by sibelhodge
‘Hellooooooooo! Earth to Helen.’ Ayshe poked me hard in the ribs. ‘The most important thing is to keep busy and keep your mind open to new things. Look, I’ll help you. We can even do some things together, but you need to get out of this flat and into the big wide world again and stop hibernating.’
I narrowed my eyes, deep in thought. ‘You’re marrying Atila in a few weeks. You’ll be too busy to baby-sit me. And anyway, I’m not hibernating.’
But if I was honest, truly honest, I knew she was right. I’d spent so much time drowning in self-pity and pining for Justin that I’d lost myself. I needed to find out what I wanted for a change. A fourteen day challenge to myself might not be such a bad thing. Would it change my life? I was pretty doubtful. Would it get my yin and yang back? I felt a flicker of excitement at the thought of unknown possibilities.
‘Actually…I haven’t got any more wedding photos to do until yours,’ I started with caution. No one wanted to get married in November anyway, so my diary wasn’t exactly heaving. ‘Maybe I could give it a try.’
‘That’s my girl. And you never know, come my wedding, you may have a new guy to bring, eh?’
I stood up, catching my reflection in the mirror. Anxious eyes like soggy limpets stared back at me. I must admit, I had let myself go a bit lately. My chestnut curly hair sprang out in all directions. I could do with a trim – maybe even a few highlights, and – aargh! – look at my eyebrows! Denis Healey eat your heart out. And as for my hairy legs and bikini-line – well, I was beginning to resemble a silverback gorilla. The only good thing to come out of it, I supposed, was that I had shifted a few pounds and was now a size twelve, although I wouldn’t recommend The Getting-Dumped Diet to anyone.
Ayshe’s cackling brought me back down to earth. ‘You look fine. Nothing a hair cut and a pair of tweezers won’t fix.’
‘So, if I do this challenge, what will be on the agenda for tomorrow? I might as well start as soon as possible before I change my mind.’ I felt my mood lift slightly.
Relief spread across her face. ‘I’ll think about it and text you later. In the meantime, have a look through the local paper and the internet and get some ideas for new things to try. You won’t regret it. I have a good feeling about this.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Aagh! Look at the time. Me and Atila are going to Mum and Dad’s for dinner, which basically means Dad will be on the whisky again, cooking enough shish kebab to feed a small continent, and Mum will want to read everyone’s Turkish coffee cup, predicting the same things she always sees: babies, rings, and marriage!’ She leapt up from the sofa, grabbing her bag and coat.
‘I love Yasmin and Deniz’s Turkish Cypriot cooking.’
‘So do I. It’s just that fifty-two Sundays a year of shish kebab gets a bit too much. You can come, as well, if you want. You know they think of you as their surrogate daughter.’ Her oval, dark eyes implored me.
‘No, I’m fine. I’ll just have a think about my new life-changing challenge. I’ll do some work on the computer and have an early night.’ I pulled the door open for her.
‘OK then, text you later.’ She kissed me on both cheeks, Turkish style. Her long, sleek black hair fanned out over her shoulders as she dashed up the corridor.
‘Bye – and by the way, it’s feng shui, not Hong Kong Fuey!’ But she’d already disappeared up the stairs to her flat on the floor above.
Just as I was shouting this enlightening piece of information, Charlie, who lived in the flat next to mine, opened his door to collect the paper from outside. I stared at the incredible sight of him wearing nothing but a pair of pink, spandex hot-pants.
‘Helloooo, dahling. What’s feng shui?’ He paused, deep in thought, ignoring my startled expression. ‘Is it a restaurant?’ Without waiting for an answer he peered at the big coffee stain down the front of my saggy jogging bottoms. ‘Is that a new look?’
‘No,’ I said, trying not to look at what must have been a sock shoved down the front of his hot-pants. What a cheek, I thought, as I scrutinized his own rather unique attire. ‘Are you on something?’
‘I’m just high on life.’
I retreated back inside as I heard him calling out, ‘We must do drinkies soon!’
