Author: Lee Su Min 李素明

I can’t possibly quarrel with him ….

It was not uncommon for couples to quarrel with each other soon after marriage or even immediately after the wedding ceremony. 

I could hear my neighbours quarrelling again. It was the woman who was shouting, as always. I couldn’t hear the exact words but from the tone of the voice I knew that this time it was going to last for at least an hour. 

The last time they quarrelled was last night, at about 8:00 p.m., just after dinner. Tonight it was now 8:37 p.m., a little later. Yes, they have been on schedule. Like the local drama it came on every night regularly after dinner. They were behind schedule tonight. 

The voice was getting louder. I could only hear the woman scream. No sound from the man. The man never argued with his wife. I have seen Emily before. She was a petite woman. I meant she didn’t smile at you even when you came into contact with her face to face. Of course I did not attempt to greet her. We met only outside along the narrow lane that ran along all thirteen houses at this terrace housing estate. 

At first tonight I thought it was the end and that they were not going to quarrel anymore. The man has walked out on the woman. I could hear the car zooming out from their compound next door. 

Emily was rather pretty if you asked me. I wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend like her. But then when I thought of her loud voice in their quarrels my mind started to doubt. You never knew a woman until after she has opened her mouth. But, on the other hand, she might not quarrel with me if I were her husband instead. Yes, it must be her husband’s fault. I was partial to Emily. 

I didn’t know her at all. I knew her to be Emily because the postman delivered one of her letters into my letterbox. It was marked: 

Mrs Emily Lim 9 St Sauveur Terrace Singapore 286913 

I hoped the SingPost man hasn’t delivered any of my letters into her letterbox instead, too. 

I often wondered whether I should intervene in their quarrels. Maybe one of us should ring their doorbell and woke them up to the fact that the entire neighbourhood could hear them. And frankly in heated quarrels like that, people did get carried away to the point where they simply quarrel for the sake of quarrelling without a purposeful object. I wondered if they ever remembered what they have quarrelled over. And was it over the same subject every night? 

I was very curious as to the topic of their quarrels. I wanted to know what exactly they were quarrelling about, as I would like to be their mediator, to judge if the man or the woman was right. Probably both of them were in the wrong. In the first place, husbands and wives should not enter into any protracted arguments. 

Have they taken their marriage vows? But on the other hand, marriage vows only told you, “for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health,” the solemniser never told you that you must not argue with your spouse. I have been married before and I could still remember those lines. 

I looked at my watch. It was 9:45 p.m. They have been at it for more than an hour. I thought someone must stop her ugly outbursts. So far tonight the man hasn’t said anything and I was very surprised at his remarkable control. She was usually the one who was shouting. I have often wondered how the demure looking Emily could muster such a loud voice. She must have been very angry. 

I was a divorce lawyer so I knew from experience that this couple must be estranged. Maybe one of them was having an affair and the other one was confronting him or her about it. It was more likely for the man to be having an affair rather than the woman. I have observed that Emily seemed to be a housewife for she rarely went out. The car belonged to the man and it was out early in the morning and came back before I was back by 7:00 p.m. 

I was living at the immediate neighbouring terrace house. The other adjoining house was vacant, so I was the one neighbour who heard what was going on. 

Actually I liked Emily a lot. I looked forward to bumping into her in Chancery Supermarket just outside our estate. It was a small setup and only the daily essentials were on the shelves. I went there every Saturday afternoon at about 6:00 p.m., just after I have woken up from my nap. The store was usually less crowded at this time for by then most people had gone out for their weekend dinner. 

The first time I chanced on Emily I didn’t know that she was my neighbour. She was wearing a loose dress like she was carrying a baby but at the same time you could see that her stomach was flat. Her hair was loosely tied up and it gave her a lazy and trendy look at the same time. She wore a pair of high heels, which gave the impression that going to the supermarket was not the only activity for that appearance. I noticed her at once. 

On my way back from the supermarket I met her again by accident. I usually took the long and winding road by foot, as it was not too far a distance. It took less than forty-five minutes one way. And then just as I arrived at my street, I saw her standing at the gate opening the padlock. That was how I knew the woman was my neighbour – Emily. 

The next day promptly at 8:00 p.m. again I heard a woman shouting from inside the house. It must be Emily the same woman. Fact that she has the keys to the house showed that she lived there, and unless she lived there, she won’t be shouting at the top of her voice. You didn’t go into a friend’s house and started shouting. My logical deduction told me that the woman I saw at the supermarket was Emily my neighbour at number 9. 

Since I have seen her, something compelled me to move in, to check on them. Quickly I grabbed my own set of house keys and I went to her front gate. I pressed the bell. I told myself if she asked me why I was there I would simply tell her that I was told that my mail was wrongly delivered to her house. 

I rang the doorbell. I stood patiently waiting outside. If they had been quarrelling, they would not hear my visit, or rather intrusion, and a friendly intrusion out of concern. I wished I had a watch with me at the time. I came out of the house on impulse and it was just to the neighbour so apart from the Esprit t-shirt and shorts that I was wearing I carried nothing with me. My handphone was also left in my own house. 

I didn’t know how long I waited, but after about fifteen minutes there was no reaction. I could still hear the woman shouting, and it was even louder from just outside the gate. I rang the doorbell a second time, this time a little bit more insistent. Still there was no answer. But on that night at that particular point in time I felt I had to gain entry. 

So, I waited for a little while longer and when on the third attempt there was no immediate response, I tried to open the gate manually. All our gates were sensor operated, which meant that you usually use a remote control to open it. But you could also pull it open manually. Surprisingly when I stretched my hand inside and felt the latch, there was no padlock, which meant that the gate wasn’t locked at all. 

So, since there was no opposition I walked in with trepidation. I had entirely forgotten about the word “trespass.” Inside the lights were on. Standing at the garden I could not see any figure there. I expected them to be at the dining room. They must have been in the bedroom, probably with the door locked. But then the noise seemed like they were situated on the ground floor.

The bedroom was on the second floor. I knew because I was the neighbour. I lived in a house built to the same architectural design. By this time I couldn’t contain my curiosity any longer. I knocked on the front door and at the same time without waiting for a response I attempted to open the door. 

To my surprise the door opened at the turn of the doorknob. I peeped my head inside and I saw no one. By now I could see clearly that no one was downstairs where the lights were on. But someone must be inside the house. No one would have left his house unlocked and vacant at the same time unless he was inviting a thief. I was very sure that I was not a thief, so I became bolder. I was just a friendly neighbour trying to settle a dispute between two persons who were married and who shouldn’t be quarrelling. 

As I was thinking I walked up the spiral staircase that led to the second floor where the bedroom was. Still there was no one. Two doors faced me as I reached this level. I knew exactly which was the door to the master bedroom. This door was left open. The other door was also ajar. 

With firmness in thought and spirit I stepped in, I had not prepared my speech I had no idea what I wanted to say. All I knew was that I had a mission to accomplish. At that time, I haven’t thought about the fact that I might be perceived as a thief. In any case I felt that I was just an uninvited guest. 

No one was inside. The bed was a double bed, and the sheets a dark green. It was actually kind of awful. Most people chose a lighter shade and possibly linen. Then just as I was about to step out, I heard a sob in the bathroom. It was unmistakably clear that someone was crying. At this time, I did not know whom it was, but I knew that I had to look inside and saw to the person who was in need of sympathy. I walked in. And there I saw a woman with long hair, her hair over her face as she was sobbing away. 

