The Lingerie Designer

by Siobhán McKenna

  “Remind me why we decided to come to Vietnam again?” she said, trying to lighten the moment for Poppy.

  Poppy pulled back, her face pale with shock, and said with utmost seriousness, “For you to connect with your dad, and get some closure.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking of . . .” Helen sighed as she looked out the window. “Although they make beautiful silks here. I wonder could I cut this bit short and see if I can source a new supplier . . .” She started to scroll through her phone. “I promised Fred I’d check out potential factories, I put the addresses in my phone.” She showed the screen to Poppy. “Have a look – do you know if we’re anywhere near there? I’m not sure if the GPS is active on this thing.”

  Poppy took her phone without looking at it. “There you go again. You always use your work to avoid facing up to things.”

  Helen tried to get her phone back but Poppy had confiscated it. Helen’s efforts to dig it out of her pocket were thwarted by two elderly ladies offering them a humbug. They smiled at their fellow passengers and accepted the sweets.

  “A humbug – who’d have guessed they’d name a sweet in your honour, Hells!” Poppy unwrapped the hardboiled candy and popped it in her mouth.

  Helen nodded and smiled at the ladies as she discreetly thumped her friend.

  They drove to the historical city of Hué, close to the old border that split Vietnam into North and South. All around was beautiful architecture. Helen felt herself relax and enjoy the holiday vibe. Their day would include visits to the Forbidden City (must be good if it’s forbidden, Helen reckoned), Thien Mu pagoda and the Perfume River. But first, they’d cover the battle areas. Helen felt okay with that. This wasn’t where her dad had perished – they’d travel there tomorrow.

  Standing in an area outside of the city, they listened as Mike gave the history of the massacre at Hué, during the Tet offensive. It was one of the longest and bloodiest battles in the history of the war. Viet Cong guerrillas and the North Vietnam Army attacked during the Vietnamese Lunar New Year when a ceasefire was meant to be in place. Over a period of weeks, thousands of people lost their lives. Helen watched the small group of people they had joined. Many were obviously veterans returning with their wives, some with their sons. She wondered what it was like for them to come back to this place.

  The two humbug ladies were linking arms. One blew her nose as the other one looked out across the land.

  “That’ll be us one day, two old ladies linking arms, passing sweets to strangers on a bus and worrying about our cats at home,” Helen sighed.

  “Too late, we’re old ones already and remember you’re allergic to cats. Come on, let’s join them.” Poppy slipped her arm through Helen’s and steered her towards the humbug ladies.

  “We were just talking about you gals, isn’t that right, Marcie? What are a couple young ’uns like you doing here?” She dabbed her eyes.

  “Helen’s father was killed in Quang Tri, and I came to keep her company,” Poppy replied.

  “Is that right?” The lady looked at Helen with gentle eyes. “We lost our husbands here, in 1968, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines. Isn’t that right, Marcie?”

  “That’s right, Gracie.”

  Gracie eyed Helen. “You don’t look old enough have lost your daddy, girl.”

  Helen was loving Gracie more by the minute. “I was just a baby and he died when a lot of American troops had already been withdrawn. I guess the Paris Treaty didn’t come in time for us.”

  “That’s a darn shame! Your poor mama, it must have broke her heart, isn’t that right, Marcie?”

  “Uh-huh, that’s right, Gracie, broke her heart it must have,” Marcie dutifully replied.

  “Was your daddy American?” Gracie asked. “You don’t sound American – unless you’re from Michigan. I never know when someone talks Michiganese – it’s the darndest thing – I’ve no ear for it. Are you from Michigan?”

  “No, he had US residency though – that’s how he could join the Marines. I was born in the US, grew up in Ireland but I went to college in the UK and I ended up staying there, so I’d say, Gracie, I’ve a mix of every accent. I’m a bit of a mongrel.”

  “Looking at you, I’d say you’re a thoroughbred, missy!” Gracie decided to let go of Marcie and hook onto Helen instead. “An Irishman, is that right? I knew they could join the forces but there can’t have been many of them died in this war?”

