‘Not me, mate,’ said Phrike. ‘I’ve only had these.’ The bottles chinked and rattled as he held up the bag.
The driver shook his head and pulled away, muttering.
*
Phrike declined Percy’s invitation to join them at Norm’s, saying he had other matters to attend to.
Once home, Norm set about giving his maid instructions. He explained exactly what food and drink he wanted and where she should lay it out. She smiled, a willing helper. Percy could see Norm was not one to misuse his position. He was glad. Many things made Percy uncomfortable when he was in the company of another person, all too often nothing more than the fact of their presence. But since arriving in Singapore, the list of dislikes had grown to include the treatment of live-in helpers. So far, Percy had had little reason to spend time inside other people’s houses, but the few entered he’d later walked away from feeling dirty, as if by being there he’d made himself complicit in his host’s prejudice, or at least condoned their view.
One event in particular had seen him on the verge of an unpleasant outburst, something even he knew to be inappropriate when a guest in someone else’s home. He had quelled the sensation artificially in the only way he had ever found guaranteed to lift his spirits, the consumption of them; of any alcohol, in fact. Morose when sober, Percy was fortunate enough to make a happy and forgiving drunk.
Sal had insisted on accepting the invitation to dinner, and Percy, trying to show willing, had only moaned a little and then gone along without too great a fuss. The host was some boring man and his dull wife Percy had never met before, both colleagues of Sal. They were English people who had lived in Singapore for a long time. Length of stay was key, Percy was slowly realising, to the manner in which maids were treated. The more acclimatised to the way of life a person was, the less tolerant they became; the less they remembered they were dealing with human beings. Human beings from challenging circumstances.
There was no one thing that bothered him that night. It was more an accumulation of sly looks and comments made by the wife every time the over-worked maid left the room, such as ‘That one has to go. She’s too stupid. I mean, they’re often stupid, but this one!’ followed by a giggle. Then ‘But they’re so hard to train, aren’t they?’ followed by wide, questioning eyes Percy had imagined plucking out with a fork.
He had said, ‘So why not trade her in for a monkey? They’re quite easy to train, especially if all you want is something to laugh at with your friends.’
But for once he’d said it quietly, and Sal had driven her bony elbow into his arm, hard. Her glare delivered the fiercest blow, however; a harsh look loaded with more venom than he had seen in a long time. Even before Singapore and the inequality found there between employers of domestic help and the employed, Sal accepted things for the sake of politeness. But he could not, because he could not see how it was possible to pretend in the face of such error.
Even so, for Sal’s sake he had for once resisted further comment. As other guests discussed how hard it was to break in a new maid, especially in the kitchen, Percy kept his own counsel and his glass topped up, drinking until he would not be able to string together more than two words had he wanted to. It proved a pleasant solution, though less so come morning.
Norm, Joyann and Percy took some drinks to the poolside, followed by the maid who carried a tray of plates and cutlery. Leaving it on a low table surrounded by cushioned seating, she said dinner would be half an hour, if that suited. As the three made themselves comfortable, Norm requested one hour instead, and she smiled her acknowledgment before withdrawing.
Dark would come before dinner was served, but the dimming on the horizon did not only indicate nightfall. The temperature was rising despite the lateness of the hour. As happened so often, a storm was building.
*
‘I think it will rain soon, Norman. I hope we have time to enjoy our food,’ Joyann said.
‘We can always go in.’
‘That would be a shame’ she replied. ‘I like sitting here. In fact, I have enjoyed this day very much. I am not often spontaneous, so it has been nice to find I can still do it.’
‘Another drink?’ Percy asked her, holding up a bottle of prosecco.
‘A small one, please. Thank you, Percy.’
‘But not for you Norm.’ Percy felt compelled to double check.
‘No. Thank you.’
‘Because of your faith?’
‘Percy!’ Joyann reprimanded. ‘Just because someone does not drink, it does not mean you have to question them.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Norm. ‘I’m used to it. I’m often asked why.’