Sitting at my computer desk, I grabbed the paper from the floor where I’d deposited it the night before and read it with renewed interest. If I didn’t find something to do for my challenge, I was sure Ayshe would have a brain wave. An hour later, I’d worked my way through the adverts, the classifieds, and another coffee, but nothing inspirational had pinged out at me.
I switched on the computer and waited for it to bleep and spring into life. I had some photos to enhance and mess around with so I could finish a proof book for the Ponsonby-Smythe’s – a rather eccentric couple whose pictures I’d taken last weekend.
I called up their photos, staring at the happiness which radiated from their faces and a twinge of jealousy tugged at my insides. One of the hardest things since splitting up with Justin had been smiling to all the ecstatically happy brides and grooms who were embarking on a whole new exciting life together, while I was carrying a dull ache around inside.
Fiddling around with the programme, I made all her teeth black. Then I decided to squash the picture down and turn her from a nice size ten into a short, dumpy Sumo wrestler, but this only made me feel slightly better.
After an hour of messing around, I was startled by the sound of my phone meowing, signalling a text message. I leapt up and retrieved it from my bag, which was sitting on the wooden floor, spilling out its contents.
The message read: ‘Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to volunteer to walk dogs in Hartham Park. Report to the Canine Animal Rescue Centre at 09.00 hours. Do not pass “Go”. This message will self-destruct in ten seconds.’
And that was how this whole crazy thing began.
I relaxed with relief because that didn’t sound too bad. I’d even been toying with the idea of getting a pet to keep me company. Not that I’d had much to do with dogs since I’d made my mum’s dog a birthday cake when I was about four-years-old, and it had exploded in the oven – the cake that is, not the dog. The funny thing was that Rover did die rather suddenly afterwards from some kind of strange gastric complication. But anyway, it didn’t seem too crazy for my first challenge, and nothing as outrageous could happen again.
****
As I got undressed for bed that night, I took off my attractive jogging bottoms and threw them into the bin. In a moment of madness, I also decided I could do with a whole drawer-full of new knickers and grabbed a handful of oversized ones, which didn’t fit my new svelte figure – well, OK then, my almost svelte figure – and threw those into the bin also. Now I had a plan to force myself into action, I decided I needed to be firm with myself and do something to freshen up my appearance. Gazing at my legs, I promised I’d have a grand splurge of de-fuzzing tomorrow.
My eyes wandered down to my neglected toenails. Rummaging around in my bedside drawer, I took out a bottle of quick drying, chip resistant varnish in Pillar Box Red, which still looked useable and commenced toenail-painting duties. After waiting the designated drying time, I crept under the sheets and drifted off to la-la land.
What would tomorrow bring?
My Perfect Wedding
Helen Grey is finally getting everything she wants. She's about to have the perfect dream wedding and begin an exciting new life abroad on the sunny Mediterranean island of Cyprus. But living the dream isn't all it's cracked up to be.
After a mix-up at the airport, Helen finds herself drawn into the midst of an elaborate plot to steal an ancient statue and assassinate a local businessman. And as if that wasn't bad enough, her wedding dress is AWOL, the statue seems to be cursed, and Helen is wanted by the police.
With the big day rapidly approaching, a roller-coaster of mishaps, misunderstandings, and disasters threatens to turn the newlyweds into nearlyweds.
Can Helen prevent an assassination, save the statue,
and have the perfect wedding? Or will the day to remember turn into one she'd rather forget?
Chapter One
The customs officer flipped open Kalem’s passport and scrutinized the photo.
I tapped my foot. Come on, come on, don’t you know we’ve got a wedding to get to? My perfect wedding, nonetheless. And on top of that, the duty-free shops were seriously calling my name. We’d already been shuffling along in the security queue for forty-five minutes like a couple of tortoises, and I could almost smell the teasing waft of bargain perfumes, designer lipsticks that stay on for three days, and bumper packs of chocolate sending out silent buy me signals in the shopping area beyond.
Luckily, we’d got to the Airport in plenty of time. Kalem wanted to check in early to try and get a seat with extra leg-room. Not that it bothered me, really. At five foot nothing, I never had a problem with being crammed in like a stuffed sausage, but Kalem’s legs were long and toned and…well, pretty damn sexy.
