by Unknown
I don’t want to sound like I don’t love London, because I do, or that I’m not still glad to live here, because I am. It’s an exciting city, but it’s also a decent and civilized city, where people take the time to enjoy the sun (when it shines) and the many small treasures that it has to offer. I think my angst might be a feeling that expats naturally face, once the newness of their move has worn off and they have to settle into living, just as they did at home. Is this what it’s like to get married? Do spouses look at each other over the breakfast table one day and realize that, now that the wedding festivities are over and the honeymoon photos pasted into the album, their relationship is exactly as good, or bad, as it was before he popped the question?
Objectively speaking, I know my life here is pretty good. I may not have a career but at least I have a job. I may hate my boss but I like Siobhan. And Stacy might not be here but Chloe has turned out to be a very worthy friend. And my love life, well…I guess that remains to be seen.
‘Here, take this.’ Siobhan has a pastry bag in her teeth. ‘They were out of bloody cup holders.’ She fishes around in her utility pocket. ‘Here’s some sugar.’
It must be her size that makes her look chic even in painterly overalls, whereas I look like a failed gang member with this bandanna tied around my head. Only a supermodel, or Jack Sparrow, can pull that look off successfully. ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Want to take a break?’ I’ve been working nonstop for at least twenty-three minutes. That must contravene a law in somewhere like France.
‘Of course. Here, I got us pain au chocolats.’
I’ve wholeheartedly embraced the Europeans’ belief in chocolate as breakfast food. There aren’t many places where you get the pleasure of starting and ending your day on a sugar buzz. ‘Thanks. And thanks for helping me. I’d never get it done without you.’ I’m choosing to ignore the fact that we’re unlikely to get this amount of work done anyway. Better to shelter behind unbridled optimism with nearly the whole weekend in front of us. ‘You can leave any time you want, by the way. Just because I have to stay tonight doesn’t mean you do.’
‘Nah, I don’t mind. I don’t have plans anyway. Did you have to cancel anything fun when Felicity told you to do this?’
I wish. ‘No, no plans this weekend. I –’ I haven’t told her about Sam. I convinced myself it was because it’s such a new relationship, but of course there’s also the uncomfortable dating-the-office-boy issue. Though why that’s been such a preoccupation, I’m no longer sure. It seems kind of silly now, doesn’t it? ‘I, er, could have had plans, I guess, but the guy I was seeing is, well, it’s a little complicated. He’s moving, you see, out of London in a few weeks and I think, why bother, when he’s just going to leave.’
‘But you like him?’
‘Well, yeah.’
‘Then what does it matter whether he’s moving? Couldn’t you still see him?’
Siobhan is sometimes too idealistic. In real life, these things don’t work out. ‘The problem is, I really like him. Really, really.’
She grins. ‘You’re in love.’
‘Ugh, yes, and it’s awful!’
‘And you’re afraid you’ll get your heart broken?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘But if you don’t see him again, doesn’t your heart break anyway?’
‘But not as badly.’
‘Hannah, you don’t actually believe that there are degrees of “in love”, do you? That, if you’re in love, breaking up after a month is any better than breaking up after a year?’
‘Yeah, I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying.’
‘Tell that to a newlywed at her husband’s graveside. Do you think her pain is any less intense than an old woman’s when her husband dies? I don’t think it works like that. Heartbreak is heartbreak. Who is this guy anyway? How’d you meet him?’
‘It’s Sam.’
She stops chewing. ‘Our Sam? From the office Sam?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Hannah, trust me. I’ve worked with Sam for years. He won’t hurt you.’
I’d love to believe her. But what if she’s wrong?
‘Peace offering,’ Sam says when I open the front door the next weekend. After a marathon session of phone calls with Stacy, who was surprisingly forgiving of Sam, I finally returned his messages. They were beginning to take on an air of desperation, which convinces me further that he’s going to stay. He wants to start again, he said, pretend the last week never happened and see where we go from here. I still don’t know whether to trust him not to drop another hand grenade on my fragile emotional state, and my gut is telling me this is a bad idea. But my heart took a flying leap from the top rope and beat it over the head with a chair, so it’s keeping its opinions to itself for now.
