‘Well, I have this friend,’ I start, wondering myself where it’s going. ‘She’s a little scatty, and often buys the same thing twice by accident. Which I guess is a vote of confidence for the item of clothing, right, if it appeals so much even after you’ve bought it? Anyway, we were talking the other day – she lives in London, where I lived last year. That’s how we met. We were talking and she mentioned that she was taking some things back to the stores for refunds. Finally! I’ve been telling her to do this for ages. She needs to go through her closets at least once a month and look for duplicates. You’d be surprised how many she has. We, her friends, have benefitted from her forgetfulness since she gives the extras away, but she’s not made of money. She’s a recruiter. Well, Josh, you remember, I told you about her when you asked about next year’s trend. Jeez, here she is again. Maybe she’s my muse… Anyway, the point is that she should be returning these things instead to get the refund. Some are quite expensive. So I was happy when she told me she’d taken a bunch of stuff back. But the clerks wouldn’t give her a refund, only credit. When I was in London I used to return things for her – it’s easier for an American I think. We’re not afraid to argue. But Chloe could only spend the credit in the store, and she had to find things that she liked, but hadn’t bought before. As I said, this isn’t always easy. To minimize the risk, she went to the one section where she shops less often: lingerie. She bought the loveliest under things, and she said she felt indulgent but a little guilty. Then she said, “But nobody can see them so they’re my little secret.” It seems to me that that’s how women are starting to feel – like we’re in this recession and opulence is frowned on, but we still love beautiful things. So we’ll look for opulence that’s a bit hidden. It might be fantastic underwear, or a beautiful flash of colored lining in a jacket, a purse with a gorgeous pattern inside or unbelievably soft leather on our shoes.’
Not hai, do not say soft leather on our vaginas to the clients.
‘We want opulence, we just don’t want everyone to be able to see it.’
The whole table has either gone to sleep or didn’t understand a word I just said. Great, Hannah, babbling to a table full of Chinese men whose first language isn’t English. Well done.
‘That’s very interesting,’ says the man to my right. I gather that he’s the most senior of the exporters. I gather this because the fish head is pointed at him. Dead animal heads may not be your usual sign of respect in the West. It certainly wasn’t the case in The Godfather. But in China the guest of honor gets to stare his dinner in the face.
Suddenly everyone at the table is nodding and smiling. Josh grins at me. ‘See? I told you she knows trends. Excellent, Hannah. We know what we’ll be looking for from our friends next season, don’t we?’
I am glowing with pride. I did it. I really did it, didn’t I? I’ve impressed my boss and made an important contribution to our business. That means my pitch last month wasn’t a fluke. It was no lucky guess that won us record business (record business!). Maybe I really am cut out for this job. It wasn’t just wishful thinking that made me apply to thirty-eight exporters in the hope of being given a chance. I really can do this! Take that, Missus Reese, you old crone. I will not let you win.
‘Thank you, Josh, for giving me a chance,’ I murmur.
‘No, thank you, Hannah, for finding us.’
I can’t wait to tell Sam about my triumph at dinner when he arrives the next morning. We’re walking hand in hand, ducking down narrow passages, through a Hong Kong that is no longer shiny glass and exhaust fumes.
‘So then I said, “We want opulence, we just don’t want everyone to be able to see it.”’
He stops walking so he can hold my face, look into my eyes and kiss me. ‘That’s wonderful, Hannah, I am so proud of you. I’ve always known you’d do well… Do you remember when you got mad at me for saying you were better than your job at M&G? I was right. You’ve got the ability to go very far. You’re talented in fashion, Han. I know I’ve made fun of it in the past, but that’s just because I’m a man. I don’t want you to think I’m making fun of you. Because I think you are remarkable.’
Oh, am I now? If I’m so remarkable, why is he fine about us seeing other people? I kiss him back, still wondering.
I know he suggested the walk to try to make everything seem as normal as possible but the fact remains, it’s not normal. Not when I had to kiss him good morning at the airport early this morning, instead of just rolling over. Even so, my heart skips every time he looks at me. I love being with him. No matter what the circumstances, I am in love with him. Heaven help me.
Tiny shrines dot the pavement. Some look like upended shoeboxes painted red, gaily decorated with gold Chinese characters and ribbons. Others are more firmly built into the shop’s outer wall, filled with little statues and plates of food. Most have incense sticks that perfume the air.
