Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey

Chapter 5 - La Crème de la Crème

Weighed down by heavy suitcases and boxes of groceries, the under-powered hire car valiantly fought to scale the north face of Mount Tepe. Ascension required an ultra-low gear, iron grip tyres and nerves of steel. As he drove, Liam kept his eyes firmly shut. I walked up on foot as the smell of burning rubber filled the air. We were greeted at base camp by a muscular man with rough shovel hands, a life of hard labour etched deeply into a florid face. This was our resident kapıcı, our caretaker, Tariq the Toothless. We mumbled something in Turklish, shared a cigarette and pointed at the magnificent view. Tariq was more interested in his new residents and stared at us with uncomfortable concentration, unable to fathom our status, relationship or intention. We must have seemed like creatures from another planet.

"Kardeş?" He looked at me and pointed at Liam.

"He's asking if we're brothers," said Liam. "Just nod. He'll find out soon enough."

We arrived at the house just in time to rendezvous with a large truck delivering our pre-ordered IKEA house pack. Their no-nonsense  ascent  put  Liam's  wimpish  efforts  to  shame. A gang of boys in matching vests jumped out and began to unpack and assemble. While they worked, we chain smoked, made tea and avoided Clement. Four hours later, our room sets were ready to be dressed and accessorised. As the IKEA crew reversed down Mount Tepe, the phone rang.

"That'll be Chrissy expecting an invite over," said Liam. "Tell her I'm dead."

"Hello Chrissy. Jack says he's dead."

Several sun-blessed days of happy home-making passed without interruption. We took time to explore our immediate surroundings, wandering up and down Mount Tepe, snooping around the other villas and peering through the windows. Most of them were unoccupied.

"Either that," said Liam, "or the inhabitants have croaked it from boredom and the en-suites are stuffed with rotting corpses."

"This isn't Midsomer, Liam. We're out of season, that's all."

Liam wasn't convinced and continued to play detective for days. A week later, we discovered a tatty shop at the foot of the hill, a small outfit run by three handsome brothers. Each of the Pretty Boys was blessed with the squarest of chins, the strongest of jaws and the thickest of curly mops. Each had a physique to rival Hugh Jackman on steroids. Each spoke with a voice so mellifluous and dreamy that we could only stay in the shop for short periods without feeling weak at the knees.

On his third visit, Liam introduced himself to the eldest of the unbearably handsome Samsons.

"Ben Liam."

"Memnun oldum, Liam. Nice to meet you."

"You?"

"Us?"

"You have names?" asked Liam.

"Yes, we have names."

"What are they?"

"Just ask for Tepe Market boys."

"You don't have first names?"

"Yes, we have first names."

"So, my name is Liam..."

"I  know.  You  like  my  onions?  Or  maybe  you  want my milk?"

The  disarmingly  attractive  trio  never  did  divulge  any information about themselves and seemed to revel flirtatiously in  their  anonymity.  We  didn't  particularly  mind  and  even when the shelves were sparsely stocked we were more than happy with their friendly, personalised service. They kept us constantly supplied with American cigarettes and emergency wine. For a small cover charge, they also home-delivered twenty litre barrels of drinking water, effortlessly hauling the heavy load up Mount Tepe on a single shoulder.