She felt a tug on her sleeve and realised it was Jen, moving her towards the reception desk. Her touch was reassuring. They were in this together, the way it had always been.
The hotel receptionist was an efficient, slender kid. They took the glass elevator to the third floor, Room 111 – the room Nancy and Iain had stayed in during their adoption. Nancy said the room had fresh paint and new furnishings. Ricki bunked down with Jen next door. They ate dinner at nine (more rice) and Jen turned in for an early night, leaving Ricki restless.
The roof terrace consisted of a few potted maple trees, shrubs and trellises built into an arbour. Ricki’s eyes were drawn to the red glow of a cigarette, its smell rich and woody in the humid night. She stepped towards the arbour, expecting to find another sleepless guest. Instead, the girl from reception sat alone, curled inside the seat.
“Sorry,” said Ricki. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
The girl anxiously flicked down her cigarette to stub it out. “I leave you in peace,” she said.
“Please,” Ricki sat down next to her. “Don’t go.”
“The boss doesn’t want us here. It’s supposed to be for guests, but they never come here at night.” She tucked her cigarette butt into her pocket and settled back into the arbour. “You stay a week?”
“Yeah, family holiday – kind of.”
“Not somewhere families normally come unless they adopting – not much happens in Nanchang.”
The girl had dimples, but on her they looked right.
“So … how long have you worked here?” Ricki said, avoiding the subject of her adoption.
“Long time,” she said.
“You like it?”
The girl shrugged. “I’m getting some cash together. Couple of years, maybe I have enough for university. I really want to go to England and study Shakespeare.”
“I wouldn’t bother.”
“Yes!”
“National heroes can be overrated,” said Ricki.
“So, what are you doing here? One week – you are bored?”
“Family stuff.”
The girl stared up at the amber, night sky then sighed. “I should go. I worked a long shift. I’m sleepy.” She rubbed her eyes.
“Hey, listen,” Ricki said. “Do you know where I can get a drink? Something stronger than green tea?”
The receptionist brought Snow beers from the hotel’s cellar. She loosened up after her third bottle and revealed she worked at the hotel because her parents wouldn’t pay for her education.
“They’re filthy rich, made it big in property development,” she laughed, “but I never get a yuan. Losing face is not good in China … they have their reputations. Having a daughter ‘confused’ like me spoils their image. They ignore the truth because they want me to settle down and get married. We don’t see each other that much now. I make my own way. I’ve been promoted twice already. I find happiness on my terms.”
The arbour felt snug, womb-like. Ricki nestled safely inside, mesmerised by the gorgeous creature sitting next to her and wished she could stay there all night.
When morning came, Ricki was sick from the Snow beers. Her mum insisted she saw a doctor and said she’d booked an appointment. They all had to go.
The doctor waited on the steps of a large domed building, watching for them. He ushered them inside quickly and without bowing. They followed him to his office.
“Mrs Milne, you wanted to see me and here I am. What it is you really want from me?”
Ricki looked up, puzzled. “I’m not feeling very good.”
Dr. Meng looked at Nancy. “There really is little else I can tell you.”
Iain reached into his trousers and opened his wallet. “It’s alright, Doctor, we can pay you for medicine.”
Nancy gestured for him to put it away.
“I fear I have already told you everything I know about Mai Ling.”
“Mai Ling?” Iain frowned and glanced down at Yifan’s name badge on his lapel. “Nancy, tell me this isn’t … That he doesn’t mean May?”
“Iain, I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure if he’d even be here.”
“Mai as in May?” Jen asked.
“And you’re Yifan?” blurted Iain.
Ricki looked to the doctor who looked at the floor, which gave nothing away and yet said everything. This guy, this white-coat, her mum seemed to be saying he knew May.
“I was doing it for the twins’ sake and for mine. There are still things we need to know.”
“This is too much, Nancy.”
