Chapter 16.
‘You’re quiet,’ Sam observes as we walk hand in hand through Kowloon on Saturday.
‘I’m taking this all in,’ I tell him truthfully. I mean the sights, sounds and smells bombarding us. Hong Kong continues to reveal her small wonders to me. It’s not an obvious city in that way. New York wears her charms proudly for all to see, and London overwhelms with her voluminous architectural wonders and history at every turn. But Hong Kong enthralls in a million little ways. I was right to suspect that the sleek façade was just that. Mixed cultural metaphors aside, Hong Kong reminds me of a geisha. The external perfection and stylized appearance are actually the least interesting things about her.
The flower market is crowded when we get there. We see it as we turn a corner off Prince Edward Road, but its aroma spreads beyond the stalls themselves. Like Sheung Wan, most of the shops are converted garages, and they’re just as visually intense. Uncountable buckets are filled with every color flower imaginable, from humble freesias and carnations to soaring lilies and birds of paradise. Mostly women, mostly Chinese, clutch their blooms, haggling with the vendors. Some stalls sell potted flowers and plants. I’d buy one but it would mean sending a plant to certain death.
‘How lovely,’ says Sam, squeezing my hand and making my heart hiccup. It’s been a hard morning. He’s got no idea that I know about the Groom Raider, so he’s acting just like he always does when we’re together – fun, attentive and kind. I, however, am starring in the most challenging role imaginable. I know I have to talk to him, but oh, how I wish I didn’t. In a way I hoped that Pete would tell him after all, but there’s no sign that he knows I know.
‘It’s amazing. Hong Kong is amazing. I’m grateful every day for being here,’ I say. ‘It’s such a city of contrasts. And secrets…’
‘What secrets?’
‘… Things often look like one thing, but are actually another… I don’t know if I’ll ever know exactly where I stand.’
‘But that comes with time, doesn’t it? As you get to know a place you learn what’s genuine and what isn’t.’
‘But you wouldn’t if you’re not exposed to the genuine side. If you only have sporadic exposure, or you only see one side, then you’re never going to feel totally comfortable, are you?’
‘That’s why you have to keep exploring, and getting out there to experience everything,’ he says.
My attempt to introduce the conversation isn’t working.
We find the nearby bird market by sound rather than sight. A cacophony of chirps, whistles, screeches and hoots fill the air. There’s a wide walkway lined with flowers and trees running alongside it, where several men are meandering through carrying bird cages. Others have hung their cages next to each other along bars under the eaves of the bird market buildings. The men sit and chat, their birds catching up with each other on the previous days’ events. ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘I read about this but didn’t think it could be true. I figured it was like the Wishing Tree, something that happened in the past.’
‘You’ve seen the noodle shops, right? Where the men hang their cages on the rails over the tables?’
‘I suppose it’s nice for the birds to get out of their apartments. And it’s probably exciting for them to come here within earshot of all their cousins to hear the gossip.’ As I ponder what bird gossip might be, an old man totters up the walk, but elects not to join the others under the eaves. Instead he brings his birdcage to a tree branch quite close to us, and stands alone. I wonder what he’s done to be ostracized from the others. ‘Do you think they’re all friends?’ I ask Sam.
‘Nah, I’m sure they fight. Someone is getting above himself with his shiny new cage, or this one said that one’s bird is ugly. We humans aren’t built to live happily ever after.’
My heart goes out to the lone man, until I notice a younger man calling to him as he approaches. The old man smiles broadly, clapping him on the back as he hangs his bird’s cage. I bet their birds are good friends too. Maybe sometimes we do live happily ever after.
The bird market itself is almost overwhelming in the number and variety of birds for sale. Most are tiny and colorful, and all are noisy. A few of the stalls sell bird food, but it’s not the kind you’d find in PetSmart. It’s the kind you’d find crawling around your garden. Crickets, grubs, grasshoppers – it’s a bird banquet. Some of the cages are utilitarian but many are delicately woven bamboo confections, beautiful, and tempting to buy even without a bird.
