Half an hour later and I wish I’d stayed in Hong Kong. Fujian is just a big, polluted city and we’re sitting in a traffic jam. Where are the coolies in Chairman Mao pajamas? Where are the rickshaws, and men in conical hats balancing baskets from long poles? Where’s the China I expect? It’s bad enough that Hong Kong isn’t the colonial outpost I’d imagined. Et tu, Brute? ‘It’s a city,’ I say glumly to Josh.
‘Well, yes. What did you think it would be?’
It’s probably naïve to explain about the conical hats and the pajamas, so I say, ‘I thought it’d be more Chinese.’ Oh yes, Hannah, that’s much better.
He laughs. ‘I know what you mean. You thought it’d be more rural. My father used to take me on his trips when I was a child and that’s exactly what it was like. It was a mysterious country to us. We saw Chinese of course, in Hong Kong, but the mainlanders were a world apart. Even twenty years ago the country would have seemed more like your imagined China. But that’s all changed. They’ve torn down nearly everything from the past and put up skyscrapers. There’s virtually nothing left of old Peking, the city my father knew as a child. They’ve razed the hutongs. Those are the traditional neighborhoods, the narrow lanes that were several hundred years old. They’re wiping out their past. Though, ironically, what they do keep of their old architecture they renovate so that it looks new. You’d never recognize what’s truly historic here.’
He sounds like he harks back to the good old days. ‘Surely though, Josh, if the old buildings are falling down, it’s better to start again with places that people can live in. They did that in parts of New York, areas that were ghettos, and now they’re great, with loads of trendy shops, and restaurants and bars.’
He laughs. ‘I sound like an old stick-in-the-mud, don’t I? I’m not suggesting that progress is bad, just that it needs to be managed. Take New York. What happened to the people who lived in those ghettos?’
‘Well, they moved somewhere else I guess.’
‘Right. They probably went to another ghetto when they could no longer afford to live in their old neighborhood. So that destroyed a whole community and scattered the residents. The families that lived in the hutongs had been there for generations. Isn’t it sad to displace them in the name of progress?’
‘Why Josh, you sound like a conservationist.’
He looks shy. ‘I am, in fact. I sit on the board of the Heritage Conservation Society in Hong Kong. My father was always very concerned about preserving Hong Kong’s heritage… he meant its colonial heritage of course! Our projects are much wider than that now, and aren’t all about saving the beautiful buildings. Do you know about Nga Tsin Wai?’ He sighs deeply, shaking his head. ‘It’s a walled village in Kowloon, the oldest one remaining. Three families in the fourteenth century built it, originally near the harbor but development of the old airport meant that the residents lost their seaside view. It’s not much to look at. It’s a slum really, but it’s very important historically. Unfortunately developers have bought it up and are tearing it down to make way for flats.’
‘That’s awful!’ Suddenly I’m seized by the injustice. ‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’
He chuckles at my inclusion in his conservation work. ‘Unfortunately not. Not for this one. We fought the plans for several years but the Urban Renewal Authority has won. They say they’ll keep some of the more important buildings, like the gatehouse, the temple and ancestral hall, and incorporate them into a cultural park that they’re planning. We’ll see.’
I wonder what makes us want to hold on to our heritage and look backwards, when the Chinese want to look forward? Maybe it’s opportunity. ‘You really love Hong Kong, don’t you?’
He looks surprised. ‘Of course. It’s my home, my heritage.’
‘Yeah, I guess I think of you as English, because of your accent, and the fact that you’re not Chinese. I’m sorry, that’s probably obtuse of me.’
‘I know what you mean. But no, I’m a Honker through and through.’
‘An old Hong Kong hand?’ I say, thinking of Mrs. Reese’s ties to his family.
‘Exactly. Ah, here we are.’
The taxi has finally reached our hotel, a nondescript concrete bunker of a building. If this is what progress looks like, I’d like the old buildings back please.
‘We’ll meet Mr. Chow at six-thirty so feel free to have a look around the area if you’d like. Although you saw the highlights of the city just now.’ He chuckles. ‘If we have time tomorrow before the airport we’ll ask the driver to take us out to the countryside. There’s something there I think you’ll appreciate.’
