Author: Lee Su Min 李素明

A glass candle stand for the crystals ….

Chapter 1

Most people thought that money was important, and as I tried to conform, I told everyone that I liked money. 

So, the day that I found a bag of notes inside a large brown envelope lying at the far end of the Wisma Atria MRT station, I naturally picked it up and hid it inside my other, larger Dexter bag. First, I pretended that I was bringing the envelope to the control station to report the loss, then as I got closer I saw that there was a queue at the counter. 

So, I lugged the bag over the exit barrier and walked away, telling myself that the envelope belonged to me. Luckily, no one stopped me. 

When I arrived at Chomel, a shop that sold costume jewellery and cheap clothes, I bought a cheap carrier bag large enough to stuff the brown envelope in. I couldn’t zip up the Dexter bag as the brown envelope was protruding out. Then, after I had paid for the new carrier bag, I cut the label off and put the brown envelope in, careful to zip up my Dexter bag so that the contents were not exposed. 

Once I had done this, I was satisfied that the owner would no longer be able to find his lost goods, even if he were looking. 

I didn’t know how much money was inside, but I was quite happy about the discovery. The brown envelope was large and full of notes, so it must have been quite a sizable amount. I was just too happy about the windfall and had no time to think if it were stolen money or what. I told myself that in any case, it was finders keepers. 

Chapter 2

The next thing I needed to do was to count the money. To do this, I needed to bring the bag to a safe place, somewhere where no one would see. All I could think of was where to keep the money after I had determined the amount. 

I maintained a savings and current account with the DBS Bank. I also had another account with the UOB. My month-end average balance with the DBS Bank had usually been more than two hundred dollars, and the UOB account never went beyond three hundred. 

So, if I put in a large sum of money with either of these two banks, an alarm might be raised. I thought about it and decided that it would be wiser if I opened another account with a third bank, someone who did not know of me.

At that time, I was walking towards Takashimaya, and I came across the OCBC. I had never opened an account with the bank, so I was sure that they knew nothing about me. I was only a salaried employee with the Singapore Times. As a journalist for the newspaper I earned about one thousand and five hundred dollars a month, and I got about a one-month bonus at the end of the year. I had very little savings and no investments. 

But there was something I wanted to buy badly. A Tiffany’s watch. The watch cost three-thousand-five-hundred. It was not expensive by the rich man’s standards, but it was a lot of money for me. I had been eyeing this watch for some time. I was in love with the watch, but not with the price. 

I told myself to save up money for it, which was why I had been so thrifty lately. I had taken to eating at hawker centres and taking buses even when it rained. My balance was at eight-hundred dollars. I still had a long way to go. 

I was very stressed. With so much money in my bag, if a policeman confronted me at any time, I would have no explanation. I could be mistaken for a bank robber, or a thief. So, on the spur of the moment, I decided to walk into the OCBC and deposited the cash. 

Chapter 3

I walked into OCBC and dropped the Dexter bag in front of the girl at the front counter. She told me I had to queue up for the service counters. It wasn’t very long, and I waited for a while. Then, as I arrived at the head of the queue, I became more anxious. When I stood in front of the bank cashier, I was considerably stressed. First, I unzipped the Dexter bag, then I zipped it up again as I forgot that it was no longer in that bag. 

Thank God the new carrier was still with me, as I was lugging it around with me somewhat carelessly. I took the brown envelope out from the carrier, and then I unloaded all the notes right in front of the bank staff. The bank cashier at the counter saw the amount and was quite reluctant to touch the money at first, then after I said, “I just withdrew it from the UOB,” she decided to touch the notes and put them over to her side of the counter. 

She waited a while before she started to count them. They were loose pieces and not neatly arranged. I looked at her as she proceeded to start counting. Only then did I see that they were hundred-dollar bills. I still had no idea how much money there were. 

I waited patiently. When she had finished, she wrote the total amount on a piece of notepaper. “84 x $100, 5 x $10, 3 x $2 = $8,456.” She told me to wait before she walked away to the back, presumably to check with her superior. I stood alone at the counter in silence, oblivious to the other people around me, some of whom I was sure were watching me, wondering why I had so much money. 

Having a lot of money was not unusual. It was only unusual when it was displayed in bulk in cash form. I knew that I couldn’t explain the source, for if I did it would expose the fact that I had stolen it from someone. My conscience told me that I should have left it at the MRT station, and that when I found it I should have brought it to the control station to report to the station staff. 

But then I was poor. I had very little savings to get by, and I really wanted the Tiffany’s watch. So, I stood at the counter trying to prepare for an answer should the bank staff came back and asked me where the money came from. I knew that, as a matter of fact, banks were supposed to take deposits and not query. When you opened an account with a bank you were not obliged to give the source. 

I waited for ten minutes, and then when the bank staff did not come back, I started to get impatient. I wanted to bring the notes to the next counter but then would have to queue up from the last person again. Since I was already attended to, I might as well wait. 

I looked at my watch: 3:28 p.m. The bank was closing in just two minutes’ time. I stood and waited like a fool. I noticed that the security officer was watching me. I was not afraid of being watched. I did not steal the money. I merely found it. It was lying around, and even if I had not taken it, I could not guarantee that the next person would report it. So I was clear.

Chapter 4

Immediately, I walked straight to the taxi stand. The nearest one was at the Wisma Atria. The queue was not long, so I waited there. I decided not to call for a taxi, as now I didn’t want my movements to be traced. The police might be after me. At the bank, they had no opportunity to ask me where the money came from. Now they might just stop me and question me. Before any police confronted me, I needed to get home. 

If I had booked a taxi, they would know my location with the taxi number. And from there they could trace where I lived. Finally, my turn came. The taxi man wound down the window and asked me where I wanted to go. I was afraid of disclosing my home address, so I merely said, “The north.” 

The guy was not satisfied, and so quickly he drove off. I was getting more and more nervous, so I decided to go to the newsstand to get myself some sweets. At the same time, I was wondering if I should take the bus. If I boarded the bus I would be able to drop at my destination without it being disclosed. 

So, I walked towards the bus stop. No one was watching me. I did not encounter the authorities. The money was still safe with me. I was still in possession of it, but I was considerably stressed. I was perspiring, and it was not a good sign. When I came to the bus stop, I saw Annabel. Annabel was my classmate in the secondary school, and I kept in touch with her every now and then. She had been to my house once or twice, and I to hers. I had no choice but to greet her. 

“Where are you off to?” she asked. 

“Oh, nowhere.” I didn’t want to tell her that I was going home. 

“Do you want to come to my house?” Annabel asked. 

“Err, I am not free today,” I said. 

“But you just said you were going nowhere?!” 

Annabel knew me too well. She knew that I was not used to telling lies and that if I said I was going nowhere that meant that I had nothing to do. I knew that I was stuck. If I declined Annabel’s invitation, I had to give her my intended destination, which would have been a false one. 

I would have to pick a place fast, before my bus arrived. Otherwise Annabel would hop onto the same bus with me and followed me home. I would have to think of what to do with the money only after she had left my house. But then having her around would ensure a bodyguard for myself during the journey on the bus from Wisma to Farrer. So, I said, “Why don’t you let me go home and change into something nice before we go out for dinner at the Maximum Cafe?” The Maximum Cafe was a place where she and I often went. 

Chapter 5

Annabel was enthusiastic. During the journey I decided that I could not take the stress any longer, as I was too overwhelmed by the windfall. I had to confess to Annabel. So, the moment I stepped into my house, as I was locking the door, I told her to sit down by the sofa, which was just in front of the LCD television. I was just about to tell her when she turned on the television herself. They were showing some American singers vying for votes. It turned out she had something to tell me. 

“Jacob is seeing someone.” 

“Oh, dear. You saw them together? Someone else told you?” I was shocked, as Jacob has shown himself to be a loving husband throughout. 

“No, his neighbour told me about it.” 

“And you trust the testimony of this neighbour?” I asked. 

“If I were you, this is only hearsay.” 

Annabel paused for a while and then asked for a glass of water. 

I only had orange juice in the fridge, apart from some coffee powder. It was the Florida Orange in packet form. There were still two packed in the fridge, so I could afford to be generous. I picked a large crystal glass from the kitchen cabinet, poured out a full glass, and added some ice. I brought it out to the living room, passed her the glass, and said, “Hope it is not too sweet for you.” 

I liked the Florida Orange because of its sweetness. 

Annabel took a sip and continued, “It happened after we came back from the cruise.” 

“Oh, okay, you went on a cruise together. You had a row on the cruise.” 

“Not exactly. They met on the cruise.”

“Okay, I get the picture now. You know who she is.” I tried to find out as much as possible as I sensed that Annabel needed my advice. I had a similar situation before when Michael was seeing another woman. Michael and I were now back together again. 

As I thought about Annabel’s problem, I went into the bathroom. I didn’t know what Annabel was doing outside, but I knew that I must get her out of the way soon, maybe immediately after dinner. She wouldn’t leave my house now, as I had promised her dinner. I wanted to take the money out from the bag and lock it up in my drawer, but it would be odd if I did that right in front of her. 

Chapter 6

When I stepped out of the bathroom I saw that Annabel was making herself comfortable. The bag of money was still lying on the sofa. It was safe there. “Let’s go for dinner, I am famished,” Annabel yelled. 

I picked up my Dexter bag and said, “Hey, let me change my bag first, I can’t go into the restaurant with this bag.” 

Annabel was still thinking of her situation with Jacob. “What do you think I should do?” she asked. I opened the door to my private lift lobby to pick my shoes for the outing. And then I saw the Ferragamo shoes again, though I didn’t remember buying them. And then I heard Kaiser’s bark. Annabel got into the lift and was holding it open for me. 

“Wow! Wow!” 

“Shut up!” immediately came the reply of my neighbour. 

Kaiser barked at me whenever I entered the house, the moment he heard me at my lift lobby, usually the minute I slipped my key into the keyhole. And then she would say, 

“Shut up!” “Shut up!” as though talking to me directly. 

It would have been different if she had said, “Kaiser, shut up!” 

In fact, I wanted to tell her to shut up instead. Then I removed my key from the main door and stuffed the key pouch inside my bag. I walked straight into the lift where Annabel was waiting. 

Once we arrived at the first floor we walked past the pavilion to the pebbled path passing by the neighbours who lived on the ground floor. Mr. Yeo, who lived in unit 01-03, was having his leisurely dinner with his newspapers. I was wondering if he could still read the print under the dim balcony light. 

Then Annabel asked me, “Shall I ask for a divorce?” “

Obviously not,” I said. 

“Your children are still young.” 

Actually, I was no expert in this matter, as I myself never had children. I continued to walk until I reached the side gate, and I let both of us out of the estate. Then we took the long walk along Farrer Lane, where, if we were lucky, we would be able to catch a taxi. But we had no such luck tonight and we had to walk down the slope to reach the main road. I could see that some of the shops had prepared themselves for diners. Their decorative lamps were visible from inside the restaurants.

Chapter 7

Dinner was quick, as Annabel was in no mood to eat. She was silent throughout, engrossed in her own thoughts, whereas I was eager to get home to see to the bag of money. When dinner ended, we parted on cheerful terms. I promised her that I would be in touch if she needed any help or counselling. I told her I knew of one psychotherapist who worked in Camden. After that, I almost wanted to take a taxi home. 

I wanted to hurry home as quickly as possible to look at my bag. By now I realized that with the windfall I could well afford the Tiffany’s watch. I walked as fast as I could, and when I reached my estate I almost bumped into one of the neighbours with her German Shepard. She gave me a glare as though saying, “Watch where you are going.” 

I quickly said sorry and continued to walk to my apartment. As I arrived at the lift it was already waiting at the first floor, so I didn’t have to waste any more time. I swiped my access key card and the lift took me to the fourth level. It opened, and I realized that I had forgotten to switch on the lights at the lobby area. My lift opened to my little lobby, where only I had access. I slid my key into the keyhole, and surprisingly, I could push open the front door even before I turned the key. The door was not locked! 

Was there someone inside? I turned on the lights located just by the side of the wall as I entered, and then realized that I had forgotten to turn off the TV. The volume was low, and I could only see the screen showing the local drama. Annabel’s glass of juice was still sitting on the side table. Automatically, I walked to the carrier bag and tried to take out the brown envelope. 

What! There was no money inside! All the notes were gone! I dug deep inside the bag again. This time I almost tore the entire bag. But there was no brown envelope, and the bag was empty. How could this have been? 

Chapter 8

My heart was pounding. I panicked. Where could the money have gone? I was in the house with Annabel all the while! Could she have taken it whilst I was having my shower? If she did, she showed no sign of it. And how could she have known that there was money inside the bag? There was no reason for her to unzip my bag to look into it. 

Besides, I was only in the shower for a few minutes. What should I do now? Shall I call Annabel and confront her? To do that, I needed to be absolutely sure that she had my money. However, I must be careful how to phrase it. I can’t accuse her of stealing my money, for the money wasn’t mine in the first place. But, come to think of it, I had carried the money so far, from the Wisma Atria MRT station to my house at Park Lodge. It should have been mine already. Between the two of us, I was the more legitimate owner. 

My mind was arguing with itself on whether I should call Annabel and asked her about it. However, I was really not sure if she had taken it. And then, as I came in, the door was unlocked, so someone could have come in during the time we went out for dinner and took the money. But then the chances of anyone knowing about the cash and following me home were almost nil. 

Since we came back by bus and no one knew that there was money at home, who would come in? Security was very tight there. Nobody came into my lobby area except the security guards, and only if I lost the lift access card and needed them to bring me up. But even if it were the security guards, he didn’t have my door key, either. 

So, was it I who left the door unlocked? Yes, Kaiser was barking loudly just now, and the neighbour was shouting, and with Annabel waiting for me inside the lift, I was in a hurry to leave the house. Perhaps I didn’t lock the door. All this was quite careless and could have been avoided. 

There was nothing I could do. I could never report the loss to the police. The money was stolen money. Now the money was not mine. I only owned it from the Wisma Atria MRT station to my house. I was sad and disappointed. 

Three days later I saw a notice on the condominium board. I usually took a look at the pin-ups whenever I was waiting for my lift to arrive, as it was prominently located on the wall just in front of the lift. 

Chapter 9

Notice:

“A sum of Eight-Thousand Four Hundred and Fifty-Six Dollars was found in a brown envelope along the pathway outside the unit of 01-03. Will the rightful owner claim the money before 10 March 2015, otherwise the entire amount will go to the sinking fund, as it was found within the condominium’s premises.” 

My heart jumped, missing a beat. This was my money! This meant that I had lost it whilst I was carrying it back home from Wisma with Annabel. I must have dropped it. How careless I was! 

My immediate reaction was to claim the money. The amount was exactly the same amount as that which the bank staff had counted for me. It tallied so that it must be from my brown envelope. It can’t be so coincidental. Furthermore, I had lost it, and it was found along the pathway where I had walked the day I came in thinking that I had it with me. But on second thoughts, how would I make the claim? What evidence did I have for saying that the money belonged to me? 

I cracked my head. I tossed and turned the entire night when I saw the notice board. I knew that I had to make the claim soon if I ever wanted the money back. But then it was stolen money. Although I did not actively take it away from somebody, I took possession of it knowing very well that it didn’t belong to me. And then I had no proof to show the management office that the notes belonged to me either, after I had taken hold of it. 

I called Annabel straightaway to make her an alibi. Finally, I thought about the Tiffany’s watch and decided that I must be brave. I woke up early the next morning and called my office to report sick. And then I went to the management office to see the condominium manager. I began, 

“Mr. Tan, I believe you found a bag of notes along the pathway inside this estate at Park Lodge.”

Chapter 10

Mr. Tan looked at me impatiently and did not wait for me to finish. “Someone claimed it already. She gave me the note from OCBC with the amount written on it, all that was missing was the signature from the bank staff. Which means that that amount was correct and that she was about to bank it in.” 

“Who was it?” I was shocked beyond belief. “

Her name was Annabel, she said she dropped it when she went to your house a few days ago.” 

Yes, her shoes. Now I got the picture. The pair of Ferragamo shoes was hers. Annabel knew that I had the bag of money all the while. She certainly saw me at the OCBC bank. And then when I was having my shower, she looked into my carrier bag and found the money missing so she took the bank note from my Dexter bag. I shouldn’t have called her yesterday. She came back to Park Lodge to claim the money. And Mr. Tan gave it to her. 

From then on Annabel never took my calls again. I sent her three messages, all of which I typed: “This is my money.” No reply, no calls from her either. What was my loss? Apart from the emotional stress, it was the seven dollars and fifty cents I spent on the Chomel carrier bag, and a friendship not worthy of mention. 

But out of habit now, I would always walk to the end of the Wisma Atria MRT to wait for the train, ever so ready and on the lookout for any unwanted articles. If I find anything this time, I promised myself I will return it to the control station staff. But I have never been so lucky and unlucky again. 

Chapter 11

I decided that I was going to arrive at Annabel’s house to ask her for the money. If she was having problems with her husband, then he must logically be my friend. After all I knew Jacob too. I thought of the things I would say when either one of them opened the door. If Jacob answered the bell I would tell him Annabel owed me money. And if Annabel was at home then I would go straight to the point. 

I thought about the matter very seriously and I felt that I could not allow Annabel to take advantage of me this way. The money was rightfully mine. I found it and if I had been successful in depositing it in OCBC it would have been mine at my disposal. It was just carelessness that I dropped it in the estate. If Annabel had not been around I would not have been distracted. So, she was the culprit. And in any case no one else saw me pick it up who was to say that the money did not belong to me? 

In the first place Mr. Tan had no business to hand it over to Annabel. Annabel was just a visitor to the condominium. If she had lost anything it would be for her to look for her host to claim her property, not directly with the condominium manager. I decided that I must write to the management corporation to complain about Mr. Tan and get him dismissed. 

Three days later I found a note in my letterbox. A meeting will be called to convene the matter. I was surprised that the management took the matter seriously and I made sure that the day was kept free. After that I went about my daily activities whilst waiting for Saturday to arrive. Eight thousand four hundred and fifty-six dollars was not a small sum I couldn’t possibly forget about the money. Even if it was a surprise the fact that I had brought it all the way home meant that somewhat I was entitled to it. 

Chapter 12

On June 25th I rushed home from work. The meeting began at 2:00 p.m. I showered and changed into a set of attire, which gave the impression that I was some kind of a CEO in a large organization. I had not been mingling with the residents in the condominium, so I didn’t know any of them. Occasionally I greeted Mr. Yeo in the ground floor unit whenever he was sitting in his foyer, or when Mrs. Yeo, Julia, is hanging her clothes to sun dry. 

At 1:45 p.m. I walked into the function room located by the side of the swimming pool. I took the seat next to the chairman. He was already there with his notes laid out nicely in front of him. I cleared my throat as I was offered a Coke by Mr. Tan. 

“He is still doing his job,” I thought to myself. 

I had Annabel’s address ready for him if the management should decide that Mr. Tan got the money back from Annabel. After all he made her sign for the note. The note was enforceable in a court of law to prove that she had taken the money. Then I sipped the Coke. 

After ten minutes the meeting began: 

“Today we are called here to discuss the matter of a sum of money which we found at the condominium,” Mr. Tan began, “and this is the only agenda for this meeting.” 

“To consider and if approved, resolve that the 8th Management Council for the year 2015 directs the Strata Residential Manager Mr. Danny Tan to recover an amount of eight thousand four thousand and fifty-six dollars from Ms. Annabel, visitor to unit 03-09 occupied by Ms. Daisy Wong.” 

“Ms. Daisy Wong being a personal friend of Ms. Annabel, we would appreciate it that she provided us with the contact details of Ms. Annabel. As the amount of eight thousand four hundred and fifty-six dollars was found in the condominium premises, the amount rightfully formed part of this management fund.” 

I was going to raise an objection at this point. This was my money. How did I put it across? I cursed myself for not having gone to Danny Tan to claim the amount before Annabel did. Just at this time Yeo Kok Leng spoke: 

“This money belonged to me, I dropped it outside my apartment.” 

Mr. Yeo was the one who lived at unit 03-01. 

“Would you have any evidence that the money belonged to you?” The Chairman asked. 

“Am afraid not,” Yeo Kok Leng said. 

“Then the matter is settled. Although it was finders keepers, a visitor to the condominium had come to make a claim from the present Management Corporation. However Ms. Daisy Wong of unit 03-09 had reported that the money actually belonged to her. Kindly approve and resolve by way of an ordinary resolution, to direct the Strata Residential Manager Mr. Danny Tan to recover the sum of eight thousand four hundred and fifty-six dollars from Ms. Annabel Wu of 19 Evans Road #05-05 Singapore.” 

“There being no other business, the meeting is called to an end. As there was no written notice received and no further issue raised, the Chairman expressed his appreciation to all subsidiary Proprietors present and declared the Meeting be closed at 2:45 p.m. with a note of thanks to all present.”

Chapter 13

The money is still not mine. The tussle is now between Annabel and the Management Council. My claim for the sum of eight thousand four hundred and fifty-six dollars was further down the line as Yeo Kok Leng had mentioned that it was his. At the same time, Danny Tan had Annabel’s contact so that if Annabel told him the truth, which was that I picked up the money from somewhere else, I would be in deep trouble. I could be charged with dishonest misappropriation.

So, I rang Annabel. This was the wisest thing to do now. She did not pick up my calls anymore. I sent her a text: “Dear Annabel, Mr. Danny Tan will contact you regarding the sum of money you took from his office the other day. Please do not entertain him.” 

And then I realized once and for all that I had parted with eight thousand four hundred and fifty-six dollars for good. 

This was my money.

This is my brown bag ….

Chapter 1

I was told that when a person was angry, you should stay away from her for as long as possible and not talk to her until sufficient time was given for her to cool down. And I did just that. 

So, the day when I started quarrelling with Sarah, I walked out of the house and went to the Harrods Bar for a drink. Harrods Bar was part of the Sir Raffles Hotel. I saw no point in protracting the arguments. I chose a seat at the bar and ordered myself a hot chocolate and a scoop of ice cream. And then I noticed a woman sitting at a corner table. 

She was holding a cigarette in her hand and puffing away, her eyes deep in thought. It occurred to me that I might want to go up to her and strike up a conversation, for she seemed to be alone. After all, I was in a very foul mood. Instead of continuing to replay the conversations with Sarah in my mind and making myself angrier, I decided that I should distract myself in some other way. 

I was only wearing a black polo shirt and a pair of jeans at the time, suitable attire for a hotel lounge setting, but perhaps not for picking up a woman. So, I hesitated, just at that time a man went up to her and sat down by her side. From the way she received him, I could tell that they were very well acquainted. I did not know what they were talking about, but they did not appear to me to be intimate enough to be lovers. After a while the man ordered a drink from the waiter. 

I sat in silence, unsure of what I should do. In my mind I was wondering if I should continue to stay on and watch them. From what I saw, they didn’t seem like an ordinary couple. The man wore a black leather jacket with zippers that were purely cosmetic. Under ordinary circumstances I would have left them alone, as I was not in the habit of spying on other patrons. But tonight, I was in a very grouchy mood. I really needed an outlet. So, I continued watching them, and then I saw a brown bag lying by the side on the sofa seat. 

I decided to order myself another hot chocolate. At the same time, I tried to listen to the piped-in music. It was some Italian song. My mind swayed with the tune and I was relaxed for a while. I noticed that the two were talking all the time. 

The woman was facing me, and I could see that she was quite agitated. At one point she screwed up her face and used her hands to cover it up, altogether quite exasperated. I could see that they were engrossed in a topic, both having a common interest. The man looked well-seasoned and was drinking one beer after another. He took off his leather jacket and left it on the sofa next to the brown bag. 

The lady seemed rather street smart. She kept long hair, and as she talked she swept it behind her ears every now and then. Her clothes were not too fashionable; it was just a shirt blouse. I could not see the rest of her attire. But she was wearing this long string of pearls, and they were quite a distraction. The pearls were very large. 

I sat in semi-darkness in the dimly lit lounge, watching the two of them. I knew that they were unaware of my presence. I was anonymous. I had my handphone with me, and every now and then I was checking in to see if Sarah texted me to patch up. The last I heard from Sarah was “I don’t want you to interfere with my life,” which was quite unreasonable. 

Chapter 2

Sarah and I had been married for more than ten years. And if I were not supposed to tell her what to do, then who was to give her any advice? The quarrel arose out of the  fact that she wanted to move to another foreign mission. Sarah was working with the Korean Embassy and she wanted to apply for a job at the U.S. Embassy. I told her it was unwise. Then she said that she had already contacted one of their staff in the U.S. Embassy and negotiations were underway. Maybe she found it hard to turn down the offer. She seemed to suggest that they head hunted her. 

I was very upset. This was not the first time she wanted to do things her own way. Often, she made up her mind before consulting me, which made the whole exercise quite redundant. We were not wealthy, but not short of money. Sometimes I would try my hand at the toto lottery, when after I had made umpteen unsuccessful attempts at the Singapore Sweep. 