As we continue down the row I notice one non-bird-related stall nestled in the midst of the hubbub. A seamstress sits behind her ancient heavy black Singer sewing machine, stitching away. And she’s singing, beautifully voiced and powerfully, joining the birds in their melodies. She looks so strong and assured, deftly turning her cloth and singing to herself. She looks content, and at peace. I want desperately to be like that.
‘Sam,’ I whisper, welling up. ‘We need to talk.’
He freezes, searching my face. ‘Let’s sit down.’ He leads me to a low wall. ‘What is it, Han? Are you okay?’
‘No. And we’re not okay.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Sam, I know about… her. I know you’ve been seeing someone else. Pete mentioned it. He didn’t mean it as a betrayal or anything I’m sure.’ I feel I should defend Pete now that I know he never had it in for me. ‘You’d told him about our talk, that we could see other people, so his comment was innocent. Sam, how long has it been going on, with her? And remember, I can ask Pete.’ I could keep talking but my vocal chords have seized up.
‘Aw, Han, I don’t want you to be upset.’ He grabs my hand. I let him. ‘It’s not what you think. We traded details way back when we met. We’re in similar fields and, oh I don’t know, it was innocent.’
‘What do you mean you traded details? When? In the jungle? I was with you the whole time.’
‘When you asked me to go out and take photos, remember when you were ill? I ran into her, in that cafe across from the school.’
Of course. I assumed he’d asked a stranger to take his photo in front of all the landmarks. Lara was the photographer.
‘I didn’t think anything of it,’ he says urgently. ‘That’s why I didn’t tell you. We just had a coffee and wandered around for an hour. It wasn’t even worth mentioning. I forgot all about it to be honest, then, months later, I randomly got an email. I answered because there was no reason not to. Han, I can see by your face that you think it’s more than that, but it’s not. She’s got a few friends in Ho Chi Minh and put me in touch. They’re two guys, really nice guys, who’ve set up a business there. You know I’ve been working late, and on weekends, and it was nice to be able to go out every so often for drinks. I felt like I was able to enjoy being there a bit, not just working all the time… then I saw her once when she visited them for the weekend. Nothing happened, I promise you! But then you said you didn’t want a long-distance relationship and we agreed that we could have dates with other people. So the next time she visited we went out. It’s not serious with her, Hannah, I promise. You don’t have anything to worry about. It’s just a bit of fun, she’s not even in Ho Chi Minh and I hardly ever see her.’
My ears hear everything he’s just said. Yet my mind registers just one thing. It’s not serious. ‘Do you think that makes a difference, that it’s not serious? Sam, you’re my boyfriend, and you’re fucking another woman. I assume you are fucking.’ He flinches. ‘Yes, I thought so. Are you saying you’re willing to throw us away for a bit of fun?’
‘No! I’m not throwing us away. Han, I care very much for you. I want us to be together in Hong Kong. And we will be, very soon. We agreed we could see other people while we’re apart. Didn’t we? Am I missing something?’
‘Yes, you are. You’re missing the fact that you shouldn’t want to see other people if you like me as much as you say you do. And yet you are. That means one thing to me. That you don’t care for me, to use your words, as much as you say you do. Or at least you don’t care for
me enough not to want to be with someone else. The thing is, Sam, I don’t want to be with anyone else. That’s what makes us different. And I don’t think we can reconcile that.’
‘But we can be together, just us! If you don’t want to see other people then I won’t either. Like I said, it’s not serious with Svetlana.’ Svetlana. I hate hearing her name. Now she’s a person, not a computer-generated boyfriend-stealer. ‘I’ll call her tonight,’ he promises. ‘I’ll call her right now and tell her. Han, I don’t want to lose you.’
‘I’m sorry, Sam.’ I can’t believe I’m about to say this. My throat threatens to choke off my words, but they are determined to come. ‘You lost me when you chose to see somebody else. Technicalities don’t matter – whether you legally could or not. I want someone – no, I deserve someone – who’s as committed to me as I am to him. You’re not that person. So I’m sorry, you’ve already lost me.’