‘That sounds intriguing.’ I smile. ‘I’ll just relax and read a bit, so I’ll meet you in the lobby later. Oh, and is it okay if I call my boyfriend from the room?’
‘Of course it is. I’ll see you at six in the lobby.’
Josh really is the best boss a girl could have. Not only is he footing the bill for my travels to exotic lands, he hasn’t held even the tiniest grudge for my having almost scuppered his business. We lost out on three of the orders, so I won’t expect a Christmas bonus, but in my history of career snafus, it wasn’t at the top. That honor remains with the first party I was allowed to plan in London. I don’t know what my boss expected when she neglected to tell me that my ‘death and rebirth’ theme for the hostess’s divorce party (still an excellent idea, circumstances notwithstanding) might not go down well considering that her ex-husband had cancer… and attended the party. Needless to say, the six-foot coffin cake wasn’t a hit. But you know what they say: fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I will not be duped again. Well, not since the fax incident anyway. I’ve been watching Mrs. Reese closely this week. I’ll never prove that she gave me the wrong instructions but I’ll always suspect that she did. Of course I won’t say anything to her. It’s safer for her to think she’s getting away with it, and for me to know she can’t be trusted. I do believe I’m finally learning.
‘Bdllling!’
Hannah, Happy Birthday hony! Dad snd I hope you have a great day. We love you very much. Love mom and Dad
The first salutations of my twenty-eighth birthday. It’s a day early but I won’t hold Mom’s inability to calculate time differences against her. It’s the sentiment that counts, and it fills me with loving parental thoughts. I can imagine them at home, probably at the kitchen table while Mom taps resolutely on the mobile, reading out each word as she types. Dad’ll have the paper open, a cold cup of coffee at his elbow because he always gets too involved in what he’s reading to remember to drink it. Mom will pop it into the microwave every half hour and set it beside him where it will remain untouched. No wait, that’s the weekend routine. Today is Tuesday. Dad’s at work. Mom probably texted in the car at a red light, on her way to meet her friends for lunch. It doesn’t matter, the sentiment’s the same.
I miss them. Funny how filial ties can ambush you like this. I remember one afternoon at my first job, walking into the elevator just as a woman exited. She wore my mother’s perfume. It hit me with such force that I nearly followed her down the hall, sniffing in her wake. And Mom only lived twenty minutes up the road. It’s probably a stretch of Josh’s largesse to call the US, from a hotel room, at his company’s expense. Airwave love will have to do.
Thanks Mom and Dad, I’ll have a wonderful birthday! I’m in China now for work, so will celebrate here, then again in HK when I get back. I love you very much H
When I call Sam’s office, his phone rings and rings. Finally, ‘Hello, Sam’s phone.’
‘Uh, hi, this is Hannah. Is Sam there please?’
‘Oh. Hi Hannah. No, he’s not here. He’s left early today. Can I tell him you called?’
‘Yes please. Thanks.’ The line rings off.
I definitely told him I had to be here in China today and tomorrow. I know I told him. He can’t have flown to Hong Kong to surprise me for my birthday. Could he? That would be so romantic. But so bad! The idea that he’s ther
e, when I’m here, makes me queasy. The enormity of the missed opportunity is swelling in my gut. It’s a heavy breathing, light-headed, panicky feeling. It’s almost dread. It can’t be healthy to feel such desperation for this man. What if he breaks up with me?
There, I said it. What if he breaks up with me? Because that’s what this feeling is really about, isn’t it? It’s the fear of things going wrong in the future, even if they’re right in the present. It’s the fear that I won’t be able to handle that.
Scared, I call his mobile. Panic dialing is almost always a bad idea, but I have to know where he is. This is a perfect case of my head warning me to calm down, and my heart telling it to shut up and mind its own business. ‘Hi Sam?’ Relief floods through me at the sound of his voice.
‘Hi Hannah! How are you? How’s China?’ He sounds buoyant. I’ve been paranoid, overreacting, that’s all. ‘They let you in?’
‘Ha, yes, after some arguing by Josh, they let me in. We’re meeting in a little bit for the client dinner. It should be fun. I just hope I don’t make any blunders… So you’re taking the afternoon off? Doing something fun I hope?’ There. That’s breezy, casual, la la la la la. I’m such the cool girlfriend.
