The Half-Child
Page 26
‘Uncle is already coming back and taking over.’
‘Meaning a return to the old regime?’
Rajiv raised his eyebrows.
‘What about visas, work permits, that sort of thing?’
‘My responsibility,’ Rajiv said. ‘I share the work and the risk.’
This explained his recent behaviour, both his eagerness to please and his choice of separate rooms at the guesthouse.
He wanted to be her business partner, nothing more. Maybe it was for the best. Why then did she feel disappointed?
A waitress appeared to clear their table. Jayne glanced around the room and realised that while they were talking, the restaurant had not only filled up, it had started floating.
‘I guess that’s one way to guarantee we stay on for after dinner drinks,’ she said as a second waitress appeared pushing a small trolley loaded with ice buckets and a selection of mixers.
‘Shall we get a bottle?’
‘Why not.’
She ordered Sang Som, the more drinkable of the local whiskies. The waitress returned with the bottle, measured out two capfuls into each tall glass, topped them up with ice and soda and added a slice of lime.
‘What shall we drink to?’ Rajiv said.
Jayne thought for a moment.
‘To partnership,’ she said, raising her glass.
‘Partnership,’ he agreed.
‘On a trial basis,’ she added. ‘I’m not sure it’ll work.’
‘I am willing to give it a try if you are,’ Rajiv said.
Jayne drank deep from her glass, wishing it were more than a business partnership they were toasting and reflecting on the irony of having missed the boat on romance yet again whilst literally drifting out into the middle of a river.
Rajiv picked up a plastic folder that had materialised on the drinks trolley.
‘The song menu,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should start with a duet in honour of the occasion.’
Jayne looked up at the stage, now bathed in light. The television was playing a karaoke DVD without sound, images of a Chinese couple frolicking beside a waterfall.
‘My problem with karaoke in Thailand,’ she said, ‘is the lack of Oz rock options.’
‘Meaning?’
‘No Cold Chisel. No Angels. No Hunters and Collectors.’
‘I’m not familiar with those artists,’ Rajiv said, scanning the song lists. ‘I am usually finding something I like. My problem is I’m terrified of microphones.’
It was on the tip of Jayne’s tongue to ask if that were the case why he’d insisted on dining at a karaoke bar when the music intervened.
An enthusiast from Japan took to the stage to sing ‘Careless whispers’.
‘Not an easy song,’ Jayne said, leaning close to speak into Rajiv’s ear. ‘I was forced to sing it once when I was tailing a Singaporean man.’
‘What happened?’
‘The audience sighed with relief when I finished.’
‘No, what happened to the Singaporean man?’
‘His Thai wife was suspicious about the amount of time he spent away from home. Turns out there was no other woman, only a passion for karaoke. I encouraged my client to take singing lessons.’
Rajiv laughed loudly enough to be heard over the music.
Next a member of the same party performed ‘I’ll be there’, a ballad made famous by the Jackson 5.
Rajiv studied the song menu in earnest while Jayne topped up their drinks.
‘A bit of Dutch courage,’ she said, raising her glass.
Rajiv matched her toast. ‘Do you know why it’s called Dutch courage?’
She shook her head.
‘It is in honour of the seventeenth century traders from the Netherlands who fortified themselves with alcohol before sailing up the Thames River to leave food for Londoners besieged by bubonic plague.’
‘Now you’re just showing off.’
Two girls took to the stage to sing a Thai pop song about loneliness and heartache. They were followed by four Thai men, who crowded around the microphone for a passable cover of ‘I swear’ by All 4 One.
This started something of a boy band trend. A second group chimed in with ‘Back for good’ by Take That, followed by a threesome singing ‘How deep is your love?’ by the Bee Gees.
Rajiv excused himself to use the bathroom. Jayne eyed a nearby table where a group of farangs—Australians, British and Irish judging by the accents—were egging each other on but hadn’t quite reached the requisite level of drunkenness to perform.
Centre stage was seized by a Filipino man who sang ‘I will always love you’, sounding so much like Whitney Houston, Jayne could have sworn he was lip-synching.
At this point the Australian-British-Irish contingent took their turn. First a threesome, arms draped around each other’s necks, stumbled through a rendition of ‘Love me tender’ that would have Elvis turning in his grave, assuming he was in fact dead and not hiding out in Thonburi as the Bangkok rumour-mill would have it. Next two of them sang a cringe-worthy version of Tom Jones’s ‘Delilah’, flat notes reverberating through microphones held too close.
At this point it occurred to Jayne that if Dante were writing his Inferno in the twentieth century, surely one of the Circles of Hell would involve being trapped in a karaoke bar in the middle of a river with a group of drunken, tone-deaf men. She vowed to have a word with Rajiv about his choice of venue when she realised how long he’d been gone.
Surely he hadn’t jumped ship?
She lit a cigarette and tried to look nonchalant as she scanned the room. More music started up, a piano riff with the hint of electric guitar in the background.
‘I can’t fight this feeling any longer/ And yet I’m still afraid to let it flow.’
She recognised the song, an eighties classic.
‘What started out as friendship has grown stronger/ I only wish I had the strength to let it show...’
Jayne looked up at the stage where Rajiv, his collar turned up, was holding the microphone with two hands and singing like a rock star. To her surprise, he had a wonderful voice.
She liked his choice of song, too, a romantic ballad about a man falling in love with a woman he’d been friends with for some time. She wondered how much, if anything, she should read into the lyrics. Perhaps he was just a big REO Speedwagon fan. Perhaps this was nothing more than his signature karaoke song.
