*
‘It’s not right to have an upset stomach all the time, you know.’
Percy’s expression was blank. He did not want to listen to Art’s sister any more than he wanted to be sitting on a giant flying dinosaur. He had been led to believe they were going to the zoo, an attraction he liked and was therefore prepared to suffer. The diva had changed her mind. The diva was sitting on the other side of him, sullen, even though she was the only one interested in the theme park. To make matters worse, Percy was starving. No one else was hungry, which for some reason meant that he was supposed to wait. He resolved to shake off his captors and hunt down a hotdog, the moment they got off. The only food he’d heard any talk of was pizza, and for Percy, pizza was a step too far. Sick making rides followed by thin bread gone soggy? Pizza was the domesticated cousin of an old squashed sandwich retrieved from the bottom of a bin. They were taking the piss, surely.
‘Have you been to the doctor with it?’ she continued, ‘only there are lots of tests you can have these days. Have you ever kept a diary, about what you’ve eaten each day?’ She didn’t wait for a reply, though none was coming. ‘You’d need to do it over several weeks, and at the same time keep a note of when your stomach is upset and rate how severe it is. You might also like to think about whether there has been a possible trigger, and perhaps document that as best as you remember. It might have been a severe bout of food poisoning, for instance. There is some thinking that certain conditions might be dormant and then become symptomatic once aggravated. It’s not proven. Or maybe it is. I can’t remember. Ooo… here we go.’
The dinosaur ride began slowly revolving. It was too young for the teenage diva, but she’d insisted that she wanted to ride on everything. Percy had offered to stay on the ground and guard the tarmac, but Art’s sister’s nagging was unbearable, forcing him onto the path of least resistance. This was already their third ride. The park was not busy, since only certain international schools were on holiday and local Singaporean schools studied on. The lack of people queuing had been a great disappointment to him.
The moving ride was not enough to stop the stream of advice. ‘You could be lactose, Percy, of course, or wheat. But I think you might be gluten. Coeliac. You can have a test very easily for that. You’d need to double check – or I can – but I think for the results to be accurate you actually need two tests, though many doctors don’t realise this, so my coeliac friend says.’
Percy recalled his doctor’s appointment, made because he wanted to find out what was wrong, and missed because when it came to it, he couldn’t face the humiliation. ‘Did the doctor put his finger up her backside?’
‘What? No. I don’t know. Maybe. No, I don’t think so. Anyway, that second test checks if you are the sort of person who will test negative regardless, and if you are, then they do different checks on you. A biopsy from your stomach is conclusive, I think. My friend had it done. She said it was awful. They stick a tube down your throat while you’re awake. I think she might have had one up her backside too, but perhaps that was someone different. Anyway, it was worth it. She was diagnosed two years ago and is so much healthier, except she’s lactose now as well. It happens like that sometimes.’
Percy tried to switch off, but he was so hungry it was hard. He imagined heaving Art’s sister over the edge of the dinosaur car. She was quite slight, so it would be easy. Knowing his luck, the car would be in its low phase, and she would merely climb back in without having missed a beat, still wittering on about barley and wheat and stomach lining looking like millions of tiny fingers. He closed his eyes and tried to let the words bounce off him. His stomach lining did not look like fingers; it looked like one angry man on his knees, about to die from starvation.
The ride was beginning to slow. Art’s sister was beginning to slow. By the time the car stopped and they could get off, she had exhausted the subject of Percy’s stomach.
Percy was just leaving the enclosed area around the ride, hungrily plotting his escape while willing his guests to go far, far ahead, when he heard someone say his name. It was a quiet voice.
‘Percy Field?’
He did not recognise the round-faced young Singaporean woman who’s spoken. ‘Yes?’ he said.
‘Would you sign this for me?’
‘Sign what?’
‘This. Autograph it, I mean.’
Percy took what was offered. It was a leaflet, bearing a pale black and white image of his face. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘From the temple. From Hester. It is a very nice room.’
He gave it back and walked away. He hoped she had not noticed his hand shaking. His heart was racing. Was it really a picture of him? Yes, he realised, it was.
A fleeting look revealed that she was still watching him. Please don’t let there be more of them, was his begging thought. He couldn’t face another chase across Singapore. And what if they chased him here, at Universal Studios? The escalators at Plaza Singapura had proven farcical enough, but here was the potential for a full-blown comedy sketch, except it wouldn’t be funny.
She nodded at him, and smiled, clutching the leaflet to her chest.
Percy looked about himself and with great delight discovered he had lost Art’s garrulous sister and her sour offspring. Utterly relieved, he forgot the leaflet for a moment, and clasped his hands together, shaking them as if he had just won an award and was thanking the world at large, or thanking God. He beamed with relief, for at last he had got his quiet moment, and soon he would be eating a hotdog, suddenly the most exciting prospect imaginable. He would have mustard and ketchup. And he might even buy a beer.
