44 Acorn Grove and Other Stories

by Steve Howrie

  As I turned my car’s ignition, and took one last look at the building, I couldn’t help noticing the sign high up above the entrance - something I hadn’t seen earlier. It read: ‘The Charles Darwin Home for Retired Academics’. Well, well, I thought: one deluded soul in the footsteps of another.

  * * *

  Belinda

  It was a cold, dark night at the Bookworm. The members of the Suzhou Writers and Artists group were all huddled around the electric heater, and the meeting was just coming to an end. “Well, I think that’s just about it… see you all in two weeks’ time,” smiled Erin. “Spring can’t be far away.” We said our goodbyes, and headed for home.

  “Share a taxi?” asked Sybil.

  “Sure, why not.”

  Both Sybil and I lived in Suzhou Industrial Park, a relatively new area to the east of Suzhou Old Town , Jiangsu Province, and we often shared a taxi on the way home after our meetings. But just as we were heading for the door, something caught my eye. Or I should say ‘someone’. When a young woman is crying all alone in a place like the Bookworm, you wonder why and want to help – it’s just human nature. So I told Sybil I’d catch her later, and went to see if there was anything I could do.

  The woman was Chinese, early thirties, dressed all in black – apart from a blood-red scarf around her neck. As I approached, she averted her eyes, trying to hide her tears; but she couldn’t hide her pain. “Are you okay? Ni meishi ba?” She shook her head and turned her face further from mine. I got closer. “The place is closing in a minute – can I get you a ride home?” The tears turned into a flood, and she broke down. I put a hand on a shoulder to comfort her. “Come on,” I said guiding her out of her chair and towards the door. She didn’t resist.

  We walked to the main road in the cold rain, and I looked hopefully for an empty cab. Never easy to get a taxi in the rain from the old town, but eventually I saw the welcome green light of a cab, and flagged down the car. “Qu na li?” the taxi driver asked once we were safely on the back seat. But I wasn’t sure where we should go.

  “Do you speak English?” I asked the mysterious woman. She shook her head without looking at me. Then I remembered a late night coffee bar in Shiquan Street, not far from the Bookworm. At least we could dry out there, and perhaps she could write down her address for me.

  I sat her down in a quiet corner of the café and ordered two cups of coffee. She said nothing, but nodded her thanks, still hiding her eyes. I took out a notepad and pen. “If you write down your address, I’ll get you home,” I said. Still nothing. “Xie nide xia dizhi,” I struggled to say in Chinese. Suddenly, her lips turned into a broad smile, and her eyes caught mine.

  “Your Chinese – so bad!” she said, tears running down her cheeks. I smiled in relief, knowing she could speak some English. But then as quickly as she’d smiled, she cried again. “Oh, why he have to die…?”

  “Who?” I said. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Yi Tian… I loved him so much…”

  Yi Tian, it turned out, was her husband.

  *

  From that chance meeting, a closeness between the two of us quickly developed. There was something so intriguing and sensitive about this woman that I just could not let her go. Yi Tian had died in a terrible car accident a month ago, she said, and she desperately needed someone outside of the family to talk to. So we began talking on the phone, by text and online. Then we dated a few times, got closer, and kissed. And after that I was hooked. I dreamt about her when we were apart, and submerged my soul into hers when we were together. Then one day we made love - warm, exquisite, beautiful love - and I knew she was the one for me. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with the young Chinese woman who called herself Belinda.

  But one thing puzzled me: we always went to my place - she never invited me back to hers. At first, I said I understood when she talked about the ‘ghost of Yi Tian’, and not wanting to compare me with him – which she thought was inevitable once I visited her home. But as the weeks and then months passed, I began to feel more and more uncomfortable about her reasons. After all, she showed me where she worked, where she shopped, and pictures of her close friends – and Yi Tian must have been associated with all three. And now it was six months since he died - so why not show me where she lived?

  “Don’t you think it’s time?” I said one day as we walked alongside Jinji Lake. It was an uncomfortably hot August day, and the breeze across the lake was a welcome relief.

  “Time for what?” she asked.

  “Time to see your apartment.”

  She sneered, as if to say, ‘not that again,’ and looked out across the water. I pulled her round to face me. “What are you hiding Belinda?”

  “Nothing,” she said pushing herself away from me. I said no more and we walked the rest of the way back to my place in silence.

  *

  A week later, I did something I never thought I’d stoop to: I followed her home from work. I had to keep my distance at first - she could spot me a mile away with my blond lao wai hair and white skin. But with her Walkman, she seemed oblivious to the rest of the World. She walked for about two hundred metres, and then caught a bus. It was packed full of commuters and I managed to keep hidden by standing at one end whilst she was at the other. I nearly didn’t get off the bus, with so many pressed against the doors; but I just made it by shouting ‘rang yi-xia!’ as I pushed hard, and then continued to follow her down Renmin Road. I knew the area well; ironically, it wasn’t far from where I lived when I first came to Suzhou.

  She crossed the road and turned left into an estate, then entered an apartment block with a large number eight on the outside wall. By watching the lift ascend, I discovered she was on the third floor. I ran up the stairs – just in time to see the door close on apartment 303. I have to say I felt a great sense of satisfaction having managed to follow her undetected. Now I could discover exactly what secret she’d been hiding from me for all those months. My finger poised over the doorbell – for one moment doubting the decision to go down this particular road. But in-for-a-penny, in-for-a-pound, I thought. I should have stuck with the penny.

