Minding The Unholy Infant

Terence in lying on his back at the bottom of the pool, looking upwards.

It is not what he had expected.

But he should have.

Now he remembers that time in Geneva, when he scooted off the walkway on his way to the fountain and had to be rescued.

He screws up his eyes to see better through the glinting blue water.

He sees a long brown pointy thing, undulating six feet above him.

Could it be Nose's nose?

It is, and Nose is now running to alert the Reverend Griffith Hughes, who is napping in a banana lounge, due to jet lag (and copious rum).

Hey!

The Reverend Griffith Hughes is now alerted.

For reasons best known to himself he does not get up quickly.

Is that commendable?

No it isn't.

Luckily Reception has come out to see if any stragglers want to go on the bus tour.

Nose is gesticulating wildly.

Reception is used to deliveries falling into the swimming pool. He knows what to do.

He grabs a long handled net and fishes out Terence.

Terence is placed dripping next to the banana lounge.

Thank you, says Griff, evincing the bare minimum of gratitude.

Mrs Thomas-Hume comes out to the pool, dressed for a bus tour.

Ten minutes later, the bus leaves for Cherry Tree Hill, and Terence is on it.

........

The bus winds its way up Cherry Tree Hill.

Feeling better, baby? asks Mrs Thomas-Hume.

No, says Terence. My shorts are wet.

They'll soon dry, says Mrs Thomas-Hume. It's always twenty seven to twenty eight degrees in Barbados. What nice ones! What are those patterns?

Geckos, says Terence. His little cement nose is stuffed up with pool water.

Water drips out when he says geckos.

She doesn't have the heart to say: They don't look like geckos.

I'm getting new ones, says Terence. So is Nose.

The parrot, smiles Mrs Thomas-Hume. It might be hard to find shorts to fit her.

Terence scowls.

She changes the subject to externals.

Look at the view. This must be Cherry Tree Hill.

The view from Cherry Tree hill is magnificent. Waving cane fields and mahogany trees stretching all the way down to a sun-soaked coastline.

Terence looks. He can't see a single cherry tree, or even a cherry.

It's a rubbish hill, if ever there was one.