“What happened?” I asked her. 

“My husband left me,” she said. 

“But that is no reason to cry like that! Just file for divorce and ask for money,” I said matter of fact. I was mercenary. 

I was a divorce lawyer and I handled a lot of these cases. 

“No, I don’t want a divorce, not now,” I had forgotten entirely about the image of the Emily I met earlier at the supermarket. 

She looked different under the dim bathroom light, and frankly she was not the firm strong character that I thought I knew. I took a step back and I told her I would like to speak to her again. This time properly. 

“Wash your face first. Can I talk to you downstairs?” I ordered her politely. 

And then I walked out of the master bedroom. I waited for her downstairs in the dining room, but she never came down. Half an hour later I decided to leave the scene to go back to my own house, my mind still thinking of the sobbing woman. 

My curiosity have been aroused and I couldn’t put the woman out of my mind. The next morning, I woke up feeling sleepy and I lay in bed for a long time before I could recognize my own room. Last night I went to bed thinking of the sobbing Emily and I placed myself there. I had momentarily forgotten that I was not living there. 

The furniture in her house was arranged very much in the same manner as mine since we were in the same set of terrace houses. I was wondering what time it was when I left the house. I got out of bed wanting to rush over there again. But I needed my coffee first. I couldn’t function without a cup of coffee in the morning. I liked the aroma of the beans. 

Half an hour later I found myself in number 9 again. I didn’t go up to the bedroom straight away. I paused in the kitchen first. The kitchen was large, much like the one that I had, except that this one has the most beautiful fridge. Her fridge has a mirror as the door. When you stood in front of the fridge you could see your own reflection in the mirror. And her fridge was full of magnets. 

I stared at the picture of Emily in a magnet frame stuck on side by side with Mona Lisa. It bore quite a resemblance. She had this unmistakable mystique in her smile. I was tempted to take the magnet of Emily’s picture and “steal” it, putting it inside my pocket. Then I remembered Emily again. 

I could see that she has not woken up yet. The kettle has not been turned on and the coffee percolator was empty. I already had my coffee next door before I came. But something told me that she was at home upstairs. I knew that she was alone for her husband’s BMW was not in the garage. 

In any case I was not afraid of meeting her husband. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, yet. The front door was left ajar, so it was like an invitation to treat. I haven’t taken anything from the house. Until I removed the picture magnet from her fridge door, I was not a thief. 

Automatically I took the kettle to the basin and I filled up the water to the brim. I put the kettle back on the kitchen top and I pressed the little red button at the side of the handle. It would take time to boil. Immediately the kettle gave the sound of water churning inside. I had the option of waiting for the water to boil or to go up to see if she was actually in the house. Invariably my curiosity got the better of me and I left the kitchen to go upstairs. 

No one was in the master bedroom. I walked past the wardrobe to the bathroom where I last found her. Nope. The bathroom was tidy. No one was inside. Then I decided to walk to the other parts of the house to see if she was inside the other rooms. The other room on the second-floor room was vacant. I took the winding steps to the third floor. 

Two rooms faced me. I peeped into the larger room first then the other one. Neither was there a soul. By now I could safely conclude that no one was inside the house. Then why had the front door been left unlocked? 

I was alone in this house now. I could have taken anything lying on the table away when I left this house. And no one would know about it. But I decided not to be a thief. It was not in my nature. I was a divorce lawyer and a reputable one at that. As a matter of fact, I was handling the divorce case between Timothy Chan Meng Chee and Suzie Wong Ai Wen. They were both celebrities and the case was been sensational. Perhaps that was why I was here. I sensed that the couple living in this house needed a separation, and I was about to be the catalyst in the breakup. But then how did I bring about an explosion? 

Suddenly something clicked. I went to the bureau and I tore out a piece of paper from the notepad. A pen lay conveniently by the side in a holder made of porcelain. I used the pen and I wrote: 

“Be back late, don’t wait for me for dinner.” 

Then I took the paper and went into the kitchen. The kitchen was usually the centre of activity in any house. I took the time to decide which magnet I wanted to use and I chose the one of Emily’s picture. 

I didn’t want to be a thief. If I wanted Emily’s picture I would ask her for it. I stuck my handwritten note under the magnet onto the side of the fridge near the kettle. No one lived in a house without having to use a kettle. Boiled water was an essential part of living. The water I added into the kettle was boiled by then. The note on the fridge would catch Emily’s attention when she came for breakfast. 

It was about 10:00 a.m., and I walked out of Emily’s house under bright sunlight, proud of the fact that nothing had been stolen from the house, so far. I went home, dressed and changed to go to the office. The day was hectic, and I almost forgot about my neighbour and their predicament. This morning I walked out of the house leaving it unlocked, in the same condition as when I had walked in. After all I did not have the keys to the house. I couldn’t have locked it up for them anyway. 

When I went home after work that night, I dropped by the Chancery Supermarket to buy a carton of orange juice. There was no sign of Emily as I walked home. The metallic grey BMW was prominently parked at the garage as I was walking past her house to come home, the round blue and white insignia glaring at me. I wondered if my neighbour had seen my note. I peeped in to see if there was any sign of activity. 

The lights in the dining room were on as well as the ones on the second floor. They could very well be having dinner together or they might not be having dinner together. But there was definitely no sign of impending quarrels. 

I decided to leave them alone.

I have a habit of bringing work home. Tonight, I sat in the library, which was the room on the third-floor, and I was trying to compose an affidavit for Justice Thomas. I knew what kind of approach he would like, and I knew that he liked the profile of my client. So, I was of the strong opinion that I would win this case for Suzie Wong. 

But as I was typing the quarrelling from next door distracted my mind. I could hear the door slamming several times and then later on the sound of the engine revving up before the car drove out of the estate. I knew that it was the BMW.

And then I remembered the note I left on the fridge. Did she assume that it came from her husband and asked him about it? If I said he wasn’t coming home for dinner tonight, why would he be back? I wanted to walk into the house again to survey the situation. I still remembered that she was crying in the bathroom two nights ago. 

I didn’t know what compelled me, but I walked in again. This time the house looked as though it has been through a hurricane. Books were thrown all over the floor. But thank God the kitchen magnets were still intact. I could see the note I left behind. But beside it there is another: 

“I know that you are gone, I will meet you at the 101st Floor for Saints.” 

The 101st Floor for Saints was the most expensive restaurant in town. It was right on top of the King’s Cross Building and the tables were arranged at the edge of the balcony so that you got the feeling as though you were sitting at the tip of the cliff dropping 300 meters to the seashore. The only danger was that the lights were dim and you have to be very careful where you were walking. But the decor was laid out in such a manner that you have no chance to walk out of the 101st floor unless you climbed over the tables. 

I knew by now that I have unwittingly entered into the lives of Mr and Mrs Lim, but I was not so sure I would want to pull myself out at this stage. I had not formally met Mr Lim. From what I knew, until now, he seemed an absent husband more than anything else. All the while I was hoping to catch a glimpse of him but of that I was unsuccessful. Emily it was the woman I had seen at the supermarket and that night in the bathroom. 

At this point I still had the option of turning away and walking out. But I was too intrigued and perhaps too weak to walk away from this house now. I went upstairs to the bathroom again. The bathroom was messy. An eye shadow was left open, with the rouge by its side. The basin was full of traces of foundation, as though she had spilled a bottle of toner on it. 

