The Lingerie Designer

by Siobhán McKenna

  Poppy settled back down. “Will you please make that a long list, Helen. I don’t want you putting the intention to the Universe that you’re ready to kick the bucket too soon – we want you around for a while yet.”

  Helen looked down at the page where she’d just written the numbers one to ten. She quickly continued on to number twenty – that, she reckoned should see her through to the grand age of ninety-six. She wrote the words Halong Bay alongside the number one. She had time to think about the rest.

  The bus trundled through the narrow streets of Hanoi’s Old Quarter. Streams of people interweaved, going in different directions, armies of ants undeterred by distractions, focused only on their goals. Everyone in a hurry. Traders were already plying their wares. Street kitchens set up kerbside where wizened old ladies cooked local delicacies: noodle soup and bun cha.

  Looking out from the bus, Helen felt she was watching a movie, so detached was she from the mêlée. The bus driver jerked the vehicle to a halt, which caused Helen to bump her forehead against the window. The guide cheerfully announced they were stopping to pick up further members of the tour group.

  “Please God, let there be a few singles.” Poppy stretched up to look over the top of the seat in front of her.

  “Casual sex is allowed for the spiritually enlightened then?” Helen responded dryly, rubbing her sore head. She tried to get into a comfortable position but she was fighting a losing battle.

  “Talk about a one-track mind! I meant someone we can have a laugh with, not all couples. But, now that you mention it, this could be the love of my life getting on the bus. A holiday isn’t complete without a bit of romance.”

  “Romance my backside, you always want fireworks and roses, Poppy – I hate to burst your bubble but –” Before Helen could finish a tall attractive man boarded the bus.

  “Morning,” he nodded to everyone as he passed them. His accent was undoubtedly Australian. His tanned face was somewhat weather-beaten and his dark-blond hair was showing signs of receding, which only added to his charisma. He wore a khaki-coloured waistcoat with lots of little pockets, the type photographers use. He was wearing the classic Aussie leather hat, topping off his clichéd Crocodile Dundee look.

  Poppy perked up a bit when she saw him and turned to peer at Helen with raised eyebrows. She didn’t say anything – she didn’t need to – she was claiming first dibs. Fireworks and roses were already raining down in her mind’s eye.

  Poppy looked like a child on Christmas Eve. Helen hid a smile and signalled to her to look again. Sure enough, clambering on the bus laden down with baggage was what could only be Mrs Dundee.

  “Morning all!” the slender blonde woman called out from the top of the bus, her greeting upbeat, despite her heavy load.

  “Easy come, easy go,” Poppy sighed and pulled her new Red Star of Vietnam peaked cap over her eyes, signalling her return to slumber.

  The enthusiastic tour guide, Huy, who didn’t stop smiling even while talking, turned his microphone back on.

  “Tropical Sails welcomes you, Pete and Lorraine!” He gave a little clap. “Just one more stop to pick up another gentleman and we’ll be on our way to the beautiful Halong Bay!” He appeared genuinely excited.

  Either that or he’s a very good actor, Helen thought. She doubted if a European tour operator would carry out his duties in such a positive manner. Or was she just thinking of herself and her own attitude to Eden?

  “So, now we are on Tin Street, Hang Thiec. Can anyone guess what they sell here?” Huy’s shoulders bobbed up and down as he tried to contain his laughter. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Tin!” His good humour was infectious and the mood on the bus was less restrained than before. He continued with his impromptu tour of the city. “In Old Town, Hanoi, all the streets are named by what was traditionally sold there. It make shopping very easy, I think.” Still laughing.

  “Where’s Beer Street then, mate?” Pete the Aussie shouted from the back.

  Huy doubled up with laughter, slapping his knee for added effect. His eyes bunched up into his laughter-soaked face as he exposed a row of crooked white teeth and a large amount of healthy pink gum.

  “Ha, ha, Pete – you funny man, we have the bia hoi everywhere!” Huy gave a sweep of his arm.

  “’Struth, they should be called paint-stripper stalls!” said Pete, rubbing his perfectly flat stomach. “We’d a few scoops there the other night. Tell you what, mate, my tummy still isn’t the better for it.”

