Given that there’s only about three inches of Indian Ocean for me to fall into, I end up headbutting the sand cay, as if it had looked at my girlfriend funny.
My girlfriend then lets out a cry of distress, and jumps out of the kayak in the swift manner I was going for, and helps me back to my feet. I splutter madly as I do this, having inadvertently consumed a cocktail of ocean water and sand.
This has not gone well.
But Amy and Ray do not need to know that.
‘Ha ha! Always hard to get out of these things, eh?’ I cry, spitting sand all over the place.
‘I suppose so,’ Amy replies in a cold, dead voice. You’d assume she’d take great delight in my hapless exit from the kayak, but she looks like death warmed up.
Oh . . .
Oh, yes. That’s right.
The Bolognaise.
I’d temporarily forgotten about my little jape from last night.
Amy clearly hasn’t. She looks just like she did on the day after Boxing Day that one year.
‘Morning,’ Cara says, still holding my arm. ‘What a gorgeous little island,’ she remarks, raising one hand to her eyes to scan the horizon.
‘It certainly is!’ Ray remarks, turning from his picture-taking to offer us both a large smile.
I am well aware that I probably look a right fucking state at this point. My face will be bright red with effort and pain, and my hair will be soaking wet and sticking up at all angles, thanks to my brief plunge into the briny.
Ray looks like he’s just stepped off the cover of Good-Looking Rich Bastards Monthly.
A small, sensible, scared little voice deep down inside of me tries to point out that it might not be such a good idea to challenge this man to anything other than a competition to see who can look the most fat and lost.
The ashtray drinker is having none of it, though. If anything, he’s even more determined to have the race now, just to make the mashed testicle worth it.
But I can’t offer him the challenge straight off. I’ll have to build up to it, organically, like.
‘How are things for you chaps?’ Ray asks, completely ignoring the fact that I’ve just Inspector Clouseau’d my way out of the kayak. I think this makes me hate him even more.
‘Very good!’ I tell him, standing up as straight as I possibly can. This causes my testicle to swing dangerously around in my shorts and underpants, sending a jolt of pain up through my stomach. ‘Couldn’t be better!’ I add, sounding more strained than a brickie’s tea bag.
‘Excellent!’ Ray replies. ‘Us too. Just taking in a little of the scenery from a different perspective. Always pays to do that, I think. Don’t you?’
What does that mean? Is he trying to say something?
I don’t see anything in his face to suggest that what he’s just said has an ulterior meaning, but it sounded like a very deliberate thing to say, didn’t it?
My eyes narrow. ‘Yes. A different perspective. You’re very . . . very right.’
Finding that broad, gleaming smile more than a little disconcerting, I turn my attention to my ex-wife, who continues to look green to the gills. ‘Hello, Amy, how are you today?’ I say to her blandly.
‘Oh, I’m fine, Joel. Don’t you worry about me.’
If Ray is hard to read, Amy is stupendously easy. I have to resist the urge to take a step back. Partially because I don’t want to get covered in the vomit that I’m partially convinced is about to erupt from her any minute.
Christ. She does look awful. Maybe I went a little far with my prank last night? I didn’t mean for it to make her this ill.
‘Going out on the water always makes me a little sick,’ Cara pipes up from beside me, rummaging around in the pocket of her shorts as she does so. She produces a packet of Tic Tacs and offers it to Amy with a smile. ‘Would you like one of these? They help me settle my stomach for some reason.’
For a moment, my ex-wife looks like she’s going to smack the box out of Cara’s hand, but then her expression relaxes a little and she takes the box. ‘Thank you. I do feel a bit queasy.’ She shoots me a look. ‘Maybe not from sea sickness, though.’ Amy pops a Tic Tac and hands the box back to Cara.
Well, this is all perfectly lovely, isn’t it?
I need to start steering the conversation around to the race – because no, I haven’t forgotten about it, unfortunately. I’m Johnny Herbert, remember?
‘Kayak much, do you?’ I say to Ray.
