Overpowering these archetypal over-grown boys, trussing them up and dumping them in the boot to deliver them to the police station, he incurs tabloid headlines and looks for a way out. A cab customer full of suspiciously big promises, bluff and property schemes is his parachute into Phuket with the family where he acts as a driver for the illegal company ... and inevitably things go very wrong after a promising start.
Parsons has the makings of an interesting narrative arc - Britain in financial and moral decline, escape, reinvention, the unravelling of dreams - but the path is ponderously obvious and riddled with unlikely coincidences. The author is at pains to show his familiarity with Thailand through the accretion of tangential detail ("Mrs Botan's pad thai, the steaming noodles wrapped in a wafer-thin omelet"), expository paragraphs ("foreigners think that all Thais are Buddhist, but our part of the island, that old Phuket, the northern tip, was almost as Muslim as it was Buddhist") and frequent references to, for example, "casuarina trees". It tries very hard.
Worse, the symbolism can be overbearingly simplistic: the fox in their English garden; the gibbon held captive in a Patpong bar; the young English guy learning muay thai (Thai boxing, cue a visit ringside), the young sea gypsy boy who morphs from slightly menacing to being quickly adopted by the Finns.
Equally clumsy is the dark prophecy from a palm reader - "an inch ahead is darkness" - which spooks Tom in a way that seems unlikely, given the kind of man Parsons has shown him to be.
Such changes in tone are throughout this readable but annoying book. The son Rory appears to possess precocious intelligence at times and at others is a normal child. And after the Boxing Day tsunami hits - at the exact midpoint of the book - husband and wife engage in an unlikely dialogue about "not running away again" amidst the chaos.
Parsons clearly loves Thailand where he has spent considerable time, but despite him attempting to give a more rounded view of the people and place, they frequently become little more than cliched ciphers for some polar opposite of a Britain in decline. That this very sentimental story, ostensibly about family but perhaps aiming for something more, has a happy ending freighted home with more crude symbolism should come as little surprise.
A novel to be read in a beach-hut, as it feels most of it was written in one.
Graham Reid is an Auckland writer.