We turn down another alley, now aware that it’s a game of how-lost-can-we-get. All along the street are little shop-front temples, like garages, with wide roll-up doors. This is a locals’ street, nothing in English and no white faces.
We hover uncertainly outside one, peering into its dim interior. Eventually the old woman near the entrance smiles toothlessly and beckons us inside. It’s close and warm, the summer’s humidity mingling with smoke wafting from large incense coils that hang overhead, waiting to drop live ash on the faithful. Sam squeezes my hand as we stare into a murky glass display case filled with hundreds of small statues. It’s tatty and intriguing and wonderful. Being with Sam is wonderful.
A little further along, another alley drops us in the middle of a street market. Unlike London, where markets usually means fashion, bric-a-brac or East End traders selling fruit and veg, this market stocks fresh food. I wouldn’t mind if we were talking about plums or tomatoes. These aren’t plums or tomatoes. Hanging from hooks in the oppressive heat is an array of animal carcasses. They remind me of an exhibition I once saw, of skinned animals and humans in surprisingly lifelike poses. Those hanging here in the heat aren’t meant to be anatomy lessons, they’re meant to be dinner. ‘Is that…? It’s a tail!’ I gasp. ‘A skinned tail. What animal do you think it came from?’
‘Ox,’ Sam says definitively.
‘Oh? Do you see a lot of those in Wyoming to be such an expert?’
‘Oxtail, Han, as in soup?’
‘Oh. I thought that was just an expression. That’s actually an ox’s tail in my soup?’ I’ll stick to chicken noodle.
Further into the market is the seafood aisle. There’s not a fish finger in sight (or a freezer, for that matter). Instead, there are whole fish in red plastic bowls. They’re not on ice, they’re in water… ‘They aren’t alive, are they?’ I ask Sam, who’s staring as uncertainly as I am.
‘No. At least, not most of them. They are fresh though, aren’t they? In some parts of China they eat live fish. You know, while they’re alive. Japan too, I think.’
‘I feel a bit ill just thinking about it.’
‘Do you want to go?’ He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. It’s such a comforting gesture.
‘Yes please. I don’t see myself shopping for meat here. This is all a little too close to nature for me. How about if we go to Stanley? Josh suggested it when we were on the junk a few weeks ago. He mentioned it again last night when I said you were coming. Hopefully by the time we get there, the memory will wear off enough to be hungry for lunch.’ Knowing my stomach, I’m sure it will.
An hour later, we’re on a London double-decker bus, which shouldn’t be driven around Piccadilly too fast, let alone down Hong Kong’s narrow mountain roads. We’ve just passed a point at the top of the mountain pass, where, looking down the rollercoaster drop ahead, I was tempted to raise my arms and scream. I don’t, but that’s only because I’ve got Sam’s hand in a death grip and I’m not letting go until our starters are served in the restaurant. He looks like he might take a nap. ‘Does nothing faze you?’ If I didn’t know his a
nti-drug views I’d suspect he was stoned.
‘Your boss was right. This is a great view – look at that!’ He cranes his neck to look down the side of the bus, and down the side of the mountain.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t do this when you first arrived,’ I say, realizing immediately that this sounds accusatory.
‘Pete and I planned to go once but were out too late the night before. I’m glad I waited.’ He smiles and kisses me while I wonder who else was on his late-night jolly. Li Ming?
What is wrong with me? Maybe I have a medical condition that prevents me from enjoying myself with Sam. It shouldn’t be this way, should it? It’s supposed to be easy, at least at the beginning. We’re still in the honeymoon stage. So why do I feel like we’re heading for divorce? Stacy says I should just relax. That advice is about as easy to take in this situation as it is when spoken by your gynecologist in the exam room.
I need to talk to Sam about us. I want to know what he’s thinking. But I’m afraid to know what he’s thinking. But it’s better to know. If it’s bad then we can deal with it. And if it’s good there’s no reason for me to feel so angsty. But what if it’s bad and we can’t deal with it? I don’t want to break up. I want to go back to the way things were before. But I can’t find the rewind button.
‘Do you want to check out the market first?’ he asks as we gratefully leave the bus in one piece.
‘Will it have tails?’
‘I can’t make any promises but I don’t think so.’
