“Yes,” said Alicia, but there was something on her mind. “Ket…”
Ket Siong looked up at her, inquiring.
“My parents don’t know about…” Alicia cleared her throat. “About the person I was with. I think Dad would be OK with it, but he’d feel he should tell Mum, and she’s pretty conservative. I don’t think she’s ready.”
It hadn’t occurred to Ket Siong that Alicia might be worrying about this. He should have thought to reassure her. “I won’t say anything.”
Alicia looked relieved. “Thanks. I mean, I didn’t think you would, but… thanks.” She sighed. “I had no idea meeting up with Rachel at that stupid event would be so risky. We were almost seen by someone else I know.”
Ket Siong had another lesson to get to, forty minutes away in Ealing. He got up, about to make his excuses, when Alicia said:
“A girl called Charmaine. I almost died when she called out to me. Good thing Rachel was in the loo, or Charmaine would have been right on WhatsApp, telling people about her. She’s the biggest gossip I know.”
“You know Charmaine Low?” said Ket Siong.
“Do you know her? Oh, of course, she’s Malaysian,” said Alicia. Her eyes widened. “Oh shit, are you guys friends?”
“No,” said Ket Siong. “I met her father at the event.”
“Phew,” said Alicia. Reassured, she went on, “Small world! It’s her sister I’m close to. Do you know Clarissa? Charmaine’s whatever—just another rich kid who wants to be an influencer—but Clarissa’s cool. She’s studying a master’s in art history. We met volunteering at Kew Gardens, their family’s got a place near here.”
Ket Siong’s investigation into Stephen’s disappearance, such as it was, had come to a standstill. There was no word from theHornbill Gazette,a week after he’d messaged them.
He’d contacted a few other people, connections from his family’s old civil society circles, though he’d had to be cautious. He could trust the people he’d reached out to wouldn’t dob him in to Low Teck Wee and his ilk, but they might well mention it to his brother. He didn’t want Ket Hau to know he was asking around about Stephen—not until he’d made better progress on getting answers.
At least it was unlikely that Ket Hau was in touch with any ofthese people. After what had happened to Stephen, he’d become as hypervigilant as Ma had ever been. Before their move to the UK, he’d deleted his social media accounts and insisted that none of them tell their various friends, neighbours, distant relatives, church acquaintances, or ex-co-workers where they were going. To this day Ket Hau had friends from school who believed he’d migrated to Australia.
The conversations Ket Siong had initiated were unpromising. Almost everyone replied, but they were surprised to be asked.
Would have thought you’d know better than anybody else,said a retired journalist, a former colleague of his father’s.
Ket Siong didn’t. But he knew who might.
He had not had much to do with God, in recent years. But he still viewed the world as one ordered by a greater power, and he saw this power at work now.
“Can you introduce me to Clarissa Low?” he said.
Alicia blinked. “I—why do you ask?”
How much could Ket Siong safely tell her? He could invent a story. But once he was face-to-face with the Low daughter, he would have to reveal his objective, and knowing he’d lied to get the meeting would hardly incline her to be cooperative.
If Clarissa Low knew what he wanted and who he was, so would Low Teck Wee. It would put a name and a face to what, for Low, had been an anonymous encounter, one he’d perhaps even forgotten by now.
Ket Siong thought of that vigil for Stephen—the attendees’ grave faces in the amber glow of candlelight. There were people working to ensure Stephen wasn’t forgotten. The least Ket Siong could do was take what leads came his way.
He sat back down on the lowest step of the stairs.
“The Low family own a company called Freshview Industries,” said Ket Siong. “A few years ago, they were accused of illicit logging on native customary land in Sarawak, where I’m from. Anactivist leading the campaign to hold Freshview accountable subsequently disappeared.” Ket Siong’s mouth was dry. He swallowed. “He was a family friend. Nobody knows what happened to him. Whether he’s alive. Or not.”
His voice broke on the last syllable, but otherwise he sounded like a news report, or a Wikipedia article. Stephen would have found that funny.
Or maybe not. There wasn’t really anything funny about it. Ket Siong drew his arm across his face, drying his eyes on his sleeve.
“OK. Wow,” said Alicia. She went red. “Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
There was nothing to say. Ket Siong waited while Alicia hesitated.
“I can talk to Clarissa,” she said finally. “But do you want me to tell her the reason why you want to meet her?”