His focus switched from the park at large to a single image. Not far ahead, three women were gathered together. They were smiling at him, each waving a narrow sheet of paper with great enthusiasm. He recognised the leaflet. They looked past him. The woman he had just met was walking towards them, her arms outstretched. She was laughing, a genuinely happy sound. She turned to him as she passed, and holding the leaflet out flat, as if it were a heavy plate, mouthed the words thank you. It was the sort of thank you that was passionately felt, her eyes and mouth pushing gratitude towards him. Then she blew him a kiss.
Percy’s appetite faded. Feeling mostly confused, the one thing he did understand was that whatever was happening could no longer be ignored. The four women were talking together, and he could see that one of them was trying to find the courage to come over. Giggling, the others were encouraging her. Percy took the opportunity of cover, provided by a crowd of young men and women who were walking by, and slipped away amongst them.
He felt cornered, as if no part of his life was free and easy; a man stuck between difficult decisions. On the one hand he could give Sal what she so obviously wanted, and go home to England. It would suit her very nicely to have him out of the picture. She could create a new world order in which she had never been deceitful, where she could resurrect herself as a creature of principle without Percy there to remind her that she was not. And Art was in England, which was a bonus. Also, Art’s sister lived far away from Percy’s home turf, which was more than a bonus; it was essential. Vivid images filled his thoughts. Winter. Dark nights; the freshness of cold air clean against his face; crisp frost; cosy fires; warm beer and soggy chips soaked in vinegar. And what of the long evenings and bright mornings of summer; the lightness of the air, the surprising burn of an unexpectedly scorching day; cool hard sand under hot feet. There was a lot to be said for going back. But did he want to give Sal what she wanted? Especially when, aside from the craziness, Singapore made him as happy as he had been anywhere. Here, there was no rushing from house to car while bitter winds nailed icy drops into flaky-dry skin. There was never a dank, grey, drizzle, heaping one gloomy day after another upon ever-soggy heads. Here, the jungle climate seemed to insulate the nation in more ways than one; it was a safety blanket embossed with the reassuring words that everything would be okay. And there were no wasps; at least, not the annoying
sort.
Percy had not yet decided if he really needed everything to be okay. Certainly, he did not feel to be the man he was when he’d first arrived. The man who shunned what he could not easily understand was long gone. New words and accents, foods and traditions, had not presented him with a challenge for some time. And what actually constituted okay? He had grown used to his environment, as anyone might, but by giving up the fight against being here he had also opened his mind to change.
When Sal had shattered his world, she had inadvertently pushed him to better himself. The subsequent repairs did not hide the unhappiness he had suffered; the fractures were obvious for all to see, enhancing the man. Kintsugi; the Japanese art of fixing pottery with lacquer and gold; the event of breaking merely part of the journey, and revealed as beautiful. A celebration. Percy was mended with ugly outbursts and beer, but the principle was the same.
Without exception, jungle walks and strolls in the Botanic Gardens had left him feeling both fascinated and fulfilled. He had always been interested in nature, and in coming to Singapore, unexpectedly found himself somewhere green and interesting. England was also green and interesting, or course, but in a different way; a way he would never tire of but knew well. Singapore was still fresh and new. The only drawback, as far as Percy could work out, was that Singapore was not a place to find oneself a figurehead advertising a new religion.
29. CRAYFISH TAKES ON CRAB
‘This will be my treat,’ Art’s sister asserted. ‘Honestly, you’ve looked after us so well that I want to thank you. We’ve eaten your food and used your facilities, and you’ve paid for everything. It’s the least we can do.’ She was watching as her daughter stabbed a piece of raw beef with a chopstick.
‘Don’t do that,’ Percy said. ‘It’s rude.’
She stabbed another, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. Her focus, Percy noticed, remained on the meat.
‘She’s fourteen,’ said her mother.
Percy couldn’t recall asking for her age, but refrained from saying as much. ‘Well, that’s alright then,’ he said.
The judgemental tone hit its target, and Art’s sister told her daughter not to do it. Percy could see it would have no effect. It was half-hearted, a parent feeling under duress and going through the motions rather than trying to fix a situation. Frankly, Percy pitied her. He was tired of the dour half-child, too. He had almost made good his escape from Universal Studios, but was spotted coming out of the gents’ lavatory near the exit, in a twist on the airport saga. Art’s sister had apologised for losing him while partly telling him off, as if he were three years old, and then dragged him back into the heart of the place where he was then forced onto every ride not yet endured. Art’s sister was brilliant at coercion, Percy recognised, using an extraordinary combination of tactics. If it were possible to win a war not only through force and humiliation, but also wide-eyed patronising praise, then she would easily make General. Why, then, could she not manage her own child, he wondered?
Percy was sitting opposite them both, the three tucked into a booth at a Korean Barbeque restaurant in Vivocity shopping mall, after what had become a long day. They could have taken a seat with a view looking back across the water to the lights of the theme park and Sentosa, but Percy wanted to forget it ever happened. Having eaten nothing since breakfast, he’d been utterly starving by the time they’d left the park, and suggested a meal. He hadn’t eaten at this particular restaurant since he’d broken up with Sal. Aside from hunger, no emotion of any significance had been prodded into life upon his return.
