Call Me Kismet

by PJ Mayhem

  By the end of week one, no matter how Ms Middle-of-the-Road I try to be about it, I’m struggling to convince myself that the situation is going to get better. The constant smell of sewage definitely hasn’t. The heat makes the odour snake its way up from the city’s drains and ooze out the open grates. Summer would be unbearable. For so many reasons, this is not the Shanghai I remember and I’m not the me I was before in Shanghai.

  And I’m still so tired. I’m not sure if it’s being woken at 5am every day by the traffic, the focus class and navigating the streets requires, trying to operate well below my full caffeine quota, or everything catching up with me. I wake from a nap on a Sunday afternoon and decide I’m going to phone Frankie. I feel a bit bad about the way I left everything up in the air. I’m so totally Ms Middle-of-the-Road I don’t coin toss or anything, I just do it. I dial PGGG’s number from memory. Even though I don’t know if Frankie will be there, little bubbles of anticipation pop and fizz around my body.

  A young guy answers.

  ‘Hi, can I speak with Frankie if he’s there, please?’

  ‘I’ll just get him.’ He doesn’t ask who’s calling.

  Bless you on two counts, Buddha—one that he’s there and two that I get to surprise him.

  ‘Frankie, speaking.’

  ‘Hi, Frankie, it’s Fiona.’

  ‘Fiona, are you home?’ His words rush out soft, gentle and breathy, without any nasal twang. His comforting voice.

  ‘No, I’m still here. Sorry, I know you’re probably busy, but I just wanted to ring and say hi.’

  ‘I’m always busy, but I think I can manage time for you.’ Frankie gets the balance of sweetness and playful flirtation perfect.

  ‘Thanks.’ I can hear the smile in my voice.

  ‘How’s it going over there? When are you coming home?’

  ‘Good, you know—fine. How are you?’

  ‘Fine. You didn’t tell me when you’re coming home.’

  ‘Four weeks.’

  ‘Oh, that’s … that’s still quite a while. What date?’

  ‘The twelfth.’

  ‘The twelfth,’ Frankie repeats as the warning beeps of low credit sound.

  ‘I’ve got to go, we’re about to get cut off. I’ll see you when I get back, Frankie,’ I say at the same time as he says, ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you when you get back.’

  Then the line goes dead.

  I lie on my bed, the little bubbles of nervous anticipation I had just five minutes ago maturing into happiness. I think about all the things I know about Frankie. As far as my lists go, it’s a pretty short one but I’m so awash with joy that, right now, it doesn’t matter. I’m just going to appreciate the moment for what it is.

  I have to admit that even though I’m here and even though I’m enjoying the moment, a part of me is looking forward, hoping that one day I’ll get to discover more about who Frankie is in a completely non-obsessive, non-stalkerish way.

  One afternoon a few weeks later, the phone wakes me from another afternoon nap.

  ‘Wei?’ I offer the standard Chinese phone greeting, my voice croaky with sleep.

  ‘Would you like to attend one of the regional primary schools with me next week?’ the voice asks.

  It takes me a moment to figure out it’s the college’s English coordinator. ‘Definitely,’ I say. Most of the foreign English-speaking students get an invitation to a school in one of the villages outside Shanghai to do a guest appearance in an English lesson and I’d been waiting for my chance.

  The morning of the English class I arrive at the appointed collection spot early, uncaffeinated but buoyed with excitement. Once I’m aboard the minibus with some local English-teaching students, we head east. After we’ve passed through the water town of Tongli—picture-postcard China with its ancient white buildings and black-tiled rooves—we drive another half-hour to arrive at a tiny village with an even tinier school.

  I can tell all the kids’ parents have made an effort to dress them in their very best, which in China means brightest, clothes. ‘Nice to meet you, I like your skirt/top/pants,’ I say as child after child introduces themselves, pointing at the relevant item to help their learning.

  I can tell they’re trying really hard to be on their best behaviour but there’s a ripple of nervous excitement in the way they giggle at having to speak English to a Westerner. They’re so far out of the way here, this is probably the only chance they get.