Yifan stood up, his voice calm. “Mr Milne, please don’t raise your voice in my office. My colleagues are working next door. Your wife, I believe, had good intentions. It is my fault for agreeing to meet; it was against my better judgement. You are quite right, Mr Milne, this meeting is a mistake.”
“What were you thinking, Mum?” Ricki said.
“Are you really Yifan?” Jen said.
“Yes.”
“You do know she’s … dying? Shit, Mum, you have told him, haven’t you?” Ricki said.
“Yes, I know about the accident. Her chances are …”
“I can’t believe you brought us here without telling us,” interrupted Jen.
Yifan removed his glasses. Without them, he looked myopic, vulnerable. He walked steadily to the door and held it open.
“Wait, don’t throw us out, you promised me you’d talk to us,” said Nancy, “Please, Doctor, you must tell us what you know about May, anything at all. I can’t bear any more lies or half-truths. My girls need to know about their biological mother.”
Yifan replaced his glasses and gave a deep sigh. “We met on the train,” he began, closing the door. “She was on her way to the city to work as an engineer; I was a student at the university. I was training to be a doctor. She happened to faint and I helped her, we chatted and things went from there.”
“Where was she travelling from?” asked Nancy.
“She was Hunanese like me. A small village, in the countryside, I’m sorry I forget the name …”
“The village was called Xiashu Wang,” Jen said. “She had a Little Brother who she missed all the time they were apart. Mum, I already know this stuff.”
“That’s right. She missed him in Nanchang but, forgive me, to my knowledge she never returned home.”
“Why not?” asked Ricki.
Yifan bowed his head; Chinese for ‘no more questions’.
“What about her job in Nanchang?” said Jen, desperate for facts.
He let slip a smile. “She was always busy, always rushing from one place to another. Your mother worked very hard,” he turned to them, “she cared a lot about her work, she put in long hours at the factory. She wanted to be the best.”
“The factory?” asked Ricki.
“Yes, she worked at Forwood, a car manufacturing plant, her job was to engineer their new 4x4, now sadly no more. The factory closed down some years ago. Of course, it was the fire which ruined everything. They couldn’t possibly continue production after that. Mai Ling was lucky to survive. I was part of a team of doctors on the day of the fire. I helped drag her away from the blaze, others were sadly not so fortunate.”
“She never mentioned any of this! She told me she was a civil engineer who worked on the new highway to Beijing,” said Jen. “She told me teaching was something she did in her spare time to earn extra cash so that you and her could make a new life for yourselves in England.”
He shook his head.
“How do we know you’re telling us the truth? You could just be saying that to make yourself sound heroic,” Ricki said.
“It’s quite possible her memory was affected by smoke inhalation, I’ve seen that in a number of cases. But please, believe me when I say I have no reason to make these things up. If it wasn’t for Mrs Milne’s persistence I would not be here talking to you now.”
There was a knock on the door of Yifan’s office. A student poked his head around. Yi
fan dismissed him, and he bowed in a flurry of apologies.
“The School of Medicine does not look approvingly on unexpected foreign visitors,” he said.
“It’s very good of you to meet with us, Yifan, we’re very grateful. I know we don’t have long. Can you tell us where May lived in Nanchang?”
“No, I’m afraid she never told me. When we met, it was always in public places, the People’s Park mainly, or some of the teahouses in the old quarter. I think she liked it when I took her there, she had a good appetite. I don’t believe she ate properly most of the time, she was always so busy.”
“So she never came to your place?” asked Ricki, confused.
“What you have to understand about May is that she was first and foremost dedicated to her work. It meant everything to her. Whenever we met, she was always watching the clock, eager to get back. She was very committed to the principles which governed the factory.” His tone became more scathing. “Of course, that all came to an abrupt end.”
“So what happened after the fire? Did she come to live with you or what?” said Ricki. “When did you do it? Us, I mean.”