An exquisite idea had come to Percy while standing on the Sentosa Express monorail train, heading to Vivocity. He’d watched a scene unfold and realised something must be done about the girl. The diva, more lately thought of as a hellhound, had accused her mother of spoiling the day. Precisely how she had spoiled it wasn’t clear, perhaps even to the fiend herself. What was obvious, however, was that she was finding the heat almost unbearable, and instead of heeding Percy’s advice by making a conscious choice not to think about it – therefore taking the first simple step towards coping – she moaned. She let it drag her down, as a hot and soggy woolly jumper. Like her mother, she was a relentless sort, never taking the silence offered as a means of moving on. Presumably frustrated, Percy witnessed the hellhound elbow her mother brutally, while her mother resolutely ignored the attack. The idea seemed to come on a shaft of heavenly light, which was in fact them arriving at the station.
Now, watching beef sizzling on the hotplate, and absently rearranging the array of meats and prawns to go on next, Percy was biding his time. Soon, Art’s sister would have to go to the bathroom. He’d noticed that she tended to go every half an hour, which was surprisingly annoying. When she was safely out of earshot, Percy would begin on his plan.
‘How long? I’m hungry?’ came the careless sombre drawl of the teenager.
‘This bit is ready,’ Percy said, off loading some beef onto her plate.
She stared at it.
‘Use some lettuce to wrap it in. And there, look, use those condiments, too,’ Percy instructed. ‘One is garlic, I think. And this one looks like crispy onions or something.’
Her shoulders sagged. She didn’t like lettuce.
Percy shrugged, and pointed out that he hadn’t liked Universal Studios.
‘Oh you did! You loved it!’ Art’s sister corrected. ‘You were grinning from ear to ear. Art warned us that you rarely smile, but not to be fooled. You seemed very happy in there, I can tell you. You’re a fraud, Percy Field. And a monkey.’ She assessed the selection of food. ‘Mmm. Yum! Looks delish. And great for you, Percy, with your tummy.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Gluten. There isn’t any.’ She smiled a satisfied smile, as if it were she herself who had arranged the meal this way. ‘Goodness, I am so ravenous I almost feel unwell. Perhaps we should have eaten at Universal Studios.’ She smiled at Percy, ‘We weren’t hungry then though, were we?’
Percy passed her a rectangle of cooked beef, browned to perfection. ‘Here.’
‘No thanks. You have this one. I need the loo.’ She slid out, and wandered off.
Her daughter did not look up. She was busy removing the soft green leaf of the lettuce from the paler, stiff stalk.
Using chopsticks, Percy turned some meat on the hotplate in the centre of the table. ‘You don’t need to do that,’ he remarked, nodding to the surgery she was performing.
‘I want another coke.’
‘I want you to stop doing that to your lettuce.’
She stopped shredding as a waiter appeared. Percy ordered her drink, and a bottle of red wine for himself and Art’s sister. When they were once more alone, Percy set down the chopsticks and clasped his fingers together under his chin, elbows resting on the table.
‘You know,’ he said, looking at her with as much intensity as he could muster, ‘your Uncle Art told me something about you. Something good.’
‘What?’
‘And there’s the problem. I promised not to tell.’
Her gaze immediately rose to meet his. With eyes thickly made up with black eyeliner, she looked to Percy like a species of big cat.
‘It wasn’t so much about you,’ he added, ‘but what your Uncle Art hoped he might do for you.’
‘Like what?’
Percy screwed up his nose. ‘Actually, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s meant to be a surprise, or a secret. Whichever. It is a nice thing, though; just so you know.’ He smiled, and visibly weighed up a thought. ‘It’s a sort of secret surprise. It all has to work out okay first, so there’s no point going into it now. Not really. Sorry for bringing it up. I am sure you’ll do the right thing. It’ll work out.’
‘What will?’
‘You and your mum.’
‘What about me and mum?’
‘I’ve said enough. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’ Percy took a small leaf and rolled it up before popping it into his mouth. ‘This lettu
ce is pretty good,’ he said, munching.
The teenager seemed to accept the situation by saying nothing and poking at a dish of vegetables.
Percy paused before continuing, sensing she was waiting for more, regardless of the bored expression she’d manufactured. ‘I guess I could tell you the secret,’ he said, eventually. ‘It might help you get the surprise.’
‘Get the surprise?’ Her mood lightened. ‘What do I get?’
‘Five hundred pounds.’ Percy had originally planned on one thousand, but experienced a last minute change of heart. Art wasn’t working at the moment.
She choked a laugh. ‘Five hundred pounds? No way!’
‘Yes way. Five hundred pounds. Art wants you to be good. He wants you to behave. More than that, he wants you to have a great time. He thought that if he asked you to be nice to your mum, then you might do it, especially if you thought there was a reward at the end of it. But then he decided that a girl shouldn’t need bribing just to be pleasant, it sends the wrong message apparently, and so he’s not going to tell you. If you’re good then you’ll get it as a surprise.’