I look at the ticket he’s just handed me.
‘Diamonds?’ It’s definitely a sign.
‘I took a chance that it’d interest you. It’s an exhibit. Have you been to the Natural History Museum?’
‘Uh-uh. Can I –’
‘No, you can’t try them on.’
It never hurts to ask.
We’re uncharacteristically quiet as we make our way to the Tube, but he grabbed my hand as soon as we set off and his smile is as open and goofy as always. That gives me hope, even if this silence feels a little awkward.
As I think about it, and since we’re not speaking much, I have some time to think, this will actually be my second diamond-ogling experience here. The first was at the Tower, visiting the Crown Jewels. Personally, I don’t understand why the Queen stores them there. I’d keep them in my bedroom to wear with my pyjamas whenever I needed a little pick-me-up. The Tower has to be one of the top ten attractions in London. What are the other nine? There’s Buckingham Palace, for the Changing of the Guard. I didn’t actually see that, being waylaid by the competing attractions in Harrods, but it’s supposed to be worthwhile. Harrods, of course, is in the top ten, and I’ve been there often enough to be on a first-name basis with the doormen hired to keep out the backpackers. And the museums: British, V&A, Science, Natural History, National Gallery, Tate. Check,check, not interested, going today, er, should probably see those others some time. And number ten, number ten? Oh, of course, Harvey Nichols! I’ve hit all the best highlights.
Wow, had I known how beautiful the Natural History Museum was, I’d have moved it up my must-see list. It could be a cathedral, or a great college, instead of the country’s biggest museum dedicated to the natural world. Its carved flora and fauna snaking up the towering columns in the entrance hall, intricate brickwork and gilded ceiling mosaics are awe-inspiring, and we haven’t even seen the dinosaur bones.
‘Happy?’ Sam asks after we’re strip-searched at the entrance. I don’t blame the guards. You can’t be too careful when letting women into an exhibit full of diamonds.
‘God, they don’t even look real.’
‘Look at all the women in here. You all look crazed.’ I realize my mouth is hanging open unattractively. ‘What is it about diamonds?’
Well, they are for ever. De Beers said so in the 40s, so it must be true. One clever little marketing campaign later and we, as a gender, are hooked. They could just as easily have addicted us to rubies or opals, or bananas, had it been Dole instead of De Beers that wanted to boost its sales. I know it’s just slick advertising. Look at all the women who think their entire existence hinges on the size of the rock on their hand. I don’t care. I bought the hype. I want the stones. I could tell him this, but I don’t. Not surrounded by all these people. But what an opportunity. In a room full of diamonds, each one a little reminder of love’s everlastingness. Besides, his choice of surroundings can’t be coincidental. Surely he’s planning to tell me he’s staying. ‘They’re a symbol,’ I murmur.
‘A symbol of what, the man’s monthly take-home salary?’
‘Of commitment.’ We’re in front of a display with diamonds of about a hundred different colours. Why would anyone want a diamond that does
n’t look like a diamond? Surely that’s what semi-precious stones are for.
‘Why can’t the guy just say he’s committed?’
‘Some men aren’t very good at that.’
‘Maybe you’ve been dating the wrong men.’
Huh, that’s ironic, considering the source. Exactly what is he committed to, beyond ‘seeing what happens’, the hypocrite. Don’t say it, don’t say it. This isn’t the place. Definitely not the time. ‘You haven’t.’ Well, what do you want? It’s like he’s asking for it.
‘I haven’t what?’
‘Said anything.’
Sam stares at me for about a million years. How long does it actually take to make a diamond? Well, it feels like that long. Then he says, ‘What do you want from me?’ What do I want? I want him to stay, obviously. ‘Haven’t we had fun together?’ he continues.
