Meera was a truly modern Singaporean, although her family were originally from India. Very attractive with long dark hair fashionably layered about her face, wearing tight white jeans and a fitted sequined top accentuating her curvaceous figure, Percy’s eyes would normally have found a more interesting place to focus than in his beer. But they did not.
‘I had a client this morning insisting on an avocado facial treatment,’ she said, ‘even though we’d run out of stock. I tell you, Percy, these rich people think they own you. Anyway, I remembered I had bought an avocado and brie wrap for my lunch, only one or two bites missing, snatched in a moment of overwhelming hunger during a back exfoliation. You know how it is. So I opened it up and smeared it on.’
‘Is that true?’ Percy was not laughing, but he liked the story.
‘Yes Percy, of course, as God is my witness. And she loved it. She’s coming back next week. I only hope I can get the same wrap again. But hey, it is our secret, lah. Okay?’
‘Okay lah.’ Percy frowned, ‘Who would I tell anyway?’
‘Hey, enough of the self-pity! You said Sal never listened to you, so what will you miss?’
Percy sighed heavily. ‘Where’s a beer aunty when you need one?’
When first in Singapore, the presence of beer aunties irritated Percy. He wanted to go up to the bar as he did at home in England, and there examine the available ales and beers advertised on the pump handles. In his own time, he would choose one, watch it pour, pay for it, take it and sit down. What he didn’t want was to have some uniformed woman hovering nearby hoping to catch his eye, before pouring him the single lager they were selling whilst smiling and making small talk.
As if by magic, a woman appeared and set about topping up his glass. A second, much younger woman – too young for the traditional, deferential, title of aunty, even though her job required it – tried to nudge her way in. She was successfully repelled by the first with the strike of a stony glare, plus a small shove. Percy thanked the victorious aunty and she drifted off to find other keen drinkers, before her competitor lured them with the softness of her youth.
‘I tell you, if Sal comes to my salon I will add sambal to my sandwich and give it a firm rub in her eyes. I promise you, Percy. It will sting. Oh yes, it will sting. It might even blind her.’
The makings of a smile crept onto Percy’s face, ‘Thanks.’ But privately he thought Sal wouldn’t notice, evil witch that she was. Then he hated himself for thinking it.
‘No problem, what more can I do for a friend? So will you go home? Back to England.’
Percy sighed again. He was not sure what he wanted, apart from the evil witch to come back. Though his grief was fresh and raw, he wanted her whatever she had done. But Sal was not accepting his calls, at least, not since the first one he’d made. That conversation hadn’t gone as planned. He hadn’t meant to be attacking, only hoping to shock her into seeing sense. But she had been awkward and he’d lost his temper. In frustration, Percy used their code language C U Next Tuesday and she called him a prick, in a tone so dismissive it hurt more than the word, and hung up.
‘Dunno,’ he said.
‘You need a holiday,’ Meera declared. ‘Why not take a break? Get some perspective.’
Percy gulped down three large mouthfuls of beer before he spoke. ‘Where do you suggest? I have no money.’
‘You must have, drinking beer like you do here in Singapore.’ Meera thought for a moment, ‘Sal will give you some, if you ask her. Guilt money, to make sure you go quietly.’
Percy shook his head, ‘I suppose I do have some savings I could use. And I could check the UK account. Japan. I have always fancied Japan, maybe Tokyo?’
Meera shrieked, ‘Too expensive. You made of money, Percy? No, go to a nice quiet island in Malaysia and relax. I like Redang very much. Beautiful.’
‘And watch other couples having a nice time? No thanks.’
‘Okay. Cambodia. Everybody loves Siem Reap. Not nice for people like me… dirty… old… but people like you, older people, they love it.’
‘Old, eh? And dirty. Thanks.’
Meera huffed, ‘Not you… Siem Reap. So many temples, lah. Full of history…’ Her intonation trailed.
Percy wasn’t convinced. Anything beyond crawling into bed or picking up a pint seemed far too much effort.
