Page 8 of Pomegranates and Olive

"That's running away."

"It's not running away. It might just be the road that Madam Magda was talking about."

Rosie jumps on the metaphorical bandwagon with a squeal. "Youdohave all that annual leave owed to you because you never go anywhere!"

I glare at her.

"You just said it yourself!"

"I guess it could fall under mental health leave."

"Itwoulddefinitely be mental health leave."

"There's your solution, then. Pack your bags and book your flight. You're coming to Turkey to have an adventure."

"Maybe."

"You could kiss a stranger."

"I don't think so."

"You could have an orgasm."

"Shut up, Rosie!"

"Ignore her. Listen, you'll have a blast. Food. Sunshine. We'll watch Magic Mike!"

"Have you got a guest room?"

"Here’s the thing —" Ginny’s pause was more than enough to make me wary of what I was contemplating walking into. "— we're smack in the middle of renovation at the moment, but I promise you the place is huge and there's always room for one more."

"I don't want to be in the way."

"Stop overthinking everything. And you won't be in the way. I'll put you to work because we need all the help we can get."

"I can wash dishes in the restaurant."

"You're coming and that's final. You'll have an amazing time. And you'll meet Aydin, who I know you'll absolutely adore. In fact, I can guarantee that you're never going to want to leave."

I turn to my sister, whose head is bobbing up and down with a grin on her face. I look back at the screen to my cousin, who is also frantically nodding at me. I take a huge gulp of my father’s home made wine and make a face.

I guess that is that.

It looks like I’m going to Turkey.

2

Cardigans Are The Real Panty Droppers

Ah, airports. I don't know who originally said it, but it's true, they really are the great equalizer. It doesn't matter how rich, how famous, or how smart you are, we are all the same when it comes to passport control, security points, queues, mind-numbing boredom, nerves, and frayed tempers as you wait for your flight.

And after 22 hours of flying (so far) I am definitely all of those things (and a few more besides).

Passing through yet another security checkpoint at Istanbul New Airport, and still with a little time to kill, I spot a Starbucks. After thanking the Coffee Gods that there is a Starbucks at the airport, I join the queue.

Although it is long, it moves quickly and I happily people-watch as I wait my turn at the counter. The young couple in front of me are finishing up their order when a tall, dark-haired man steps up to the counter.

"Excuse me? There's a queue."

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