  “Twenty-three Irishmen and one Irishwoman died in this war to be exact,” Helen replied.

  “Well, I’ll be darned! Of the tens of thousands dead, is that all? I’d say your daddy was in the wrong place at the wrong time. God bless his soul.” Gracie patted Helen’s arm as they walked back to the bus.

  The small group spent the evening together eating dinner and exchanging war stories. It turned out Gracie and Marcie weren’t as old as they looked but both had forgotten how to be young once they lost their men. Being in the company of veterans and their families was an eye-opener for Helen.

  “I never really thought about the other families. I felt distant from them – separated by more than the Atlantic Ocean,” Helen said to Poppy as they went for a walk that evening.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just felt bitter that my situation was different, my dad, an Irishman, killed in the Vietnam battlefield. Like that lady said – wrong place, wrong time. But it was really cool talking to the other family members – and the men themselves, they were so interesting. I don’t know, but it’s as if I got to see how things must have been for my dad. Nearly as though I got to meet him – does that make any sense?”

  “Totally. What about tomorrow – are you ready?”

  “Absolutely. I don’t know why I didn’t face my demons years ago.”

  “What happened to your family made you who you are today. Being a hard-nosed-bitch helped you succeed,” Poppy teased.

  Before Helen could retort, her phone buzzed. “It’s the office, I’d better take this.” She put a finger up to Poppy to indicate she’d be one second.

  Poppy could hear Helen giving instructions about how to work something on the Eden design software. Unfortunately, the call dragged on.

  “Sorry about that, Poppy,” Helen said, returning to her. “I missed three calls from Sarah, it must have been during dinner. I’ll just have to go online for five minutes – she sent through an email she wants me to check.” Helen was already punching something into her phone. “What were we talking about again?”

  “How much being with these people has changed your attitude,” Poppy replied.

  “Uuh,” Helen was reading her email from her phone.

  “I’m going back inside. One of those veteran’s son was a fine thing, I think I’ll run in there, tear all his clothes off and make mad passionate love to him on the dinner table.”

  “Okay,” Helen said, typing a reply to Sarah.

  “I guess your changing attitude will have to be one step at a time, hey? Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Poppy sighed.

  Chapter 39

  Breakfast was served at 07 hundred hours. They had to report to the hotel lobby for departure at 08 hundred hours – sharp. You’re in the army now.

  They were on the road to the Peace Bridge, the DMZ – the demilitarised zone – and Quang Tri. The area where Jim Devine died. The weather hadn’t improved and the dark clouds overhead weighed heavy on them.

  Poppy wondered what to say to Helen when they got there or if they should do something, mark the occasion in some way. Helen was twisting the small gold ring on her little finger. Poppy knew what that meant so she decided she’d figure out what to do once they got there. It turned out she needn’t have worried. Mike King, or the Sergeant Major as they had nicknamed him, stopped Helen as she was getting off the bus.

  “Would you be so kind as to let me walk with you, ma’am?”

  Poppy ushered her on and hung back with Gracie and Marcie, both of whom needed help getting off the bus. Having been travelling
for days before Poppy and Helen had joined in, they were feeling a little stiff.

  “These old hips ain’t what they used to be, isn’t that right, Marcie?” Gracie called out.

  “Uh uh, that’s right, Gracie, not what they used to be,” came the reply.

  Mike and Helen walked in silence for a few moments.

  “It looks like rain,” Helen eventually said.

  Mike looked up. “We’re in for a storm – thunder is my guess, but it’ll pass.”

  On cue, a clap of thunder rumbled and the first drop of rain fell.

  “Your friend emailed with details of your father’s division, to see if we could provide the right tour for you. I recognised the name immediately – Lieutenant James Devine.” Mike opened up an umbrella and held it over them.

  Rain pummelled the waterproof polyester, Helen’s heartbeat pounded with the same force.

  “You knew my father?”

  “Yes. Not very well, I’m sorry to say. I was a corporal in another division but we both served in I Corp. Your father stood out – there weren’t many Irish voices hanging out in Vietnam in the seventies,” he smiled.