I put some of my money from the CPF in the stock exchange. The moment I found that the shares were going up but before I had realized my gain, the price of the holdings went down. So, it had been a frustrating affair for me. I couldn’t think of any other way to earn more income. Nonetheless, I have not resorted to cheating. I still believed in hard work with a little bit of luck. 

I was disappointed that Sarah did not call me as time went by. I logged into The Straits Times App and the Channel News Asia App to read the latest news to see if there was anything concerning the U.S. to support my argument that Sarah should not join them now. I wanted to score points with her. 

Then when I looked up, I saw that the two were gone. The beer mug was still on the table with the bottle by the side. The napkins were crumbled at one side on the seat where the man sat, and the brown bag was still there on the sofa seat, but the jacket was gone. This meant that the occupants intended to return. I was angry with myself for having lost track of them, and I decided to wait for them to come back to the table before I called it a day. 

Chapter 3

Fifteen minutes went by and there was still no sign of them. I waited patiently. My hot chocolate was almost finished, and I contemplated ordering another one. But I couldn’t be sure. I might want to leave the table to walk around to see if they were anywhere nearby. 

Perhaps both of them had gone to the toilet separately. I got up from my seat and went up to their table. Something compelled me to sit down, and so I sat on the sofa against the wall. I stretched my hand out on the sofa to pretend to relax. I fumbled upon the brown bag. I touched it, and it was leather. Great!

But then I couldn’t help but see the stack of notes inside the bag. It wasn’t zipped up. How could the woman be so careless as to expose her money like this? At this point in time I dared not take the bag. The owner might return anytime to claim it, and then I would be mistaken for a thief. So now I was suddenly hoping that these two people would not return. 

It took almost another fifteen minutes before I decided that they were not coming back. I became very curious. Where could the two of them have gone? They could not have left the lounge, as her bag was still here. Should I go and look for them? I started thinking about it and got up from the table and walked towards the toilets. I had been to this lounge before. I knew very well where the toilet was. 

So therefore, I went up to the bar counter and told the waiter that I needed to go to the gents, and I gave my handphone number to assure him that I was coming back. So long as I left something behind, I laid claim to the table. I decided that I should not take her brown bag with me until I was certain that she had abandoned it. As I said, I was not a thief.

Chapter 4

I walked around the compound. The area was quiet, as it was rather late at night. But there was no sign of either one of them. I peeped into the gents but only knocked on the ladies. It was a single cubicle, and after the door unlocked and a woman came out and left the door ajar, I could see that it was empty. 

I couldn’t say that I was disappointed, as the brown bag would be mine if Pearl did not come back. Once I found that both of them were not in the toilet I quickly went back to the table at the lounge. I walked fast and regretted that someone else might have taken it while I was away. 

When I arrived at the lounge, I was shocked. True enough, some other people were occupying the table now. It was a completely new scene. I looked around and found that another group of people were occupying my table. Where was the brown leather bag? I wanted the brown bag!

I went up to the people at their table and said, “Excuse me, I haven’t paid the bill,”

They ignored me completely. And then I went to the cashier and tried to tell them that it was my table. 

“What did you order?” the waiter asked. 

“A beer, no, two beers,” I said. 

I didn’t count how many beers he had. 

“It had been settled already, ” the waiter went on to attend to his other business after telling me. 

I had no choice but to leave the lounge now. My object of getting myself distracted after the quarrel with Sarah had been achieved, as I was very upset with myself now instead of with her. Why did I walk away from the table? 

And then my handphone rang with an unknown caller. I picked it up, thinking that it must have been Sarah calling to apologize. 

“Where is my money?” the voice on the other side said. 

“Huh?” I was completely taken aback. 

I was standing at the lounge wondering if I should walk in and settle my own bill, as I had not paid yet. 

“This is my money.” The voice over the phone was louder and more forceful. 

I began to get worried. Automatically, I replied, “I didn’t take your money,” like any other person would. 

I felt like hanging up the phone. This was a nuisance. But then there was some urgency in the voice, and it was a woman’s voice. Okay! It was Pearl! She wanted to get her brown leather bag! 

So, I merely said, “I don’t know where it is,” unleashing a lead. 

For this suggested that I knew what she was talking about. And I didn’t realize that Pearl sounded like this. I could now piece together the expressive face earlier on in the night while she was at her table and the voice now. I waited for her reply. 

“I saw you take it away,” she said. 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“Look, I am not going to spend the entire night arguing with you, I will see you here again tomorrow at the same time. Return it.” And the line went dead. 

I was completely taken by surprise. How did all this happen? Now it had come to the point that I was acquainted with Pearl and was meeting her tomorrow night. The only problem was that I must produce another brown leather bag with some cash inside which matched the amount. 

I couldn’t say I wasn’t infatuated with Pearl. She looked very stunning in that string of pearls. And I liked the way she flipped her hair. By now I had completely forgotten about Sarah. I didn’t even want to go home. I walked to the nearest taxi stand at Orchard Towers and waited there behind some people already in the queue. 

The Sir Raffles Hotel was just nearby around the corner. If all the shops had not been closed by then, I would have gone on straight to buy a bag and gone to the bank to withdraw the cash. 

I told the driver to take me home. 

Chapter 5

At home I kept the handphone with me and brought it into the toilet when I went to shower in case Pearl rang again. Sarah was already asleep. Good woman, I thought to myself. I also made sure that my phone was not in silent mode and that the “do not disturb” function was not activated. Throughout the night I was only half asleep. I was not normally a light sleeper. At dawn I woke up without the alarm. 

Straight away I went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. Sarah was already out, and I had the entire day to myself. This was the Christmas week before school began in January. I was a secondary school teacher of mathematics. Figures and numbers were my cup of tea, and I liked counting money. I started to think of how many pieces of notes I must procure for my appointment tonight at the Harrods Bar.

When I arrived at the Standard Chartered Bank I was ready with the figure. “Five thousand dollars, fifty pieces of hundred,” I told the bank cashier. I was putting up my entire month’s salary for the gamble. If Pearl did not show up tonight I would just keep the cash and put it back in the bank account. If she appeared, then I would pursue her. I refused to entertain the thought that she might just grab the brown leather bag with my money inside and left immediately after meeting me. 

Once I got the money I went on to Takashimaya to shop for a brown bag. There were several expensive shops there. I told myself that if I bought a designer bag similar in colour and design, Pearl would just be too happy. She was unlikely to be annoyed. All she wanted was the money. The bag was secondary, just a container for the money. 

So, I took my time browsing and finally found one that I would like. I paid for it by credit card, as I had exhausted two-thirds of my funds. I walked out of Takashimaya at 2:25 p.m. and went home to prepare for the evening. 

As I was showering I reproached myself for not having bought a new tie at Salvatore Ferragamo at the same time when I bought the new bag. I wanted to impress Pearl. The outfit for tonight had to be casual but not too cheap looking. I was not a rich man, but as I said, I was not poor, either. Keeping a mistress was within my means. But actually, that was not how I began. I didn’t begin wanting to sleep with Pearl. I had in fact wanted her money. 

Now it was role reversal. I was collecting money for her. What a change! At no time did I entertain the thought of not showing up for the meeting at the Harrods Bar. She knew my number and could call me again and pester me if I didn’t show up tonight. And I didn’t want Sarah to pick up the call. 

Chapter 6

I found myself sitting at the same table again. Then I suddenly remembered that I had not paid for the bill last night. Two hot chocolates would come up to at least twenty-five dollars. I dug into my wallet and found several ten-dollar notes. 

The waiter came up to me, “Hot chocolate, sir?” 

I smiled and really appreciated the fact that he knew me by now. So, I fished out three ten-dollar notes and offered to pay. “For last night,” I said. 

“No, sir, we closed the account already.” He carried his tray and walked away. 

I looked at my watch and the two hands told me that it was 8:00 p.m. I remembered that I was here at 9:00 p.m. last night, so I was at least an hour early. 

I kept the brown leather bag with me by the side, guarding it carefully.

Pearl did not let me down. She arrived on time, promptly at 9:00 p.m. She saw me before I waved at her. I was glad that she was alone. The hot chocolate was almost finished, and I immediately ordered a pussyfoot for her. I didn’t want to make her drunk. She sat next to me without a word. Tonight, the string of long pearls was gone. 

“Pearl,” I began, “This is your bag,” I pushed the bag a little forward, closer to her. 

“Oh, this is it?” She glanced at it and sat there waiting for her drink to arrive, as though her purpose here was to have the pussyfoot. 

She didn’t object to my calling her “Pearl”. Or did she hear me? I started wondering if her name was indeed Pearl. 

Then I opened my mouth again, “What makes you think that I have your money?”

“The bag is here, isn’t it?” she replied. 

“Yeah, but it is not the same bag,” I had to confess. 

“Then you do not have my money?” she looked at me in bewilderment. 

“I have the money that you want,” I said, 

“but it is my money.” I emphasized. 

“And this is not my brown bag?!” Pearl raised her voice, 

“You are a con man!” 

Without another word, Pearl got up from the table, and without taking the brown leather bag she walked away. I went after her. 

But before I could leave the coffee house the waiter caught up with me. “Sir, you can’t do this again tonight,” he advised me. 

Flabbergasted, I fumbled for my wallet, dug out my credit card, and gave it to the man. I knew that I had to sign for it and it would take quite a while, so I told the waiter, “I need to use the toilet; I’ll be back.” He relented. 

This always worked. I rushed out of the hotel lounge in the direction Pearl had gone. But when I came out there was no sign of her. A car sped by and left a loud thud. I was completely lost.

Chapter 7

I went back to the lounge again. Slowly, I looked for the waiter, hoping to sign for the bill. I returned to my table. Luckily, it was still empty; no one had taken it. I remembered that I had left something behind. But it wasn’t there anymore. Pearl left in a huff. She didn’t take my brown leather bag with her, and neither did I. 

Oh, God, it is stolen! I looked under the table, almost climbing on the floor. No sign of anything vaguely brown. The waiter found me and presented the bill. Just as I was signing for the credit card, my handphone rang: unknown caller. I knew that it must be Pearl again. But I could not resist picking up the call. 

“Where is my brown leather bag?” the voice said. 

I could recognize Pearl’s voice by now. 

“Huh? What brown leather bag?” I tried to deny its existence, for by now it was very clear that I had lost it. 

“My brown leather bag, the one that you showed me just now.” There was urgency in her voice. 

“Okay,” I said. 

“Meet me here again tomorrow night and return it,” Pearl ordered firmly. 

By now I concluded that all she wanted was the money she lost the first time and nothing to do with the brown bag. Even if my Ferragamo bag wasn’t hers she had decided that she wanted the money in the bag now. I certainly did not take her money. 

I let her hang up the call and walked to the taxi stand once again. I took out my handphone and I switched it off. I told myself that tomorrow I should get myself a new phone and a new number. I didn’t see why I should have anything more to do with this crazy woman. 

Chapter 8

One month later, Sarah joined the U.S. Embassy. I quarrelled with Sarah again, as she did not tell me before she signed the contract. Naturally, I arrived at the Sir Raffles Hotel. I walked into the Harrods Bar and was pleased to find my usual table vacant. I sat down. After I had settled down, the waiter came. I recognized him, even if he had forgotten my face. 

“Sir, I am here to return your property,” he said, holding out two brown leather bags, one more worn out than the other. 

“I believe they are yours,” he said. I stared at the bags. 

“I tried to call you several times but was told that your number is no longer in use,” the man tried to explain, which was totally unnecessary. 

“Can I have a hot chocolate?” I ordered, taking the two bags from him, and then, 

“Yes, these are my bags,” I proclaimed. 

“Oh, yes, that night after you left, the female friend of yours came back and asked for you, and I gave her your number,” the waiter continued calmly before walking away, 

“Was wondering why she needed your number since you came with her in the first place.” 

Ah, so this waiter mistook me for Pearl’s earlier male companion, the well-seasoned man. It seemed clear to me now that this waiter had taken the two bags on both occasions when his diners went away, intending to return to us all along. 

“The lady friend of yours had been patronizing this joint every night until the last time you were here with her,” the waiter began. 

“She seemed to be a social escort soliciting business and we were contemplating installing CCTV to track her movements, for if she touted a client successfully by right she should bring him up to our hotel rooms, but often they left for the neighbourhood instead.” 

Chapter 9

When I arrived at home that night, I took out the money from one brown bag, counted it, and found three thousand dollars, whereas the other similar bag had five thousand dollars. If you asked me whether I could remember which one belonged to Pearl originally, I couldn’t tell you but for the fact that I recalled that the one I bought was a Salvatore Ferragamo bag. 

However, I still couldn’t tell you if the waiter had filched any money from Pearl’s first brown leather bag. Anyway, the Ferragamo bag cost five hundred dollars, and my net gain was two thousand and fifty dollars. 

This was my money now. There was no doubt about it.

Couldn’t help poking my head there ….

Chapter 1

Some people sleep with lights on, but some people don’t.

            I preferred to sleep with the lights off. I was sure that nothing bad will happen to me when I was asleep, as all my money was locked up in properties and any leftover liquid assets were in fixed deposits. I didn’t leave cash lying around in the house. I was living in a small one-room apartment so I didn’t think that anyone would want to break into my home. Thieves usually went for big bungalows and rich occupants. 

            Although I was not a thief by profession, I had been interviewed on a charge concerning theft. This was most unfortunate. Theft was not a compoundable offence, so that I wasn’t let off the hook. However, the police officer in charge of the case, Superintendent Wong, told me that there was a possibility that the Public Prosecutor might not entertain the case, that if I didn’t hear from them again within six months, I could assume that the Attorney-General’s Chambers was not taking it up.

            On the day in question, I was severely sedated. I took the items I wanted to purchase to the counter and unloaded all of them from the basket onto the conveyor belt. After the cashier put them into the bag, I walked out of the supermarket whilst she was answering a question from the next customer, who wanted to know where the plain flour was. I thought I went through the motion of paying, and the sensor for detecting unpaid merchandise must have been switched on, so I walked out of the supermarket without realizing that I had not paid for the goods. 

            After a while, when I was well out of range from the supermarket, one of the cashiers came up to me. 

            “Ma’am, you have not paid for the items,” she said. 

            Startled, I gave her fifty dollars for the items and continued on my way back home. I did not know why on that day I did not immediately accompany her back into the supermarket to make payment for the items. It must have been because the groceries were heavy. 

            The next day I went back to the supermarket to buy things as usual. This time they did not have to chase after me when I was out of the shop, as this time I had already paid them before I walked away. 

            One week later I received a letter from the police that I had been caught stealing. As I had never contemplated stealing things from anyone in my entire life, naturally I was shocked.

            “I remember the cashier coming after me once, and then I think I took fifty dollars out from my handbag and paid her there and then along the road,” I told Superintendent Wong, who served me the papers. 

            He was not impressed. “No, you did not pay for the goods,” he said. 

            “Yes, I did pay the cashier,” I recalled. 

            In the end I was still charged with theft. 

            Several days later my lawyer came to see me. They showed her the CCTV in which I was pictured taking the following items out of the store checkpoint: a packet of instant noodles, two bars of soap, one Häagen Dazs ice-cream, and a pack of lithium batteries. I had no recollection of any of these. They were things that I would normally buy, but I could not recall having gone to the supermarket to buy them. I could only remember meeting one of the cashiers along the road.

            Yes, I was suffering from amnesia. Amnesia was a kind of condition that hits someone who has had a shock so severe that the brain automatically forgot that part which was unpleasant. And during the process, a lot of other memories were erased too. This was what doctor Mathew Walker diagnosed me with. When I was five, my mother had an accident with me in the car. She died, and I came out alive.

Chapter 2

            I was a housewife, so one of my jobs was to keep the house clean. I had a silky terrier, so I must walk him daily to make sure that he did his business outside the house. My husband was a civil servant, so his working hours were regular. He worked nine to five thirty, and by six I could hear him putting the key into the keyhole and turning the lock. He rarely talked about his work. At dinner time I sat with him and no word came out of his mouth. At the end of the meal all he did was put the spoon and fork back on the empty plate and then walked away to watch television. No, our relationship was cordial. He still told me he loved me.

            At around 4:00 p.m. every day I met with my neighbour Jennifer downstairs at the gardens. My house was one of a hundred and eighty-one apartments in a large estate called Emerald Mansion. We chatted, usually over what we had to cook for dinner and whether our husbands were having an affair outside. We compared our husbands’ behaviour towards us, and any symptom which deviated from the norm raised a red flag. But that day, it was not my husband that I was concerned about. It was the crime that I was charged with, the theft. 

            Jennifer Price was a staunch Christian, and she had this solution: 

            “Go and get deliverance. Pastor Kumar specialized in this. He would be able to put it right for you, one way or the other.” 

            I took Jennifer’s advice. 

            “Where can I meet him, Pastor Kumar?” 

            “Come to my church,” Jennifer offered.

            On the twenty-second of May, Sunday, at 9:00 a.m., Jennifer rang me to wake me up. 

            “Hi Christine, time to go to church.” 

            “What time is service?” I asked Jennifer, still sleepy. 

            “Ten-thirty. But we must go there early to get the best seats,” Jennifer was eager. 

            “I’ll see you at the benches downstairs at nine-thirty sharp,” I promised Jennifer. 

            Usually, I took just half an hour to get freshened and changed. This morning I took out a denim skirt and a white shirt, sober yet casual for the occasion. 

            On the way there I tried to ask Jennifer what Pastor Kumar would do in order to deliver me. 

            “I can’t say …. wait ‘til you get there.” 

            The church was crowded when we arrived. Many people were gathered around the podium. You could not tell whether the people had already attended the earlier session or were just waiting to go in. Jennifer and I squeezed through the masses of people all the way to the front row. 

            “Sit here,” she ordered before disappearing back into the crowd. 

            I took the aisle seat and realized that I did not get a church bulletin, so I didn’t know the program for the service. This was the first time I had been to a church service, and I felt out of place. Ten minutes later, Jennifer returned with the church bulletin and sat next to me. 

            “I have already told the church worker your special needs, and they will look out for you later.” She reassured me that my trip would not be futile.

Chapter 3

            “You are the salt of the earth. When you hear the gospel, you must tell others about it, otherwise you are like a seed that does not grow,” Pastor Malcolm preached. 

            I listened with a pinch of salt. Frankly, all the time, I was wondering how Pastor Kumar looked like. The stage was decorated with pots of plants, and there was a band waiting to play their instruments. Finally, when Pastor Malcolm finished his sermon, the band struck, and music came flowing. I felt mesmerized by the whole thing. 

            While I was still trying to absorb what Pastor Malcolm was saying, a man in his twenties came up to me. 

            “Are you Christine?” 

            “Yes,” I said. There was no need to lie. 

            “Go and stand in front so that Pastor Kumar can see you,” he said. 

            “Where is Pastor Kumar?” 

            “He will be here shortly,” the young man said. 

            “I came for deliverance, what does ….” Before I could finish my sentence, the young man walked away. At the same time, Jennifer pushed me to stand up and moved to the front. 

            Once I stood in front, I could see the stream of people queuing behind me, and I was a little apprehensive that I should be the first for this treatment. From what I had gathered, deliverance was a kind of treatment offered to those possessed by evil spirits. So far, I was just having some problems with the police. No evil spirit had gone inside me, and I was sure of that. But nonetheless, I was there, so I would try what Pastor Kumar had to offer me. 

            By the time Pastor Kumar came forward I had contemplated walking away from the queue several times. He saw me, said nothing, and immediately he put his hand on my head. 

            “What is your problem?” 

            “The police.” That was all that I could mutter. 

            “Right. Shiri guru alamande furusong sansi,”

            And then with one push of his right hand, I felt released and decided to fall backwards onto the ground. 

            I knew that someone was standing behind me holding my shoulders. Once I was on the ground, they left me and proceeded to other parishioners. 

Chapter 4

            I thought of nothing but the fact that if there hadn’t been anyone behind me, I could have injured myself falling backwards. I started to count. On the count of twenty, which was pretty fast, I got up. I saw that no one was interested in me anymore, so I walked back to my seat. The people who had queued behind me were lying on the floor as well now. 

            Jennifer was all excited,

             “Do you feel better now?” she asked. 

            “I suppose so,” I couldn’t say that I didn’t feel any different. 

            That would have been a disappointment for Jennifer. 

            “You have just been slained by the spirit,” she elaborated. 

            “Come, let’s go home. If we leave late, we might have a problem getting out. There is still another service at twelve p.m.” Jennifer then added.

            I followed Jennifer out of the sanctuary wondering if all that I needed to get myself discharged from the police was just getting someone to push me backwards and falling onto the ground. It all seemed so effortless. 

            “The church worker will be in touch with you later on,” as Jennifer dropped me back at my place, she told me, 

            “The good thing about going out with you is that I don’t have to make a special trip to drop you off elsewhere.” 

            Jennifer always told me this whenever she drove the two of us back to Emerald Mansion.

When I walked out of her white Nissan, I somehow felt that this wasn’t the end of my encounter with Pastor Kumar.

            True enough, on Tuesday Jennifer called me,

            “Pastor Kumar says that you need to be delivered again. He is prepared to come to your house to do it, as I told him it is an urgent case.” 

            I had no qualms about that except that I didn’t want Pastor Kumar to see my Buddhist painting. I have a picture of a Buddha in my house. 

            Although it was not painted by a renowned artist, it was the work of a delicate and skilled hand. Immediately after I put the phone down, I went to the painting and removed it from the wall. I didn’t want to offend Pastor Kumar. After all, I needed his help. Superintendent Wong hadn’t called me yet, so the case was still pending. Anything I did with Pastor Kumar would affect my case, either favourably or adversely. I definitely needed help from the supernatural. I replaced the Buddha painting with an old Impressionist work.

Chapter 5

            Jennifer was my best friend. Like me, she was a housewife. We often exchanged recipes for the best way to cook sweet and sour pork, or where to find the most genuine tom yum paste. Going to church together was a new way of passing time for the two of us. Sometimes we talked about the inequality between men and women, that our respective husbands seemed to get the better of us. 

            “My husband is the one who decides when to sleep,” I once complained to Jennifer. 

            “We will both be reading, then he will switch off the lights for the both of us when he wants to sleep.” 

            “So, you sleep with the lights off in complete darkness?” Jennifer was a little surprised. 

            “I always leave a small lamp on. Why can’t you leave the lights on so that you can continue to read?” Jennifer said.

            “The switch is on his side,” I said.

            My husband treated me in this chauvinistic manner probably because I did not work. Since I decided early on in the marriage that I did not want to go out and compete with the rest of the black skirts, I was also forced to use his surname. My house was tidy but not very clean. If you put your finger on the windowsill you would trace a layer of dust. 

            Since that Sunday, Jennifer and I had been going to see Pastor Kumar regularly. Pastor Kumar was a young, athletic-looking man of about thirty-five. He was into this profession because he seemed to have a calling. He was not very well educated in the English language and apparently knew no letters of the alphabet. He talked in English, but he could not write. 

            His hometown was somewhere in the North of India near New Delhi. I found him rather good looking. He talked to me in a very personable manner, so that was how I got to like him a lot. But still our relationship remained that of pastor and parishioner. When he decided to start a small Bible study class, Jennifer and I were the first to sign up for it. Once he got the signatures of ten people, he started classes every Tuesday afternoon. 

            We were both very happy that we got deliverance once a week and lessons on the Gospel every week. By that time, I had already mastered the technique of falling backwards. The fact that I was interviewed for theft and waiting trial was almost completely forgotten. It looked like Pastor Kumar was doing wonders for me. 

            Moreover, Pastor Kumar’s knowledge of the Bible was fantastic. His explained the Gospel in the most secular manner, and I was beginning to wonder if a pastor could get married and have a family. This year, my husband was even excited enough to want to host a Christmas gathering at our home and celebrate my birthday at the same time as well. The guests were mainly his colleagues from the office. I immediately signed up for a Christmas turkey course to prepare for the event. 

Chapter 6

            That night, after we had all eaten and finished the sherry trifle, George walked around the house. George was my husband’s superior. This was the first time I had met him, and, of course, I showed him around the flat. As George came to the tall coffee table, he noticed a stack of notebooks on it. 

            My husband rushed over to explain, 

            “See how well-trained my wife is?” He ran his finger atop the table and pointed at George. 

            “Look at this layer of dust. She hasn’t read any of the contents. She can be trusted with confidential stuff,” he proudly proclaimed. 

            George and the others laughed.

            It was a good evening, and all of us enjoyed ourselves, including Jennifer and Pastor Kumar. After the guests had left, I decided to clean the table that had been the topic of conversation. As I tried to clean from the bottom of the notebooks, I suddenly felt a little curious. I flipped open the pages and saw the following: 

To The, Public Prosecutor Mr. Anthony Seow: 

For Your Consideration:

The Criminal Procedure Code 68 Revised Edition Sections 123–125

Subject: Christine Seow	ID No.: CI7861264N
Female: 33 Years Old	D.O.B.: 28 April 1981
Nationality: Citizen of Christmas Island

You are hereby charged that you on 08 day of May 2014, at about 11:40 a.m., at Green Leaf Supermarket located at Wallace Court a building used for custody of property, did commit theft of the following items:  ……”

            I didn’t bother to read what the items were, for I already guessed. Six months had already passed, and it was clear that the Attorney-General’s Chambers had decided to drop my case. 