‘Whoa!’
‘Don’t tell your mum, okay? Not ever. Mums don’t like to think their own children are pretending to be nice. They like to think they are actually nice, which is rarely the case. No telling. Promise?’
‘Promise. I won’t tell her.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘But why should I do what he wants?’
‘What the fuck is wrong with you? You don’t want five hundred pounds? Weren’t you listening? Bloody hellfire! Don’t you like your Uncle Art, or something? It can’t be worth losing five hundred quid over. God, I wish I hadn’t told you now. I was only trying to give you a chance.’
‘Yeah I like him. Who doesn’t? He’s funny. Not like you. I was just asking. Calm down.’
‘Shush. Your mum’s coming. As I said, she doesn’t know and nor should she. Absolutely no telling, okay? Mum is very definitely the word.’
‘So I can’t mention anything? Not even the money?’
‘Of course not! Why would you mention the money? The money is the whole point!’ Percy stared at her; surely most kids weren’t this stupid? ‘If you want the five hundred then be nice and say nothing. Simple as that. Just do as Art wants and it’ll be yours when you get home. No more crap, okay? And no more hitting.’
‘I didn’t hit.’
‘What do you call elbowing your mother, then? Yes, I saw you.’
‘Fine. If I am nice I get five hundred pounds. No hitting.’
‘Exactly. Remember, your mum isn’t to know anything. And whatever you do, don’t say a word to Art before you get home. You’ll blow the whole thing.’
The girl looked as if there was a bad smell in the room. ‘Tell Uncle Art? Why? He’s not one of my mates.’
‘Whatever. Just don’t.’
‘It starts on the plane.’ It was a statement. The girl was already bargaining.
‘Oh no. No, no, no, no. It starts right now.’ Percy looked her in the eye. ‘You can’t bend these rules. Behaving equals money; misbehaving equals nothing except a disappointed uncle and a crap trip for you.’
‘And if I don’t start right now?’
‘Then I’m telling Art I told you. Right. That’s it now. No more talk. She’s here. Remember, keep your eye on the prize.’
‘Eye on the prize,’ she repeated.
Art’s sister slipped back into her seat. The girl glanced at Percy, and he nodded encouragement.
‘Hello,’ the girl said, addressing her mother. ‘Nice wee?’
After a pause, in which the mother stared for a good five seconds, she said, ‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Good,’ the girl’s gaze met Percy’s once more.
‘We were just talking about how good the food is here, weren’t we?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
‘You’re particularly enjoying the lettuce, aren’t you?’ He saw the flicker of a scowl. ‘Isn’t that what you were saying?’
‘Really?’ her mother said. ‘I thought you hated it?’
Percy placed several pieces of meat onto Art’s sister’s plate.
‘I like this sort,’ the girl said, touching the lettuce leaf with the tip of a finger.
‘She loves it,’ Percy said. ‘Here, have some more.’
The girl took another leaf, and stuffed it into her mouth. She looked so comical that Percy laughed, despite himself. Then her mother laughed, followed by genuine laughter from the hellhound herself.
At that moment the drinks arrived, and tension gave way to an easier mood. Percy felt satisfied at last. Here he was eating food he loved with two people who were no longer bickering; two people he would soon be free of. Though he had not enjoyed having them to stay, he had found pleasure in hearing other people moving about the house. On the surface of it, he longed for them to go, but inside he detected the same uneasy feeling that had skulked about him for some time after Sal’s departure; an unsettling sense of unease. It was almost as if having been reminded of what it was to have company, he’d been left feeling reluctant to be on his own again.
The greatest satisfaction he had drawn from the visit, however, was the revenge he had wreaked upon Art. He drew a large mouthful of wine, and smiled. He’d make sure that Art knew what was coming, of course; though unlikable, the girl was an innocent. But he would wait until everyone was safely returned to British soil before revealing what he had done. It was perfect: Art’s sister and daughter would now have a more enjoyable trip than they might have endured and the hellhound would be five hundred pounds better off. Art would certainly pay up. And he, Percy, could lounge in the comfortable arms of satisfaction, imagining Art’s expression when his sister’s account of the miraculous change in her daughter’s behaviour matched perfectly with Percy’s admission.
30. THANK GOD
The message resembled the text Norm had sent when Percy was tricked into meeting him at Bread Chat, words that had left Percy curious, but without any inkling of what lay ahead. Not that the ensuing chase could have been foreseen.
Again Percy was sitting on his bed, this time thinking how pleased he was to have the house to himself once more. Art’s sister was not a bad sort, he’d concluded after three torturous days. When they had said goodbye and Percy suggested the daughter was an escaped laboratory experiment, she had laughed, saying again that she could see why he and Art were friends. What had struck Percy was that she hadn’t asked him to define which experiment the child had escaped from, and this had warmed his view of her. Until then, he’d refrained from directly insulting her daughter because he could see it would only add fuel to an already hot fire, which would mean ever-heated arguments and even greater intrusion. Mother and daughter were not getting along; mother wondering what it was she had bred, or what alien force now possessed her once blameless baby. While he had not insulted, neither had Percy praised, a damning of the teenager akin to admiring a picture frame whilst ignoring the painting. But the Korean Barbecue meal had gone some way to bridge relations, and under the influence of a bribe, the daughter quite readily revealed her more amiable self. Percy recognised the irony in showing a better self only when paid to do so, but at least it proved this other side existed.
