Charlie, Rick and the snapper arrived in plenty of time for the party.  Apparently, Tongans needed few excuses to host a party and Rick’s oldest friend, George Hala, known as Big George by just about everyone in the islands, had instantly insisted that a celebration was held for his friend and his friend’s long lost son.  Charlie was almost family as far as George was concerned, and he wanted to welcome the new addition in style.

Smiling in that bemused way that people do when they know absolutely no-one at a party apart from the person that they came with, Charlie felt as much out of water as the snapper was.  He had been met at the threshold of a neat yellow bungalow, close to his father’s in the village of Toula, by the largest person he had ever seen.  Big George was huge, a massive man with the sharply defined biceps and forearms of a boxer but the belly of a walrus.  He was tall, bronzed and square faced with long black curly hair tied back into a pony tail.  If he hadn’t smiled as soon as he saw Rick, Charlie would have found him so intimidating that he would have been more than tempted to bolt. 

 “Rick!  Charlie! Welcome!  Malo e lelei!”  George opened his arms wide and enveloped the pair of them in a giant hug.  “Come on in, we’re just getting started!  What’s that you’ve got there, Charlie?”  He asked looking at the plastic bag that Rick had put the snapper in after cleaning it.

“Er…hi…er…a fish?”  Charlie hazarded awkwardly.  Now that he thought about it, he felt rather foolish standing on the doorstep of someone’s house, in a tropical paradise, holding a large fish.  It wasn’t something he often did in London.

“We caught a snapper this afternoon, George.  To be honest, Charlie caught it and I was just along for the ride.  It’s a beauty. Do you think you’ve got time to do something with it?”  Rick added somewhat more coherently.

George looked in the bag.  “Now that’s a good catch!  Well done, Charlie!  On your first day here too!  We better send you out with a net tomorrow, you’ll end up feeding the town,” he boomed.  “Now come on in!”

            They stepped from the quiet of the early evening into a cauldron of chatter and laughter.  George led them through the house where Charlie could see that just as the exterior was neat, so were the rooms inside, though this was hard to properly judge because these were packed with an improbable number of large Tongan people, who were engaged in a contest of speaking as loudly as they could, all at the same time.  George introduced Charlie as they went along.

“Rick, you know my cousin ‘Ofa, Charlie meet ‘Ofa, he’s my mother’s brother’s boy.  ‘Ofa this is Charlie, Rick’s son, who’s just arrived all the way from London.”  George said, smiling happily.

“Malo e lelei, Charlie!  Welcome to Tonga,” an equally enormous young man said, shaking Charlie’s hand vigorously. “Hi, Rick!” he added.

“Hi ‘Ofa,” Rick smiled as he punched the huge teenager playfully on the shoulder.

And so it went, walking, smiling, shaking hands, meeting cousin Fale, cousin Lotu, Uncle Aisake, Auntie Ana, George’s sisters Mele, Sela and Lia, their husbands, their children, George’s wife Losana, her brothers and sisters, their children, grand parents, and so the list went on, everyone smiling, shaking hands, greeting Charlie.  He felt quite overwhelmed, though strangely comfortable in the unfamiliar setting.  “Malo e lelei!” he heard over and over again, “Welcome! Hello! Hi!” 

Eventually, George had led Charlie and Rick to the backyard where the smaller members of the family chirruped around a football as it bounced between the house and a makeshift goal between two straggling palms.  Charlie wasn’t sure how long it had taken to wend his way through the bungalow and say hello to everyone but it couldn’t have been shorter than half an hour. 

A long table had been set in the open air that was absolutely groaning with food.  A Tongan girl of about Charlie’s age, tall like the rest of her family but rather more slender, wearing skinny jeans and an Arsenal shirt, was still laying the table, whilst a small black pig snuffled around under her feet.  Losana bustled outside with a plastic bowl in her hands.

“Charlie, this is my daughter, Carmen.  Be careful, she bites!”  Losana giggled melodically as she went back into the house.

“Mum!” The girl squealed.  “I do not bite!”  She turned to Charlie, “Really, I don’t bite.  Malo e lelei, Charlie!  Rick has been babbling about you since he heard about you.  It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Er…thanks,” Charlie said uncertainly.  “It’s nice to meet you too.  Er…I’m Charlie.”

“Er…I know!  I just said didn’t I?” The girl said mockingly, tilting her head and looking at Charlie piercingly with her dark eyes.  “Do you like pigs?  I like pigs!  Would you like to meet my pig?”

“Er… sure…yeah.” Charlie started to feel out of his depth.  He looked around for his father to help but Rick had his back to Charlie whilst he spoke to George. 

The football suddenly bounced off the back of his head to the sound of six year old hilarity.  It rebounded across the table, rattling plates, knocking over cups and coming to a final resting place in a bowl of something white and steaming, spraying the contents over the place settings.  The ball rolled out of the bowl, tipping it, taking it off the table to the ground below, where both items rolled beneath the table cloth.  

“Oiaue! Tuku ia!”  Carmen shrieked at the pack of children, who stopped laughing and stared back at her blankly. “Idiots!”  She hissed in English, and then ran at the children screeching, her arms spread wide in an attempt to catch them.

