Ket Siong was in a charcoal-grey peacoat, worn over a chunky black jumper and jeans, with an oatmeal-coloured scarf around his neck. Renee’s embarrassment wasn’t quite enough to save her from noticing how his shoulders stretched out that jumper. He looked good enough to eat.
He probably hadn’t heard her talking to herself. The steady blare of traffic on the road would have drowned her out.
“Hey,” said Ket Siong, glancing up the street. “I was going towards Liberty. Have you already been there?”
“Not yet,” said Renee.
She had twenty minutes before the doors closed. But the appeal of elbowing her way past tourists for the privilege of dropping sixty pounds on a scented candle was fading.
The idea of a steaming hot bowl of ramen, on the other hand… It had been unseasonably warm the past week, but today there was a bite of frost in the air. It felt, for the first time, like winter.
“But I’m hungry,” said Renee. “Let’s just go for dinner. Did you have any ideas about where you wanted to eat?”
Ket Siong had his hands in his pockets. There was something so restful about him, thought Renee, looking at his hands. It was the way he made no unnecessary movements, said nothing but what he meant.
“No,” he said. “Is there anything you feel like?”
“I was thinking of going to Kanada-Ya. They’ve opened one near here, did you know?” Remembering her inconsiderate youth, Renee added, “My treat, OK?”
Ket Siong frowned. “You paid last time. Let me cover it.”
Renee could fight. It would be the polite thing to do. Ket Siong couldn’t be earning that much as a piano teacher, whereas she was objectively loaded, even if it was a while since she’d had direct access to family funds.
“OK,” she said.
Ket Siong fell into step next to her. The Christmas lights were up, reliably magical in the glowing darkness of the winter sky. Glittering angels swooped over Regent Street, trailing sparkling webs of light.
Ket Siong was gazing up at them. Renee wondered what hewas thinking. She opened her mouth to ask, but let out a jaw-cracking yawn instead. Tears stood in her eyes.
Ket Siong glanced at her. “Tired?”
Renee blinked away the wetness at her eyes. “Yeah. It’s been busy. Luckily my brother decided we should have some rest tonight. It’s the big day tomorrow. We’re presenting our pitch.”
Ket Siong nodded. “How’s it been going?”
He was asking about more than work. Renee shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets. She had on a grey roll-neck cashmere-blend dress that had been, if anything, too toasty in Su Khoon’s rented offices, but it wasn’t enough to keep her warm now she was outside. The vintage 1930s silk faille coat she was wearing over it was far too light.
“It’s weird,” she said. “I keep wanting it to be more than it is.”
“More than it is,” Ket Siong echoed.
His eyes on her made her feel shy. She looked away.
“Yeah, you know. My brother and I have got a common interest in getting along, for now. We both want to impress my dad, and that’s what he wants to see. I know that’s all it is. But… it’s pathetic, but there’s a part of me that wants us to be friends.” She laughed, rueful. “It’s the same thing I wanted as a kid. Turns out I haven’t changed since I was six.”
Ket Siong said, gently, “It’s natural to want to have a good relationship with your brother.”
Renee shrugged. She felt too exposed to want to meet his eyes. So she looked at the shops lining the street, their window displays festooned with fake holly and ivy and pine, oversized baubles and bright tinsel, reindeer in neon colours with fairy lights tangled in their antlers. The mannequins were decked out in the usual array of dresses and jumpsuits for party season.
She made a mental note to check in with Louise about the arrangements for the Virtu office Christmas party. It was the only festive thing she did around this time of year. There washer birthday, too, a couple of weeks before Christmas, but Renee never did anything for her birthday. Before she moved to London, Dad had always insisted on a ceremonious dinner with all the family to celebrate the occasion. Those dinners—with her brothers sneering on one side of the table, and her mother on the other side doing a great imitation of a block of ice—had given Renee a permanent disgust of birthday parties.
At least nobody had to know when you had a birthday, so nobody expected you to celebrate. Christmas was different. British people especially got a little funny when they heard you were planning to spend it alone, though Renee enjoyed the quiet—just her and her TV, and the KFC meal she allowed herself once a year.
Maybe she’d do some volunteering over Christmas again, if only to avoid getting invited to Louise’s family’s house for the day. Renee would have accepted being Nathalie’s festive charity case, but Nathalie was obliged to divide her Christmas between her family in Paris and Jeroen’s in Antwerp: “It is like something out of Dante’sInferno. I really think it will be the main topic of discussion at Thomas’s future therapy sessions.”
“How are things with your brother?” Renee said now. “You guys are close, right? I remember you used to call him and your mom twice a week, when we were at uni.”
“They’re OK,” said Ket Siong, with less enthusiasm than Renee would have expected. She gave him an inquiring look.
