* * *
There was no signature, no postmark, no clue as to where it had come from or what this person had planned. But Summer’s stomach had been turned inside out since it arrived. She’d had to get out for a while – to breathe and walk in the sunshine, and to think. She used to go to the market in Kowloon as a child to see her grandparents, who’d had a stall there, but it was long gone and so were they. Now the only family she had left was her mother. Since joining the circus, Summer had few opportunities to visit her, but she did her best to speak to her on the telephone every week. It had been so hard, though, with her mother being unwell – in the nursing home and in hospital – and the circus travelling all over the world for months at a time.
Sadly, her freedom hadn’t lasted long. One of the young men from the troupe had found her. How he’d known where to look was anyone’s guess, and then those girls who she had met after the show last night appeared out of nowhere too. There was something about the little one with the chocolate curls. Her grandmother would have called the child an old soul – there was wisdom in her eyes. Perhaps she could help me, Summer thought. She wished she could speak better English, then she could get a message to Alice-Miranda. But her English was terrible and the girl didn’t seem to understand Cantonese. Summer dismissed the idea. It was a silly thought and one that would only get more people in trouble.
She sat down on her bed, alone in the room she’d once shared with Tiffany, an acrobat two years older than her, until she was moved to a bunk room with three other girls last week. Summer hadn’t wanted her to go – at least when Tiffany was there she had someone to talk to. Now Tiffany and the other girls wouldn’t speak to her because Mr Choo had made such a big fuss of Summer being the star of the show.
There was a loud knock on the door. Summer hastily brushed away her tears as Tiffany walked into the room.
‘Hello,’ Summer said softly.
Tiffany stalked over, carrying a giant basket filled with fruit and other delicacies. ‘This just came for you.’ The girl dumped the gift on the bed, a look of disgust on her face. ‘We all know who is Mr Choo’s favourite, don’t we?’ she sneered.
‘Would you like some? I’d like to share it with everyone,’ Summer said.
‘Don’t bother,’ Tiffany said with a disdainful flick of her hand. ‘We don’t need your charity.’
Summer watched her leave, then turned back to the basket. There was a card on top. She opened the envelope.
* * *
To keep up your strength. Eat well.
– Mr Choo
* * *
What if she told Mr Choo about the letter? He was a powerful man. Surely whoever was behind it wouldn’t be able to get to him. He had bodyguards.
Summer grabbed an apple and bit into it, forgetting her twisted stomach for a moment. And then she saw it – an envelope on top of her chest of drawers. It hadn’t been there earlier. She took a deep breath and slid her fingernail under the flap, her heart thumping as she pulled out the page.
Lucille Wong had a spring in her step as she navigated the alleyways to the shop. The owner, an ancient chap called Jiao Long, looked up as the woman walked through the door.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Lucille. What can I do for you this fine day?’ he asked.
‘Three packets of vermicelli and a bag of rice,’ she said with a smile.
He nodded, wondering at the source of her happiness. The woman was a notorious grouch. ‘You are in a very good mood.’
‘Am I not always in a good mood?’ she said, the usual scowl returning to her face.
The old man decided it was safer just to smile. ‘Where is Wai Po?’ he asked.
‘Her bunions are playing up, so I offered to come for her,’ Lucille said. Truthfully, she was dying to tell someone her news – she couldn’t have cared less about Wai Po’s sore feet.
‘You are a good daughter,’ the man replied.
‘She is not my mother,’ Lucille snapped. ‘My mother would not be seen dead in this place.’
‘Of course, my apologies.’ The man gulped and set to, finding what Lucille had requested.
The woman’s eyes wandered around the chaotic shelves of the dusty shop. How Jiao Long knew where to find anything was almost as big a mystery as what some of the ancient jars contained. ‘Anyway, soon you will not see us either,’ Lucille said, unable to help herself.
Jiao Long frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We are leaving,’ she said smugly.
The man raised his head in surprise. He would never in a million years have thought that the Wongs would leave the hutongs. This was their home. ‘Is that so? Where are you off to?’ he asked.
‘That is for me to know and for you to find out in due course,’ she said.