There was still a lingering smell of the perfume that she wore before she left. I took my time inside, wondering if I should clean up the mess. Then I knew what I had to do. I walked out of the bathroom and I went back into the kitchen downstairs again. 

I went to the fridge and there I saw the note: 

“I know how to jump like a cat.” 

I knew I didn’t make that note. This was not my own handwriting. Of course I could recognize my own handwriting. It belonged either to Mr Lim or Emily – I assumed they were legally married. And then I went to the bureau again and found the notepad. This time I noticed that on top of the bureau were a few pictures of a man and a woman together but they were very old photographs. 

One of the drawers of the bureau was left open as though no one bothered to close it back. I used the same pen and I wrote on another piece of paper: 

“Do you want a divorce?” 

Then I grabbed it and I stuck it on the fridge, again using the magnet with her picture on it. 

I knew that the couple had begun to correspond via the notes on the fridge by now. And then I walked out of the house, enjoying the cool mint air. 

It took only three steps to walk back into my own house. I took out a cigar from my drawer in the living room, originally meant for my guests. I wrapped up the leaves carefully then and I puffed out the smoke before I actually inhaled it. I was certain that Lim would see my note when he came back this evening. 

I thought by now I have created a sufficient rift between the couple and I knew the next thing that I must do. Tomorrow before I went to work I would drop off one of my name cards in their letterbox as I passed by their house on the way to work. And then I would wait for the phone call. I didn’t know the Lim’s number so I must pick up any call that came in. I checked that my phone was not on silent. 

I was prepared to act for either the husband or the wife. But I was just wondering who would initiate the divorce proceedings. In this case, the grounds for divorce were not totally clear. I ran the list down quickly in my mind. Adultery, desertion, insanity …. I supposed they would have to wait for a three-year separation. 

For this I would have to interview either one of them personally myself. Once that happened I would be privy to their lives and the conversations that went on every night. I couldn’t wait to go home during the day, and I did all of my tasks in a haphazard manner. No calls came in. 

The gate to my house was usually locked. I did not drive so the front porch was bare. I didn’t have green fingers but I tried to keep a few plants in the garden so that my house did not look too different from those of my neighbours. Mrs Han who lived opposite had her garage filled with palms and azaleas. I was told that she worked at Sentosa Island and came back only in the weekends. 

This morning I did not padlock the gate as I was waiting for the gardeners to come in to attend to my little patch of garden. They came in once a fortnight and usually on a Sunday when I was in. 

It was a sunny day. And the air was humid and dry. The temperature was a 32 degrees Celsius and it put people in a bad mood. I offered Ah Hock the gardener a drink and he came in to sit down for a short while. 

“Do you want me to help you get the contract for the neighbours as well?” 

It occurred to me that since Ah Hock was doing the work for my patch of lawn, he might want to do the neighbouring lawns at the same time. 

“You mean number 9?” He sounded quite surprised. I caught his expression so I was wondering if he knew them already. 

“You know Mrs Lim?” I asked. 

“Err, as a matter of fact, yes,” he replied. 

“I know her too,” I affirmed. 

I wanted to ask him if he ever saw the husband and wife together but before I mentioned her husband, Ah Hock said,

“Do you know that she is a widower from KL?” he continued,

“apparently her husband died three years ago in a fishing trip in Penang …… his boat never returned.” 

“Ohh?” My mind went blank. I thought she had a man inside her house?! Don’t tell me she was the one driving the car all this while. Come to think of it, I never saw her husband whom I assumed to be Mr Lim. I always heard the car being driven out of the garage but I never saw the driver. 

“Recently she has begun to say that he is back,” Ah Hock continued. 

“What do you mean he is back?” I thought he just said that Mr Lim was dead, that was the whole point of the conversation. 

“No, I mean …. ” 

“What?!” I was getting very perturbed and agitated now, and I was inside the story as one of the characters. 

If he were indeed dead, then who was writing all these notes to me on the fridge? 

“No, she has been saying that his spirit is back, and that he is in communication with her now,” Ah Hock carried on, oblivious to the look of horror on my face. 

The notes!

I must retrieve my notes on the fridge!

What if someone else has seen them? Has she passed it to other people? Who else has seen them apart from Emily herself? It was not meant for other people. The notes were meant for the occupants of the house, specifically she. I was pretending to be Mr Lim writing on his behalf. Gosh! So I had become her late husband. Since when? 

To correct this misunderstanding I must act at once. Immediately I walked away from the gardener straight to number 9. I opened the gate, which had the padlock on hanging open. The ease with which I opened the gate and the fact that I did it without attempting to ring the bell beforehand made it all quite implausible. 

I knew that Ah Hock must be watching me. But I wanted to take my notes back. I must. I could not be seen as a late person. I was quite superstitious. Some terrible misunderstanding had taken place and I must correct it at once. 

I went straight to the kitchen where the same beautiful fridge stood in front of me. This time it didn’t look so beautiful to me. All the magnets were still in place. They look just the same and surprisingly they were still in the same order of arrangement as I last saw it. By now I knew that the orange was placed on top of the night scene of Paris and the handbag was on the left of the frog. I was amazed at the number of magnets she had on the fridge and the designs were all so unique. 

I remembered where I put the note where I wrote the words: “Do you want a divorce?” 

I knew that if Emily had seen the note and did not intend to go to King’s Cross Building she would have written another note and placed it by the side on the fridge. The fact that my note was still in there meant that there was hope. But she was not at home now. 

How did I prevent her from attending our meeting if she had already seen the note? How could I have been so careless as not to see that the poor woman had a death wish when she said that she knew how to jump like a cat? Oh God, how could I ask her to divorce her husband? Was she going to kill herself? If she jumped down from the 101st floor of King’s Cross Building it would be my doing and my doing alone. How I wished I had not been talking to her like this. 

But I supposed no one could accuse me of any criminal wrong doing. There was no criminal intent in the first place. If she leaped from the 101st floor and died the verdict would be recorded as suicide and that was all. I didn’t push her over and I certainly would not do so. In order not to incriminate myself I must avoid the King’s Cross Building at all costs until tonight well after the restaurant on the 101st floor has closed business for the day. 

And I must pick an alibi immediately. Right, Ah Hock would be the right person. I quickly walked out of number 9, and I went back to Ah Hock continuing to chat with him about the weather and how the recent spike of dry spell has been damaging to our plants. 

Ah Hock has finished with my lawn and he was still waiting. I knew that he was waiting for me to pay him. In order to detain him I decided to tell him that I had no cash with me and I asked him to follow me to the nearest ATM for me to withdraw cash. And then I wanted to go to an ATM where next to it I could sit down and have a cup of tea with refill all day. I would sit in a public place until nightfall. 

Once I paid Ah Hock he left me to go to another job. I sat in a twenty- four hour café and made sure that I kept the receipt, which I paid by credit card. I took a taxi home and I also kept the receipt. By this hour any diner would have ended, no matter how protracted it might be. I made sure that the taxi stopped right in front of number 11 my own house. 

As I tried to open the gate I realized that this morning I had forgotten to lock it when I was distracted having left the house with Ah Hock. I had also forgotten to lock the front door. But no harm was done. Nothing was amiss. Every piece of furniture was in place. In any case I never left any cash at home. 

