Worst. Person. Ever. (30 page)

I was in such a good mood that I even forgot about Neal’s unwillingness to shit out my piece of red plastic, and then it hit me:
the Cure T-shirt.

Fuck.

“Neal, we’re going to have to go back to the tent city.”

“Whyzzat, Ray?”

“The Cure T-shirt.”

Neal took on the look of someone who’s just been shot. “Where is it?”

“I told you. It’s hidden under a corner of Fiona’s tent.”

“Is it clean and bagged?”

“It is.”

“All right, I have a plan.”

Neal having a plan is about as complex as Neal finding a parking spot.

“We’ll hide the boat in these mangrove roots,” he said, “and then we’ll sneak in and get it.”

I stared at him in silence. “That’s it? That’s your plan?”

“Do you want the shirt or not, Ray?”

“Let’s not dilly-dally, then.”

After we camouflaged the Zodiac among the mangroves, we entered some palmetto scrub. It was maybe a ten-minute walk to the tent city, and we were unsure of what our reception would be there. I didn’t think Stuart would have drowned, but a loudmouth like him would probably make a big deal out of our whacking him out of the boat. Fuck it: it was our word against his. He fell out of the boat. End of story.

Neal hissed, “Ray, look at this.”

I glanced down to where he pointed: a creature in a shell was plodding across the sand.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a hermit crab of the superfamily Paguroidea.”

“I’ve heard of the Paguroidea family. Almost 1,100 subspecies in it.”

“Indeed there are. They have an asymmetrical abdomen concealed in an empty signature gastropod shell.”

“Remarkable.”

“Indeed. And now look up at the sky.”

I did so.

“Orion’s Belt. It’s very clear tonight.”

“You mean those three stars in a row? Tell me more about Orion’s Belt, Neal.”

“Certainly. The Belt of Orion is what is called a small ‘asterism’ in the constellation Orion. It consists of the three bright stars Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka. These stars are more or less evenly spaced in a straight line, and so can be visualized as the belt of the hunter’s clothing. In the northern hemisphere, they are most visible in the early night sky during the winter, in particular during the month of January at around nine p.m.”

“The natural world really is amazing, isn’t it, Neal?”

“It certainly is, Ray.”

“I find it relaxing to observe the small things that we, in our hectic lives, tend to overlook.” I pointed out a shrub. “That’s the
Coccoloba uvifera
, more commonly known as the sea grape. It’s a species of flowering plant in the buckwheat family, of all things.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. It’s native to coastal beaches throughout the Americas. I suspect this specimen here was introduced as an ornamental.”

“You have to watch it with introduced species, Ray. They can wreak havoc on an ecosystem.”

“Most people underestimate the fragility of marine landscapes.”

Suddenly it became hard to see—and then I couldn’t see anything, at which point I felt a searing bolt of pain
on my forehead. Fuck me ragged—had I passed out again? I hadn’t eaten a fucking thing in hours.

“Ray? Ray? You okay?” Neal was looming over me, backlit by stars. “You banged your head on a palm tree.”

“Fucking hell. I had the most ghastly dream while I was passed out there. A nightmare—a delusion? Whatever you want to call it. You and me were walking along and talking about plants and stars, and it was so fucking boring. I mean,
me
talking about
plants
?”

“Never want that to actually happen.”

“You said it. How far are we from the tent city?”

“It’s just ahead.”

Neal helped me to my feet. We found a small path and tiptoed along it, ending up just a few tents down from Fi’s. Brilliant. A handful of people were to-ing and froing, their eyes glued to iPhones.

“Perfect. Everyone’s too busy to notice us.”

“Okay, Ray, you go out and get the T-shirt.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you know where it is, whereas I’d probably fuck up if I went.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hurry.”

So I did. I looked at a piece of wood as though it were an iPhone—one of those weird tricks of modern living that makes a person totally invisible. When I reached Fiona’s tent, as quick as a hawk, I swooped down and lifted the corner. The shirt was gone.
Crap.

And that’s when I was clubbed on the head, but this time I didn’t pass out. I turned around to find Fiona, livid, holding a tiki log in her right hand, my T-shirt in its bag in her left.

“Raymond, I can’t believe you shoved Stuart out of the boat!”

“We did no such thing.”

“Don’t even bother pretending otherwise; I saw you do it.” She whacked me on the shoulder.

“What the fuck! Fiona, stop!”

“Where’s the boat, Raymond?”

I turned to face her. “
Ahhh.
So now I’ve got something you want, right?”

“You tool. In about thirteen minutes, every person on this island is going to realize that, with the network boat sunk, there are only a finite number of calories, almost no water, and way too many people here. I do not want to be a part of that scenario. You’ve got a boat. It’s a big advantage.”

