The Fat And The Thin Of It Read online

a minute.”

  She pushed the answer icon. “Yes?” she said.

  “Hi, Jackie!” Bob was all warmth and cordiality. “Um, can you talk?”

  “Yes.” She repeated.

  “Good.” Jill could hear a female voice ranting in Spanish in the background.

  “Well, ah… I spoke to Richard and he’s organised my wage to be passed back into my account…”

  “You mean yours and Jackie’s account.” Jill corrected.

  “Yes, right, but I’m having a little problem with the rest…” the ranting Spanish female kept going and Bob pulled away from the phone and said, “Lola, por favour! Callate un momento.” He put the phone to his mouth again. “As I was saying, I can’t get the rest sorted by tomorrow, so I was wondering if you could talk some sense into Jackie…”

  “What kind of sense, Bob?” Jill asked. She was smiling at the fact that Triple F was giving him a hard time. ‘Serves him right’, she gloated.

  He lost his cool just a little. “What she’s asking is bloody ridiculous! What the hell does she need all that money for?”

  “What the hell do you need all that money for, plus a pregnant nag and half a dozen palm trees round your pool?” Jill retorted.

  Triple F was still ranting. “Well, it can’t be done. You’ll just have to tell her that I’ll try to sort something out in the near future.” Bob shouted over the female voice.

  Jill sighed dramatically. “Oh, that’s such a shame, Bob. It looks like you’ve landed your brother in the shit, then.”

  Bob gave a short guffaw. “Oh, come on! Jackie won’t call the police!”

  “Oh, come on! What makes you so sure she won’t?” Jill aped. “You obviously haven’t read your Shakespeare; ‘hell hath no fury as a woman scorned’ and Jackie’s feeling plenty of scorn and fury. Didn’t Richard tell you about his little encounter with her at the estate agency? It’s a wonder he can still walk.”

  The only thing Jill could hear was the Spanish ranting for a few moments. “Callate, Coño!” she heard, and whatever it meant did the trick as the rants abated. “I need more time, dammit!” he whined.

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do.” Jill said. “Why don’t you call her and talk to her yourself?”

  “She’s not going to listen to me, now is she?” he said sarcastically.

  “No, she isn’t,” Jill agreed. “So you’d better get cracking, hadn’t you?” she hung up.

  Jill turned to go back to Jackie, and she saw her sitting on a bench chatting to a man. Jackie was behaving like a teenager, batting her eyelashes and giggling, and the man had his hand on the back of the bench and leaning in close to her. He must have been about sixty-something, black hair smoothed back with grey at the temples, a neatly trimmed moustache and olive skin that looked as if he spent a lot of time in the outdoors. He had a portly frame and was dressed more or less like Bob, except everything he was wearing, including the watch, was about five times more expensive.

  Jill walked up to them and coughed. Jackie raised her head and gave her a smile.

  “Oh, hello!” she said, as if surprised to see her, and the man got up and bowed slightly.

  “Oh, hello!” aped Jill, and looked at the man with a raised eyebrow.

  “Jill,” said Jackie, indicating to the man with her hand. “This is Ahmed. Ahmed, this is Jill.”

  Ahmed took Jill’s hand and pressed it delicately to his lips. “It is a pleasure, Mademoiselle Jill.” He said with a very slight accent from goodness knew where. “I was just telling Mademoiselle Jackie about my humble boat just over there,” and he indicated to his ‘boat’ – a tri-deck motor yacht that resembled a miniature cruise liner – while flashing whitened teeth that made one blink. “And I was asking her if she would care to go for a little trip around the harbour.”

  Jill smiled, but her voice was firm. “Well, as it is, Jackie and I…”

  “Would love to go for a spin in your boat!” Jackie jumped up before Jill had finished her sentence.

  Ahmed beamed his teeth at Jackie. “How splendid!” he hooked an elbow and offered it to Jackie, who happily grabbed it. He hooked his other elbow towards Jill and said, “Mademoiselle?”

  Jill frowned at Jackie, who pretended she was looking elsewhere. She didn’t fancy going off in a ‘boat’ with Ahmed in the slightest, but she couldn’t leave Jackie to go on her own. She reluctantly took his offered elbow with four fingers and the three sauntered off down the quay towards the ‘boat’.