‘Yes…’ Where’s he going with this?
‘And we like each other, right?’
I nod.
‘And we want to keep having fun together, don’t we?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Well, there you go, then,’ he concludes.
‘There I go, then, what?’ This is like a nightmare I have sometimes, where everyone is talking to me but the words are all mixed up. They never understand why I don’t know what they’re talking about.
‘Isn’t that commitment?’
‘To what, Sam? Having fun?’
‘Well, yes. To having fun with each other.’
‘That’s not a commitment!’ Has he never dated before?
‘Why not? I’m committed to having fun with you in the future. You’re the girl I want to, to have fun with.’
‘How long into the future?’
‘As long as we’re having fun together.’
‘But what’s going to happen in the future?’
‘I don’t know. Do you know?’
‘Yeah, I do actually.’ To be clear, I’m not crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m angry. ‘In two weeks, you move to Hong Kong and we’ll probably never see each other again.’
He puts his arm around me. ‘You don’t know we won’t see each other. I still want to see you. Hey, stop crying.’
‘I’m not crying!’ I sniffle, but suddenly a small kernel of hope works itself free from this otherwise bewildering exchange. Could it be that we’re simply talking at cross-purposes? He did just say I’m the girl he wants to be with. Perhaps, beneath the muddle, the message is exactly what I’ve wanted to hear. Is this his way of telling me we have a real future? Siobhan’s words keep rattling around in my head. Sam won’t hurt me. ‘You do still want to see me?’
‘Of course I do! And I’ve been thinking…Han, I’m not sure how a long-distance relationship would work. It’s a long way away, and with the time zones…And I do really like you.’
This is it. He’s going to tell me he’s staying. He likes me too much (didn’t he just say so?), so he’s not going to Hong Kong.
‘A job shouldn’t tie you to a city, right?’
‘Right. Absolutely not.’
‘It’s not like it’d be hard to get another one.’
‘I’m sure it’d be easy.’ I’ve got the prickly sweats.
‘That’s what I figured.’
And I’m a little giddy. ‘I’ve been thinking the same thing actually.’
‘You have? Of course you have. It’s your future, after all. So whaddya think?’
It is my future. ‘I think it’s a great idea! Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ The room is staring at us as I smother my boyfriend in kisses. They must think he’s just proposed. ‘Sam, I’m so happy.’
‘You’re being so awesome about this, Han.’
‘Well, how could I not be? I can’t believe you’re staying.’
…‘I’m not staying.’
…‘You’re not staying?’
‘I thought you were moving to Hong Kong.’ My expression asks the obvious question for me, prompting him to continue. ‘You need to find a new job anyway, right? Why not in Hong Kong?’
‘Then you’re not staying in London, finding another job and staying here?’
‘No. Why would you think I was?’
‘Then what have we just been talking about?!’
‘I was talking about you thinking about coming to Hong Kong.’
‘I can’t come to Hong Kong.’ How can I have got this answer so wrong? I was 98 per cent sure that he was telling me he’d stay. On a game show, I wouldn’t even have used a lifeline, or phoned a friend. It just goes to show how fortunes, and futures, get lost.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I hardly know you.’ Where did that prudish line come from? A nineteenth-century drama?
‘What does that have to do with anything? Hong Kong’s a great city. And you’ve known me for as long as you’ve lived here.’
‘But I don’t know know you.’
‘Do you mean secks-ually?’ He smiles. It’s a winning smile.
‘Don’t be an ass. Working together does not constitute a relationship.’
‘Some people get married on less than that.’
‘I’m not some people.’
‘I just figured that since you moved here on a whim, you might want to do it again. Hong Kong’s a great city…It was just an idea, forget –’
‘I did not move here on a whim! I had very good reasons for moving.’
‘Such as?’
‘Look, I had my reasons.’ I’m so lame.
‘Are you in a witness-protection programme that I don’t know about?’