‘Ask Phrike to come with you. Or Joyann. She seems very down at the moment, too. Actually, maybe we could all go? I would suffer it. For you Percy, I would suffer anything and so would the others. I would especially suffer Redang.’
Percy considered what she was saying. He had been in Singapore for almost a year and unlike most people he knew, had not yet left the safety of the island. Sal was always too busy or too tired from travelling with her job to ever consider travelling with him.
‘Aren’t there land mines in Cambodia?’ he asked, tone even more defeatist than his words.
‘How would I know? But lots of people go there, although maybe that is a good reason for you not to bother.’
Percy yawned mentally. Meera’s attempt at reverse psychology was weak, or perhaps it was sarcasm. He couldn’t tell. ‘I can’t be bothered. Maybe later on, in a few months, eh?’
Meera smiled and appeared to agree, ‘No pressure, yeah? You just concentrate on now.’
‘Is that what you do, Meera? Is that why you are not at work?’
‘So, trying to turn the conversation away from yourself and onto me, eh Percy?’
Percy’s eyes lifted to the open shopping mall beyond the bar. His face paled. ‘Sal!’
Meera turned and followed his gaze, ‘Where?’
‘I thought I saw her on the escalator, going down. Fuck. Why isn’t she at work.’
Meera put a hand on his arm, ‘It’s lunchtime, Percy. And it may not have been her.’
‘It was. Maybe I should go and see her; talk to her.’
‘And if it was your wife, then what? You are drunk and…’
‘Ridiculous,’ Percy finished, ‘I am ridiculous.’
‘I did not say that.’
Percy sank half his beer, put the glass down and stared. ‘So who are you, Meera? We all meet every week and we think we know each other,’ his eyes narrowed, ‘married for eight years and thought I knew her.’
‘Okay. I will tell you, since you ask. I am a beautician, I love Singapore but love Redang more because the beaches are better. I am too young to qualify for a Housing Development Board apartment so I live with my family. If I married I could move out but I have met no one of interest to me. Three generations ago, my father’s family moved to Singapore from India, my mother’s two generations ago. They are Hindu and I am not and they accept it. I am of average height, wear heels too high for my feet and wish I could afford expensive handbags. I use my lunch as a beauty aid. Satisfied? Percy… Are you even listening?’
*
Back home, Percy made a cup of tea, the foray into hot beverages a sign of progressing acclimatisation. He took his drink up to the bedroom, stripped down to his underpants and stood on the narrow balcony that ran the length of the room beyond a sliding glass door. He thought of the guard’s warning; he thought of the neighbour; he thought of Sal. He reached back, took a length of curtain, and covered himself.
Emotionally and physically exhausted, Percy gazed over the secondary jungle opposite the house. It had once been the site of a Chinese cemetery, and he wondered if the peeping-tom neighbour knew of this historical fact. Sal had been told that the development in which they lived was built on a section of that same burial ground, and people often claimed to see dark shadows moving around inside their homes. He had also heard that native Chinese were superstitious, which made him wonder what kind of woman his neighbour really was, by choosing to live where she did. And living at number four was decidedly odd for a person of her origins, given its association with death. Yet number four was precisely where she lived. Had she ever seen the shadows, he wondered? Maybe she was one. Percy let the cu
rtain fall away.
It was fairly standard amongst the neighbours for any apparition encountered to be claimed as intangible. It was never something a person could look at directly, just a passing, formless, shadow. But never did they dismiss it as nothing at all. Percy being Percy, refused to believe it, even though he had seen the phenomena for himself, for he knew that the flicker of car lights, the sudden passing of a bird, tired eyes playing tricks, any number of things could be responsible for what others labelled ghosts. In a house three doors away, the maid had recently run away leaving her tiny room covered in pencil illustrations of crucifixes, with enough garlic to start a French restaurant. She had been locking herself away from six o’clock every evening for the previous four months, and no one could entice her out, until one day she bolted back to Indonesia. Percy, ever the cynic, thought it was very convenient that her fears overwhelmed her at the same time daily, just when other helpers were cooking meals and tidying away the mess of the day. He thought about her more sympathetically, as he stood near naked in the window. It must have been hard, feeling so alone this far from her family.