‘You will be missed,’ he replied, handing her the parcel of goods.
‘Don’t you want to know more?’ she asked.
Jiao Long shrugged. ‘You will reveal all when the time is right. It is not my business to know the private matters of others. Good afternoon, Miss Lucille.’
Lucille was disappointed. Her attempt at being mysterious had backfired completely. She was bursting to tell someone her news, even if it was just the wrinkly old shopkeeper. She sniffed and walked out into the alley. Surely her father-in-law would make the announcement soon. He couldn’t keep the good news to himself too much longer. She wondered why Bernard had said nothing. Even when she prodded him, he refused to take the bait. At least Rou was a reliable, if not expensive, source of information.
The Circus of Golden Destiny was the most prestigious acrobatic troupe in the world, with shows in Las Vegas and New York and all over Europe. At last, Lucille thought, she would get her chance to travel the world and live the life she deserved.
Lawrence had raced up and down the street searching for Figgy and Rufus, past fast-food outlets and electronics shops, before he had happened upon one of the more interesting areas of the city. He’d stopped to look at the rows of goldfish and other sea creatures trapped in bloated plastic bags and suspended from bamboo racks. Lawrence couldn’t help but laugh out loud when a gap-toothed shopkeeper tried to sell him an octopus, suggesting it would be a lovely present for his wife. Finally, after hurrying back across the street, he located the boys outside a dumpling bar. The smell had almost driven Lawrence inside, and it would have if they didn’t have mere minutes to get back to the bus.
They sped into the market where the children, Ambrosia, Venetia and September were waiting for them. Ambrosia let out a huge sigh of relief, while September grilled the pair about where they had been. The boys protested that they had gone to help her, but the woman didn’t believe a word of it.
‘We haven’t got time to argue,’ Ambrosia reminded them, as Lawrence led the charge. The other parents and children followed hot on his heels, dashing past the stalls to arrive at the bus with exactly ten seconds to spare.
Miss Grimm was tapping her foot and looking mildly agitated. ‘Cutting it fine, I see,’ she said as the relieved shoppers hastened up the steps and found their seats.
‘Never in doubt,’ Lawrence said, and gave her a wink.
Ophelia felt a blush rising to her cheeks. That man could get away with anything, she thought to herself. ‘Goodness, you’ve been shopping up a storm, Mrs Sykes,’ the headmistress noted.
The woman blinked at her innocently. ‘It’s not that much.’ She held the bags aloft, glad that Sep was carrying the rest of her purchases. ‘It would have been better if we’d had more time. There were plenty of other things I wanted to try on.’
Ophelia forced a smile onto her lips. ‘Never mind, Mrs Sykes. We mustn’t lose sight of why we’re here. It’s a cultural trip for the children, not a shopping expedition for the parents.’
September rolled her eyes and sashayed down the aisle. As far as she was concerned, holidays were for relaxing. So far all they’d done was rush from one place to the next.
Miss Grimm called the roll while Mr Plumpton did
a head count, just to be doubly sure that everyone was on board.
‘I’ve got to take this jumper off soon or I’m going to pass out,’ Figgy panted in desperation. He pulled something out from under his clothing and sat it between him and Rufus, careful to hide it from view.
‘What are you doing?’ Rufus hissed.
Alice-Miranda looked across the aisle at them, wondering what the pair was up to this time. They had a knack for getting into trouble and there was definitely something fishy going on. Figgy wrestled his jumper over his head, which, seeing as though it was glued to his T-shirt with sweat, was difficult. She had thought it rather strange that the lad had been wearing so many layers in thirty-five-degree heat but had put it down to eccentricity.
‘Gross! You’re dripping,’ Rufus said as Figgy bundled his prize under the damp jumper.
‘What did you expect?’ Figgy grumbled. ‘It’s about a hundred degrees out there.’
Mr Plumpton yawned and rested his head against the seat. In next to no time, his eyelids flickered shut and he began to snore gently. Livinia smiled adoringly at her husband. She loved the way his cheeks puffed in and out as he slept. The English teacher then turned her head towards the back of the bus, where all but a few of the children were dozing, their mouths agape and eyes closed.
