my water bottle. At that moment, I overheard the Boner-Drippits having what sounded remarkably like a minor marital tiff. It seemed that the group had begun the descent to the bay, but Frippery and Will lingered on in the sun-drenched ruins. For some inexplicable reason I began to feel almost afraid. Frippery's voice sounded high and self-righteous, magnified by the remains of the mission walls.
'No, I don't know what happened to it, Will. Perhaps that nathty thpider ate it. Don't be tho suthpithush! What would I do with your voodoo doll?'
'Well, if you haven't touched it, who did? There were no signs of a break in.'
Frippery laughed, a callous, mocking crow:
'Maybe Raoul came back from the dead and thtole it. I don't know, Will. But thith much I will say. I'd like to make a model of that Jay to match the one of my wretched ex-huthband. Filthy little thlut.'
A surge of indignation rallied my weary body as I heard Will murmur in assent. I remembered the hurt of his violent rejection of my womanly juices, my feminine essence. The man had actually recoiled in unconcealed disgust. Then and there, I vowed to dunk him in a veritable bath of girlie love juice. Retribution would be mine. Gritting my teeth in determination, I resumed my scramble up the bank. I didn't care if they saw me. I was angry enough to give them both a swift right hook on the chin. Rounding a crumbling wall, I stopped dead in my tracks. The Boner- Drippits were stark naked in the midday heat.
Good heavens!
It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. Silently, I drew back behind the mission wall and tiptoed to a narrow, vine-draped window, which formed a perfect vantage-point. Peering through a small gap in the greenery, I watched Boner and Frip lay out what appeared to be some form of voodoo shrine. It seemed that Will had brought Yorrick along in his backpack and he reverently placed the skull in the center of a circle of black candles.
'I hope you remembered the matches.'
I hope you applied lots of sunscreen!
Frippery rummaged in the backpack, then looked up at Boner in dismay.
'Oh dear!'
My former partner glared at his hapless wife and I stifled a giggle. This was getting better and better! I wondered if he'd resort to the Boy Scout trick of rubbing a couple of sticks together. Will was furious, his face rather red above the pallor of his body. Of course, he would be very careful about exposing himself to the sun and was doubtlessly slathered in Factor 45. Suddenly, he stomped over to a nearby tree and broke off a long limber twig.
'That's it, Frip. I've had about enough of your disorganization. Bend over. I'm going to switch your bare bottom.'
Frippery snorted and drew herself up to her full height, which was basically the same as her husband's.
'Over my dead body, you will! If I've told you onthce, Will, I've told you a thouthand times, I'm jutht not that type of female. In fact, if there's any thwitching going to happen, it'll be your backthide, not mine.'
Boner bristled and brandished the twig like a riding crop. So, there was a bit of a power imbalance at work in the Boner-Drippit marriage. Actually, it looked as if 'imbalance' was the understatement of the century. Frippery's apparent public compliance with her husband's many edicts seemed to be merely window dressing. I watched, enthralled, as Harry's ex marched over to the same tree and selected her own green twig. Twigs at noon in the old mission ruin.
'Bend over, Will! I know you like it. After all, it'th not ath if it'th the firtht time!'
A steady spray of spittle issued from Frippery's mouth. She was getting quite put out. Boner stood his ground, slowly tapping his twig against the palm of one hand. They both looked very thin and very white, like a pair of dueling tapeworms. I listened intently as my ex went through a familiar speech.
'I admit I enjoy the occasional bottom warming. And why not? A man can still be manly when he lies across a woman's knees.'
Frippery snorted derisively and, for once, I had to agree with her. I couldn't imagine Harry going for a ride over my lap. Not in a million years.
'Maybe I thould hath married Raoul. He knew his plaith!'
Boner threw his head back and guffawed.
'Hah! Six feet under. That's his place, all right. That boy could never satisfy you. He was a mere prop to aid your writing process. You might be Domina Dark when you write your little fem-dom ditties but I know you're really looking for a dominant male. You just don't know it yet, you poor misguided fool. The mere fact that Raoul laughed his head off when you tried to whip his little brown bottom should tell you something. Shouldn't it, my sweet?'
Frippery looked as if she might explode with fury. Suddenly, she cracked Boner over the head with her twig.
'He wath a no-good thlave! And you are a no-good huthband! Jutht like my exth!'
His jaw set in determination, Will wrestled the branch out of his wife's wildly flailing arm and bent her forwards over a low wall. I began to almost get aroused, even if it was the Boner-Drippits. Frantically, Boner began to whip Frippery's bony little bottom as she howled in anger.
'Take that! And that! I'll teach you to misbehave. I've had to resort to spanking Heidi from the gym, you know, to assuage my needs! I didn't like being unfaithful but you left me no choice. I just can't lead a spank-free existence. I've had to spank the Avon lady and that fat little girl at the corner store. Not to mention a couple of bank tellers and…'
'Enough! I don't want to hear any more! You utter bathtard!'
It was Frippery's turn to retaliate. With a sudden Herculean effort, she threw Will off her back and picked up her fallen switch.
'Pig! Monthter!'
'Stuck-up Pollyanna!'
I decided that enough was enough. A little marriage guidance was obviously the order of the day and I began to muse upon a devious plan. Leaving the terrible pair to thwack at one another in frustrated frenzy, I sidled around the perimeter wall of the mission until I reached the front entrance, then nonchalantly strode off down the track to the beach.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE JOYS OF PARENTHOOD
The capital of St Kitts is Basseterre, and the centre of Basseterre is The Circus. It is supposed to be styled after Piccadilly Circus in London but I have never been able to see the resemblance. Instead of the statue of Eros there is a clock tower, a memorial to an illustrious former politician. The clock often shows the right time twice a day.
The Circus more closely resembles a French town square than the London meeting of thoroughfares, and given the French colonial history of St Kitts that is hardly surprising. Here four or five streets meet and so does everyone on the island. The Circus is the centre of Carnival (immediately after Christmas, just to be awkward), and it is where taxis breed. A yellow telephone attached to a telephone pole is the hotline to the taxi rank. It sometimes rings but is seldom answered.
The bars and restaurants of The Circus are conveniently arranged on the second floors of the buildings. I sat at a balcony table in Ballahoo to watch the world pass by while refreshing myself with a cold Carib. Carib is a Trinidad beer, but the best Carib is brewed in St Kitts. It has something to do with the softness of the water. The Circus Grill across the way was packed with refugees from the cruise ship being serenaded by a soft reggae duo.
Below me taxi drivers played warriwarri and dominoes. A smart young lady in an official looking t-shirt swept litter into a wheelbarrow. A dog slept in the middle of the road where the shadow of the clock tower lay. I took a long pull at my beer and leaned back. Harry Neptune was at peace with the world.
Now, did I really expect that to last?
'Daddy!'
I looked round hastily but the ecstatic cry had come from the square below, not from my shaded eyrie. All the same, I pulled my Panama down over my face before peering over the paint-peeled wooden rail.
