They lost the race because they were having a ridiculous bickering match. It was a world record and just as they were inches away from the finishing line, she snapped, and whacked him in the face with a pair of pliers, which she had been using to tighten a dangerously rattling screw.
They drew up in fifth place, black and blue and screaming, and they fell into the water still entwined like cats.
They holed up in the hotel on the island, while a cyclone brewed.
Most of the staff left to go home to their villages, leaving them with a skeleton crew and a shrinking menu. They kept to their room, munching biscuits sourly.
As the sky turned black, they made St Andrew’s Crosses with sticky tape across the windows, and then they got into bed.
When they got out again, the sky was clear and the shattered glass clung to the tape in glittering shards.