The resemblance between Norm’s first text and the last did not extend to the location. Rather than Bread Chat, Norm suggested The Tired Turtle. This combination of Norm and The Tired Turtle made no sense, and so again, Percy’s curiosity lured him in. This time, however, he went with an added sense of foreboding.
Percy was first to arrive. It was lunchtime, and the place was empty with the exception of a few businessmen who’d popped up from somewhere or another and were eating lunch over a pint, reminding Percy of England. Percy sat where he often did, outside on a high stool and table with a view of Sixth Avenue. It was not a road of particular consequence, such as might be used in a movie. Close to the bar, near the junction with Bukit Timah Road, Sixth Avenue had no hustle and bustle of an
y note, though more than could be found less than a mile away, up at the junction with Holland Road. But life did roll by at varying speeds, the shifting pace of haste or languor sustaining Percy’s interest. Occasionally, a face he knew might walk past, or look out from a car queuing at the traffic lights. More often than not, he saw no one he knew.
Today the traffic was slow. Percy thought there was possibly an accident somewhere. It wouldn’t take long for cars to squeeze by the mess and get the flow going once more. He’d seen for himself that no one would stop to help. Percy had been travelling in a taxi when two cars collided next to him, one slamming into the side of the other after failing to give way. Percy had gasped, face almost pressed to the window. The only remark the taxi driver made had nothing to do with the crash.
‘I know you. You mess in my taxi before. No shitting, huh?’
Percy had wondered for some time how it was that he ended up with the same driver over and over again. There were at least twenty-eight thousand cabs on the road, according to a person he’d rather not think of. He and this driver had been through the no shitting thing so many times Percy suspected that he must now be joking. Reflected in the rear view mirror, however, were almond eyes seemingly devoid of humour. The cab kept going, the accident someone else’s problem.
Percy sipped a bottle of beer and settled to thinking about Norm, planning to leave if he arrived in the company of anyone else. He would make an exception for Cocoa. Or Verity. After ten minutes or so, Norm appeared. He was alone, not even the dog dragging him along.
‘Percy,’ Norm said, pulling up a barstool. ‘How are you?’
A sense of apprehension was already growing. Percy decided to play it cool. ‘Norm. Can I get you something to drink?’
‘White wine please.’
‘White wine?’
‘White wine.’
‘Any in particular, or is white your favourite of all the wines?’ Art had made this joke, about red wine. Percy had stolen it. He thought it might help settle the unease. It didn’t.
Norm’s smile was mild. ‘Any. Prosecco will do.’
Percy ordered Norm’s drink. ‘So what brings you here?’
‘Verity is pregnant.’
Even Percy’s default response of ah, would not come. He waited for Norm to continue, and when he didn’t, decided the only way forward was to congratulate him.
‘It’s not mine.’ Norm said. ‘But thank you.’
‘Well, of course not,’ Percy stuttered, without thinking.
‘Of course not?’
‘You and Vee, well… I dunno… I mean… do you? You are…’ Percy shrank into himself, longing for the ground to open up and swallow Norm, since, in all fairness, Percy had got to the bar first.
‘Not often. No,’ Norm said, seeming to have deciphered Percy’s meaning; the suggestion that he and Verity did not engage in sexual intercourse, ‘but occasionally. You know how women can be.’
Stumped for words, Percy could only look on silently. This was not a sentiment he had expected Norm ever to express.
‘She is my wife,’ Norm added.
A horn sounded. It was such an unlikely event that both men turned. Though the city was filled with traffic, the beeping of a horn was a rare occurrence.
‘Who is that?’ asked Norm.
Percy recognised the driver as Amanda’s husband. He was waving and smiling at Percy, whilst looking embarrassed to have drawn attention to himself. Why he had felt the need to say hello in this way, Percy couldn’t imagine. He recalled the last time he had seen the man, at the party thrown for Kristen. He’d got so drunk that he’d pulled out his kid’s karaoke machine and sung love ballads to his wife, until a neighbour complained. Then he’d sung one to her.
‘A guy from my condo. I don’t really know him.’ Percy took a moment before continuing. Could he change the subject from Verity, or would that make Norm want to discuss it more? Percy wanted the whole topic finished with. But what would they talk about, now Norm had delivered such immense news? Silence drove him to speak. ‘So how pregnant is she? It’s hard to tell at first, isn’t it?’ Percy’s pulse was raised, and it took effort to keep his breathing steady.
‘Why, because she is fat?’ Norm said, face straight.
‘No. Because…’ Percy then realised he didn’t know if what he’d just claimed was even true. ‘I don’t know. It just is.’
