by Hannah Bent
The corridor outside Professor Lipin’s office was quiet, but for a faint humming that emanated from the drinks machine close by. There was an empty chair by the door. I chose the floor instead.
I think you should come home… This time is different.
The urgency I had felt to return to my sister had dulled, to be replaced by dread. I needed to pull myself together. I would ask for an extension on my thesis defence and come back next term after the situation with Harper was sorted.
Professor Lipin emerged from his office. ‘Marlowe, come in.’
He tied his shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail as he took a seat at his desk under the large crescent window.
‘I’ve got some good news for you. I’m sure Olly has already mentioned that we recommended you for the Royal Zoological Award? Well I’ve just been notified you’re on the shortlist. Congratulations!’ He was beaming.
I gaped at him.
‘Marlowe?’ Professor Lipin was looking at me, his brow creased.
I’d been shortlisted? For a brief moment, I felt proud. But then reality hit me and I felt the life I had worked so hard to build for myself slipping out of my grasp.
‘I’m sorry.’ The words tumbled out of my mouth. ‘I need to take a leave of absence.’ My voice sounded high-pitched and small.
He was looking at me, bewildered.
‘My sister is very sick…’ A dove flew onto the landing outside the window. It turned, beady eyes latched onto mine. ‘I need to go home to Hong Kong.’
Cold trickled into my bones. I thought of my recent application to take part in the arion conservation program in Devon, thought of the larvae I had painstakingly reared and the endless observational studies I had done. The disappointment dawning on Professor Lipin’s face registered in my body.
‘I’ll be back next term,’ I assured him.
Yes, I told myself, that’s right. All would be well and I would be back.
At my locker, I fumbled with the key.
‘Hey.’ Olly walked down the corridor towards me. He was dressed in a smart blue shirt and chinos, with a nerdy I love bugs badge pinned to his breast pocket.
He really was my perfect match. It was the kind of ridiculous, romantic sentiment that belonged to Harper, not me, but I couldn’t stop the thought springing to my mind. My eyes welled, knowing I’d have to say goodbye to him in a few days. I had never been able to deal with goodbyes. At least this one wouldn’t be for too long, I reminded myself. I turned away to stare into my open locker.
‘I was waiting for you in the lab but you never showed. You okay, Marls?’ He brushed the hair out of my eyes. Despite myself, I leaned my head onto his shoulder. His arms went around me, his hand stroking my back. I wished we could stay like this forever.
My cheeks were wet. I quickly pulled away from him and picked up the empty cardboard box on the floor.
‘What’s that?’
‘A box.’
‘I know it’s a box. What’s it for?’
‘I have to leave.’ I grabbed the heavy lepidoptera and entomology hardbacks from my locker, trying to ignore my urge to hurl them to the ground, breaking the spines, sending pages fluttering through the air, creating a messy pile of words. For once in my life, things had been going well – and now I had to walk away.
‘Talk to me, Marls. What’s going on?’
I sat on the ground beside the box, my face in my hands.
Olly crouched down beside me.
‘You’ll have to look after the arion larvae for me.’ My voice started to crack. Hold it together. My mind raced through all the things I would need to impart to Olly before I left. ‘For the adults, I keep a jar of extra sugar water in the cupboard above the specimen containers. There’s also –’
‘It’s Harper, isn’t it?’
Breathe.
I nodded. ‘She’s dying.’ Startled by the bluntness of my statement, I searched for something else to say. ‘I won’t be able to go on the field trip to the Cotswolds next week.’ I cringed inwardly. Who cared about that? ‘I mean…’
‘It’s okay.’ Olly looked at me steadily. I couldn’t read his expression. He was very still. ‘I thought she’d be okay… I’m so sorry.’ He spoke softly; it was the same voice he used to speak to our butterflies. ‘When do you leave?’
My scarf felt too tight around my throat. I loosened it.
‘I’ll try and get the Friday morning flight. There’s a meeting with the doctors on Saturday.’ The words sank in the air next to us.