Somebody had sat on it.

I was afraid of the sheep ….

To kill a wolf sometimes you need some sheep. 

Every morning like a sheep I came into the office quietly. I wore flat heals so that I made as little noise as possible. I knew that he was in the room because the lights were on. I put my handbag down on the table in a prominent position to show that I had arrived in case he walked past my room. Then I went to the kitchen to make myself a cup a coffee. 

Daisy Chen was in the kitchen. I said hi to her as I walked in. She looked harassed. I saw that she was making coffee for three. So there were guests! I waited for Daisy to finish first, as I did not want to get in her way. Daisy was his secretary, and I didn’t want her to complain to him about the new staff. 

I had just joined Kramer & Walker on Monday, not so long ago since I broke up with him. This morning in the lift as I was coming up to the office, we said nothing to each other. When the lift door opened, he walked out first. Neither one of us said hello. After such a long silence in the lift, it was understood that we would not be greeting each other in the office. 

After Daisy Chen left the kitchen I went in and refilled the water jug for the percolator without washing it first. The coffee powder was finishing, and I wondered if I should go out and buy my own brand or request a packet under the requisition form with the admin department. The coffee powder they used did not have enough caffeine to perk me up in the morning. I had been taking a second cup at lunch just around the corner outside the office. 

Once I got back to my room I kept my bag under the table and turned on the computer. It took a few seconds, and I was happy to see the picture of a green field on the screen, the standard Microsoft default wallpaper. I thought about changing it to another one. The next day I would bring my camera and load some of my photographs onto the PC so that I could use my own pictures as the wallpaper and screen saver. I liked to tamper with IT stuff. 

The office walls were painted in ivory white. Pictures in black and white of small houses in a town lined one side of the wall. The other side of the wall had a frame with thirty boxes, each one having a golf ball inside. I was very mesmerized by the golf ball theme, for the balls rest precariously on the frame so that if undisturbed, they would sit there forever. I wanted to take a picture of it but knowing that it would cost me my job I refrained. 

“Hello.” Mr. Jenkins peeped his head in. Mr. Jenkins was middle aged and I couldn’t tell you if he were married as I have no idea at all. So far he has never made any reference to his wife. My source told me that Mrs. Jenkins was a cook working in some posh hotel. I gave Mr. Jenkins a toothless smile. It was the best I could produce. The movie on the television last night was long and dull, and it took a long while for me to fall asleep.

“How’s work?” he asked. 

I didn’t know the company hierarchy yet, so I was just friendly to everybody. Mr. Jenkins could have been the boss’s favourite staff, or he could just have been the office boy. But from the way he wore his attire, I didn’t think that he was anyone very important. For one, he wore short sleeves, and no tie. Just to be on the safe side, though, I entertained him. Any friendly soul was useful for the time being. 

I saw that the senior partner Richard Walker’s room had guests in. He did not usually meet guests in his office. This time was a little unusual. The door was closed with a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the doorknob. 

I stood up to go to Ms. Joan Davis’ room to talk to her. I remembered seeing The News Bulletin at her table this morning. Joan had been the first person I was introduced to when I started work here. She was much taller than I and a little bit aloof. I felt very uncomfortable standing next to her, as it made me feel very short, even though I was not. Joan also wore a pair of rimless spectacles which made her look like a schoolteacher. 

“Can I help you?” she asked. 

I could see that she was reading the newspapers, so I ventured an “I came to say good morning,” and then added, 

“I shan’t disturb you.” 

As I was walking out of the room, she said, “Wait a minute, can you photocopy this?” 

I was taken aback. This was the job of a junior clerk. But I didn’t want to offend her, so I took the slip of paper from her and asked, “How many copies?” 

“One,” Joan said. 

Photocopying would have been easy if everything had been set up. When I arrived at the machine, it was off, so I had to look for the power switch. I must have been the first one to use the photocopier that morning. I cursed at Joan Davis and then found the on/off button. The machine gave a squeezing sound to tell me that it was waking up in a lazy mood. I placed the piece of paper on the glass panel and pressed Start. Then, as a second thought: Why don’t I read what is on it? After all, if Joan could give it to me, it could not have contained any secrets. 

“I am happy to announce that the Award of the Best Entrepreneur 2015 goes to Mr. Richard Walker,”. It wasn’t marked Private and Confidential, but coming from this office I could guess that the news hadn’t been released yet. I quickly made a copy and sent the original back to Joan. I pretended that I hadn’t read it. 

“Everything okay?” Joan asked. 

“Yup.” 

Before I left I remembered that I came in for the newspapers, so I gave her my order this time: 

“Let me have your paper after you had finished.” She didn’t look up, although I was sure that I spoke loud enough for her to hear. 

At lunch I walked out of the office and went straight to Starbucks, where I grabbed a chicken curry puff and an iced caramel macchiato. Within half an hour I was up at the office inside my room again. I ravaged the home page news, as it was usually very interesting. Some woman threw her baby down and some man murdered his wife’s lover. I had a dark secret, but it was unlikely that anyone would want to kill me. We both knew that it was supposed to be kept secret, between just the both of us. 

Richard Walker and I hadn’t seen each other for three months now. Right from the start we both knew it to be hopeless. Richard was married to a prominent lawyer, and there was no question of divorce on his part. I was merely a poor office worker. Richard liked my naivety, which obviously Yvonne didn’t have. I knew that he was married at the time I began the relationship with him, so right from the start I was keeping a countdown. 

By the time it reached zero, Richard was still in love with me, so I gave him six weeks. I merely wanted to test my feminine prowess. Richard Walker was a fast dealer. You could tell by the way he ordered his food. He never spent time looking into the menu. Sometimes he would even order his meals by just telling the waitress what he wanted. 

I was not very educated. I didn’t go to university. All I got was the GCE certificates, which eighty percent of the workers already had. But I have a sweet smile. When I smiled, my eyes drew up like a line so you could see a very happy face. Many people had told me that, and I knew I was attractive.

I took a look at the room opposite mine again. The lights were off, so I guessed the occupant must have gone out for lunch and not come back yet. In fact, the entire floor was dim. Almost everyone had taken a break. I was an executive secretary, the first time I had been given such a prestigious title. I had no family of my own and needed to climb up the corporate ladder. That was why I decided to use Richard for the time being. Until I found another man. 

Halfway through typing I heard Richard. He had come back from lunch. I decided that I had to avoid him, so I did not go out until I was sure that he was back in his room. If I knew that Richard Walker worked in this office I wouldn’t have joined. Having to stay away from someone deliberately made life difficult. No one in the office knew about the situation. I was sure that Richard had not told anyone about our affair. 

Now that I knew that he was going to be the next big time celebrity, it made this situation more delicate. If I disclosed our relationship, his infidelity to his wife Yvonne Walker would make him unsuitable for the eminent position. I asked myself if I should use our past to blackmail him. I didn’t have a black dress like Monica Lewinsky; neither did I keep a record of appointments. We usually met during the day, when he was supposed to have gone for a client’s appointment. 

The only evidence of our relationship was a piece of paper from his notepad saying, “see ya at 11:00 p.m.”

It was in his handwriting, and he used his office notepaper with his name on it. No solicitor met his client at 8:30 p.m., and the manner in which he wrote it showed that it wasn’t a professional arrangement. I knew that the piece of paper was incriminating, and I had kept it for a long time in case it would be useful. Yes, it was useful now. 

I stayed late in the office. At 10:00 p.m., after dark, I made sure no one else was at the photocopier before I went up to the machine to make my copy. I made two in case I needed another one. Then I slipped one under Richard Walker’s door. I assumed that it was locked. Something told me that this was wrong, but I couldn’t care less. This was my life, and this was fact. I was just putting the record straight. 

Should I tell the other partners in the office? Or shall I wait for his response? Is his reaction going to make a difference? Since I saw the nomination announcement, I had made up my mind. I was not going to allow Yvonne Walker’s husband to be the top entrepreneur whilst I played the role of an old flame. It was most unfair. The romance between them had died, and the public needed to know. 

I went home and had a good sleep and woke up later than usual. I was late for the office. Immediately I rang the admin department and reported sick. Now I wondered what I should do. I remembered that the paper was under his door, and I was supposed to be in the office to see his reaction. I needed to know what he would do before I planned my next move. 

Disturbed, I walked slowly to the front door of my apartment to pick up my newspapers. I opened the door and saw a note resting on the day’s The News Bulletin. It was the same note! It was the photocopied note that I had slipped under Richard’s door. Only then did it occur to me that I had forgotten to retrieve the copy from the copier. 

Who put it there? It couldn’t have been the newspaper vendor. They wouldn’t have had the note. So it must have been Richard, or Richard’s secretary. Worse, it could have been Yvonne. If it were his secretary it would mean that I could still blackmail Richard Walker. 

If it were Yvonne, the game was up. I would be chucked out of the office, and I was sure that Richard would make it difficult for me to find employment elsewhere. I was getting worried. I looked for my phone and searched for Richard’s telephone number. I had not deleted it. There hadn’t been a need to do so. We didn’t have a row; we merely separated by mutual agreement. 

I had broken things off with him after he told me he would have to wait three years to divorce his wife. That was too long a time for me as I was nearing thirty. I wondered if he knew of his impending award before he spoke with me about the breakup. 

Now I wondered if I had miscalculated. If I had stayed on, would Richard have been nominated for the award? The chances were the same. No one knew about our affair, as I lived alone. I had given Richard Walker one of my access keycards so he could walk in and out like any other resident on the estate.

The fact that we were together in the same law firm now was pure coincidence. When I applied for the job, I had not realized that “Walker” was Richard. And if I hadn’t seen him in the lift that morning I wouldn’t have known that I would bump into him in the office. No, I did not plan this, I had not set out to expose Richard. Part of me still loved him. 

Never mind about love, what was important now was who put the note in my apartment this morning. I had slipped it under Richard’s office door last night; so it must have been Richard who picked it up first. He could have passed it to someone else to bring it here to return it to me. But whom could he trust? It could have been Daisy Chen his secretary, or Chapman his driver. 

In all probability the courier could have been Richard himself. It made more sense, and only he knew my address. He had my keycard. Only the person with the keycard could enter my apartment compound without going through security. 

Now the mystery was solved, and I was happier. I went to the fridge and took out some bread and butter. At the same time, I boiled some water to make instant coffee. Yuks! I forgot to buy condensed milk, and I hated black coffee. I had been getting my morning coffee at Starbucks on the way to the office, so sweetener had not been on my groceries list. I was pretty annoyed with myself and wondered if I should go to the supermarket. 

But I wasn’t supposed to go out. I was supposed to be sick, lying in bed at home. Which reminded me, I needed to go to the Back Lane Clinic to get a medical certificate before the end of the day. 

Although I had solved the mystery of the note being at my door, I still hadn’t decided on my next course of action. Yesterday I just slipped the note under Richard Walker’s room door to show that he had some little secret with me. But it was just an impromptu gesture, a reflex action. Now that he knew that I had this note and that I knew he knew I had this note, what would he do?

Would he want to rekindle the liaison, or would he want to terminate our relationship permanently? Should I resign then? And even if I resigned, now that we both knew that he was subject to blackmail, he might send someone to kill me. But Richard Walker was a professional. I quite doubted that he was acquainted with any underworld criminals. 

As I had been pondering the permutations and combinations, I had not been paying attention to the headlines in The News Bulletin: 

“Mr. Richard Walker, the Winner of the Entrepreneur of the Year 2015 Award, was found dead in his office at 11:07 p.m. last night. We suspect that the murderer is a woman in her late twenties and the work is that of an insider. Investigations are still ongoing and the area surrounding the law office is cordoned off. He leaves behind his wife Yvonne Walker.” 

Everyone has his sensory melting point. I guessed I had reached mine on that day. I went straight to my PC and booked a ticket to Hong Kong. I chose the former colony as it was a mere three-and-a-half-hour flight from home. I spoke and understood Cantonese and it was sufficiently English speaking with an infrastructure similar to that here in the country. I would not feel like an alien in the city. The other reason was that we had a branch in Hong Kong and I knew one lawyer there by the name of Allison Wong. We communicated through emails on and off. 

I packed my clothes in an overnight bag. I was a woman in my late twenties and I was on the run now. I was the chief suspect. In any case, the killer knew where I lived. Did Yvonne Walker frame me? Only Yvonne Walker knew the answer. I still had Richard’s number, but I knew that I should not call him. The moment I rang that number I would be charged with murder. Slowly I picked up my iPhone and scrolled my contact list. As I found the name “Rich” I deleted it and then switched off my iPhone. 

But then curiosity got the better of me. On the one hand I wanted to stay behind in the country to see if the killer of Walker was arrested, on the other I knew that I would be suspected to be the killer, if I were still seen around. 

I decided to miss my flight. I did not arrive at the airport. I went to the office as usual on the next day, and I tried not to make eye contact with anyone on the train. 

I managed to gain entry into the office via the back lane. The rubbish bags piling high along the lane gave a tinge of sour smell almost got me to faint. Nevertheless, I walked passed as I wanted to get into the office. I took the cargo lift to arrive at the twelve floor. The lift belonged to the delivery workers. It was wide enough to accommodate for large furniture and the wall had scratches carelessly done by previous users. I was not interested in the décor now. I used that exit whenever I was late for work. I knew that something was waiting for me there. 

When I arrived at the office, Daisy Chen wasn’t there. In fact, no one was at the office. Oh yes, the office was supposed to be cordoned off. The entire place was in darkness and only the sound of the photocopier accompanied me throughout the morning. Someone was in the office with me. I thought that it might have been Joan Davis. 

Remembering that I was there to retrieve the love note. I walked towards Richard Walker’s room, past the photocopier. There I saw a woman standing by the machine. She had long hair and was thin so she looked a little like Joan Davis. But of course I knew that she wasn’t Joan. I have been dealing with Joan often enough to know that it wasn’t she even in the dark. 

The woman’s eyes were large with a quizzical look. I backed off, my body hit against the wall and all the golf balls rolled down. Quickly I retreated my steps and bent down to pick up the balls, then as an afterthought I realized that I need not have done this, I threw one of the balls away and rushed into my room, closing the door behind me. 

Something told me that the woman was unreal, wearing a loose white dress, her hair long and wiry, like it had not been combed for a long time. 

I only remembered to switch on the lights in my room after I came to. I had a side lamp which I paid for myself. To buy anything in the office I needed to make a requisition, which I found too troublesome. The lamp was porcelain and inexpensive. I used it only as an ornamental piece so actually I did not require for it to brighten up my room. I knew that I was a little out of breath now so I grabbed the water jar and poured myself a glass of water. I usually drank coffee but I dared not go out of my room to go to the pantry now. 

The office was definitely haunted. Richard Walker had died, and he had sent a ghost back to haunt me. I let the thought sink in and decided that there was no other way to fight a ghost but to seek spiritual help. And for this the best way was to pray. I didn’t wear a cross. But I kept a Rosary with me. It was a gift from a friend who wanted to persuade me to join her faith. I never accepted her invitation. Now it seemed like I have no other choice. 

I sat on my swivel chair, the air-conditioning was off as the office was closed. I started chanting. God! I forgot the Mysteries. There are altogether four. For each day of the week you use a different Mystery. I searched for the literature on the litany. No, I couldn’t find it in my right drawer, and not the left drawer as well. Frustrated, my prayer choked on the Rosary. 

Nothing happened to me, yet. So far only the outside is possessed. My room was still clean. I knew that if I hadn’t wished Richard Walker dead, I won’t have been feeling so wretched now. But of course, his actual death had nothing to do with me. I was not even near him at the time of death, or even for the past three to six months. Actually, I couldn’t remember when I last dated Richard Walker. It could have been a year ago actually. He had handed me the love note without dating it. 

Yes, the note. I came back here specifically for the note. I have to find the note and destroy it. It should not be found. So far, the original is slipped under Richard’s door, and another photocopy appeared at my house under the door. What I should do now was to retrieve the piece under Richard’s door. But to do this I would have to pass through the main office, where the photocopier and the woman was. 

I held the Rosary for another ten minutes, not saying anything. My mind thinking of what to say to the police if I were found within the premises. I could say that I was unaware of the murder, as I had been on sick leave. The woman in white I knew not to be an office staff for I had not met her before. 

Finally, when I looked at my watch and found it to be almost 6:00 p.m., I plucked up the courage to leave. I picked up my bag and I walked out of my room, and I think I forgot to turn off the lights. When I opened my door the woman in white wasn’t in the office. She could be somewhere else in the office, so I took a few quick steps went opposite to Walker’s room on my second attempt, before she reappeared. I opened the room door. 

The newspapers were not wrong in saying that investigations were on going, for the furniture was marked with tape. No longer were the drapes drawn, and everything in the room appeared stale. Dust covered the files and books and almost every aspect of the room, as though an invisible being had taken over the place. I stood in the room for a few minutes and said a silent prayer. 

At that point in time, someone tapped on my shoulder. I opened my eyes, looked, and saw Mr. Stevens. 

“Why are you back here? Didn’t you read the news?” he opened conversation. 

“I forgot something,” I had to lie. I couldn’t tell him about the note. 

“They were here yesterday,” “the place was swarming with officers,” Mr. Stevens said. 

“Did they take the suspect away?” Obviously I needed a scapegoat. 

“No, I didn’t see anyone going away in the police car,” Mr. Stevens reported. 

“Please let me know if they appear again,” I ordered Mr. Stevens. 

“Okie dokie,” the man replied. He had been the guard for this building for as far as I could remember. 

Realizing that I should not have registered my presence with Mr. Stevens since I was not supposed to be here, I quickly bid him goodbye and left the office and went down again by the cargo lift. Down at the ground floor I hailed an oncoming taxi and hopped in. Thank Goodness the taxi man was ready to take me. I rested inside the car and heaved a sigh of relief. By the time I got home it was almost 8:00 p.m. 

Every address was known to be haunted once somebody has died in it. So this was what I was experiencing yesterday on the twelfth floor of Carmen House. The woman in white was definitely some supernatural being but I couldn’t decide if she were from my side or from Richard Walker’s side. 

The next morning, I woke up suddenly remembering that the golf balls had my fingerprints on it. I must go back to the office to retrieve it! 

I managed the same procedure and I arrived at Kramer & Walker again.

Inside the office when I found the golf ball, I brought it to the sink to wash it, so as to eliminate any fingerprints. Afterwards I washed my hands. And then God! Now the wet towel would be evidence of my presence. There was only one way to dispose of the wet towel without a trace. I could throw it down the chute. I knew where the rubbish chute was. Immediately I went to the backyard and opened the cover. The towel went down without a sound. Thinking that I had sufficiently destroyed all records of my presence I tried to leave the office. 

Then a soft whisper cornered me, “What are you doing here?” – the recognizable white dress. 

“What do you want from me?’ I asked the woman. 

She said nothing then she took a step forward giving me very little space to stand. I leaned on the sink, my hands on my iPhone holding it tight, ready to snatch a picture of her if she came closer. I heard that an image of the third kind could not be captured on the screen. 

“Do you want water?” that was all I could ask her. That was all I could think of. I forgot entirely that she was only a figurine and will not need liquid.

She didn’t open her mouth, not a sound came out from her.

Time stood still for me. I stared at the woman and stretched out my hand gingerly to touch her, her skin was porcelain cold. Had she put on too much powder? She was as white as the dress she was wearing. Now I was acutely aware that she was supernatural. 

I was not here on a ghost hunting escapade. My purpose was to discharge myself as the potential suspect in the murder of Richard Walker. I knew that the police would go down the list of his contacts and that I would be called in for an interview sooner or later. Whether as a staff who was working in the same office at the material time or that of an ex-lover. For the second reason the police must be in possession of the love note. 

Shall I report the encounter with the woman to the police? There was a neighbourhood police post nearby. In fact, there were several such set ups. I pondered on which one, and finally decided on the one with an address near the office. I was certain that the officers from this neighbourhood were deployed to investigate on Richard’s murder. But what could I tell the police? To surrender myself at the police station and tell them I was not guilty of Richard’s murder? That would be very odd indeed. 

I took out a piece of paper and started scribbling my statement. After three sentences I felt that they were unsatisfactory. I threw the paper in the waste paper basket and switched off the lights in the room to leave. 

The next morning I woke up thinking of the paper I threw away. It would be evidence that I loitered in the office compound during an ongoing police investigation, and that would make me a suspect if nothing else. I had to retrieve the note!

I became obsessed with the idea of going back to Kramer and Walker. Every day, I thought of a new reason to go back. And every time I went back I would encounter the woman in white. I would go into my room and sit for a while, and then I would pick up my Rosary and pray. Afterwards I would go out to the main office and go into Richard Walker’s room to say a little short prayer. I had begun to memorize the Mysteries very well. 

But the woman in white still eluded me. Each time she appeared at different locations, like the Pokémon you see in video games. She looked so real yet when I went near her I saw her only in two-dimensions. She must have been Yvonne Walker. No one else would want to look for me. 

My predictions were true. Three days later I received a note again under my front door. This time it was not with the newspapers. It was just a plain invitation to an interview from the police. I thought nothing of it since I was not responsible for Richard’s death. But nonetheless I decided to give it a try. I might get a chance to disclose my relationship with Richard. Frankly speaking I wanted everyone to know that I have had a relationship with Richard. 

At the police interview the officer asked me, “Why did you kill Richard Walker?” 

“No, I didn’t kill Richard Walker,” 

“So your killed Yvonne Walker instead,” 

“No, I mean, I didn’t kill anyone,” 

“Then why were you back at the office?” So the CCTV wasn’t off.

The officer produced the dreaded note. I saw it and I said, almost immediately, 

“this is not my handwriting,” and then to prove what I said, I took the pen in front of me, the officer’s pen, and wrote, 

– see ya at 11:00 p.m. 

“this is my handwriting,” I produced a new note in my handwriting. 

Officer Liam said nothing and merely took the piece of paper away and kept it in his file. 

I knew instantly that I had been played out. Now they have evidence of my invitation to meet with Richard Walker. This was exactly what they wanted from me. But why would the police want to frame me? I was too small for anyone to want to do that. I was just one of the secretaries to a legal assistant in a law firm, a sheep in a large farm. 

Logic told me that I must find an alibi. One who would swear that I was with him on the night of the murder. 

Daisy or Joan could play that role. But none of them answered my calls when I rang. Of course there were more than just the mere two in the office, there was also Chapman the driver. But these two were the ones I was usually acquainted with. In desperation I rang Chapman. 

“Hi, this is Sharon speaking, may I speak to Chapman please?” 

“Yes, I am he. Is that you Sharon?” the voice was unmistakably Chapman.

“I would like to meet with you urgently, tonight if possible,” I said, still sounding quite calm. 

“No problem,” thank God the man was willing. 

We met at the nearby McDonald’s. Chapman was in his usual suit, which was a polo shirt and beige pants. I let him buy two coffees and then I began almost as soon as he sat down in front of me. 

“Could you remember what you did on the night of Richard’s murder?” I opened the topic. 

“Am afraid not,” Chapman replied. 

“Then could you tell the police that you were having dinner with me that night?” I put the request squarely to him. 

“Why, of course,” there was no doubt that this man could help me. 

“The police seemed to think that I was involved with Richard’s death,” there was no harm in giving some explanation. 

“No worries,” the man sipped his coffee without another word to me, then as I was about to say anything else, he quickly said, 

“I could produce a receipt for dinner, together with the credit card bill that manifest the time of checking out of the restaurant.” 

It all seemed so easy. I told myself I had to trust this man. I had no one else to turn to. Mr. Jenkins was definitely not available as he was married so using him could be more complicated than it should be. 

Chapman said nothing more to me. I watched him sip his coffee and hoped that he won’t ask me for some consideration that I couldn’t afford. I couldn’t ask him how much this alibi would cost as I didn’t know how much work it would involve until after the investigations.

I was mistaken on Chapman’s offer. For a week later the police called me up and showed me the same receipt that Chapman had. It now seemed that they have decided that I was having dinner with Richard Walker rather than with Chapman on the very night that Richard died. I didn’t know how to defend myself now. 

So Chapman was having dinner with Richard on the night of 24 August 2015, and the police conveniently deduced that it was me. I was as guilty as sin. My motive was clear: Richard was my ex-lover and when he terminated the affair with me, I killed him. 

Before my next interview with officer Liam at the Davidson Police Station, I dropped by the toilet and searched for the Rosary in my handbag to pray again. There was no other way to exonerate myself now except to seek divine intervention. 

A woman appeared right in front of me. 

I looked up. It was she! The woman in white!

Flabbergasted, I said, “Who are you?” 

“You know who I am,” she said. 

“Are you Yvonne?” I asked her. 

“Yes, you guessed correctly,” woman replied. 

“I did not kill your husband,” that was all that I could say. 

