My Favourite Wife

by Tony Parsons

  Bill, you’re behaving like a romantic Western fool, he told himself. You’re acting like she has the power to rip out your heart.

  And he knew that just wasn’t practical.

  The office was dark now.

  The only light came from the twinkling jewel box of Pudong in the early hours beyond the window, and from the glow of the screen of Shane’s laptop. It shone on the face of Alice Greene as she copied the files, and Bill wondered what she was seeing. Corruption and justice, he thought, scoops and awards. It was all mixed up with her, he thought. The wish for a better world, the need for a better life. Greed and conscience. Perhaps it was all mixed up with everyone.

  ‘Why did he keep all this stuff?’ she said, not looking away from the screen. ‘I mean – even if this Chairman Sun character needed paying off by these Germans, why keep a record of it?’

  ‘Because he was a good lawyer,’ Bill said. ‘And a good man.’

  She snorted. ‘That’s an oxymoron, isn’t it?’ She looked over her shoulder and smiled. ‘Just kidding.’

  ‘Are you almost done?’ He wanted her to take what she needed and get out of here. There was something else he had to do tonight.

  ‘Finished,’ she said. There were perhaps a dozen disks on Bill’s desk. She straightened them like a card dealer with a new deck, and slipped them into her shoulder bag. Bill walked her to the lift.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I mean it, Bill. You did the right thing.’

  ‘First time for everything,’ he said.

  When he was alone he unlocked his desk and took out a shoebox. He opened it and leafed through the evidence of their time together in Guilin, Changchun, Shanghai. On the boat, going down the Yangtze, the Three Gorges outside their cabin window. All their photographs. The box was stuffed full. So many photographs. And now he had to destroy them. He carried the box across the office to the shredding machine.

  There were too many. She had had a fanatical need to record their happiness. Were they all like that? Or was it just JinJin? He never really knew what was typically Chinese and what was typically JinJin Li. Now he would never know. It didn’t matter. He began to feed his memories into the shredder. In the end there were only two that he could not destroy.

  The passport photograph taken the summer before he had met her. The only passport photograph that anyone ever looked beautiful in. The cool wide eyes staring back at the camera, lips wet, mouth closed, beauty intact, goofy charm successfully concealed. Then there was the second photograph that he could not bring himself to destroy. The picture of them dancing, taken by the elderly American after dinner on the boat down the Yangtze. It had almost been a joke to them, Bill and JinJin dancing to Chinese pop music on the ship’s tiny dance floor. But the lovely old tourist had told them that they looked so happy, and so perfect together, and he’d insisted that JinJin hand over her camera so that he could record the moment. They were both grateful and touched, although Bill could not tell if the old American was a saint or a crazy person. Maybe a bit of both. And anyway, the old American had been wrong about them. Because so soon after that picture was taken it was all over forever. Perhaps that was the perfect reason for taking the picture. Perhaps the old tourist on that dreadful cruise ship knew that it could never last.

  Bill slipped the two surviving photographs into his wallet, and then he stood there staring at the shredding machine, and the pile of glossy paper beneath it, wondering what had hit him.

  It was never meant to be this way. He had thought that he could somehow stand back from the thing they shared, as if what he thought of as the real part of his life – Becca and Holly, family and home, wife and child – could remain untouched by his feelings for JinJin Li.

  He had been wrong.

  Now the evidence had been reduced to the two surviving photographs. The passport photo. The picture of them dancing on the boat. He wasn’t going to keep them forever, just for a little while, and when they were gone there would be nothing to show that they had ever met, apart from what they carried inside.

  Perhaps the thing that killed his father would one day come for him. In fifty years, or next week. It did not matter. He would still have time to destroy the two photographs. What did they call it? Oh yes. Putting your affairs in order.

  He would do it. He would put his affairs in order. One day. But he couldn’t do it yet. Not yet. He couldn’t do it yet.

  Bill walked to the lift and pressed the call button. The lift came and he stood there staring at it. The doors closed as he turned and went back into his office, where he fed the last two photographs into the shredding machine.

  You have to remember the bad times, he thought. That’s the only way to get through it. That’s the only way to go on. You don’t remember the good times. You deny them. You forget them. That’s how you get over it. That’s how you carry on with your life.

  The passport photo. Gone. The dancing picture. Gone. Every trace of her and them was now destroyed. It was the only way.

  Remember the bad times, Bill thought.

  From page one of the South China Morning Post, 1st June 200-:

  SHANGHAI GRAFT PROBE SPREADS

  Government plans to curb illegal land grabs by Song Tiping and Alice Greene

  The Communist Party’s top disciplinary watchdog is expanding its Shanghai corruption probe to the city’s leading property developers, state media said yesterday.

  Following this newspaper’s exposé of the Yangdong land grab, senior local government official Chairman Sun Yong was arrested at the grand opening of the Green Acres luxury development and charged with ‘loose morals, economic crimes and decadent living’.

  Plainclothes secret police accompanied by officers from the Public Security Bureau ushered Chairman Sun from the cocktail party in handcuffs, protesting his innocence and still clutching a champagne flute.

  Rather pre-empting the verdict of Sun’s trial, the state news agency commented, ‘His punishment of a lengthy jail term will fully demonstrate the central committee’s resolution to build a clean party and to fight corruption.’

  Now more cases of illegal authorisation of land for property development are expected to be uncovered, leading to investigations of more government officials and businessmen.

  Dong Fan, a property industry professor at Beijing Normal University, said most corruption cases occurred during the land acquisition stage.

  ‘Land is owned by state and local governments and the whole development operation is run in a murky, nontransparent environment,’ Mr Dong said.

  In a speech to more than 800 guests at the city’s National Day banquet, in what appeared to be a manoeuvre to boost the city’s reputation, Shanghai mayor and acting party chief Han Zheng yesterday expressed optimism in Shanghai’s future development and commitment to the battle against corruption.

  New urgency as heads roll – A4

  Devlin tossed the paper on to his desk. Then he put his feet up, the heels of his Church’s brogues resting on the cover of the South China Morning Post.

  ‘The thing is,’ Devlin said, ‘when they crack down on corruption, it has actually got bugger all to do with justice and truth, and everything to do with political manoeuvring. The things that poor old Sun stands accused of – cutting in his family, feathering his nest, grabbing as many sweeties as he could cram into his greedy old cakehole – are equally true of any local or government official in the country.’

  Devlin did not ask Bill to sit down.

  ‘Okay, Sun was a fool,’ Devlin continued, with a small sigh of regret. ‘He didn’t have enough friends in high places. Should have cut in some friends in Beijing – or their families. They always crack down sooner or later. They have to. That’s the funny thing – they would have got him anyway.’ And finally the flash of anger in the eyes, at last the murderous rage of the betrayed. ‘Without you selling me out,’ he told Bill, ‘and without this hack from Hong Kong.’

  The firm’s senior partner looked at Bill with a mixture of hurt an
d loathing. Above his head the red light of a CCTV camera gleamed like an ember of hell. Of course, you couldn’t take a leak in this building without someone watching you. But Bill had known that, hadn’t he?

  ‘So you think you’re better than the rest of us, Holden,’ Devlin said. It wasn’t a question. His mouth twisted with mockery. ‘Purer. More noble.’

  Bill shook his head. ‘I never thought that.’

  ‘But you couldn’t close your eyes to the rottenness,’ Devlin said. He got a sly look about him. ‘Just because some Chinese bitch fucked you blind.’

  ‘Watch your mouth,’ Bill said quietly.

  Devlin looked frightened for a moment. But it was just a moment. He was the one with the power here. He jabbed a finger at Bill.

  ‘More people are climbing out of poverty in this country than anywhere at any time in human history,’ he said. ‘In human history! Think about it! And assholes like you are fighting against it. So, you tell me – who’s the idiot here, Bill? Who’s the villain? You or me?’