He took my hand. ‘Marlowe, you know you’re not alone in this, right? You have me. Why don’t I come with you?’
‘No.’ I wouldn’t let this affect his life too.
There was a long silence before he spoke again. ‘I’ll cook dinner tonight, okay?’
I nodded. ‘See you at home.’
Harper
It is a Wednesday night and that means it is disco night – it is written in my diary with purple ink – but I am missing it. I am in the emergency part of the hospital again, this time because of a fever. To be honest, I don’t like missing disco night, and I am finding it hard not to think about all my friends having fun without me.
It is strange to be back in hospital again so soon, but I am here with Dad and Wài Pó. Dad is on his mobile phone a lot and Wài Pó is asleep in her chair. Louis tried to stay with me for a while instead of going to disco night, but it was making him anxious because things were different in his routine. He was looking at his watches a lot and jumping about on his toes. He finds it harder than me to stay calm when there is change. I am not upset he is gone, because I have ways of cheering myself up.
Every time I go to hospital, I take my small, yellow photo album with me. In the first photo, my mum and dad are in the garden, looking at each other with a spark of romance in their eyes. Next there is Wài Pó and me cooking in the kitchen. I was only fifteen years old and Wài Pó had more black hairs than grey. Then there is a photo of Marlowe and me holding hands when we were small. We were wearing matching blue dresses that my dad got us for Marlowe’s birthday. On the very last page, there is a new photo of me and the love of my heart, Louis. We are sitting in the garden, holding hands with matching smiles on our faces.
When I am feeling sad or scared, I think of the day when Louis and I first met. It is a day when something really good happened in my life.
I was shopping with Wài Pó for spring roll filling – minced chicken, carrots, chives, cabbage, and spring roll wrappers. Then I heard with my ears someone shouting. The voice said: ‘I just need to find one more dollar.’ He had an American accent. I know all about this kind of accent because my speech therapist, Mrs Green, is American.
Me and Wài Pó were making our way to the check-out counter but in front of us was a long line of people with moody faces. They were shaking their heads and making ‘tut tut’ noises at the man who was holding up the queue.
‘Please, sir, step aside and let the other customers come through,’ the check-out lady said.
‘No, I cannot do that,’ said the man, ‘because I know I have one dollar somewhere in one of my pockets and it is three thirty-three pm and I have to be home at three thirty-five pm. There is only two minutes left.’
I walked closer to the man and saw from behind that he had hair the same colour as gingerbread. He was wearing a very nice suit and I thought to myself, This man looks very smart.
The lady at the counter called for help in Chinese, and two men in blue clothes walked towards the smart man and grabbed his shoulders. He turned and I saw on his face that he had freckles, a small, friendly-looking nose and the Up syndrome, like me.
‘Wait,’ I said importantly, in my loudest voice. I put my hand into my purse and took out one dollar and gave it to the smart man. He looked at me and a bit of ginger hair fell over his eyes. I wanted to brush it away with my fingers.
‘You should give her the money before she calls the police and puts you in prison,’ I said.
So, he did. Th
en he took his bags and one of his watches rang with an alarm. He had two watches on his arm. As he was switching off the sound, I saw the time 3.35 pm flashing. But the man did not move. He just stared at me again, and then I got a swirly jumpy feeling in my belly, right near my buttonhole.
‘Míng Huà!’ Wài Pó was calling from the queue of waiting customers who were looking with their eyes. ‘Míng Huà, come back.’
‘My name is Louis.’ The man gave me his hand and I took it. The soft parts of our skin inside our palms were warm together as they touched. I felt a smile on my face.
‘My name is Harper,’ I said. ‘How come I’ve never seen you around here before?’
‘I am new. I am from the United States of America, New York, Manhattan. I moved here three months ago, and I am Jewish. In New York, I was a waiter at the Honeybee Cafe, but here in Hong Kong I am unemployed. I cannot get a job here.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It is three forty pm. Now I am late.’ Louis jumped from side to side like he needed to pee. ‘I’ve got to go now.’
I felt sad in my heart, so I looked at the floor.
