The Half-Child (34 page)

She recognised the song, an eighties classic.

‘
What started out as friendship has grown stronger/ I only wish I had the strength to let it show...'

Jayne looked up at the stage where Rajiv, his collar turned up, was holding the microphone with two hands and singing like a rock star. To her surprise, he had a wonderful voice.

She liked his choice of song, too, a romantic ballad about a man falling in love with a woman he'd been friends with for some time. She wondered how much, if anything, she should read into the lyrics. Perhaps he was just a big REO Speedwagon fan. Perhaps this was nothing more than his signature karaoke song.

‘
And even as I wander/ I'm keeping you in sight
.'

But the thought that he might mean anything by it sent her heart racing.

‘
And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might
.'

As the electric guitar ramped up for the chorus, Rajiv stepped down from the stage.

‘
And I can't fight this feeling anymore/ I've forgotten what I started fighting for
.'

A spotlight followed him as he walked among the tables.

‘
It's time to bring this ship into the shore,/ And throw away the oars, forever.'

People laughed and clapped as he serenaded them. A group of Thai girls giggled and shrieked as if Rajiv were the real deal. He reciprocated by touching their outstretched hands as he passed, like a rock star acknowledging the fans in the front row. Jayne almost expected one to leap from her seat and throw herself at him.

He filled a musical interlude with more pop star moves, pounding his heart, pulling at the air with his fist, and spinning on one leg. It was a side of his personality that Jayne had never seen. Her cigarette burned out in the ashtray in front of her. Jayne was captivated.

The electric guitar subsided, and Rajiv came to a standstill on the floor amidst the tables. He closed his eyes.

‘
My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you./ I've been running round in circles in my mind
.'

He opened his eyes and looked directly at Jayne.

‘
And it always seems that I'm following you, girl./ Cause you take me to the places/ That alone I'd never find
.'

There could be no mistaking the significance of the lyrics now.

‘
And even as I wander,/ I'm keeping you in sight.'

He gestured towards her.

‘
You're a candle in the window/ on a cold, dark winter's night.'

Heads turned to see who he was singing to. Jayne felt the rare sensation of a blush as Rajiv moved closer.

‘
And I can't fight this feeling anymore…
'

Several groups of patrons waved lit cigarette lighters in time to the music. Jayne felt overwhelmed, but by what emotions she couldn't tell. Part of her felt mortified. Another flattered. Did she dare believe that Rajiv felt the same way about her as she did about him?

‘
And if I have to crawl upon the floor/ Come crashing through your door—
'

The notion of him crashing through anyone's door made her laugh out loud.

‘
Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore
.'

She laughed so hard, she cried. But that didn't seem to faze Rajiv.

He stopped in front of her, crouched down on one knee so their faces were level and pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped her tears, all the while singing a final ‘
Woo-oo
.'

As the music faded, he kissed the damp handkerchief and held it to his heart, a gesture that was pure Bollywood.

The entire room burst into applause.

Jayne's head was spinning. It was the most ridiculous, romantic gesture anyone had ever made for her.

Rajiv stood up and handed the microphone to the nearest waitress. He flashed a grin to acknowledge the crowd and resumed his seat. He was covered in sweat and when he reached for a cigarette his hands were shaking.

In that moment, Jayne understood that bravery came in many forms, and that courage such as Rajiv's was rare.

Their eyes met. She raised her glass to him and smiled.

She smiled at him again when, several hours later, they slid out of their clothes and stood, skin to skin, in her floating hotel room. Moonlight filtered in through an open window facing the river, enough to illuminate the sweat on Rajiv's brow. When he touched her, his hands were still shaking.

‘First times are over-rated in my experience,' she whispered. ‘Let's just get it over with so we can relax and enjoy what happens next.'

‘I think I love you,' he said.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

All ghosts fell silent.

Acknowledgments

M
y thanks to Andrew Nette, with whom I share life, a child and at one stage even shared a desk during the writing of this book. Beloved partner, valued reader and talented writer.

Thanks to Christos Tsiolkas who makes my life and my books better.

I'm grateful for the research assistance provided by Randall Arnst in Bangkok, which enriched this book, despite some outlandish requests on my part.

Kathryn Sweet did a great job again of checking and correcting my Thai transliterations; any remaining inaccuracies are my responsibility alone.

Alison Arnold and Caro Cooper at Text Publishing responded with enthusiasm to the manuscript and provided spot-on editorial advice to improve it. My thanks to Michael Heyward and all at Text for welcoming me back.

I am grateful for the love and generosity of my friends Angela Whitbread, who helped bankroll my fieldwork in Thailand in 2008, and Mary Latham, who opened her house as a writer's retreat when I needed it.

I'd also like to acknowledge those in Phnom Penh (where this book was written) who shared their experiences of overseas adoption and in their determination to ensure their adoptions were legal and ethical, helped me to imagine what might be involved in illegal, unethical adoptions.

I drew on two excellent sources of information on Thai life and culture: Richard Barrow's blog Paknam Web—Richard Barrow's Life in Thailand (
www.thai-blogs.com
) and
Very Thai
:
Everyday Popular Culture
by Philip Cornwell-Smith and John Goss (River Books, Bangkok, 2005).

Thanks also to: Atchariya (Fon) and Pratyaporn (Pern) Thongklieng for their list of Thai names and meanings; Ying for allowing me to use the story of her name change; Sarah Rey and Sonja Horbelt for German translations; Harriet McCallum for advice on post traumatic stress; Haydn Savage for the Buddha of Wednesday afternoon; Palani Narayanan for the perfect song for the karaoke scene; and Richard Fleming for excellent legal advice.

And for inspiration I thank Dinesh Wadiwel, who should have won the karaoke prize at the Alice Springs Memorial Club that night in October 2004.

Finally, thanks to my beautiful daughter Natasha for tolerating all the time I spend writing stories when I might be reading to you instead.