  A man in his late forties stood inside the open door and stared at me. I was taken aback. Then I said nervously, “Belinda zai bu zai?”

  “Sorry, he said in good English, “you must have the wrong apartment.”

  I was left looking at the closed door for several seconds before slowly walking downstairs, feeling very stupid and hurt at the same time.

  *

  I didn’t see Belinda for the next two weeks. She phoned me, but I always had an excuse not to see her. I was ill, I had school work to do, I was tired. She must have suspected something was wrong, but I didn’t care: she’d lied to me, and my world had just been ripped apart. Yi Tian wasn’t dead; or he was and she’d found another man to live with. Either way, I wasn’t going to be two-timed by any woman, even one I was deeply in love with. Especially by one I was in love with.

  Then, one Friday after work, she came round to my apartment. I opened the door, but didn’t let her in. “Why are you avoiding me?” she said. She looked tired and sounded hurt. But I had my own share of hurt – and anger. She tried to touch me, but I pushed her hand away and looked her squarely in the eyes.

  “Why did you lie to me… about Yi Tian?”

  “I didn’t – what do you mean?”

  “He’s not dead, is he?”

  “What?”

  “I saw him… I followed you to your apartment, and he opened the door...”

  “You’ve been spying on me?”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “That was my uncle. Since Yi Tian died, I live with aunt and uncle. And they will never accept you… not a foreigner… so I couldn’t take you home.” I was stunned. “So now you know,” she said, “and I am ashamed.”

  I thought for a minute, and then said, “But when I spoke to him, he didn’t know your name...”

  �
��No, of course not – I only use that English name with you.”

  Our relationship was never the same again. By spying on her, I’d shown I didn’t trust her; and that in turn had broken the trust she had in me. It was over.

  *

  A month later, I was back at the Bookworm with the Writers’ group – but it was hard to concentrate on writing. The place would always remind me of Belinda, and the love that I’d lost. Then half way through the meeting, Jacqueline returned with some drinks from the bar. “Hey, I just noticed a young woman downstairs crying, she seems pretty upset. Do you think we should do something?”

  “Yes,” I said, “leave her there. It’s not worth the heartache.”

  “Touchy,” she said to the others.

  “I’ll go and see her,” said Erin.

  I sat there thinking of the universe, and everything that happens, and why it happens, and what’s important, and how you’re always given another chance. And then I said, “It’s okay, I’ll go.”

  * * *

  Other Books by Steve Howrie

  Bucket & Broom in China

  (Fiction, humour).

  SYNOPSIS:

  A very funny, light-hearted fictional diary, seen through the eyes of misfit twenty-something Simon Broom. After starting a microbiology course, Simon lands an English teaching job in Shanghai, China, and heads off on a life-changing adventure with quirky girlfriend Julie Bucket. The story covers eight months in the young couple's lives, as they interact with other expat teachers and strive to find themselves in an alien culture.

  READER REVIEWS:

  This is absolutely and utterly hilarious! I am very picky about my humor; most of what passes for it is witless and dumb. Yours is of the smart observational kind, and wickedly funny.

  (Andi Brown, ‘Animal Cracker’).

  What madness! Is getting a job in China really that easy? Wonderfully escapist stuff with plenty of smile-raising moments. On my watchlist as we speak.

  (Simon Marks, ‘That English Weirdo’).

  I like it! An easy read for when you need cheering up or when relaxing by a pool.

  (Claire Lyman, ‘Inevitable’).

  A la Adrian Mole - a really humorous foray into teaching.

  (Sarah Churchill, UK).

  Bucket & Broom Tie the Knot

  (Fiction, humour).

  This is the continuing story of misfit Simon Broom and his side-kick girlfriend Julie Bucket as they experience life in China, as told through Simon’s eyes, ears and everything else! In ‘Bucket & Broom Tie the Knot’, the couple have finally found their feet in Shanghai – and Simon finds that Julie really is pregnant. But who is the father? Simon is driven from pillar to post whilst he strives to answer this question – stumbling across American journalist Sam James on the way. Falling in love with Sam, Simon is more confused than ever about his life and turns, as usual, to his friend and mentor Anton for guidance. Meanwhile, we meet the Bucket family for the first time, and catch up with Simon’s father, who makes a surprising announcement. A cocktail of entertaining and interesting questions about life are humorously mixed with Bucket & Broom’s unique blend of comic rapport to produce the Bucket & Broom philosophy on life.

  Time Leap

  (A time travel novel)

  Whilst waiting to board his plane to New York from London Heathrow, Simon Broom discovers that the mobile phone his Chinese wife Niki Ling gave him for his birthday has one function that other phones just don’t have: the ability to travel through time. Confused by finding himself in the year 2001, and astonished at becoming a real-life time traveller, he attempts to use the situation to stop the 9/11 World Trade Center attack, which is due to happen that day.

  Returning to his London home in the present time, he discovers that his actions have had a far greater affect than he could ever have imagined. Not only events, but his wife’s memories have been changed to in order to accommodate the new future he has engineered. He attempts to prove to her that he can travel though time, and eventually Niki believes him. This prompts the two to embark on a series of time travelling adventures in an attempt to change the past, and thereby affect the future. Their travels inevitably bring them into contact with other versions of themselves in past and future time zones, with mind-boggling consequences.

  *

  * * *