Percy poured a drink for himself. ‘So, do you know why you mustn’t drink?’
‘What do you mean? It’s part of who I am. Of my faith.’
‘But why is it?’ Percy said. ‘What’s the problem with it?’
‘Percy,’ Joyann interjected, ‘there are many faiths where alcohol is shunned.’
‘Well I wouldn’t know about them, particularly,’ said Norm.
‘You do not think about other religions, being religious yourself?’ Joyann questioned.
Norm’s tanned brow creased. ‘Why would I? I was raised in my church, why should that mean I have knowledge of other religions?’
‘Because you are interested?’ offered Percy.
Norm smiled, ‘But I am not interested. I believe what I believe. Besides, for whatever reason, my parent’s kept us fairly private. Of course we joined up with our church wherever we lived, that family feel is the beauty of it. But there was none of the…’ he paused.
‘None of the standing on street corners or knocking on doors I have heard about,’ Joyann finished.
Norm forced a shudder and smiled. ‘Thankfully, no. I would have hated it. So I suppose I never came up against anyone questioning my faith, either. I’ve never had reason to think about what other people believe.’ His eyes flicked to Percy.
‘How can you be so sure about something without having checked the options? You wouldn’t buy a car that way.’
‘Cars! Percy! Religion and cars are not the same thing,’ Joyann cried.
‘It sounds as if you think I should have crossed-referenced before settling for what I was raised with, Percy? I mean, who does that?’
Joyann laughed. ‘Ah! I think you are onto something, Norman. Perhaps there should be a catalogue of faiths to choose from.’
Norm chuckled, ‘Yes. Rather than Which magazine it could be Witch, so for Pagans too.’ He smiled with satisfaction.
‘I suppose I…’ Percy paused. Much as he didn’t want him to be, Norm was right. Why would he have theological knowledge beyond his own belief system? Dog owners are not necessarily experts in regard to the feline world, just because they own something four-legged, hairy, with a tail and whiskers and a body full of fleas. ‘Where’s Cocoa?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘The grooming parlour. My wife is collecting her on her way home from work. She should be back soon.’
‘So will we get to meet Misses Sullivan, Norman?’ Joyann smiled. ‘You and I have known each other for sometime, but I have never seen you with her.’
‘We tend to do our own thing.’ Norm’s head spun round, ‘Actually, that might be her now.’
The apartment was close to the pool, so from where they were sitting it was possible to see very easily through the open glass doors to the interior. Inside, with Cocoa, a large shape moved about.
‘Jeez. Who ate all the pies?’ Percy muttered, without thinking.
‘Excuse me?’ questioned Norm.
Joyann said nothing, silently watching Percy with a small frown.
‘Huh? Oh. Dinner. I was just thinking about dinner. Will your wife be joining us?’
‘I expect so. Cocoa,’ he called. ‘Cocoa!’
The dog came bounding out, but was unable to reach her master because the apartment had a small terrace to the front, separated from the wider area by a fence a
nd closed gate.
Norm stood up and went to her. He snatched a lead from the air as it hurtled towards him from inside. ‘You coming too?’ he called out.
Percy heard Norm’s wife say yes, her singsong voice pretty and upbeat.
Norm returned to his seat with Cocoa. For a few minutes the dog fidgeted, clearly finding it hard to settle when she was so pleased to see everyone. Eventually, she lay down, her hairy chin resting on his feet, eyebrows twitching as her gaze travelled between the three watching her.
‘That’s a little too warm on my toes,’ Norm said, smiling.
‘It is very sticky,’ Joyann remarked, fanning herself with her fingers. ‘It’s becoming quite dark over there. I am certain it will rain soon.’
‘We can sit it out,’ Norm chuckled, ‘we don’t have far to run!’
Joyann began recounting the tale of a large storm from a few years before, when lightning had struck an old tree that did not have a conductor fitted. ‘I saw it explode,’ she said, going on to describe in detail the sound and smell of the strike, as well as the sight of it.