Another story came to mind, its awfulness fitting his mood. It concerned the house immediately next door, and was far sadder than the girl running away. Percy fell into despair every time he heard it, especially when the teller ignorantly tied it in with fictitious spectres. The way it was told to him, was that the maid had been driven mad with fear, but he recognised that the truth was far worse. Whoever she was, she clearly suffered from mental illness, perhaps schizophrenia, and had been packed off home to the Philippines within a day of a very serious episode. Her agent was not interested in helping, wishing only to avoid the burden, for medical commitment in the form of a domestic worker made for a tricky combination that could be costly. It transpired that the same thing had happened to her several years before, and because the girl went home with no official record made, there was no reason to prohibit re entry into Singapore when she improved and decided to come back. It was, Percy understood, only a matter of time before she returned yet again. But would she? Mental healthcare in the Philippines had been explained to him via Oracles, who had talked about it with an interested Filipino colleague. At best the girl was being fed by her family and drugged to keep her safe. At worst, she was roaming the streets of Manila with rape and murder her likely future.
Percy held onto the railing and dropped his head. He could find nothing positive to think about. Feeling alone and adrift, he stepped back into the room. Life had changed and would go on changing; it was an irrefutable truth. He wished he had stayed in England and left Sal to it. She would have finished things anyway, he suspected, and he and Art could have drowned Percy’s sorrows somewhere familiar. But then, that somewhere was changing too.
He tried out his new bedtime routine: windows shut and air conditioning on. It did not give him any of the pleasure he’d hoped for. Air conditioning returned to the off position, windows reopened, ceiling fan on full, Percy crept into the empty bed and wept.
Chapter 13
ALL CREATURES
Norm decided he would lend Percy a pressed-linen shoulder to cry on; or at least, to gently lean on. Though the marital breakdown had become generally known, Percy continued to lie low. He had not been seen or heard from for sometime, having abandoned both the Discussion Group and his phone.
For Norm, helping Percy was not the altruistic act he believed it to be. He was extremely pleased to know Percy was single. Beneath the artificial shell that protected Norm from the world beyond, the desire to maintain close contact remained.
Enquiries revealed that Percy could be found either holed up at home, or propping up the bar of The Tired Turtle. Even with this knowledge, Percy could not easily be found. It seemed to Norm that he was hiding from view, sidling off at the slightest whiff of company. Sitting in The Bean, nursing a tall glass of crushed ice, caramel and cream, Norm felt frustrated. Not just because his hot snack was taking too long to be brought over – he could see it on the counter – but also because he’d looked for Percy everywhere, and day after day drawn a blank. It worried him. Percy could never be accused of owning a warm character, it was barely even tepid, and Norm feared that left to his own devices Percy might tumble further into himself and the consequences would be irreversible. Rather like a potato, he would shift from requiring understanding handling and become unalterably poisonous. Norm raised an eyebrow and half smiled as a waiter finally noticed the food. He brought it to him, and after saying thank you Norm shoved a French fry into his mouth.
Aside from not being able to find Percy, Norm also worried about what he would say when he finally did catch up with him, for inevitably he would. There was no doubt in Norm’s mind that Percy was still around, because he’d asked after him in several bars and always received an affirmative nod, accompanied by a variety of rolling eye gestures that Norm had chosen to ignore. He sighed wistfully, as he slowly consumed skinny strands of potato, until the plate was empty and he had slurped the last of his drink as quietly as he could.
After much reflection, Norm decided that a reasonable approach to creating both an interesting opening conversation and new focus for Percy would be to find him a companion. Percy needed a new love to help nourish and reshape his sorely bruised ego. It would be necessary to exclude human beings from the mix, for as much as Norm adored him he knew it would be unkind to inflict Percy on another person. To offer him up as a possible friend would be misleading, and to present Percy as the great being Norm believed him to be would not please Percy himself. And more than anything, Norm did not want to displease. A dog was out of the question, for Percy had always been very clear about his feelings regarding canine companions. But what about something smaller, something Percy could be responsible for without the constant and lengthy commitment of a dog? Something to think about but not feel swamped by.
