He was waiting for me at the gate. "You're late."
"What's going on, Liam?" "You'll see."
I had donned my best party pants and slapped on a double layer of Clarins. The night before, Maurice turned up at our door wearing a long blond wig and carrying a blow-up doll under his arm. "Welcome to the second half of your life, you old slapper." My steadfast friend had skipped across a continent to celebrate my fiftieth birthday and I was incredibly touched. Liam and I had discussed a celebratory trip to Istanbul but circumstances and a lean wallet conspired against us. We settled on the idea of a romantic meal for two in the Marina.
Maurice wouldn't hear of it. "Party time for the old man. Us three, your place, tomorrow night. We'll do drugs."
I was dazed by the surprise and suspected Liam's hand in it. The next day, Liam banished me to Maurice's hotel while he cooked, stocked up on the booze and dressed the house for a gay boyz foam party.
Maurice heralded our arrival, wailing my name through the streets of Türkkuyusu at the top of his voice. Tasselled curtains twitched and Hanife came out onto the street to see what the fuss was about. Maurice had insisted on donning his Dollywood Dollywig and carrying a bunch of fifty red balloons. He also compelled me to wear a tee-shirt with 'fifty, fit and fucked' blazoned across the front and back in large pink letters. I waved at my landlady.
"Merhaba, Hanife. I'm so, so sorry."
Liam led the town crier and his shamed co-conspirator into the garden. The crazy-paving path was lined with a hundred tea-lights, a party landing strip ready for night-time approaches. Gabrielle sang Dreams through open windows and a family of mini-mobiles hung from the oleanders, clanking and clinking in the breeze. I taxied into the courtyard. An enormous swathe of candles stretched across the ground and murmuring silhouettes moved in the shadows. Liam was up to something. He led an enthusiastic round of applause. A group of tuneless revellers sang Happy Birthday and smothered me in a rugby scrum of hugs, kisses and backslaps.
"Happy Birthday, Jack."
Tracey hugged me and called over her four boys, each of them spruced up in their best warm weather bib and tucker.
"What the...? What are you lot doing here?"
"Ask your husband."
"I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll come back home more often."
"I will, I promise."
"The boys miss you,"
"I miss them too."
Liam appeared through the crowd with a glass of pink bubbly and a kiss.
"There you go. Happy Birthday, hub." He took my hand and led me to an unlit corner of the garden. "Someone wants a quiet word with you."
Beril looked on from her balcony, dressed in a cute little black number and screaming "ha-pee-ber-day," every time I caught her eye. She loved the strange English party but was hitting the sauce before joining the crazy foreign fauna. Vadim hit the bongos. Liam left me standing in the shrubbery and went off to welcome some late arrivals. My eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and I spied a burning cigarette floating under Tabatha's tree at the back of the garden. Her voice was unmistakable.
"Hello, Son. You took yer time. I've already drunk half yer brandy."
Liam had pulled off a corker of a surprise.
I weaved through the party-goers and tried to get my bearings. Mother took up pole position at the temporary bar. Charlotte and Nancy were laughing and screaming like a pair of Essex party girls, preparing food and clacking round the kitchen in six inch heels. Sofas were home to hearsay and scandal and Susan persuaded Beril to join the gossip and down another rakı. Chuck came over to join me.
"Been a while, pal. Happy Birthday."
"Thanks Chuck."
"Take it you've heard the news?"
"News?"
"Chrissy and Bernard. They've gone."
"Gone where?"
"Gone to open a chain of tanning shops in South Wales."
"Christ. Tanning for Taffys. And the Yalıkavak beauty salon?"
"They walked away. Turks don't do fake tans."
"My, my, the final fall of the Raj."
Food was up and the girls had prepared a gastronomic feast of artery-hardening grub. Nuray was on ethnic food duty and beavered away in the kitchen, shallow-frying börek and effortlessly assembling a dazzling array of fresh Turkish delicacies. The head scarf was tucked into her apron pocket and the pony-tail undone. As she whisked up the sauces and pounded the dough, she glanced at the scene around her and smiled. Young Tom and Josh scampered around the courtyard dispensing refills, handing out the buffet and teasing Sophia as she staggered around the garden held together by rakı and distant memories.
Liam reappeared. "Want some more?"
Before I could answer, he herded me up the wooden staircase, across the galleried bedroom and towards the upper terrace.
"Go on, open the door."