“You could tell the police that he killed himself,” the woman suggested. 

I was shocked beyond belief. “I need some identification papers, some proof that you are Yvonne,” I exclaimed, I was still quite alert. 

She handed me a note, on it was Richard’s handwriting. I could recognize it. 

I snatched the note from her, read it and immediately surrendered it to officer Liam at his office.

Now there is no other way to disprove my guilt save as to tell the police that I left the dead man immediately after dinner on that fateful night, and that he went home and took some poison himself. But for suicide I needed to find a good enough reason. I quickly twisted the plot.

“This is the suicide note from him,” I produced the note to officer Liam, emphasizing the word “suicide”. 

“Where did you get it from?” Obviously, officer knew his facts. 

“I did not kill the man,” I protested. 

“But there is the credit card receipt, as well as the bill from Candy Club Café that you had dinner with Richard Walker, and that shortly after that, he died. 

“I didn’t kill him,” I swore my innocence. 

“However, your note clearly stated that you asked to meet him on the night of 24 August 2015,” officer Liam refused to budge, 

“and that shortly after the appointed time, Walker died in his office, at 11:07 p.m. precisely,” officer Liam continued. 

I had nothing more to say.

“But we are still not charging you with murder yet,” 

“Why?” I sounded annoyed, although I shouldn’t be. 

“We don’t know the murder weapon yet,” officer Liam was honest. 

I stood up to leave, “wait,” officer Liam shouted after me. 

“There is another person,” he redirected the subject, 

“that could possibly be the killer,” “and if we find the murder weapon on her, you could be free of manslaughter,” 

I knew whom the man was referring to, he used the word “she”, so the other suspect could not have been anyone else but Yvonne Walker.

“She is dead,” I declared, like telling a weatherman that it was going to rain. 

“You killed her as well?!” Officer sounded shock. 

I should have known that he would come to this conclusion. 

“Listen, there were the two of them, one against two. I could not have the opportunity to kill two persons at the same time. For one, Richard Walker is a man and he definitely had more brute strength than me.” I raised my voice, trying to talk sense into the man who had the discretion to arrest me for murder. I knew that I was innocent. But the trouble was, that only I and God knew that I was innocent. But God wasn’t talking. And God wasn’t the Attorney General. Officer Liam was. 

Finally, officer Liam stared at me, and he told me to go. 

I was happy to leave. I picked up my handbag and walked out of the Davidson Police Station, the second time I was there. The sun was shining bright in front of me, but I was feeling wretched. 

I thought of the murder weapon. 

“Give it a try,” I heard a voice say. 

I turned around and saw the woman again. This time she was wearing navy shirt top and trousers. She had a medal on the left side of her breast pocket on the shirt. But that after so many encounters I now recognized her by her porcelain skin, no longer the white dress. So, the woman in white was a policewoman all the while! 

I reached out my hand and I tried to touch her. She backed off and then I saw a car come towards me, I put up my right hand to protect my face. After that I didn’t know what happened. I believed I went to heaven, but that I was actually in the operating theatre waiting for the surgeon to rescue me. The anaesthetist was a lady. She was talking to the surgeon loudly, loud enough for me to hear. The background was playing some classical music. I think it was Chopin. I liked Chopin. 

“You think she knew who killed him?” lady was saying. 

“I doubt, I left the minute your phone call came in,” 

“But you could still have picked it up, then I would know that you are done,” lady’s voice was a little louder. 

“Never mind, no one saw me, the office was closed.” 

“Did you get his wife at the same time?” lady continued. 

“Obviously, you think I am mad? Why would I want to leave his beneficiary behind?!” 

“Then you are smart, glad I am engaged to you,” lady was satisfied. 

“One more word, did you delete your name on Walker’s contact list?” lady asked. 

“It took me quite a while. He filed me using Dr. Thomas.” “I didn’t know why he didn’t use my actual name. Thomas Lane was where I first met him.” The surgeon explained. 

“Now that Walker is dead, could you forgive me for the one-night stand?” lady asked. 

“Have you forgotten him?” the surgeon said. 

The surgeon asked for a pair of scissors. I thought he was going to cut me up. But I knew that I had to pretend that I was asleep under the anaesthetic.

The dose wasn’t strong enough as I could hear him asking for the implements one after another. Finally, when he told the lady assistant to close up, I knew that the operation was over. I became alive again. I came back to earth. From the operation theatre. 

I remembered the conversation I heard. There was a phone call and it came in when the killer was leaving the office. Would it have made a difference if it had come in earlier? And if Richard Walker had picked it up the killer might not have a chance to run away. The surgeon’s voice would have been recorded in Richard’s voice mail. 

I wanted to go and see officer Liam straight away and give a voluntary statement. But I just had an operation and my body was weak. I told myself I had to give the statement before I forgot everything. It was hearsay so I had to swear under oath. 

As I was recalling what I heard over the operating theatre, officer Liam released this tiny piece of information to me, that they already had the record of the anaesthetist Kim’s telephone call to Richard Walker’s line. But they had no way to determine the relationship between the caller and the receiver. Kim could be just an acquaintance and the man was entitled to receive calls from anyone. 

At the end of the day, all they needed was for me to go to the witness stand. 

It was a job I was just too happy to undertake. They said that to be a witness, you were not supposed to accept any form of returns. But for me, the death of Richard Walker was itself sufficient consideration.

Waiting … but not at the lamppost ….

I found her waiting for me at the lamppost again. 

In the dark I could see her silhouette. Her shadow cast on the floor by the small but brightly lit moon. Something told me that she was waiting for me. But I could not be sure. If I wanted to know I would have to approach her and talk to her but I was not inclined to do so. In my line of work, people came to me every day to ask me to help them. And I only helped them when I have decided that the case was interesting enough. Money was never the consideration for me to decide on whether I wanted to take on a case. But I was not about to play the role of a solicitor now. No not after office hours. Yes, it was already eight p.m. 

I tucked my MacBook under my arm and turned left. If I continued to walk straight I would have to confront her face to face. I wanted to avoid her at all costs. But how could you say that she was waiting for me? 

After I reached the traffic lights. I stopped to let the cars pass, and then I continued to walk until I reached the bus stop. I have nowhere to go except to drop in at The Winsor Café for my regular pumpkin soup and lamp chop and then browse around the shops before I finally called it a day and went home. Tonight, Claire was busy. 

Life has been kind to me. At thirty-eight I have a secure job and I didn’t depend on anyone for money. At the way I calculated it, I would have sufficient passive income for retirement, so long as I didn’t fall ill suddenly or fancied a house which cost ten million dollars. I was contented with the state of affairs now and I didn’t want anybody to disturb me. Claire wanted me to propose to her, but I was keeping her waiting. If I put her off completely she might then decide not ever to talk to me again. That would be inconvenient as Claire was my financial consultant. 

By this I meant that I had decided not to get married. I have been married once before and it ended in a separation, so I didn’t want to make another attempt. Cupid has failed me once and I didn’t trust him anymore. 

After my dinner I walked around. I saw a picture, which I liked very much but the price was way out of range. Annoyed at the fact that I could not afford a simple painting I went home by the Grab. Usually if I was alone I took the bus home. I arrived home at nine p.m. sharp when I heard the cuckoo chime. I switched on the television and heard the news of an impending air strike against Syria. 

But still the image of her standing at the lamppost played on my mind. Was she waiting for me? Was she still standing there? Singapore was a safe country so that even if you were out at midnight no bad thing would happen to you. But then it did not mean that there were no crimes …. I almost wanted to go back there and speak to her. 

Then I switched off the television, annoyed that my sense of peace had been disturbed. I went to my drawer and took out a diary. Claire’s bank gave me this diary and I had not used it before. It was already August. Now I decided to use it to record the days when she was standing at the lamppost waiting for me. I assumed that she was waiting for me. 

After I have taken my sleeping pill I fell asleep on the bed effortlessly. Since Rashida walked out on me thirteen months ago I have been relying on these pills to help me sleep. The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed. And by the time I walked to the office from the bus stop where I last saw her I had already completely forgotten about her. 

Many people came to the office today. I was not always the decision maker so there were times when I had to KIV the matter. But overall I was satisfied that I could persuade most of my clients to take my line of defence or to pursue the matter to fight for their rights. Nora, my secretary lost her temper again today but luckily it was just with the courier who came to deliver some files from another lawyer’s office. 

I rang Claire, wanting to tell her over the phone that I would be late this evening. I have been working on a very unpleasant case. My client was charged with rape as he reportedly forced his pregnant wife to have sex with him to satisfy his own sexual fetish. Under the law, a man cannot rape his wife. But pregnant wife? It seemed that it varied from case to case, depending on whether the pregnant woman consented to it. But the problem happened when the woman seemed to have consented and then later on made it a big deal after the event. Did she say yes? My client was a decent office worker. You could imagine him in one of his suits of jacket and pants along Shenton Way in the middle of the day. He could not be a rapist. 

At five p.m. when Nora was about to go home, she came in and told me that Claire had rung several times to look for me today whilst I was attending to Terrence Ng’s case. Terrence was my client who had been accused of raping Margaret, his pregnant wife. So when Claire picked up the phone I immediately apologized. I had bought her our anniversary present and I wanted her to wear it there and then. It was the pair of pearl earrings, which she has been eyeing for a long time. The sales girl tried to explain to me why fresh water pearls were so special, but that she did not impress me. A pearl was a pearl, as far as I was concerned. It was either white or black, not fresh water pearls vs. non-fresh water pearls. Black pearls were so much more expensive, so I bought the white ones. 

After I spoke to Claire I decided to go to the toilet to clean up before I finished with the defence’s case and then I went downstairs to meet Claire. She worked nearby. We often met at the café calledThe Winsor Café just opposite the building and then we would take the Grab home together. This was just to save ten dollars and sixty cents. The draft affidavit would take me at least another hour and Claire told me she could wait. 

I almost forgot the time when I finished. And then as I was walking towards The Winsor Café I saw her at the lamppost again. She was wearing a loose dress and her slim figure made her look haunted. I wondered if she was waiting for someone. But again something told me that she was waiting for me. I did not know where she came from. 

As an advocate and solicitor of the Supreme Court, I met with clients every day. Sometimes I was fighting against people whom I have never met before until the day of the trial. I often sketched a drawing of my opponent’s face on a piece of paper when I did my submissions. Invariably I was right. Yes, I do have a knack for reading people. Today her dress was completely white, which made her stand out in the dark. I saw that she was wearing a pair of Ferragamo shoes. I knew how much that pair of shoes cost. I often saw Claire in them too. 

Then as one of the cars sounded the horn, I woke up from my thoughts and I turned left once again and continued walking ahead until I reached The Winsor Café. Claire was already there. 

“You are fifteen minutes late,” she announced. 

“Oh, sorry,” and then “I have this for you,” I passed the parcel to her, still tightly wrapped. 

“Are they real?” Claire asked as she was opening the box. 

“Of course, they are, silly.” I chuckled. 

“Did you want the black ones?” out of curiosity I asked. 

I remembered that Claire took quite some time at the boutique when she was deciding on the black pair. 

“No, I don’t wear black, although the black ones are nicer, but they don’t match my clothes.” Claire finally commented. 

I left her at that and ordered my pumpkin soup with lamb chop. No dessert as we often bought a tub of ice cream from the convenience store further down the street. 

“You seem preoccupied,” Claire looked at me and enquired. 

“Err, yes, a little ….” I was thinking of the woman in white rather than my client.

Could she be pregnant? She was wearing a loose dress and it could well be her wanting to tell me something. I brushed the thought off and then finished the lamp chop. Claire was not satisfied, 

“Shall we go for dessert?” she asked. 

“I think I am tired,” I said, “I want to go home.”

Claire was my female companion. We lived together on the same floor next to each other in an apartment block called Blue Heaven. It was not a satisfactory state of affairs but for the time being this was the best arrangement. Rashida walked out on me a year ago and it would be at least another two years before I could file for divorce from her under “irreconcilable differences”. 

Then I chanced on Claire when she moved in next door and I fell for her. I didn’t know what Claire liked about me but all I knew was that I sat outside my apartment for hours waiting for Claire to come home whenever she went out just so to chance on her. Yes, Claire was very pretty. She had the beauty of an Indian Bollywood dancer. 

I could not say why. But I fall in love easily. I was easily intrigued by situations and circumstances pertaining to women who are lonely. You could say that I won’t have been in love with Claire if she were not a foreigner. And this time, again I found that I was engrossed with this lady by the lamppost, the she who was standing at the lamppost waiting for me every night. 

I was handling another case of a woman who killed her husband after being forced to do pornography. Murder was an offence punishable by death. Capital punishment was still being practiced in this country. The female murderer, Sushila, told the police that when her husband was under pressure to repay money to a loan shark, he ordered her to act in porn movies. The investigator was my colleague in law school, so it was easy dealing with him on the case. 

He told me straight away that my client could not use “self-defence” as being forced to do porn movies was not an act which could endanger her life. Actually this client of mine, if she had performed in the porn movie she might one day have become a Bollywood queen. I got the file from the public prosecutor’s office as pro bonowork, so I haven’t met my client at all although in my mind I had already sketched her. 

After I left Claire at the front door and saw to it that she had locked herself safely in her apartment I went inside my own. Tonight, I wanted to try without the sleeping pills, so I poured myself a cup of warm milk to fall asleep and I lay staring at the ceiling wondering if the lady at the lamppost was im pari materia to any one of these two cases. She could be pregnant. 

I had no way of knowing until and unless I met with her and spoke with her. But Claire would see it; Claire would see me talking to her. And Claire would get jealous sensing that something was amiss. I knew that my mind was preoccupied with she now. And I knew that I was fast falling in love all over again. 

It was dangerous falling in love with someone when you did not know where she came from. With Claire at least, I knew her to be living at Blue Heaven and I had an address to trace. I didn’t know the whereabouts of she. All I could rely on was the lamppost which she was leaning against. Ok, the lamppost would be there for good. But would she be there again tomorrow night? 

I fell into a deep sleep with the warm milk. The next morning I was late for the office. It was my own office, so I could go in at any time. I usually arrived by ten a.m. Nora was always already there waiting for me. I commented her on her punctuality although even if she arrived late after nine, I would have no means of knowing. 

This morning I was impatient and irritable. I wondered if she would be there this evening. And what colour would she be wearing. By now I knew that she must be in need of something from me. Something which I was able to give her. Was she pregnant like Margaret? Could she be in Sushila’s shoes? I had not yet met either of them. 

The file on the table which read: Public Prosecutor vs. Terrence Ng stared at me boldly, as though telling me that Terrence Ng was not at fault. Come to think of it, it was a grey area. Some wives still had sex with their husbands whilst pregnant and if they did who was to say that it was wrong? It was only when the pregnant party was unwilling that a problem arose. 

I thought hard about my defence for Terrence Ng. 

“Did she say ‘yes’ initially then turned him down later?” 

“Was this the first time that she said ‘no’?” 

To know the answer, I would have to talk to Terrence Ng. I wanted to speak to Margaret Ng too. Now Terrence Ng’s wife had turned him into a criminal her baby could be having a father who was serving sentence when his child was born. I must speak to Margaret as her action was most unwise. 

Immediately I conjured up the face of the shadowy figure by the lamppost. I thought that she must have been pregnant, in the loose dress like that. Immediately I rang Claire and told her I wasn’t meeting her for dinner tonight. I wanted to talk to her tonight. My curiosity got the better of me and I couldn’t wait any longer. 

At dusk, at around seven I took my briefcase and MacBook and walked out of my office. I had no prepared speech. I knew not what to say. All I knew was that I wanted to ask her out for dinner. And then she could tell me if she were pregnant. This time, I was sure that she was waiting for me. I was impatient for the lift, which stopped at almost every floor to pick up workers from the lower floors. My office was on the sixteenth floor, so it took a long time for me to arrive at the first floor. 

It was past seven when I finally got out of the building. No, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there today. My efforts had been futile. 

“Never mind, I shall try again tomorrow,” I consoled myself. 

I tried to get Claire back on the line, but she wasn’t picking up the phone, so I knew that tonight I would have to have dinner all by myself. I was still having the pumpkin soup and lamp chop. The restaurant knew my orders by now. The waiters had stopped asking me and showing me the menu two months ago. 

A little frustrated, I took out the the file to read. I sometimes brought work home, and this was one occasion. This time I wanted to interview my client to find out if her husband had used force on her, or had threatened her life in any way. 

Sushila was still in custody, so I had no chance to see her yet. She must be pretty, for otherwise she would not have qualified for porn. I did not have as much sympathy for this client. 

Murder was a serious crime, much more so if it a pre-mediated act. Apparently, my client gave her husband some poisoned milk. And that was only after he demanded that she took part in group-sex. All the other pornographies she did not refuse. This looked like a loose woman even if she might look glamorous. 

I made some notes by the side and then I closed the file to concentrate on the food in front of me. The waiter had placed my pumpkin soup and lamp chop on the table silently and walked away. They knew that it was my habit to take the soup and the main course together. 

When I paid for the bill he asked me, “Where is your wife?” 

“No, she is not my wife,” I quickly corrected him. 

“I am single,” I emphasized. 

“So sorry, sir” came the reply. 

I had not realized that Claire and I had been behaving like a married couple. 

Feeling let down I walked along the street hearing my own footsteps. My shoes were expensive and the rain in the day had made the pavement wet, soaked with mud. I almost tripped over a beer can. And then I bent down to pick it up. There was no trashcan in the vicinity, so I just held the empty can until I reached the lamp post, the one that she had been leaning against for eight nights. 

I needed someone to talk to. I was handling two sensational cases. Although I had a first class honours I was poor at handling love affairs. I was a weak character when it came to romance. I succumbed to women easily. 

When an empty taxi came by, I put out my hand almost as an automatic reflex to hail it down. It didn’t stop for me, but instead it went on to join the long line of taxis further down the road where the taxi stand was. It was just past eight p.m. so many taxis were waiting to pick up passengers now because of the extra three-dollar surcharge within the restricted zone. I had just walked past it. No wonder the taxi did not want to stop for me.

I had no idea what to do. I needed to caution Margaret Ng to get her to see sense. But that was against the rules. Her testimony was deemed to be more reliable as she was apparently the victim. I tried to apply for an order that would grant me an interview, but it did not succeed. Then I wanted to spend more time today with Sushila, but she had to go back to the cell. I was only given ten minutes. 

The police were afraid that I might coach her. The only thing I looked forward to today was this evening. I thought that she might be at the lamppost again and that today I would approach her. 

When I arrived back home I saw that Claire’s door was ajar. That meant that she is back home and that I could peep in on her to see what she was doing. But tonight, I wasn’t in the mood. My mind was cluttered up with the three women: Margaret, Sushila and she.

Their images appeared on my mind like pictures rotating at random display. I wanted to help all three of them. I always wanted to help women. Most of my clients were women. This lady by the lamppost could be in the same shoes as that of my client’s pregnant wife or that of the potential Bollywood porn star. Tonight, I didn’t want to see Claire. Not yet. 

When I gave Claire the pearl earrings I knew what she wanted. She did not want earrings. It was a ring that she wanted and an engagement ring. And tonight, I had disowned her. I had announced to the waiter of The Winsor Café that Claire was not my wife. I could have told him that she was my fiancée. After all, neither one of us was dating anyone else. This meant that in my mind I had worked out that I wanted to see she.

Yes, I wanted to give she a chance. Something told me that she was waiting for me. 

Again, I did not take the sleeping pills. I fell asleep at four a.m. and got to the office late. Terrence was waiting for me already as I came in. I told Nora that I didn’t want to take any calls. Once I shut the door I interviewed my client. 

“Did you know that she was pregnant?” I asked. 

“I thought that was undisputed? What are you trying to get at?” Terrence said. 

“How many months pregnant was she at the material time?” I asked again. 

“Three, possibly four …. I’m not sure.” He said. 

“Listen, what I am trying to say is that she must be looking rather unattractive with a big belly … that it was unlikely you want sex from her,” I was getting at it.

“If she was only three months pregnant it would be a little tricky to be having sex, did she want the child?” I continued. 

“No, she came out of the bathroom naked …” Terrence began to recall, 

“then she told me that this was going to be the last time before the baby gets bigger, and then … it just happened.” 

“Why do you think that she did that?” I asked my client, looking at him directly. 

“I really have no idea.” I could see that he was getting very exasperated. 

I wanted so much to help this man sitting in front of me. I wanted to know the truth. I told myself that I must get to the bottom of this. I was prevented by the code of ethics not to see his client. But already I have sketched a wicked image of her. 

Why would a woman want to put the father of her unborn baby in jail? Unless … unless he was not the child’s father. Yes, I have stumbled on the truth. There was no logic to it unless this was the fact. I was a lawyer. In all situations, logic must prevail. I put this matter aside for the time being until I found the missing link, the woman’s lover. 

It was not unusual for me to bring clients to Jasmine’s Inn for lunch. Most of them like Szechuan food. Half way through lunch, Terrence suddenly said, 

“Now I remember. Margaret was a little strange at the scan … when she found out that it was a boy, instead of turning to me, she took out her handphone and she messaged someone.” 

“Did you see who the recipient was?” I asked. 

“No,” Terrence replied. 

“And why not?” lunch was getting serious, 

“I am not in the habit of prying on her,” Terrence confessed,

“although I should have, in hindsight,” he said. 

We were getting somewhere now. The deceitful woman was contacting her lover. I was sure of that. 

“Do you want to hire a PI to trail her?” I enquired of my client. 

“How much?” he asked. 

“A few thousand dollars, but it’s worth it.” I urged him. 

Terrence thought about it, “No harm done. Although I don’t think she is seeing another man.” 

“Do you have a picture of Margaret?” Terrence paused for a while, then he brought his wallet out, 

“I don’t have a recent one,” he held out the photo. 

I stared at the picture. It looked a splitting image of the lady at the lamppost, except that the subject in the picture had cropped hair and she looked a little fairer. 

“Is she Indian?” I asked. 

“Yeah, a classic Indian beauty, we got hitched after three weeks.” Terrence seemed proud of the fact. 

I rang Spider’s Bureau the private investigation agency. Preoccupied with Terrence’s case now I have since stopped buying little gifts for Claire and I hoped that she had not noticed it. If I could identify malice as a motive, then I knew that Terrence and I had won the case and then all we need do was wait for the Attorney-General’s Chambers to withdraw the charges. Although I knew the director of Spider’s Bureau very well I had never been to the firm. 

The lady at the lamppost was at the same spot as I walked out of the office to meet Claire at our usual joint at The Winsor Café this evening. I couldn’t say that I was happy to see her at the lamppost as I had expected to see her almost every day now. She looked like Margaret, Terrence’s wife, and she looked like Sushila the Indian Bollywood dancer. And I was not sure whom she resembled more. 

The fact of her standing at the lamp post waiting for me had become a scheduled event. I had started to buy a few new neckties, as the ones I was wearing did not make me stand out. I bought a pink tie and a turquoise one to compliment my grey pants and as for shirts I had always worn white. By now I had decided that I was not going to marry Claire. Was I wrong in eliminating Claire? I was not cheating on her. So far, I had not spoken to she yet. I only looked forward to the glimpses of recognition on the street on the way to The Winsor Café.

It took only one week to establish that Margaret was seeing another man. And according to the taped conversation, that man was the father of the unborn child. 

“No wonder she wants to put me in jail,” Terrence woke up. 

“Yes, and whilst you are serving sentence, she could file for divorce without having to be separated from you for three years.” 

I never saw a man break down before. 

“I loved her,” he sobbed. 

As though it was not affirmative, he told me he recently bought a house in joint names.

“The more reason why she wants to be separated from you,” I hit the nail on the coffin. 

I knew that I was also stupid like Terrence. I told myself I didn’t want to fall into the trap again. I managed to resist Claire so many times. I was getting a divorce soon and I didn’t want to be involved with another woman. But this time, this woman standing at the lamppost, looked different, like a changed person. 

I went to church on Sunday and spoke with my pastor. He was happy for me that I had decided against Claire. 

“You were married in church, so you have taken the sacred marriage vows, divorce is unacceptable in Catholic marriages.” He proclaimed vehemently. 

I listened and at the same time I wondered if when an Indian married a Christian in church would she be regarded as having renounced her Hindi faith.

The case of Sushila was still pending and I knew that there was little chance that she would be found innocent. There was clear guilt as she confessed to the crime. Was there any way to establish that her husband had beaten her up before? I thought of the lines of defence. 

And as I walked along the streets down at the office thinking of the case it was the same evening, the same moon casting a shadow on her thin long figure. She was across the street under the lamppost. 

In the dark I could not see if she were wearing black or navy. Then I wanted to walk right up to her; I wanted to say hi tonight. Just then I saw a silver Mercedes crossed a median and went straight for her. With my own eyes I saw her fall onto the pavement. I rushed up to her as another bystander rang for the ambulance. 

Together we waited for the paramedics to arrive. Immediately they went into action. 

I heard the paramedics asked her, “Ma’am, you have just met with an accident. Can I have the telephone number of your next-of-kin?” 