He stares at me, dumbfounded, as I sob. ‘Hannah, can’t we talk more about this?’
‘There’s nothing – what could you possibly say that takes away the last few months, Sam? Can you make anything you’ve – hiccup – said not true?’
‘No,’ he says quietly.
‘I’ve loved you, Sam. I didn’t deserve this. And you know that. Don’t you?’
‘I feel terrible.’
‘Well, I don’t feel like whistling a tune myself.’
‘I mean I feel terrible about what I’ve done.’
‘You should.’ I stand on shaky legs. ‘You fucked this up, not me.’
‘I’ve been such an asshole.’ He shakes his head, clenching his fists. ‘You’ve been nothing but wonderful and supportive and kind. You moved out here for me and I’m not even in the country! You did move for me, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I whisper.
‘And I knew that. Even back in London I knew you were doing it for me. Even when I was telling you I didn’t want you to, I knew you were. And I let you. Even though it scared me that you’d make that kind of leap, I let you because it didn’t feel like a big step. What I mean is, it felt natural. It felt like the right thing to do. I didn’t feel scared by it. I felt good, and excited and positive about our future. Even when I found out I had to be away, it didn’t seem like the end of the world because I knew I wanted to be with you. Hannah, what I’m saying is that I love you. God, what an idiot I’ve been. Why didn’t I just say it before now?’
‘Maybe you didn’t feel it before. I don’t know, Sam, maybe you don’t even really feel it now. You’re scared of losing me. Why wouldn’t you be? You’ve had this entire relationship your way. Of course you don’t want to lose that. Maybe that’s all you feel.’
He’s crying now. ‘It’s not. I do feel it, Hannah. How can I convince you?’
‘I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know how you’d do that. Just because you say it doesn’t mean I’ll believe it. Your actions speak louder than your words. You’ve said all you can say. I’ve heard you, Sam, I really have. But I want to go back by myself now.’
‘Can I call you later to make sure you’re okay?’
‘No, it’s best if you don’t.’
With nothing left to say, without a kiss or a hug goodbye, I leave him sitting on the low wall. As I walk back through the bird garden, attracting curious stares from the men, I find my phone in my bag. ‘Stacy? I need you.’
‘Hang in there, Han, I’m leaving the apartment right now. Where are you?’
It was a slow journey back to our apartment, what with me sobbing into Stacy’s shoulder every five yards. Now I know why nineteenth-century heroines took to their beds when they got bad news. How I’d love to take a sabbatical to wallow in heartbreak. But no, we are twenty-first-century women. We can juggle all the balls, even when one of them is a razor-studded orb of poo. And I suppose it might be a tad unhealthy to let a break-up give me bedsores. Stacy certainly thinks so. She’s been merciless in her attempt to get me over this Sam-sized bump in the road. I appreciate her monumental efforts, though they seem to mainly involve grooming. She’s had me cut and colored, and plucked, but I drew the line at a bikini wax. The irony of adding insult to injury was too much to bear. I have, however, acquiesced to a pedicure, which Stacy insists will be relaxing. I’m sure it would be, if not for my deep-seated aversion to emery boards. I think she’s tired of hearing me repeat the Sam conversation and figures I’ll keep quiet if I’m clenching my teeth in fear.
We’ve found a place near the escalators, pushing a nondescript buzzer that unlocked a steel-reinforced door. Black leather loungers ring the bare-walled, strip-lit room where half a dozen Chinese technicians fondle their clients’ feet. It’s the chicken assembly line of foot care. The women confer briefly among themselves to decide who’s going to work on Stacy and me. Five minutes later my feet are soaking in hot water and the woman in front of me is sharpening her tools on a leather strap. Or it seems that way.
She starts gently with some sort of scissors, which don’t hurt, though I’m flinching as if slapped each time the blade touches my skin. I can see her patience wearing thin. By the time she graduates to a file that’s used to shave down lopsided doors, I’m shooting her pointed looks that say, ‘I will not hesitate to knock your teeth out if you hurt me.’ Through the miracle of non-verbal communication, she understands perfectly, and stops grinding away quite so enthusiastically.