  “That was the ruou that did that, you wombat, not the beer!” the little blonde woman sitting beside Pete piped up. “You said the bia hoi was water so they gave you the rice wine instead!”

  “Sounds about right, now that I think of it. Had me on the dunny all night!”

  “Too right! And I had to lie in bed next to you!” Thankfully, she didn’t elaborate.

  Helen and Poppy locked eyes: all couples or not, this boat-trip would be fun.

  The banter continued until the narrow streets of the Old Quarter gave way to the wider metropolis of greater Hanoi. A traffic cop stood on a box in the middle of a seven road junction. No traffic lights, only her, a little slip of woman, in a dark uniform and pristine white gloves. A mask covered her mouth and nose to lessen the effect of the toxic emissions. Although the Vietnamese appeared to know when to stop and go, Helen closed her eyes, unable to look at the near-collisions taking place every few seconds. With her eyes closed, she stopped pressing her imaginary brake, before she put a hole in the floor of the already delicate bus.

  “Here we are, our last stop, and then we’re on our way!” Huy announced.

  The golden letters for the Four Seasons Hotel glimmered, looking like a golden carp in a sea of minnow. The driver steered off the busy street, up the steep driveway, an oasis surrounded by abundant vegetation and manicured gardens. Huy jumped out and made his way to the entrance. Everyone was curious to see the face of the man who was staying here, Poppy and Helen included.

  Helen poked Poppy’s shoulder. “Check this out – we must be getting a luxury boat after all – no way someone is going to leave a Four Season’s bed for a junker. You might even get diamond-loaded fireworks, Pop!”

  “Sssh!” Poppy looked cross, but Helen just laughed.

  The bubbly Huy came back into view, practically skipping to the bus. And then they saw him – Mr Five Star, with his multidirectional wheeled suitcase, white sport socks and sandals.

  Poppy said nothing.

  “I’m off men anyway, Poppy – go ahead and dibs all you want,” Helen said as she put the white buds of her iPod in her ears.

  The dark-haired man climbed on. His eyes darted nervously, looking for a seat, careful not to make eye contact.

  Helen sensed his uneasiness and silently ticked herself off for being so judgemental. She smiled and said, “Hello,” as the oversized, slightly awkward man passed by. Distracted by Helen’s smile, he stumbled.

  The cars, motorbikes and scooters thinned out and city buildings became sparse – replaced with dramatic green paddy fields. Workers in conical hats and rolled-up trousers bent over the crops, picture-postcard style. The road ahead was long and straight. In each direction, women walked along the side of the tarmac, bamboo sticks placed across their shoulders. Huge baskets carrying an array of produce – mangoes, oranges, and bananas weighed down each side of the bamboo, as they swung rhythmically. The women held out pieces of fruit – appealing for a sale. But the tourists rarely stopped.

  The terminal at Halong Bay was chaotic.

  “You buy something? You buy something from me?” the hawkers on the pier shouted, with mantra-like repetition, and thus became a vibration to which weary tourists became oblivious.

  Huy had the girls and company on a feeder boat heading towards the landing dock within minutes of arriving.

  Helen and Poppy were tired and not in conversation mode. But as their little boat headed out into the bay, they were rendered speechless anyhow. Words were superfluous as the b
eauty unfolded before their eyes. Even Crocodile Dundee shut up.

  Despite so many people and boats, nothing detracted from the splendour of the karsts – colossal rock formations towering over them like dragons. Majestic and noble, they commanded speechless humility in their presence. The people were dwarfed as they entered the Valley of the Rock Giants. The two friends huddled together and watched, as the Goliath forms appeared to glide past. Helen thought many of them were rather phallic but decided not to admit where her mind had wandered.

  They docked.

  “Kayaks, everyone!” Huy’s voice jolted them back to reality. The tour was to start with kayaking.

  Helen, not a lover of water in general, was a bit dubious about the whole thing.

  “I’m not sure I’ll go, Poppy – I might sit this one out.” She looked at the water, saddened by the slicks of oil and trash – the pollution the tourists had inadvertently brought with them.