It was probably just as well they were having a rest, she thought. She was going to suggest to Ophelia that they cut back their time at the gardens and zoo to leave earlier for the airport. Catching planes was a tricky business at the best of times, let alone when it came to doing it with a group of this size.
The bus pulled up outside the terminal just before half past two. Miss Grimm and Miss Reedy had been quite right about the flying visit to the botanic gardens and zoo. By the time they’d eaten lunch, the children had about half an hour to spot a few exotic birds, a two-toed sloth and some monkeys before they had to be back on the bus.
Rufus nudged Figgy. ‘What are we going to do?’
The boy bit his lip and looked around. He’d been hoping to snare a carry bag from somewhere.
The children hopped off the bus and trundled their bags inside. Miss Grimm and her husband wove through the crowds, with the rest of the party behind them and Miss Reedy and Mr Plumpton bringing up the rear. Livinia felt like a sheepdog, darting out every few seconds to bring one of the flock back into the fold. If only she could have given September Sykes a nip on the heel, perhaps the woman might have made a more concerted effort to keep up. When they reached the check-in desk, Miss Grimm directed the group to stand off to one side while she spoke to one of the customer-service supervisors. Alice-Miranda was chatting with Jacinta, still trying to convince the girl she needed to make a proper effort to talk to Lucas – sooner rather than later. But the boy was messing about with Sep and Lawrence, garnering the hairy eyeball from Miss Reedy more than once.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t long before they were relieved of their luggage and headed for immigration. On the way, they stopped for a toilet break. Mr Plumpton took the boys and Miss Reedy escorted the girls. After a while, when everybody except Figgy was outside and waiting, Mr Plumpton ventured inside again to investigate.
‘Are you all right, George?’ Mr Plumpton asked, concerned by the boy’s grunting noises. He hoped the lad wasn’t coming down with something.
‘I’ll be out in a minute, sir,’ Figgy said. There was a squeak followed by a loud expulsion of air.
Mr Plumpton grimaced. ‘Good heavens, George! You really shouldn’t scoff so many baked beans at breakfast.’ He’d noticed the boys eating more than their fair share of the buffet that morning.
‘Sorry, sir,’ Figgy said, opening the toilet door.
Mr Plumpton watched as the lad was about to bypass the basin. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ the lad said.
‘Wash your hands, Figworth,’ Josiah ordered, shaking his head.
Ophelia Grimm frowned as the pair finally emerged from the bathroom. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes, sorry about that,’ Mr Plumpton replied. ‘Just some gas, I think.’ He motioned towards Figgy, who had conveniently disappeared.
‘Honestly, Mr Plumpton,’ the headmistress spluttered, ‘I think that qualifies as far too much information.’
Sloane and Jacinta nudged one another and giggled.
Fortunately, immigration proved a breeze, with some unexpected smiles from the officials. Often they were a stern breed, but it seemed the children had a cheering effect. The group proceeded to the security checks, the queue for which seemed to wind its way through the barriers for miles.
‘What did you do with it?’ Rufus whispered to Figgy.
The lad looked down at his bulging stomach.
‘Good one,’ the other boy said with a grin.
No matter how many times she’d done it before, this part of the process always set Ophelia’s teeth on edge. She never had a thing to hide, but every country seemed to have a different set of rules these days, and having been pulled up and searched over a tiny bottle of perfume last time she and Aldous had been overseas, she was keen to avoid trouble.
The children chatted in the queue, shuffling forward until, finally, they reached the next set of officials, who instructed them on what needed to go into the plastic tubs for scanning. Suddenly, there was a loud squeak and George Figworth froze. After a beat or two, he shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other.
Alice-Miranda and Millie were standing behind the lad when Millie gently prodded her friend. ‘I think Figgy’s sprung a leak,’ she whispered, pointing to a dribble of liquid that was fast pooling on the floor at the boy’s feet.
Jacinta and Sloane noticed it too. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ Jacinta gasped.
