The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) (20 page)

Scared, I call his mobile. Panic dialing is almost always a bad idea, but I have to know where he is. This is a perfect case of my head warning me to calm down, and my heart telling it to shut up and mind its own business. ‘Hi Sam?’ Relief floods through me at the sound of his voice.

‘Hi Hannah! How are you? How’s China?’ He sounds buoyant. I’ve been paranoid, overreacting, that’s all. ‘They let you in?’

‘Ha, yes, after some arguing by Josh, they let me in. We’re meeting in a little bit for the client dinner. It should be fun. I just hope I don’t make any blunders… So you’re taking the afternoon off? Doing something fun I hope?’ There. That’s breezy, casual, la la la la la. I’m such the cool girlfriend.

‘Yeah, you know what kind of hours I’ve been working. I needed the break.’

‘… Great. Where are you now?’ Admittedly that’s a little less breezy.

‘Oh, just wandering around, taking in some sights, you know, Reunification Palace, the museum. I haven’t really had the chance, with the work and all.’

‘Sounds like there are a lot of people there. Is it open late?’ The V&A in London has late views on Wednesdays, and I went once. Maybe when I visit Sam we can go to the Vietnamese version.

‘I’m not there anymore. I’m at a bar now. There’s an outside area, so there are a lot of people walking by. What time do you have to meet Josh for dinner?’

‘Fairly soon actually. I guess I’d better get in the shower. So will I talk to you tomorrow?’ What’s he doing in a bar alone? Granted, I’ve done it too, especially if there’s a nice outdoor seating area. It feels like a treat, a decadent, slightly subversive flouting of the normal rules. He
has
taken the afternoon off to unwind.

‘Of course I’ll call!’ He says. ‘It’s your birthday. Han, have a great time tonight at dinner, and good meetings tomorrow, and call me when you get back to your apartment, okay?’

‘I will. Goodnight sweetheart, enjoy the rest of your relaxing evening. I’ll talk to you tomorrow… I love you!’ I blurt out, a split second before regretting the words. Oh God, it’s like a fart has slipped out in the middle of sex. 

‘Okay, me too… Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight. Bye.’

… Okay, me too. He said that, didn’t he? I said ‘I love you’ and he said ‘me too’. He loves me. Right? Unless he didn’t hear me correctly. It wasn’t exactly a heartfelt declaration. You’d think if your girlfriend says ‘I love you’ for the first time, you’d say something memorable back. So maybe he didn’t hear me. It
was
noisy. Did he hear me or not?! I should call him and ask. I need clarification. But what if he didn’t hear me? I’m going to have to repeat it. What if there’s an awful silence as he struggles to say something that won’t mortally wound me? This isn’t the kind of conversation to have on the phone. So I shouldn’t call him back. Unless he expected me to say something else. What kind of girlfriend doesn’t acknowledge when her boyfriend says ‘I love you’ for the first time? Perhaps he’s disappointed, and wondering why I didn’t say anything else. So I should call him.

I redial. Ring, ring, ring… ring, click. Did his phone shut off or did the call fail? Shut off or fail?
Shut off or fail
?! Answer me, you damn universe.

See? This is why it’s horrible being in love. I know I’m being insane. The question is whether Sam is making me feel like this or whether this is my natural state. There’s no denying that my relationships in the past have suffered from an excess of paranoia. Some might say obsession (Stacy certainly has). Jake is the perfect case in point, but nearly all former boyfriends have, at some point, suggested that I might be overreacting, and over-thinking the situation. Are we all obsessive? If I’m alone then I’d rather know now, because, to date, I’ve assumed that I’m normal… well, in the normal range anyway. But if womankind is generally secure in relationships, enjoying them rather than spending large parts of the day analyzing them, then I am, in fact, a nut job. Isn’t there some kind of test I can take to tell me where I fit on the crazy scale?

The taxi ride to the restaurant with Josh is a test of my willpower. I nearly blurted out the conversation, word for word, between Sam and me when he asked, ‘How are you?’ Can you imagine how inappropriate that would have been, how uncomfortable it would have made Josh? Then I’d be worried about him being uncomfortable, when I need all my concentration for this dinner. The last thing I want is a repeat of the client event in London last year, the very memory of which still makes me shudder with humiliation. It wasn’t merely that I was dressed like a party favor when the rest of the room wore business suits, or that I was pressed into service at the last minute to fill an empty space at one of the tables of MPs. It was the
speech
I was asked to make. A terrible, misguided speech about immigration, given to a group that had all the warmth of a Gestapo convention in 1937. There will be no speeches tonight.

‘All right?’ Josh says as the driver pulls up in front of the restaurant. It looks exactly like a Chinese restaurant should, with red hanging lanterns and golden dragons at the entrance. ‘Now, it’s Mr. Chow, who’s the owner of the factory, and his two top bosses Mr. Wang and Mr. Chung.’

‘Wang Chung?’

He chuckles. ‘Yes, I know, and Mr. Chow sometimes drops the Mr., which doesn’t help matters. You’ll know Mr. Chow immediately because the other two defer to him on everything. And it’s easy to remember which is Mr. Wang and which Mr. Chung because Wang is fat and Chung is skinny. Just remember fat Wang, but obviously, don’t say it out loud or you’ll get me into trouble. I have to remember all my clients’ staff using the same tricks. It’s terrible really, but with so many people to keep track of, needs must.’ He shrugs. ‘They may ask a few polite questions. You probably won’t be expected to say much. Though of course you can if you wish! But I also want you to feel free to just enjoy the dinner. We’re really here to show Mr. Chow how much we value working with him. Okay?’

‘Yep, I’m ready.’ I smooth my very demure, chocolate brown skirt, take a deep breath, and open the door to face what I hope to be my first successful client event.

Halfway through dinner I decide that it isn’t half bad. Our clients have pretty much ignored me, in the nicest possible way. Mr. Chow has been chatting non-stop to Josh about next season while Wang Chung nod in time to every statement. They’re very nice. And hospitable. I’m stuffed to the gills but they keep feeding me. Every time I finish what’s in my bowl, they take turns filling it again from the tasty morsels on the ingenious rotating tray in the middle of the table. I’ve just choked down my third helping and fear for my waistline. Even worse, every so often Mr. Chow gets in on the act, offering me the last bit from the serving plates. My mother taught me to clean my plate, but this is a fight to the death between my manners and my seams. Manners have the upper hand so far, but only just.

‘Hannah.’ Mr. Chow interrupts my bulimic fantasies. ‘How have you enjoyed living in Hong Kong?’

‘Oh, Mr. Chow, it’s incredible! It’s really a great city, with so much to learn about, and so much to explore. When I first arrived I only saw the modern buildings and thought it was like New York, but it’s really very different. I feel like when I scratched the surface, I saw the real Hong Kong.’

‘Hmm, yes, very interesting. And what is the real Hong Kong, do you think?’

Can I say what I’m thinking? It’s not offensive is it? No, surely not. It’s just my observation. ‘It’s very Chinese, Mr. Chow. I didn’t expect that. I thought that because it was a colony for so long, it would be a little like London. But it’s not at all. It’s a Chinese city.’

A slow smile spreads across Mr. Chow’s face, mirrored by Wang Chung. ‘Yes, Hannah, it is a Chinese city. It’s a great Chinese city. You are right. You are very right.’

When Josh smiles I know I’ve said the right thing. Who’d have thought it, considering how many of the wrong things I usually say? I’ve spent most of this night reminding myself not to mention the Dalai Lama or Taiwan (two subjects that Josh warned would win me no friends in China). But when the pressure was on, I said the right thing. Perhaps I, Hannah Jane Cumming, have finally turned over a whole new green tea leaf. On the cusp of my twenty-eighth birthday I may have ceased to be the village idiot and started being a fully-fledged adult who doesn’t have to be shielded from polite society. This is quite a moment. Mr. Chung wants to celebrate it with another helping.

‘Oh, no, thank you very much, Mr. Chung. This food is so delicious that I’ve eaten too much of it. I can’t eat another bite. Thank you. And thank you, Mr. Chow, for hosting tonight. Everything has been perfect.’

Mr. Chung grins like I’ve just mistaken him for George Clooney, and Mr. Chow nods graciously. I’ve scored again.

As we make our way back through the hotel lobby after dinner, me trying not to waddle, Josh says, ‘Thanks again, Hannah. That was a success.’ He’s grinning like a proud parent.

‘No problem, it was fun… As you know, I’ve messed up a bit in my past jobs. I think you’re a good boss for me. You never make me feel like I can’t do something. That makes a difference.’

‘Well, I’m very pleased that I hired you,’ he says as we wait for the elevator. ‘It’s nice to know that my instincts were right…’ He trails off, scanning the quiet lobby. ‘I see a future for you, Hannah.’

How long have I waited to hear this? Only my entire adult life. Granted, I may not have always been very career-focused, so maybe I didn’t consciously realize I wanted to hear praise from my boss. But there’s no denying that this feels good, and it would have been nice to hear before now. This might actually mean I have a career, like grown-ups do. ‘Thanks, Josh, you have no idea how good that is to hear. And–’ I check my watch. ‘Just minutes into my birthday too.’

He holds the elevator door open for me before pushing the button to our floor. ‘It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you say something?’ Consternation clouds his face. ‘I hope this trip didn’t scupper any birthday plans you had. You could have come along next time, you know. You should have said something.’

‘No, no, it’s fine, really. I didn’t have any plans tonight. The celebration is tomorrow. It’s just dinner with a few friends. If you wanted to come…’

The doors open. He looks a bit startled. Whether at the doors or my question, I’m not sure. ‘Thank you, Hannah, I’d really like that.’

I shouldn’t have asked him. Especially now, after a boozy dinner. I hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea. Because I’m only asking to be nice, and because he’s been so nice to me. Surely he understands that.

‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then. Eight-thirty for breakfast? Good,’ he says as we reach our adjacent rooms. ‘Sleep well.’

‘Thanks, you too. Goodnight.’

He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. ‘Happy birthday,’ he says softly.

Chapter 12.

I think Josh has the wrong idea. Or else I’m being paranoid because the
idea
that he’s got the wrong idea is lodged in my head. Or, possibly, the birthday drinks Stacy has already bought me have lodged in my head. I think it’s one of the first two, though, based on mounting circumstantial evidence. First, when Josh and I met for breakfast at the hotel this morning, he toasted my birthday – with orange juice, it was 9 a.m. after all. Possibly that’s just a friendly thing to do, but then, after meetings all day, he insisted on a sightseeing tour before we went to the airport for our flight back. He wanted to show me the Hakka houses he mentioned yesterday. He had the driver take us out of town to see them.

At first, glimpsing them from our mountain road, they looked like giant storage containers. It was only when we got closer that I saw the windows in the outer walls. They’re essentially donut-shaped apartment buildings, ancient, vaguely coliseum-like, with families’ apartments ringed around an open courtyard. It was very cool and otherworldly, a glimpse of old China. But that’s not the point. Josh took us out of our way to show them to me. Again, that could be interpreted as a friendly gesture after I showed an interest in his conservation activities.

But now he’s handed me a gaily wrapped package. In front of my friends. And Winnie, my colleague, his employee. ‘It’s just a little something. Go on, open it,’ he urges.

‘You shouldn’t have, Josh! I didn’t expect a gift, really. It’s… Wow!’ It’s a key chain. With an orange and blue leather bowling shoe dangling from it. It never occurred to me that I gave off bowling vibes. ‘Thanks very much.’

‘What an ugly little thing!’ Winnie accurately declares.

He laughs. ‘I looked for a proper shoe but that’s all they had in duty-free. I know you recently moved into your new flat, and I thought you could use it. It’s just a token really.’

‘Ah, I see. I like it, thanks!’

‘That’s very sweet of you, Josh,’ Stacy purrs. ‘Hannah never stops talking about how much she loves her job, you know.’ She reaches for her phone as a text chimes.

‘He knows, Stace, I tell him all the time,’ I point out as she smiles at her message. ‘I’m not exactly a poker face, am I?’