We enter the market, really just a tangle of narrow streets lined with stalls. There are no tails, only cheap clothes. I deal with cheap clothes every day. It’s about as exotic as Walmart. Overhead, tarpaulins stretch between the buildings in an attempt to keep out the sun. Deeper into the market we see a random selection of gaily painted paper lanterns, figurines, dazzling arrays of lighters, dolls, beach balls and more cheap clothes. ‘Lunch?’ Sam asks as we turn a corner into a seemingly identical aisle.
‘Yes please.’ My stomach is churning, and it’s not hunger. Maybe it’s because I know I have to talk to Sam. Maybe it’s because today isn’t all I hoped it would be. I expected the worry to be swept away once he arrived. Instead, it’s intensifying with each moment that passes. I’ve got to talk to him.
The restaurant isn’t far away, housed in a beautiful two-story colonial building with wide verandas on Stanley’s bay front. Mounting the stone stairs to the black and white tiled veranda feels like walking into the nineteenth century.
‘How’s your family, by the way?’ Sam asks once we’ve ordered. ‘Your mom?’
Sam never asks me about my family. It’s not a thoughtless oversight, but a thoughtful one. He knows how much she drives me crazy about living here. ‘She’s fine, thanks. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh no reason really, I talked to my mom last night, that’s all.’
‘Is yours okay?’
‘Yep, she’s fine.’
‘I mean about your move. I’ve never asked, have I? Does she mind that you’re here? In Vietnam, I mean?’
‘Nah, I don’t think so. She knows it comes with the territory when your family are all academics. Is your mom any more comfortable with your move?’
‘No.’ Plus, she refuses to accept that I might actually like living in Hong Kong. No matter how many emails I send describing how great it is here, how much fun I’m having with my friends, she thinks I’ll run back to the US if Sam and I break up. Which is definitely not true. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever win that battle.’ It’s an unwelcome line of thinking. ‘So what else is there to see around here?’
‘I’m not sure. I think it’s just the market and the beach.’
‘I’m not really up for the beach. Besides, I don’t trust those shark nets.’ Hong Kong’s beaches are cordoned off to keep the predators from picking off the tourists.
‘You don’t have to worry. They’re very strong nets.’
‘That’s not the point. I don’t like the idea that they have to have nets. It’s like drinking gallons of water and popping aspirin before a night out to stave off a hangover. Isn’t it just better not to drink too much in the first place?’
‘You can’t seriously be equating a hangover with man-eaters!’
‘Right, exactly my point. Why would I risk being eaten by a shark when I don’t even usually risk a hangover?’ I’m pleased to have made my point.
‘Right…’ Sam looks unconvinced. ‘Anyway, we won’t swim today– ’scuse me a sec,’ he says as his phone rings. ‘Hello? Hi. That’s okay, what’s up? You’re kidding! You are kidding. That’s great. No, it’s super. Of course. Fantastic. Absolutely. Thanks, no, thanks for calling. I’ll see you Monday. Bye.’
I wait to hear what’s so great-super-fantastic.
‘That was Li Ming – we got the grant!’ He beams.
‘Wonderful! What grant?’
‘I’m sure I mentioned it. She, we, she really, applied to the World Bank for funding for a two-year-long project. And we got it! Isn’t that great?’
‘Super, fantastic… Where is the project?’
‘It’s here, Han, in Hong Kong.’ Now he’s grinning even more.
Gaahh! ‘That’s so wonderful, Sam! That means you’ll be back here? Soon?’
‘As soon as this project finishes, yep, I’ll be back in Hong Kong for the duration of the next project. Han, I told you this wouldn’t be forever.’
Forever. That’s what I hear. Forever. Sam is coming back. I’m dizzy with relief. This is going to be okay. Following your heart will pay off in the near future. The near future.
Girlfriend, not girlfriend, the label doesn’t matter. It’s what’s inside the can that counts.
Chapter 14.
Hong Kong sparkles these days, maybe because I know that Sam is definitely coming back. It’s certainly not because the weather is improving. The sky turns from pale blue to near black in minutes, and stepping from air-conditioned buildings is always like being hit in the face with a warm wet washcloth. It’s raining nearly every day now, in short but startling bursts. A monsoon’s worth of rain can fall from the sky in less time than it takes to duck for cover. The pavements run with water and the streets fill within minutes. Short of a jet pack it’s impossible to keep my feet dry, so at some point in the day they’re going to look like I’ve fallen asleep in the bath. Also, this season makes everyone smell of laundry that’s been left in the washing machine overnight.