‘Yeah, you know what kind of hours I’ve been working. I needed the break.’
‘… Great. Where are you now?’ Admittedly that’s a little less breezy.
‘Oh, just wandering around, taking in some sights, you know, Reunification Palace, the museum. I haven’t really had the chance, with the work and all.’
‘Sounds like there are a lot of people there. Is it open late?’ The V&A in London has late views on Wednesdays, and I went once. Maybe when I visit Sam we can go to the Vietnamese version.
‘I’m not there anymore. I’m at a bar now. There’s an outside area, so there are a lot of people walking by. What time do you have to meet Josh for dinner?’
‘Fairly soon actually. I guess I’d better get in the shower. So will I talk to you tomorrow?’ What’s he doing in a bar alone? Granted, I’ve done it too, especially if there’s a nice outdoor seating area. It feels like a treat, a decadent, slightly subversive flouting of the normal rules. He has taken the afternoon off to unwind.
‘Of course I’ll call!’ He says. ‘It’s your birthday. Han, have a great time tonight at dinner, and good meetings tomorrow, and call me when you get back to your apartment, okay?’
‘I will. Goodnight sweetheart, enjoy the rest of your relaxing evening. I’ll talk to you tomorrow… I love you!’ I blurt out, a split second before regretting the words. Oh God, it’s like a fart has slipped out in the middle of sex.
‘Okay, me too… Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight. Bye.’
… Okay, me too. He said that, didn’t he? I said ‘I love you’ and he said ‘me too’. He loves me. Right? Unless he didn’t hear me correctly. It wasn’t exactly a heartfelt declaration. You’d think if your girlfriend says ‘I love you’ for the first time, you’d say something memorable back. So maybe he didn’t hear me. It was noisy. Did he hear me or not?! I should call him and ask. I need clarification. But what if he didn’t hear me? I’m going to have to repeat it. What if there’s an awful silence as he struggles to say something that won’t mortally wound me? This isn’t the kind of conversation to have on the phone. So I shouldn’t call him back. Unless he expected me to say something else. What kind of girlfriend doesn’t acknowledge when her boyfriend says ‘I love you’ for the first time? Perhaps he’s disappointed, and wondering why I didn’t say anything else. So I should call him.
I redial. Ring, ring, ring… ring, click. Did his phone shut off or did the call fail? Shut off or fail? Shut off or fail?! Answer me, you damn universe.
See? This is why it’s horrible being in love. I know I’m being insane. The question is whether Sam is making me feel like this or whether this is my natural state. There’s no denying that my relationships in the past have suffered from an excess of paranoia. Some might say obsession (Stacy certainly has). Jake is the perfect case in point, but nearly all former boyfriends have, at some point, suggested that I might be overreacting, and over-thinking the situation. Are we all obsessive? If I’m alone then I’d rather know now, because, to date, I’ve assumed that I’m normal… well, in the normal range anyway. But if womankind is generally secure in relationships, enjoying them rather than spending large parts of the day analyzing them, then I am, in fact, a nut job. Isn’t there some kind of test I can take to tell me where I fit on the crazy scale?
The taxi ride to the restaurant with Josh is a test of my willpower. I nearly blurted out the conversation, word for word, between Sam and me when he asked, ‘How are you?’ Can you imagine how inappropriate that would have been, how uncomfortable it would have made Josh? Then I’d be worried about him being uncomfortable, when I need all my concentration for this dinner. The last thing I want is a repeat of the client event in London last year, the very memory of which still makes me shudder with humiliation. It wasn’t merely that I was dressed like a party favor when the rest of the room wore business suits, or that I was pressed into service at the last minute to fill an empty space at one of the tables of MPs. It was the speech I was asked to make. A terrible, misguided speech about immigration, given to a group that had all the warmth of a Gestapo convention in 1937. There will be no speeches tonight.
‘All right?’ Josh says as the driver pulls up in front of the restaurant. It looks exactly like a Chinese restaurant should, with red hanging lanterns and golden dragons at the entrance. ‘Now, it’s Mr. Chow, who’s the owner of the factory, and his two top bosses Mr. Wang and Mr. Chung.’