“Nine-eight-three-six-nine-one-eight-four ….” with that I saw her close her eyes and at the same time my handphone rang almost instantly. 

I picked up the call and I saw the caller’s identity as “unknown”. I listened to the caller from the civil defence force, 

“Your wife has just met with an accident. Please go to the nearest hospital at Alexandra Road to see her.” 

Yes, this woman, this lady who had been waiting for me at the lamppost was Rashida my wife. We were only separated now after she walked out on me and I told myself I would not talk to her again. We were not divorced yet. If she died divorce would not be necessary anymore. 

Silently I prayed to God that she would come out alive. I promised God that I would honour Him by making the marriage work this time. And I realized that I still loved Rashida, perhaps that was why I had refused Claire. 

Claire was waiting for me again at The Winsor Café, but I knew that I would not be eating pumpkin soup and lamp chop tonight for once.

I can see you from my kitchen ….

From my balcony I could see him taking off her clothes. 

Eileen had gone out with a group of friends again, so that I was left without company for at least four hours. 

I took out a bottle of wine and some cheese and laid a piece of tablecloth over the round garden table. At the same time, I took out the candle stand, lit a white candle, and let the bamboo Venetian roll up a little so that I could look into the apartment on the opposite side of the road. 

This was a small road. It was never crowded. I could hear cars passing by only every now and then. But the sound of the traffic gave me the feeling that I was involved, involved in the life outside my flat.

Eileen was a journalist. She wrote for The Gossip Times and often worked late into the night at her reporter’s desk. There was a template she had to type into on her office computer, so she could not bring her work home. Often when she rushed for a story, she did not even pick up my calls. 

This has caused a number of misunderstandings and some friction in our relationship. I had been living with Eileen for three years now, and her mother had been pestering us to be married. 

I couldn’t explain why I had not married Eileen. Eileen was pretty by all counts. She had an oriental face and slim shoulders. Not too tall and not too short. But just between you and me, like any other Asian girl, Eileen was flat chested, especially in comparison to Anne. Anne was a size C or D. 

I first met Anne when I was at an art exhibition. Anne and I both spotted the same painting. In fact, I wasn’t clever enough. I was standing there with a glass of house wine, contemplating buying a piece of art after having gone through several rounds. 

I eyed it and then overheard Anne telling the salesman that she was in the process of deciding on one of the artist’s two pieces. This was just some unknown Chinese artist, but I liked the way he painted a lady in front of a dressing table. I turned around and said, 

“If you are not buying this piece, I will buy it.” 

Now, with a competitor, Anne decided that the piece of work I liked was better than the other one, and she immediately told the salesman that she was buying it. I so much regretted my honesty and stupidity. I should have encouraged her to take the other piece, thus leaving this piece of work available for my buying pleasure. I had never been so frustrated before. 

Anne wasn’t bothered with me. She got good advice, and she got what she wanted. She paid for the art piece and finished her cocktail. 

“Do you have someone to carry it outside with me? I need to get a taxi,” she asked the salesman. 

“I’m afraid no, Ma’am. We are shorthanded. I am the only one here today,” the salesman said, his mission accomplished when he got her cheque. All else was immaterial to him. I stepped in. 

“Do you think I can drive you home?” 

“Why, of course, you are welcome to do so. I live nearby.” The woman was gracious. 

I was only interested in the piece of art. Once I got the owner’s contact information, I could then persuade her to resell the painting to me. The more I thought about the piece, the more I liked it. If Anne hadn’t bought it, I would have done so. 

And so, I found out that Anne was my neighbour. She lived on the opposite side of the road in my flat at Wimbledon Lodge. At the driveway of MaryAnn Lodge, I parked my car and helped the woman carry the painting. I wanted her telephone number so that I could call her. Before I left her with the painting outside her unit at #05-01, I told her, 

“Give me a call when you don’t want the painting anymore.” 

I said when meaning that it was imperative. She did not sense the urgency in my tone and simply replied sure. I did not forget to give her my card. I think my title “President, Baker’s Treasury” should sufficiently describe my eminent status and wealth, and that should impress her, if she was not already taken in by the smooth running of the engine of the BMW that I sent her home in. 

I waited one day. Then two days passed without Anne calling. I gave her a week. On Friday night when I was sure that she wouldn’t call, I drove my BMW around to MaryAnn Lodge. I parked my car at the visitors’ lot and went to intercom her. 

I pressed 0501, then the bell. No, she didn’t answer. Without being buzzed in, I could not access her floor to wait in the lobby outside her flat. What could she be doing on a Friday night at 10:30 p.m.? I wasn’t too late. If she had a dinner appointment she should be home by now. Did she have a boyfriend? I sat on the parapet with my jacket still on. The jacket was to give the impression that I had just come out of an important meeting. 

Then I needed to charge my handphone. I went to security and asked if I could use their power point. They saw that I was harmless and took my handphone to plug it in without further questions. I was quite pleased that I could get things done so easily. It took ages to get a 100 per cent status. Finally, when I ran out of patience, I walked out of the estate. 

One of the security guards came after me, “I see her coming back in a red car sometimes.” 

I looked at him, annoyed that he volunteered this piece of information. All I wanted was the painting. The artist held my imagination. I pictured Anne in a brothel waiting for clients …

I ignored the guy and walked back to my BMW. My remote control gave a loud beep as told the residents that someone was trying to intrude into their calm, quiet night. Reluctantly I started the engine and drove out of the compound. This was my second encounter with Anne, or rather, a non-encounter. 

Anne was a small woman. She was not particularly pretty, because she was short. But her breasts were large, and that made her desirable. On the night of the cocktail she was wearing an off-the-shoulder top and a white skirt, which gave her the schoolgirl look. She had tied her hair with a red scarf. I wondered if her breasts would be larger if she were taller. 

Nonetheless, I was not in love with Anne, yet. For now, I only wanted the art piece. Tonight’s trip had been futile, and it was damn annoying. 

From then on, I thought of the painting on and off, and I began to conjure up a naked woman right in front of me. The more I thought of it the more I liked it. Fact was that every time I visualized the art I saw Anne in her naked form. The next day during the lunch hour I went to other art galleries to search for paintings, to see if I could find another piece to replace the one Anne beat me to. But none of them suited my purpose. 

This painting of Anne had the drawing of a mirror and a comb by the dressing table and much was said in the brochure about the frame of mind of the artist while he was working on his creation. 

Apparently, it was the culmination of his experiences in visiting several brothels and dance artists’ abodes that created this. I wanted it on the wall in my studio flat where the bedroom and living room met. This painting could decorate both the bedroom and the living. Yes, it put my imagination to work. 

Basically, I just wanted to see Anne without her clothes. Anne was the woman in the painting, I was sure of that. She must have been in a brothel before and was probably a prostitute, for otherwise she wouldn’t be so inhibited as to parade herself at the bay window. 

How did I get to see the actress in person?

It occurred to me that I might want to send Anne a gift calendar or something. That was one step towards getting into her life. As the days went by, I had become more and more obsessed with Anne. She had a voluptuous figure. Her breasts were larger than most women her size, and that made her look good in whatever clothes she wore. 

It was true that all this while I was more interested in my career than women, but I was a clear heterosexual. I have no platonic relationships and was generally fonder of women than men. I had a brother in Australia, and my only woman friend is my sister-in-law. I visited my brother’s family once a year during spring. I have planned another trip this January once the new year arrived.

I didn’t know Anne’s telephone number. Only she knew mine, and I was depending on her to give me a call, in order that I could create a contact out of her. But she eluded me. I was looking forward to finishing the renovation of my entire apartment so that I could get a priest to do a house blessing. I worshipped at theSt. Peter’s Catholic Church, and I knew that it was church regulation that divorce was not acceptable in the Catholic faith. 

Therefore, I have to be very careful in choosing a partner, since it was for life. Once I married, there would be no turning back. I was rich, but I have not been looking around as I have concentrated on my career up until now. Women were a nuisance. They were emotional and didn’t make sound business decisions. Most of my Board of Directors were men except for Christina, and I really didn’t like her at all. 

Christina came in late for meetings and always took a long while to come to conclusions. You could say that she was cautious, but that always delayed things and meetings ended late because we had to wait for her to finish giving her pep talk before we could call the meeting to an end. 

But that I had a very good relationship with my secretary Kim. She always saw to it that I got my Christmas hampers delivered to my address at Wimbledon Lodge, and I really appreciated her for that. It was her sixth year at my office. Ok, I was side tracking. 

I went back to work on Monday morning having told myself that I must give up on this piece of art. But it was not my habit to give up on anything. I was a banker and a determined man. I had to acquire the painting at all costs. I remembered that Anne paid four thousand dollars for the piece, and I was prepared to pay five, or even six for that matter. 

I didn’t waste any more time. I went to her place another week later, on a Friday night again. The security guard did not recognize my car, and I gave Anne’s unit number at the entrance, so they didn’t even know that I was not staying there. I parked my car at the same lot for visitors and got out wondering if I would also meet her “business” boyfriend in the red car. 

When I heard Anne’s voice over the intercom I was genuinely surprised that this time she was in at 9:15 p.m. I told her I was “Mark, the guy at the art gallery,” and she seemed to have recalled our last meeting. 

The lift registered the fifth floor, and I was happy that I was going to bargain for the piece of art tonight. 

“I must be straightforward,” I told myself. 

I might not be given another chance to come in here and see her again. And anyway, I didn’t have time to waste on her. She is too young for me. I liked older women. Efficient, older women. 

“No, I am not going to sell it.” She rejected me outright. 

“I have a wall, and it goes very well with it. How about if you pay a visit to my place?” I became desperate. 

“Why not give me your number again, and I will call you if I want to sell it?” 

I think she was impatient to be rid of me. Friday night after work, anyone would be tired. I was a patient man and a good dealer. That was why I got to this position at Baker’s Treasury in the financial industry. I knew how to play my cards. I was in my late thirties and was still taking my time to choose a wife. 

Basically, I wanted somebody whom I didn’t need to support and not some cheap floozy. I saw Anne as a woman who could serve my purpose very well and the fact that she was a prostitute was a bonus to me. And that this was the thing about Anne that made me want to sleep with her. Invariably, my mind visualized Anne’s breasts without her blouse. 

Finally: No, Anne was too plain. I told you, if she were taller I would have considered. 

I decided to distract myself. I walked towards the door and at the same time used a pen to write my number for her again, pretending to be leaving. But Anne just opened the door and signalled that it was time for me to leave. Frustrated, I went straight back to Wimbledon Lodge.

Later when I saw Eileen back at my flat, and to distract her, I complained that I had nothing to do with my time. Eileen reminded me of an offer from Sean, her editor, to try my hand at book reviews. The book I was reading was called Wild Swans, a story of the lives of three women. I struggled at it, as I knew nothing of Chinese history. I was less than a quarter way through. I had no idea how I could write a good review to persuade others to buy the book. It was a difficult task. 

Sean had said I was the right person to do the review because I was Chinese educated. But the entire book was in English. I refused, but he was so enthusiastic I had no chance to say No. So, in the end, Eileen promised him that I would do the job by the end of the holidays. The worst part of it was that it coincided with my leave, so in effect I was using my own time to do this piece of work. If it were a novel by Jeffrey Archer or P. D. James it would have been a breeze. 

Christmas came and went. I received only two presents. One from my mother, who had gone for a holiday in China and had pre-arranged this gift, and another from an old neighbour at Mt. Sinai. The gift from my mother was to be expected, but the one from Mr. and Mrs. Lee was a surprise.

I told myself I must pay them a visit before the new year. But then I had to finish with the book review. I picked up the book. At page 187 I found something that I could use to write about, and then I thought about Anne again: 

Had she grown tired of the painting? Would she be ready to part with it now? It had been three weeks since our last encounter. 

Tonight, was Christmas Eve. I took out my wine and some crackers from one of my client’s hampers and cut a slice of log cake from the fridge. I saw the woman at the balcony. And then I saw another man! He was taking off her clothes again, this time out of the emerald green gown. They had not drawn the curtains, so that I could see what he was doing very clearly. She sat there without moving away. I saw him unzip the gown, and then he closed the curtains …

In this hot and sultry climate, I was trying very hard not to let my imagination run wild. I wondered how much longer he would take to open his curtains again. I knew which house they lived in. If I walked across the street to his row of apartments I would be able to identity his unit number. It was the second unit from the right. So, I started to count. Oh, God! It was Anne’s unit! So, the woman by the window was Anne, after all. 

The man must have been the business man who drove the red car.

Flabbergasted, I decided to leave Anne and the man alone. If he wanted to sleep with her and she with him, it was entirely their business. As far as I was concerned, my relationship with Anne was that of between two art connoisseur, if you put it plainly. I had no reason to pry on her except to inquire if she still wanted to keep the painting. And I was still waiting for her to call me for a negotiation, which so far, she had not. What I saw now here was entirely my own making. If I were to barge into the MaryAnn Lodge to look for her, I would be committing trespass. 

I was not at liberty to tell the security guard what I saw, for then I would be taken for a Peeping Tom. Yes, I did buy a pair of binoculars and had been using them. And I was pretty sure that Anne was the woman who was sitting by the bay window. There was a book on her lap, so I guessed she was reading whenever she was left alone. The man, her boyfriend, was not always around. I could now say with hundred percent certainty that he was the red car driver whom the security guard mentioned. 

So, I was stuck there. What could do? I could only see that the room lights were on in the flat opposite. The curtains were drawn, and I guessed that Anne was no longer sitting at the window. I felt a little disappointed and wished I had their telephone number, so I could contact them. But then what could I say? That I had been watching them? It fell short of stalking, so far. All the while I had been stationed and looking out from inside my own home. 

Come to think of it, they should not conduct their activities in full view of the neighbours. However, I couldn’t find fault with Anne either. No one should expect that a neighbour would look in. So, it would be better if I remained in the background anonymously. I went into the kitchen and got myself a bottle out from the fridge. It was chilled, and I sipped it quietly like a mouse in a trap.

The air was sultry hot, and I needed the air conditioning. I reluctantly shut my own windows. A sense of unease came over me, as I had to shut Anne out of my vicinity. I remembered her wearing the emerald green taffeta before he took it away. I frowned at that stupid gown. 

It did not occur to me that a woman would be dressed in a nightgown for an ordinary night reading by the bay window. I became a little confused. But I was still sober. The bottle of wine from the Christmas hamper was still in the basket unopened. 

I took a cold shower and felt much better. After that I decided to bear with the hot, humid air and opened my windows when I had just shut them ten minutes ago. I was interested to know if the couple had returned to the bay window. If it were really Anne, perhaps I should tell her that she shouldn’t parade herself with her curtains open oblivious to her neighbours. 

Finally, I saw him putting a wedding gown on her. What?! Did that mean that they were getting married? Oh, my God, I am going to lose Ann! Then I knew straight away that I must do something drastic.

I left my apartment without even locking my front door. I took the lift down and headed straight for the MaryAnn Lodge. With quickened steps I rushed across the road up the slightly steep path. I used the side entrance where cars exited. The security guard probably didn’t see me. I almost tripped over the raised step meant for pedestrians. I went to the intercom and I pressed 0501, followed by the bell. 

I didn’t remember hearing anyone on the other side of the intercom. But the lift opened, and I saw a young man dressed in jeans coming out. He looked at me, but I did not greet him. It was not my habit to greet strangers. I stepped into the lift without giving the man a chance to get out first. My heart was beating with anxiety as the lift was going up to the fifth level. Once the lift door opened, I found unit 01 and rang the doorbell even though the door was slightly ajar. I waited for a while outside when I realized that the occupant was not coming to the door. 

I was brave enough to push open the front door. As I said, I was quite desperate. I stepped in. 

“Hello?” I enquired. 

“Have you forgotten something?” It was Anne’s voice. 

I took one step further in. This was the first time I saw the inside of the flat. On the right side was a kitchenette, and there were some fruits in a basket on the marble tabletop. A Burberry lamp hung over the tabletop, and I could see a small Christmas tree at the far end of the room. 

She has very nice ornaments. I thought to myself. 

The floor was littered with bits and pieces of cloth material, and sequins were everywhere. The kitchen countertop was about the only place that was spared from this disarray of remnants. I marvelled at the disorderly scene. Then I realized that the guy at the lift was her boyfriend. I could not tell if he was the same guy at the bay window with her that I had been watching. 

“No, it’s not him. It’s me, Mark.” I said with raised voice. 

Anne was inside her room, and I was wondering if I should walk in or stay outside in the living area enjoying the Christmas lights on the tree. The lights came on and off, alternating between blue and orange. Frankly, I would have preferred it not to flicker. I think Anne didn’t hear me, for she was still inside her room. So, I became bolder and walked towards the room …

I could see several photographs arranged neatly inside a large border hanging on both sides of the wall. Then I saw Anne, with her back facing me. She was wearing a tank top with a pair of loose pants. The top was navy and the pants were a floral pattern with navy background. She looked marvellous. This was the first time I saw Anne in casuals, and I must concede that she looked rather delicious. Her shoulders were bare, and I could see her cleavage when she turned around. 

I took a deep breath and at once I asked her, “Are you getting married?” 

“To whom?” came the reply from Anne. 

Then I fumbled. I was not supposed to have seen her in the wedding gown. That image was confined to a Peeping Tom across the street at the balcony. 

“Err …. your boyfriend told me just now.” 

“Oh, David, you mean?” Anne asked. 

“Yes, David.” 

“David is not my boyfriend. David is my partner, and we are NOT about to get married.” 

You would not believe how relieved I was at what I heard at that particular point in time. 

“There are pins and needles everywhere; you can come into my room and sit down on the bed.” 

I walked into Anne’s bedroom. Then I saw her: the girl in the wedding gown. It wasn’t Anne, but a mannequin the size of Anne. The mannequin was wearing the wedding gown and it fitted her nicely. The emerald green taffeta was lying quietly on the floor with the zipper opened. You must be crazy if you want to believe that I was more interested in the painting than in Anne. 

The painting showed a woman half-dressed, her make-up tools scattered all over the floor, her bent shoulders revealing almost her bust … 

It put my imagination to work … 

I moved into MaryAnn Lodge from that evening onwards. Four weeks later Anne and I got married. I cross-examined myself and asked why I made the decision to marry Anne, who was just a dress designer. Eileen was well qualified and educated. I had lived with Eileen for three years, refusing to tie the knot, and than there and then on that very night I had proposed to Anne. I could say that I was somewhat surprised that Anne said yes immediately. 

“You can now have the painting you like so much.” 

That was all Anne said after she accepted my engagement ring. Needless to say, we had sex on that very same night when I barged into her home. The ring cost six thousand dollars. The painting would have cost me another four if I had bought it over from Anne at the same price which she had paid. For now, I got both the art piece and the owner.

A bargain by all counts.

I live here ….

Chapter 1

I will stay in this attic now, if she moves I will know. This is a small house and I live here with her. There are three rooms to this house, one for her daughter, one for her granddaughter, and one for herself. I am only given this small bed, which is leaned against the window, so that if I open the curtains my body would be exposed. 

The flat is situated along the main road and I can hear the sound of the traffic at muffled levels, depending on the time of the day. At night it is slightly louder when you don’t hear the rest of the background noises. In the middle of the day you can hear the children playing in the background if you happen to be in the other part of the house. And early in the morning you can hear the loud chirping of the birds. The birds migrate and gather together to make a lot of noise so that if you use your imagination you might think that you are in the middle of a jungle. 

She doesn’t know who I am. She thinks that I am her daughter. Sometimes maybe even her granddaughter. Other times she calls me by my actual name “Mei”. Whenever she calls me “Mei” I will answer her immediately, loud enough for her to hear it and to register it at once. She is a little deaf but often I find that she can hear every word that I say. 

I have been speaking to her in my normal tone, not raising it to make it more audible. I often forget that she is an old woman for she looks like she is only in her early seventies. But her daughter tells me that she is already past eighty and suffering from dementia. And that is why I am here. 

I like old people. I find that they have a certain charm because they are somewhat detached from this world. News of natural disasters doesn’t seem to bother them, as though by the time the typhoon arrives they would no longer be around to see their houses destroyed. If you tell them that there is this new disease called the Ebola they would just ask you if you have gone for the vaccination. Nothing flusters them. They are as firm as rock. 

She asked for a glass of water. I went straight into the kitchen and I poured out a glass. She likes the crystal glass and would only drink from that. I have tried serving her with the ordinary plain plastic cups that we have here and she rejected my water. So I don’t think that she is suffering from dementia. 

I watched her finish her water, then I took the glass from her and I brought it to the sink to wash. There were at least half a dozen dishes at the sink, unwashed, and I am tempted to run the water and soap on them. But I told myself that I would do it later. When Celine her daughter has come back she would attend to it. 

Chapter 2

Celine is a middle-aged woman with spectacles. I describe her as such because her spectacles define her personality. She changes her spectacles according to her clothes. She has about seventy pairs of different colours and designs in her wardrobe and she matches one with her outfit every day. The spectacles I know are not cheap. Most of them I think cost at least three to four hundred dollars a pair. I made a quick calculation of the amount she would have spent and it came up to around twenty-five thousand dollars. Gosh! 

Compared to Celine, I think I look slightly better as I don’t need spectacles. But I don’t have a boyfriend. Celine seems to be engaged in an affair. I do not know whom she is dating but I know that the man seems to be very interested in her. Celine is not young; her daughter is already in the university. 

I want to go to the kitchen and wash up but I dare not. I am waiting for Celine to come back before I take a shower. The weather is hot and I could really change into something comfortable like a pair of shorts and a loose T-shirt. No one told me to dress in this white nursing uniform but I decided that I must wear it in order to remind myself that I am at work. In a home environment it is easy to forget that you are doing the job of a caregiver. 

I didn’t have to apply for this job. I was already looking after the old lady in the hospice before I came here. Then when it looked as though the old lady wasn’t going to die it was the most natural thing for her daughter to engage me to continue to care for her mother. It was easier when I had to look after the old woman in the hospice for the facilities are there. There were also nurses on duty who can relief me if I went to the toilet. I could take my shower at any time for instance. 

Now I look at the clock. It is only three p.m. and is another three hours before Celine arrives. I always look forward to her cherry greeting as she steps in. “Hello,” followed by “I am back!” she yells. Usually we don’t answer, we just notice her walking in and we continue with our activities. She has her own set of house keys. Celine takes off her shoes and she walks straight to her own room. She plugs the cable into her iPhone and she charges it. 

She does not switch on her computer; she collects her clothes then heads straight for the bathroom. I marvel at the speed with which she takes her shower. Within seconds she comes out refreshed and is ready for another long day at home. I call it a long day because the old lady doesn’t sleep early. She moves between the living and the dining rooms and she watches television. I have to pretend to be interested in the programs that she is following on the various channels. 

Chapter 3

I have followed Celine’s instruction to put everything on timetable and to run everything on schedule. It is as though the household were a plane running on autopilot. I am beginning to wonder if Celine wants to dispense with me. Once I finish compiling the entire timetable on how the household is being run, Celine can just use the list and hire someone else to take my place at no inconvenience to herself. 

All she needs to do is hand over my file and then the new housekeeper can take over. I feel a little uncomfortable at this. But Celine seems not to care if I am worried about it at all. Perhaps she is not thinking of replacing me, and hence it does not occur to her that I am feeling insecure. Maybe I haven’t raised any objections. I have only started working for her since April and it is only August now less than six months into the job. It is just time for settling in, still too early for a resignation. Probation is at least six months for most jobs at any organization. I decided to give Celine the benefit of the doubt. 

Tonight Celine ordered pizza from the Pizza Hut on the telephone. The operator told her it would arrive within forty-five minutes and I was told not to cook. Relieved I was, for by the time Celine came home it was already six-thirty and the beef wasn’t thawed yet. Today is Friday and we have run out of food. I was given Wednesday and Saturday to go to the market and I had bought just enough to last till tonight. 

By right I should have prepared the beef but I usually waited for Celine to give instructions before I take the food out from the fridge. So far she has given me the menu for Mondays and Tuesdays. On Monday nights she told me from now on it would be sweet and sour pork and fried Kang Kong (a Malay delicacy) and for Tuesday nights, Assam fish and broccoli with scallops. These were to be standard dishes until further notice. I know that once Celine is satisfied with my style of cooking the dish she would place it on set menu. This gives me less chance to manoeuvre. 

So I was keeping the beef for tomorrow Saturday’s lunch, in case there was no chance to go to the market. At least then there is still food in the fridge. I should have bought some chicken but then I ran out of money. Anyway, Celine tells me that I should always check with her first before I started to cook, as sometimes she may not come back for dinner. If this were the case, then all I need do is open one packet of instant noodles and add boiled water to it. 

I love instant noodles, especially the Korean ones. Their flavour is hot and spicy and it is enough to fill my stomach. I don’t eat much anyway. All I need is a cup of hot Japanese tea to accompany my meal and I am rejuvenated. Work here is not too demanding but needs a lot of initiative. I need to read the old lady and guess what she wants. She does not tell me.

