’re there for, isn’t
it?”

I hadn’t realised my job at the police
station was so well known. “Yes, of course…” Before I could say any more, she
turned back to the rest of the group, shutting me out.

Undeterred, I did another lap of the room.
It was starting to get a bit livelier as the alcohol went down. Sporadic bouts
of jiving were breaking out here and there, artificial hips clicking along to
the beat of the music. It meant a little less conversation was going on. Pushing
past one group, I had to dodge one old man’s hands as he tried to grab me to dance
with him.

“Let yourself go!” he yelled at me over a
snail’s pace version of ‘Jailhouse Rock’.

“Or, just let me go,” I told him, pulling
my hands out of his reach and making for the far end of the room.

It was a bit quieter here and, by and by, after
a few minutes loitering by Frank and Kate’s christmas tree, I made out snippets
of a conversation that sounded promisingly as if it was about Tina Lloyd.

“I wasn’t surprised… the way Tina lived
her life… happen one day.” Leaning around the tree, I could see the speaker was
an elderly woman in a red blouse. She was talking to a slightly younger looking
man with dark, slicked back hair. I put back the bauble I’d been pretending to examine
and stepped quickly over.

“I couldn’t help hearing you speak of Tina.”
I began, trying to wedge myself between them. “She was lovely, wasn’t she?”

“Knew her, did you?” the woman in red
asked.

“Well… of her, shall we say. I’ve heard a
lot of her. Lovely and a lively woman too, I believe.”

“Yes, you could say that.”

Neither of them seemed very keen to talk
to me. “How would you describe her?” I asked both of them.

The man looked away.

“It’s not all that suitable for a
Christmas party,” the woman in red said.

“Talk about the good times, then.” I
didn’t care, I was desperate for any information.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Oh, go on. I won’t tell anyone.”

She gave me a look. “But you work for the
police.”

“So I do.” My undercover mission seemed to
have hit a bit of a snag. Did everyone here know? I thought of my next move.
“Have you seen Paul?” I asked, looking around as if searching for someone.

“Paul? Paul who?”

“Oh, you know, Paul whatshisname, he was a
friend of Tina’s too.”

The old lady looked at me. “I don’t know
any Paul.”

Her companion put his hand on her arm.
“This is our dance, dear.” Giving me a filthy look, they moved towards a group dancing
at the front.