Wild Fiction

‘You can’t just up and off to an island in the Caribbean,’ the author said. ‘What are you going there for anyway? You’re not just going to find this stuff that Sir Betelgeuse has stolen. This island isn’t a sandbar with a coconut tree, it’s a big place. It would be impossible to search. Even if you do find something you can’t keep it. You’ll have to return it to the insurance company and you’ll only get a small finder’s fee.’
‘Do you have a better plan?’ Rebecca asked.
The author paused and looked around. ‘No,’ he said and then after another pause: ‘How long do you want to go for?’
‘Aren’t you coming with us?’ Rebecca asked.
‘I can’t,’ the author paused again and looked down at his hands. He stretched his fingers out and examined his fingernails.
‘Why not?’ Rebecca asked.
The author continued to look at his fingernails for a moment or two. ‘I’m afraid of flying,’ he said. ‘The takeoffs and landings terrify me and during the whole flight I think the bloody thing’s going to come crashing down into the sea.’
Rebecca leant over and rubbed his leg. ‘It’s all right. We’re not going to force you to come are we boys?’ she said looking at James and Conrad in turned.
They shook their heads in unison.
‘Book us a two week return with an option to change it if necessary,’ Rebecca said turning back to the author.

Chapter 21

The 747 touched down at Belize City Airport. Two puffs of grey white smoke hung motionless over the tarmac where the wheels had initially made contact with the runway. The heat from the jet engines shimmered in distorted horizontal waves. It was noon on an unbearably hot tropical day. Coconut palms lined the landing strip. A monkey had climbed over the security fence and was sitting in one of the palms. It stared intensely at the plane and in one small window saw Rebecca’s face, pressed tightly against the glass, staring back at it. In a neighbouring tree sat a scarlet macaw. It was pruning itself and saw nothing at all.
After they passed through customs a black man walked up to them and said: ‘Good afternoon. My name Julius. I here to look after you.’
The group of three, as they wished to be known – so they told the author later - stared at him for a short period trying to comprehend what he had said.
‘Who sent you?’ Conrad asked.