The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) (6 page)

‘I’m not sure. I got a little turned around when I left the restaurant. I think I’m heading towards Sheung Wan.’

‘Ah, I love it there. It feels like old Hong Kong. Where was the apartment you saw?’

‘In the Mid-levels. There was someone else looking at it, and you can’t even imagine this girl. She didn’t stop giggling the whole time we were together. She invited me for a coffee, which was nice of her, but she’s so flaky, Sam. She claims that crystals heal people, and has a guru called Neil. Seriously, what guru is called Neil? Apparently my aura needs cleaning.’

‘Oh, that’s great. I’m sorry darlin’, but can I call you back? Mr. Nguyen just came in. Okay Mr. Nguyen, I’m happy to go through it again. Sorry, Han, I’ll talk to you later, okay?’ He hangs up. Convo interruptus.

I suppose it was a little unfair to expect him to kick his feet up on the desk for a chinwag at work. I should be more understanding. When I worked for my horror boss in London, I wouldn’t have been able to take a personal phone call, let alone enjoy it. Still, now I feel unfulfilled and frustrated. I wanted our conversation to ease the panicky loss I’m feeling. Instead, it just sharpened it. Given that he’s done nothing to make me feel insecure, I have to admit the possibility that it’s me.

This is not a comfortable thought as I pick my way through Sheung Wan’s higgledy-piggledy streets, careful to avoid the shallow woven baskets that are strewn across the pavements. Most are full of urchins and scallops that have been drying in the heat of the day.

One basket holds what look like reptilian lollipops. They’re actual lizards, splayed out flat on sticks. Do diners gnaw on them like jerky, or soak them in water till they reconstitute into their fleshy former selves? Their heads are still attached. I’m not crazy about eating something that could, theoretically, watch me fork it in. This feels a million miles away from the sleek skyscrapers in Central. In street after narrow street shops sell things that I've never even contemplated putting in my mouth. Most look a bit like garages, with wide roll-up doors on the front, some with shelves along one wall and a counter, some with hundreds of bags of mysterious dried things. This is what I expected when I moved – the sheer foreignness is overwhelming, and exciting! Wonderful pungent smells waft through the street, herbs and grassy, hay-like aromas, fish and a spicy, smoky smell. It’s strong but not off-putting.

It’s one of the true joys of this city. You never know what’s around the corner. The next street is lined with Chinese medicine shops. Although they’re probably just called medicine shops here, like Swedish massages are simply called massages in Stockholm. Window labels tell me they’re selling deer antlers. They’re rich brown and fuzzy, chopped into sausage-sized pieces. And there are dinosaur teeth. Surely those are supposed to be in a museum. And… what on earth is that? Through the window I glimpse a man, a customer, standing in front of a tray of dark, rounded, fleshy-looking objects. He’s picking each one up and weighing it in his hand. I notice one on a tray in the window. It has definitely come from an animal. I wonder which part? Uncertainly I enter the shop, catching the clerk’s attention as the customer leaves. ‘Do you speak English?’ I ask politely. He comes over to the counter as if ready to answer my question, so I point to the object. ‘What is this?’ He smiles, but doesn’t answer. It feels rude to walk out now, so instead we begin a game of charades.

I point to it, then to my tongue. It could be a tongue. A burst of laughter erupts from the corner. I hadn’t noticed that another clerk, a lady, is sitting at a little table shaving pieces off an antler. The man shakes his head, looking unsure now. He splays his fingers out from his ears. I get it, it’s from a deer. Not antlers though. He takes his hand and moves it to his midsection. Oh. Oh no. I’m about to make this nice man mime deer penis. I wince in anticipation. Then he puts it on his bottom and flicks it up and down.

‘A tail?’ I say hopefully, praying he hasn’t got his anatomy wrong.

He nods. ‘Tail, yes.’

Before I can stop myself I ask him, ‘What is it used for?’

Now why can’t I just leave well enough alone? I’d hate to make him mime impotence, or constipation, or–

‘For kidneys. Good for kidneys.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Good to know, should a case of honeymoon cystitis ever strike. And since Sam arrives in two weeks, I just might find myself here again.