‘Oh . . . yes. A fair bit, I suppose. More of a windsurf kind of guy, to be honest. But I love anything that gets me out on the water.’
Yeah, I bet you do.
‘You’ve got a very . . . smooth action,’ I tell him.
‘Sorry?’
‘With the paddles, I mean. Your action is very smooth.’ I mime a bit of paddling to underline my point.
‘Oh. Thank you. Yes. I suppose I do.’
I’m trying to get the conversation organically to a place where I can actively throw out the idea of a race, but I’m rather afraid I just sound like I’m trying to chat him up.
‘I’m sure getting all the way around the island wouldn’t be a problem for you, with an action like that,’ I tell him, nodding my head sagely.
‘Um . . . no. I suppose it wouldn’t.’
‘Be quite easy for you, given your size.’
Fucking hell. Why don’t I just pull down his tiny white shorts, get to work and have done with it?
‘My size?’ Ray is looking deeply uncomfortable now. This pleases me greatly. Always good to have your opponent a bit off kilter before a race.
‘Yes. Your physique,’ I clarify. ‘I’m sure a lap around the island wouldn’t cause you many problems.’
I deliberately don’t look at Amy or Cara, because Christ only knows what’s going on with their faces right now. It appears from the way I’m talking to Ray that falling out of the kayak has turned me homosexual.
Now, Ray is a very fine figure of a man, and I’m sure if I was gay, he’d be the first on my list to get rejected by, but my motives are not based around a sudden new-found love for my fellow man, they are purely geared towards getting Ray to accept my challenge.
‘A lap around the island?’ Ray replies, still not sure whether he’s actively being chatted up or not by another man, in front of both their female partners.
‘Yes. Fancy it?’ I say, matter-of-factly.
‘Fancy what?’ Ray responds, still utterly perplexed by this conversation.
On his left I can see Amy’s eyes widen as she realises what’s going on here. She always was one to get ahead of the game over most other people.
‘A little race around the island,’ I tell him, trying as hard as possible not to flex my arm muscles and tighten the ones around my belly as I say this.
Ray’s eyes narrow. ‘You want . . . you want to race me around Wimbufushi?’ The tone in his voice is roughly the same as Gordon Ramsay’s would be if a seven-year-old just challenged him to see who can cook the best lobster thermidor.
‘Yes!’ I crow with excitement, finally getting to the crux of the matter. ‘Don’t you think it would be fun?’
Ray carefully regards me for a second. ‘No?’ he ventures.
‘Don’t be so stupid,’ Amy says in a typically derisory fashion.
Cara remains silent for the moment.
‘Oh come on!’ I say expansively to them both. ‘It’d just be a bit of fun. A little light competition on a lovely sunny Thursday morning!’
‘It’s a crazy idea, Joel!’ Amy snaps. ‘We’re here to relax, not race!’
Oh, so she appears to be doing all the talking, does she? Well, we’ll see about that . . .
I affect a look of disappointment. ‘Oh well. Shame. If Ray doesn’t think he can beat me, then I suppose it’s probably right that we don’t do it. I’m sure you know what’s best, Amy.’
This, my friends, is the kind of thing that leads to pistols at dawn. I’ve essentially just said that I believe Amy wears the tro
users in their relationship. No man alive can ignore such an insult.
Ray nods. ‘She is the sensible one of the two of us,’ he remarks, completely unfazed by my questioning of his manhood.
What the fuck?
But no man alive can ignore such an insult!
Ray has clearly never drunk water out of a used ashtray before!
‘I don’t think it’s something I’d like to do,’ Ray continues in a mild tone, as if I haven’t basically just told him he’s a big girl’s blouse.
‘You’re on!’ Amy snaps, in a bewildering change of attitude that takes us all by surprise.
‘I am?’ I reply, flabbergasted. A few seconds ago she was dead set against the idea, but now she’s well up for it?
‘Yes. You are,’ she responds. ‘Ray doesn’t need me to tell him what to do. He makes his own decisions!’
Aah. I think I see what’s going on here . . .