Disinterested, Percy’s thoughts drifted, wondering about Sal and if he should send her a message to say he wouldn’t be eating with her tonight. Again, he had the sense that he should be at home, but once more rejected the idea. She would be too busy to notice his absence, he decided. As he reflected on this and other Sal related matters, the singsong voice announced its presence.
‘Good evening.’
Percy turned. Norm’s wife was even larger than she had first appeared in the shadowy interior of the apartment. For a moment, Percy’s eyes were caught upon the great bosom before him. He struggled to wrestle his gaze free, and when he did he allowed it to meet hers. Percy saw then that she was very beautiful.
He stood up and put out a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Percy, Percy Field.’
Before she said anything, Percy noted recognition in her expression. Norm must have mentioned his name. But if he had, she didn’t say so.
‘Verity. Nice to meet you, Percy. And you must be Joyann. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
Joyann stood up, ‘Good things, I hope. I am very happy to meet you at last, Verity.’
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Please do,’ Percy said, thinking how charming her soft welsh accent was coupled with a smooth, husky, tone. He then looked at the available seating, quickly realising the only space remaining was on the sofa between him and Joyann. It was rather narrow. He hesitated.
Joyann moved, ‘Would you mind if I use your bathroom?’ she said.
Verity gave directions, while Norm collected an extra seat from nearby. Percy took it, allowing Verity the sofa with Joyann upon her return. He hated moments like this. He watched as Joyann disappeared. Had she needed to go, or was this the Singaporean way of avoiding the challenge of Verity’s wide girth?
At that moment the maid appeared, carrying a tray piled high with spring rolls. She placed it on the table, saying she would bring everything else. Soon, the table was filled with food, including a large platter of prepared fruit.
When Joyann returned, they began. Percy tried unsuccessfully not to watch Verity, curious to see what she would put on her plate. As she held a slice of watermelon, he noticed she had very small hands, neat and soft looking, with manicured nails. Sal’s hands were manicured too, but it made them look thin and hard. He also noticed Verity had the most startlingly blue eyes.
As he looked, so the first spots of rain landed.
Chapter 12
WHEN LOVE AND LUCK PART
At first Percy did not see the note. He washed off his bike, caked with mud from tackling Bukit Timah mountain bike trail after days of heavy storms, then he showered and poured a cold drink, before settling down to peruse what the government felt was acceptable news for the nation to read, in the Straits Times. Percy didn’t miss the gritty reports of home about the number of muggings and murders, just as he didn’t mind Singapore’s cheery claim of national brilliance while the rest of the world admitted ineptitude. But he did mind the amateurish car reviews. He wasn’t a petrol head or spoiler fanatic, or a man inclined to spend too much money on his vehicle of choice, but he was interested. He liked a professional opinion alongside a professional photograph. The image offending him on this occasion was a photograph taken of a foot-well from above, in which the photographer had left the keys in shot. Worse, the key fob was of a kind issued with a hire car.
It was tossing aside this offensive material that caused a small, white envelope to detach itself from the plastic, golden Lucky Cat, sitting on a shelf, whose waving front leg had stopped. The envelope fluttered a little, and then slipped along the polished white floor, arriving at Percy’s feet as if it had been placed there. Sometime later, Percy contemplated Sal’s motives, questioning whether she had deliberately positioned the note as some kind of spiteful statement: the cat, once busily drawing in good fortune with its waving paw, was now defunct and so perhaps harbouring unpleasantness. But Sal was not like that, he decided, for in Percy’s opinion Sal did not think or see beyond herself. And that was the problem, because neither did he.
When he reached for the envelope, it did not occur to Percy that it might contain the news that it did. Once in his hands, he could see there was a certain formality about it, such as the fact that it was sealed, but he expected a message about milk or bread or some other trivial domestic matter, anything but this domestic matter. Something deep inside was suspicious, however, for even if Percy’s conscious self ignored the strangeness of it all, his fingers shook as he opened it.
