And then reality did something very strange.
It started with what sounded like a gunshot. And there was a very good reason for that: It was a gunshot. It was followed rapidly by another gunshot. And that was followed by Nick Dunne-Davis charging through the fields, screaming like a butchers boniff and headed straight towards Barry. That would probably have been enough to shock Barrys brain into disbelief; the fact that Dunne-Davis was wearing a red and white floral-patterned summer dress with splits down the sides almost pushed him over the edge.
Start the fucking bike! Dunne-Davis roared.
For the first time in his life, Barry wished he were hallucinating.
The sight of an angry farmer aiming a shotgun out the window of a Land Rover finally kick-started his brain into action. Dunne-Davis was very athletic, there was no doubt about it, but the farmer was definitely gaining on him. Even Carl Lewis would have had his style impaired by a knee-length dress that couldnt have been more than a size 10; Barry wouldnt have sworn to it, but he reckoned Dunne-Davis was at least a 16, if not an 18. The farmer screamed something in Dutch that Barry guessed correctly, as it happened translated as Pervert! He slowed down briefly to reload and fired another volley in Dunne-Daviss direction. With a bit of luck, Barry thought, hed kill Dunne-Davis and let him go. Unfortunately, neither scenario appeared likely, so he fired up the Honda and grabbed his clothes. Dunne-Davis hurdled straight onto the saddle and shuffled backwards to make room for Barry to jump on.
Holy fuckin Jaysus! screamed Barry, in an octave............