Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey

Chapter 17 - Clement's Koy Erection

Clement popped a bottle of sparkling rosé and filled three long- stemmed fluted crystal glasses lined up in a neat row on an sterling silver salver.

I raised my glass. "I take it we're celebrating?"

"We are rather. I've some very exciting news and I'm simply dying to tell you."

Liam  was  nervous.  "So, what  are  we  drinking  to, exactly?"

"I'm moving." Liam's eyes lit up.

"I've found this simply idyllic place."

"In Yalıkavak?" I asked.

"In the hills above Selçuk." "Selçuk?"

"It's  a completely authentic Turkish village, Jack. Simply divine."

"A Turkish village? A köy? The genuine article? Are you mad?"

Clement was 'emotionally and spiritually drawn' to the 'real' Turkey. He wanted to live alongside the 'simple folk'. He wanted majestic, time-honoured traditions and strong family values. He wanted the Turkey where women worked the fields, men drank tea and boys practiced adultery. He was tired of suburbia and the "ghastly, tiny-minded little people that populated it."

So, Clement would become an emiköy, one of those rare hardy emigreys who roughed it in the country. He'd found a semi-derelict cottage at the heart of the village and would rent it from a local farmer. The shack came complete with magnificent mountain views and a flock of shitting chickens roosting in the salon. Clement planned to restore this piece of old Turkey with the help of local artisans, tradesmen whose skills had been passed down from generation to generation. That hadn't been our experience of Turkish workmen, but that mattered little to Clement. Fate was fate and he would hear no negativity from us or anyone else.

"Are you sure you know what you're taking on?"

"Mr Mistoffelees loves it. You should be happy for me, Jack."

"I am, but what if you get ripped off? You'll be up köy creek without a paddle."

"That's the problem with England today."

"Huh?"

"There's no trust anymore, no integrity, no faith."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"In my day, people respected their elders and betters."

"Indeed."

"They looked after their neighbours. There was social order."

"And consumption and back to back slums," said Liam, "outside toilets, back street abortions, rickets..."

"Let's not forget the stiff prison sentences for the love that dares not speak its name," I said.

"You can scoff all you like. England was once great and now..."

"And now?"

"And now she's lost her moral compass, ruined by rampant socialism and immigration; a third rate country going to hell in a handcart."

"Look Clement, if this is what you want, fine. We'll miss you."

"Will you?"

"Strangely, yes."

Liam tweaked Clement's cheek. "You'll need a new set of headscarves, darling. One for every day."

Clement cracked a weak smile. "Hermès, naturally."

*********************

A few weeks later, Liam hired a car much larger than he felt safe to drive and argued with the rental agent when it was delivered. "It's a huge metal brick on wheels. Don't you have anything smaller?" We set off to take a look at Clement's köy cottage. It wasn't quite finished – no electricity, no water and no windows – but he was keen for us to visit. Tariq came to collect the rubbish as we were leaving. He also took the opportunity to tease me about my foreskin and pinch a cigarette. It had rained overnight, but the sun was out and we were looking forward to the trip.

We drove off to rendezvous with Charlotte and Alan at a layby just outside Yalıkavak. Charlotte sped off along the scenic Torba road and headed inland for Selçuk. Liam tried to keep up in his automatic snail. The pot-holed, un-cambered highway was liberally puddled with oily water. Liam cursed the road, cursed Charlotte for driving so fast and cursed the hire company for the useless piece of over-sized junk. Once outside Yalıkavak's environs, dense woods lined the winding route, and caramel-coloured rock filled the horizon. Liam had prepared a special music mix for the occasion, an eclectic fusion of show tunes, Turkopop and obscure Sondheim. We lost sight of Charlotte's car but carried on regardless, massacring Les Miserables and Sezen Aksu as we went. As the brick and its two wailing inhabitants approached a tight bend, a wobbling tourist coach appeared, crammed with holiday makers and straddling both lanes. It would move over, it had to. The driver was looking straight at us. We knew he wouldn't risk it.

Liam slammed on the brakes but it was too late. We skated uncontrollably towards the speeding bus, crashed into its side, and performed a magnificent pirouette the great Dame Margot Fontaine would have been proud of. The noisy slow-motion crash ended when the car came to rest at the side of the road, neatly facing the right direction. Liam was slumped at the steering wheel.

I checked for Liam's seatbelt. His eyes were closed and his hands shaking.

"I'm alive, Jack. Put the life insurance away."

Charlotte and Alan  returned  to  find us  and  parked  up opposite. Alan spotted the damage and ran towards us, relieved to see us out of the car, unhurt and arguing about the importance of Sondheim to musical culture.

Liam was in full flow. "He wrote more than Send in the Clowns, for Christ's sake. Ah, Alan, nice of you to join us."

"What the hell happened? "

"A kamikaze coach driver happened."

As Charlotte crossed the road with Adalet in her arms, a car sped around the same treacherous bend, skidded on the same oily patch, ricocheted off her empty Mini Cooper and flew into a ditch. Charlotte screamed, holding Adalet close. Liam ran to check on the driver. The man lumbered out of his battered Fiat and introduced himself as Charlie. Charlie was unscathed, smiling and rather enjoying the theatre of it all. He hugged his hero like a long lost relative and invited Liam and his 'wife' for a night of meatballs and rakı at his humble restaurant in Gümbet. Not one to a miss an unexpected opportunity, Charlie handed out business cards to the growing group of spectators gathering around him, proving, beyond doubt, that Turks are natural entrepreneurs and always keep an eye on the main chance.

Charlotte, Alan and Adalet took refuge in the woods and Liam and I jumped into the ditch to help haul Charlie's wreck of a car back onto the road. The scene became even more surreal when other cars joined the elaborate ice dance. Skids and near misses produced a ditch-full of dodgems, all piled up like a scene from Wacky Races. Each driver exited their car with the same gormless smile and each of them exchanged business cards as soon as the opportunity arose. Within half an hour, the Torba Road Crash Victim Support Club had signed up six new members.

***********

Coming Next: Chapter 18 – Paradise Lost

Perking the Pansies, Jack Scott's award winning, best-selling debut book is available in paperback and as an ebook from all usual retailers. Signed copies are available direct from the author.

Out now: The sequel - Turkey Street, Jack and Liam move to Bodrum. Also available in print and digital editions.

For more information check out http://www.jackscott.info