As he read, Percy found the meaning hard to absorb, as if he had miraculously discovered a way to read a foreign language without first learning the code and how to interpret it. But then, one by one, words fell into place, and his stomach lurched painfully. His first clear thought was accusatory: that she had encouraged him to ride that morning simply so she could creep away without a fuss. She was a coward, he decided, sickened to think that while he was merrily struggling through the sticky jungle she was steadily packing her crisp clean, Mila-ironed underwear. All these years together, and he hadn’t known she was capable of being sneaky. Hard on him sometimes, yes. Deceitful? No. At least, she never had been before.
The letter claimed there was no one else involved, and that nothing would really change, but Sal felt they had grown apart and she couldn’t bear to live with him anymore. She thanked him, which Percy found macabre.
I feel guilty that you had to give up so much, yet still it didn’t work. So I thank you, for coming here with me, to give us one last shot.
One last shot? Is that what this had been, Percy hissed to himself, one last shot, rather than a couple trying to put their marriage back on track? Would he have come, he wondered, had he known of this one last shot, because it was a fucking big one last shot to make.
She made brief mention of his boorish nature, saying he was dull and socially inept, with a further comment that she no longer found these foibles charming. The days when she looked upon his sourness as dry wit were gone and unrecoverable.
I miss feeling that way, the letter went on. I miss finding you funny.
But Sal also expressed her hope that they could be friends. Percy couldn’t imagine anything worse, and to read it made his chest feel tight.
If he wanted to stay in Singapore, she said, then he could remain her dependent for a limited time, but he might also consider getting a job. This suggestion made Percy cross. She knew he had given up a perfectly good career to follow her to a country where it would not be possible for him to work in his field. The house governed the limited time, she added, and was his until the rental contract ended in a little over a year. After it was finished, he would have to fund the place himself, or move out. Percy laughed out loud. Where would he find the twelve thousand dollars a month needed to pay the rent? She knew the whole housing market in Singapore was astronomical. They could only afford the home they h
ad because the company paid, for even with Sal’s large salary it was too much. True, he might be able to find a job outside of his specialism, but not easily and not for a wage anything close to the sum of money required. Even if he moved to a small apartment, it would not cost less than four thousand.
The letter continued on to say that if he wanted to go back to England the company would pay to repatriate him, but probably only if he went within the next year before the marital breakdown became official. After that they may choose not to. She made no mention of where she would be living, but said for the time being she would pay an amount each month into the joint bank account. Mila would continue to come and clean and iron. She wasn’t abandoning him, only ending their marriage. What she had come to realise was that she no longer loved him.
Those four simple words took the wind from Percy, and the next thing he knew he was kneeling on the floor. Tears welled as he gritted his teeth. Why had it taken nearly seven thousand miles for her to discover this fact? His jaw released as a long jarring breath emptied him. What a mess it was.
He remained for a moment where he was, staring at the words suspended in unmoving fingers. It then occurred to Percy that Sal’s letter contained an unusual amount of practical information and very little emotion, as if she wanted to finish things as efficiently as she worked.
There was not much sadness in it and even less regret. From this he realised that not all her words were true. It was an awful, sick making realisation: there was someone else. But who?
The letter was signed Oracles, as if that pet name somehow softened the blow or bridged the broken bond, and it was the word that finally broke Percy’s heart.
*
‘Would it cheer you up if I told you that I used my sandwich as a face pack today?’
Percy looked into his beer, miserably. Whilst trying to drown his hurt in amber nectar, he’d been spotted by Meera, good friend of Joyann and the Discussion Group member Phrike found so attractive. An open plan bar set amongst shops in a popular mall was never likely to be a good hiding place, a fact he had realised with regret the moment he understood she was planning to join him. In the depths of gloom, Percy hated company more than anything, except being at home.