The arrival of Norm’s drink interrupted them. The waitress placed the flute of fizzy on the table.
‘A toast, perhaps?’ Percy said, lamely.
Norm did not pick up his drink. ‘The baby can’t be mine. We thought we’d check, because… well… Verity has had other partners, if you know what I mean.’ A cheerless look washed over his face, ‘I have no wish to go into detail, but I have since discovered that I cannot be the father, because I cannot be a father,’ he lowered his eyes, and smiled feebly, ‘Verity said I must have had mumps as a boy. I have no idea if I had mumps. Or measles or anything else.’ Eyes glistening with the hint of tears, Norm’s mouth retained a weak smile. Suddenly, he took a sharp breath, and gathered himself. ‘So you see, Percy, the one thing I always wished for happened, and was then taken from me.’
All Percy could do was look at Norm’s face. He stared at it, reading the anguish but also searching for information. Of all the terrible things Percy had done in his life, sleeping with a friend’s wife was the worst. He dared to ask the question. ‘So whose is it?’
Norm laughed mildly and the sadness seemed to fade. He then looked a little harder at Percy and chuckled; it appeared to be a genuinely friendly gesture. Percy relaxed. There was not even a trace of accusation in Norm’s face, nothing to say he was about to punch anyone, assuming Norm ever did such a thing. The expression he held now was almost serene, as if the coming change in his life had elevated him.
‘It doesn’t matter, not when it comes down to it,’ Norm said. ‘I can be a father in a way that actually counts. And now I know that I can never be one, biologically I mean, things aren’t perhaps as bleak as they might seem. Where would things have ended up, had this not happened? For one thing, I would never have known that I can’t have what I’ve always wanted, and maybe one day I would have become resentful of Verity. I might have ended up blaming her for denying me a child. Over the years I have always justified it, thinking having a family should be what we both want. And I suppose it should be. But what we have now… what has happened… well, I can’t help thinking that in the circumstances, this is the best outcome.’ He knocked a light fist against Percy’s forearm. ‘Of course, in some ways, it is the very best outcome. It was meant to be.’
It was a shock to hear Norm, or anyone, smooth over something so profoundly difficult with such optimism. ‘You don’t seem bothered. Some people would be livid.’
‘Some people would be more than livid, Percy. It would end their marriage. Our marriage is different. I have never begrudged Verity her private moments, so I can hardly complain at the fruits of them, can I?’
‘I didn’t know you wanted to be a father.’
‘Always. Verity’s never been keen. She enjoys her independence. And her job, of course.’
‘So what will she do?’
‘Do?’
‘Once the baby comes.’
A broader smile grew on Norm’s face, ‘I shall be a full-time father. And love it. I can’t wait. This child marks a new beginning, a new chapter. It’ll be wonderful.’ He sighed, ‘Do you know what, Percy? And this is absolutely true.’
‘What?’
‘I am so happy.’
For all the nonsense that surrounded their friendship, Norm was a good man, perhaps the best Percy had known. He felt more pleased for him than he had anyone. As they talked, Percy was aware that Norm did not mention Following, but neither did he give any suggestion he no longer believed in it all. While his admiration for Percy remained apparent, he wanted to talk babies. This said everything he needed to know about Norm, Percy thought.
‘Look at that,’ Norm said, pointing to a maid walking by with a traditional pram, large spoked wheels and chrome frame polished and gleaming. Instead of black or navy, the canvas hood and cot were pure white. A lacy white parasol shaded the interior. ‘I’ve never seen one like that before.’
‘Is that what you’d like?’
‘No. I do want something nice, but it needs to be practical. Something I can take all over the place. Three wheels probably. You can get these pram-pushchair-baby seat contraptions, apparently. You know, all in one. And all terrain. Maybe we could join you on some of your nature walks, Percy?’ he grinned. ‘Wouldn’t that be great?’
‘Maybe. Have you told Joyann yet?’
‘Yes. She was thrilled.’
As talk naturally turned from Norm’s astonishing news to Joyann, Norm remarked that he thought Joyann would be absent for some time. He had made a second visit to the dog boutique because Cocoa needed some soft shoes due to a corn, and there the manager had informed him that Joyann was away indefinitely.
‘That’s really why I called her. She said her mother was not good at all. She’s moved Lucas to be with her, so he’s going to school from the other side of the island. Sounds difficult.’ Norm checked his watch. ‘I don’t have much time, unfortunately. I need to be back for Verity. I said I would cook us something special for an early dinner, and I haven’t bought anything yet. I thought I’d head over to the Tekka market and see what fish they have. Come if you’d like to.’
‘Isn’t a little late for fish? Won’t they have sold out?’
Norm was unfazed by Percy’s doubt, and said he thought not. He stood up, leaving his warming prosecco entirely untouched. ‘Coming?’
‘To Little India to go shopping for fish I am not going to eat? Really tempting Norm, but no thanks.’ Percy was satisfied with the pitch of his sarcasm, because Norm laughed.
