Divorce Turkish Style (30 page)

“Lie down on the sofa. I'll get you a blanket,” said Fofo.

I lay down and Fofo returned with a blue and navy patterned blanket that I detested.

“I want the yellow blanket,” I said.

“I couldn't find the yellow one,” he said.

“Fatma Hanım must have put it away. See if it's in the drawer with the sweaters.”

Fofo came back still holding the same disgusting blanket. “I can't find it.”

“I'm not putting that horrible thing over me!” I yelled, making my throat hurt, which made me feel so bad that I started to cry.

“What's the matter now?” asked Fofo, sitting next to me on the sofa and stroking my hair. “Sinan called you six times yesterday evening. See for yourself if you don't believe me.”

“I don't care about Sinan,” I cried. “I couldn't care less!”

I wanted Selim, but I couldn't tell Fofo that because he'd never liked him anyway.

“Let me take your temperature,” said Fofo.

The thermometer felt icy cold on my skin.

“I'll go and look for another blanket,” said Fofo and disappeared.

“The yellow blanket wasn't there. Shall I cover you up with this?” said Fofo, returning with my duvet.

“Yes, please.”

“I've made you some chicken soup. You must eat something.”

“I don't want to eat anything.”

“You have to force yourself if you're going to get any better. Let me look at the thermometer.”

Fofo turned the thermometer slightly to see the mercury level.

“It's not even thirty-seven, which is good. You'll be good as new tomorrow,” he said.

“What a horrible day,” I said, putting a spoonful of chicken soup into my mouth.

I then went back to sleep. It had indeed been a horrible day.

*

The next morning, I awoke hating life slightly less, at least until Fofo started pestering me to phone Sinan.

“I have better things to do,” I said.

“He called you six times,” insisted Fofo. “You have to phone him. Or at least tell him that you don't want to see him.”

But I didn't want to tell Sinan that.

“I'll call him later,” I said.

Fofo fetched my phone and put it next to my plate.

“Are you trying to make me ill again?” I asked.

“It won't make you ill. Just one short phone call,” insisted Fofo.

“I don't want to.”

“I'll dial the number, then!” said Fofo, ignoring all my objections.

“In that case, talk to him yourself. I'm not saying another word,” I said, and fell silent.

It was like a scene out of a medical drama.

“You're just being stupid, Kati.”

I said nothing.

“Come on, pull yourself together, Kati.”

Still I said nothing.

“Tell him that you lost your phone and you've only just found it.”

I looked away.

“You're not being fair on the boy.”

I remained silent.

“It's not right to play with young people's feelings like that.”

I carried on ignoring him.

“Don't you feel any responsibility towards the youth of today?”

Fofo was becoming ridiculous now and I was finding it hard not to laugh.

“Are you prepared to take personal responsibility if this kid hates all foreigners from now on?”

I stifled a laugh.

“I really thought you were someone with a sense of social responsibility.”

“Oh, Fofo! All right then! Call him, and I'll speak to him!”

However, as always, Sinan didn't answer his phone. It would have been the crack of dawn for him, and he was probably sleeping.

Once the phone fiasco was over, Fofo asked what we were going to do that day.

“I'm going to look for a photo of Tamaşa Hanım to show to the neighbours. She might have been seen in the vicinity of the house,” I said.

“Well, someone should go to Murat's office and pick up that magazine,” said Fofo, as he went to the kitchen to make tea.

“Would you go?” I called out after him, realizing my throat still hurt when I spoke loudly.

“I'll go. But we don't want the one of her dressed in Valentino, surely. A photo that looks more like she is now would be better, don't you think? She's hardly going to be wandering around Paşabahçe in a Valentino gown and full evening make-up,” said Fofo, as he came back and placed my glass of tea noisily on the table.

“Be careful, Fofo!”

“It slipped out of my hand.”

I picked up a napkin to mop up the tea that had spilled over the plate of cheese.

“You're right. I expect she only goes around Paşabahçe wearing XOXO trainers,” I laughed.

“By the way, you haven't yet told me what you and Batuhan talked about over dinner the other night.”

I explained that by the time we reached the restaurant the bluefish had run out so we both ate tuna, which was pretty
boring. The interesting part of the evening was when we started dancing, which of course was what my dear Fofo really wanted to hear about.

“Well, you have a birthday coming up. Perhaps your luck will change,” he said, as I came to the end of my account.

Talk of my birthday reminded me of star signs, which in turn reminded me of the secretary Sevim.

“I'm glad you reminded me, Fofo. We must call Sevim Hanım too,” I said.

“Why's that?”

“I think she was also hired to keep an eye on Sani. If we press her, we might find out more.”

“You're suggesting that we should talk to her together?”

I nodded.

“So, we need to get hold of Sevim Hanım and Murat,” said Fofo.

“Yes,” I said.

Fofo got up and went to make some phone calls.

We met Sevim early that evening at the same Simit Sarayı. She explained at length that she wasn't at all happy about having to look for a job. She wanted to work in insurance, which was difficult because people feared another economic crisis was on the way and didn't want to take out insurance policies. She also wanted a job close to home. Fofo and I listened to her grumbling as she munched her way through a cream dessert, until I'd finally had enough.