Even so, I love it. I love the shining new buildings and the sleek rooftop bars and the crush of people and dangerous taxis and even the street markets. What a difference a day makes. Or a week, in my case. Sam’s announcement turned out to be that reset button I was searching for, making me realize that he probably wasn’t acting differently at all. My perception was making me view our relationship differently. What mind games we play with ourselves sometimes.
‘Almost ready?’ I ask Stacy, who’s applying another coat of mascara (waterproof, given the forecast). ‘We’ve got to meet Josh at the pier in half an hour.’
‘Ready,’ she sings, clearly far from it. ‘Oh, Chloe called while you were in the shower.’
She’s always doing this. ‘Why didn’t you tell me when I got out of the shower, two hours ago? Now I haven’t got time to call.’
‘I forgot,’ she says, shrugging.
‘You did not. Stacy, why do you still have such a problem with Chloe? Get over it. You don’t like her. I get it. But I do like her, so please be an adult. I don’t keep your messages from you.’
‘Only because nobody calls me on the home phone. Besides, pot, you’re one to call this kettle black. You’re not exactly nice about Pete.’
‘Pete again, really? You don’t see why I dislike someone who was rude to me? Who clearly doesn’t think I’m good enough for his friend, and said as much when we first met? He’s a dick, Stace. I don’t know why you’re bothering to spend time with him, because he’s a dick.’
She stares at me. ‘So you
have that little faith in me. You think I’d be friends with a dick? And what about Sam? I thought they were supposed to be best friends? Long-time and best friends. His judgment is obviously wrong too then. It must be, or they wouldn’t be friends. Or roommates.’
Well, she’s got a point there. Here is my best friend, and my boyfriend, and both think this guy is worth spending time with. But then again, don’t we all have friends that others don’t get along with? Chloe is a perfect example. I know she’s an excellent friend and a good person. Stacy can’t stand her. That doesn’t mean she’s a bad person, only that she rubs Stacy the wrong way. So that proves my point. Wait a minute. No it doesn’t, it proves Stacy’s point.
‘All right,’ I say. ‘If I’m prepared to give Pete another chance, will you promise to be nicer about Chloe? It’s not like she’s coming to live here, or that you’ll probably ever even see her again. You can afford to be gracious.’
She sighs, actually looking contrite. ‘That’s fair. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you she called. I won’t do it again.’
‘Thanks. And I won’t say anything bad about Pete.’ I can’t promise I won’t think it though.
‘You can do better than that,’ she says, slyly. ‘We’re meeting up tonight. Want to come?’
I do not. I definitely do not. ‘Sure.’
Josh has rented an even bigger boat today, and it’s rammed with people. ‘Hello, welcome aboard!’ He calls when he sees us peering uncertainly at the mayhem. ‘You’re just in time. The margaritas are ready!’
It’s 10.30 a.m. We accept our drinks, kissing our host hello and bracing for a very long day. ‘We’ll leave in a few minutes to get a good spot,’ he says. ‘You’re going to love this.’
A wave of excitement washes through the boat as its engines start and we pull away from the pier. I jumped at Josh’s invitation today. Brent and Stuart rave about the dragon boat races, and we get to see them by boat! That’s the holy grail of the day, apparently. I’m not sure why yet, but I feel lucky already. We’re not the only ones with the idea though. Dozens of boats are motoring alongside us towards Stanley’s bay. Most look like they’re on their way to do a swimsuit shoot. Perfectly formed bikini-clad Chinese women are draped across most flat surfaces. Normally this would cause me a bit of competitive angst, but I felt about ten pounds lighter after Li Ming called Sam with her news. Metaphorically, I mean. Even ten pounds lighter I wouldn’t look like those Chinese women. But I’m not jealous of them. And I should never have been jealous of Li Ming. Clearly she’s just a good boss. What generosity of spirit I’m showing! Every insecurity flew out the window when Sam announced he was coming back to Hong Kong. Or… nearly every insecurity. There is one teeny tiny thing that’s been bothering me. It’s hardly even worth mentioning. Which is why I haven’t told anyone, even Stacy.
The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) Page 18