‘Put like that I can see you might prefer to stay here and drink beer, Percy. Though you could join us, if you’d like to? For dinner. No? Okay. I’ll see you soon.’
As Norm made to leave, Percy asked, ‘Aren’t you in the least bit curious as to who the father is?’ If Norm wasn’t then Percy certainly was. Sex with no strings attached was the agreement, but who else might be poking around where he himself had been rummaging was surely an important thing to know. It was surprising enough to discover that Norm was an occasional visitor, without finding there were more.
Norm squinted a little, as if realising that he and Percy had been talking at cross-purposes. ‘Of course we know.’ His white teeth gleamed, blue eyes bright beneath snowy hair. ‘I didn’t ask you to meet me for the sake of it; though you know how I enjoy our chats, and we don’t have enough. It’s you, Percy. Did you not understand that?’
‘What is me?’ What the hell was Norm saying?
‘You are the father.’
‘Uh… hang on. You didn’t say that. You said…’
‘I didn’t think I needed to. I didn’t want to embarrass you. I thought you might feel uncomfortable with the fact that you have been sleeping with my wife.’ Though his words were direct, still nothing about Norm’s expression suggested animosity.
Percy felt as if a rock had been tossed into his stomach, and it wasn’t Norm’s gracious acceptance that had put it there. A baby. This was the very last thing Percy wanted in his life.
‘Percy,’ Norm said, ‘I thought you understood.’ His face suddenly changed, a darker look than Percy had ever seen. ‘You don’t want to be part of it, do you? I mean, if you do then…’
‘God no! No. I do not what to be part of it. No.’
‘Good.’ Norm turned away. A final goodbye was followed by an invitation, ‘You should come to the temple sometime. See what it’s all about. You carry such a huge burden with you, on behalf of us all. We would like very much to share in it. You have given me a wonderful gift, Percy. Allow me to give you one back.’
Epilogue. THE BIGGEST MIRACLE
There were many alleged miracles for which he was celebrated, but of which Percy knew nothing. The few original miracles had become something of legend, spoken about with a reverence due to any great wonder. Occasionally, he had the misfortune to have one happen in his presence, leaving Percy the miracle-worker bewildered as ever. In deciding to remain in Singapore, he knew he had accepted uncertainty, but this didn’t make it any easier to bear.
The only absolute clarity Percy could find, in the haze of rumour that surrounded him, was how impossible it was to refute even a single word without making matters worse. Whatever he said, it became twisted; whatever he did, reports were distorted. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t win. Ignoring Following encouraged pursuit; communicating seemed to advocate faith; hiding only made them want him more.
Following had become an unstoppable machine. It commended itself on extreme non-prescription, twisting Percy’s denials and using his lack of instruction as proof of God telling all through him that Man should find his own way. It seemed the more unenthusiastic, aloof, disrespectful, and disengaged Percy was, the more his followers adored him.
But he did not use this as he might have. The old self, the person who had never been broken hearted or felt lost in his own life, would have been wise enough to set Following against itself. He would have recognised that by simply creating principled guidelines he could sever adulation at its root. Nothing deflects the gaze of an anarchist like direction.
The Percy Field he had become, edged with vulnerability, evermore isolated and occasionally touched with doubt, was instead beginning to view being God’s envoy as the equivalent to knotted sheets; it was precarious, but a means of rescue from a life in which he could find no comfort. Peeking into a world where he was someone to be revered, where he was never wrong, was tempting. It surely could not hurt to look. So it was that one evening he found himself inside Hester’s temple room.
The room was airy as it could be, given the number of people crammed inside. Percy was struck by the whiteness of the place, though seeing his own image in such great scale was most startling of all. He stared in dismay at the mass of smiling faces as they turned to him. Was he mad, he questioned, to come? Of course, change facilitates change. If it hadn’t been for the strange miracles; for the bereaved boy and his furless bag of bones touching Percy’s heart; for Kristen leaving too soon; for Joyann’s absence; for Verity; for Sal splintering his spirit; for the constant supplicating conviction of others; for the emptiness; he never would have entertained the idea. But was it sufficient to justify what he was about to do? Was this great catalogue of change reason enough? Yes. He decided it was. Additionally, he had already benefitted from his move towards acceptance, and eaten three very nice meals paid for by someone else.
Hair now growing long about his ears, chin revealing traces of stubble, Percy stood for a moment, mesmerised. Never before had so many people shown such pleasure at the sight of him. As he surveyed the crowd, so silence began to creep amongst them, closing mouths and opening ears as it drifted by. Soon the sound of a chopstick clacking to the ground was all that could be heard, that and Hester’s hissed rebuke at whomever it was that dared bring food into the sacred room. Hester had taken up position in her chair, near the doorway.
Percy looked on in wonder and panic; worshippers looked back in hope. The space was filled corner to corner with the most eclectic mix he had ever seen, Hester’s temple room jammed with more people than Percy would normally speak with over the course of an entire year, including The Discussion Group meetings, new and old alike.