I was a little thirsty so I went to the fridge to try and get some water. Ice water was always a better thirst quencher. Then I noticed a magnet stuck on the door; it has a picture of Emily. And beside it was written the words: 

“A sum of twenty thousand dollars has been found missing in my drawer. Ah Hock is a witness to your house breaking by day this morning.” 

And all along I thought I was a clever lawyer.

Chapter 1

Desmond saw her again. 

“Mother Mary, I implore you, my life is in your hands, please answer my prayer. I have only one life and I want to put it in your hands. Please save his life.” Desmond could almost hear Molly. 

There were usually a lot of people at the Holy Ground Church on Sunday. Most of them came together as a family whereas Desmond often went alone. This was because he believed in meeting with God alone. He prayed alone. When he was with people he couldn’t pray. Words just couldn’t flow out of his mouth fluently. 

Although he had an altar at home where he prayed, he believed in going to Mass at least once a day. He didn’t have any specific requests yet. But this was an example set by his mother. She prayed fervently and she told Desmond that she was praying hard for him to find a wife. Desmond was not married yet although he was nearing forty. 

This church sang the hymn that Desmond liked, it moved him, so he liked going back to Holy Ground Church although as Catholic you could attend Mass at any other venue. Methodist churches have less rituals but the Homily in Catholic churches were shorter, so that Desmond didn’t have to spend too much time away from work. 

After the usual Mass, he decided to pop in at Mother Mary to talk to her privately. Wearing her white gown with the blue sash, she looked regal and tall. Desmond told her about himself, what he was doing, and what he didn’t want to do. She listened quietly without a word. She was a statue anyway so she couldn’t argue. A good listener. 

Chapter 2

Desmond always approached Mother Mary whenever he found that he couldn’t confide in anyone else. 

There were one or two interruptions. Molly came in and stood in between the statue and Desmond. She rubbed her hand on the pure white porcelain. He ignored her and continued to talk to Mother Mary. After a while he walked to the side and knelt. That was when she first noticed Desmond. 

Desmond talked to Mother Mary for another five minutes. He saw Molly knelt there with her head bowed almost touching the ground. When he decided to walk away she was still there, but Desmond decided to leave to go back to the clinic. Sometimes he worked on Sunday. 

Chapter 3

From church Desmond went straight to his clinic. Contrary to most doctors’ clinic, Desmond’s clinic was not clinical at all. 

Three receptionists sit inside a desk sharing two computers and a printer. Karen was the one who usually attended to Desmond. And then there were Lucy and Catherine. All three have similar profiles, they were all married with children and about the same age between thirty and forty. Desmond has no favourite. Karen’s attendance was chosen amongst them. You could say that Desmond was not interested in women except for the babies in their stomach. Until he met Molly. 

Further inside the reception is Desmond’s office. There was another small room next to it, apart from the fairly large waiting room. You could choose either green tea or Ceylon tea. Desmond forbids coffee as caffeine was harmful for the foetus. Karen was his private nurse. It was a successful sole proprietorship earning at least half a million dollars a year. They closed only during the Chinese New Year for two days, and even then, if a patient had to give birth during one of the days, Desmond had to come around to do the delivery. 

Nobody can time birth. But so far, none of his patients have given birth when Desmond were at a New Year’s Eve reunion dinner with his parents. 

Yes, he still lived with his parents. That was because he was not yet married. Desmond has had at least three girlfriends, but he found none of them suitable. After a while he got tired of them as he realized that all they wanted was a one-way ticket to permanent retirement. He knew that he was extremely eligible as he was a gynaecologist. His motto was that any woman within the child bearing age was his potential patient. 

Many patients told Desmond that he had very good “bedside manners.” He didn’t know what that meant; it just came natural to him. Perhaps his patients liked him because he talked to them in plain ordinary English and not Singlish. 

When you spoke to someone in Singlish you gave them the impression that you were condescending. Desmond could speak Chinese too, but it was not his mother tongue. Unless he was in a predominately Chinese environment Desmond didn’t open his mouth in Mandarin. 

Desmond had decided to go on a holiday that year. He planned to visit the Lourdes in France. Lourdes is a quiet town three hours away from Paris by air and then by car it was another two and a half hours. Stuart had flown in from London and gave him a jug of water from The Lady of Lourdes to drink when Desmond had an accident and almost died. 

Chapter 4

At the time when he was lying in the hospital a priest came to visit him and gave him some “Lourdes” water. This water has powerful curative ability. It tasted like any other water. It was actually water from the holy tap in the church compound at The Lady of Lourdes in France. Father Damien emphasized that it was not ordinary water. 

Desmond Song believed in it and swore that he must find its source. He got the surgeon the head of the department in the hospital to attend to the scar on his face and then he got himself discharged within two weeks. 

After he left hospital Desmond booked tickets online for one. He decided he had to pay a visit to the actual pilgrimage. He was single-minded and scheduled one flight out of Singapore directly to Paris and then from Paris to Pau Airport. He even managed to book the transfer from Pau to the hotel online. He wanted to make his confessions overseas at The Lady of Lourdes in case the priests in Singapore could not keep their mouths shut. 

As a doctor Desmond knew that patients should never be discharged. Once he got one appointment he made sure that his staff followed up on calls. His target would be a safe delivery for both mother and child. 

He has done caesarean, IVF, as well as other fertility treatments. Karen was always in the room when Desmond attended to his client. It was important that a third party should be around during consultation. He couldn’t install his CCTV as it was a maternity clinic and privacy was of the patients was of utmost concern. So that Karen became his alibi. 

After he had managed everything he became very contented with himself and he relaxed a little. Often in the afternoon there were less patients. He took out his cell phone and started to talk to his friend Stuart in U.K. again. Desmond had known Stuart since he studied medicine nineteen years ago. At that time London was still showing “Mouse Trap”, and Desmond wondered if he could drop by Stuart’s place en route to France. 

Desmond hadn’t seen Stuart for six years. The last time they met was in Singapore. 

“Any chance of meeting soon?” Desmond typed. 

No reply came. Stuart might be offline. He threw the cell phone aside and decided to go through his case notes. It was lunchtime, so the reception knew not to allow anybody in. He was always happy with himself as his accuracy for timing a delivery had been one hundred percent correct.

Chapter 5

Food was plentiful in Singapore, and every pregnant woman got to eat what she wanted, or rather, what the baby wanted. None of his patients were malnourished. He prescribed extra iron tablets for them and made them come at least once every four weeks. They paid for his services and he delivered their babies. It scared many pregnant women to think what will happen if his clinic closed. 

Desmond went to his side table and poured a glass of water from the jug, then added a vitamin C tablet. He watched the tablet dissolve and then drank the liquid immediately. Vitamin C loses its efficacy if you did not drink it at once. It had been Desmond’s habit to take one after lunch each day. Desmond was a doctor, so he was good at looking after himself. Tomorrow I must go to the pharmacy and buy some magnesium tablets.

Magnesium tablets were good for soothing the nerves. Desmond have been finding it a little difficult to fall asleep these few nights recently. The tablets were supposed to relax and make him calmer. He didn’t know what he was worried about. Probably he had been a bachelor for too long, and being single without a companion could be quite taxing on the nerves. 

It was true that sometimes late at night you really wanted to talk to someone about your problems. Friends were always on hand, but not if they were married. 

Remaining single was his choice. So far Desmond had dated three women: the first left, the second, and so did the third. He found that there was no ideal wife. Desmond told himself that he must talk to Mother Mary again and surrender this problem to her. His parents had been asking him when he would be bringing the next girl home. 