Kalem ran a hand through his cropped dark hair and nodded towards the passport. ‘I probably had more hair then,’ he said to the customs officer.
I giggled, remembering the frizzy out-of-control footballer’s perm he’d had when the photo was taken, which resembled my unruly curls on a good hair day.
‘I don’t think so,’ the customs officer muttered, narrowing his eyes at Kalem.
I stepped out from behind Kalem and leaned on the counter. A wave of loud tutting broke out from the queue behind me.
‘It’s a serious offence to tamper with a passport, sir,’ the customs officer said in a deadly tone, glaring at Kalem.
‘Pardon?’ Kalem’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘I can assure you that my passport hasn’t been out of my sight. And it definitely hasn’t been tampered with. If you’ll just let me show you –’ Kalem reached out his hand.
The customs officer shot his hand in the air, passport held up high, so Kalem couldn’t get anywhere near it.
‘Sorry… ’ my eyes shot to his name badge, ‘Officer Head. What seems to be the problem?’ I asked, thinking he was obviously some sort of jobsworth with nothing better to do than annoy innocent travellers.
Officer Head tried the same suspicious glare on me and shot his other hand up for silence. Then he picked up a phone on the counter and whispered something into it. I heard the words ‘possible’ and ‘terrorist’ but the rest of it was inaudible.
I gulped. What was going on? This was ridiculous.
‘Right. You two will have to come with me.’ Officer Head climbed out from behind the passport control booth and marched off along the airport floor.
Another loud tutting session erupted from the group of people behind us.
I glanced at Kalem with a questioning look. ‘What’s happening?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably just some kind of simple misunderstanding. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker we can get on with our pre-honeymoon.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And don’t say anything.’
‘What do you mean, don’t say anything? If he asks me a question, I’ll have to say something, won’t I?’
‘You know what I mean – don’t say anything ridiculous.’
Me? Ridiculous? As if.
We fell into step behind the crazy customs guy. ‘I know.’ I smirked at Kalem. ‘This is the surprise you said you’d organized, isn’t it? I bet we’re really going to be escorted to a VIP lounge, where we can drink champagne and eat those little canapé things. Ooh, great. I love those. I wonder if they’ve got those little smoked salmon rolls with the cream cheese fillings. Yum.’
‘This isn’t the surprise.’ Kalem’s forehead scrunched up into frown lines.
‘Oh, yeah, good one. I bet you’re just saying that so I’ll be even more surprised when we get there.’ I paused. ‘Well done. Good surprise.’ I giggled. Wow, this was going to be such a great start to our brand new, exciting life together.
‘It’s not,’ he hissed at me.
My jaw dropped open. ‘What do you mean, it’s not? What is it then?’ A sudden blanket of fear swept over me.
Kalem was saved from answering as we reached a door marked Customs – Private.
Officer Head punched in a security code on the keypad lock and led us into a massive rectangular interrogation room with a desk at the far end, separated by two chairs on one side and two on the other. The desk seemed miles away from the entrance, like I’d suddenly been transported into a freaky Alice in Wonderland world, where everything was out of proportion. I felt like Kalem and I had turned into tiny little munchkin-type people, but everyone and everything else was ginormous.
‘Sit,’ Officer Head barked so loud that my ear almost imploded.
We dropped down onto the hard plastic chairs. This was not good. Not good at all.
‘Another officer will be joining us shortly,’ Officer Head began, ‘but until then, I’m going to ask you some questions.’ He opened Kalem’s passport again. ‘Right. Let’s start with you.’ He looked at Kalem. ‘What is your name?’
I gazed at Officer Head, who actually looked like Mr. Potato Head – only his nose was a little less red – and panicked. My brain flickered away like a dodgy light bulb. There had to be some completely rational and normal explanation for this mix-up. I mean, yes, normal and rational weren’t words that I could usually associate with my life. I would probably describe myself more as accidentally challenged. But still, this was just a simple mix-up, surely.
‘Kalem Mustafa,’ Kalem replied.
‘Ha-ha.’ I let out a nervous laugh.
Officer Head gave me a narrow-eyed stare, then turned back to Kalem. ‘Is that your real name?’
