by H. Y. Hanna
Leah stood up and went closer to the screen.
Investigative journalist, Toran James, is believed to be the only fatality in the explosion. James, who had made a name for himself last year with a series of controversial articles concerning Australian property billionaire, Bentley Warne, was believed to have been attending the party that was held on board, but officials are unclear…
The telephone receiver squawked in her hands. “Leah? Leah? Are you still there? Are you all right?”
“Y-yes.” Leah breathed out slowly, returning the phone to her ear, her eyes still riveted to the screen. “Julia, are you sure there hasn’t been some kind of mistake? I mean, maybe they got it wrong and he wasn’t on board at the time. Maybe—”
“I don’t think so.” She sounded doubtful. “From what I heard—I’ve got a friend at the Straits Times—they’ve accounted for all the guests on board. He was the only one missing.”
“They didn’t find a body?” Leah said quickly.
“Leah…” Julia sounded uncomfortable. “It was a big explosion. If he had been in the middle of it, well, there wouldn’t have been much to find.”
“Oh.” Leah swallowed. “I guess I must have made the mistake then.”
“Yeah, you must have!” said Julia. “I don’t understand, Leah—who was this man you had drinks with? How were you so sure it was Toran?”
“I…” Leah cast her mind back to that dimly lit bar. Already, the meeting with Toran was starting to take on the surreal quality of a dream.
“Did you just see him and recognise him? Did he introduce himself as Toran? What—”
Leah cut her off. “I’m sorry, Julia. I… I think the jet lag is doing funny things to my head. Look, I’m really tired. Do you mind if I give you a call in the morning? Thanks, bye.”
She hung up before Julia could say another word and stood staring at the TV screen. The hairs on her neck were standing on end. She didn’t know what to think. Toran dead? But she had seen him tonight. With her own eyes. She knew it had been him.
Hadn’t it?
The room spun around her and Leah gripped the edge of the mini-bar. The feel of the smooth enamel beneath her fingers steadied her and also reminded her that she still hadn’t eaten. No wonder she was feeling faint. She opened the mini-bar and helped herself to a packet of peanuts and an orange juice, then flopped onto the bed, still fully dressed. As Leah popped the salty nuts into her mouth, she stared at the ceiling, her mind churning with more questions.
There must have been some kind of mix-up with the news reporting of the accident, Leah thought feverishly. They must have got it wrong and Toran had survived the explosion after all. But if that was true, if it had been Toran tonight, why hadn’t he contacted the authorities to put them straight? Why let everybody think he was dead?
So was Julia right? Had Toran really died in the accident? Then who was the man who had met her in the bar tonight? Leah shivered. It had to have been Toran tonight—the alternative was too crazy to contemplate. Because if that man hadn’t been Toran, then who was he? Why would another man impersonate Toran James—and why contact her?
No, no, it had to have been him. She couldn’t have mistaken her instant recognition of him. And she couldn’t have mistaken her… feelings. Surely she wouldn’t have felt such a strong pull of attraction, such a storm of emotions, if that man had been a total stranger?
Leah thought back to the moment in the bar when she had first approached him and looked full into his green eyes—then remembered another time, in another life, when she had first looked into Toran’s eyes…
***
They were already in the second term when there was news that a new boy was joining the Sixth Grade. This in itself wasn’t that unusual at the Marina Bay International School. Known as the ultimate haven for rich local kids and wealthy “expat brats”, the exclusive school was well used to students leaving and arriving according to their parents’ whims, work arrangements, or travel plans. But the difference this time was that this new student’s acceptance was based not on his father’s Louis Vuitton wallet or his mother’s social connections—but on a scholarship for academic brilliance. And in a school where grades and academic rankings were equivalent to titles and bank accounts, everyone sat up and took notice.