And so after work Desmond made a special trip to see Mother Mary again. 

There were about thirty Catholic churches in Singapore, so there were at least thirty such Mother Mary statues in Singapore. But he particularly liked the statue of the one in the Holy Ground Church. This Mother Mary seemed to be smiling at him whenever he looked at her. Her face was fatter, and her eyes not so small. They were a little darker and larger, more lively and responsive. Her face also had more colour, and she gave him the impression that she could hear him. Maybe she could. 

Chapter 6

Desmond saw Molly again. 

But this time he could not hear her. She bowed her head low, and she had a headscarf. The headscarf was white lace, and she had another scarf around her neck. Her dress was white, but the scarf was multicoloured. Desmond was most attracted by her scarf. He thought about putting it around a snowman and taking a picture with him. 

So he waited. He stood near her. As there were people around, he could not get close to her. After a while she knelled down for a long time. Desmond could see that she was completely oblivious to his presence and of the people around her. She was in a world of her own. He became a little jealous of her. 

How could anyone be so completely in commune with God?

Desmond watched her in silence until after she had finished. Then he followed her out of the hall and out of the church. He had forgotten what he had come for. Once out of church, she turned a corner and he lost sight of her. 

Frustrated, Desmond went in to church to find Mother Mary to pray again. This time he only managed to pray the Rosary. he had lost his words. Desmond did not know what he should pray for. 

When he went home he turned on the television straight away. Hong Kong was having demonstrations and it was not the first time in recent history. Desmond had been there before in peaceful days, but now after this he doubted it would ever be the same again. 

At dinner his parents were silent, and he knew what was on the tip of their tongues. Since he broke off with Bee Ling they wanted to know if  he had found someone else. Desmond was not in a hurry to get married. He saw pregnant women every day and helped bring dozens of babies into the world each week. 

Desmond was acutely aware that once married, romance would die off and all that came was responsibility. Love was only exciting in the beginning. He has had three courtships. He knew that women put on a mask when they saw him. For one, they already have makeup on when they went out with him. Especially with Bee Ling, he dreaded to see what that face looked like after a wash and cleanse. 

Chapter 7

Today as he walked into the clinic Karen came after him, “I have somebody by the name of Elizabeth who cancelled her appointment five times, shall I turn her down the next time she calls?” 

“Did she leave her phone number behind?” Desmond asked. 

“No, she refused. That was why I am asking. She was most uncooperative.” 

“My policy is to see every patient,” Desmond said. 

He enjoyed his work, and in all his years of practice he has never had any problem with any pregnancies. Many women came to him and conceived after a few consultations. Desmond Song did planned parenthood, fertility treatment right down to delivery. 

“Why don’t you put her through the next time she calls? I will talk to her myself.” he walked into his room and started work. 

Most women who come to Desmond were happy about their state of affairs and were looking forward to the birth of their child. But he had also encountered a few who asked him to do abortions. It was an unpleasant job, but Desmond knew that he had to do it when the patient insisted on it. 

“The father doesn’t want the child” was always the reason. 

Desmond had managed to talk three of his patients out of it by asking to speak with the man. Abortion wasn’t difficult and was easier than labour as labour was only half time. He felt lousy whenever he had to perform such a task. 

But so far he had done two such cases. That was why he had been going to Mother Mary every day recently. Since his baptism and confirmation as a Catholic a year ago, Desmond had listened to Homilies where the priests said abortion was a sin. It was prohibited in the Catholic faith. 

He had already lost his concentration so that one of his patients haemorrhaged so much blood during the caesarean section that she needed several blood transfusions. But thank God both mother and child were fine after twelve hours of labour. He talked to Molly rather than Mother Mary more often.

Chapter 8

Finally, Desmond decided to go to Father Damien for confession. Although he did not perform the abortions when he was a Catholic, he felt that he had to come clean and plead God’s forgiveness. Some offences you could not plead ignorance, so that Desmond felt that he was guilty under the Catholic law. 

Desmond waited at the church office for the church worker to tell him when Father Damien would be free. He wanted a long session with Father Damien, so he asked for his schedule. He needed to elaborate on his medical practice and why he did those abortions in the first place. 

As far as legality was concerned, all the doctor needed do was to get the patient to sign a consent form. But in the eyes of the Catholics, human life began at conception. So that Desmond became a sinner at once when he performed the abortion. 

But Desmond did not agree on this theory. He studied hard for his medical degree, and even if he did “murder,” it was done to a fetes, an unborn child. The “baby” before it was born was not yet a human being. 

Abortions were illegal when they were done at twenty weeks. 

One woman sat in line at the clinic for four hours to get to see Desmond, some even waited for three or four house outside his waiting room. 

When Desmond did those abortions, they were done before the second trimester, which was before the pregnancy was into the twelfth week. 

Now that Desmond was a Catholic, he felt that he shouldn’t do it anymore. For this he had to pray to the Almighty that he did not have any walk-in patients that looked for him to perform this kind of service. 

Desmond almost forgot that he was supposed to ask Mother Mary to pray for him. He was a new Catholic, new to the rites of this faith. He often forgot to pray with the rosary. He put one by his bedside, one in the drawer in his office, and he had one in his car in the glove compartment. 

Whenever Desmond prayed he just said whatever came to his mind, although Catholics were supposed to follow the Hail Mary and to finish the whole chain of rosary beads. He liked the beads, they shined, and he was often tempted to buy them when he browsed the bookstore located just outside the sanctuary, on the right as you came out. 

Chapter 9

Especially with the latest fad following Trumpcare in America defunding Planned Parenthood, Desmond saw it as a clear signal that abortion was not welcomed. 

At 7:30 p.m. Desmond rang the church bell at the foot of the hostel and waited for Father Damien to come down. He was surprised to find him in casual shirt and pants. Normally he saw him in his robes during the Mass ceremony. Father was casual, ready to take in any confessions. Desmond hoped he didn’t give Father a shock as he began with the words: 

“Father, I am a sinner.” 

Father Damien didn’t flinch at all. Then Desmond qualified himself by saying that he didn’t actually murder. Father listened and then told him to say four decades on the Rosary. And then Father began, 

“We are not masters of our own destiny. It was only in retrospection selection that we know that we should have done something, or shouldn’t have done something.” 

Desmond argued. 

“Father, before a foetus was formed, it was not a human yet. I don’t subscribe to the theory that life begins at conception. For one, the baby could not live on its own outside the mother’s womb.” 

Father Damien merely shook his head. Desmond sensed that he was not wanted anymore, so he made an act of contrition, 

“You must be tired after a long day. I shall take my leave now.” “Come and see me if you still have any doubts,” Father said again. 

Chapter 10

Something made Desmond look for Mother Mary again. He decided to pop by the statue and talk to her. Maybe to ask her to pray for him to know how to turn down requests for abortion in the future. He had been known to be a good doctor, for being caring, and the fact that he never turned away patients. 

One good thing about having someone like Mother Mary to talk to was that she was always available for you. Even with his own mother Mrs. Brown, he had to wait for her to finish the dishes after dinner before she would attend to him. 

And then he saw her at the statue again. She was alone. And wearing the same scarf. He walked up to her and he stood behind her. Desmond heard her. 

“Mother Mary, please tell me what to do, oh God, forgive me if what I am doing is wrong, let him die if that is what you want,” 

Desmond could gather by then that this woman had a lover who had left her, and that she wanted him dead. His sympathy was for her, and he wanted to tell her it was all right to wish somebody ill if that person had treated her badly. 

