The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) (4 page)

Something in the way he said it meant my chills were no longer just from food poisoning. ‘When?’

‘I have to be in Ho Chi Minh City on Friday.’

‘But we fly together to Hong Kong on Friday.’

‘I know we were meant to, and I really wanted to be there when you first arrived,’ he said. I noted the past tense. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s the start of the assignment. I have to go straight there. They wanted me there this week, but I said I couldn’t disappoint you. I hope you can understand.’

He looked so hopeful. Unsure, but so hopeful.

A few more weeks apart wouldn’t matter in the scheme of things. We were crazy about each other. In that jungle, mud-smeared and vomiting, we both knew that. ‘Right. Of course,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’ I wished I felt as cool as I sounded. ‘It’s only a couple of weeks, right?’ At least we had a few days left together.

Chapter 3.

My, how trichinosis can take the shine off a romantic holiday. On the bright side, after spending four days sharing a room the size of an office cubicle, Sam and I took intimacy to a whole new level. Nothing more was said about the ‘L’ word, or if it was I didn’t hear him through the bathroom door. Never mind, when the chips were down (and everything else coming up), Sam couldn’t have been a better boyfriend. He was also the perfect nurse, though I made him leave the room to be the perfect tourist too. Given the unsavory nature of my condition, it was definitely better that way. Plus, now I’ve got loads of photos of our holiday, even if only Sam is in them.

He did leave for Ho Chi Minh City though, as threatened, and it’ll be a few weeks until Stacy’s visa comes through. So for now I’m on my own in Hong Kong.

Stacy has been my rock. As my lifelong friend, she’s contractually obliged in this regard. She calls me daily, like she did when I first moved to London. Then, her calls were tinged with the guilt of having played a key role in my (rather accidental) move. I didn’t relieve her conscience. She should have known that if you’re going to get your suggestible friend drunk on the day she gets fired, you’re partly to blame for what happens. If you challenge her to change her life when she complains that she’s in a rut, then point her to a British Airways sale when she threatens to move to London to find a new job, then
not
try to take her credit card away before she books the flight, you’ve got a bit to answer for. I was as grateful for her calls then as I am now.

‘How are you feeling? Did you try a spa yet?’ She asks first thing, like always. A girl needs this kind of caring support, and reminder to pamper, when moving across time zones.

‘I’m okay. Slowly finding my way around. No spa yet, but I’ve got a recommendation for a foot massage place.’ Stacy takes American grooming habits to a new level. As a nation we’re obsessive and Stacy makes the rest of us look like untweezed, unbuffed, frizzy, spotty amateurs.

‘Email me as soon as you go and tell me what it’s like,’ she demands. Thank the ether for email. Being able to regurgitate an entire day’s worth of minutiae in writing, without regard for time zones, makes these calls easier on the purse. Stacy gets my dramas daily by the paragraph. ‘Are you ready for your interview, Han? What time is it?’

‘Three o’clock tomorrow. I think so. I mean, there are only so many ways you can spin crappy jobs.’ So far I’ve spent three months having my online applications nearly universally ignored, and two phone interviews that ended when I said, ‘Work permit? Uh, no.’ I’m not asking to be CEO. I’m happy to be the lowest rung on a very long ladder. I had no idea that being a buyer’s assistant’s assistant’s assistant was such a coveted role.

‘What are you going to wear?’ she asks.

‘Well. I found a dark grey sleeveless shift dress just before I left London–’

‘Galaxy-esque?’

‘Yep, but sleeveless, not cap sleeves, and a higher neckline. But it’s got the same silhouette. It’s got a faint check through it. I thought that would look good with my peep-toe black platforms.’

‘Hmm… I’m not sure about the shoes. Have you got red? Or mustard?’

‘I’ve got the red flat Mary Janes.’

‘No, too clunky. I’ve never liked those shoes. They just don’t try hard enough. I know! Your metallic grey ballet pumps.’

‘Really? Not too, I don’t know, meeting friends for shopping?’

‘No way. Think Holly Golightly. Wear your Hermès scarf and it’ll be perfect. It’s got yellow in it, right?’