“There's no way you'll earn the same sort of money you were paid at GreTur. You'll have to take a pay cut, whether you like it or not,” I said.

“I didn't earn very much there,” murmured Sevim.

“Maybe not, but with extras, perhaps—”

“What extras?” she interrupted, trying to gauge what and how much I knew.

“Let's not play games. Who was paying you to inform the Ankaralıgil family about what Sani was up to?” I said, intending to startle Sevim.

She was indeed startled.

“What?” she cried, going red in the face.

“Well, your sister and I certainly weren't the only people you told about Sinan,” I said, sensing that it was time to be more hawkish.

“I haven't told tales about Sani Hanım to anyone,” said Sevim, springing to her feet and grabbing her bag, which was dangling over the back of her chair.

“If you don't sit down, we're going straight to the police, and they might not be so patient,” I said, having had enough of her waffle about searching for a job.

“Who were you doing it for?” asked Fofo.

“Look, I know you have a brother who needs constant care, and I know you need money. If you tell us everything, we won't go to the police,” I said.

Sevim didn't look the slightest bit swayed by what I'd said. The game of good cop, bad cop needs to be consistent, otherwise it just causes confusion. Was I the good cop, or the bad?

“I don't know anything,” she said, looking alarmed.

“Just tell us what you know,” said Fofo.

Sevim sat down again, clutching the bag in her lap tightly.

“Sani Hanım wasn't killed because of me,” she said.

“Who did you give information about Sani to?” I asked.

Sevim glanced towards the stairs, as if trying to calculate whether or not she could escape.

“You won't get away from us. We know where you live,” said Fofo, throwing himself into the role with unusual fervour.

“They arranged for other people to monitor Sani as well,” I said. “You weren't the only one, I can assure you.”

“Who were the others, then?” asked Sevim.

Did she really think we'd tell her that?

“It's not important who they are. Their names are classified information. We won't give your name to anyone, either,” I said.

“Really?” asked Sevim, looking as if she wanted to believe us and tell us what she knew so that she could get away as quickly as possible. That was what I was hoping, at any rate.

“Yes, really,” I said. “Whatever you say remains between us three. No one else will find out.”

“Honestly, I didn't do anything bad,” said Sevim, before revealing everything.

As we left Simit Sarayı, I became aware that Fofo was angry with me and barely answering my questions.

“What is it, Fofo?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you cross with me?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you going to tell me why you're cross?”

Silence.

“For God's sake, what is it?”

The silence continued until finally Fofo said, “So Sevim told you about Sani's relationship with Sinan and you didn't bother to tell me?”

Whoops!

Whoops indeed. We continued to argue all the way home.

12

Pelin sounded ready to bite our heads off when we told her that yet again we wouldn't be at the shop that day. However, she soon pulled herself together. After all, we weren't out enjoying ourselves. Working for the benefit of the public meant that we had a right to expect a bit of support from those around us, didn't it? She would have to put up with it for a few days more. We were almost there, but just needed proof. And maybe Orhan Soner could help us with that.

“If he's not at home, we've come all this way for nothing,” said Fofo, as we walked through the well-tended garden between rows of brilliant red roses that had obviously been planted in early autumn.

“Where would he go at this time on a Sunday?” I said, optimistically.

It wasn't long before the door opened, making me beam with pleasure at seeing my optimism rewarded. We found ourselves looking at a woman with shoulder-length hair swept back from her forehead and held in place by a hairband, making her look like a cartoon figure. It had to be Orhan's wife.

“Hello, we'd like to speak to Orhan Soner,” I said.

“Orhan isn't here,” said the woman. “Who are you?”

“We're investigating the death of your neighbour, Sani Ankaralıgil.”

“What's there to investigate? I read that she died as the result of an accident.”

“That's what the press said, but there are a few details that need checking out. Could we speak to Orhan Bey?”

She thought for a bit and finally replied, “What does this have to do with Orhan?”

“Well, since you're neighbours, he might have seen something,” I said.

“Because Orhan's a neighbour? Or because he's her ex-lover?”

I didn't know what to say.

“Come inside. Orhan's out, but he'll be back soon,” she said.

As soon as I sat down, I opened my bag and took out the magazine containing the photo of Tamaşa in her Valentino dress.

“Have you ever seen this woman around here?” I asked.

She glanced sideways at the photo.

“I don't think so,” she said, shaking her head as if trying to brush away a fly. “Our front door opens on to the street, but we have no windows that side. The house was built to look out to sea rather than at the street, so we rarely know what's going on out there.”

“Perhaps you could take another good look at the photo,” I suggested. “Maybe, while watering the flowers in your front garden—”

“How many times do I have to look at it? I've already looked!” she said loudly, almost yelling.

Why the anger? I could have said something very crushing, but restrained myself because I still had a lot of questions to ask.

“You knew she was an ex-girlfriend of Orhan's, didn't you?” said the wife.

I didn't reply, and Fofo had already clammed up.