Kids might be spoilt at Marina Bay International, but they were also fiercely competitive and it was one place where good grades were not sneered at. The word “nerd” didn’t exist. Not when your grades were published weekly and put up in a rankings table in the school reception for all to see—and there was a tacit implication that it represented your status, your family’s status. In fact, sharp-eyed parents came to check the rankings table regularly, comparing and noting, and harshly reprimanding their kids for falling behind the offspring of a business rival. It was a point of pride to be first in the class and it was a battle that was fought grimly every day in the classrooms and examination halls.
So when the quiet boy wearing the wrong clothes and carrying a shabby schoolbag arrived with entrance grades that shot him to No. 2 on the rankings table, he made enemies immediately. Chief amongst these was Eric Hu—a ruddy-faced boy, big for twelve years, with narrow eyes and hair cut short and spiky. Eric was used to being the first in class and the centre of awe and admiration. He didn’t take kindly to a new boy challenging his position, especially one who didn’t own a thread of designer clothing and whose parents were nothing more than a poor teacher and a nurse.
They cornered the new boy in class on his first day, during lunch when the teachers were busy in the staffroom and most of the kids were out in the playground. Leah was one of the few who had stayed behind, drawing quietly in a corner of the class. She looked up in surprise when a group of boys barged into the room and surrounded one of the desks in the other corner. A boy sat at the desk, an open lunchbox in front of him. It was the new boy, Leah realised. He had been so quiet, she hadn’t even known he was in the room with her.
“Hey look, it’s our new little Einstein…” Eric thrust himself into the new boy’s face and Leah heard jeering laughter from the other boys.
She saw the new boy’s shoulders stiffen, but he said nothing. His lack of reaction seemed to enrage Eric who started talking louder, jabbing the new boy on the shoulder with a fat finger as he did so.
“Your lunchbox’s looking a bit rusty, Einstein—maybe you should get a replacement the next time you go to the second-hand shop, eh? Looks like they did a pretty good job on your uniform,” Eric sniggered. “Oh, wait, I forgot—Daddy probably can’t afford a new lunchbox for you until he finishes paying off his cheap Toyota.”
They roared with laughter. The new boy packed up his lunchbox and stood up, trying to move towards the door, but the other boys crowded around the desk, not letting him leave.
“Let me pass.”
It was the first time Leah had heard him speak. His voice was soft, with a very faint burr of a Scottish accent, but there was a steely quality to it. He looked thin and wiry next to Eric’s bulk, but his face showed no fear.
“Trying to run away?” Eric said nastily. “You’ll have to give us the password if you want to go.”
“Password?” The new boy turned his head slowly and looked at Eric.
Leah saw the bigger boy take a step back, then he scowled and said, “Yeah, password. Since you’re such a genius. You’re gonna have to give me the answer to a question first.” Eric’s eyes roved around and he spied the heavy atlas sitting on the teacher’s desk. He grabbed it and shoved it in the new boy’s face. Leah caught her breath as the heavy spine came within centimetres of smashing his face, but the new boy didn’t even flinch.
“Go on, then,” said Eric. “What was the tallest mountain in the world before Everest was discovered?”
The new boy said nothing.
“Not so clever now, are we?” jeered Eric. “Wanna look in the atlas? Huh? Do ya? Do ya?” He started shoving the new boy again, this time using the heavy atlas as a sort of
battering ram. The new boy stood his ground, although he reeled back more and more as the shoves got harder and harder. Leah curled her hands into fists. The other boys were all laughing now too and cheering Eric on.
“Hey, Eric, cut it out!” Leah didn’t even realise she had spoken until she saw all the boys turn their heads and look at her. She left her desk and walked over to them. “Stop that.”
Eric narrowed his eyes at her. “Stay out of this, Leah.”
She raised her chin. “Or what? You’ll push me around too? Go on, then. See if you dare.”
Eric gave a sickly smile, pulling his lips back to show his gums. “Oh, I’m not going to push you. I can think of much better things to do.” And before she could react, he lunged and grabbed her skirt, yanking it up to expose her panties. The other boys howled with glee.
