THIRTY-SEVEN
Slap, slap, ‘Oi Virgil, wakey, wakey, some b****y International Rescue he is. Come on Jack, mate, wake up 'cause you owe me one.’
Jack coughed, his one eye opened and he croaked, ‘Call it even, Sponge Bob.’
‘It’s Robert, Snott.’
‘It’s not Snott, it’s Virgil.’
‘He’s alright, come on Bob, let’s get back home, I’m soaked and it’s feckin’ freezing,’ Mandy said, but it equally could have been Della, a shivering sparrow at the back of the lifeboat.
‘It’s Robert,’ Sponge Bob responded despairingly.
‘Whatever Spongy, get me home.’
The rescue helicopter had winched Jimbo out of the water, and he was on his way to QA hospital. The rescue man in the sea had determined Jack was okay, even though Jack was claiming he was seriously wounded, but the doc on the winch wire said it was