‘Do you have a home or mobile phone?’ he asked, and then the swirling started again.
He took out a shiny pen from his pocket.
‘Yes.’ My cheeks were a bit hot. ‘Yes I do.’
‘I would like to call you tomorrow night at seven pm just before my dinner at seven thirty and then the news at eight. We could chat. If you would like to chat with me, I would like that very much.’
‘I would like that very much too.’
I told him my phone number and I saw that he wrote his number two backwards and in a funny shape, but that was okay with me.
‘Goodbye, Harper. Thank you for your help with the money. I was never very good with money, ever since I was a baby.’
‘Well I am very good with money. I always have a lot of money in my purse.’
Louis brushed his gingerbread hair from his face and waved at me. I waved back.
A yellow flower on my pillow.
Louis was here.
He is always with me, even when I am dreaming.
This is love.
Marlowe
Cousin Bì Yù’s phone call came like clockwork. She always called on Wednesday morning my time, which was Wednesday night Shanghai time. We hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year, not since my last trip back to Hong Kong. Whenever I went home, I always visited Shanghai for a few days with Harper and Wài Pó to see Mum’s side of the family. Bì Yù had pink hair then. I wondered what colour it would be now.
‘Mèi mei! Did you see the latest episode of 90210?’
Mèi mei… Whenever cousin Bì Yù called me that, it felt like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. Although I wasn’t officially her younger sister, it was good to know that someone had my back, even if she was halfway across the world.
‘You’re still watching that trash?’ I asked.
She giggled. ‘You know me. It helps me to sleep at night.’
She brought me up to date, taking great pleasure in the characters’ juicy romances. Although she was older than me, Bì Yù had never had a serious boyfriend. There was something about her that was so wise and so naive at the same time.
Suddenly she stopped her recount to ask, ‘Why are you so quiet? Is something wrong?’
She had no idea about Harper, I realised. Dad and Wài Pó must not have told the family in Shanghai yet. I wasn’t surprised that Dad hadn’t contacted them; Irene didn’t like him to be in touch with Mum’s side of the family. But why hadn’t Wài Pó said something? Perhaps she didn’t want to worry them until we knew for sure what was going on, I speculated. Or perhaps it was too hard for her to talk about.
Haltingly, I filled Bì Yù in.
Immediately, she said, ‘I’m coming. I’ll come to Hong Kong to be with you.’
‘No,’ I found myself saying. When Mum was sick, the family came when it was time to say goodbye to her. We weren’t saying goodbye to Harper. ‘I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Besides, you’ve just started working for your favourite designer – we both know how hard it was to land that job. You stay where you are; there’s no need for you to come now.’
‘I’m worried about you all.’
‘There’s no need to be, honestly. We’re seeing a doctor on Saturday and I’ll let you know how it goes. I’m sure everything will work out.’ It had to.
I could hear her anxiously tapping the phone with her finger.
‘If you’re sure.’ She sounded doubtful. ‘But if you need anything, anything at all, please call me.’
I promised her I would.
That night it began to snow. From the warmth of our bed I watched talc-like clusters collect on our window ledge. The purr of Olly’s breath landed at the base of my neck as he slept, his arm slung over my waist. I was comforted by Olly, his touch, the stillness of the night, the silence.
Yellow light from a streetlamp outside illuminated the powdery sky. Although the view outside my window was pleasing, I knew that this was something Harper was more likely to notice than me. I was seeing through her eyes again; we would be together soon and she was becoming more alive to me, her presence more vivid, as if she was in me, with me, until her gaze and mine were one. If she were seated next to me I wouldn’t know where she began and where I ended. As a child, I experienced that sensation so often that I thought it was normal, but this was the first time I’d felt it since moving to London. I wasn’t sure I liked it.