  “I’m not going on my own, come on.” Poppy wasn’t going to be put off.

  “Come, ladies, this is your boat.” Huy handed them yellow lifejackets – they smelt of must.

  Helen donned her lifejacket, took hold of the paddle, and faced her fear of water.

  The tour brochure had said “Kayaking Lesson”. The lesson consisted of Huy shouting, “Go for it, ladies!” as he pushed their vessel away from the dock.

  At first, things were a bit wobbly as they tried to coordinate their paddling by taking a paddle each. They ended up going around in a circle. Then Poppy, who was sitting behind Helen, insisted on paddling solo.

  “All those hours giving massage will pay off now. I’ve got muscles on my muscles,” she declared.

  Australian Pete declared a mini-Olympics. “England versus Ireland, Australia versus New Zealand. See you suckers!” He paddled furiously, leaving the wife to just hang on to her hat. He was an annoyingly macho Southern Hemisphere male, but a very likable one.

  On cue, the previously quiet bus-load of strangers-turned-kayakers rose to the challenge and paddled in their respective country’s honour, whooping and hollering as they went. The Irish were still going in circles though despite Poppy’s solo efforts.

  The banter caught the attention of neighbouring boats, of which there were too many to count. Helen felt someone watching her.

  “Pops, take a rest, I’ve got this,” she said.

  “It must be a different group of muscles for paddling – my arms are knackered already.” Poppy reluctantly let go.

  “Let’s see if all my yoga Downward Dog poses will stand to us.” Helen paddled and the kayak straightened up.

  “Well done, girl, but I think it’s your sex positions that are standing to you,” Poppy laughed.

  Helen splashed her.

  Something made Helen look around. A young man was watching her from another kayak. He was alone. Despite the distance between them she could see that actually he was beaming at her. Their eyes fixed on one another. For a moment, she forgot to paddle.

  “Hells, what are you doing, we’re losing the race!” Poppy pounded the side of the craft as if she were on a racing horse.

  Helen threw an impish smile back at the guy. There was something familiar about him. Even at a distance, she could make out the curve of his mouth, the angle of his chin – distinguished, without conceit.

  Eye contact was broken – she started to paddle again, only this time she made a vain attempt to look graceful.

  “Check out that guy over there,” she said. “He keeps staring over at us.”

  It didn’t take Poppy long to spot him amongst the skirmish of kayaks.

  “The young blond bloke? Jesus, Helen – he’s about twelve!”

  “I didn’t say he was checking us out, for Christ sake! I just said he keeps looking over. And let’s face it – he’s more than smiling – he’s radiating at us. It’s odd.”

  “You most likely remind him of his mother.”

  “Cheers, babe, you’re great for the self-esteem!”

  “He probably feels sorry for us,” Poppy replied flatly.

  “Remind me never to go on holidays with you again!” Helen panted as she upped the pace again. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

  “We could do with him on our boat – look how easy he makes it seem. He’s a natural,” Poppy said, as the man’s strokes brushed through the water.

  Helen flashed one of her dazzling smiles at him, as if to reassure him Mommy was okay. Water-Boy returned an even wider, porcelain smile. Or was he laughing? It was hard to make out, now that he’d gone further across the bay.

  The encounter cost Helen and Poppy valuable paddle-time and Team England took advantage.

  “Make a hard right, Helen, the Aussies are heading into that tunnel!” Poppy shouted, having appointed herself navigator.

  “Is it a cave? It doesn’t look very big if it is,” Helen asked, paddling furiously.

  Poppy didn’t reply – she was looking up in awe at the height of the limestone islands surrounding them.

  “It’s some kind of channel, I think. It doesn’t look very high though,” Helen said, ignoring the scenery, focused on where she was trying to get to – before the English. Feeling a twinge of claustrophobia coming on, she manoeuvred the small craft as if she’d been doing this all her life. Between the hygiene, the hotels and now water and caves, Vietnam had proven to be a challenge to all her fears, on every level.

  Team Australia was out of sight, having entered the mysterious tunnel moments before. Team England had forgotten about the race, instead stopping to take in the strange formations of the area they had entered, their mouths open in wonder.