“I brought May to God’s Help Hospital. She was in terrible pain; I found her wandering the streets, haemorrhaging. She was carrying you both and had just given birth. After several weeks of recuperation, she was dismissed from the hospital in accordance with our policy. We last saw each other the night before she was discharged.”
“You mean she never called you or tried to meet up?” said Jen.
“Called me?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “If only that were the case, then perhaps I could have cared for her. She was a dear friend, I had the greatest of affection for her. But no, she never called me and I had no means of contacting her. She left the hospital without a word of goodbye. I never knew she had come to England. The call from your mother was a complete shock. It has been sixteen years …”
“Oh God,” said Iain. “What a bloody shambles.”
“So are you our dad or not?” said Ricki.
“No, no, on my life I am not your father,” said Yifan. “May and I were only ever friends, nothing more, even though I once hoped that might be different … It came as a shock to find her with babies. I was unaware of her pregnancy.”
“Do you have any idea who our dad might be?” Jen asked.
Yifan shook his head as if shaking away the memory. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I must go now, Mrs Milne, I’m already late for my rounds.”
“But there’s so much we still have to ask you.”
“Nancy, that’s enough. Let him go for goodness’ sake. The poor man has said everything there is to say.”
Ricki felt powerless as she watched Yifan gather up the papers into his satchel. She knew this was the best opportunity she’d ever have to ask about May, but instead she found herself walking out of Yifan’s office, clutching onto her dad. Jen hung back, persistent and still digging for answers. Her brain, as big as it was, didn’t seem to get the simplest of messages: Yifan = not Daddy.
Back at the hotel Ricki declared she was going out. Her parents stopped sulking with each other momentarily.
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” said her mum.
“You weren’t feeling good this morning.”
“Darling, listen to your father.”
Jen offered to keep her company.
But Ricki said, “I’m fine, I just need to be alone.”
“At least promise me you’ll take your mobile and your inhaler? Here’s some money in case you want to call a cab. Please be back in time for dinner or we’ll start to worry.”
She took the money, along with her Nikon and left the hotel without looking back.
It was a hot, airless evening. She kept to the main roads and walked until she could see the Tengwang Pavilion rise up like giant Lego. She forked right, heading for the People’s Park where Yifan and May used to hang out. The panda enclosure was closed for the night so she found a bench and chewed the straw of her soda water. Her tattoo itched. Ricki clawed away her hoodie and stretched out on the bench, gazing at the cloudless sky. The park was peaceful – she could see why May liked meeting her geeky doctor buddy here. She didn’t feel so stupid knowing May had duped everyone, even a clever guy like him.
So who was her real dad?
She closed her eyes. The sunshine made the insides of her eyelids white and blank – exactly what she wanted her mind to be. The noise of the birds and the skateboarders in a distant corner of the park started to slip away.
When she stirred, it was with a start. What was she doing? There was somewhere she needed to go, a picture she needed to take and, more importantly, a picture to leave behind. She raced across the park and didn’t stop running until she reached Starbucks.
If she turned the corner, the building would be right there in front of her. But it was one thing looking on Google Maps, another to actually stand on the steps where she was abandoned. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she go through with it? It was only a building. Maybe if she looked at the welfare institute through her camera lens it might be easier?
She pulled out the photograph of May at her sixteenth birthday party. It was taken a few minutes after May gave her the fifty quid, neatly wrapped inside the red envelope. Ricki stared hard at May’s dimples.
She couldn’t do it after all. Not on her own. She needed Jen there, side by side, the way twins should be. She tucked May in her pocket and headed back, taking the short route through the park and not stopping, not even to check out the skateboarders’ moves.
White scar
The day of Schnelleck’s visit and a bruise-yellow sky dragged over Forwood. Birds clung to the burnt-out mei trees in the courtyard. A heavy downpour seemed inevitable.
I skipped breakfast under the pretence of a sickness bug and waited for workers to trudge from our frigid dorm before changing into my suit. I sneaked out to hide behind a skip in the courtyard until my taxi’s appointed time. While waiting, I watched the workers.