‘Oh no,’ Alice-Miranda murmured. ‘Poor Figgy.’
Millie grimaced. ‘I once wet my pants at school and I wanted to die. Should we say something?’
‘Of course we should,’ Sloane said. ‘He’ll leave a trail and that’s disgusting.’
Lucas tapped Jacinta on the shoulder. ‘What’s going on?’
‘We think Figgy’s wet his pants,’ she replied. With a smile, she realised that was the first time she’d spoken to the boy without getting stupidly worked up.
Lucas was aghast. ‘No way!’
Alice-Miranda hesitated. ‘If we draw attention to things, Figgy might get upset and then everyone will notice. Maybe we should wait until we go through and then see if Mr Plumpton or Uncle Lawrence can say something to him.’
‘Do you think so?’ Millie looked doubtful. ‘He’s got to walk through the scanner on his own. Maybe we should see if we can get Mr Plumpton’s attention now,’ she said, and Sep agreed.
But before the girls had time to do anything, Rufus stepped up, leaving Figgy next in line for the scanner. The trickle seemed to have got worse and Figgy was fidgeting madly with the front of his pants. The security guard on the other side of the machine looked at Figgy and motioned for him to come through.
Jacinta covered her eyes. ‘I can’t look.’
‘What are you all so excited about?’ Caprice demanded. She was standing with her mother and Susannah, behind Lucas and Sep.
‘Nothing,’ Sloane said. The last thing the boy needed was Caprice making a scene.
Figgy did his best to walk nonchalantly through the scanner, but the machine insisted on beeping loudly. The security man frowned and pointed for the lad to walk back out and through again.
Mr Plumpton looked up as Figgy re-entered the machine only to set off the alarm for a second time. He shuffled past the children. ‘Excuse me, is there a problem?’ he asked the security officer, who indicated for him to stay behind the yellow line.
‘Are you this boy’s father?’ the man asked.
‘No, but I’m with the school group,’ he said.
‘We have to give him a pat-down,’ the man said. ‘Do you want to come through? You can supervise.’
‘Poor Fi
ggy,’ Millie said. ‘He must have a really full bladder. This is not going to end well.’
‘Surely he can’t have much left in the tank,’ Lucas said, eyeing the growing puddle.
The guard began patting the lad’s arms and then continued down his torso and legs.
Figgy flinched. ‘Steady on.’
The security officer stood up and patted the lad’s back before asking him to spin around. He tapped Figgy on the shoulders and chest before reaching his stomach. The fellow smiled as Figgy’s belly wobbled. ‘Too many sweets for you.’
‘That’s a bit rude,’ Mr Plumpton mumbled. He hoped he wouldn’t be subjected to the same treatment.
But the pressure had caused Figgy’s problem to worsen. Now, instead of a tiny trickle, there was a steady stream.
Josiah Plumpton looked down and was horrified by what he saw. ‘Good heavens, Figworth, you just went to the bathroom!’
‘This is awful,’ Sloane wheezed.
Caprice craned her neck to see. ‘What’s awful?’
But the security officer wasn’t buying it. He looked at the pool and then at the lad’s face. He patted Figgy’s stomach again and – whoosh! – there was an almighty gush.
‘Oh, gross!’ Caprice looked as though she was about to be sick.
Murmurs rumbled through the queue as everyone strained against the ropes to catch a glimpse of the action. Miss Grimm and the rest of the group were watching, spellbound.
Then, with a delicate splat, a small goldfish slid out of the bottom of Figgy’s jeans and onto the floor.
‘Good gracious! Quickly, someone do something!’ Mr Plumpton pleaded, staring at the floor and doing absolutely nothing.
Jacinta scanned the area until she found exactly what was needed. From a standing start, she leapt over Alice-Miranda’s head, then snatched a recently confiscated bottle of water from the hands of one of the security officers. She grabbed a Ziploc bag from the pile available and had the top off the bottle and the water in the bag before anyone could stop her. Jacinta closed the bag with a flourish of her hand, then cartwheeled through the checkpoint and scooped the flummoxing fish inside it within seconds.
Alice-Miranda in China Page 9