Desmond stayed with her. He watched her anguish. When she stood up to leave he quickly walked out behind her. She walked fast, and he walked fast too. This time I mustn’t lose her.

Her scarf swung back and forth as she walked and he almost wanted to grab hold of that scarf to stop her from walking away. Finally, Desmond caught up with her – “Excuse me,” he said. 

“Stay away from me!” she shouted back immediately, without turning back. 

“Could I talk to you?” Desmond asked. 

“What do you want from me?” came the immediate response. 

“Nothing,” he said. 

She stopped, and he saw her face for the first time. She was very fair. And her makeup was perfect. By that he meant that she did not look made up. Her long hair was curled at the right places. It was really nice except that she looked angry. Maybe she was angry at me for stalking her. 

“Sorry,” Desmond began. 

“You want to hear my story?” she looked at him, almost like a challenge. 

Chapter 11

That was how they spoke for the first time. 

“Wait for me here, let me get my car,” Desmond ordered her. He showed her his car keys. Then he made a calculated risk, walking away down the steps to the car park, hoping that she would be at the driveway when he swung around. Thank God nobody was blocking the exit so that he could drive up easily. 

From far Desmond could see the scarf as it had become her signature. He stopped the car right in front of her to show her that he was the driver, and she opened the door to climb in. 

“Where would you like to go?” he asked her once she got in as he had no idea at all. He wished to hear her story badly, although he never got a chance. 

“Just drive along and I will tell you where to stop.” 

Desmond released the brake and put his right leg on the accelerator and started driving slowly. At the end of the side road, just as they reached the main road, she told him to stop the car, and she opened the door and let herself out. 

“Hope to see you again,” she smiled and slid off.

Chapter 12

Desmond Brown had to take a glass of wine to make himself fall asleep that evening. He couldn’t shake off the image of the woman with the scarf. He knew that this woman was in some sort of turmoil, her mood changing like that. She looked angry one moment, and the next she was smiling. He wanted to hear her story. 

But when would I meet her again? 

The next morning, he woke up late. Thank God it was a Sunday and also that there were no deliveries. Sunday was a day for worship, so automatically he went to the Holy Ground Church after he has had his coffee and toast. 

He shouldn’t have been eating before Mass, but he told himself it was okay. Desmond arrived just before the priest marched in, and he didn’t see her. Throughout the service he was looking out for her. She was recognizable with that scarf of hers. He told himself that he must look more carefully and perhaps that she had changed out of the scarf. 

The Homily wasn’t long enough to be boring. As usual, Desmond placed fifty dollars in the offering bag. He knew that to be a large sum, but he earned quite a lot of money. He was in some kind of midlife crisis. His conscience had woken up, and he realized that there were some things he shouldn’t do, like abortions. 

But he had never said no to his patients. If something went wrong during pregnancy it would have to be his job and he always managed to save both mother and child. 

Desmond had been seeking an answer those days, but the Bible was completely silent on that. He had already gone to Father Damien and spoken to him about it. Confessions were strictly confidential. He knew Father wouldn’t tell a soul. His clinic could never release the names of the patients whom he did abortions for. 

Chapter 13

True enough, when Desmond went back to work on Monday, Karen went in to tell him that the lady by the name of Elizabeth who had cancelled her appointment five times now told her that she wanted to come in for an abortion straight away. Luckily Karen was diplomatic, and told her that Doctor Brown was on leave and weren’t due to be back until the following Monday. 

He breathed a sigh of relief and went into his room, leaving the door open as he waited for his coffee. His room overlooked the entrance to the Brown Ginger Garden and he could see streams of people walking in and out of the large front gate. The basin is strategically installed below the window and just at the right height for Desmond. He used two soap gel. One is the conventional Dettol and the other a floral scent. Dettol which is primarily being used as a disinfectant gave Desmond a clinical smell. He used the gel with the floral scent to rinse off the hospital smell. 

Desmond had this clinic set up in this building since he started operating as a gynaecologist for fourteen years now but he had never been to the garden grounds. 

But he used the gym and did his exercises in the Slimming Floor, and he confined himself to just there. It was located in the same building. He liked it because he need not drive out of and also that he could have his shower immediately after exercising. Doctors usually have very clean habits. 

He was alarmed by this “Elizabeth” case. If it had been before, he would have offered her his professional services. But this time around since he had decided against abortion, he told myself he was going to confront it. I would have to tell her myself that I was not doing it anymore.

Quietly, Desmond rehearsed the things he would tell her, and how he was going to put it to her. He had not seen this “Elizabeth”, and he had no idea how she looked. In any case, she couldn’t be very old. Was this her first child? Desmond wondered. 

Chapter 14

After work he went straight to church again. Now that he had been to see Father Damien once, he knew that he could drop by the hostel and ring the bell downstairs to look for him. Desmond took the risked that he may not be in when he arrived unexpectedly. He was hopeful. As he sat in the waiting area downstairs, he prepared his speech. 

Desmond wanted Father to understand him and to tell him what to do. He was contemplating shutting down his medical practice and going overseas for a permanent retirement, although his trip to The Lady of Lourdes hasn’t come up yet. Then he saw something on one of the chairs – a scarf. The colourful scarf! It was the same scarf!! No one wore a scarf like that but she. It must belong to Molly. 

Desmond’s heart almost leaped with joy as he picked up the scarf. Its’ owner would be so happy to see it returned. So she went to Father Damien for confessions too!

Desmond Brown was not going to give it to the lost and found. He knew to whom the scarf belonged. And he thought he knew where she was. Maybe she was with Mother Mary again. Immediately he walked out of the waiting lounge and headed straight towards the statue. She must have been there.

Yes, she was. Desmond saw Molly again. 

Chapter 15

“Mother Mary, please tell me what to do. I want him. I don’t wish him dead. Please, let me have him… I know that I can wait…” Don’t tell me she was waiting for her lover to change heart?! This time there was no one else around her, and she was loud enough for Desmond to hear. He walked up and instinctively he put his arm around her on her shoulder. She shrugged a little. He knew that she was feeling the chill. 

The scarf was in his trouser pocket, and he was not about to show it to her. He just wanted to hold her there and comfort her. Desmond could see that this woman was distraught. Ever since the first day he saw her, she seemed to be in pain. 

Desmond has seen women screaming at the top of their voices, shouting, cursing and swearing, especially during labour, but he never saw them sad. The thing that struck him about Molly was that she was sad. She was not depressed. That meant that something bad was happening to her. 

Desmond saw that he was alone with her, and that there were no one else in the vicinity. He took another bold step forward and put his other hand over her and turned her around. She did not resist. He could see traces of makeup smudged by tears on her face. Desmond used his thumb to wipe off the tears. She looked at him. And for the first time, he thought she noticed him. In the past she was talking to him, but that she was just speaking to someone else, and without directing her words properly at the other person whom she was talking to. 

There was a frown on Molly’s face, and she looked a little puzzled. Desmond almost wanted to kiss her, but he wasn’t sure if she was ready for this yet. It was clear that she was in love with someone. Desmond just wanted to shake this sobbing woman out of her misery. 

Chapter 16

After two confessions at Mother Mary Desmond learnt to resign himself to fate. He was almost afraid to go to the clinic now for fear that someone might call in to ask him to perform an abortion. 