  “I can’t imagine there were.” Helen smiled back as they continued to walk. She looked around to see where Poppy was. She was just a hundred yards behind them, the rain having made Gracie and Marcie beat a retreat back to the bus, but not Poppy. She was marching towards them, head dipped, collar up, with one hand plunged deep into her pocket, the other one tightly clasping her jacket closed.

  “He served with the British army and saw action in the Aden conflict prior to joining the US military, is that correct?”

  “Yes, I’m told that’s why he’d no problem joining. They wanted men with field experience.” Helen sighed. “What else do you remember, Mike?”

  “That he had a wife and a baby girl,” he looked at Helen, “and that he was a man of great integrity, a good soldier you’d want in your squad. And I was told he had a great way of telling a joke – a dry sense of humour, I believe the term was.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “That explains where you get it from so,” Poppy said, now only a few feet behind.

  “This is it.” Mike stopped walking as they reached what remained of the bombed Citadel.

  “Were you here when he died, Mike?” Helen asked.

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am, I was on a recon team by then.” He paused. “Take your time, I’ll wait for you back at the vehicle.” He handed Helen the umbrella and nodded to Poppy, before striding back down the muddy path in the rain. Helen looked up at the remains, overgrown now with moss and shrubs. Distractedly, she ran her thumb along the smooth gold of her ring.

  “So this is it?” She looked at Poppy, who nodded but said nothing.

  Helen handed Poppy the umbrella. She took a piece of narrow ribbon from her inside pocket. “I took this from the sample room on my last day in work . . . just in case . . . I got this chance.” She walked over to a tree that stood near the main arch of the Citadel and tied the yellow ribbon to one of its branches. She was glad it was raining. Poppy left her alone for a while, with her thoughts, before joining her.

  Helen rubbed the tears and rain off her face. “All the hatred and suffering, for what?”

  “I don’t know, Hells,” Poppy answered, as she huddled into her friend. She raised the umbrella high, protecting both of them.

  Helen started to laugh through her tears.

  “What’s so funny?” Poppy asked.

  “I was just thinking we needn’t worry about ending up like Gracie and Marcie – because you’re right – we’re already there!”

  They turned and walked away, leaving the yellow ribbon to symbolise that the dead might be gone forever but were never forgotten, living on in the hearts of those that loved them.

  Mike was right – the clouds soon began to clear, opening up to blue skies and lifting the heavy humidity.

  In contrast to the Citadel they had left behind, they next visited a local market that teemed with life and colour. Ethnic minorities had come to town for market day, dressed in traditional clothing.

  “Oh Poppy, look at that shade of red, it’d be perfect in a Christmas collection!” Helen said as she snapped a photo. “I wonder if I can find somewhere I could buy a piece of fabric to bring back, try and get a Pantone colour-chart number to match. How long did Mike say we could spend here before we’ve to be back on the bus?”

  “Oh my God, you are married to that job! Just let it go!”

  Helen looked at her with puppy-dog eyes.

  “Oh all right, stop looking at me like that! We’ll try and track down sample swatches while real tourists buy normal things like key-rings. You’ve got fifty-nine minutes before you’re court marshalled!”

  They didn’t find fabric but they did find moonshine.

  An eager salesman insisted on taking them to where the firewater was made, just two minutes away at the back of the market apparently. He brought them to the home of an elderly man and his wife. The man sat smoking and drinking, while his wife crouched by a large, open fire, distilling the brew.

  There were two other women present.

  “Gracie and Marcie, what are you two doing here?”

  “It’s medicinal, isn’t that right, Marcie?” Gracie proclaimed.

  “That’s right, Gracie, need it for our hips, we do,” Marcie concurred.

  The old man insisted they all sit down and have shots before they made a purchase. Nattering away in Vietnamese, he started dancing as he twisted and twirled a large wooden pole between his hands. It looked like a drunk’s effort at Tai Chi. The wife muttered something crossly under her breath, before she left them to it. He insisted on teaching all of them the traditional dance.

