“She’s your friend,” said Ket Siong. “I rely on your judgment.”
“Clarissa would never—she would be horrified, if she thought—I mean, she’s really into social justice and human rights and all that stuff.” Alicia paused. “She’s pretty close to her family.”
“I’m not looking to blame anybody,” said Ket Siong, though this was not quite the truth. “I just want to know what happened to my friend.”
“I can’t promise she’ll agree to talk,” said Alicia. “But I’ll ask. And… I’m really sorry about your friend.”
Ket Siong understood, now, why Ket Hau never mentioned Stephen. Nothing anyone could say about it helped. Talking about it only served to bring up all the worst of the sorrow and anger and futility of losing him in such a way.
It was the cruelty and injustice of it that would poison Stephen’s memory for the many people who’d loved him—that would make their grief fester unhealed, for the rest of their lives.
Stephen’s suffering could not be reversed or made good. But to obtain justice might still be possible. Ket Siong had to believe that, or there would be no point in anything, nothing left to believe in.
“Thank you,” he said.
14
The sun shonethrough the blinds, suffusing Renee’s bedroom with a warm golden glow reminiscent of home. There were strong arms wrapped around her, a familiar voice whispering in her ear, tender and low.
The voice was explaining that he loved her. He’d only hurt her by accident, a mistake, easily explained away. For once he spoke, at length, and she was content to listen.
The dream shattered when Renee opened her eyes. She woke up all the way and remembered everything that had happened the day before. Going to the National Gallery and finding Jason there.
It was like plunging into cold water. Renee stiffened all over. Rage and shame churned inside her. She’d managed to escape them for most of yesterday and the night before, but she couldn’t run forever. But—
“I won,” she said aloud. She gritted her teeth and got out of bed.
A few hours later, she was the possessor of the newest iPhone in rose gold, as well as a new SIM card. Shecouldunblock her brother on her existing number, but that was the number she used to send voice notes to Nathalie and speak to her staff, the number she’d given Ket Siong.
Su Khoon could have a different number. She texted him straight away, to prevent herself putting it off.
Hi Er Ge, it’s Renee. I want to discuss your offer. I can come to the house tomorrow. 6 pm OK?
Getting to the family’s townhouse in Chelsea by six would entail leaving the office earlier than usual, but Renee didn’t want to risk getting stuck there with her brother late at night. She didn’t feel great about going to the house, but they’d need somewhere private to talk, and there was no way she was letting him in her office again.
At least the house wasn’t Su Khoon’s. Dad owned it. Sometimes, on their occasional calls, he’d remind her that the house was for the whole family and she was welcome to use it. It was probably his way of making himself feel better about the fact that Renee had run halfway around the world to get away from the family.
So much for keeping her distance. If she was going to win Chahaya, she’d have to let her family back into her life. But that was good, wasn’t it? She’d had her ups and downs with them, but they did care about her—Dad did, anyway. Sure, he’d made mistakes, but nobody was perfect. He was the only father she had, and he’d reached out to her. It had to be the right thing to do, to reach back.
Renee was jumpy all day, checking her phone every five minutes for a reply from her brother.
Though she’d recently adopted a resolution to take proper weekends off work, she ended up working, purely for the distraction. She didn’t have many other resources. A hopeful text to Nathalie in the morning was answered four hours later with an image of Nathalie with her husband and son at an indoor playground, all three wearing party hats.
Nathalie captioned it,Hell on earth.But they looked happy, even if the chocolate smeared on Thomas’s chin had made it onto Nathalie’s champagne-coloured blouse.
Renee replied:
Did you really wear a silk shirt to a kid’s birthday party?
No reply. Nathalie was probably in the ball pit or breaking up a toddler fistfight. Renee found herself typing Ket Siong’s name into the WhatsApp search bar.
To her surprise, he had an actual profile picture—a photo of two boys with a grey-haired Chinese auntie dressed in samfu. The younger of the two kids, who must have been six or seven, wore a collared shirt, buttoned all the way up, and a comically serious frown. The soft-cheeked little face didn’t much resemble the Ket Siong of today, but the vibes definitely matched.
She swiped WhatsApp off her screen before she could be tempted to send a message. Though she had fond memories of texting with Ket Siong. His messages had been prompt and interesting, always impeccably punctuated.
But he wouldn’t want to hear from her now. The shame crashed over her again, suffocating. God, what must he think of her? Messy, pathetic, possessed of incredibly poor judgment and taste in men…
No, this was good. If it put Ket Siong off her, that could only be a good thing. Not that he was into her. Not the way she’d want him to be.