Leah screamed and brought her hand up to slap him, but Eric laughed and shoved her roughly away. Then the new boy moved like lightning. There was a blur, a soft thump and a thwack. Leah gasped as the new boy whipped around and behind Eric, twisting the bigger boy’s arm and forcing him head-down onto the desk. At the same time, he flipped the atlas in mid-air and brought it smashing down on Eric’s hand. The hand that had yanked her skirt.
Eric let out a howl of pain. The other boys staggered backwards, their laughter abruptly cut off. Their gaze was riveted on the new boy who stared back at them with cold, hard eyes.
He leaned down to Eric, still keeping the bigger boy’s arm twisted behind him, and said softly, “Keep your hands to yourself.” He made a sharp movement and Eric let out another yelp. The new boy added, “Oh, and by the way, the highest mountain in the world before Everest was discovered was still Everest. It just hadn’t been discovered yet.”
Then he stood up and let Eric go. The bigger boy stumbled backwards, nursing his hand to his chest. The other boys looked at each other uncertainly, then they all began to edge towards the door. Eric hesitated then followed the others, his eyes smouldering. At the doorway, he gave them a last dirty look, then left.
There was silence in the classroom. Leah smoothed her skirt down, her cheeks flaming. Then she looked up and met the new boy’s eyes. They were green, she realised. An amazing, brilliant green.
“Thanks for speaking up for me,” he said. “I’m…I’m sorry about what happened to you.”
She smiled shyly. “It’s okay. Eric’s a creep, but he didn’t really hurt me.”
There was an awkward silence.
“What were you drawing?” he asked, gesturing towards her desk.
Leah’s eyes widened. “How did you know…? I didn’t think you even saw me at the back.”
He smiled slightly. “I saw you the minute I walked into class this morning.”
“Oh.” Leah felt herself blushing.
“I don’t know your name, though.”
“It’s Leah,” she said. “Leah Fisher. I don’t know yours either.”
“Toran James.”
“Toran?” She furrowed her brow. “That’s… that’s an unusual name.”
“It’s Gaelic. It means ‘chief’.”
She grinned. “I think it should have meant ‘lightning’. I couldn’t believe how fast you moved.”
He grinned back at her and his green eyes sparkled under the thatch of unruly dark hair. Leah felt her heart beat a little faster. Then the bell rang, signalling the end of the lunch hour. The babble of voices and the clatter of running footsteps filled the corridor outside, then kids started pouring into the classroom.
Leah felt a tug of regret as she turned away and made her way back to her own desk. But as the teacher shut the door and began handing out worksheets, her eyes slid across the classroom… to meet Toran’s brilliant green ones. Their gazes held for a second and Leah knew that she would never forget the way he looked at her...
***
…just like the way he had looked at her in the bar tonight.
A soft mechanical whirring brought Leah out of her reverie. She sat up in bed and looked around, pinpointing the source of the sound. Her laptop, lying open at the foot of the bed. She pulled it towards her, punching it out of sleep mode. Her Facebook page filled the screen again, open to the private message thread with Toran, where she had been checking the name of the bar in Clarke Quay before heading out earlier.
She blinked. There was a new message underneath the previous one.
Sorry I had to rush off. It was good to see you, Leah. I’d like to see you again—will you have dinner with me tomorrow night? 6:30pm at HarbourFront Tower Two. Toran.
CHAPTER 4
There’s nothing more horrible than waking up in the morning to find that you’ve fallen asleep in your clothes, without cleaning your teeth and with your make-up still on. Leah staggered into the bathroom and recoiled at the sight of herself in the mirror: panda eyes, wild hair, and a bloodless face that would have made a vampire run for cover. After twenty minutes of standing under a hot shower, though, she had scrubbed her face clean, got some colour back into her cheeks, and was feeling more human again.
Leah dressed and went down for breakfast, more for the sake of having something to do than because she was feeling hungry. It was as if her stomach had gone into hibernation after the forced starvation yesterday. Her appetite was soon awakened, though, by the sight of the enormous breakfast buffet laid out in the hotel dining room.