Meanwhile Stacy is chatting away like she’s not losing important bits of her foot. ‘If it’s not raining let’s go to The Backyard tonight,’ she says. ‘We’ll sip cocktails, show off our feet and soak up the atmosphere.’
What she means is that I’ll be distracted from thoughts of Sam. Any relief is welcome, and I do love The Backyard, but comfy rattan sofas amidst Mong Kok’s skyscrapers aren’t going to make me forget what I’ve done. I vacillate between certainty that it was the right thing and certainty that it was the painful thing. Neither assures me it was the best thing.
My mind constantly flicks to Sam, where he is and what (who) he’s doing. Did he wait until he got back to Ho Chi Minh to call Svetlana, or was he on his mobile to her as he left the bird market? It’s none of my business. I broke up with him. Of course, I’m desperate to know.
When the technician drags an emery board across my big toenail, I squeal to tell her how much I’m enjoying the experience. She stops abruptly.
‘Please,’ I gasp. ‘No emery board.’
‘Just a little?’ She asks.
Not unless you want to go to the hospital. ‘No, none. Please.’
‘You not let me work!’ she cries, like Picasso being relieved of his brushes. She’s jealously eyeing Stacy’s feet, being whittled away, no doubt wishing she’d made a different choice of customer. To prove her mettle, she chooses a gleaming instrument and begins running it across the bottom of my foot. Bits of foot flake off on to the towel.
‘What’s that?’ I cry.
‘It’s a razor,’ says Stacy. ‘She’s shaving the calluses off your foot.’
‘But don’t I need those?’
‘For what?’
I’m not sure, but I’ve got to think that if my body sees fit to make a callus, there must be a good reason.
‘Trust her, Hannah, she knows what she’s doing. Just try to enjoy it. This is supposed to be taking your mind of things.’
It is. Now I’m obsessing about physical rather than emotional scarring. Job done, thanks, Stace.
Of course, falling out of love isn’t as easy as slicing off a callus. If it were, then women the world over would have perfect feet and intact self-esteem. More than two weeks after my talk with Sam and my feet and nerves remain in tatters. Unfortunately I have to rely on both today.
‘My god, this is huge!’ I exclaim to Josh. Exhibition stalls stuffed with clothes run off into the distance of the huge AsiaWorld-Expo building. ‘How many manufacturers are here?’
‘It seems to be all of them, doesn’t it? But it’s only a fraction of those that are actually in China. Lots of
the hopeful newcomers come to these shows for exposure to the exporters. It’s a beauty parade of sorts, with each firm showcasing their best work. We get to wander around and be made a fuss over. Watch carefully and you can see them puckering up. Your bottom is about to be kissed.’ He reddens as he says this, probably aware that mentioning an employee’s bottom could be misinterpreted. I’ve never told him the details about my old boss, Mark. If I had, he’d probably be less afraid to offend me.
I sigh. ‘I could use some adoration at the moment.’
‘Stacy told me about you and Sam. I’m sorry, Hannah, that’s a very hard thing to have to go through. But for what it’s worth, you probably did the right thing.’
‘Thanks, Josh. It doesn’t feel very right at the moment… Are you and Stacy in touch?’ I had no idea. But then again she could have set her hair on fire lately and I probably wouldn’t have noticed. Yet another downside to heartbreak: you turn into a crappy friend.
‘Yes, we chat occasionally,’ he says shyly. ‘She’s a very nice woman, and interesting, but then you know that already, don’t you?’
‘Are you… an item, Josh?’ I tease, hoping I’m not overstepping my bounds. I’ll get all the details from Stacy when I get home, but that’s hours from now.
‘Has she not mentioned anything?’ He looks disappointed. ‘We went for drinks on Monday. I assumed she’d have told you. That’s not a problem, is it?’
‘Oh no, not at all! I think you’re great, and she’s great, so it’d be… great if you liked each other.’
‘Well, it is still early days, just one date, but I’d like to see her again.’
The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) Page 21