To the sound of delighted squealing, the little children scattered like seeds after a dandelion clock had been blown. Charlie watched them tumble, feeling a little left out as he rubbed the back of his head.

Carmen ran back up to him.  “Well?”  she asked.

“Er…well, what?”  said Charlie.

“Well, would you like to meet my pig?  I asked you once already!”  “Er…OK.”

She looked at him expectantly then sighed, pointing under the table, “He’s under there.  You’re going to have to help me catch him.”

“Er…me?  Catch a pig? You’re joking!” Charlie protested.  He felt as if the world had been given a sudden twist and things weren’t quite the same as they had been before.  When had he gotten himself into this mess?  He could not quite see how things had come to this.  He couldn’t quite see a way out of it either.  George and his dad appeared to have gone back inside of the bungalow.

“Come on, it’s easy!  Just get him out from under the table,”  Carmen insisted.

“What do you mean get him out from under the table?  Why do I have to get him out from under the table?”

“Because…I…know…him…and…he…will…come…to…me!” she spoke slowly as if to a five year old.

“Er…then…why…do…I…have…to…go…if…you…are…Master…of…the…Pig?” Charlie replied, matching her with sarcasm.  This conversation was not going well, even he could see that.

“Because…you…are…big…and…scary!”  Carmen giggled.  She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him down on to the grass by the table.  She lifted the tablecloth and thrust Charlie underneath.  “Go and get him, Bravo Boy!  Scare him out the other end where I can catch him!” 

In the dim light under the table, Charlie rested on his hands and knees, wondering what on Earth had got him into this bizarre situation.  When should he have sought help?  Was there a moment that he missed when Losana would have intervened?  Why couldn’t anybody have seen what a mess he has getting himself into?  Who was this loony girl?  Questions buzzed around in his head but it still didn’t help him think of a sensible way out of this pickle.  He realised that at some point this had become a contest of wills between him and Carmen.  An unspoken challenge had been made and if he backed out now, he would lose face for ever.

Beneath the table, in the forest of table legs, Charlie could see the little pig snuffling in the remains of the spilled bowl.  Well, here goes.  Might as well try and get this animal out, he thought to himself and he shuffled forward toward his target.

“C’mon, Charlie!  Get Crispy! Give him a poke!  ” Carmen suggested helpfully, from the other end of the table.

“Er..all right, all right!”  he answered, irritated by her teasing. Give him a poke?  It wasn’t a bad idea…unless pigs bit.  Did pigs bite?  Were they dangerous?  He couldn’t quite remember.  Still, it was only a little pig.  Crispy? What a stupid name for a pig!

He eased his way around the legs and found himself about a metre away from the diminutive porker.  The pig looked up from the bowl and glared at him with little beady black eyes.  Its snout was covered in the white fluffy stuff that had been in the bowl.    Charlie was suddenly blessed with an idea.  He would win this contest if he could coax the pig into his arms and carry it out.  Who would lose face then?  He reached forward.  The pig backed of a couple of steps.  Charlie scraped out some of the residue from the bowl onto his fingers and held them out to the pig.

At first it did nothing.  Then its nose wrinkled up, nostrils flaring, and it sniffed at his out held fingers.  It took a step towards him, then another. Finally, it cautiously reached his fingers and started licking them.  Slightly revolted, Charlie withdrew his hand slowly and tempted the pig to him.  When it was within easy reach, he brought it to him and held the animal gently in his arms.  This would show the loony!

He held the animal close to him, feeling its quick breathing against his chest.  It was as Charlie shuffled on his bottom towards the edge of the table that all hell let loose. 

The pig squealed, gurgled ominously, farted explosively and then let a stream of noxious poo jet out from its rear end.  

“Aargh!” Charlie squawked.  He bolted upright in shock, forgetting he was beneath the table.  His head crashed on the underside, shaking all the items above, some of which could be heard rolling in a manner that they were not supposed to be doing.  Charlie yowled in pain.  The pig squealed, surprised by the sudden movement of his captor and his yelling.  It squirmed out his arms, leaving behind pig poo all over Charlie’s shirt front, and shot out the end of the table towards Carmen like a pork rocket.

“What are you doing, Charlie?  Come out from under there?”  intoned a stern American accent from somewhere up above.

“Er…hi, Dad!”  Charlie said, as he struggled out from under the table.  He gave Carmen a baleful look.  When he climbed upright he noticed the smell and wrinkled his nose in disgust.  What had that pig done to him?  He turned and looked at the table.  The after effects of the football, the pig and Charlie had turned the careful place settings into something that resembled the residue of battle.  “Er…” he said guiltily.

Much later, wearing a change of shirt that was more like a sail, courtesy of ‘Ofa, who was staying with Big George and Losana, Charlie sat down to his first Tongan meal.  Carmen had explained the mess plausibly to her mother, who had graciously laughed it all off.  The children, including the football playing pixies, had all helped reset things and the party had continued on its way with scarcely a blip. 

Charlie was worried.  He had not made the best impression on George and Losana’s family and to make matters worse his head hurt where he had banged it and Carmen kept niggling at him. 