I hesitated. I half expected to meet Cilla Black screaming "surprise, surprise!" and re-acquainting me with a long lost lover; or maybe a troupe of semi-clad locals belting out a hip- hop version of It's Raining Men. I opened the door. The terrace was pitch-black. The music stopped and Vadim started a bongo roll from the neighbouring balcony.
"Please be upstanding and raise a toast for Bodrum's very own queer quinquagenarian. Jack Scott is in the house!"
A switch was pulled and the terrace lit up like a Las Vegas whore-house. A stack of champagne flutes toasted my birthday. Cilla couldn't have done a better job; surprise, surprise, here were all of my Blighty friends, roaring, laughing and drinking the night away.
"Well say something," said Liam. I couldn't.
"Now there's a first," said Clive. "Come here and give your old Mama a hug."
I clung on to Clive and we mumbled I love yous. One by one, I embraced a separate memory from my old life, sobbing like a fool and throwing my arms around each victim. Ian, Debbie, Jacqueline and Mrs Madrigal queued up to wait their turn, shouting questions while they waited and babbling random observations when they got to me.
"Christ, you've piled on the pounds! That flight was horrendous, what's wrong with Spain, dolly? Cute place, who's the drunk in the corner? Haven't they heard of pavements in Turkey? Oh my God, are those teeth for real?" I was slapped around the face by the warm barrage of questions and punch drunk from the shock of the surprise.
Behind the free-for-all stood their significant others.
"My God, you're here too? You don't even like me."
By the time I was asked to deliver a speech I was three sheets to the wind. I grabbed a moment with Ian while Liam gathered the cast in the courtyard.
"You sod, you should have warned me."
"You really had no idea?"
"Well, Glasnost had been a little compromised by furtive phone calls. Thought he was knocking off a Turk on the side."
"Liam? Never. That's more your style."
"Reformed character, my dear. Mellowed by marriage."
"And London breathes a collective sigh of relief." Ian paused. "I still think about John, you know."
"Me too. Every day. Go get me a top-up, I'm gonna need it."
Liam dragged me across to the olive tree and I addressed the crowd.
"First off, I'm glad my blood pressure has reverted to normal. You have no idea how much of a shock this has been. We're talking heart attacks, strokes, the whole kit and caboodle. That'd wipe the smiles off your self-satisfied faces. Thank you, all of you, for bothering to turn up. I can only assume that there's nothing much on the box tonight. I'd particularly like to thank my Blighty-life friends for spending their hard earned cash to fly over here and help out a grumpy old man. Everyone except Ian, of course; his cash has never been hard earned. We all know he paints his nails and thumbs through the letters page of TV Quick as the marital aides fly off the shelves. Thank you for the generous gifts. The year's subscription to Euthanasia Made Easy was particularly welcome. Thank you also for the inspired choice of gin and slap. You know me so well. I now have enough overpriced face grease to sink a battleship. Okay, I know I'm a short-sighted, short-arsed, ex- pretty boy with his best years behind him. And, okay, it won't be long before the grim reaper comes a calling. But, until he does, I fully expect my face and new teeth to retain their youthful radiance; the rest of my tired old carcass will continue its inevitable descent into pathetic decrepitude and erectile dysfunction. I doubt I'll notice. I'll be pickled by the cellar load of mother's ruin I've just acquired."
Sophia heckled from the crowd.
"No, darling man, you will always be beautiful. We are all beautiful. The world is beautiful, beautiful, b..."
"Darling Sophia, the talking stick's with me. This isn't a duet. Be a good girl and keep it zipped. Last and certainly not least, I can't believe my family is here. It means so very much. I never thought it would be possible to get Mother out of the bookie's for long enough. Tracey, my amazing sister, you're a star. I suppose humility is not a word that naturally springs to mind to best describe me, but I am, truly, humbled. My final thank you is for you, Liam. You know I love you, don't you? When this lot have gone, you're dead meat. Right, grab a drink and make merry. Let's have the best party since the fall of Constantinople."
"Nice speech," said Maurice.
"You think?"
"So how's Turkey?"
"Amazing. Educational. Terrible. Surreal. All four." "Liam seems happy. Will you stay?"
"For now. Bodrum suits us."
Maurice smiled. "You look good, Jack."
"You too. Will we get some Maurice dancing later?"
"The old ones are the best, eh?"
"So, will we?"
"If you're really unlucky."
Liam ushered everyone into the house and sent Clive to get me.
"You need to come in, Jack."
"How's life as a thesp?"
"Middling. Just had a call back."