  My performance of ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes’ is a stroke of genius. The teacher-training students say as much, even if it does get a little out of hand for a moment when the children forget their best behaviour and let their excitement reign. I think it’s hysterical, kids being kids, their teacher, not so much.

  Back on the minibus a couple of hours later, I’m exhausted but I can’t stop smiling. It was one of the best days I’ve had in ages (Frankie pashing departure day excluded). There’s just one tiny thing tugging at my heart strings, unravelling the happiness a teensy bit. It’d been there all day.

  I miss Sammy and Sonja.

  I stare out the window and watch the scenery whip by. Tree after tree is coated with plastic bags, ugly tinsel come to rest on the spindly, leafless skeletons: Chinese Plastic Bag Forests. The blinkers I’ve been wearing for so long about a future in China seem to loosen at the passing of each tree.

  The trainee teacher sitting across the aisle taps my shoulder to get my attention.

  ‘Do you have a family, Fiona?’

  There are so many things I could say to that: Oh my Buddha do I, and don’t they drive me crazy! No, I’m not married and I don’t want kids. Absolutely not, it’s always been my number-one priority to maintain my freedom.

  ‘Yes, quite a big one,’ is what I actually say. Sure, not everyone I was counting was a blood relative but they were all my clan, pieces of the jigsaw puzzle and without them things just weren’t complete. So what if my biological family were pieces you had to jam in a bit to make fit and my life wasn’t made up of the neat shapes that other people’s seemed to have?

  Back in Shanghai, I dump my stuff in my room. I really didn’t want to be cooped up, waiting for night to come. I could go to the computer room but it’s almost impossible to navigate the Chinese software and even though I’d sent emails to a few places about work when I’d first arrived, my heart just isn’t in it. I set out on a walk, with no real purpose or direction, just going where my feet take me.

  I’m standing at a crossroads. I don’t mean metaphorically—I’m physically positioned at a crossroads in the back streets of an outer suburb of Shanghai, wondering which way to go, and there it is, a miniature red short-haired dachshund trotting across the bitumen.

  Oh my Buddha—just when I’d been having a little inner tingle, thinking about where Frankie will fit into the puzzle. Not that I needed a sign anymore, although it was a nice reinforcement.

  43

  I’m all up in the air, quite literally. The weeks have passed and I’m an hour into the flight home. Leaving China this time there was only the tiniest tug on my heart. That kicking and screaming toddler inside of me, whining to be allowed to stay, seemed to have grown up. There are things I’ll miss but I would have missed what’s waiting for me at home more. I don’t just mean Frankie, I mean all the pieces of the puzzle. Of course Frankie is the first piece to be dealt with.

  I admit I’m also a bit up in the air about him. I mean, I’ve really got no idea what his intentions—or his circumstances, for that matter—are. Ms Middle-of-the-Road is totally fine with that. Actually I’m madly excited about finding out, but who wouldn’t be?

  Putney Bridge Road is in darkness but as soon as the cab turns into it, I can feel my soul settle into place with the unmistakable sense of being home. I mean really home, as though everything has aligned perfectly and I can feel safe to let my roots grow into the earth again in a way I haven’t for a very long time.

  A pity my head and stomach won’t follow suit i
n terms of settling. It’s a migraine. I get one every time I fly home, which is why I always just get a cab from the airport. Once I’m inside, I throw my bags on the couch and take a shower—a long, hot one—even after repairs the hot water didn’t get beyond lukewarm in Shanghai. I lie down and relish my bed, enjoying the cosiness, the softness of my sheets, the fluffiness of my doona. I curl up, shut my eyes and sleep.

  The next morning, when I’ve given up all hope of my migraine leaving me completely, I rally myself as much as I can and go down to PGGG. Perhaps the migraine is a blessing in disguise—it’s a stretch to ever think of a migraine as such, but I’ve got so many emotions I don’t know how I’d manage them if I was well enough to feel them completely. Having to focus to stay upright and not vomit does reduce the intensity a bit.