We’d all been cleaning up rubble and glass, sawing down the jagged remnants of phantom staircases and heaving mauled ironwork and concrete slabs over to the perimeter fence – always in the vain hope of finding a living hand or limb. Ren’s body, among others, was never discovered. We were all listless and exhausted. Soot had turned the water in the sanitary room taps to sludge. We collected rainwater in the refuse bins and doused off the worst of the grime from our limp bodies at dusk. The state-allocated water that had arrived in a tractor taxi after the fire was in short supply.
Since Manager He’s return, we had met many times to discuss Schnelleck’s visit. His bureau, although standing, was cold, dark and blackened with soot. I think we made love twice, but it was of no comfort; sadness coiled like smoke through my veins.
I slipped from behind the skip while my co-workers stood idle at the canteen door. The guards received the bribe with relish, pawing over the money as if they couldn’t believe their luck at finally being paid at all. If anyone had caught me, I didn’t have a cover story, no fake errands were believable in a factory laid in ruins. I relied on the fact that workers were too disordered to notice my absence.
Manager He and I had agreed it was best to travel separately to avoid punishment, or rather, a worse punishment.
The hotel was in the old town, The Sweet Mandarin, overlooking the Tengwang Pavilion, one of Nanchang’s most sacred and historic monuments, a place where ancient Buddhists came to worship and meditate on the beauty of their natural surroundings which, in those days, were mainly pine groves and the meandering river Gan. This is what Manager He told me by way of a brief history lesson, in case Schnelleck asked.
I wound down the taxi window and peered dolefully at the other pristine factories standing robust along the highway. A string of optimistic construction sites gave way to towering apartments and advertisements for a new health drink promising eternal love. In between, the cheap corner stores sold packets of noodles
for workers to rehydrate after fourteen-hours of toiling on the line.
The driver took me half way up the sharp, narrow road to The Sweet Mandarin. I climbed the last stretch in my pink shoes. I made it to the courtyard as the rain clouds opened, and I hurried for shelter beneath a stone pilaster. A cool relieving breeze tickled my face. The rain bounced off the elegant flagstones and wrought-iron fencing. At the centre of the gardens stood a tree, ancient and stately – the so-called ‘sweet mandarin’.
“For the tree, six hundred years it is growing,” said a stilted Chinese accent.
I turned to see a westerner; a weedy man with sooty hair, thinning around his temples.
“Herr Schnelleck?” I had been expecting a blonde giant.
“Ni Hao.” He kowtowed unnecessarily to the ground, as though standing at the grave of an ancestor. His smile was strained. I wondered how he recognised me, so thin and dreary compared to Old Artist’s portrait?
“Sir, there is no need,” I said, embarrassed. “Are you alright?”
Schnelleck straightened, red-faced. “Xièxiè, a little stiff. I am delighted to meet you at last – The Star of Forwood. Tell me, how is your Manager? I trust he has recovered from his unfortunate spell in hospital.”
“He has made an excellent recovery and will be joining us shortly.”
A young waiter wearing a traditional ch’ang-p’ao shuffled forwards with a tea tray. We followed him inside the restaurant. My stomach gargled at the sight of soft dates on his tray.
“Do you mind?” I asked as we took a seat overlooking the courtyard.
“Be my guest,” said Schnelleck.
I crammed a handful of dates into my mouth and sucked until their skin turned gluey.
He poured the tea carefully and dabbed his mouth with his serviette. What a strange smiled chiselled his face! Was he real? If I prodded him, would he fall and break like a terracotta warrior?
We sipped our tea in silence. Schnelleck smiled at the rain clouds, he smiled at the table, he smiled at the old couple eating dumplings next to us. Then to break his monotony of smiling, he pointed at the sky with a strange, violent hand gesture that seemed to mimic the rain. The old couple wearing traditional Zhongshan suits scowled. Did Schnelleck think we’d never seen rain in China?
The Secret Mother Page 20
