Gate 24

Chapter Four

As the coach pulls into the first holt, I can't help but stare at the building. Glass, covering the majority of the landscape, showing where every single person is heading to, coming from. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't beautiful.

We were info red by the representative that we'd be pulling into two different hotels - the one we're at now and the one I'd lived in for the past ten days or so. It was a relief to know that I'd be staying where I came from, that I'd have familiar surroundings and stuff.

As we pull to a stop, the Turkish men all rush towards the bus; their arms tense as they lift the excessively heavy luggage off of the coach. Women rush off of the bus, making sure no one else claimed their monotonous coloured cases. Children wrestled their way off hoping to see every inch of the hotel in a day - and buy any genuine fakes they could persuade their parents to buy. The men saunter at the back, wanting to grab a beer as soon as the check-in was complete.

It was weird to see the majority of the coach clear, leaving about fifteen of us on board - including our Turkish driver and the rep at the front. She paces up and down the bus, counting under her breath as her hair bobbed up and down behind us.

"Wait, which one of you is supposed to get off here?" She questions, an abashed look spreading across her round face. It takes her a minute to realise that I shouldn't really be here, but she comes to terms with it eventually. "Oh, sorry Raymond," she chuckles. "I forgot we had an extra number."

All I can do is smile at the bubbly woman. My respect for holiday representatives - of all types - is really high, not going to lie. They spend six days a week, dealing with snooty tourists and uptight kids, while receiving little pay and even less free time.

The bus engine revs up again; we pull away as the last of the suitcases are claimed. As the coach spins around, I watch people pull sunglasses and fans from their pockets, already preparing for the heat.

My arrival was extremely early last time, so arriving at some point in the afternoon is a little bit different. When we arrived, few people were around; all were adults carrying towels - obviously reset in their sun beds.

Not even two minutes later, we reach my hotel, the place I shall be living in for the next month. As the rep welcomes us here - the first time she's pulled away from her phone since the other tourists stepped off of the bus - she beckons everyone else off, but tells me to halt.

"Raymond," she smiles, her voice bubbly and filled with kindness. "I've been speaking to Frankie and she's said you're allowed to work as an entertainment rep if you need the pay." I mean, it'd be rude - and really stupid for someone with no cash - to waste the next month risking sunstroke and doing nothing.

"Thank you so much for this," I smile out of appreciation. "This hotel is going out of their way to help me get back to the UK, and I really appreciate that." It's the truth - I couldn't be more grateful for these people trying to help me. Little do they know, if I'm not back by the first of August, I may as well be dead?

I probably will be dead if I don't get back on time.

"No problem," the woman grins, steeping out of the way and allowing me to step off of the bus. "This is going to be great for you; it'll be a nice change from whatever ruthless stuff you have to do." I'm hoping she's going off of my physique, because if she knew the extent of my job, I'd be worried that she's been stalking me.

"Security guard," I point out. Pulling a cigarette and my lighter from my pocket, I place the stick in my mouth and step out of the heated bus; it was like I'd escaped a wave of heat as my body moved outside of the doorway, the breeze hitting me in the process.

"Good luck, Raymond," the woman smiles before telling the driver to flaw it. It then occurs to me that I may have held them all up, may have made them all late for their next arrivals. Feeling guilty, I step past the tourists claiming their oversized cases and walk into the reception, deciding to put away the unlit cigarette back into my pocket.