As they drew the apartment door shut behind them, they both breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Why is Goong Goong so grumpy?’ asked Maeve.
‘Goong Goong has worked very hard all his life. When he was a little boy in China, he had nothing. Now, the things he has, he wants to hang onto.’
‘Like us?’
Por Por’s face did that neat and annoying trick of closing over and she didn’t reply. Her expression became so still that Maeve couldn’t guess what she was thinking.
The park at Coogee was bathed in a warm, filtered light that shone gold on the dry grass. The Norfolk pines cast blue shadows like tiger stripes across the ground. Jackson did a series of handsprings, his body a blur in the soft sunset glow. Maeve followed, cartwheeling across the park in his wake. She loved the feel of her body in motion, the way the world turned for her as she spun. She was so caught in the movement that she didn’t realise Jackson had changed direction until he jackknifed into her. They landed in a tangle of limbs in the sandy grass.
‘Ow, that so hurt!’ said Maeve, sitting up and rubbing her forehead.
‘Sorry,’ said Jackson, looking genuinely worried. He leant in close to Maeve and touched her lightly on the forehead, brushing a strand of hair away. Maeve laughed at the concern on his face.
‘It’s okay. I’m fine,’ she said. ‘How about you?’
‘Fine,’ he said, still frowning. He was looking at her so intently that Maeve wondered if she had something stuck on her face. She lifted one hand to brush her cheek but Jackson stopped her, holding her wrist gently. Then he leant forward and Maeve found herself leaning towards him too. It was as if there was a magnetic force, drawing them closer to each other until finally, she was kissing him, his lips warm against her own.
‘Oi!’ yelled Will. ‘Cunning or what! Kick a girl in the face and then make your move!’
Maeve and Jackson leapt apart as if they’d been electrocuted. Will strode towards them across the yellow grass. He reached a hand down to each teenager and pulled them to their feet.
‘Feeding time, wild things,’ he said. He headed towards the picnic area, dragging them along behind him. Maeve saw the tattoos of Thing One and Thing Two peeking out from beneath his singlet top. She pointed at them and Jackson laughed. ‘He loves us. That’s why we’re a pair of tatts on his back.’
‘Too right,’ said Will. ‘You are a total Thing, not a human being.’
‘What about me?’ said Maeve, in mock offence. ‘I was Thing Two!’
‘You are a Warrior Princess occasionally disguised as a Thing, Maeve. There is a difference. He’s the real Thing,’ said Will over his shoulder.
‘It’s your fault. You are a bad influence, man,’ yelled Jackson, wincing as Will twisted his wrist.
‘Don’t worry, little cuz. Your time will come. One day you will be a bad influence too,’ said Will.
‘My mum would freak if I turned out like you.’
Will turned around, tousled Jackson’s hair and bowed to Maeve. ‘Don’t listen to the little arsehole,’ said Will. ‘He should be so lucky. His mum adores me.’
Maeve felt laughter bubbling inside her. She’d always thought that only girls knew how to tease each other like this, but Will and Jackson were better than Bianca and Steph in full flight.
The cast and crew were starting to gather like seagulls around picnic tables groaning with food. Bianca was flirting with a guy from Newtown Secondary who had done the lighting design for Seussmania. All around, people were laughing and loading their plates with food. A cool breeze swept across the sea and made the branches of the dark pines wave gently. Maeve wanted to laugh out loud. Life could feel so perfect.
McCabe was turning meat on the barbecue while Por Por stood beside him, holding a platter loaded high with sausages. Maeve watched them laughing at some private joke and suddenly understood why Goong Goong hadn’t wanted them to come.
As she sat with Jackson, watching the last glow of sunlight fade from the surface of the ocean, she wanted to ask him about every girl he’d ever met before her, but she couldn’t bring herself to shape the question. It would sound as if she was stalking him. It seemed everyone had lived secret lives and the only bits she ever got to see were on the surface of things.
Later, everyone helped carry the remnants of the barbecue up to McCabe’s apartment above the beach. Maeve heard the annoying tinkle of Por Por’s phone ringing out over the cheerful conversations.