The practice which he was once so proud of, now he saw it as a platform for sinful activity. He wanted to share his agony with someone. And so he stood there with Molly and he hugged her, trying to console her, yet actually consoling himself. 

For a long time, they just stood there, staring at each other until they heard some footsteps up the towards the statue. Then they broke away. Desmond remembered that her scarf was still with him. 

“Your scarf is in my car,” he said. 

“Oh, okay, let me have it back then, I thought I had lost it.” 

Now there seemed nothing else for them to do except to walk to the car park together, and actually he was afraid that she might walk away and disappear again. Suddenly he felt her hold his hand, and she said, 

“Can you marry me?” 

Surprised, Desmond thought that he was dreaming. He looked at her and he said, almost immediately, 

“Of course, since you asked me.” 

He didn’t want to tell her that he was in love with her yet, although at that time he already knew. From there they held hands, and he drove her straight to Takashimaya, where Tiffany’s was. Desmond brought her to the section where the rings were displayed, and he made her choose the most expensive diamond ring. 

He almost rang Karen at her home to tell her that he would be taking off for his honeymoon from tomorrow onwards. But then he remembered his strings of appointments booked since January. 

Desmond sent Molly home. He saw her to the door and said goodnight to her as he prepared himself for his new image as a married man.

Chapter 17

Desmond finally got an appointment with Elizabeth. On her own initiative Karen subscribed for caller ID for Desmond’s clinic so that when Elizabeth rang again, she got hold of Elizabeth’s telephone number and called her back. Karen rang Elizabeth three times to fix for the appointment and also reminded her to come in. Desmond only got to know that she was waiting outside when Karen sent in the patient record card with the name “Elizabeth” on it. No surname, no age recorded, and no address either. Karen put it on his desk whilst he was attending to another patient when Elizabeth arrived. 

Desmond kept his cool as he tried to recall his prepared speech. 

He knew that he would be facing opposition. He almost rushed through the earlier patient. He imagined Elizabeth to be a quick tempered, vivacious lady, who would storm out on him if he refused her request. 

She may even threaten to harm my business. Desmond was not sure. He wondered if he should ask Karen to stand in as he spoke to her. But then he realized that the conversation had to be in confidence. So he waited anxiously as his next patient pushed open the door. 

Chapter 18

Desmond saw her. The same face, the same curly long hair, and the large eyes. He paused, then he took a deep breath, and he wanted to open his mouth. He was lost for words. For a long time, they both stood staring at each other. From the expression on Molly’s face, Desmond knew that she didn’t expect to see him. Well, neither did he expect her. “So, you are pregnant?” slowly he began, trying not to show his true feelings. 

“Yes,” she replied almost in a whisper. 

“Nope, I am not going to do this,” immediately Desmond retorted, without giving Molly a chance to elaborate. 

He saw the look of disappointment come on her face, and she gave him a look of reproach, almost angry. Molly didn’t say another word. Then she walked out of the consultation room, back into her own world, as when before she came in. Desmond walked over his desk and went after Molly. He saw the faces of Karen and the other patients that he has not yet attended to, he ignored them and rushed out of the clinic. Molly was so fast that he lost her at the lift lobby. 

Chapter 19

Desmond tried to call her. He rang her mobile, but there was no answer. She had left me she would not marry me now. Desmond started telling himself. Then as he thought about it, he came to his own conclusions: 

If she did not tell me she was pregnant, that meant that she wanted to get rid of her baby and marry me, which is what was happening now. She should have told me about it. So she was dishonest. Desmond tried to reason himself. 

But then if I were she, under the circumstances I wouldn’t mention it either. She was clever to make me marry her to begin a new life. But then I loved her too. I was the one who solicited her. I was the one who started it first. If I had not laid hands on her that evening, we wouldn’t have hitched up. 

Was it my fault? I couldn’t say that she was not attractive. Would I have accepted her proposal if I had known that she was pregnant? I was overjoyed when she wanted to marry me. I bought her the most expensive diamond ring at Tiffany’s, I booked us a twenty-one nights’ tour to Europe. I was planning on buying an apartment, as I did not want to continue to live with my parents after marriage. And even if she did not propose to me, I would have proposed to her under ordinary circumstances. I knew I was besotted with her. I still have her scarf and I plan to keep it forever. 

Now the situation was complicated. If we married I would have to be the father of her unborn child. Come to think of it, who was the father? She didn’t tell me, and I didn’t think that she would even if I had asked. But I couldn’t be raising a child fathered by someone I didn’t know. At least I needed to know the background. 

But anyway, I loved her and I was prepared to marry her. For one, I already knew that her lover didn’t want her anymore when I met her, and I didn’t mind it at all. This was a woman who had it hard, and I felt for her. 

Chapter 20

Desmond recalled the image of Molly standing at Mother Mary, her thin shoulders shaking as she sobbed uncontrollably. There and then he swore that he wanted to give her a good life. 

If she had wanted to call Desmond back, she would have done so by then. She must have seen Desmond’s missed call. Desmond rang again and again, but she did not pick up his calls anymore. Then Desmond decided that he would give her another half hour. Maybe she was busy with something else. NO! GOD! It occurred to Desmond that she might have gone to see another gynaecologist, since he did not want to perform the abortion on her. 

Desmond Brown wanted so much to tell her that he still loved her, that he would take over the baby no matter whose child it was. Now that she knew that he knew about it, Molly must have been heartbroken thinking that he didn’t want her anymore. He didn’t want to help her to abort, but he wanted her. Abortion was against Desmond’s principles, and that was why he refused Molly’s request. 

But if she wanted it, would Desmond do it? Desmond was not the only gynaecologist in town, and if she wanted an abortion she could always go to another doctor. Perhaps she would just do it, then afterwards go to Father Damien for confession. Desmond wondered what would be the penance. 

He knew that many Catholics continue to sin day after day. They were sinners. They were just human beings, and they couldn’t help themselves. 

Oh, God, where had she gone to? Why couldn’t she return my call?

Desmond swore that when he met her the next time he would tell her that he was prepared to do the abortion on her. They were supposed to start their lives afresh as a new couple and leave the past behind them. 

She was the mother. She should have the right to decide on the fate of her unborn baby. After all, you only needed the mother’s signature on the consent form. 

Chapter 21

Molly lay on a single bed. The room was large but she was the only one inside. Nobody was there because she told no one about what she was doing. There was a clock hanging right on front of her on the wall. She could still see the time even without glasses. 

When the nurse came in to give her an injection, she asked, 

“Is the doctor coming?” 

“No, you take this first and if it is too painful, press the bell.” 

Molly said nothing. 

And then the pain came. Like a bad stomach ache, it felt like labour but Molly knew that it was too soon for that. The foetus was not yet three months old. 

Finally, after a three hour wait, the nurse came in again. 

“Push,” she said. 

Molly pushed hard together with the nurse, and after some struggle, the two of them managed to get the foetus out. The nurse put the piece of flesh on a receptacle by the side of the bed and she walked away without saying a word. 

Then after another long wait, the doctor came in looking disgusted. Molly didn’t know why he was so late in attending to her. 

“Am I not paying him for this?” she asked herself. 

Finally, the doctor spoke to her and told her that he would write her a note on this procedure. Molly heaved a sigh of relief and glad that it was all over. 

Chapter 22

As Desmond was thinking and walking around the streets aimlessly, he realized that he had lost his cell phone. Perhaps he had left it in Gucci, or Fendi, or Tiffany’s. Desmond drifted in to Tiffany’s to see if he could find something, not knowing what he wanted. 