“So …”

“So right now, you, me and our two children go to Neal’s house and ransack it for food. And then we take our hoard to some other, safer, hidden island. There are lots of them. And then we stay alive while everyone else dies a hideous, most likely cannibalistic death. After that, I have no further plans.”

She was right.

“And don’t even
think
of kicking me out of that boat, Raymond. You’re a family man now and you will live up to your responsibilities.”

“Neal has to come too.”

“Fair enough. At least he has genuine skills that could come in handy.”

“
And
he gets the Cure T-shirt as a reward.”

Fiona thought this over for longer than one might imagine, and then she heaved a sigh. “You’re right. Where is he?”

“I’m right here.” He was behind us.

“Good. You’ll have heard all this, then. We have to go clean out your place immediately.”

Poor Neal looked crestfallen. “It was such a perfect kingdom while it lasted. But I do see your point. I’ll go bring the boat around to the mangrove patch nearest the house.”

I was expecting to find Neal’s place looted already but when we looked in the windows, things were untouched. “Fiona, people are so fucking stupid.” Then I had a thought that sank my mood: “Christ. What about Mother?”

“I need to discuss that with you. Rumour has it she’s in Neal’s business centre having a fuckfest with Eamon.”

“Oh
him.
Well, they deserve each other. And honestly, shagging her brains out is a much more desirable way for Mother to go than sitting around with us feeling guilty because she may have to dine on a family member. Let’s keep her out of our plan.”

“Excellent idea.”

Just then Kyle and Emma showed up. Fiona briefed them, ending with, “And remember, make no noise whatsoever inside Uncle Neal’s house. We want Grandmum to enjoy her time giving Mr. Eamon his medically approved therapeutic shiatsu massage.”

“No problem,” said Kyle. “I can hear them already. It sounds like it’s going very well.”

“Gosh, this is exciting!” added Emma.

“Okay, let’s go do our thing.”

“What shall we steal next, Dad?”

Ah, families … nasty, dreadful, toxic things, but in those rare moments when they work, they can be something that approaches fun.

“We’ve nicked all the tinned goods, Kyle. Now go through the cutlery drawers for the basics, and for fuck sake—I mean for God’s sake—
Yay God!
—make sure we have a tin opener. Your mum is just about through loading up her golf cart.”

“I’m on it.” And off went Kyle.

Emma and I went to the hut out back. As we were pilfering the last of the bug sprays and medical supplies, we had one of those father-daughter moments that money can’t buy. We were about to walk out of the hut, talking as we went …

“I must say, Dad, Grandmum’s shiatsu client is having a terrific time. But is it natural to scream whenever …” Emma stopped and looked at the loo door at the same moment I did. We both realized the same thing at the exact same time.

“Dad, this could be the last time we experience a flush toilet for the rest of our lives.”

We were frozen to the spot. I felt as if we were all headed off to war. “Emma, why don’t you have, ummm, a farewell flush.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll always remember this.”

So Emma went to say farewell to civilization as I packed the last items on my golf cart, whistling “The Angry Dance” theme from
Billy Elliot.
I got to thinking of that crazy day on Wake Island and how it already felt like another historical era. And then I heard an echo of my song—it was Neal, joining in, doing a little Billy Elliot jig while carrying a full 10-gallon gasoline can in each hand.

“Ah, Billy the little poofter,” said Neal fondly, ending his jig with a small plié. “Dance your brains out, you gay little mite. Just don’t get caught in a bareback fourgy in the airport loo.”

Emma rejoined us then, carrying medical supplies and a twenty-four-pack of Andrex Bright & Bold tissue. “It’s more as a souvenir than for wiping, really,” she said, balancing it on the cart atop a box of shotgun shells.

“She is a chip off the old block, isn’t she, Ray? Shall we go? I can hear people approaching.”

“You and Emma go ahead, Neal. I have something I need to do.”

“But, Ray, it sounds like a lot of people.”

“This is important, Neal. It’s the Last Flush.”

Emma quickly shushed him, bless her. And I went for my final dump in the modern world.

For once the gods delivered: large, well-formed, structurally sound cylinders came flowing out of my arse like it was a kielbasa sausage factory. And not phantom shits, either. These were real, visible and tangible. As I reached for the Andrex, I felt a small tear in my eye. Before I knew it, it was time for the Last Flush. I was just about to depress the handle when my Spidey sense began to tingle.

From the voices I could discern that a group had descended on Neal’s house. But it wasn’t an angry mob in pursuit of non-perishables. It was that roving fuckfest called Thong Kong—finally landing right on my doorstep.