‘I hate my gran’s mobile tone,’ she said to Jackson. ‘It’s so loud. Everyone always turns and checks us out when it rings. And she shouts into it, as if she can’t believe such a little phone can work.’
Jackson laughed. ‘Well, at least she uses one. Uncle Mac won’t touch them. He is so techno-phobic.’
As they pushed their way into the crowded living room, Jackson touched her hand lightly and she felt a rush of warmth shoot up her arm and make her cheeks glow. It was only when she caught sight of Por Por that she felt the warmth ebb. Por Por stood on the balcony with McCabe, her face pale, eyes wide, clutching her mobile. McCabe had an arm around her, as if to steady her.
‘Por Por,’ said Maeve, stepping forward. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘It’s your grandfather. He’s had a heart attack. On the flight to Melbourne. He’s in hospital. We have to go to him. We have to go now.’
26
A gift of the heart
They took a plane to Melbourne that night. At first, Por Por tried to argue that Maeve would have to go back to St Philomena’s but Maeve couldn’t bear the idea. What if she never had the chance to see Goong Goong again?
As soon as they walked onto the white, bleak ward, Maeve had the same sinking feeling she’d had that terrible day at St Vincent’s. Goong Goong looked so shrunken, attached to tubes and machines that monitored his heart and breathing. He was heavily sedated and didn’t even know they were standing beside him. Maeve stared at his prone figure while Por Por spoke quietly with the doctor. Goong Goong was out of danger. They needed to have a good night’s sleep and come back to the hospital in the morning. There was nothing they could do.
For a long time, Maeve lay awake worrying about Goong Goong. Every time the fridge in their hotel room rumbled, Por Por sighed, so Maeve knew she couldn’t sleep either. The night seemed to last forever.
Why had she insisted on coming to Melbourne? It wasn’t as if it made any difference to Goong Goong. Sometimes she wondered if he’d let her go to boarding school just to get rid of her. She knew her mother had been a disappointment, and already he seemed to disapprove of every choice that Maeve made. It was her fourteenth birthday on Thursday and none of her friends would be around to help her celebrate. Why did she want to please him so badly? Why did she feel so frightened of losing him?
The next day, Por Por and Maeve spent the morning at the hospital. Maeve hated the stark, bare waiting room but she fought down her distress and stayed close to her grandmother. Por Por looked as if someone had sucked out all her energy. She sat clutching the cup of tea that Maeve had brought, her brow lined with anxiety.
‘Can’t they tell us when he’ll wake up?’ asked Maeve.
‘Some time this afternoon, perhaps,’ said Por Por wearily.
‘Por Por, you can’t wait around here like this all day. It’s not doing you any good and it’s not helping Goong Goong. Why don’t we go for a walk? You’ve got your mobile. They’ll call if he needs you.’
Por Por didn’t answer. She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she sniffed the tea before setting it down on a table. Then she fumbled in her handbag, searching for something.
‘Your Mr McCabe gave me the address of a restaurant that a friend of his owns. It’s not far. Some good tea, that would help us both.’
At the Golden Phoenix restaurant, Por Por asked the maître d if Mr Keith Kwong was available. Within minutes, a man in a stylish, tailored black suit and a pale blue tie made his way towards them. His face was lined but his hair was still je
t-black with only a hint of silver at the temples. He bowed slightly to Por Por and smiled at Maeve.
‘I’m sorry we have to meet under such unfortunate circumstances, Madame Kwong. Colm phoned and explained your situation. If there’s anything I can do to help, please feel free to call upon me.’
‘Thank you. You’re too kind. Good tea would be very soothing,’ said Por Por.
After he’d gone, Por Por pulled out her mobile phone and stared at it, as if willing it to ring.
‘Call the hospital for me, Siu Siu,’ she said, handing Maeve her phone. ‘Perhaps they have forgotten my phone number.’
Obediently, Maeve dialled the number, asked for the nurse on Goong Goong’s ward and then handed the phone to Por Por. Maeve could tell by the look on her grandmother’s face that there was no news.
‘We could be in Melbourne days or weeks. What will your Mr McCabe think of you missing so much school?’