Chapter 4

I like this job. Compared to my previous job at the hospital this is a much better environment. No nasty colleagues and no wicked supervisor who gives you work just before it is time to rest. My hours are relaxed; so long as the old lady has gone to bed, I can do anything I like. Housework can be left undone for days on end. Nobody tells me what to do except Celine. And Celine is always polite to me. She never scolds me or treats me like a maid, which basically I am, now with the kind of duties I am landed with. 

My official status in this household is that of a nurse but in effect I also perform the duties of a helper. Helpers are servants, but nursing is a profession. You have to go through a course in order to be qualified as a nurse but you don’t need to acquire any skills in order to be a housemaid. I am proud to be called a nurse but I am a little ashamed at being known as a maid. That was why I did not take on this job readily the moment Celine sounded me out. 

I prefer sick people to old people. Old people are not always sick. With sick people the fact that they are ill means that they are incapacitated and that makes them harmless. I grew up in a family of four. My mother disowned me at birth for she tells me that when she was pregnant with me my father met with a car accident and died, so I was a bad omen to her. My siblings hate me because of that and are always trying in every way to outsmart me. 

Whenever I have good news about anything they took it to my mother first so that I am being deprived of being the bearer of the good news. Apart from that they never speak to me. Decisions regarding birthday dinners and visiting of the relatives were always made without me and I am always told at the last minute. Sometimes not even told about it at all. Not surprisingly I wasn’t informed of the dinner celebration of my mother’s seventieth birthday. I had bought her two dozen pink carnations, her favorite flowers but when I arrived home from the florist I found that the vase which usually kept her flowers was broken. The carnations wilted away in the wrapper after one day. 

The next month, my mother passed away of liver poisoning. Dutifully I made payments for all the funeral arrangements although I wasn’t the one who planned for the entire ritual. My mother left me with nothing but the watch that my father gave her. When she was alive, she used to remark, designed to hurt, that she was looking for the time on this watch when my father failed to come home on time, and later found out that indeed he would never come home. “Time had stood still for me since”. 

I could understand her grief, as it was not just the departure of a husband, but also that of a shelter and provider. My mother never worked and she didn’t know how to earn a living. My eldest brother was about to enter university and because of that he had to go out and work and he enrolled as a police cadet. My mother often remarked that if not because of her fear in God she would have aborted me. 

I don’t grudge her for that. That is the way in which my family treats me. In their own subtle hurtful manner, they tell me that I shouldn’t have been around. That is why I put my entire mind into my job, and now this family. I never asked Celine if she had any siblings, it seems that she is the only child. 

Chapter 5

But I can see that she has someone else. Celine is not married now. I mean that she is not the one who makes decisions on most matters. She tells me one thing, and then she walks away. Half an hour later she comes back either to change her mind or to confirm it with me again, as though what she said earlier has no weight. Yes, Celine likes to make impromptu suggestions that are to be ignored. 

Between Celine and I there is no friction. Our roles are clear. She is the lady boss and I the subordinate. I don’t mind it even if her friend Steven, who lives downstairs, thinks that I am her maid. But actually I did mind it. That is why I made sure that I put on this white nursing uniform all the time to demonstrate that my role is that of a nurse, although housework is also part of my job. No, I don’t get paid extra as a housekeeper. My salary as a nurse is quite a substantial amount. Celine tells me that she will share the household chores with me. 

Like now, I am waiting for her to come home so that I can move away from the old lady and wash the cups and the dirty plates from this afternoon’s lunch. I am getting a little bored listening to the BBC. The news announcement has come on the second time on the same news events. 

It is good for the morale to be looking after sick people because they seem so helpless, being incapacitated by their illness. Old people fall within this category because they either cannot hear or that they cannot move around easily. Sometimes they are also forgetful. In a more severe form we call it dementia. There is also a disease called Alzheimer’s; I can’t quite distinguish between the two but I was told that the old lady suffers from one of the two. 

Frankly speaking I don’t think that she is ill at all, difficult maybe but not ill. She seems to be lucid all the time. And I am beginning to think that she calls me “Celine” deliberately. Last night I stayed by her and listened to one of the BBC plays until midnight and at the end of the story I asked her if she knew who the “uninvited guest” in the play was in order to test her. She answered very well, which means that she understood the plot from beginning to end. So her concentration lasted for three hours, which was remarkable. 

Chapter 6

Which reminds me, I am also supposed to do a report on the old lady’s sleeping hours. I can write down her waking hours and the time when she decides to go to bed. But times when she just dozes off it is difficult to pin down. I must do it more conscientiously. My salary is good and I don’t want to lose this job. But something nags at me, as though something bad is about to happen. I don’t know what it is but I am getting more and more uneasy as the days go by. For instance, Celine telling me to make a menu for the entire week and then repeating the same dishes the next week. And then why would she want to know exactly when her mother falls asleep? I put the thought aside and decided to talk to Celine about it tonight to ally my fears. 

Tonight Celine came home after we’ve had our dinner. It was a Monday night and so we were having the usual sweet and sour pork from the menu. Nothing unusual happened except that she was late, which was unusual. I toyed with the idea of telling Celine that we could use with a steam iron. But Celine stayed in the bedroom for quite a long while before she came out with a set of clothes to change into. I saw her holding the set of clothes; they were a pair of jeans and a long sleeve blouse, which means that she is going out again. 

It is not right of me to ask her where she is going, as I am just an employee. But she rarely went out at night, not after a long day at work. Often she is on the telephone with someone, or in front of her PC doing work. But this time Celine came home before midnight. 

Last Friday night the Pizza man came without fuss punctually at 7:30 p.m., within forty-five minutes of our placing the order. By now I recognize the deliveryman as the same Muslim guy who comes around to this area at Bukit Timah. He dresses in a bright red short sleeved shirt with the Pizza Hut logo and a pair of black trousers. I tried to take the box of pre-packed pizza from him but Celine rushed out from the bedroom and took the box from him directly and gave him the payment on the spot. 

He took the money and I could see that he was surprised that it was the exact change. The amount I saw later on was 17 dollars and 65 cents, which Celine prepared in advance. People don’t usually have that amount in small change. I saw Celine take the pizza away and put it on the dining table for the old lady who was just sitting down on one of the chairs. Celine had told me to leave this dinning chair always pulled out for her mother so that she could sit on it without having the trouble to pull it out first. I found it very thoughtful of Celine.

Chapter 7

There are many ways in which Celine manages the household, which made me admire her. I have come to the conclusion that she is a very organized person. She seems to run her life according to a pre-set timetable and she prepares a schedule for every event. I wonder if you could call her after 10:00 p.m. and invite her out for a heart-to-heart talk at the bar. And yes you could. There was one night that Jonathan rang and she left almost immediately after his call. 

Jonathan is the guy whom Celine talks with over the phone almost every night. I have not met him in person and so I do not know what he looks like. I guess him to be a man of about forty and well educated. On Valentine’s day I saw Celine come home with a bunch of peach roses and later on when she went for her shower I was curious enough to keep at it and I found this name “Jonathan” on the card stuck to the stems. I wished someone would give me something like that too. But that does not seem to be my luck. 

There was something odd about the Pizza man and Celine. It seems that Celine always had the exact change for him, and Celine does not allow me to accept delivery of the fast food. I noticed that instead of having her shower immediately after she comes home, which is her habit, Celine sat by the living room and waited until after the man has come and gone before she went into her shower. So Celine remembers that every Friday night we have pizza for dinner and she was always home on time on Fridays at before 6:30 p.m. 

The flowers, which Jonathan gave Celine has wilted and I was told by Celine to go out and buy a vase. “Not too tall and square,” Celine specified. Vases are usually round and cylindrical, square ones are hard to find. Nevertheless, I managed to get one for her at 46 dollars. I made her pay for it, as I know that it was meant for Jonathan’s roses and frankly items like this are too extravagant for me. In my mother’s house we never had fresh flowers, or flowers for that matter. I am envious of Celine my boss. 

Since then the flowers came at regular intervals. “Mom likes peach coloured roses,” Celine remarked and she put the vase in the old lady’s room. Three days later Celine went on the Internet and placed a standing order for ten stalks of roses every week for one year. I saw her make the online payment when I peeped into her computer screen when I was supposed to be giving her a cup of hot green tea. My boss likes Japanese tea as much as I do. 

As I was always curious as to Celine’s activities, I linger a while to enjoy the nice cool breeze of her air-conditioning. I wished that I could change places with her, that I led hers and she led mine. I very much want to change out of this set of nursing uniform and wear the fashionable dresses that would make me look glamorous. Although I am not pretty I think I fare better than Celine, with and without makeup. For one I don’t wear spectacles. 

“Maybe Celine thinks that I am interested in the Pizza man,” I told myself. 

Otherwise why would she intercept me whenever I want to deal with the guy? It is just a matter of collecting the dinner and sending the guy off. And in any case, isn’t she involved with Jonathan? No, Celine doesn’t tell me about her love affairs, she doesn’t even talk to her mother at all. Most of the time the atmosphere is silent and awkward, except when the television set is on.

Chapter 8

The television comes with a large LCD display and dominates the entire living area. I would love to lower the volume in case it is too loud for the neighbours. But Celine told me not to change the settings on the remote control. So I usually turn on the television and then leave the remote control with the old lady and let her use it to change the channels and to turn it on and off. These days nobody uses the on-off power switch anymore. 

The days go by and the household is getting more and more organized. The menu from Mondays to Sundays has been set and I know exactly what to cook for the three of us. Fridays the Pizza man comes and we eat out of the box. Celine arrives home at between 6:00 and 6:30 p.m. and she does not go out anymore. Jonathan hasn’t been calling since he bought her the roses. And the old lady watches television if she is not asleep on the chair. Whenever I find that she has fallen asleep on the sofa I would wake her up and ask her to go and lie down on the bed, to catch a good proper snooze. 

Often I wish that I could change the menu, or get the Kentucky Fried Chicken man to come instead of the Pizza man, to change out of the monotony of things. Celine now has my salary increased and paid directly from her bank account instead of giving me a check, thus giving me the indication that my salary will not be raised for at least sometime. As I said, I’d rather work here than in the hospice. I have only just one patient to contend with. But that is also no good, as I am solely responsible for the wellbeing of the old lady. 

If something bad happens to her I am the first one to be blamed. Thank God she has been healthy so far. And I have given up trying to determine if she can remember who I am. If she thinks that I am Celine her daughter that means that she is pleased with me, and if she calls me by her granddaughter’s name I take it that I looked too young that day. So I have dropped the habit of pinning my name tag with my name “Mei” onto my white nursing uniform. And on my first anniversary April 6, I have stopped wearing my working clothes and instead I put on my casual outfit. That day, I waited anxiously for Celine after work to see me in an ordinary yellow T-shirt and jeans. She took no notice of me.

Chapter 9

I have been saving up quite a bit of money. I do not take my rest day since a year ago, as I have no home to go to. My mother is deceased and she was the only person whom I cared about in my family. As I mentioned, my siblings and I have very poor relations and I would be surprised if anyone of them rang me up for a meeting. I treat Celine and the old lady as family and like them I am looking forward to the return of Celine’s daughter, the old lady’s granddaughter, from the U.S. I was told that her parents divorced when she was a year old. Celine never makes any reference to her ex-husband.

In any case, I know that Jonathan is her boyfriend now. But lately there is no sign of Jonathan. I can see Celine talking on the telephone every night as before and I am sure that it is Jonathan on the other end. But my boss’s love affair is none of my business. So long as he doesn’t call her out late at night after dinner I don’t really care. If she goes out late at night I would have to wait for her to return before I could lock up and go to bed. 

Tonight is Friday night again and I am glad I did not have to cook. I sat down by the old lady and waited for her to finish her glass of water before I poured her another one. I made sure she drinks enough water for 70% of our body constitution is made of water. Without water we cannot survive. So the old lady is given water throughout the day, apart from her regular meals. 

Soon Celine will be home and she would take care of the Pizza man. My job is simple today. We eat out of the box so all I needed to do was to throw the box away and clear away the Japanese tea that I serve for dinner. I felt quite relaxed so when Celine came home I didn’t even take notice. The television was on and the screen was flashing news of the Ebola crises. Many people are told to shun travel. 

I thought I heard the water run in the shower. And I thought I saw a man in red T-shirt and black pants come and go. Then I saw the box of pizza on the dining table. This doesn’t seem congruous. If Celine had accepted the pizza, then she couldn’t have been bathing at the same time. Who paid the deliveryman? The old lady was asleep in her room. As usual she dozed off at 5:00 p.m. It would be cruel to wake her up just to have her meal. Old people need sleep and if I were hungry I could start eating first. But it is not polite to do so. 

And so I waited. I decided to turn on the television, to let the sound from the television to gently wake up the old lady. I know I am not supposed to adjust the volume so I went to shut the door in case it is too loud for the neighbours. Then I realized something strange. The door should not have been opened. 

Why was it unlocked? Oh yes, the Pizza man came. But I thought he was supposed to be the same guy? The one who usually delivered pizza was not the same one whom I saw just now. This guy was not Malay looking. That seems strange. And the water in the shower is still running, shouldn’t Celine have finished her bath by now? Slowly I let the sound of the smooth running of the water draw me to the bathroom, and something made me knock on the door. 

“Are you alright?” I spoke in a raised voice, above the sound of the running water in case she couldn’t hear me. 

I found the door slightly ajar, which was unusual if someone was bathing so I pushed it open a little, then a little more.No one was inside!

Celine has left. That was the first thought that occurred to me. This woman has left her mother with me, and she has run off with the Pizza man. Then I thought that it could not have been the Pizza man, it must have been Jonathan. Celine created a pattern whereby someone comes around every Friday night so that when Jonathan himself came I won’t have been alarmed. She needed Jonathan to help her with the luggage. 

Jonathan delivered the pizza personally tonight and collected Celine at the same time. Whatever it is, I am now left with the old lady in this house. The clock on the wall showed 8:20 p.m. The food is cold by now. I must have waited for at least an hour before the realization took effect. I have been deserted. 

Slowly I shut the front door and locked it at the same time. Then I went into Celine’s room to tidy up. I know that she would leave a note or something for me. True enough, there was a piece of pink paper with some words scribbled on it: 

“I have left with Jonathan. Don’t tell mom. You can take my place from now on. I will be back for Christmas.” 

Chapter 10

This was only April. The first thing I did was to check on her spectacles. Most of the seventy pairs were gone. In slow motion I unfolded her nice fluffy quilt and I climbed underneath to lie down for a while to enjoy to snuggly feeling. Then I took the remote control and turned on the air-conditioning. 

The temperature has always been set to 22 degrees C. The cool air satisfied me. And then I got up and I walked straight to the old lady, who has the remote control of the television by her side. I took the little gadget and I lowered the volume. If the television had not been so loud I might have heard the Pizza man come and go. I might even have met Jonathan and seen what he looks like. But would it have prevented him from taking Celine away? 

No, I do not regret any of this. As I said before, I don’t have a family. This benign old lady is my family now. Thank God she didn’t die in the hospice. 

Today is Boxing Day, if Celine is to return she would have been here by now. And I am happy that she did not. Come next April my second anniversary at this job I am going to get myself baptized as a Catholic and I am going to give myself the Christian name “Celine”. Who knows? Celine may never come back. 

I am sure that in Jonathan she has found a new lease of life. They have probably gone straight to the U.S. from Singapore to meet with Celine’s daughter. And now I have once again found my mother, the mother that I have always wanted, one that accepts me as I am and never blames me for her husband’s death. 

The fact that this old lady also has half a million dollars in her savings account is immaterial.

Jack is missing here ….

Jack and I often discuss the best way to die. The cause of death ranges from, for unnatural death, accident, execution, homicide, misadventure, suicide, terrorism, war and abortion. For death by natural causes I was told that old age is not a scientifically recognized cause of death. 

So, if you find that your wife is sleeping with another man and you kill her, it is classified as “unnatural death” in the coroner’s inquiry. And if your ninety-nine-old mother went to bed before midnight and you woke up in the morning and found that she has stopped breathing you can’t say that it is natural.

Jack and I are colleagues. We work at this private investigation agency. I shall not reveal the name because I am going to tell you this story. This story belongs to me. It is my own story and I am glad that I am still alive to tell this. 

During lunch, Jack and I talk about many things. One time he even go so far as to tell me, “When I stand in front of the washing machine and I turn it on, it works, when I stand in front of the microwave oven, it works; but when I stand in front of my wife sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, I don’t know why.” Jack is often exasperated with his wife. 

I first come to know of this agency through the “Classified Ads”. I want to work there at the agency because I think the scope of the job would be very interesting. Imagine being a private eye, you are being paid to spy on other people. So, I tell my husband, who is reading the newspapers at the time, that I want this job badly.

I am a housewife and he doesn’t really want me to work. I ring for an interview. Two men interview me. Jack isn’t one of them. The fact that there is a mannequin in the conference room where I am interviewed says nothing about the company except to give me a creepy feeling. 

I am not too sure why I am eventually picked for the job, but I know that my looks matters t a lot. I mean, not that I was pretty or what. It is that I look very ordinary. To be a private eye you must have a nondescript face, a kind of face where people look at you and would not want to take a look at you a second time. 

When Mr. Singham come into the conference room to interview me the first thing he says to me is, “This you?” showing me my picture in the resume, which I have submitted. 

I know that this isn’t the end of the selection. Mr. Singham has two other candidates waiting for him outside the conference room to be interviewed. The application is open until 9 April and today is only the 7th. They may decide to wait until after the 9th to make the final decision. 

But Mr. Singham’s decision is based on Mr. Wong’s choice as I am told after I am given the job. At the interview I promise both Mr. Singham and Mr. Wong seven days a week and twenty-four hours a day. To this end I also give them my phone number so that is how I got the job. 

“You work eight hours a day, forty-four hours a week.”

“We begin at 8:30 a.m. and we end at 5:00 p.m., lunch is from 12:30 p.m. and we start again at 1:30 p.m. You may be required to work at night because of the nature of the job. However, you will be given double your hourly rate when you report to work at night.” 

I ask Mr. Wong if I could wear jeans during weekdays and he nods his head approvingly, “You are supposed to wear jeans,” he says, 

“As a PI you must look as casual as possible but not too casual,” he adds, 

“but you shouldn’t be wearing slippers, high-heeled sandals are alright.” 

I am told before that if you can’t finish your tasks during office hours you are a lousy worker. 

“How long am I supposed to take for each assignment?” I ask. 

“It could be weeks, or even months, so long as you procure the evidence.” 

“Do I need to buy my own camera?” I ask. 

“No, you sit in the office and wait for the instruction.” 

“What kind of instruction?” I ask again. 

“You’ll see,” and with that he ends the conversation. I gather that if I want the job I had better keep quiet. 

I am a night person. In the mornings I have to drop by the coffee house at the ground floor for a cup of coffee before I start the day. 

Once I get the phone call from Miss. Suzie, I know that I am in. “See you on the 10th of April,” she tells me over the phone. I am elated. After I put the phone down, I immediately go into action. 

I organize all my clothes the ones for rainy days I keep them all in a basket and as I throw open the wardrobe, I decide on the black Gucci bag as it has many pockets and is more functional. I find my Jack and Jill sunglasses from the drawer and I put it on to see if the frame still fits nicely. To be a private eye a pair of sunglasses is a necessary tool for the trade. 

Whereas Mr. Wong has a pair of sheepish eyes, Mr. Lee has a strong physique. By that I mean that you see that he is tough and you conclude that he can withstand cold weather and long walks. Not surprisingly both of them choose their profession in the private investigation industry. 

On the first day I start work I pack my handphone, my purse, my house keys, my pouch, and a notebook with a pen, and I carry a denim jacket with my bag. My bag is the Gucci that I picked. I wear a dress and then after looking into the full-length mirror I take it off and change into a pair of black pants and a black silk blouse. I am glad that I could still fit into them. 

I am told to be there on 10 April. I arrive at 8:15 a.m. sharp and I make sure that the security guard at the ground floor lobby sees me. I try to tell him that I am a new staff to one of the tenants here in the building but he ignores me completely. Then I give the agency fifteen minutes to open. It is officially open from 8:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. 

I don’t want to be late on my first day at work. First impressions always count. So far, I have given the employers the idea that I am a hard worker. And two days ago, I bought two silk blouses and they cost one hundred and fifty dollars each. I am hoping that my salary can cover the capital outlay soon. 

The first person I meet on the fifth floor is Jack. I am not introduced to him yet, so I just smile at him. He merely says Hi and he promptly go inside the conference room leaving me standing by the reception. My first impression of Jack is that he is about thirty and married with at least one kid. He looks a family man to me. 

Another guy was sitting at the reception and I am glad that he does not seemed to be interested in me. Later I find out that his name is Bobby. It seems that the agency take no notice that I am reporting in today. 

Three minutes later Jack comes out and he tells me to go into the conference room and sit down next to him. I merely sit there watching him type. When I become restless, I stand up and ask him whether I could have a cup of coffee. 

“You can use the guests cup today, but tomorrow please bring your own.”

I am annoyed with myself that I haven’t prepared a mug to bring in today. As Jack takes one from a set of six, he orders, “Don’t break it,” before he promptly leave me standing in the kitchen. 

The coffee percolator is brewing the powder and I can smell the flavour of the Arabian coffee. “Is it the Arabian brew?” I ask. 

No reply come so I stand there and wait until the coffee is ready. I pour the brown liquid into the cup and find that I need milk as well but this time I dare not disturb Jack again.

I simply open the fridge to look for fresh milk. There is none. So, I bring the coffee back to my seat and starts sipping the black coffee at regular intervals until it is time for lunch. It is bitter and for the first time in my life I don’t like coffee. 

I am completely ignored for the first half of the day and I don’t know when I could have my lunch. During the morning I find out that the wall clock is slow by ten minutes and that Jack is following the hour on his PC. He gets up from his chair at twelve twenty by the time on the wall and then goes to the back to see Miss Suzie. 

I could hear them talking but I couldn’t decipher the content of the conversation. After a while Jack comes back and asks me to follow him out for lunch. I leave my handphone on the table and forget to bring it out with me. The handphone is the latest iPhone 5S series and very expensive. “Never mind, next time I call you on the handphone to go out for lunch, so you won’t forget.” Jack is kind. 

After four days I realize that my work is just typing the reports, which does not involve any field jobs. I am still not properly acquainted with the other colleague by the name of Bobby who comes in to change the clothes on the mannequin every day after lunch. Work becomes boring so I ask to be given field jobs. 

During this time, I learn that a “subject” would be the person whom we are engaged to spy on, and the “suspect” would be the person who is related to the “subject” usually by way of having an affair. The number of people having an affair when I start counting the number of files that I am been given shocks me. Clients need not give their real names. 

The firm has recently taken on the case of Paul. Paul our client suspects that his wife Monica is having an affair with another man and before he files for divorce, he wants clear evidence of adultery. By that he means that he wants direct evidence and not circumstantial evidence. So far Bobby has only been able to produce pictures of his wife Monica having coffee with a man at the Cluny Hotel in the mornings. 

The man is usually reading the newspapers and you can’t really see his face hidden behind the pages in the pictures. The firm has spent a substantial amount of money on getting Bobby to arrive at the hotel to have breakfast at the same time. Each time the subject Monica would pay for the bill and walk to the concierge to hand over the keys at the counter leaving the man still sitting at the table with the newspapers. 

We try to find out the room number but are unable to do so. We even took a picture of Monica holding the key card and tried to zoom in on the number on the magnetic access card, but the image is blurred. 

What we need is the information on a meeting between the lovers for us to prepare ourselves at the scene to do some video-taping, or at least a camera shot of the two going into a hotel room. So far, the evidence we gathered is nothing more than a spouse’s unfounded suspicion. We need a continuous link to provide the chain of causation to prove that the two of them, Monica and the man reading the newspapers, actually went up into the service apartment for sex. 

The fact that a man and a woman are having breakfast together does not imply that they slept together the night before. You could only infer that they might be having breakfast together again tomorrow. 

As usual Jack has lunch with me today. 

Out of the blue Jack asks me, “Do you know why Mr. Singham has this mannequin in the conference room?” 

“No,” I say, waiting for him to tell me. 

“Mr. Singham’s wife ran away with another man.” 

“What?” I am very shocked. 

“Yeah, that was why he has this mannequin in the room, to replace her.” Jack elaborates. 

“Was Mr. Singham very heart broken?” I am curious. And actually, I am beginning to find Mr. Singham a little funny. 

“Obviously,” “How did he find out?” I wanted more gossip. But Jack stops short and continue with his food. 

I don’t know that Jack is in love with me until we are at night together doing one of the field trips. He tells me that he has been feeling this way for me for a long time now. I am flabbergasted, as I do not expect this to come. He knows very well that I am married, what is he expecting to get out of me? I want to ask him. Jack is thirty-four whereas I am forty-three. All along I have thought Jack a safe male companion because of the age gap. 

