Flecks of shit and blood left all around the rim gave off the stink of a sewerage/chemical mix. Liza dropped the holding tank part of her own toilet, the Porta Potti, and reversed back into the open air, gagging and covering her mouth, wondering how she was going to cope. She stood for a while enjoying the sweet smell of a nearby honeysuckle and considered her options. A flight to Brazil seemed very appealing. Problem was the insurance for Archie would cost a bomb and there’d need to be special arrangements and everything. Besides, Mr Suit would probably have the airports covered as soon as he found out what was going on. Another idea fluttering inside her head was to leave Archie outside the hospital with a note around his neck, like Paddington Bear or a Victorian foundling on wheels and in nappies. ‘Please look after this man’ or ‘Free to good home’. She looked over to Archie, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he watched the world go by from the front of the boat. It tugged on either a heart-string or a tendon, which meant that leaving him alone out there was out of the question.