Amy has realised my rather pathetically concealed gambit. If Ray isn’t bothered by my deliberate attempt to question his manhood, then Amy most certainly is.
‘I do?’ Ray says to her, now so confused by proceedings, he keeps blinking and frowning like someone’s shining a torch in his face.
‘Yes! You do!’ Amy replies. ‘And you know as well as I do that you’d beat Joel in a race around the island. That we’d beat him . . . So let’s have a go, eh?’ Amy looks daggers at me. ‘Like Joel says . . . it’s just a friendly bit of Thursday morning competition.’
Hang on a moment!
We?
She wants to take part in the race now as well?
My plans were for it to just be me and Ray, but Amy wants in?
‘You want to have a race?’ I say, incredulous.
‘Of course! Why not?’ she tells me, chin thrust out. Then Amy looks past me at Cara. ‘What do you say, Cara? Want to join me in showing these men that us women can race just as hard as them?’
Cara is slack-jawed with amazement. She’s been quiet this entire time, and just stood there watching this bizarre conversation play out. I doubt she expected to be included in it at any point, and the fact she now is has evidently come as something of a shock.
‘I don’t want . . . I don’t want to have a race,’ she eventually says, shaking her head a little.
I turn to her, desperate for her to play along. If Amy is going to be in Ray’s kayak, I need her in mine!
‘Please, sweetie!’ I say to her through partially gritted teeth. ‘It won’t be fair otherwise!’
Cara stares at me for a moment, wondering how she managed to get herself into this predicament.
And by predicament, I don’t mean being stood on a sandy cay in the middle of the Indian Ocean discussing a race in a kayak – I mean dating an absolute cock like me.
‘Okay,’ she tells me in a voice full of resignation, defeat and not a little horrified bemusement.
‘Great!’ I exclaim and turn back to Amy. ‘So we’re all set, then?’
‘Yes, we are,’ she replies with grim determination.
Ray looks like he’s just discovered his bottom has fallen off.
‘We’ll start right by the end of the water bungalows, shall we?’ I suggest, pointing over at where the wide wooden walkway terminates. Amy stares over at where I’m pointing with a look of absolute horror on her face. What could possibly be so awful about that as a starting place?
‘No!’ she immediately responds. ‘We’ll start right here. First one back wins!’
‘Right! Er . . . Yes!’ I agree, still wondering what’s so wrong with that particular patch of water underneath the walkway.
‘Come on, Ray! Let’s get back into the kayak and get ready!’ Amy tells her partner, who looks at her like she might know where his bottom is, but is just not telling him for some reason.
I turn back to Cara, who looks angry.
And well she might. Half an hour ago she was quite happily laid out on a sunbed, relaxing into her holiday, perhaps for the first time since we got here. And now she’s being pressganged into a race she clearly wants no part of.
‘What the hell, Joel?’ she says to me once Ray and Amy are out of earshot.
‘I’m sorry, baby!’ I tell her. ‘I didn’t think Amy would be a part of the race! But if she is, I need you to help me.’
‘Race, Joel? Why do you want to race Ray anyway?’
Because a bloke I knew at university called Heavy Kev once bet me fifty quid I couldn’t drink an ashtray full of water because I was a pussy.
‘Because I thought it would be fun?’ I venture, knowing full well that wasn’t my motive.
Cara lets out an exasperated sigh. ‘Is this about . . . about her?’ she says, her voice lowered.
‘No!’
Yes! Of course it is! It’s really all about her! I desperately need her to see that I can still be the confident, successful man I once was when we were married! I need her to see that she didn’t make me that way!
‘Of course it’s not! I just wanted to have a friendly little race to make the kayaking a bit more interesting.’
Cara rolls her eyes. ‘Right. Well . . . I’ll do it. But after this, we do what I want for the rest of the day, okay?’
‘Of course!’
And I really do mean that. The rest of Thursday is totally in my girlfriend’s control. I just have to get this out of my system first.
‘Come on then,’ she says in a resigned tone, and goes back over to the kayak, just as Ray is pushing theirs away from the shore.