‘Er…excuse me. Is that a trick question? It’s obvious what his name is. It’s in his passport,’ I said, not wanting to state the obvious, but someone had to do it.
Oh, I get it now. It must be a dream. Yes, that was it. Recently, I'd been having a few of those pre-wedding jittery dreams – well, more like nightmares, actually – where I turned up at the venue in front of all our guests, and my wedding dress had suddenly turned see-through. And, even worse, I'd somehow decided to have my bikini area waxed into the shape of a dartboard, complete with bullseye. This was just one of those nightmares, that was all.
I leaped off the chair. ‘Come on Kalem, let’s go.’
‘You can’t go until I say you can go,’ Officer Head insisted.
‘I can do whatever I want. It’s my dream,’ I said to him with a haughty gleam in my eye.
‘SIT DOWN,’ he shouted back at me.
I heard a loud ringing in my ear. Surely you didn’t hear ear-ringing in a dream? I pinched myself. Ow! Shit. I was still awake. I slumped back in the chair. Uh-oh. This was for real.
The door swung open and another customs official with a toilet brush crew cut walked in.
‘Richard,’ the second officer acknowledged his colleague with a tilt of his head and then turned to us. ‘I’m officer Goodbody.’ He sat down, and I heard a noise like a whoopee cushion exploding. I couldn’t tell if it was him or the chair, though.
‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ Officer Head leaned forward. ‘Is that your real name?’
Kalem swallowed. ‘Of course it’s my real name.’
I looked between the customs men with suspicion. Richard Head? Was this for real? The light bulb was back on full power now. ‘Ha! I know what’s going on.’
They both raised an intrigued eyebrow and waited for me to enlighten them.
‘No one could be called Dick Head and Officer Goodbody. It sounds like something out of a bad Seventies porn movie. This is one of those TV shows, isn’t it?’ My eyes darted around the room like a maniac, looking for any signs of hidden cameras and cabling. ‘It’s like Candid Camera, or You’ve Been Punk’d, or something. Or…I know.’ I squinted at them. ‘Are you Ant and Dec in disguise? Are we going to be on their Saturday Night Takeaway show where they’re always playing practical jokes on people?’ I leape
d up and leaned over the desk, so I was inches away from their faces, examining them for signs of false noses and excessive, disguising make-up.
Kalem shot me a horrified look.
‘Give me your passport.’ Goodbody ignored my outburst and held his hand out to me.
OK then, maybe not.
I reached into my bag and handed it to him.
‘Now, where were we?’ Dick Head shuffled in his chair. ‘Ah, yes. Kalem Mustafa. I will ask you again. Is that your real name?’ He glowered at Kalem.
‘Yes.’ Kalem shot me a silencing side glance.
‘And what’s your name, hmm?’ Goodbody asked me.
‘You know what my name is; it’s on my p–’
Kalem stared at me, jerking his head towards Dick Head and Goodbody, silently willing me to just answer their questions.
I sighed. ‘Helen Mustafa.’
‘Ah ha!’ Goodbody waved my passport around. ‘It says Helen Grey here. Is this a fake passport?’
‘No! Sorry, I meant to say that my name’s going to be Helen Mustafa in six days time. We’re getting married. At the moment, I’m Helen Grey. You know how it is when a girl’s getting married: she gets a bit over-excited and starts signing her new married name for months in advance and repeating “Mrs. Mustafa” over and over again.’ I could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t have a clue what I was on about. ‘In fact…’ I glanced at my watch. ‘We’re supposed to be catching our plane in about forty-five minutes. We’re supposed to be having a few days of relaxing pre-wedding sand, sea and s… ’
‘Sharap,’ Kalem interjected.
‘Did you just tell me to shut up?’ Dick Head frowned at Kalem.
‘No, he said sharap. It’s Turkish for wine,’ I informed him. Since I’d found out that Kalem and I were going to be moving to North Cyprus, I’d desperately been trying to learn some Turkish words. So far, I’d mastered the important things like: “More wine please” and “Where are the toilets?” I could also say: “cat”, “thanks”, “very much”, “I’m full”, “cucumber”, “large”, and “melon”. It wasn’t a lot, I know, but it could make for an interesting sentence.