217 Babel Street | Apartment 11
“Siktir git means that Fehmi will do the washing-up," said Mustafa.
Fehmi laughed. "Fuck off."
"I should do it." Jenni jumped up, grabbed a cup.
"Hey. You're the guest." Mustafa put out his hand and Jenni sat down again, embarrassed.
"Relax," said Fehmi.
Jenni blushed. Fehmi made her awkward and, for ages, she could think of nothing to say.
"What do you do, Fehmi?" she asked, eventually.
"I'm a student. I'm doing a PhD in international law."
"Really? But there isn't a university here, is there?"
"No, but I like to live by the sea so I commute."
"Maybe that's because you're from Istanbul. I grew up in a fishing village in Scotland and I always miss the sea."
Fehmi smiled at her and she glanced away, too quickly. Now he'd think she didn't like him.
"What do you do, Mustafa?" She always ended up showing an interest in the wrong one, because it was easier.
"I just work in a restaurant."
"Not cooking, though. As you can tell," said Fehmi.
"You're really different, you two." Jenni looked from Mustafa to Fehmi. "How do you even know each other?"
"I was doing my military service in Istanbul and Fehmi was – well, we met in Istanbul, anyway."
Jenni lifted the coffee cup, gazed inside with a smile.
"Funny. I don't see a man and woman here."
"No?" Mustafa raised an eyebrow. "What do you see?"
Jenni shrugged.
"What did happen to Kara?" asked Fehmi. "Is she really still in the bathroom?"