Chapter 4.

I haven’t come down with cystitis yet. Instead, I’m suffering from a backwards case of dater’s remorse. I don’t mean that I’m filled with regret having just woken up next to a halitosis-filled mouth-breathing troll. I mean that I’m filled with regret because I shouldn’t be on a date with Sam on Stacy’s first night in Hong Kong. She’s sitting alone in my diminutive apartment, surrounded by her worldly belongings, while I sit atop The Peak with my boyfriend quaffing Chardonnay. I am a Bad friend. Capital B, small f (very small f).

It was a real
Sophie’s Choice
moment in the terminal this morning when they both arrived. My breath caught in my throat when I saw him. And then I saw her. But it was Sam. And Stacy. Both coming towards me. Who to kiss first? Was I the kind of woman who’d choose a man over my best friend? Or to side with the sisterhood when my boyfriend was puckered and waiting? Stacy had just flown 9,000 miles. I hadn’t seen Sam in nearly three weeks, and I was in love with him. I hadn’t expected that kind of soul-searching in Terminal A.

The decision was made for me when Stacy beat Sam by a nose. ‘Oh my God,’ she’d said, hugging me as I caught Sam’s eye over her shoulder. ‘That flight was like a million years long, I can’t believe I’m finally here!’

‘Welcome to Hong Kong, Stace! And this is Sam.’ He stood a little shyly beside me, reaching for my hand. Then he kissed her cheek, and she blushed. Actually blushed.

‘Hi, you,’ he said to me, enveloping me in his arms. His lips were magic. Just seeing them, imagining, remembering their remarkable abilities, made it hard to keep from panting. He kissed me with his whole mouth, soft and slow, so sensual, his hand holding, then caressing the back of my neck and pulling me closer, keeping me firmly with him. His other hand explored my jawline, our bodies pushing against each other. Kissing him was like being in a sensory deprivation chamber; I was aware of only my body, and its reaction to him. Somewhere in the back of my mind my mother reminded me that there were hundreds of people who may not care to see us humping each other in Arrivals. I respectfully asked her to shut up.

‘Ehem.’

Right. Stacy. ‘Sorry,’ I said after our last (well, third to last) kiss. ‘Are you ready for Hong Kong? Though you must be exhausted. You should probably take it easy tonight.’ Even as I said the words I was plotting to ditch her in my apartment. Bad friend, capital B, small f.

The fact that I feel so guilty isn’t nearly enough penance. When I shuffle off this mortal coil, Saint Peter will scoff at me and slam shut the Pearly Gates. And I’ll deserve it, because I should not be having the time of my life, holding Sam’s hand, gazing at what might be the most gorgeous view on the planet.

Think Fiji, Hawaii or one of the Caribbean jewels like St Lucia. Put the Manhattan skyline on the shore, and wire up all the buildings with jaw-dropping illumination so that the whole scene lights up like a pinball machine. Finally, build a restaurant with panoramic views atop one of the green-carpeted mountains. That’s The Peak. It’s supposed to be one of the most romantic places on earth, but surely that depends on your date. The troll with the bad breath still wouldn’t stand a chance here, whereas Sam could have his way with me in a Tesco. It’s all a matter of perspective.

At the moment my perspective is trained on Sam. I’ve just told him my news.

‘What? How? When? Congratulations! When do you start?’

‘In a week. I know, it’s fast, and I can’t believe it. I found out yesterday when Josh called but I wanted to tell you in person. Can you believe it? I’m going to be a fashion buyer’s assistant!’

Sam pushes back his chair and strides around the table to kiss me.
That’s
why I didn’t tell him on the phone. A momentous occasion like this should be shared personally. Preferably with skin-to-skin contact.

I’m still in shock that I got the job, though I was pretty awesome in the interview, if I do say so myself. I told Josh all about my PR assistant background, embellishing just enough without tipping into ‘Bless me Father for I have sinned’ territory. When I told him about my party-planning stint he started grinning, and I knew I was in. Who’d have thought that a CV consisting solely of menial jobs would be a career-enhancer?