‘Wang Chung?’
He chuckles. ‘Yes, I know, and Mr. Chow sometimes drops the Mr., which doesn’t help matters. You’ll know Mr. Chow immediately because the other two defer to him on everything. And it’s easy to remember which is Mr. Wang and which Mr. Chung because Wang is fat and Chung is skinny. Just remember fat Wang, but obviously, don’t say it out loud or you’ll get me into trouble. I have to remember all my clients’ staff using the same tricks. It’s terrible really, but with so many people to keep track of, needs must.’ He shrugs. ‘They may ask a few polite questions. You probably won’t be expected to say much. Though of course you can if you wish! But I also want you to feel free to just enjoy the dinner. We’re really here to show Mr. Chow how much we value working with him. Okay?’
‘Yep, I’m ready.’ I smooth my very demure, chocolate brown skirt, take a deep breath, and open the door to face what I hope to be my first successful client event.
Halfway through dinner I decide that it isn’t half bad. Our clients have pretty much ignored me, in the nicest possible way. Mr. Chow has been chatting non-stop to Josh about next season while Wang Chung nod in time to every statement. They’re very nice. And hospitable. I’m stuffed to the gills but they keep feeding me. Every time I finish what’s in my bowl, they take turns filling it again from the tasty morsels on the ingenious rotating tray in the middle of the table. I’ve just choked down my third helping and fear for my waistline. Even worse, every so often Mr. Chow gets in on the act, offering me the last bit from the serving plates. My mother taught me to clean my plate, but this is a fight to the death between my manners and my seams. Manners have the upper hand so far, but only just.
‘Hannah.’ Mr. Chow interrupts my bulimic fantasies. ‘How have you enjoyed living in Hong Kong?’
‘Oh, Mr. Chow, it’s incredible! It’s really a great city, with so much to learn about, and so much to explore. When I first arrived I only saw the modern buildings and thought it was like New York, but it’s really very different. I feel like when I scratched the surface, I saw the real Hong Kong.’
‘Hmm, yes, very interesting. And what is the real Hong Kong, do you think?’
Can I say what I’m thinking? It’s not offensive is it? No, surely not. It’s just my observation. ‘It’s very Chinese, Mr. Chow. I didn’t expect that. I thought that because it was a colony for so lon
g, it would be a little like London. But it’s not at all. It’s a Chinese city.’
A slow smile spreads across Mr. Chow’s face, mirrored by Wang Chung. ‘Yes, Hannah, it is a Chinese city. It’s a great Chinese city. You are right. You are very right.’
When Josh smiles I know I’ve said the right thing. Who’d have thought it, considering how many of the wrong things I usually say? I’ve spent most of this night reminding myself not to mention the Dalai Lama or Taiwan (two subjects that Josh warned would win me no friends in China). But when the pressure was on, I said the right thing. Perhaps I, Hannah Jane Cumming, have finally turned over a whole new green tea leaf. On the cusp of my twenty-eighth birthday I may have ceased to be the village idiot and started being a fully-fledged adult who doesn’t have to be shielded from polite society. This is quite a moment. Mr. Chung wants to celebrate it with another helping.
‘Oh, no, thank you very much, Mr. Chung. This food is so delicious that I’ve eaten too much of it. I can’t eat another bite. Thank you. And thank you, Mr. Chow, for hosting tonight. Everything has been perfect.’
Mr. Chung grins like I’ve just mistaken him for George Clooney, and Mr. Chow nods graciously. I’ve scored again.
As we make our way back through the hotel lobby after dinner, me trying not to waddle, Josh says, ‘Thanks again, Hannah. That was a success.’ He’s grinning like a proud parent.
‘No problem, it was fun… As you know, I’ve messed up a bit in my past jobs. I think you’re a good boss for me. You never make me feel like I can’t do something. That makes a difference.’
‘Well, I’m very pleased that I hired you,’ he says as we wait for the elevator. ‘It’s nice to know that my instincts were right…’ He trails off, scanning the quiet lobby. ‘I see a future for you, Hannah.’
The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) Page 15