  As soon as I walk in, my heart sinks. I don’t hear music. My heart plummets even further seeing Ms Terse-at-the-Till. I’m not well enough to get away in a hurry if she launches an attack with the broom today. Luckily she doesn’t seem to be anywhere near it. I instinctively know Frankie isn’t here.

  I cannot believe we’re back to this again. Seriously, why ask me when I’d be back and then not freaking well be here?

  On Monday I’m feeling so much better. I’ve taken the day off work to settle into my life again and by that I mean getting myself organised with shopping and cooking. But not PGGG. Seriously, if Frankie can’t be bothered to be there on my return I’m not going to act desperate and go searching for him.

  ‘Fiona, you’re back!’ I’m so touched when I go into Jack’s and not just from the warm hug he gives me but the fact that he has the postcard I sent him pinned next to the coffee machine. He beams. ‘I’ve got some exciting news.’

  ‘Oh great, what?’ I’m a bit taken aback, I’d been expecting him to ask how China was.

  ‘I met someone, a girl, while you were away.’

  ‘That’s fantastic, Jack.’ I hug him again. ‘I’m really happy for you.’ I do a quick internal scan—no, there’s not even the tiniest hint of jealousy. Although if someone else in the neighbourhood has moved on so quickly, it will be another story.

  I scoot past PGGG, head held up, eyes straight ahead, stiff with pride. I mean, if Frankie sees me and wants me, he can come get me.

  It’s such a relief to be able to walk around the street and shop without 26 million other people and to drink Jack’s coffee as I do so. I don’t know what I was thinking, imagining myself living somewhere that just didn’t ever get it quite right, caffeine wise.

  On my way home I allow myself a little glance at PGGG. Frankie, Raymond and Thuga are chatting. Frankie looks at me, Raymond and Thuga look from Frankie to me then back to Frankie. I raise an eyebrow, take a breath in, making myself taller, then go back to looking straight ahead. So many people would want to shake me, but I’d already swallowed my pride so many times for Frankie.

  It’s fine; I’m fine. So it was just a pash-and-dash scenario, even if it hadn’t seemed that way. He probably just said those things on the phone because that’s what you’re meant to say.

  I’ve got one more stop to make before I go home and call everyone—I’ll be so happy to reconnect with them that it’ll be like Frankie never existed. I’m not sure what I’ll say to Jane and Stephanie about him because they’re going to be gagging to know.

  I step backwards, away from the counter at the pharmacy, shoving the painkillers into my bag and thanking the pharmacist. It isn’t until I’m about to tumble off the step that I turn. And there’s Frankie, waiting for me right outside at the doorway.

  ‘Hi, Fiona.’

  ‘Hi, Frankie,’ I say, my voice a little higher than usual. Actually it sounds a bit prissy and tight.

  ‘You didn’t come in.’

  No shit, Sherlock. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

  ‘I came in yesterday,’ I say pointedly.

  ‘But you said you’d be back on the eleventh. I was here on the eleventh.’

  ‘No, I said the twelfth.’ By this time my hands are on my hips and because I’m on the step I’m half a head taller than him.

  ‘I’m sure you said the eleventh, I waited all day.’

  ‘I said the twelfth.’ We stand there looking into each other’s eyes, both a little fiery. Frankie’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. I cock my eyebrow because that’s what I need to do to maintain my huff and stop myself smiling. What Frankie does next will be crucial. I love a little huff and I love someone who can incite me to flounce. Part of the problem with my previous partners was that neither of the serious ones had been able to cope with a huff; they’d either sulked or got angry, both resulting in the silent treatment, which made me teary, insecure and pathetic. I hated that side of me.

  ‘You must have missed your yoghurt.’ A little glint of mischief flashes in Frankie’s crinkly eyes.

  ‘Yes, I did miss my yoghurt.’

  ‘Why don’t you come in and get some later, when it’s quieter.’

  ‘Maybe I will.’ I’m grinning like a dharmaed fool and I can feel my face burning up but I flick my hair, step off the step and prepare to flounce. My elbow brushes him just slightly as I pass. I’m immediately awash with goosebumps.

  ‘See you later, Fiona.’

  ‘Possibly,’ I toss over my shoulder.