‘And even as I wander/ I’m keeping you in sight.’
But the thought that he might mean anything by it sent her heart racing.
‘And I’m getting closer than I ever thought I might.’
As the electric guitar ramped up for the chorus, Rajiv stepped down from the stage.
‘And I can’t fight this feeling anymore/ I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for.’
A spotlight followed him as he walked among the tables.
‘It’s time to bring this ship into the shore,/ And throw away the oars, forever.’
People laughed and clapped as he serenaded them. A group of Thai girls giggled and shrieked as if Rajiv were the real deal. He reciprocated by touching their outstretched hands as he passed, like a rock star acknowledging the fans in the front row. Jayne almost expected one to leap from her seat and throw herself at him.
He filled a musical interlude with more pop star moves, pounding his heart, pulling at the air with his fist, and spinning on one leg. It was a side of his personality that Jayne had never seen. Her cigarette burned out in the ashtray in front of her. Jayne was captivated.
The electric guitar subsided, and Rajiv came to a standstill on the floor amidst the tables. He closed his eyes.
‘My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you./ I’ve been running round in circles in my mind.’
He opened his eyes and looked directly at Jayne.
‘And it always seems that I’m following you, girl./ Cause you take me to the places/ That alone I’d never find.’
There could be no mistaking the signific
ance of the lyrics now.
‘And even as I wander,/ I’m keeping you in sight.’
He gestured towards her.
‘You’re a candle in the window/ on a cold, dark winter’s night.’
Heads turned to see who he was singing to. Jayne felt the rare sensation of a blush as Rajiv moved closer.
‘And I can’t fight this feeling anymore…’
Several groups of patrons waved lit cigarette lighters in time to the music. Jayne felt overwhelmed, but by what emotions she couldn’t tell. Part of her felt mortified. Another flattered. Did she dare believe that Rajiv felt the same way about her as she did about him?
‘And if I have to crawl upon the floor/ Come crashing through your door—’
The notion of him crashing through anyone’s door made her laugh out loud.
‘Baby, I can’t fight this feeling anymore.’
She laughed so hard, she cried. But that didn’t seem to faze Rajiv.
He stopped in front of her, crouched down on one knee so their faces were level and pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped her tears, all the while singing a final ‘Woo-oo.’
As the music faded, he kissed the damp handkerchief and held it to his heart, a gesture that was pure Bollywood.
The entire room burst into applause.
Jayne’s head was spinning. It was the most ridiculous, romantic gesture anyone had ever made for her.
Rajiv stood up and handed the microphone to the nearest waitress. He flashed a grin to acknowledge the crowd and resumed his seat. He was covered in sweat and when he reached for a cigarette his hands were shaking.
In that moment, Jayne understood that bravery came in many forms, and that courage such as Rajiv’s was rare.
Their eyes met. She raised her glass to him and smiled.
She smiled at him again when, several hours later, they slid out of their clothes and stood, skin to skin, in her floating hotel room. Moonlight filtered in through an open window facing the river, enough to illuminate the sweat on Rajiv’s brow. When he touched her, his hands were still shaking.
‘First times are over-rated in my experience,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s just get it over with so we can relax and enjoy what happens next.’
‘I think I love you,’ he said.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her.
All ghosts fell silent.
Acknowledgments
My thanks to Andrew Nette, with whom I share life, a child and at one stage even shared a desk during the writing of this book. Beloved partner, valued reader and talented writer.
Thanks to Christos Tsiolkas who makes my life and my books better.
I’m grateful for the research assistance provided by Randall Arnst in Bangkok, which enriched this book, despite some outlandish requests on my part.
Kathryn Sweet did a great job again of checking and correcting my Thai transliterations; any remaining inaccuracies are my responsibility alone.
Alison Arnold and Caro Cooper at Text Publishing responded with enthusiasm to the manuscript and provided spot-on editorial advice to improve it. My thanks to Michael Heyward and all at Text for welcoming me back.
I am grateful for the love and generosity of my friends Angela Whitbread, who helped bankroll my fieldwork in Thailand in 2008, and Mary Latham, who opened her house as a writer’s retreat when I needed it.
I’d also like to acknowledge those in Phnom Penh (where this book was written) who shared their experiences of overseas adoption and in their determination to ensure their adoptions were legal and ethical, helped me to imagine what might be involved in illegal, unethical adoptions.
I drew on two excellent sources of information on Thai life and culture: Richard Barrow’s blog Paknam Web—Richard Barrow’s Life in Thailand (www.thai-blogs.com) and Very Thai: Everyday Popular Culture by Philip Cornwell-Smith and John Goss (River Books, Bangkok, 2005).
Thanks also to: Atchariya (Fon) and Pratyaporn (Pern) Thongklieng for their list of Thai names and meanings; Ying for allowing me to use the story of her name change; Sarah Rey and Sonja Horbelt for German translations; Harriet McCallum for advice on post traumatic stress; Haydn Savage for the Buddha of Wednesday afternoon; Palani Narayanan for the perfect song for the karaoke scene; and Richard Fleming for excellent legal advice.
And for inspiration I thank Dinesh Wadiwel, who should have won the karaoke prize at the Alice Springs Memorial Club that night in October 2004.
Finally, thanks to my beautiful daughter Natasha for tolerating all the time I spend writing stories when I might be reading to you instead.
Table of Contents
COVER PAGE
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS