“They—what?” said Tommy, suddenly alert and straightening.
“Just checking you’re still listening, darling,” said Devon, throwing the flyer at Tommy.
* * * *
By the time they paid the cabbie and got out at the Shek O bus terminus for the short walk down to the beach, Tommy felt infinitely better. Why did nobody ever make a bigger deal about the healing powers of morning coffee? Clouds had moved off, and the hot sun sat centre stage in the clear blue skies. Humidity had crept up since the beginning of the year but had not reached Hong Kong’s usual brutal peaks. All in all, they could not have picked a more perfect day. Signs had been posted on poles and fences, giving directions to the starting point. As they stood in line at the beach, shuffling forward to sign in and pick up their basic clean-up materials, Tommy spotted him.
Mitchell bloody Baxter.
Again.
People told him that Hong Kong was like a small village, but come on. A village with a population of over seven million? Was this some kind of cosmic joke? The man in question stood behind the officials’ white plastic tables with four other officials, providing a smiling and enthusiastic greeting to volunteers. Devon stopped prattling on nonsense as they neared the bench, a sure sign he had spied his new beau. Tommy did his best to hide behind Devon and was fortunate to get another official to greet him. He scrawled his name on a clipboard before collecting his tag and hessian bag of goodies. But he couldn’t help glancingat Baxter, who happened to turn his way at precisely the same moment. Except this time, Baxter glanced away.
The thing was, Mitchell was one of those men Tommy’s attention would normally glide past. For goodness’ sake, he wore black jeans and Dr. Martens on a day when everyone else wore summer shorts and brightly coloured trainers. And the Rugby Sevens polo shirt did him no favours, looking decades old. But when he bothered to look at Mitchell closely, he saw a naturally attractive man, handsome in a down-to-earth way, not gym-toned or obsessed about his hair or appearance, just an ordinary guy. Which was inconvenient in so many ways when all Tommy wanted to do was ignore him.
Once Devon had finished signing in and flirting—he’d made a beeline for an older guy—he joined Tommy, and they lost themselves in the small crowd of volunteers standing before a makeshift stage. Both had been given red wristbands to represent their clean-up group. Ten minutes later, Devon stopped speaking and a grin lit his face. When Tommy turned, the older guy had taken the stage. Smiling broadly at everyone, the man gazed briefly at Devon, and he winked. Devon emitted a soft whimpering sound and wilted against Tommy before straightening up as the man began his speech.
“Every year, millions of tons of rubbish end up in our oceans, threatening our marine wildlife.” The man had a deep, rich voice, and Tommy finally understood the attraction. Even more impressive, he stopped after each sentence to repeat the words in very passable Cantonese. “I am sure many of you have seen pictures of turtles trapped by plastic can holders or seals tied up in nylon netting. Marine litter is not only a problem for us here in Hong Kong, but is a challenge the world over and something everyone needs to urgently address. And every little bit helps. So thank you all for coming along today. Small acts like this clean-up, when multiplied by millions of people, can transformthe planet. And while we thank you for assisting us in cleaning Rocky Bay Beach, we urge you to commit to a more sustainable lifestyle by reducing consumption of plastic and reusing and recycling what you have. If enough of us push to change the way we live, to reject convenience in favour of sustainability, then corporations will have no choice but to sit up and take notice.”
A murmur of approval rumbled through the crowd.
“A note on logistics. If you find any oversized objects, things like wooden pallets or concrete blocks, don’t touch them but call over one of the marshals. The last thing we want is any of you hurting yourselves trying to lug heavy objects around. We have a team who will deal with those. At the finishing point, there are restrooms with washing facilities. Once you’ve cleaned up, come to the sign-out bench for hot and cold beverages and something light to eat, which is our way of saying thank you. Can I also ask you to be respectful of anyone enjoying the beach today? By all means, explain what we’re doing if asked and offer to take away any litter. And something I urge you all to do is to take a good look at the beach before we begin, then do the same at the other end once we’re finished. Any mothers here with a teenage son or daughter will know the feeling when they’ve cleaned up their kid’s bedroom—”
“And how long does that last?” called a female voice from the crowd, raising laughter among the group.
“Good point. And I’d imagine not long,” said the smiling man after the crowd had quietened. “And neither will this. Because more rubbish will begin to be washed up onto the shore as soon as we leave. Even more so if a typhoon hits the region. But does that mean we shouldn’t bother? Somebody has to care. Somebody has to take a stand. And today that person is you. Which is why I ask you to see beyond today, to take a careful look at your lives and rethink your waste habits.”
This time the guy got a round of applause.
“And when you do look back to survey the cleaned-up beach today, I hope you enjoy the same sense of achievement I always do. And, in particular, understand the difference people working together for a good cause can make in a single morning, that we can be the solution to the problem. A simple life lesson for us all.”
After a few more words about logistics, the man invited the volunteers to meet with the marshal assigned to their coloured wristbands. Once in groups, the marshals arranged everyone, volunteers forming lines across the depth of the beach, from the water’s edge to the rockier dunes, moving methodically and systematically forward over smooth sands and boulders like police officers doing a ground search for a missing person. Working unhurriedly and chatting amiably, some participants positioned along the sea’s edge ventured out into the shallows and plucked out all manner of junk.
Devon and Tommy filled six large black plastic sacks between them. Items included the usual culprits of cigarette butts, plastic shopping bags, soda cans, various sizes of plastic water bottles and some more unusual finds such as a rusted pushchair, a cracked toilet seat and the headless upper torso of a female shop mannequin. Devon hugged the plastic model to his chest and briefly entertained those around him with a song and dance performance from one of his favourite diva artists before a laughing marshal salvaged the item from him.
As they approached the clearing at the end of the beach, having finished for the day, Devon excused himself to trot ahead and find his prize. Tommy was walking alone, sipping from his water bottle, enjoying the sun and feeling more awake than ever, when a familiar voice caught his attention.
Walking directly ahead, Mitchell chatted and laughed with another volunteer. They were talking about cars, because he’d heard Mitchell mention something about a BMW. At firstTommy thought about hanging back and letting them finish, but then he decided he needed to be the bigger man.
“Mitchell,” he called out, once within range.
When Mitchell turned and clocked Tommy, the humour drained from his face. Tommy took a deep breath.
“Could I have a word, please? In private?”
After assessing him for a moment, Mitchell turned and spoke a few words Tommy couldn’t hear to the other man, who briefly turned to eye Tommy before walking on. Mitchell stood his ground, clearly waiting for Tommy to catch up.
“Look,” began Tommy as soon as he was close enough to speak without others hearing. “I wanted to apologise for the last time we spoke. After the cocktail party, I mean. What I said was harsh. And my sister rightfully scolded me. One of those guys turns out to be a not particularly nice sort. You probably did me a favour. And even though, in all likelihood, you think I’m a total asshole—”
“I don’t think you’re an asshole. And I really hope you don’t think I’m a self-righteous prick. But Adam doesn’t hold his drink well. And his wife reallyisalmost ready to give birth.”
“Anyway, what I wanted to say is, I apologise. And thank you for saving me from the crackhead.”
“Harold might have mentioned him being a little shady, but I assumed you were friends.”
“Absolutely not. His kind of thing is definitely not mine.”
Mitchell nodded his understanding, and, finally, his smile returned. Beckoning Tommy to join him with a tilt of his head, he began walking again towards the finishing bench.