  Bill said nothing.

  ‘And what’s your wife going to say when she learns you chucked a partnership away?’ Devlin said. ‘What’s your daughter going to say, Bill, when she finds out her daddy is a self-righteous loser who doesn’t have a job?’

  Bill shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Becca will be disappointed. But my daughter’s a bit too young to understand.’ He smiled at a memory. ‘She just wants me to pretend to be a prince all the time.’

  Devlin snorted. ‘Well, you’re good at that, if nothing else. Pretending to be a prince. But you’re no different to everyone else in this country, Bill. You hate everyone’s corruption except your own.’

  There were two Chinese security guards in the doorway. One was holding a cardboard box containing what Bill recognised as his personal possessions. The other had his briefcase and jacket.

  ‘Get him out of my sight,’ Devlin said.

  Bill’s briefcase slapped hard against his stomach. He was handed his jacket. And then the open cardboard box was placed in his arms. He stared down at the detritus on his desk.

  Time to leave.

  The office stopped to watch him go. No Shane. No Nancy. But Mad Mitch was still there, standing up as Bill passed his desk, and shaking his hand. Then the new guys, their faces masks of shock and delight. Harry looked as though he thought he might get Bill’s office by lunchtime. Nigel something had a love bite on his neck that was not quite covered by the white collar of his Brooks Brothers shirt. You can never go back to the Home Counties, Bill thought. You are Mr Charisma now. You are Brad Pitt. You are Errol Flynn. The city did that to you. It made you feel you were special.

  And as the Chinese security guards escorted Bill from the building, he thought about a young man who’d been convinced that the world was his for the taking, and who never dreamed he could fall flat, or let his family down, he thought about a young man who had wrongly believed he was special, and he wondered what had ever happened to him.

  There was the smell of paint in the apartment. Fresh paint and some sort of paste. The smell of things being changed, and life moving on.

  Bill dropped his empty briefcase by the door and went into Holly’s room. Becca was putting up wallpaper while Holly sat on the floor leafing through a book. Disney princesses smiled down from the walls. Snow White. The Little Mermaid. Cinderella. Sleeping Beauty. Pocahontas. Mulan. Belle from Beauty and the Beast. Holly smiled at him too.

  ‘Daddy will know,’ Becca said. ‘Go on, ask him.’

  ‘What do you call a baby penguin?’ Holly said.

  Bill’s mind was blank.

  ‘Baby horses have a special name,’ Holly said, frowning impatiently. ‘And baby cows. And baby sheep. But what about baby penguins?’ she sighed elaborately. ‘I don’t know what’s this.’

  ‘I don’t know what it is,’ Becca corrected her.

  ‘Me neither,’ Holly said, and Becca laughed.

  He picked up his daughter and held her in his arms. Heavier still. Definitely heavier. More robust and substantial. Staking her claim in the world.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said. ‘The penguin thing. I’ll give it some thought, angel.’

  ‘Get back to me.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ He put her back on the floor and turned to Becca. ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘First I want to show you something,’ she said, and there was an awkwardness about her, and he wondered if it would always be there now. Becca took him to the computer in the living room and she sat down in front of it.

  ‘Look,’ she said.

  On the screen there were pictures of properties she had been looking at. A shortlist of new lives in new luxury homes. Homes fit for the family of a partner at Butterfield, Hunt and West.

  He looked over her shoulder as she scrolled through the options. WESTWOOD GREEN – NEW LAKE-VIEW TOWNHOUSES TO BE RELEASED SOON – A HOME FOR THE HEART. This one was apparently an international community with a commitment to natural living. CALIFORNIA DREAMING AT RANCHO SANTA FE – ELEGANTLY FURNISHED SPANISH-STYLE VILLAS WITH PRIVATE GARDENS, 30 MINUTES TO HONG QIAO AIRPORT.

  ‘I don’t want to live here any more,’ she said. A statement of cold fact. ‘I’m not going to live here any more.’