  “Ah, Helen, you make a great pole-dancer!” Gracie clapped.

  “Oh look, it’s not a pole at all – it’s a flute!” Helen burst into laughter as the man started to blow his whistle.

  Nothing would do him but one of them should blow it too.

  “Gracie, blow the man’s flute for him, so we can get going,” Marcie said, finally finding her voice.

  When the traditional dancing and music lesson was over, they each bought two half-litres of the smoky-flavoured moonshine, for a dollar a go. It was decided that Helen and Poppy should run ahead and hold the bus, although the veteran widows appeared to have a new spring in their step, albeit a little wobbly.

  “I wish my boss could see me now,” Helen laughed as they jogged with three minutes to go to their ETA. “I mean, how’s that for sourcing? It’s not only cheap knickers I can sniff out. I’ve got the same God-given talent for eighty-percent-proof train-survival kit.” She hiccupped. “We’ll have no problem sleeping on the train back to Hanoi now.” She saluted Poppy.

  “You might want to examine your phrasing there, Helen.” Poppy looked at the liquid, enclosed in battered, discarded soda bottles: Helen’s job was definitely not as secure as she presumed. “Maybe stick with the designing, Helen, and leave the sourcing to Fred. And don’t tell anyone in the pub you sniff out knickers for a living. They might get the right impression of you!”

  The veteran’s tour dropped them off at the train station – they were continuing on with their war ways. Gracie and Marcie snored, heads together, but they managed to rouse themselves long enough to wave their goodbyes.

  In the morning, Helen and Poppy would go to the beautiful Halong Bay.

  Or so they thought.

  Chapter 40

  They waited in the lobby of the hotel in Hanoi to be collected – no one showed. A phone call revealed that they were a day late for their departure to Halong Bay. Today’s departure was full, tomorrow was the first available sailing.

  Poppy apologised profusely for mixing up the dates. Helen assured her it was okay. However, she didn’t want to spend another night in a no-star hotel where the toilet paper was individual translucent sheets of paper that stuck to your fingers when wet. Poppy stumbled over one of t
he mopeds parked in the foyer, which doubled as the staff’s parking lot.

  Within an hour, they were sitting at a large window in a café next to their new hotel. Sipping strong coffee, they watched the world go by. A visit to the tourist board in Hoan Kiem had revealed a lot. It turned out Hanoi was very easy to navigate, when you knew what you were doing. They had moved to a small hotel, the Hanoi Plaza, in the Old Quarter. It was warm, friendly and the same price as the hotel they had previously stayed in – and only a few streets away.

  “You must think I’m an incompetent fool,” Poppy said.

  “It’s all turned out great, so stop beating yourself up!”

  “Maybe we should just stay here for all our Hanoi nights rather than moving to the French Quarter after Halong Bay.”

  “The French Quarter – isn’t that where the hotel with the pool is though?”

  Poppy nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  Helen tried a different tack to cheer her up.

  “Every minute you spend unhappy is sixty seconds less spent being happy.”

  “That’s very Zen of you, Helen,” Poppy smiled.

  “I read it on the thought-of-the-day calendar from the local taxi company.” Helen indicated the reception desk. “And just think, if we hadn’t messed up the dates, we’d have been stuck in that awful hotel for another few nights, none the wiser.”

  “You’re right.” Poppy perked up at last. “What will we do with our spare day in Hanoi? Do you fancy going to see the water puppets?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “There’s a Buddhist monastery, a little out of town. We can go and spend the day there, meditating, eating vegetarian food with the Buddhist nuns.”

  “I’d sooner stick needles in my eyes, thanks. Tell you what, Pops, why don’t you go and hang out with the nuns. You can tell Ryvita the Hare Krishna all about it when you go home. There’s a town just outside Hanoi, I hear there are great silks there. I may as well make use of our unexpected spare day.”

  “You can’t work on holiday!”

  “It’s not work, well, not completely – you know how I like to drool over fabrics. It’ll be like indulging a fetish.”