"Something big?"
"You could say. A Macdonald's advert."
"You're a vegetarian."
"A man's gotta eat, Jack. Go sit, you need to see this."
Brennan-Scott Productions Present
50 Years in the Business
The Life and Loves of a He Devil
October 2010
Liam presented an ego-feeding masterpiece and I lapped it up. Old photos of the father I hadn't seen for thirty-three years filled the silver screen. I pictured him in Bodrum, arm around his wife and laughing at the pictures of his errant son. The errant son had reached fifty. The age he had died. As the years rolled by on screen, my wild and decadent past was laid bare. A montage of ex-partners appeared, including bitter-sweet video footage of John. He looked well and we looked happy. Tissues were passed around. Sophia wailed uncontrollably. Nuray stared at the screen, visibly moved by the story of a love that dares not speak its name. We dried our eyes, toasted to friendship, and revelled into the early hours.
The drink flowed as quickly as the banter and happy adults soon turned into happy children. Maurice's wig was the hit of the night and was bandied around the room like a communal spliff. Mother chain-smoked and finished off the brandy, hovering round the improvised dance floor. Her dance card was empty. Mother's card was never empty. She would have to do something.
"You've done an amazing job."
"Thanks, Maurice. He's worth it, eh?"
"Sure."
"Thanks for coming."
"No prob. Liam... I want to say something".
"Oh?"
"I'm glad Jack met you."
"Oh, Maurice."
"I mean it. You'll look after him, won't you?"
"Of course. We both will, eh?"
Hanife's curiosity got the better of her and she came into the house carrying a tray of baklava.
"For your mother," she said. "Thank you so much."
"Well?"
"Sorry?"
"Can I meet her?"
"Oh yes, of course." I turned to the dance floor and pointed. Mother had donned the Dollywig and mounted Maurice like Bronco Billy. We looked on as they piggy-backed around the room warbling the chorus to Jolene.
"That's your mother?" she asked.
"Afraid so."
"Are you sure?"
"Sometimes I do wonder."
"Hay Allah."
"Shit, the balloons!"
Maurice ran into the salon and dragged me out to the garden.
"One for every year, Jack. Make a wish."
Fifty red balloons drifted off into the sky and a million and one memories came drifting back. Tracey and the boys came out to take a look and say their goodbyes.
I didn't want them to leave.
"They're tired, Jack. Here, take Mum's rakı. She ran out of brandy."
Mother and Sophia were tangoing barefoot through the courtyard, each with a small olive branch gripped between their teeth.
"She's all yours, Jack."
Liam held my hand as we watched the last balloon clip the horizon and disappear from view.
"How did you do it?" I said
"What?"
"Get them here."
"You're kidding? There was no stopping them."
"My mother's here. In our house."
"Don't I know it. She's one hell of a woman. Go drag the twig from her mouth will you? It's embarrassing."
"I think it's amazing."
Nancy packed up her things and said her farewells. Three months in Turkey and she still didn't know what to do with her life. I walked her to the gate.
"Penny for them."
"Guess."
"Irfan?"
"Bullseye. He's with that woman. Again."
"He didn't come tonight, then?"
"Bastard."
"Know what, Nancy?"
"What?"
"You'll find someone else."
"Will I?"
"Of course. Look at you, you're gorgeous." She smiled.
"But I love him, Jack."
"I know you do. Drive carefully. It's dark out there."
We separated the ballroom dancers and led mother to her bed. Nuray marched Sophia home, scolding her for her shameful behaviour. Charlotte rushed out of the house to catch up with Alan who was already revving the car. Liam kissed her goodnight and I thanked her for the tasty spread.
"Nuray was the star don't you think? Every home should have one."
"You seem brighter. I'm glad you came."
"I've been bursting to tell you all night."
"Tell me what?"
"We've been cleared by the State Prosecutor. No case to answer."
"Why the hell didn't you mention it earlier?"
"Tonight was about you, Jack."
"So what will you do now?"
"That's an easy one. Get my baby back."
Charlotte threw her arms around me and held on tight. The tide had turned.
There are times in life when you just know that things are meant to be. Sometimes you sit back and let fate play its little games. But now and then, you need to grab fate by the throat and make your own kind of luck. Charlotte wound down the window of the car to say goodnight. I smiled at Liam and walked towards her.
"I never did ask, what does Adalet actually mean?"
"I thought you'd never ask, Jack. Justice."
****************
Coming Last: Epilogue – Belle Époque
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