  Jill was trying to think of something to say to get her and Jackie away from there as they approached the motor yacht, but when they got there, a younger version of Ahmed –but far more handsome and about a hundred pounds lighter – came up to the boarding plank. “Papa! Oh, you are still the Don Juan, are you not?” he beamed identical teeth at them. “And what lovely company you have found.” He bowed to the women. “Chantal! Un instant, s’il vous plait.” He called over his shoulder.

  A spectacular woman in her mid twenties came out of the cabin door. She had honey-gold hair tied back loosely with a fuchsia chiffon scarf and a flowing, transparent caftan of the same colour, trimmed with shimmering rhinestones, covered her tanned body. It was plain to the eye that she was only wearing the bottom half of a bikini, and it was also plain to the eye that she was feeling quite chilly. She took a sip of something pink from a long fluted glass and leaned against the door-frame and smiled seductively. “Oh, papa!” she cooed. “Only three months after your third divorce and here you go again.”

  Ahmed chuckled with feigned embarrassment and held up his hands. “Mais non, mes enfants! It is just that this lovely Mademoiselle was looking so sad that I wanted to make her a little more happy.” He indicated to Jackie delicately. “And she has a lovely companion who also needs to be more happy.” He smiled at Jill with a raised eyebrow.

  “The lovely companion would like to know who else is on the vessel before she sets sail on it, actually.” Jill said tersely.

  Ahmed spread his hands with a bow and a smile, then he clapped them together and three young men of apparently Arab origin and dressed in loose white clothing appeared as if from nowhere. Movement caught Jill’s eye above her on the roof of the cabin, and two more young men dressed in casual nautical gear were leaning over the rail. “My crew, Mademoiselles.” Ahmed bowed again.

  Before Jill could say anything, Jackie had jumped aboard with a giggle. “C’mon, Jill! It’ll be fun!” she beckoned.

  “Oh, lovely.” Jill muttered as she walked the gangway and boarded behind Jackie.

  One of the men in white clothing jumped onto the quay, untied a thick rope and took it back on board. He then heaved the gangway up and slid it down until it was resting vertically against the hull. There was a shudder as the motor sprang to life and the vessel sailed slowly and gracefully away from the quay.

  Ahmed led Jackie up to the higher deck and Jill slumped on a padded seat that ran along the back of the vessel. Chantal glided up to her with a fluted glass of the same pink substance she was sipping on.

  “Don’t be such a party pooper…” Chantal raised an enquiring and perfectly plucked eyebrow.

  “Jill.” she answered as she took the glass from Chantal’s hand.

  Jill shivered as the vessel picked up speed and the chilly sea breeze rushed over the deck. Chantal lifted one of the seats up and pulled out a thick angora shawl and handed it to Jill, who wrapped it round her shoulders gratefully. She looked up to where Jackie was chatting away to Ahmed, and she saw that her friend also had a shawl, but Ahmed appeared to be enjoying the bracing breeze. Chantal also seemed quite happy to let the chill penetrate her flimsy caftan and waft it about her body

  Chantal inclined her head slightly. “Jill. Papa’s a harmless and overly sociable soul,” she sipped delicately. “He can’t help it, which is why he’s been married three times to date.”

  Jill still had a worried look on her face, so Chantal proceeded to tell her a little about her father. “Faruk over there is my half
brother.” She indicated to the younger version of Ahmed, who was giving instructions to one of the young men in white clothing. “His mother was Egyptian, and she divorced Papa when he was only two years old, and left him with his father to spend her alimony somewhere in Europe.” She sipped again. “Faruk hasn’t seen his mother since. My mother,” she touched her chest with a manicured finger. “Is French and is spending her alimony on a baby Italian lover in a chateau near the French Alps. I see her every Christmas and Easter and she wails about how shameful it is to be a devout Catholic divorcee.” She laughed cynically. “Papa’s third wife is spending her alimony in a Manhattan penthouse with their son Junior, who’s thirteen. Their marriage was the longest lasting one…” she arched an eyebrow. “To date.” she placed her hand lightly on Jill’s shoulder. “The only danger your friend is in from my father is of suffocation by lavish attention, trust me.”

  Jill forced a smile and sipped her drink. It was very sweet and had a faint aniseed aftertaste. She tried not to wrinkle her nose and put the glass down on a small table to the side of her seat. “My friend, Jackie, is still trying to sort herself out after her husband left her just over two weeks ago, so you can understand my worries.”

  Chantal leaned her head back slightly. “Ah, how romantic! Two souls in their own particular emotional sandstorm find solace in the oasis of Ibiza,” She glanced at Jill. “Don’t you