He is so not funny. I can’t just pick up and move round the world, away from everything I know, for him. This is totally different from him staying here for me. He already has friends in London, and business contacts and an apartment. Picking up my life to follow a man round the world? Imagine what Gloria Steinem would say about that. ‘It’s stifling in here. I need some air.’
‘Do you want me to come?’
‘No.’
‘Come on, come on, come on…’
‘Hi, this is Stacy. I’m doing something so fun that I can’t answer the phone right now…’
‘Shit.’ This is why the President has that special red telephone. And he has only himself to blame for the Vice President getting the call when he doesn’t answer.
‘Hello?’
‘Chloe? You won’t believe what just happened.’ My years of practice recounting conversations for Stacy has honed my testimony to star-witness accuracy. She gets the playback with nearly perfect recall.
‘He’s asked you to move to Hong Kong with him?’
‘Well, not exactly with him. We didn’t get into details.’ He did ask though, right? I’m not imagining this.
‘Still, that’s so romantic!’ This is a surprising reaction–Chloe’s not a gusher. I count on her somewhat cynical levelheadedness to counteract my tendency to blast ahead at a hundred miles an hour.
‘It’s not romantic, it’s crazy.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘One gets you flowers, the other gets you committed. I can’t just pick up and follow a guy to another city.’
‘Would you do it if you loved him?’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘But would you?’
Of course I would. I’d follow the man I love to Timbuktu. I recognize that that’s not politically correct thinking, but I’ve always known that I’d give up an awful lot to be with my one true love. I’ve just always assumed that finding him would coincide geographically with the perfect job and a group of friends. Oprah wouldn’t think that’s too much to ask. ‘I’ve gotta go. He’ll think I’ve left.’
‘Sure. Let me know what happens. And Hannah? Don’t worry. You’ll make the right decision.’
I’m glad someone believes that that’s true. I’ve definitely made some wrong ones in my life (usually involving men). I can’t believe I’m even contemplating following a man I hardly know to Asia. It’
s insane, much more insane than moving to London on a drunken dare. So why am I thinking about it?
Because I’m in love. That’s why I know I’m going to do it. I can’t believe it, but I’m going to do it…we’re going to live together in Hong Kong! Of course, we’ll have to find an apartment that’s convenient to his work. Maybe they have nice little brownstones, like in New York. I’ll get to decorate the whole thing, since neither of us has any furniture. Not that I’d go crazy with his money or anything. In fact, I’ll be the picture of budgeting efficiency. You must be able to get really cheap Chinese furniture out there. I saw some great lanterns in Harrods. They’ll be a steal at the source. We’ll be a minimalist couple. Maybe we’ll even eat on the floor on little cushions and drink green tea. Wait, that might be Japan. Anyway, I’ll have to find a job, but with Chloe’s connections that shouldn’t be too hard. I’d love to stay in party planning, but I’m not picky. If a great PR job comes along, I wouldn’t say no. The important thing is to get on my feet as soon as possible after all the decorating is done…
He’s waiting where I left him, with his back to me. ‘Sam? Okay. You’re right, I need a change anyway,’ I say quietly.
‘What are you saying? You’re moving out? You’re kidding. I didn’t think you really would. I mean, that’s fantastic! It’s a great city, you’ll love it…I keep saying that. But it is, the shopping alone…’
‘I know!’ Now I’m getting excited. Terrified, but excited. This is going to be so great.
‘I’m sure you’ll find a great job, make friends –’
‘I can’t wait!’ What an adventure.
‘I can help you find an apartment –’
‘Obviously!’ I’m not going to traipse all around Hong Kong on my own looking for our place.
‘You might even be able to stay with me for a while till you do. I’d have to check with my flatmate but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Did he say for a while?
‘Ah, well, you can bunk up at my place. Er, I assumed you’d need a place to stay till you found your own apartment. I’m sorry, is that insulting? I don’t mean that you can’t do it all on your own, um, I just thought…Never mind, that was stupid. After all, you’re not moving there because of me.’