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THE TAXI’S ENGINE IDLED and the meter ticked over. Despite what Wimon Sowanna had just said, David Blameworth packed a holdall. A few seconds ago, they’d both been standing outside the marriage bureau, ready to go. Then he went back inside.
“There won’t be time,” Wimon shouted.
“Stop panicking, stop panicking,” came his voice from within.
“It’s you who should be panicking.”
“How long did you say I’d got?”
Wimon pulled his cap down over his eyes and rubbed his arms. “Ten minutes God knows how long ago. Less than half that now. Last time I listened, the cops were on their way and nothing’s very far from anything else on this island. I’m risking prison even being here.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“Thirty seconds then I’m off. I’ve a family to support.”
David Blameworth swung his holdall into the boot. It contained a change of clothing and a large bottle of gin. He flicked his cigar butt into the gutter, swung open the door, grabbed the roof and lowered himself into the passenger seat. “Go.”
Wimon grabbed the steering wheel and pressed his foot on the accelerator, going through four gear changes in as many seconds. “Have you got money? It’s difficult starting a new life without money.”
David Blameworth knew a hint when he heard one. He tugged the billfold from his jeans pocket and separated five thousand Bahts. “Keep the change.”
They turned onto Thep Krasattri Road.
“So where to, boss?” Wimon said.
“You tell me.”
“Well, we can’t go to the mainland because the police are guarding the bridges. You’re a very wanted man.”
“So I’ve got to stay on the island. I was planning to anyway.”
“Hey, nobody’s saying you have to stay in Phuket. I can put you somewhere till nightfall. Plenty of people will be happy to row you to safety for the right price. We just have to lie low for a while.”
“I said I’m staying here.”
“So ... where to?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Maybe while you’re doing that, I should pull off and get myself a drink.”
“Call into a café?”
“I’ve something packed.”
They turned east to Sapam Bay. They went about half a mile along a country road. Wimon pulled up and took out a can of Cha ma yen. They looked over at the mountains.
“Lovely island,” Wimon said. “You never tire of it.”
David Blameworth spat. “It was lovely, till the backpackers arrived. Then the tourists. Nowadays, it’s just another open drain.”
“You’re exaggerating. The tourists haven’t worn down the mountains or chopped down the forests. They can’t take away the sun or the sea. There’s just a lot of them. But they go home. Anyway, what’s wrong with a lot of people?”
“They’re all the same, that’s what. An island of zombies, all after identical things. All thinking they’ve found the ‘essence’ of the place. And they go home and suddenly they’re the world’s biggest experts on Thailand and India and Bali, and all those other places they’ve fucked up.”
“Hate to remind you, boss, but the meter’s still running. You’d better start making some decisions.”
David Blameworth suddenly punched the ground in frustration. “Shit! Who the hell did I hurt?”
“What?”
“All right, I made a lot of money. But the girl got her husband, her family got their bar, I got my money and Charles bastard Swinter was so rich he was never going to miss it. Who the hell did I hurt?”
Wimon took a sip of his lemonade and thought for a few seconds. “Maybe it’s not about hurting people. Maybe it’s about rules. Maybe there are rules - ”
“Well, obviously there are rules. If there weren’t rules, the police wouldn’t be after me.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean ... like, higher rules.”
“What are you talking about? What sort of ‘rules’ would they be? Where would they be written down, for Christ’s sake?”
“I don’t know. I was just saying, that’s all.”
“I’ll tell you what it is. It’s bloody Western notions of justice coming in and shafting everything! Why can’t they just leave us alone?”
“Cheers. I’ll drink to that.”
“God, I hate Westerners. Sanctimonious, bloody - ”
“I hate to say this, David. But you’re looking pretty Western from where I’m sitting.”
“Thanks.”
“Come on, I wish I was a Westerner.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Course I do.”
David Blameworth drew a circle in the dust then scribbled it out. “Well, you’ve been badly duped, my friend. I feel sorry for you.”
“That’s nice. But it’s not going to help us change skins.”
“Maybe next lifetime, eh?”
“Yeah. Come on now, David. I’ve finished my drink. Where do you want to go?”
“I want you to leave me right here. I’m going into the jungle for a while.”
Wimon hooted. “To be eaten by snakes?”
“I know how to take care of myself.”
“What’s the point? You could be on your way to Laos in a few hours’ time if you just listen to me.”
“I’ll get to Laos. Eventually. In my own time.”
“So why the delay?”
“Georgina Chappel.”
Wimon crushed his lemonade can and dropped it. “Her again.”
“That bloody bitch will be sitting there, thinking she’s won. Well, I’ll show her.”
“What are you planning?”
“I’m planning to wipe the smile off her face.”
“So, pretty specific then?”
“I’ve got a lot of friends on this island. I’ll survive. But I can’t let her think she’s won. I can’t.” He punched the ground again producing a little puff of dust.
“So you’re getting off here, yeah?” Wimon said.
“Yeah. Thanks for the warning, and the lift.” He took out his billfold, and removed another five thousand Bahts. “For old times’ sake. Buy yourself something special to remember me by.”
Wimon embraced him and got back into the car. He leaned out of the window. “Something tells me this won’t be our last meeting. But just in case, it’s been a pleasure.”
David Blameworth banged twice on the roof. Wimon took his elbow in and pulled away. David Blameworth shielded his eyes from the sun with both hands. He watched till the car turned back onto the main road and disappeared.
He stretched and turned full circle to compass all four corners of the island. He was on his own now.
He felt freer and more powerful than he had for a long time.