Now that this has happened, either I accept Jack’s advances, or I resign. This job is getting interesting. But the trouble is that I am also infatuated with Jack, something I myself have not want to face. So, I do not turn Jack away at once. I merely tell him to put his feelings on hold. I want to see what happens to my own marriage. I have always been very frustrated with my husband’s sullen character. He does nothing but reads the newspapers whenever I am around. 

My husband does not know that I have been going out at night. To work on this Paul file, we have to station ourselves at the vicinity of the Cluny Hotel early enough before the subject and the suspect arrive, so that we could follow them from then on. This is called “Project Planning”. Once Jack or I spot either one of them we are supposed to go up to the concierge to try and check into one of the rooms on the same floor. 

If we succeed, we might be able to take a snapshot of the lovers coming out from the same room. This is still circumstantial, but it is better than nothing. Bobby has seen the layout of the premises by pretending that he wants to book a room there for three months. By now Bobby is closely acquainted with the concierge manager. The convenient thing is that the Cluny Hotel is just two blocks away from our firm. 

Bobby is good at these things. In his case, Jack tells me, he slept with his bosses’ secretary while he was still married, and after three years his wife divorced him. The funny thing is that his wife just left their matrimonial home one night and never returned. He couldn’t careless as he already has this other woman. Subsequently, his wife suddenly reappeared with her lawyer’s letter and filed for divorce on the ground of a three-year separation. 

This morning as I come in, I found that the conference room door is shut. It is usually left ajar so that we could go in to look for either Mr. Singham or Mr. Wong if they are inside. I am not sure if it meant that a client is inside, so I go closer and then I hear a voice say, 

“Are you sure?” this seems to be Mr. Singham’s voice.

Then the sound of a chair being pulled to one side, “Sit down, I heard Mr. Singham again. 

Before I could walk away, Mr. Wong comes out of the room and he orders me to go to the kitchen to get a drink for the guest. 

“How could this happen?” as I am walking away, I hear Mr. Singham asking. 

I want to stay behind to listen to the full story, but I have to fetch the drink for Mr. Wong’s guest. I quickly go into action so that I could come back and follow up. I take out one cup from the set of six. The pattern has some cherries on it, but I was in no mood to admire it. And then I pour coffee that has already been brewed for drinking. I add some coffee mate, which Jack teaches me to get from inside the cabinet. 

As I bring the beverage back to the conference room, I knock on the door. 

“Come in,” is Mr. Singham. 

I am shocked to find someone sitting on a chaise lounge, just beside the mannequin. The mannequin doesn’t look so eerie this time maybe because Bobby has changed her sarong into a cheongsam. I place the cup and saucer on the table in front of the man, careful not to spill the liquid. “Meet our client Mr. Paul”, Mr. Wong tries to introduce us.

Evidence of the night’s stay with the man and Monica as his guest has been procured. Bobby has befriended one of the concierge managers and with a significant sum the concierge manager gave him a copy of the hotel bill with the man’s name on it and the signature of Monica on the use of the access card. Nothing could be clearer than that. Nobody knows why the subject signed with her full name “Monica”. 

When I see the name on the hotel bill I am shocked beyond belief. It has the name “Simon Wong and guest”. It turns out that the man is my husband the suspect behind the newspapers. With the NRIC number S6899232C I know beyond reasonable doubt that Simon Wong is not married to Monica because he is married to me. 

In the conference room Miss. Suzie was busy taking down notes. I find my chair and quickly sit down to join in that part of the conversation that I have missed. I almost tip over Jack’s mug, wondering what bringsPaul here. 

So, my husband is having an affair with another woman. All this while when I am working with Jack he is sleeping with another woman. And all along I have thought that Simon does not mind my working after midnight. The conclusion is that Simon leaves the house after I have left for overtime work to have a rendezvous with Monica. 

Luckily, I have told Jack to give me time to think over our relationship. Shall I continue to stay on in the marriage? Shall I forgive my husband? Or shall I simply file for divorce? If I were divorced would Jack divorce his wife too? 

I know that I have been sneaking out of the house at midnight coming into the office to work. But I myself have not committed adultery so my conscious is clear. But I have no idea if my husband knows about Jack and I. Have I been neglecting him? The clock on the wall is still slow and I am wondering if I have to sit here longer to torture myself. 

As Jack is typing away, I could see that it is already 12:30 p.m. on his PC. Then I see Jack picks up his handphone and tap on it. My handphone rings. I excuse myself and get up from my chair. Jack is turning off his PC. As I am leaving the conference room, I hear Paul asking Miss. Suzie. 

“Where are they going?” 

“Jack and Jill are going out for lunch.” Comes Suzie’s reply. 

At lunch I know that Jack will complain to me about his wife again, and then I am wondering if he knows that my husband is the suspect in this entire Paul file. Should I tell him about it? I feel very sorry for myself now that I may be forced to make a decision. I have been procrastinating my relationship with Jack for a long time. If my husband is unfaithful, I must make a clean break at once. 

I turn to Jack and ask him a hypothetical question. 

“What happens if your spouse is sleeping with another person?” I asked. 

“Depends. The man with another woman or the woman with another man?” 

“Both,” I said. 

“If I were you, I would file for divorce,” comes Jack’s reply. 

“You mean you know that this man is my husband?” I ask Jack. 

Jack walks a little faster so that I would need to catch up with him if I want to pursue the topic. My heart is still unsure as I am wondering what to make of the situation that has been presented to me so far. I am used to being married to Simon and I like the status of being married. 

To divorce Simon all I need do is use the same materials gathered on the Paul file and produce it at the Family Court. But then I could never see myself as a third party in Jack’s marriage. I am still reluctant to have an affair with Jack. Even if I were divorced, I should not be another man’s mistress. As I walk my thoughts are racing. 

Once I catch up with Jack, he holds my hand. And as he grabs me tight, he leads me into the Cluny Hotel. With efficacy he produces his passport at the concierge and gives the man at the counter the number of guests as “one”. I am hypnotized as I follow Jack blindly. Then I see him take his ring out and put it into his breast pocket. 

“I have never been married, I have been lying to you all along, and I tried to pretend that I was married because I did not want to fall in love again. Until I found you, Jill.” 

My mission now is not to determine whether my clients have committed adultery, but rather to determine whether Jack was telling me the truth when he said that he wasn’t married before. Do I have time to find out the truth before I walked into the Cluny Hotel with him?

Who is the real man?

Chapter 1

A foster mother might not necessarily know the father of her adopted child, but every mother sure darn knows who the father of her child is. 

And a journey is only pleasant if you have someone waiting for you at the other side. 

Chapter 2

This was about the fifth time that Suzie was walking into this building at Peak Centre along Canton Street in the past five days, which meant that she had been coming in here every day, unless she came in here twice or three times in a day. Nobody knew. 

A lot of shops were here. But there was something very disorganized about this shopping centre. There was no interior at all. Jewellery shops stood side by side with dried goods store and every other shop was a travel agency. There was even a fortune teller in the middle of nowhere. 

“At least the walls ought to be painted,” Suzie thought to herself. 

The other uncoordinated feature about the Peak Centre was that there was no one main entrance. You could come in from the side by the food stalls or you could enter from the side where just outside was the taxi stand. 

No one told Suzie to come here. It was just that what she wanted to do this was the place to do it. Suzie wanted to book herself on a group tour to Europe. This was summer time and the weather was not so cold there. 

Suzie lived in a country where the weather was hot all year around. The temperature ranged between 25 degrees Celsius and 34 at its highest. Almost every building had air-conditioning and she didn’t get typhoons or earthquakes. At the most it rained three consecutive days and even then the weatherman complained that the rainfall was insufficient for the demand in consumption. 

The higher demand had caused an increase in water costs. Water was drawn from her neighbours and the country managed water shortages year after year. You could call this increase in water costs a rationing. The motto seemed to be that: if you can afford it, why not? 

After the taxi dropped Suzie at the taxi stand, she walked out without getting a receipt from the driver. This was her habit, as Suzie did not have to give an account of her expenditure to anyone. Suzie was single so there was no joint account holder. Right now she was just happy where she was. 

Today she just thought of going away for a break. Suzie didn’t know when Norman Lee was going to propose, if at all. 

Chapter 3

Last night Suzie just went into the website of the Registry of Marriages and couldn’t find Norman Lee’s name so that meant that he was still single. He was thirty-one and not in a hurry to get married, according to him. Suzie had gone to Maria Sofia a clairvoyant lady and consulted her. She prayed in her own tongues and discerned for Suzie that this man by the name of Norman Lee will marry her, by hook or by crock, but that Maria did not know when. 

So Suzie was very sure of herself and therefore she came to this Peak Centre. This building housed many travel agencies. They all offered similar services. Suzie had no idea which one offered a better deal. If you wanted to go to China, they all ran China tours. If you wanted a European tour, every agency did it too. The difference lay in the departure dates. 

But even then they were around the same dates and the prices were very competitive. Suzie didn’t feel good whenever she walked in. That was because her brains were not allowed to use logic. Suzie had no idea which was the best agency. And there was no formula on which she could use. There were no cheapest, best dates, or best itinerary agency. You simply walked around and chanced into one of them. You made some enquiries and then you walked out. 

For someone who hadn’t really decided on her destination, dates, and costs, it was confusing and fruitless. But today as Suzie walked in she told herself that she must make a booking. She had just come from Maria Sofia and that lady told her that she was going to meet someone on this trip, that this was the only chance of meeting another man, and that if she didn’t it would have been too late for her. 

Chapter 4

Maria Sofia said that in her life she got only two chances of marriage and time was running out for this first chance. So yes, Suzie was hoping to meet someone on this trip and get hitched. But she had no idea whom he was, where he came from, and where he was going for holiday and when he was going. Suzie was just calling on Lady Luck. 

As she walked, Suzie looked up and there she saw the words Sesame Holidays. Nice name but she was inside before. No result. There were several vacancies on this tour and she gathered that it was not so popular. In the other one two shops away the Mable Tours the departure dates were not even fixed. 

The customer service officer a Miss Hazel at  Sesame Holidays again suggested Palestine but Suzie hesitated to be the first who placed a deposit. The tour was empty and then they needed at least twelve confirmed passengers to depart. 

Also the write up on the brochure for Palestine looked interesting. There was no nation called Palestine. There were proposals for establishing an independent State of Palestine, and because of this there was much tension in this Palestinian territories, which included parts of the West Bank and all of the Gaza Strip. 

For reasons best known to herself, Miss Hazel kept selling this tour package to Suzie. 

“You travel via Israel and land at Tel Aviv. The Gaza International Airport is currently closed. But it is worth visiting as you could visit Israel’s capital city Jerusalem as well as the famous biblical city of Bethlehem. On Manger Square you could spend some time worshipping at the Church of Nativity. This fortified church is built on top of the cave in which Jesus is allegedly born.” 

Suzie decided to try her luck. The warning Maria Sofia gave she could not put it out of her mind. She had been dating Norman Lee for close to five years now since she was twenty-five. They dated on and off and it was understood that the two of them would marry one day. But when? 

Chapter 5

The pilot made an announcement just before his quick landing. Taxing was a cruise and a little bit too long. Maybe the airport was large. Suzie waited at her seat then only stood up when her neighbour got to the isle. The seat between them was empty so they shared the space throughout the journey. They both used the tray table from the back of the front seat which folded down whilst Suzie put her pillow on the recliner. They were careful not to tread on each other’s space. 

“Let me help you,” as Suzie was trying to lift her heavy hand luggage her neighbour said. 

The stewardess saw and quickly came to their rescue. Suzie wished the stewardess hadn’t come. But the neighbour managed to do the chore before this stewardess could do anything. 

“Thanks,” Suzie gave a grateful smile when he brought the luggage down. 

Then they both waited in line for the aircraft door to be opened to let the passengers out. 

Once Suzie arrived at the arrival hall she picked up her luggage and looked for the tour group leader. She remembered having met him at the tour agency and that he was a stout man with a moustache, and without spectacles. Suzie walked around. She could see many people greeting their loved ones and she was getting a little worried.

I hadn’t made any contingency plans. If the group didn’t materialize what should I do?

Ben Gurion Airport was a small airport. Once the group of people arriving cleared Suzie could see the airport workers walking around in their casual shirts and pants. She could only guess that they were not airport passengers by the fact that they didn’t seem to have any purposeful activity. It was like they were loitering around. So was Suzie. 

So that Suzie tried to go to the newsstand to pick up a newspaper but realized that she didn’t have the local currency yet, which was very careless of her. So she looked around for the exchange bureau. 

“A penny for your thoughts?” a man came up behind her.

He spoke English so Suzie knew that he came from her part of the world. Glad to find company she turned around quickly. It was her neighbour! 

“You haven’t found your friend?” he asked. 

Suzie realized that she had completely forgotten about him and so she tried to apologize, but then it wasn’t her duty to follow him.

I am not his keeper. 

“Oh, sorry, I forgot about you, your friends haven’t arrived?” Suzie asked in return. 

The man didn’t answer but merely took over the luggage from her hand and gave it a push. She saw that he only had an overnight bag. He looked like a frequent traveller. 

Chapter 6

Suzie had no idea why the tour leader still hadn’t found her and she still hadn’t seen any Singaporeans yet. The population in this hall was generally of a darker skin. She could see that the city was dilapidated and in the mist of confrontation. Before she arrived here she saw pictures on the websites but she didn’t expect it to be so real. 

Suzie was getting upset. She had her return ticket with her, which she couldn’t use until 3 March. And she had no clue where the airline office was even if she wanted to change her departure date to leave from Palestine straight away. Without the comfort of a tour bus and the familiarity of Singaporeans around her, she felt completely lost. She had no choice now but to rely on this kind soul the man beside her now. 

At least I have already encountered him on the flight. 

Suzie remembered that the tour group was supposed to check in at the Wallace Hotel at Bethlehem Palestine but she had no idea where it was. 

The people around here carried with them a kind of sullen look. They seemed oppressed and waiting to go into a fight at any time. 

I would not go up to any one of them to make enquiries. In any case I  don’t think they speak my language.

Then Suzie caught sight of a man in a loose white T-shirt and black pants staring at her. He was standing next to a pillar and he had deep-set eyes, with a distant look, as though thinking of something else at the same time. Suzie could not be sure if he was actually looking at her. 

No, I could not pluck up the courage and walk away from my neighbour, this familiar man, and got up to the unknown locals and ask them where the hotel was.

They didn’t smile and they had no expression on their faces. Or maybe Suzie was a foreigner she couldn’t read their minds. It was all very new. 

At this point in time Suzie realized that she must make a quick decision. 

Either I follow him for the rest of the day, or I tell him to go away and continue to wait for my absent tour group. If I follow him from here, then I break away from the tour and then the rest of my stay here in Palestine would be entirely his call. 

As she was thinking, her neighbour had already hailed a car, with a swift move he checked both their luggage into the back seat and he showed the driver a map. The bearded man muttered something and he brought the engine to a start. The two of them both jerked a little and Suzie and neighbour looked at each other in agreement. 

“The guy didn’t seem to like his job,” Suzie said aloud. 

The neighbour gave her a look as though to tell her to keep quiet, “be careful he understands English,” he said softly. 

Suzie quickly shut her mouth and tried to enjoy the scenery. There wasn’t much to see at all. It was just an impression of an old civilization in a Muslim country. By this time Suzie already felt that she could have followed the news on television and missed this adventure. It was just beginning to look boringly dangerous. The grass was dry and the plants were malnourished. No street lamps and she wondered if it was safe out at night. 

In Singapore the pride was that any woman could be safe out after midnight. 

Chapter 7

The journey was long enough for Suzie to wonder if they had been taken in for a ride, or on the wrong track. But fact was that there seemed to be only one direction from the airport on the muddy road. So the driver must be taking them to the hotel. She started to think if it were five-star or four-star when they stopped in front of a house. 

The driver came to a halt when he arrived at a building which was completely walled off. 

“So this was it.” Suzie thought to herself.  

The hotel was very small; it was just a large house with several rooms. Suzie didn’t know how many rooms there were but it looked very small. She dumped her luggage in front of the concierge and gave the woman her name. The neighbour asked for a “presidential suite” and she heard the concierge said U.S. nine hundred. 

“If you don’t’ want, we can do U.S. thirty,” the concierge offered. 

“You can check in now and leave before sunset, we have another 700 people coming and we are always full.” 

At this point in time Suzie knew that her life depended on God and Him alone. No one was here to help her if her neighbour connived with the locals to cheat her or do harm to her. If she died in Palestine the office would know only after the holiday when she didn’t report back to work. They wouldn’t even be able to find her body. The only sensible thing to do now was to give this neighbour his best interpretation and be of use to him. 

Suzie tried to think where he came from. He spoke English like he came from Hong Kong. If she were lucky he might even be a fellow Singaporean. 

The hotel concierge asked, “Just the two of you?” 

“Yes,” the neighbour said, 

“Just the two of us,” and then he gave the lady his passport. 

It was bright red, and when the concierge flipped it open the biodata showed his name as Daniel Lee. 

“Are you Singaporean?” Suzie just wanted to start conversation. 

“What makes you think I am not?” Daniel Lee retorted. 

Thank God! Suzie’s heart almost stopped beating. 

“Can we go home together?” she made an instant request. 

The man didn’t say a word but merely handed her the room key which he got from the concierge. 

Suzie had envisaged a large group of about twenty people touring the city on the bus and the tour leader giving them a continuous string of narration. And that she would be hopping on and off the bus for sightseeing. Hazel promised that lunch and dinner would be taken care of. 

Now I had better find out if this Daniel Lee was going home on the same flight. I had better cling on to him for dear life. 

“When are you going back?” Suzie asked. 

“Same as you,” Daniel Lee replied. At the time it didn’t occur to Suzie that he could have known her departure date. 

Suzie just wanted to shrink into a corner. She walked to the single seater sofa at the middle of the hotel lobby and dumped her hand luggage and slumped on the soft-cushions. She refused to be checked into the hotel room. 

How could I be certain that the hotel concierge did not also have a spare key to my room? 

“Are you going in or not?” Daniel Lee looked impatient. 

“I am not checking in,” Suzie said. 

“What?” he sounded surprised. 

“I want to check into your room,” Suzie made herself clearer. 

“Why? How can we?” the man began to look puzzled. 

“I want to share the room with you, it’s cheaper,” Suzie said. 

She knew it didn’t make sense; she had already paid for the entire tour duration, food and lodging.

“No, I don’t want to go into the room myself,” by this time she detected a note of sympathy. 

Chapter 8

Daniel Lee knew that she was lost and that she was in an unfamiliar setting without my contact. He still hadn’t told her why he was here with Suzie. She assumed that he was just another traveller who happened to be on the same trip. In any case who cared why he was here, fact was that he was here was a blessing from God. 

If he wanted to take advantage of me this is the best opportunity. 

Suzie told herself that if he slept with her now she could always insist on him marrying me after they had arrived back in Singapore since they both shared the same Women’s Charter. 

Suzie was sure that the room would have a sofa by the side. All hotels have. She knew this to be the only time for bargaining, even though Palestine was the worst place for negotiations. 

Once I was in my own room I would have no idea if he had left the hotel to go out or not, I don’t have his itinerary. He could even have checked out the next morning before I knew it. No, I was not going to budge. 

A woman was sweeping the floor in the background. Suzie could see that she was just going through the motions. The floor was cemented and she couldn’t see dirt on it at all. Her coat was loose and Suzie could see a pair of embroidered pants underneath. She sat on the sofa and refused to be checked into her room. 

Suzie didn’t know what made Daniel Lee agree to her demand and as she saw him gave her set of keys back to the hotel concierge, she leaped up from the sofa with joy. 

“I am going to follow you,” she said. 

So for the time being, Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Lee were in room 8. The hotel was only three stories high, and there was no television in the room. Suzie realized now why the tour agency gave her a discount and made her pay the full package fare on pretext that she was an “early bird” as one of the earliest passengers. 

Hazel lied, I was the only passenger and there was no tour group. The tour leader was supposed to meet me here and to conduct the tour with me but that he did not make it.

But it was too late to strangle Hazel now. 

At this point in time Suzie was not in love with Daniel Lee. She knew that she would not return as Mrs. Daniel Lee as it was not possible to register their marriage in Palestine. Daniel was merely her saviour. Once she got back to Singapore she was going to ditch him. Suzie didn’t fall in love with people easily. She had only one boyfriend to date and that was Norman Lee. Basically Suzie was a very cautious person. 

Suzie started working the moment she finished school and was able to support herself, including trips overseas for holidays. But this time she was over confident, landing herself in this state of affairs. 

I should have ordered Hazel to give me the names of the travellers. That would have made her confess that there was no one else in this tour. The clairvoyant Maria Sofia told me that I was bound to meet someone if I went on a holiday. Yes, I was tired of waiting for Norman’s proposal.

“Can we sleep with the room door open?” once the concierge handed Daniel Lee the key to room 8, Suzie quietly asked Daniel Lee. 

“If you wish to go back to Singapore I will help you,” 

“You are afraid of everything;” 

“Since I was queuing behind you at the check-in counter I knew you to be a very difficult woman,” 

“You insisted on a window seat when you actually checked-in late; you didn’t like the wine on board, you were upset with the stewardess.” 

“At then first you distrust the locals, you followed me, 

“Then once we were together you became suspicious of me;” 

“Now you have decided that the locals could be used as witnesses against me.” 

“My dear, you must decide for yourself who is your best bet; and I am not going to toy with you the whole night.” 

With a barrage of words, Daniel Lee finished his lines, “I want to go back to Singapore and end this match making process. Maria Sofia the matchmaker told me that I was bound to like you, and yes, I like you very much.” 

“But you must trust me, at least somebody.” 

So Maria Sofia had set me up. No wonder she told me to go on a holiday, now I remembered telling her I would like to go to Palestine. There was only one flight to Tel Aviv this week, which meant that Daniel Lee trailed me. He knew who I was right from the beginning since I was standing at the check-in counter of Qatar Airlines at the Changi International Airport. 

Now that Suzie knew the whole situation she was getting quite comfortable with Daniel Lee. 

“Are you afraid of mosquitoes too?” Daniel Lee could see what she was thinking. 

“No, mosquitoes don’t bite me, they don’t like my blood,” meekly Suzie replied. 

And so Suzie Wee and Daniel Lee checked into room 8 of Wallace Hotel.

Throughout the night Daniel Lee was on the phone talking to the Qatar Airways office, trying to find their next flight out. We were told to go to the airport by 6:00 a.m. the next morning to wait for some other passengers who might have made cancellations or missed boarding. 

Suzie did not unpack her luggage and slept intermittently. Daniel allowed her to sleep on the bed and she did not know what time the man finished talking and landed himself up on the bed beside her. In a strange and foreign country, you could do anything. When you have decided to trust someone you could let go of your guard completely. Anything that happened here in Palestine must be that of the will of God, for this was after all Jesus’s birthplace. 

Chapter 9

The next morning, both parties headed straight for the Ben Gurion Airport. Daniel made Suzie take coffee at the hotel café as breakfast was free and by now the two were regarded as Mr. and Mrs. Lee by the hotel staff. Suzie did not want to deny it as the marital status offered her some kind of protection. 

When both of them approached the check-in counter the airline staff said that they were lucky as the flight wasn’t full. Suzie wanted her window seat as usual but this time Daniel Lee and she couldn’t get the same row. If they sat together one of them would have to take the middle seat. So they agreed on “either he took the isle or I take the window.” 

After a long journey, the plane finally touched down at the Changi International Airport. As Suzie was pushing her luggage from the arrival hall into the waiting area, Daniel followed behind her. She guessed he didn’t think that their relationship should end here after the holiday. 

“After all this time together and what happened, don’t you want to see me again?” Daniel asked. 

Suzie was sure. At the back of her mind the image of Norman Lee surfaced. Suzie knew nothing about Daniel except that he was a good bodyguard whereas she had already spent five years with Norman. Norman was a typhoon’s son and his father owned two bungalows and a few apartments in Singapore. 

That was why Suzie waited for him all these years. By now she had found out that she did not love Norman for himself. She knew that her feelings had changed for Norman after the hot and sultry night in Palestine. It was a country not yet recognized.

Suzie felt the struggle of the people wanting to be themselves, wanting an identity … the people minding their own activities as though no outsiders should disturb them. No questions were raised about Mr. and Mrs. Lee on the night of 27 February behind the closed door of room 8 in Wallace Hotel.

Suzie continued walking to the taxi stand. There she got the taxi man to carry her luggage into the boot compartment and she bid Daniel goodbye. The cool air conditioning refreshed her and Suzie knew that she must give Norman Lee a call. 

Norman Lee was very excited when he heard Suzie’s voice. 

“Suzie! Where have you been?” he asked to drop by her apartment straight away. 

Suzie sensed the urgency and true enough Norman was at the front door already waiting for her. 

Suzie never gave him her set of keys. Norman hugged her tight and said that her absence made his heart grow fonder and that since the time she disappeared he had decided that they must get married. Of course Suzie accepted his proposal. This was what she had been waiting for. Maria Sofia was right on all counts. She did predict that Norman Lee would propose.