I take a deep breath to steel myself, and also clamber back into the kayak – taking it nice and easy this time.
Once in it, I also push us away from the shore, straining as I do so. Today really is going to play havoc with what’s left of my muscles after the evil massage Amy made me have.
My jaw tightens as I remember what she did.
It tightens even more as we paddle around the sand cay, to come alongside Ray and Amy, who have pointed their kayak in the direction of the sea to the left side of the island.
My heart starts to pound.
This is it.
Time to prove myself.
If I can drink ashtray water, I can race this pillock around a small island.
Heavy Kev didn’t get the best of me, and neither will Tiny Shorts Ray.
Let battle commence!
Thursday
AMY – THE BATTLE OF WIMBUFUSHI
How dare he?
How dare he cast aspersions on Ray’s abilities!
Joel? Beat Ray in a race?
How utterly absurd!
I couldn’t let it stand. I just couldn’t.
Ray would have, bless him. He’s so good-natured and kind, he would have just let Joel get away with such an insult . . . but I couldn’t. Joel needs to be put in his bloody place, and if that means a quick race around Wimbufushi, then so be it!
Quite why I decided to inject myself into it is beyond me, though.
The last thing I need is to take part in any more strenuous exercise.
But damn it, I just saw red! I know what Joel is up to. I always know what Joel is up to.
He was trying to make my man look bad. And I can’t have that! Not at all!
So, despite the fact that I feel like death warmed up, I am going to take part in this stupid race, and I am going to prove to Joel just how small and pathetic he truly is!
If I don’t throw up, that is . . .
Because there’s every chance I might, thanks to what I ate last night.
After the . . . outdoor toileting incident, I made my way very slowly back to Ray, keeping to the shadows as best I could. I told him I wasn’t feeling well, and he came back to the bungalow with me, proceeding to fuss over me until I fell into a fitful sleep.
I had another attack of the galloping runs at about 4 a.m., throughout which I cursed my ex-husband to the lowest pits of hell.
When I got up this morning, the need to go to the toilet had passed, but I still felt decidedly under the weathe
r.
When Ray suggested a morning walk to cheer me up a bit, I was happy to accept. When he saw the kayaks, though, my heart sank.
He loves water sports. They’re pretty much his favourite past time. So it came as no surprise he eagerly went over to them, hoping to have a go on one, only to discover that there were only two-man kayaks available.
What could I do? I couldn’t leave him disappointed, could I? Not when he spends his entire life never disappointing me.
So, despite the fact that I was green to the gills, I agreed to come out with him on a little kayaking excursion, provided we took things relatively easy.
And that’s how things went – until bloody Joel and bloody Cara came alongside us.
And now, for some unfathomable reason, I’m about to take part in a race around Wimbufushi island, even though I might yak up all over Ray’s back while doing so.
But I just can’t let him get away with it.
Joel, I mean.
I can’t let him walk away from insulting the best person I know like that.
AND I want some measure of revenge for making me shit over the side of that pier . . .
Does Joel know that’s what I had to do? Is that why he suggested we start the race right on top of the place where I . . . made my deposit?
I can’t imagine how he would know, but the irrational idea that he followed me over, and sat in the shadows giggling his head off while I crapped on a passing clown fish is something I can’t get out of my head.
So, yes.
We will race Joel and Cara around this island, and we will fucking win. No matter how terrible I feel.
I watch with a look of loathing on my face as Joel awkwardly pilots his kayak towards where we’re waiting for him. He already looks puffed out before the race even begins, to be honest. This should be a breeze.
The only thing that worries me is Cara Rowntree. I can see some pretty well-defined arm muscles under that gloriously tanned skin of hers. She must work out.
I do not, and I fear that I may be at a definite disadvantage, especially considering the state I’m in. Going up against Cara is a huge mistake. There’s something about her that screams she’s an aggressive type – probably all those arm muscles. She swanned around the office like she owned the place on the times she used to come in, I remember that. Not one lacking in self confidence is Miss Rowntree. A trait that’s bound to serve her well in this race, along with those well-defined muscles.
You Again? Page 14