  An eerie silence enveloped them. But there was light at the end of the tunnel, both literally and metaphorically.

  Once she’d gone far enough ahead to ensure placing for Team Ireland, Helen slowed down to see what all the fuss was about. The tunnel was low and dark – above them, icicle-like stalactites made curious forms. A droplet of water fell from one of the tips, hitting the water’s surface, causing an echoing sound to vibrate around them. Like a wooden stick on a Chinese singing bowl, this was the sound of silence.

  They and their new companions drifted on the still water, communicating with each other by eye contact and smiles. No one spoke. Everyone felt special to be here, in this place and time – the collective consciousness transfixed by beauty and stillness. It was a moment that would stay with a person for a lifetime.

  After a short time, almost by its own volition, the kayak started to drift towards the light of the cove. Emerging from the cave-like tunnel, a beam of sunlight peeped out from behind hazy karsts.

  “It’s like the hand of God reaching out to touch you,” Poppy whispered.

  “I feel I’m in a dream, it’s so unreal, yet here we are,” Helen whispered back, her usual wisecracks vanished.

  The water lapping the kayak was the only sound.

  “Why are we whispering?” Poppy leant towards Helen.

  “I don’t know – it’s just so humbling maybe? Or maybe we’ve entered the twilight zone . . .” Helen widened her eyes and wiggled her fingers hypnotically at Poppy.

  They entered an enclosed cove. Akin to New York tourists, people craned their necks looking at the cloud-dotted sky visible through the circle-like formation of the giant limestone.

  “Hello!” Lorraine, the Australian woman, called out, breaking the silence.

  Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello! echoed all around them.

  Everyone laughed. The silence was broken, but for some reason it was okay, as if it was time. Their laughter echoed as well, which caused them to laugh even more.

  When they’d stopped laughing Helen turned to Poppy. “I feel so lucky to be here.” She twisted the ring on her little finger.

  “Me too, I’ll treasure this moment forever.”

  “It’s like, nothing else matters – nothing, before now, matters. When we paddle back out through the tunnel, I’ll have been reborn in some way, given a clean sla
te to start again. Does that sound weird?” Helen wasn’t used to the kind of words she found herself saying. Leaving her comfort zone and coming to Vietnam had opened her eyes. And now it had led to here.

  “No, I understand that. It’s as though we’ve been cleansed by witnessing such incredible beauty,” Poppy said softly.

  Helen looked at her oldest, dearest friend. “Thanks for sharing it with me.”

  Poppy smiled, no words needed.

  Helen wiped her eye. “We’d better head back out – there are other kayaks about to come in – it’d be nice to let them have their chocolate-box moment.” She guided the kayak towards the small rocky opening, silently thanking the Universe for whatever had just happened.

  Chapter 43

  It was a self-established traffic system in the tunnel, incoming boats on the left, outgoing on the right. As the light of the cove receded behind Helen and Poppy, it illuminated the faces of the people in a neighbouring boat as they entered – they glowed with curiosity and marvel.

  Their anticipation was tangible.

  And then – he was there.

  The smiling Water-Boy rowed towards the light, his kayak only feet away.

  Their eyes fastened as they glided past each other.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” was all Helen could say, like the echo she had just left. Her heart thumped. She opened her mouth to say something else – what, she didn’t know – but the moment had passed and he was gone. Two ships passing in the night.

  “Wasn’t that the guy from earlier?” Poppy asked.

  “I think so,” Helen said, trying to catch her breath. She wondered why her heart was beating so fast, just from a look.

  “He’s older than he looked from a distance, almost within your age range, Helen,” Poppy added with an air of deviousness in her voice. “He’s probably about twenty-five, I reckon – pity – too old for your taste, hey?”

  “Sod off, you – you can paddle back for being such a smart-arse.” Helen playfully pushed the paddle to a groaning Poppy.

  “The old Helen is back, I see.”

  “Last back has to buy the beer!” Australian Pete shouted out at them. He’d appeared out of nowhere and was energetically making his way to the dock.