“Ofa, you should have seen Charlie!”  she shrieked down the table above the hubbub of the gathered clan at her giant cousin.  “He was so cool! He must be the scariest boy Crispy has ever met.  Even scarier than you!”

“Carmen!  Behave!”  George barked.  “Charlie is our guest!  Your forget yourself!”

“Sorry, Dad.”  Chagrined, Carmen hung her head.  “Sorry, Charlie,”  she mumbled, almost inaudibly. 

For the rest of the meal she stayed like that, listlessly picking at her food, sulkily passing things to and fro and glaring at her father.  Charlie didn’t mind in the least.  He felt ill used by this mad girl and she deserved a bit of a telling off.  Now that she was leaving him alone he could turn his attention to the first proper, local food of his trip.  With Losana on his left looking out for him, helping him to navigate the myriad bowls and platter on the table, Charlie explored his first taste of Tongan cuisine.  With so much food available there was not a shred of danger that Charlie would go hungry.  The dishes were unknown to him: corned beef in coconut milk, diced octopus with taro leaves, taro root, shredded vegetables with green papaya, roast suckling pig from the uma (an underground oven that George’s father had been tending while the family gathered), fried fish – the snapper that he had brought as well as some tuna, fluffy yams, and the list went on.   Strangely, his earlier embarrassment only added to his appetite –perhaps he was restocking his energy reserves after the adrenalin rush that he had had under the table.  The talk around the table was relaxed and cheerful, politely in English from the older members of the group. 

“Hey Charlie,” ‘Ofa called to him.  “Do you play football or rugby, eh?”

“Er…well, we play both at my school.  I don’t mind either really.”

“We’ll we gonna have a little tag rugby after we’ve eaten.  Do you want to join in?”  ‘Ofa asked. “Don’t mind the shirt, it’s an old one.”

“OK,” Charlie said nervously, looking at ‘Ofa’s huge size and hoping that he would be on his side.

Much later, Rick and Charlie arrived back at Rick’s house.  Rick was giggling quietly to himself as unlocked the front door to let them in.  “Oh, but you should have seen what you looked like when you realised that ‘Ofa’s idea of touch rugby was not the way it’s normally played.”

“It wasn’t fair!  When we play back home you have to pass the ball when you’re tagged, when someone touches you, not release it when you touch the ground!  That’s just normal rugby!”  Charlie complained.  He was sore from the night’s game, and a bit sick from having eaten too much rich food.  The evening’s confrontation with Carmen had only added to his sour mood.

“Well, that’s ‘Ofa!  He does like to play for keeps.  He plays for a team over in New Zealand, you know.”  Charlie groaned as Rick continued, “At least you entertained George.  He was really impressed with your get up and go, Charlie!”   He switched on the light and walked over to an easy chair in the living room.  Picking a book off the seat cushion and placing the open volume carelessly on another pile, Rick slumped into it.  “If there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to make you sleep, it’s Tongan food!  I never want to eat another thing!” 

Charlie hovered uncomfortably, unsure what to do and where to sit.  All the chairs had books on them, pages carefully marked.  “Er…can I move this er…Dad?”  he said standing by the other easy chair, holding a copy of The Lore of the Land by Jacqueline Simpson.

“Sure, Charlie!  ‘Course you can!   What am I thinking?  Come on, I’ll clear some space.”  Rick jumped up out of his chair and dashed around clearing books away for Charlie.  Eventually, there was enough room and they both settled back down.  Rick grinned at Charlie.  “You got to admit though, Charlie, it was pretty funny when you knocked the table over!  We were all crying inside!  Losana almost peed herself!  You should have been a bit more careful.  She did warn you: Carmen does bite.”

Charlie relaxed a little and smiled ruefully, “What is her problem? She’s totally mental!  She made me go under there, you know!”

“Yeah, you can pretty much guarantee where Carmen goes, trouble follows.  She makes George tear his hair out with worry.”

Charlie watched a moth flap furiously around the ceiling light as it batted its head uselessly against the single bulb.  After tonight, he knew what it felt like. He yawned.  The evening, the day, was catching up with him.  He was tired but he was still unsettled.  In addition, he didn’t need to be told that seeing Trev come back on the flight was not a normal occurrence.  It could not be denied that he was worried.  Was he the one who was mental?  He yawned again.

“Come on, Charlie.  Time for bed!  You never know what tomorrow might bring.  It’s always best to be prepared.” Rick ordered kindly, getting up and leading the sleepy teenager to his room.  “Good night…son,” he said softly.

“G’night,” Charlie yawned, shuffling into his room.  He must have got under the mosquito net but he could not remember his head hitting the pillow.

“Come on Charlie, what kind of a flippin’ berk are you?  I have never seen anyone made to look like such an idiot by a girl before!  She wiped the floor with you!  Wrung you out and then did it all over again using her pet giant!  Get a grip, man!” an awfully familiar voice said quietly in his ears.

---

Thanks for reading.  Please do post any suggestions for improvements.  If you have enjoyed this please do VOTE!  Keep following for further updates to the Prisoners of Solitude.