She set the device down on the table, fiddling with the case so as to stand it upright.
“I’ll start the call off here,” said Helen. “But if you would rather speak in private at any point, you can go into my study, over there. I’ve got plenty to get on with, so take all the time you need.”
Ket Hau had been a little pale, but dignified and professional. At this, his composure wavered. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What call?”
Helen was busy jabbing at the tablet screen. It was turned towards her, so Ket Hau and Ket Siong couldn’t see what was on it.
“I’m ringing the person who told me to look for you,” she said absently. “Oh, here we are! Hello there. Can you hear me?”
There was an indistinct crackle from the tablet.
“Yes, they’re here,” said Helen. “Hold on, let me adjust the volume.”
“You invited us here to talk to you,” said Ket Siong, glancing at Ket Hau. His brother was thrumming with nervous energy, poised for flight. “You didn’t mention anyone else.”
Helen wasn’t really listening. “He didn’t want me to say anything. In case… and it does seem better this way. Yes, you can explain yourself in a moment.” She paused, looking up at Ket Siong and his brother.
“This may come as a bit of a shock,” she said, and turned the tablet to face them.
For a split second, Ket Siong thought Helen had started an old video of Stephen playing, though it was one he had never seen before. Indignation scythed through him. He’d overcome his brother’s misgivings to get him here; it wasn’t right to subject him to this without warning. He opened his mouth to express his outrage.
Then the face on the screen blinked and said, “Hello?”
Shock stole Ket Siong’s voice away.
No one spoke. Ket Hau had turned to stone next to him.
“Stephen?” said Ket Siong faintly, after what felt like a long time. His face felt numb.
Stephen—if it was him, and it could be no one else—had altered since the night Ket Siong had last seen him. He had aged more than three years could account for: his face was thinner, new lines carved into it. And he had grown out his hair. It was shaggy, past his chin, with white strands that hadn’t been there before. It made him look like an ageing member of a Malay rock band.
His expression, however, was familiar. It was the same expression Stephen had worn when he used to keep Ket Hau out late watching football at mamak stalls, only to come in for an almighty telling-off from Ma the next morning.
“Hi, hi!” he said, looking relieved. “Hello. Hi.”
Ket Siong glanced warily at Ket Hau. His face was perfectly blank. Ket Siong looked back at the screen.
Extraordinarily, Stephen was still on it, the image of his facefuzzy but unmistakable. His eyebrows were practically bristling with anxiety.
Ket Siong must be dreaming. The conviction imparted a certain recklessness. It didn’t seem all that important what he said.
“Where are you?” he said, mostly to make conversation. It seemed absurd to care where Stephen was, when he was alive.
“What? Oh, Geneva. Switzerland,” said Stephen. “I’m a refugee now. Got the official letter all that. Took a while. Ha! It’s been interesting. Interesting few years. Yes. How, uh, how are you?”
Stephen clearly did not have the same feeling as Ket Siong, that nothing he said was of any real consequence. Ket Siong didn’t answer, since Stephen’s question wasn’t for him.
But Ket Hau didn’t speak, either. Ket Siong could feel something great and terrible working through him. Behind the blank wall of his expression, he was like a kettle coming to the boil.
“Hau?” said Stephen.
When Ket Hau finally spoke, the wall crumbled all at once.
“You fucking bastard!” he said. It was like an explosive going off. “You fucker! What the fuck, Stephen?”
Ket Siong leaned away a little. Helen Daley suddenly found something of vital interest on her mantelpiece to inspect.
“Sorry! I’m sorry,” said Stephen. “Seriously, these past few years, it’s been crazy. Then when I could finally start looking for you all, you were gone! Nobody knew where you went. Somebody told me you moved to Perth. I’m damn broke now, or I would have flown there. It’s only when I got in touch with Helen, I asked her did she hear anything about you guys. At first she said she couldn’t help me, but then DAP messaged her—”
