17Sunlight flickers over Cornelius’s bald head and highlights an isolated graft of coarse, crinkly pubic hair, near the front. His bold blue hibiscus flowered shirt hangs loosely over grey boardshorts. Large irregular feet a long way down pause in his well planted sandals.
‘Would you like to go out to dinner tonight?’ He reaches belatedly for his cap and lights the gas under the coffee. ‘There’s a good Chinese restaurant in Lautoka.’
‘I’d love to.’ I’m polite and enthusiastic and swing around to fill myself with the space – tasting, smelling, imbibing the boat, skin prickling with who he is.
Cornelius chats with the taxi driver as if he knows him well, as if they’re best friends. I’m not sure whether my question mark will turn into a cross or a tick. Fantasy creeps happy drugs into my b
