“In my defence,” said Mitchell, “I have never attempted that second stage before. Otherwise I might have suggested something more practical like—uh—”
“A taxi?” offered Tommy, the comment making Mitchell laugh again before groaning in pain.
“Honestly,” said Devon, hands on hips. “You two should get a room.”
Chapter Seven
Mitchell stood at the metal barrier in the familiar arrival hall of Hong Kong’s international airport, staring into the spacious heavens at the wooden replica Farman bi-plane suspended from the ceiling, wondering what the next month would bring. The British Airways flight from London Heathrow carrying his nephew had just landed.
He took a deep, calming breath.
When Zane had emailed his flight details and five ideas for his visit—something he had clearly copied and pasted from an old travel blog—Mitchell had replied with what he hoped were clear instructions to help him navigate the airport. Even in that short communication, with his nephew’s use of lazy abbreviations, he’d sensed the gaping generational chasm between them.
And he only had himself to blame. Every human relationship he had cultivated since arriving in Hong Kong thirteen years ago had been with adults. Ellie had once told him, half-joking, that he might as well be living on the moon. While building his career in Asia he had missed out on the young lives of his niece and nephews and knew little of their triumphs and challenges. Here he stood, welcoming his youngest nephew as a grown adult. Moments like this reminded him of his ineptitude in connecting with people unless explaining policies or procedures, which hardly constituted small talk.
If only he had an ounce of Tommy’s ability to connect with others. Tommy had an uncanny knack for striking up conversations and making people feel at ease, whether he wasattending a formal gathering or during a casual hike. Just remembering that fun day made Mitchell smile.
They had ended the hike hobbling back to the minibus, which had dropped them at their starting point in Central. After sharing his packed lunch with Tommy—ciabatta bread filled with Brie and Branston pickle—he had fallen into a delicious sleep. Tommy had nudged him awake as the bus crawled through the Cross Harbour tunnel, informing him that he, Mitchell, would be buying the first round of drinks at a hole-in-the-wall bar opposite one of the piers. Oscar and Devon would be joining them. Mitchell knew better than to argue, although as he’d struggled to stand amid the grunts and groans of others trying to depart the bus, he’d wondered if alcohol might be such a good idea.
Once again, Tommy had been right. Not only had the first plastic cup of chilled red wine relaxed him as they’d sat chatting on stone steps looking out over the harbour, but Oscar had guided them through a series of stretching exercises to ensure they would not wake too sore the following day.
After two drinks, Tommy had helped him to a taxi and had even leant in to buckle his seatbelt. Mitchell had dared to inhale Tommy’s scent, the subtle mandarin and spice smell of shampoo in his hair, then held his breath when the back of Tommy’s hand had brushed against his upper thigh, leaving a tingling sensation. On the way home, he had beaten down his rising attraction, which would only be doomed to failure. A little giveaway remark kept echoing back to Mitchell.
Tommy didn’t find him attractive.
Mitchell scanned the arrivals board again before checking his watch. Passengers from the flight would be collecting their luggage soon and exiting onto the concourse. He would keep an eye out for the distinctive British Airways luggage tags. Hopefully Zane had not been delayed.
He checked his phone and saw the message Ellie had sent overnight, a simple line telling him to take good care of her son, following up with two pieces of advice—Zane was known to wander off sometimes, and was hopeless at remembering to charge his phone.
Not for the first time, Mitchell wondered what he had agreed to.
That morning he had also received another card in the post from his landlady, this one with gold-embossed letters on a red background. With two lines, each bearing four Chinese characters. His neighbour Mrs Lau had read the words aloud for him in Chinese before smiling, humming her approval and translating the slogan as ‘Don’t Miss Opportunities: Time Doesn’t Come Round Again’. His landlady knew about his nephew coming to stay. Was this her subtle way of telling him to make the most of the visit? Or something else?
He spotted Zane immediately. Since their last meeting, he had grown taller. His father, Robert’s, ancestors were natives of Antigua. Zane had inherited his father’s solid frame and masculine good looks, although his skin bore a lighter tone, a warm chestnut hue. Dragging a well-used luggage of pale blue, he looked as though he had just woken. Perhaps he had. His thick hoodie with faux-fur lining and baggie jeans might have been a good choice when boarding at Heathrow, but not in the ninety per cent humidity of Hong Kong. Mitchell decided not to say anything, but to let Zane find out for himself.
When Zane locked eyes with him, Mitchell could see Ellie’s brooding gaze, how she used to single him out when she had something bugging her that needed venting.
Mitchell stepped forward to greet him, then faltered. He had no idea of the familial protocol. Should they hug, or might that be too intimate? But would a handshake be too formal?Fortunately, Zane answered by shuffling to a stop and thrusting out a hand.
“Uncle Mitchell.”
Mitchell shook hands and tried to lighten the mood.
“Do you think we could drop the uncle moniker while you’re here?”
At least the remark raised a slight smirk and got a nod.
“Come on,” said Mitchell. “I’m splashing out on a taxi.”
“Thought you had a motorbike.”
“I do, but you have luggage. We’d normally take the Airport Express train into Central but I’m sure you’re tired, so we’ll cab it home. Is that okay?”
Zane shrugged. Mitchell did his best to engage him but, after a while, began to question whether the passage from the concourse to the Hong Kong island taxi rank had always taken so long.
“You might want to lose the jacket. It’ll be hot outside.”
“S’fine.”