‘The school will be fine about it, Por Por. Don’t worry.’
‘But your Mr McCabe is probably wondering about Goong Goong too. We should call him.’
‘There’s nothing to tell him yet. And please stop calling him my Mr McCabe!’ said Maeve. ‘He’s your friend. He’s only my teacher.’
‘Jun see jong dou!’ scolded Por Por.
‘What’s that mean?’
‘It means your teachers are precious and must be respected. Respect for your teachers, respect for the past – these things are important, Siu Siu. If you don’t honour the past, the ghosts can come back to haunt you. Haven’t I told you that before? Hungry ghosts are spirits that haven’t been honoured.’
Suddenly, they both realised that Keith Kwong and a waiter with a tray of tea things were standing at their table. Maeve blushed. Por Por had never scolded her in front of strangers. Keith looked from Maeve to her grandmother.
‘Perhaps what both you ladies need is some distraction from your worries,’ he said. ‘I have another restaurant in Williamstown. It’s a beautiful drive over the West Gate Bridge. Please, let me give you a small tour and be my guests for lunch. You must see Williamstown. That’s real old Melbourne. Colm and I lived there when we were kids.’
Keith Kwong’s restaurant in Williamstown overlooked the blue-grey waters of Port Phillip Bay. Maeve watched the colour flood back into Por Por’s cheeks as she ate. Even though they only managed to eat a small amount, the food was so delicious that they both felt more optimistic.
As they drove along the waterfront on their way back to the city, Maeve looked at the sea wistfully. Her body ached to be in motion. She hated the thought of having to return to the confines of the hospital waiting room.
‘Could we go for a walk along the beach before we go back, please?’ she asked.
‘Sounds like a great idea to me,’ said Keith.
Por Por shut her eyes, her face drawn with tiredness. ‘Perhaps I’ll wait for you here.’
Keith parked in a quiet spot so they could walk along the foreshore while Por Por napped in the car. Maeve tucked her hair behind her ears and put her head down into the wind. When a bad squall moved in across the water, they both broke into a run. Ahead, a lump of rock stood in the middle of the grassy strand. It was barely big enough to shelter the two of them.
‘Sorry about this!’ shouted Keith above the wind.
‘It’s okay. I like it. Besides, it was my idea.’
Maeve turned and touched the bronze plaque set into the rock.
‘What is this thing?’
‘I think they call it the Famine Rock.’
Maeve read the inscription. ‘It says they put it up for the 150th anniversary of the Irish famine. It says Irish orphan girls landed here. I wish I could go there – Ireland, I mean.’
Keith laughed. ‘Ireland before China?’
‘I’m just as Irish as I am Chinese. I mean – I’m not either, really. I’m Aussie.’
‘That’s the way I used to feel. But if you travel, you wind up carrying pieces of everywhere inside you like long-lost loves. You know, when I go to China now, when I see the lights of Hong Kong harbour, I feel the same sort of excitement that I feel when the plane circles over Port Phillip Bay. It’s as if I have two homes, two hearts, two languages.’
‘I’ve only got one of everything,’ said Maeve. She glanced over at the car, suddenly worried. Por Por was holding her mobile phone, frowning at the keypad.
‘I think we should be getting back to the hospital,’ said Maeve. Suddenly she felt frightened that she might have only one grandparent.
Shortly before dinner, Maeve and Por Por were finally allowed in to see Goong Goong. He was sitting up in bed watching television and looking tired, but he smiled when they came into the room. After ten minutes of stilted conversation, Por Por left to buy Goong Goong something from Chinatown for his evening meal. They’d both decided the hospital food was inedible.
‘I’ll come and help,’ said Maeve.
‘No, you must mind your Goong Goong,’ said Por Por. ‘I won’t be long.’
Maeve sat down on the chair beside the bed and she and Goong Goong silently watched the evening news.
Suddenly Goong Goong offered the remote to Maeve. ‘Would you like to be in charge?’ he asked.
‘That’s okay, Goong Goong. I’ll watch whatever you want to watch.’
But Goong Goong switched the TV off and turned to gaze at Maeve.
‘So we will talk instead,’ he said.