  He said her name and she looked up at him and it was a new way of looking at him, a look that buried bitterness and wariness and hurt, as if she carried a wound that was far from healed.

  ‘The new house – becoming a partner – it’s not going to happen,’ he said. He hung his head, the sour taste of humiliation in his mouth. He was so ashamed. ‘I lost my job.’

  ‘Is that it?’ She turned back to the screen, shaking her head. ‘I thought – something else.’

  He stared at her and then he understood. She had thought he was leaving. But he knew now that he would never leave. She would have to do the leaving.

  Her fingers moved deftly across the keyboard. ‘But they were going to make you a partner,’ she said flatly. There was no disappointment in her voice. It was as if they hardly knew each other.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Bec. I let you down. I let you down in every way I could.’

  She was busy deleting files. Clicking on the dream homes with the mouse and dragging them to the icon of a wastepaper basket at the bottom of the screen. She turned to look at him. ‘It’s just a job, Bill. You’ll get another one.’

  He hung his head with despair. She didn’t understand what this meant. ‘We’re going to have to go back. That life we wanted…’

  ‘Someone will give you a job. You work hard. You’re good at what you do.’

  He shook his head. ‘They fired me. I’m out. They cleared my desk and walked me to the door.’ There was a shocked silence before he spoke again. ‘And Holly – she loves her little friends here…’

  ‘She’s five years old,’ said Becca, flaring up at last, glad for the chance to be openly angry with him. ‘She’ll make new friends. And that’s what she will have to do all her life, the same as everyone else.’ Then she softened, and put the palm of her hand on his heart. ‘Look – we’ll be okay. Our home – it’s not the place in London, and it’s not here. We take it with us wherever we go. It’s you and me and Holly. That’s our home. It’s the three of us. I see that now.’ She touched his face. ‘Oh Bill – don’t you know it yet?’

  He blinked against the shameful sting of tears.

  ‘I think you have to keep falling in love with each other,’ Becca told him, dry eyed and calm. ‘A man and a woman. A husband and wife. I think that’s what you have to do. And if you can’t do that, if you can’t keep falling in love with each other, then I don’t think you’ve got much of a chance.’

  And later, when their daughter was sleeping in her room, and the light had been turned out on the Disney princesses, Bill went to the master bedroom and sat on the bed as Becca got undressed. But they didn’t talk about what had happened that day or how it would work back in London. They were both a bit sick of talking.
They both felt that they had talked enough for now.

  She just took off her clothes and came quickly to him, as he sat there still dressed and watching her, and they said nothing. Not like a married couple at all. More like lovers.

  My wife, thought Bill.

  THIRTY

  He saw her one last time.

  He was on the Bund, in front of the Peace Hotel, on his way home after closing down his bank account, one of a hundred chores he had to do before they left the next day, and that was when JinJin Li walked past him with her new man.

  It was a dazzling day in early July and he did a double take, snapping out of his reverie. She looked familiar, but he didn’t think it could possibly be her, because it was only a passing resemblance, no more than that, and if it was her, if it was that special one, then surely he would recognise her in an instant? How could he mistake her for anyone else? How could she ever look like a mere imitation of the girl he had loved?

  She looked too ordinary to be JinJin Li. Surely an ordinary woman could not have been the cause of all that wild happiness, of all that misery and upheaval and pain in so many hearts? Surely it would have to be someone very special to do all that?

  But as he stood on the Bund, staring after her, the woman looked over her shoulder at him, and the man looked at him too, placing a protective arm around her shoulder as if to say, Don’t worry, darling, I will protect you from that bad man.

  And so it was really her.

  It was JinJin Li. And they had walked past each other like total strangers. Bill almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. So much spent emotion and then he almost failed to recognise her.

  JinJin and the man kept walking.

  Bill turned and followed them, with no idea of what he was going to do or say. But he knew that he objected to that man’s arm around her shoulder. He objected to the idea that JinJin Li would ever need protection from him.