Freshly made pancakes, waffles, omelettes, and scrambled eggs were on offer from the open kitchen. Crispy bacon, succulent sausages, and golden hashbrowns rested in heated trays alongside grilled tomato halves and sautéed mushrooms. A three-tiered stand displayed a selection of delectable pastries while a grill toaster nearby ejected hot, toasted bread at regular intervals. The central table hosted an assortment of fresh fruits and exotic salads, and a row of glass dispensers provided a choice of cereals and muesli: fruit, organic, bircher, raw, toasted, nut-free… For those who fancied an Asian-style breakfast, a counter to the side provided a huge pot of steaming rice congee with a selection of condiments, from tiny fried anchovies to crispy shallots, pickled mustard greens to marinated seaweed.
Leah smiled to herself. Eating was the national pastime in Singapore and she’d forgotten about the incredible breakfast buffets on offer here. She walked over to the drinks stand and after considering the selection, which included everything from fresh coconut juice to fresh roasted coffee, she made herself a cup of strong, black tea and found a free table.
Half an hour and several trips to the buffet later, Leah leaned back and sighed. She was definitely feeling more human now. And also feeling slightly sheepish about her reaction last night. Seen in the bright light of morning, the story about Toran’s death seemed ridiculous. There had to have been some simple explanation, some mistake or oversight, and her tiredness and jet lag had made her jump to crazy conclusions. There would be an amendment on the news later, she was sure, stating that there had been a reporting error and Toran James was not really dead. And she would be seeing Toran himself later tonight. She had replied to his message, agreeing to the dinner date. She was sure he would explain everything.
In the meantime, she thought, standing up briskly and heading for the hotel lobby, she had to get on with what she came to Singapore to do: deal with her father’s death.
It turned out that lawyers did have lawyers after all. David Fisher had entrusted his affairs to a young colleague, Stanford Lim, who met Leah with polite condolences and brisk efficiency.
“Your father’s body has been taken to the Centre for Forensic Medicine Mortuary at the Singapore General Hospital,” Stanford Lim said. “Standard procedure in such cases when there seems to be a non-natural cause of death.”
Leah looked at him sharply. “I wasn’t sure I heard correctly on the phone—they think my father might have been run over deliberately? But why would anybody do that?”
He cleared his throat. “It is one of the possibilities the police are considering. It was late and your father was walking on the side of
a poorly lit road. The most likely scenario is that the driver may have genuinely missed seeing him and been going too fast to brake in time. Then they may have panicked when they saw what they had done and driven away.”
“But?” Leah pressed.
“But…” he said reluctantly. “There were skid marks on the road which suggest that the car could have accelerated towards your father, rather than tried to swerve away from him.”
Leah felt a cold chill touch the base of her spine.
“It’s just a theory,” said Stanford Lim hastily. “A possibility, that’s all. As far as I know, the police are not treating it as a case of foul play—they think it’s much more likely to be a careless driver—but they’re just considering all the possibilities. I believe they may do an autopsy and the police would like to see you tomorrow. I’ve scheduled an appointment for you at the CFM Mortuary later this morning to identify the body.”
Stanford Lim gave Leah a wary glance, obviously wondering about her lack of emotion. He pushed some documents and a set of keys across his desk. “Your father left instructions to give you these in the event of his death: a copy of his will, and there’s also an inventory—actually, he added that just last Thursday; it was lucky I happened to be in the office when he came in. And these are the keys to your father’s house. I’m sure you’ll want to go through his private possessions…”
Leah took the documents and the keys, listened to the rest of his instructions, signed papers as directed, and then took a taxi to the mortuary, all in a slight daze. Even when they ushered her into the cold room where her father’s body lay, she found herself viewing it all as if through an underwater lens. The coroner pulled back the sheet and she looked down at the still, waxen face. She nodded wordlessly. Gentle hands guided her out of the room again and then she was in a sort of waiting room, with a steaming cup of jasmine tea thrust into her hands.