Maeve felt a tightness in her chest. She and Goong Goong never talked about anything. She fumbled around in her memory, trying to think of something to say that he might find interesting. But she didn’t know anything about banks or business or the stock market or any of the things he probably thought were good to talk about. She took a breath, but no words emerged.
‘It’s your birthday on Thursday,’ he said. ‘Fourteen years old this week. Have you thought what you might like for a birthday gift?’
Maeve didn’t know how to answer. She was surprised Goong Goong even remembered when her birthday was. He’d never even signed the birthday cards that Por Por had sent over the years.
‘Ummm. Not really,’ she said.
‘Well, I have been thinking of this problem.’
He gestured to the drawer beside the bed and Maeve pulled it open.
‘Could you find me my wallet, Siu Siu. They’ve taken out all my cards and all my money and put them in the safe deposit. But there is something very valuable that I have kept which I believe is very precious. I want to show you.’
Maeve took out her grandfather’s shiny black leather wallet. She noticed how smooth it was as she handed it to him.
He frowned as he pulled open the compartments and looked inside.
‘Ah, here it is.’
It was a tiny scrap of paper folded in half. Silently he handed it to Maeve. When she unfolded it, she saw it was a page torn from a desk diary: 17 March 1991, the day Maeve was born.
‘I’ve carried it with me since that day. A most auspicious date, don’t you agree?’
Maeve smiled and looked at the slip of paper in awe. She tried to imagine her grandfather at his desk when the phone call came through that she had been born, carefully removing the date from his desk calendar and putting it in his wallet. On the bottom of the page, a quote for the day was printed in tiny letters: The joys of parents are secret, and so are their griefs and fears. Francis Bacon, 1561–1626.
Maeve folded the slip of paper into a neat square again and put it back in the wallet.
‘Thanks, Goong Goong,’ she said.
Goong Goong reached out to her and for a minute she thought he simply wanted the paper back, but he took her hand and clasped it in both of his.
‘I think, for your fourteenth birthday, I would like to give you and your friend Stephanie a gift. I believe a gift you can share with your friend will give the most pleasure. So I would like for you both to go on this trip that your teacher proposed. My gift to you, Maeve.’
Maeve felt
her eyes sting with tears. ‘You don’t have to do that, Goong Goong. You just have to get better. That will be a really good present.’
‘No. I’m still the person in charge around here and I say you and Stephanie will go on this drama tour. Okay?’
Maeve laughed through her tears. ‘Okay, Goong Goong. You’re still the boss.’
27
Guilty secrets
On the morning of Maeve’s fourteenth birthday, Por Por put her in a taxi to the airport. Goong Goong and Por Por would be following in a few more days but they both wanted Maeve to get back to Sydney in time to celebrate her birthday with her friends. As the taxi tried to cross one of the main streets, it was stopped by police who were holding up traffic while a parade meandered past. A slow-moving truck nudged along the wide main street. It was decorated in green and Maeve caught a glimpse of a green and gold banner. On the back of the truck, sitting on a throne, was a man with a long white beard wearing green and gold robes and holding a bishop’s mitre.
‘Is that the St Patrick’s Day Parade?’ Maeve asked the taxi-driver.
‘St Patrick’s Day?’ echoed the driver, mystified. But Maeve knew she was right. She leant out the window and watched the parade pass by.
Following the truck was a troupe of Irish dancers in traditional costume twirling ribbons as if they were straight out of Riverdance. In the midst of the youngest dancers was a small Asian girl. Beside the freckle-faced blonde and red-headed dancers, she looked oddly out of place. Would Maeve be out of place in Ireland? If she found her father, would he expect her to become part of his life? She felt a guilty shiver at the thought of him. To search for her father when Goong Goong had been the one to make her journey possible felt like a betrayal.
Steph couldn’t believe that Goong Goong had offered to pay her way. At first her parents weren’t keen for her to accept, but when she argued that it meant she’d be able to see Ben and that if she didn’t go Maeve might not be allowed, they relented. The trip was to fall across part of the first-term break and one week of second term.
The Secret Life of Maeve Lee Kwong Page 14