‘You’re right, perfect, thanks. Now all I need is the perfect interview.’

‘Hang in there, Han, the right company will snap you up,’ she says. ‘And I’ll be there soon to celebrate your new job. That’s why I called. HR told me yesterday that they’re just waiting to get the paperwork back. I’ve booked my leaving drinks for Friday. The power of positive thinking, eh? Also, if it’s delayed I can have another party next week. It shouldn’t take much longer.’

‘Okay. Be sure you pack all your summer clothes. It’s hot already.’

‘But CNN says–’

‘I know, but it’s deceptively hot. It’s the humidity. And don’t forget about the rainy season in summer.’

‘Eww, but...’

‘Tell me about it. My hair. I’ll look like I’ve been electrocuted.’ This kind of thing never happens to Stacy. For one thing, she’s immune to the environmental factors that make the rest of us frizz up or break out. For another, good things happen to her. ‘Maybe you can come anyway and then start when you get the paperwork through?’

‘I think Immigration takes a dim view of that. Besides, I want to spend as much time with Tyler as I can before I go. He’s turning out to be quite satisfying in bed. He takes foreplay to a new level. I don’t know how he doesn’t cramp up. We called in sick to work the other day. And it’s not like I’ll see him once I move.’

‘I totally understand.’ Tyler is Stacy’s latest conquest. Like hurricanes, there’s usually a string of them in season. That’s how I know she doesn’t expect us to talk about this one. She’d like to talk about Sam, but I won’t let her.

Stacy’s got a real grudge against him for “moving me” all the way to Hong Kong. Even though she knows I couldn’t have stayed in London anyway, thanks to my poisonous boss. Of course it sounded crazy when Sam first suggested it. But my alternative was to move back home, or to another city where I didn’t know anyone. At least Sam is here.

Or he will be here, as soon as he finishes his assignment in Vietnam.

Meanwhile, I proved that I could make a life for myself in London, and I can do it again in Hong Kong.

‘So you think it’ll just be a week or two then till you get here?’ I ask, trying to veer towards a topic that doesn’t call my judgment into question.

‘Probably,’ she says, playing along. ‘Most of my shoes are packed, so I’m ready to go as soon as I get the okay. Any luck on an apartment?’

It’s a bit of pressure being our designated housing scout, but I know Stacy’s tastes as well as my own. Plus, I’d never pass up the chance to spend other people’s money. Unlike me, Stacy gets to move here on an expat package. ‘Not yet but I’ve got one to see before lunch. I have a good feeling about it. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know.’

Stacy shouldn’t be so confident in my apartment-hunting skills. Jack and the Beanstalk drove a better bargain than I generally do.

The estate agent that I meet at the entrance to the tall concrete building senses this immediately. She’s a perfectly coiffed, Chinese clone of the awright-mate-I’m-yer-friend hucksters filling these positions in the rest of the world. I distrust her intensely.

‘Very nice apartment,’ she gushes. ‘Built in 2004. Big. Good value.’ She’s gesturing around the living room, carefully restraining her arm gestures to keep from touching two walls at once and undermining her claim.

The young woman she’s brought with her is nodding through an enormous grin. She looks like an accessory to the con. How can she be so enthusiastic when these apartments all look the same? There may be slight variations in the decor of the lobbies and elevators, but they’re all modern high-rises. How different from central London’s accommodation, where we’re grateful for a kitchen, and a housemate who doesn’t steal. I miss London’s architecture. Its charm lies in the hodgepodge of eras in the same road, from Edwardian to post-war. Not here. Hong Kongers don’t like living in anything built before the Spice Girls broke up.

‘Uh-huh, very nice,’ I say. ‘Just one thing. Shouldn’t it have
two
bedrooms?’

‘Yes, yes, two. Here. This way.’ She opens a door in the kitchen that I assumed was the laundry room.

I was right. ‘It’s a laundry room.’

‘Maid’s quarters. Bed goes here.’ She pats the countertop that Mom would use to fold clothes warm from the dryer.

‘You put a bed on that?’

‘Yes, very good price.’

I admit the price is good. For a
two
-bedroom apartment. Human rights violations aside, it’s disingenuous to sell closets as maid’s quarters. I didn’t think accommodation could get smaller, or more expensive, than the submarine torpedo launch tubes masquerading as bedrooms in London. ‘Thanks, can I let you know?’

She nods, shooing me away as her phone rings. Clearly she’s got bigger fish to fry. I’ll just let myself out.

‘It’s kind of small,’ I say to the woman who’s followed me to the elevator.

‘It’s not too bad, compared to some I’ve seen,’ she says with a giggle. ‘She was surprised when you objected to the maid’s quarters.’

‘Well come on, who would put a
person
in there?’

She grins knowingly. ‘It’s your first viewing, isn’t it?’

I sigh. ‘No, I’ve seen a string of them. That’s the first one that tried selling a box room as a bedroom though. I’m already tired of this process and it’s only been a week!’

‘I know what you mean. Eventually you’ll lose the will to live and just pick the next one you see. I’m at that point. I’ll probably take that one. You sound American. Did you come from the US?’

‘I am, but I came from London. Where are you from?’

‘I’m Canadian. From Vancouver but my parents moved here when I started college. When do you need to move in?’

Now that I no longer think she’s a professional plant, there’s no reason not to be friendly. She looks around my age. And she hasn’t stopped smiling. This fact, added to her huge blue eyes and big loopy chin-length blonde curls, makes her seem a very jolly gal indeed. ‘In a couple of weeks,’ I tell her. ‘I’m in a corporate apartment now, but I’ll move in with my friend when she gets here.’

‘Ah–’ giggle, giggle ‘–that makes sense now. That’s why you need two bedrooms. I’ll be on my own.’ Her words pour forth from her megawatt grin. It’s a bit like watching sound come from a ventriloquist’s dummy.

‘You said your parents live here? Then why don’t you…’ If I lived within sleeping distance of my parents’ sofa I wouldn’t be looking for an apartment.

‘I’m living with them now.’ Her expression tells me all I need to know.

‘I understand.’ We’ve reached the front entrance. Even though it’s still relatively cool (that’s relative to the sun), the atmosphere has a sponginess about it that I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to.

‘Do you feel like grabbing a coffee? Hee hee! If you’re not busy, I mean.’

Maybe she’s got a nervous tick. Or maybe she sucks laughing gas from her handbag. I
think
she’s just being friendly. I don’t want to suggest that I’m a babe-magnet, but accepting invitations from strange women have resulted in a few misunderstandings. Short of a woman lap dancing on me, I haven’t always read the signals very well. ‘Sure, I’ve got some time before lunch.’ Who am I kidding? The Man in the Iron Mask had a more active social life. ‘I’m Hannah.’

‘Rachel. Nice to meet you. We can head towards the escalator if that’s not out of your way. There’s a cafe there that does organic cakes.’

I’d trade a kidney for a proper piece of cake. The bakeries here are filled with a heartbreaking waste of calories. They may look delicious, but taste of nothing.

‘Do you mean
real
cakes?’ I ask hopefully.

‘Sort of.’ She shakes her head, clearly as distraught as I am. ‘But they get a bit
healthy
. You know, apple juice for sugar, fat-free, that kind of thing. Mom makes proper ones for me.’

I wonder how to wangle an invitation to her mother’s house without seeming forward.

After being completely alone for more than a week, it’s a relief to talk to someone who answers me back. Grocery clerks across the city are getting tired of my conversational attempts. Rachel seems happy enough to indulge me though, which I soon realize isn’t because she sees me as potential friend material. It’s because she speaks in c-r-a-z-y and needs an audience.

She’s just explained that she’s moving out because her parents disapprove of her chosen career path. She talks to rocks. She claims they tell her when people have illnesses. Like medical Magic 8-Balls. ‘Uh, that’s interesting. And you make a living from this crystal stuff?’

‘It’s called crystal healing. It’s not about the money.’ She chuckles, seized by another gas attack. ‘It’s about helping people. I’m, like, a physician!’