What was he supposed to say, he wondered. What did they expect? It would be far easier if a believer asked him something, and instigated a dialogue. Percy racked his brain. This was unexpected. He had thought they would speak first. But the crowd was not for speaking.
In his mind’s eye, he trawled through films and books he’d read, searching for images he had seen in shops and on trains and buses, anything he could steal an idea from. In the movies they did th
e same thing, but in the movies there was more than the protagonist’s own face from which to find inspiration. Percy strained to summon up one interesting thing to say.
Then it came to him. Even coming from a cynical misery, a vaguely amusing story might break the ice.
He coughed nervously, sensing the expectation growing amongst his flock. ‘I was at a theatre the other day,’ he began, truthfully. He paused. His voice was louder than he’d expected. He lowered the volume. ‘And whilst there, I observed a sign indicating prohibited items. They were symbols. You know the sort. Pictures with a red line struck through.’ He felt a little tension rising inside and fought to control it. The faces before him were eager. ‘One picture was of a glass of wine, another a sandwich. Also there was a cigarette, and a dog…’ he paused again, this time for effect, ‘… and there was also… a flower.’ He stopped. They were meant to laugh. He’d said a flower. He was talking about the theatre. A flower. Theatre. No one even smiled. He said it again.
Still no one laughed. Instead, astonishment rippled. He realised that not a single person felt prohibiting flowers to a theatre audience was remotely funny. He assumed from the return to absolute silence that expectations had increased, realising that whatever he now said, his humorous tale of pot-plants was dead. But it was too late to think of anything else. His neck became cold with impending exposure as he pressed on.
‘I was so astounded that I asked an attendant what it meant. After looking at me as if I were joking, she said very coolly, “It means you cannot take flowers into the auditorium, sir.” Imagine my surprise,’ Percy appealed, ‘“Even pot plants?” I asked. “Even pot plants,” she replied. She didn’t smile.’ Looking about him, Percy wondered if it might be a good time to run. ‘So I said, “What? In case it gets rooted to the seat? Or in case it soils the seat?”’
The room seemed to hold back the united breath of its occupants. Percy longed to be dead.
‘I was being facetious of course,’ he continued, desperately, ‘it was obviously one of those Singapore oddities, like being asked if you’ve had breakfast or lunch or whatever. I tried to get more from her, but that was all she would say.’ Percy examined the faces before him, and spoke his mind with a huge sigh, ‘Sorry to any locals present, but it’s a bit weird, don’t you think?’
There was a fractional moment when it seemed to him the entire world had simply stopped, and then one by one faces bloomed like flowers themselves, heads nodding, hands clutching chests, fingers pressed to lips. The Prophet had come to them and issued a message, an illustration to decipher. Voices rose, until Percy, overwhelmed by the reaction, felt he could slip away. He may have shifted his mindset in regard to his own role, but he remained intolerant of the folly of others. He always felt that nothing could make the inherently stupid worthwhile, and this bunch, he was sure, were idiots.
Outside on Hester’s veranda, Percy soaked up the warm night air with relief, a soothing balm. Exhaustion wracked him, the tension that was now slipping away taking the last of his energy with it. He could hear the session inside continuing, a new speaker dissecting his words, while others called out. He had come to the meeting partly because of change, and partly because he could no longer find an excuse to stay away. But most of all, the sense of treading water with his nose just below the surface was unbearable. Already it seemed he had made a good decision. Even though his story had been misunderstood and the people before him made him cringe he actually did feel a little better. He was valued.
Davina appeared and placed a fresh green coconut on the table, long straw poking from the cut lid, inviting Percy to drink.
‘Thank you. Don’t suppose you have any beer?’
She grinned, and moved to take the coconut.
‘Leave it. I’d like both,’ he said. ‘How are you getting on? I hear your aunt has gone home.’
Davina smiled and nodded, passing Percy a long handled spoon before retreating.
Somewhere nearby a nightjar started its clunking call, hollow wood tapping on hollow wood. Bats swooped in and away from the veranda lights, effortlessly snatching at flying insects. For those invertebrates landing, drawn too close to the glowing bulbs, waiting geckos pounced. Amongst this feasting, Percy tucked into his young coconut, quickly sucking up the refreshing milk before consuming all the soft white jelly he could scrape from inside. He had almost finished by the time Davina returned with a can of Tiger beer and a glass.
‘Keep the glass,’ he said.
She pulled the tab and handed him the open drink, before turning to leave.
‘Wait,’ Percy said, ‘I have a question.’
Davina looked at him, waiting as instructed.
‘What do you think of it all? Of me?’
Her face did not change. She stood and thought for so long that Percy assumed she had not understood. He repeated his question, annunciating more clearly.
‘I understand the question, sir Percy.’
‘And?’
‘You have made many people happy. Madam Hester is very happy, her friends are happy too. It is good.’
‘Good?’ Percy repeated.
Davina nodded, her eyes bright and cheerful.
‘Thanks.’ Percy swigged his drink, as Davina returned to her duties. Things were settling into place in Percy’s mind in a very comfortable manner.
The Cult of Following, Book Two Page 23