I placed my hand on top of Olly’s, which was lightly pressed against my belly, and listened to his slow, stable breath. Predictable. Safe. Outside our window, snow fell in thicker clumps, blown sideways by a strengthening wind. The glass rattled. The air howled. I felt small when nature displayed its strength. I tried to understand it in my work, tried to outwit it by finding ways to conserve its most delicate creatures. At times like these, though, I wondered if one could ever really outsmart nature, or grasp the phenomena of the physical world in its entirety. And if not, did that mean my work was fruitless? No. I stopped myself. That train of thought wouldn’t lead me anywhere worth going. And so I forced myself to return to a simple appreciation of the thickly falling snow.
I had just turned eight and was sitting on a couch watching snow gather on the window ledge. A fire was hissing nearby and I could feel its heat on my cheeks. My mother was giving Bì Yù a piano lesson on my uncle’s piano. My parents had decided to spend Chinese New Year at Uncle Bĭng Wén and Aunt Lĭ Nà’s townhouse at the edge of Zhōngshān Park, in Shanghai. Bì Yù’s sound was loud and clunky as she struggled with Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Dad had told me I must always be quiet when Mum was at the piano. I turned to look. Bì Yù’s pigtails bobbed up and down with the movements of her hands. I wanted to laugh at her mistakes and had to bite my lower lip to stop myself. Even though Bì Yù was three years older than I was and much better at maths, she would never play piano as well as my mother.
‘Lucky girl.’ Uncle Bĭng Wén spoke with a British accent he had acquired from his years studying at the University of London. He patted his daughter on the head. ‘Getting lessons from your talented aunt. One day you might be like her, eh! Up on a big stage.’ He removed several glasses from his wood-and-paktong cabinet and turned to look at me.
‘What about you?’
Suddenly, I felt small, aware of how my feet dangled over the edge of his couch, a long way from the floor.
‘Still don’t like the piano?’
‘No.’ Although Mum was reluctant to admit it, I hadn’t inherited her gift for music.
‘I’ve been trying to get her to play more,’ Mum sighed. ‘My beautiful, smart girl is also very stubborn.’
My beautiful, smart girl. In her eyes, I was the one with the potential, the one who could make something of herself. ‘Your mèi mei can’t do the things you can, Míng Yuè,’ Mum would say when I refused to practise the piano. ‘She won’t have the opportunities you will.’ This was usually enough to
persuade me to sit at the keyboard and thump out a clumsy tune, but today she didn’t mention Harper’s shortcomings. Maybe Bì Yù’s interest in the piano was enough for the moment.
I could hear Harper’s frustrated cries coming from the kitchen. She probably wanted to be near the music. Sure enough, seconds later, there was a patter of footsteps. Harper, who was only three, plodded into the living room, pulling Dad behind her. I noticed her lips and fingertips were tinged blue, yet it didn’t seem to affect her cheery disposition. She gave Dad’s arm another forceful tug and gestured to the piano. I would never pull him like that! A tall man, he had to bend down to hold her hand. When she let go he straightened, wiping light hair from his brow and adjusting the bow tie he always wore. He looked, as Mum would tease, ‘so British’.
Harper clapped her hands, then climbed onto Mum’s lap. I waited for Dad to tell her off, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled and took a drink from Uncle Bĭng Wén. I crossed my arms. It wasn’t fair.
Wài Pó entered the room, followed by Aunt Lĭ Nà. My aunt, a psychologist, had an unobtrusive manner. She tended to remain on the periphery, and I was often aware of her watching us. The two women took seats near the piano and listened attentively.
Harper continued clapping along with the music, pausing every so often to push her small, round spectacles further up the bridge of her nose. I found myself wishing that I had spectacles too.
‘Hello, blossom.’ Finally, Dad lowered himself onto the couch next to me. Immediately, I crawled onto his lap. He smelled of coffee and cologne – bitter and fresh. He kissed the top of my head and I burrowed deeper into his chest. All the heaviness I had felt while watching my mother and cousin play disappeared.
‘All done,’ Bì Yù announced. The music stopped abruptly. She jumped off the piano stool and took a bow. Harper followed, bowing also. Mum shook her head and laughed. She then wiped an unusual amount of sweat from her brow.
‘Is that it? I don’t think Beethoven would have finished a lesson halfway through.’