‘Hannah, I’m so happy for you, really, this is great. It must be such a relief now that you’ve got a job, to know that the move was a good idea. And Stacy’s arrival too… I’m relieved it’s all working out so well for you. So tell me about this Josh. He’s your boss?’

‘Uh-huh.’ I can’t stop grinning. Sam is right. It is such a relief to have a job. It means I’m now a fully functioning grown-up living in Hong Kong. And it seems like I’ve found a great company to work for. Josh’s granddad started it in the fifties, selling blouses and dresses to high-end boutiques in London and Paris, who went crazy for Chinese silk. Then, when designers started outsourcing manufacturing to Asia, he craftily changed gears to stock knock-offs. He made a fortune, and Josh’s dad shifted the business again when the knock-offs market got too crowded. Now the company supplies fashion apparel to shops across Europe. It’s got just a dozen or so employees, but it’s very successful, and Josh seems great. When his dad died he took over the business. He was born in Hong Kong, though, oddly, he speaks the Queen’s English, and referred to England as ‘home’ in the interview.

‘Josh seems super, very friendly,’ I say. ‘And really happy that I’m going to work for him.’

‘Well, I hope he’s not like Mark,’ Sam murmurs.

‘You mean a weasely slimeball?’ Mark owns the events company I worked for in London, where Sam and I met. He was quite the fisherman, in that he loved reeling them in from the company pier. I willingly took the bait, that is, until I found out he had a stocked aquarium at home. Men like that deserve to be kicked in the tackle box.

‘I mean hiring you just to get in your pants,’ my boyfriend says.

‘… Why wouldn’t he hire me because he thinks I can do the job?’

‘I know about men like that, Han, remember? I worked for Mark too. Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘You know what? You said the same thing about Mark when we first met. You assumed I was only there as a bit of eye candy.’

‘I was right.’

‘What?!’

‘What I mean is, Mark was an ass and he was only interested in your, you know, your other assets. That doesn’t mean you didn’t do a great job, or that you’re not going to be amazing at this job. It just means you should go into it with your eyes open.’

‘What about you? I could say the same thing about your boss.’

‘Li Ming? Why would you say the same thing about her?’

I realize I’m grasping at ridiculous straws, but I don’t like the sound of this Li Ming character. She seems to always be there when Sam calls. I know they’re sharing an apartment with the two other colleagues. I still don’t like it. ‘I think she likes you.’

‘What? Hannah, she’s my boss. We’re on an assignment together, along with the
rest of the team
. Trust me, she doesn’t like me. You’re not jealous, are you?’

‘No.’ Yes. Why am I jealous? I shouldn’t be jealous, should I?

He takes my hand. ‘Good, because I think you’d really like each other. She’s very nice. You have nothing to worry about.’

‘I know.’ What is wrong with me? This dinner has the potential to go seriously downhill if I don’t stop this silliness. ‘Why are we fighting?’ I force a smile. ‘All I did was tell you about my new job.’

‘Aw, Han, you’re right. I have no idea why we’re arguing. I’m sorry. Here,’ he says, raising a glass. ‘To you, and your new job, and your boss who hired you because you’re wonderful and because you’re going to be the best buyer’s assistant that Hong Kong’s ever seen. You’ll be great, and I’m so proud of you. Cheers.’

We clink glasses but the night seems a tiny bit dimmer now. It’s not just that this bickering came from nowhere. A question has been niggling.

How long does Sam plan to stay? I want to ask, but I’m afraid to hear the answer. I’m going to be seriously unhappy if the milk in my fridge lasts longer than his visit. It’s not that I haven’t asked before. And by ‘before’ I mean every day that we’ve spoken for the last two weeks. Sam simply hasn’t been able to say for sure. I guess when you’re working for a government you’re expected to work around their schedule. I also suspect that he (rightly) thinks I’ll seize on any information like a bull terrier. He doesn’t want to disappoint me. Of course he could best avoid disappointment by staying permanently, but it’s probably a little selfish to expect him to quit his job to be available for my dating needs. So I have to ask. But I don’t want to. But I have to. I’ll just finish my wine first. And make a quick call. ‘’Scuse me a sec, I should check on Stacy.’