Cocoa was at home with the maid, so Norm was free to set off on his quest, thoughts now entirely removed from finding the man himself to acquiring a little friend. Determined to put his plan into action that same day, Norm hoped a kitten could be the answer. He knew exactly where to go and was aware that the cost would be shocking, however prepared he was. This was, after all, Singapore. Even a hamster would leave little change from fifty dollars. But it was small investment for a potentially large return.
At the selected pet store, Norm found himself browsing the dogs despite himself, an irresistible urge for a dog lover, given the number and variety available. Most were puppies, but some were not, and all had price tags far in excess of the dogs worth in almost any other country, particularly when the distinct feature of the declared breed looked decidedly less distinct than it ought to be. He stared at a young animal marked up as a labrador, marvelling at the yellow tail curling up and over it’s back. Who could believe in its pedigree? But did it matter that it was not what it seemed? Norm hoped the animals did not spend all day and night confined in their tiny cubicles, but chose not to ask an assistant for fear of the answer. As he looked, he sighed unhappily. It could be worse. They could be living in other parts of Asia. He had seen a crate of dogs once, on the back of a moped in Ho Chi Min. He and his wife had stared silently, until she voiced what he was thinking, they’re not pets. Norm had enjoyed that trip very much. He and Verity had spent many happy hours resting in the little bars situated at road junctions, she with a beer, him with a lemonade, watching the traffic go by. It travelled in every direction, seemingly all at the same time. Norm smiled as he remembered the things they had seen transported on those small mopeds through those busy, busy streets. There was the big white fridge, the family of four, and a pile of something indistinguishable that must have had a person beneath it. Most impressively – and dangerously – was the tall sheet of glass carried upright by the pillion.
As it was, the shop had no kittens, and the few adult cats looked ready to take on the dogs at the drop of a whisker. For the solitary home grown moggy on display, it was the hereditary Singapore
kinked tail that gave it a tough appearance. For the fluffy and squashed-nosed beast beside it, the sharp look in its wonky eye gave all the warning necessary. Far beyond kitten-hood, these cats would never have an opportunity to play out their killer instincts, of that Norm was certain. They were destined only for a life trapped indoors with a child and maid for company. There would be fine food, comfortable laps and high views through clean windows, but that would be all. An occasional gecko might offer an upside, regular strangulation-by-toddler the down.
The most magnificent of the small collection had a look of utter disdain, and was grooming its groin. Although a little in awe of the creature’s magnificent flexibility, Norm felt this was an act that could never be dressed up as something noble, whatever cat lovers believed of their prized pets. Whether nuzzling through luxurious soft fur or shoving aside stiff wiry hair, a groin would never be more than a groin, whether intact or two short of a brace. One spotty leg erect, the cat seemed to know that the three thousand dollar price tag would be nothing to the person who would eventually pay it, and the passing of time until that day might as well be a leisurely affair. Norm sighed again, and walked by free of temptation.
After cooing over a basket of recently weaned puppies, he began to explore what else was on offer in the pet emporium. There were no birds, he noticed, presumably the traditional keepers of Singapore’s songbirds making unlikely customers. Hamsters, gerbils, rabbits and guinea pigs of an astonishing range were offered, while the cheapest pet available was a small red-eared terrapin at a lowly five dollars. Norm pondered the idea, but thought it not quite right. A sign beside it forbade the release of fresh water turtles into the wild, discouraging Buddhists and misguided softies from increasing the number of alien species occupying the waterways. Norm couldn’t be sure Percy wouldn’t do just that, possibly via the toilet.
It was all very interesting, but he could feel the beginnings of frustration. Nothing in particular seemed appropriate, and the more he looked the more difficult it was to make a choice. Doubt crept in. Was buying a pet for Percy even the right thing to do?
The Cult of Following, Book One Page 10