  I’m so cool I don’t even run into anything.

  It’s amazing how little has happened in everyone else’s lives while I’ve been away. That’s the thing when you leave for an extended period, you come back expecting everyone’s lives to have changed. But time had moved in its ordinary way.

  Stephanie’s happy that ‘nothing major has changed’, as she tells me when I call. Which of course means her mother is still alive. We’ll talk about it in more detail, or whatever she wants to talk about, when we catch up on Saturday.

  My mum is exactly the same: ‘Dad’s playing too much golf’, ‘Brian is the perfect husband’, ‘Catherine is lucky but then again Catherine deserves it. She’s given me the greatest happiness any mother could want,’ (she means Sammy and Sonja) and ‘We’re having lunch on Sunday. Make sure you’re not late.’ Too bad if I had other plans. I’m sure that somewhere in there she asked how my trip was.

  Jane’s the last person I phone, purely because I don’t want to have to worry about getting off the phone to call anyone else. Unlike Mum and Stephanie, Jane being Jane is frustrated with everything being so much the same: ‘I’ve made a big decision, now I just want things to be happening.’

  We spend ages on the phone, squealing, laughing, snorting. Even though the autumn of our relationship is really entirely over, Jane won’t confirm that the ‘big decision’ is what I assume it is—she wants to tell me in person—and I don’t ask her whether she thinks I should go down to PGGG tonight. I’ve already decided what I’m going to do.

  44

  ‘Hi, Frankie,’ I say as I stride right up to him.

  ‘Hi, Fiona, you made it.’ He grimaces and looks down.

  ‘Oops, sorry!’ I step off his foot. So much for Ms Supercool. I can barely breathe, not from anxiety but from the overwhelming mix of everything I feel being so close to him, breathing him in, his scent, feeling the warmth of him so close to me—happiness.

  ‘Excuse me, can you help me find the water crackers?’ A male customer chooses that moment to sidle up to us.

  Seriously! Couldn’t he sense this isn’t a moment for interruptions? I’d purposefully timed my visit late so that it would be quiet—and to keep Frankie on his toes (although I think the Universe took my ‘on his toes’ thoughts too literally).

  Franke rolls his eyes.

  ‘There they are.’ I lean across to the shelf, grab a box and pass it to the man.

  ‘My wife told me to get cracked pepper ones,’ the man says, studying the box.

  This time, I roll my eyes.

  ‘We haven’t got any. Just go with those, plain goes with anything,’ Frankie says. He looks as though he’s trying not to laugh.


  The man walks away, still looking uncertainly at the box in his hand.

  Frankie turns towards the counter where the water cracker guy is. ‘I better get that.’

  ‘I better get my yoghurt. Seeing as that’s what I came for.’ I give him a fully intentional wink.

  My heart is doing backflips. Then Frankie breaks into an impromptu rendition of David Bowie’s ‘China Girl’ and it begins a whole gymnastic routine.

  When I get to the counter, the young guy is back on the till next to Frankie.

  Great Govinda, what does a girl need to do to cop a break in this town?

  ‘Hey, Aaron, can you just pop out to the cool room and tidy up the boxes?’ Frankie has tuned into my thoughts or he’s having similar thoughts of his own.

  ‘Whoa, be careful with my yoghurt,’ I say, as he performs some fancy moves taking my items out of my basket.

  ‘So, how’s the weather? It seemed a little stormy earlier,’ Frankie says, placing the pot into my bag with great care.

  It only takes one of my big, booming heartbeats to understand that he’s talking about my mood this afternoon. ‘Much better, the storm clouds have passed, sun is shining.’

  ‘Um …’ Frankie sounds nervous.

  I’m still smiling, totally fine. Whatever it is he’s going to say next will be the best thing for whatever is meant to happen, in whatever crazy way the Universe has decided things will play out.

  Please, Universe, don’t let it be ‘I’m sorry, I made a huge slip-up, nothing like that can ever happen again.’

  I stand there waiting, not looking at the ground or the counter. I’m looking at Frankie, my eyes wide, but I do seem to be blinking quite a lot.