Chapter 10

On 22 November Suzie’s daughter Julia Lee was born. On her third birthday during the celebration Suzie noticed that Julia’s nose was a little sharper than usual, liked she had a crocked nose, a feature that Suzie didn’t have. 

Suzie wanted to call Maria Sofia again but instantly she realized that this was not a matter of the future for the lady to discern anymore. It belonged to the past as it called for her daughter’s DNA. Suzie was glad that Julia was a girl, for even if she were a Lee, for sure that when she got married her surname would have to be changed. 

Suzie’s past would not be a matter of concern for anyone in the next generation. But the truth of the matter was, only the woman knew who Julia’s real father was.

Henry vs. Joshua ….

Murder seemed to be the best way to stop someone from talking. And I knew that I am being framed for a crime that I did not commit. 

In order to avoid investigations, I decided to take part in a retreat in New Delhi and booked myself on a flight to the country. 

I was told that room 1175 was haunted but when I arrived there, I was given room 1102. The number 1102 has no significance to me save that I was once told that November 2nd is the Remembrance Day for Death. 

And so with slight trepidation, I checked in. 

The room was dark when I opened the door. I saw that the curtains were drawn. Then I put the key card in the key slot to make the lights come on. I put my luggage on the bureau stool and opened the padlock attached to my Samsonite. The combination number was 2512, for 25th December. I liked Christmas. 

Then I surveyed the room and quickly found the safe, hidden beneath the large LCD. I remembered being warned about passport thefts and that it was better to keep it in the hotel before I went out. So I put my passport in, setting the safe pin to 1102 the same pin number as the hotel room number to make it easier for myself to remember. I liked to simplify things. 

There were also two twin beds, two side tables, and a counter top with a coffee percolator together with a kettle. Some loose packets of coffee cream and tea bags were neatly arranged inside a box. Sugar of different types could also be seen inside the box. I was surprised that there was also Japanese green tea. Then I got more curious with the supply I opened the fridge below. 

Two large bottles of Coca-Cola cans stood next to three cans of 100-plus. I picked one bottle out so that it could unchill itself for me to drink it later. And then I pressed the switch on the kettle to boil some water. It was just an automatic reflex. I did that whenever I saw a kettle. 

Nothing happened until after midnight, it being the first day after I have checked in, I naturally needed a goodnights’ sleep. I have eaten some food on the plane. The flight to India was a Singapore Airlines flight so that I thought I was travelling to India with Singaporean locals, rather than with a group of Indian nationals returning home. There seemed to be some mistaken identity there. 

As I was on the way here, the temperature dropped as we were crossing the longitudinal zones and I fell in love with the air hostesses in turquoise jacket at the entrance. By turquoise jacket I meant the air stewardess with straight long hair tied in a bun. I could have asked for the price but something told me that I would not be able to afford it, in order not to embarrass myself I kept to watching movies throughout the journey. 

I landed early in the morning. 

At the Theresa Centre at the New Delhi branch of the St Anthony Catholic Church, I was glad to be introduced to Father Francis. My twin-brother Joshua was not here with me for otherwise Father would have difficulty telling us apart since we were identical twins. Joshua fell down and sprained his ankle at the last minute so that he was detained in Singapore. 

But that was not so serious. Late last night just before I left, Joshua had contracted high grade pneumonia and was currently warded in the Alex Hospital in Singapore. The doctor said that the virus has spread to the lungs and that if he did not recover soon enough the infection could cause paralysis to the rest of his body.

I was at the hospital and I asked Joshua if I should postpone the trip but he told me that if he did not make it the Singapore side would contact me. 

“I am not going to bring too much cash to India.” I told Joshua. “But if I should encounter any problems I would need you to wire me some money.” For the purpose I gave him my user name and my password to my bank account. 

The first thing I told Father Francis when I met him was that I was coming here for the specific purpose of receiving a blessing. Our old mother has just been taken seriously ill and I would like to know how long more she could last. So that at this same time I wanted to find a woman with whom I could marry to take over from her. As this was the first time I was travelling to India, I had to depend on the Google translation to help me get about, even though Father Francis could speak English very well. 

“Tell me, Father, are there really ghosts in this world?” This first thing I asked. 

“Of course. They are the holy ghosts,” The rather stout looking man replied. 

“Then can we see them in the day? Or only at night?” “I meant, were they visible to the naked eye?” I fired him with three questions at once. 

“Ghost are there all the time, depends on how you perceive them,” Father was patient. He had allocated three hours for me today. And this was the first of my lessons on this topic. Tomorrow I might present him with another. I was the only person at this time. I hadn’t met the rest of the course attendees. 

“I am not sure whom you are talking about?” Father Francis said. 

“I know,” I answered. 

“What do you know?” Father turned the question towards me. 

“I know that Satan is also a ghost,” I was happy that we were on the same thread now. 

“Satan is not a ghost, he is a fallen angel,” Father Francis said. 

“But an angel is a ghost, a holy ghost,” I was adamant. 

“Apart from Satan, do you know that there are more than one ghosts in the universe?” Father Francis looked at me. 

“Universe?!” This was too large for me. 

I was only concerned about the earth which was the planet earth. And I cared only about the greenhouse effect and the environmental issues. I only worried about whether it was going to rain tomorrow and only in my location. As a matter of fact, I had stopped eating meat, although this was another topic altogether. Nothing to do with pollution. 

After the discussion, we went back to our respective rooms. The smell of cold air greeted me, it smelled refreshing and I was not sure if it was the azaleas from the twigs in the air, or the scent of the detergent that was used to wash the bed linen. 

I walked to the sliding door out into the small balcony and found that there were two chairs with a coffee table. It was getting dark and I realized that I haven’t eaten before I came up. I stared outside for a while and became bored with the scenery of the set of low roof tops. 

I did not know why the retreat centre refused to provide dinner. Perhaps Catholics were also superstitious people and they didn’t like to sit down and eat together as it could mean The Last Supper so that we were not supposed to share a meal together. Although lunch was filling I was only half-full. Nevertheless, I looked into the room service menu instead of venturing out again. 

Housekeeper told me that room service would take at least forty-five minutes to arrive, so I made up my mind to go out for some food. I planned to eat either downstairs at the hotel or at some café nearby. I picked up my jacket and walked out of the room, deliberately leaving the lights on so that I would not need to return in darkness. 

There was a man outside the lift when it opened on the ninth floor on the way down. We made eye contact but we did not greet each other. It was not my habit to greet strangers and from the way he dressed I knew that he was a local. The man had a turban tightly wrapped, and it was a turquoise blue. I said I liked the colour. 

“Nice blue,” I thought to myself. I knew that Sikhs was one of the religions being practiced in India. I was sure that the colour that they used represents hierarchy rather than personal choice. When the lift reached the ground floor I walked out from the hotel into the main road to find a café. 

A man walked past me, almost knocking me down with his umbrella. I wanted to ask him where was the best place to have a meal, but decided against it when I found that he did not notice me, and after ten meters, I found a café on the left.

Hungry enough for a nice Indian meal, I was keen on trying out Indian dishes, but am confused by the array of foods on display at the food counter. They were so mixed that I had no idea whether they were Indian, Chinese, Muslim, American, European, and/or Continental. Studying them I became full suddenly. So I stood around waiting for someone to notice me. 

A waitress spotted me but she decided to turn away to serve the other customers. Slighted, I became crossed. I sat down like a spoilt child and I started to wave my hand frantically. Finally, one waitress catching my attention, and I quickly pointed to an item on the list in the menu. Without thinking, I ordered Ceylon tea at the same time. 

When the food arrived I used my bare fingers to grab at the chapatti and dip into the garnish. The orange coloured sauce was pungent and I had to sip the tea before I could continue. Three minutes later, the waitress who ignored me came to enquire, “Is everything alright, Sir?” and at the same time she cleared the plate away, together with the plate which helped me scoop honey for my tea. I was annoyed. 

I left the café and I walked along the streets, amazed by the masses of people on the streets without a purpose. I found that New Delhi was not my kind of city and I just wanted to complete my course and then go home. Actually Joshua was supposed to be here with me, but he wasn’t and I was beginning to miss him. 

Joshua and I were in the same church together and we were supposed to travel here together. I wanted to send him an SMS but was unsure if the network was working. If it got to an unknown source it could be misread. In any case I was here on a retreat, which meant that I was to connect with God, just God, and no one else. My brother Joshua was a human being. 

This morning I was having another discussion with Father Francis. 

“I didn’t encounter any ghosts last night when I was out,” I blurted out immediately the minute I saw the priest. 

“No, they are there all the time, it was just that you can’t see them with your human eyes,” 

“Huh? I thought that ghosts were visible with the naked eyes,” 

“You are wrong there, my child.” Father told me. 

“With spiritual eyes, you could see them.” I tried to be clever.

“Ok, I know, if you like what you see, you call them saints, and if you don’t like them and they disturb your sense of peace, you call them devils,” I made an educated conclusion upon which Father Francis further elaborated. 

Father Francis asked me if I had, or thought that I had done anything wrong. I dug hard into my recent past and had to confess that I was very attracted by the ladies in blue turquoise. 

After confession I was made to read out loud certain chapters of the Bible for at least half an hour. Father Francis released me after I put the rosary on the table and I was set free. So I planned my own schedule. I looked at my watch and suddenly realized that my time was two and a half hours in advance. I turned the clock to the local time in India and relaxed a little, automatically I walked back to the hotel room. 

The retreat was being held at the annex to the hotel and as I walked back to the hotel through a sheltered walkway, there was a slight drizzle but I need not take out my umbrella. Once I was inside I could see shops on both sides, they had mannequins like they were soldiers on a parade. I thought about the air hostesses in blue turquoise again. 

The streets were crowded, people walking randomly about. They were mostly dressed with a wrap around their waist. I knew that the Indian ladies who wore the sarong had a special way of knotting the grip. I told myself I would ask Father Francis if he could teach me that tomorrow instead of going on and on about the Bible. 

The hotel annex also had a massage parlour and a barber next to each other, with a revolving tube in blue and red lines at the entrance. I looked at the options and decided on the massage parlour. Since they were good at knots, they must similarly be good at untying the knots in my body when they massage me. I meant the blocked qi passages. I tiptoed upstairs, and found a darkened room with some people on the bed. 

“Sir, want some?” 

An Indian lady with long hair stood at the doorway, as though she did not want me to go in. 

“How much is this going to cost me?” I asked her. 

“It takes only an hour of your time,” woman replied. 

“I only want half hour,” I said. 

“No time?” woman said.

“Got, got time, but never done before,” I sounded like a little boy, naïve. 

“In that case, I charge you half hour,” woman answered. 

Mesmerized, I was being led into the room with the Indian charm, and the drumming sound, and I forgot that I was in a massage parlour. I lay on the bed. The bed had a hole to look through with my face downwards so that I could breathe without having to turn my head sideways. 

I took my jacket off and lay it by the side. Without a word the woman put her hands on my shoulder and she began. I had no chance to protest. I relaxed after a few pushes. 

“Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring,” 

It was my cell phone. It was loud and I jumped up from the bed. 

You want to answer?” the woman asked. 

I groped for it in the jacket. I was in a foreign country I needed to be connected in case the call came from Singapore.

“It’s me!” the voice on the other end said. 

“Hello,” only then I began. 

“Are you Mr. Chia?” she asked. 

“Yes, it’s me,” I replied instantly. 

“What are you doing now?” she asked. 

That was strange. A caller asking me what I was doing. I didn’t know whom she was. She had no business to ask me. But I felt compelled to answer. 

“I am having a massage being done now,” automatically I reported to her. 

“So you have arrived, Joshua.” she sounded pleased. 

Joshua was in Singapore how could he have arrived here in India? Unless, like Father Francis had said, his soul ascended into my body, and I took over his spirit. Apparently according to the Catholic faith, Jesus ascended into Heaven to be with his Father. I am Joshua’s twin-brother, our father had passed a long time ago. 

“Miss, I am Henry, not Joshua,” I tried to emphasize. 

This always happened, people calling for Joshua and speaking to me thinking that I was Joshua. I didn’t know why. Perhaps we sounded alike. 

“You from the headquarters?” I assumed. 

I was being employed by the Hearty Insurance Company in Singapore at the time. I wanted to tell the caller that I was here on retreat and not on paid leave. 

“The hotel is looking for you, wondering where you have gone to,” the woman sounded concerned. 

“Could you give me your room number again,” the woman asked. 

Instead of giving her the answer I decided not to trust her. I wanted to know if she were calling from Singapore or from India. 

“Have you reserved my seat on my flight back to Singapore?” I tried to engage her. 

The line went dead at this point. The masseur’s hand on my back. 

I looked up, I saw the woman staring at me, my instinct told me that the massage parlour disconnected my line from the caller. The service provider was now the Indian even though I was using a Singapore service number.

Two hours later I walked back to the hotel. I went to the gift shop to see if I could buy anything of value. A girl was sitting behind the counter. I picked up a postcard, the scenery of Taj Mahal was exactly as it should be. I bought the card and paid the cashier in Indian Rupiah. 

With some amount of satisfaction on my purchase, I walked out of the shop. My purpose became aimless again. The people around me paid no attention to me. I felt every bit a stranger in a foreign land. A taxi stopped in front of me and the driver asked me if I would like a tour around the city. I made a calculated risk and decided that there was no harm. 

The driver who took me through the streets was a man without a turban. The car was old and rattling, maybe because the roads were lined with pebbles at random. I could feel a layer of dust on my face as I wound down the window. I dared not ask for air-conditioning in the car as I was at the mercy of the driver. I allowed him to drive me until the point where he decided that I could get down and took some pictures. I made it clear that I was not here to shop. 

At the market place the driver told me to alight, “fruits,” he said. I didn’t travel all the way to India to look at fruits. As a matter of fact, I was told that if I were to eat food by the roadside stalls I could get diarrhoea so I merely glanced at the fruits displayed at the stalls, and made no attempt to get out of the car. Then my cell phone rang again. 

“Hello,” I answered. I was an insurance salesman by profession. I picked up calls as a matter of habit even if they were unknown. 

“What time can you come back? Joshua,” she sounded like an Indian lady, not at all the contact I expected. 

“I am outside now,” I said. 

“Come back by 7:00 p.m., Joshua,” she ordered. 

I was being addressed as Joshua again. What has happened to my twin-brother Joshua? 

Then I saw a woman with long slim legs. Her shoes a stark white so that I could follow her easily. They were tall and striped on her thin bony feet. Her flare skirt swung about against the light wind. I almost forgot that I was by myself in India, as I often brought Joshua with me everywhere I went even though he might not have been physically present. 

Again my cell phone rang. “Hello,” I said. 

“What time will you be back at the hotel? Joshua,” she asked. It was the same woman. 

“Who are you?” I decided not to talk to strangers now, since she could not tell me how Joshua was doing. I had decided that she was not a genuine caller. 

“I am Judy, your companion for the trip, thank you for asking, Joshua,” she said. 

“Listen, I want to know how Joshua was doing,” I began to get a little worried. I knew that he was ill, he could be dying. 

The woman in front turned into another lane. I followed suit and walked faster. 

“Could you receive some money for me? Joshua,” the woman on the line continued. 

“Of course, anything you ask.” I was a sucker for pretty women. I had begun to perceive the woman on the line to be the lady walking in front of me. And there was no harm in agreeing. I could always turn her down later. Oral agreements were unenforceable at law. 

Three minutes later I saw the lady with the white shoes standing by an ice-cream man. 

I ran towards the stall. She could disappear anytime. I didn’t want to be detained by the woman on the phone. 

By the time I got back to theWaterloo Inn I was considerably fagged out, my legs tired from too much aimless walking. Exercise was good, but I didn’t want to collapse in a foreign country. I turned on the television and sat around. Finally, I was tired enough to fall asleep on the bed. The sky outside was getting dark, and the curtains were left open. 

At dawn I chanced into the housekeeper at the corridor when she was cleaning the next room. Her housekeeping trolley which kept all of her tools was standing prominently along the corridor. The expensive Dunhill soap stared at me, and I found myself taking one bar. I walked back into my room to put it back into the soap dish. I told myself I wanted to change my image. 

I have turned over a new leaf, when I return back to Singapore, I am going to be myself once again. “I am not Joshua, I never was, has never been and will not be,” I said out loud to myself and rejected all notions that I was Joshua. 

Since I denied the fact that I was Joshua, I had better do something to my image. Perhaps having a new hair-do would be the best solution. I was not a woman so I couldn’t put on make-up to change the way I look.

The meant that I must go back to the salon again. T

he lady leaning by the door was too happy to welcome me in. 

“Do you sell fake hair?” I enquired before I stepped in, hesitant. 

“Yes, of course,” lady walked over to the side, signalling me to come in. 

She went to a row of hair wigs, of different colours, and I had to admit that they look rather nice. 

“Which colour do you want?” lady asked, flipping the silky brown linings. 

“I like a dark brown,” I said. 

“So you don’t want to change your hair colour?” lady seemed surprised. 

If I didn’t want a new colour I supposed there was no reason for me to put on a wig. People bought fake hair because they wanted to try out a new colour, and wanted the option to change back. 

“Ok, this one is nice,” she quickly flipped another set, before I changed my mind. 

I sat on the chair. A little unsure. 

The shop was small. I was on the only chair with a mirror in front. The one next to me was reclined, and a woman was resting on it. Her face was being made over as her eyes were shut, and I could see that there were no eye brows. She was not dead, I could see that from the tone of her skin, there was still some moisture on the open pores, and I could see breathing from her chest. 

I quickly turned my head away. 

“There, this is nice,” the lady proceeded to clip a patch of the fake hair onto my scalp, using some of the hair already stuck together. I saw some with tiny curls and they did look the same colour. 

“I think it is a little too long,” I complained. 

“I could cut it for you,” lady took out a pair of scissors. 

“Now?” 

“Let me think, err …… ok!” I made my decision. 

I saw my hair being snipped off, it didn’t feel like it at all as it wasn’t my hair. 

“Don’t worry, this haircut is free of charge,” lady said. 

Nothing was free. Time to ask for the price. 

“How much is it?” I was prepared for the worse. I should have asked for it before I began. I

was being slaughtered now in India. In Singapore we used the term loosely. She had performed the services, and I needed her to let me off. I couldn’t leave the shop without paying her. This was India. And the lady owned the salon. 

“Wait,” I saw the woman beside me got up from her reclining position, walked to the counter and just at the time, a young man came in and paid for the bill. Subsequently both of them walked off without saying a word. I observed them and took a hundred-dollar bill equivalent to fifty million Indian Rupee.

“Is that enough?” I asked casually, trying to hide my ignorance. 

The lady grabbed the money, put it in her pocket and said, “off you go.” 

With that, I walked out of the shop, back into the rays of sunlight where the evening sun cast a shadow on the floor. I saw a cat sitting by the steps just right in front of me. I wondered if he spoke Hindi, and I wondered if it belonged to the lady the owner of the salon. 

I thought of Joshua and his sprained ankle. And then Judy ringing me calling me by his name Joshua, and my conversation with Father Francis last night: that no two souls could be the same, even if for all intends and purposes as human beings, they appeared to be the same in outward appearances, the souls were the inborn character, the inner self, and how they treat another. 

I thought about it, and I asked myself how different Joshua could be from me? Joshua and I have been passing off as one and the same person. So that if he died, I would take over his persona.

So that Father Francis made me say a short prayer, and then he brought me to a fountain somewhere in the retreat premises whereby he said a prayer. I had no idea what he was muttering as it was in Hindi. I submitted to his super natural link, and made a silent petition: Let Joshua be Joshua, and Henry be Henry, let the two of us, Joshua and Henry, be separated henceforth. We were born on the same day, we shared the same set of parents, but we were not one and the same. 

I didn’t know how I linked it up. But fact was that I did, and that I had now come to the conclusion that Joshua could have been dead by now. For if Joshua were still alive, why would the caller the woman presumably from Singapore kept ringing for me and calling me by Joshua? She must have been looking for his next-of-kin, none other than myself. 

In that case, I must fly back to Singapore at once, to claim the remains of Joshua. Should I take the next flight out or waited for my original departure date which was the day after tomorrow? But at the same time I needed to verify if Joshua was dead, and at the same time verify myself. I suspected that I was being used as the soul of Joshua. For the caller kept calling me Joshua. 

Where was Father Francis? Father Francis was my only help. He knew who I was, he had been engaging in conversations with me for the last two days. I was registered with him as Henry Chia. He had all my details he couldn’t have mistaken me as Joshua Chia, unless he was sick. I panicked and rushed back into my room. That was my abode for the time being. 

Nothing happened until midnight, as it was the third day after midnight, I had eaten my meal at the same café, with Father Francis this time. 

Back at the hotel I automatically went to the concierge to pick up my keys. 

“What is your room number?” the receptionist asked. She was wearing the traditional sari. Her face white ashen. I was wondering why. 

“1102.” I said. 

“One-one what?” she asked. 

The receptionist handed me the keys to 1175. 

I picked it up, and I started to walk away. 

Then I thought about the salon again and the woman lying on the reclining couch next to me. And then later on the woman in white shoes. Could someone have passed? Could this woman be a corpse from another dimension? The ghosts which Father Francis and I have been talking about? And then it occurred to me that Joshua has died and that I had been the lead to the perpetrator.

I was being used as the brains of that killer! As far as I was concerned, I was now in India when Joshua’s death took place, I used my own passport to enter the country so there was no way in which I could have been the murderer. The hotel also checked me in as Henry Chia. 

At this juncture I realised that I must locate my travel document immediately. I used the key card to tap on the wi-fi operated front door. The lock gave a beep sound and it opened immediately as usual. I went straight to the safe. I remembered the pin very well; I had used the room number which was a number I would never forget., and I pressed the digits 2512 on the keypad. I pulled the catch, but the door did not open. It was jammed! I pulled again. But nothing happened.

Omg! Could the hotel cleaners have broken into the safe and taken my passport? 

I quickly went down to the receptionist to tell her that my safe could not open. I walked into the ground floor hotel lobby and found the receptionist counter full of guests all wanting to check in. I saw several people having food in the courtyard. One waitress saw me and she came up to make me an offer, “Sir, outside or inside?” She asked. “Inside,” I replied. The air was slightly chilly and I was wondering if I should remove my jacket. 

More people were inside rather than outside. I could hear generally that they were speaking in Hindi. I didn’t understand a word and so I had better use sign language. I drew a square sign in the air to signal that I wanted the menu. It came, but everything was cursive, a little bit like the Chinese calligraphy that I did not understand. So I decided on the food according to the pictures. 

Most of time I was wondering when I could go back to Singapore: whether I should take the next flight out or wait until my original departure date which was the day after tomorrow. I wanted to verify if Joshua was dead, and at the same time verify myself. 

I knew that I was not Joshua, and Joshua knew that he was not me. Father Francis and everyone in India had not been acquainted with the relatives and friends of Joshua. So only Joshua would know that I was not Joshua. But right now Joshua was not in India and it was not possible to get hold of these people to act as witnesses. I was a little lost. 

The next best thing was to go to the High Commission of Singapore to report the loss of my passport. I had no identification papers with me except my credit cards. I arrived at the concierge again, asked for a hotel limousine to bring me to the High Commission of the Republic of Singapore in New Delhi. The man seemed to know whereabouts it was, for he took out a piece of paper and wrote something on it. I thought it was the local address. 

“Could you get me a taxi to go to the High Commission of the Republic of Singapore?” 

“Certainly, anything you say, Mr Chia.” The Indian man replied politely. 

I did not have to wait long before I was ushered out into the cold air of New Delhi and the Indian taxi driver was extremely polite. He picked up the luggage and opened the boot, put my luggage in after confirming with me, “The boot, Sir?” 

I nodded my head as I was keen to report the loss. 

The taxi made three turnings before he hit the main road. I could see that the traffic became heavy at this point as many cars were competing with the use of the same road. How much taxes do they pay? I tapped on my App for the exchange rate on the Google. With Google you could never go wrong. I decided to use the Google map this time. 

The road signs were in English, but when I looked up I found the street signs all in Hindi. 

So I immediately turned to the driver, “How much longer would I take to arrive at the High Commission?” 

“High Commission?” he asked. 

“Yes, the High Commission of the Republic of Singapore.” I replied. 

“I thought you want to go to the airport.” The man was looking a little cross. 

“No, not the airport. The High Commission.” I answered. 

“But the hotel told me you want to go to the Indira Gandhi Airport.” He said again. 

“No, the High Commission of the Republic of Singapore in New Delhi.” I raised my voice a little. 

“What is the address?” He asked. 

“GOD DAMN IT! I DON’T KNOW!” I started shouting, angry. 

“Don’t shout.” Driver was very calm. And then he turned up the volume of the radio on his vehicle. 

The sound of the drums disturbed me now. 

“LOWER THE VOLUME.” I was beginning to lose control. 

“No worries, Mr Joshua Chia.” Indian man replied. 

My name is Joshua. 

Today was 5 December 2016, and I was still in India. But at least I had not been charged for the crime I thought I would commit. And I had no idea when I would be Henry again.