God! So now even if Molly returned his call she would not be able to get him on the phone. He remembered ringing her while he was at Gucci, then he rang her again from Fundi. Yes, it must be at Tiffany’s. Desmond quickly went back to the boutique and asked the doorman to look for his cell phone for him. 

There were a lot of shoppers around, and when he went back with an empty look after having spoken to some of the salesgirls at the counter, he knew that it was gone. It was an iPhone 6, no one in their right mind would return it. 

He left Tiffany’s in a daze, all the time wondering how to retrieve the lost connection. He had not brought Molly to his parents’ place yet, as he had wanted to marry in Europe first with the blessing of the priest in The Lady of Lourdes, so there was no way she could contact him through his parents. 

Chapter 23

There was no reason to. Desmond looked at his watch and realized that it was almost 9:30 p.m. 

Tomorrow when I wake up in the morning, I would go straight to my service provider and get a new phone with the same SIM in order to have my line reinstated so that she could call me. 

Desmond couldn’t sleep the whole night. He waited for time to pass. Every minute was like an hour. He tried to turn off the air conditioning to deprive himself of air so that he could fall asleep. And then he was wondering why the hands on the clock on the wall did not move. Eventually he came to the conclusion that the clock had stopped and that he didn’t even realize it. He was always using the iPhone to tell time. And when Desmond knew that he could not fall asleep anymore, he went out to the balcony to sit down. 

He did not turn on the lights, as he did not want to wake up his parents. As he sat in the dark waiting for dawn, he realized that he had sinned against God. God read our minds. In his heart he was ready to sin. He was prepared to forget about the Law just for the sake of love. Was he so weak? So easily manipulated by a woman? He chuckled at himself and then drank coffee till sunrise. 

Dawn came. So the next day. And then another day went by. But Desmond never received that phone call he wanted. 

Yes, Molly did call back. When he reinstalled his SIM, there were two calls from her. She did make the return call. But he did not answer them. He didn’t know who held his phone during that short interval. He used his new cell phone to call Molly again, but this time he heard the voice messaging saying that the number he was trying to call was no longer available. Like a lost soul, he could not think anymore. he simply went straight to Mother Mary at the Holy Ground Church again. 

But Desmond couldn’t find Molly there. He knew that she wouldn’t go there anymore. He knew that he had lost her trust. He had betrayed her by not rescuing her from her predicament. All she wanted was to begin a new life with him. And that he had turned her down. Desmond had rung her, and she had returned his call, but once more Desmond had let Molly down. For the first time in his life he felt useless. 

Yet he needed to carry out his professional duty. He was beginning to view delivery as a chore. When Desmond was delivering his second patient for the day, he found the woman’s labour to be too long and was unduly impatient. The music he chose for her delivery he almost wanted to fast forward. When the baby finally came out he was relieved that both mother and child were fine and apart from “Congratulations,” he had nothing more to say. 

We were not our own masters. Very often we have no control over our fate. Desmond had lost this woman that he loved, perhaps irretrievably. He wanted to curse God, but he ended up cursing himself. The statue of Mother Mary used to be his refuge, but now he no longer knew what to say to Mother Mary. He thought that she could still hear him, so he simply said, 

“Mother, please find her for me.” 

The colourful scarf was not in his car anymore. Nowadays he wore it over his shoulder. Some people asked him if it was the latest fashion, but he wore it so that he could be spotted from a distance, in case she happened to be around. His alibi Karen has resigned, so has the others. Apart from that, Desmond opened his clinic twenty-four hours now and sleep inside his consultation room. 

Desmond Brown has once asked a beautiful woman to marry him. They were actually engaged. She told his clinic that her name was Elizabeth. Desmond never met with Father Damien again for he knew that the man’s prayer could not have been as besieging as his. If God would listen to Father Damien, why won’t He listen to Desmond Brown? One day, Elizabeth might appear at his door again, with or without her child. 

It was up to God’s providence.

I like my steak well done ….

The day got off to a very bad start and it was not that I woke up on the wrong side of bed. The left side of my bed was pushed against the wall, so naturally I didn’t wake up on that side. When I opened my eyes, I saw a glass on the wooden dressing table, orange liquid still inside, so I knew that I had been drinking orange juice before I fell asleep last night. I didn’t take the pill before I went to bed; nowadays I didn’t need these little white pills to stop me from getting pregnant. 

From my bed, if I raised my head a little and peered up, I could see my face in the mirror. It always had a trace of makeup on. I hadn’t been washing my face before I went to bed these days, in case Christopher came back to look for me in the middle of the night. 

It had been three years since Christopher left, and I had been counting the dates. That morning I took my time to lay in bed, preferring to wait for the alarm to wake me up. I had set the alarm to 11:00 a.m., as I knew that I had no work to do except go to the supermarket, and then I would get a manicure and pedicure from the salon next door. 

I went to the toilet to ease myself. I was forced to wake up, as I could no longer hold my bladder. The clock in the bathroom told me it was 13 January 1999. 

Part of me felt jubilation that I could strip myself off the title of “Mrs. Leow” once and for all. In all fairness to Christopher Leow, he did try to make our marriage work, but eventually he had to leave. Friends asked me on which ground I wished to file for divorce with Christopher: “desertion, adultery, or three-year separation after the marriage has irretrievably broken down”. 

I had contemplated using “desertion” to file for divorce, as I thought that if fault lay with Christopher I could get more money by way of alimony from the Family Court. To this end, I consulted several lawyers and they all advised me against it, the reason being that I knew exactly where to find him, so I could not say that he deserted me. To use “desertion” he had to be away for five years. 

Christopher was a specialist surgeon. He had his own private clinic at Tanglin Mall, where he operated under the trade name of The Neat Surgeon. He earned enough to make me a housewife, allowing me to sleep in every morning. I had not been working since I married Christopher. 

Christopher did not tell me how much he earned, but from the bills he paid I knew it to be around the region of twenty thousand dollars per month. My lawyer friend Susan told me that divorce could get me at least seven thousand dollars a month by way of maintenance, and a lump sum payment I could get at least a million dollars from Christopher. 

I knew that divorce was coming when Christopher took over payment of all the bills. His excuse was that he was going to pay everything online, so it was not necessary for me to handle them anymore. The rift came when I opened one of the letters from his bank and he yelled at me although I hadn’t opened his bank statements before. I never asked Christopher about what he did in the day. 

If there was nothing to hide, he could let me see where his money went. I went to look at the statement when Christopher was having his shower. So eventually I did get to see the expenditure on the bill. And that was when I suspected that Christopher was harbouring another woman. I had no clue what she looked like. She could be prettier or uglier, taller and thinner. She could even be very wealthy. No one knew why I allowed Christopher to walk out on me except myself. And I am not about to tell you now. 

Rare or Well Done? I liked my steak well done. In fact, very well done. Christopher and I used to patronize Club 32, where the best Italian restaurant was. It was called Club 32 simply because it was located on the thirty-second floor on the Watermark Building. The Watermark Building was just by the seafront so that when you were dining at the restaurant you could see the ships moored there. 

The lights in the restaurant were dimly lit so that there was practically no reflection on the full-length glass facade of the building. Christopher and I liked the window seats, and since we were regulars, the restaurant manager always reserved a table by the window for us. It was also the same table where Christopher proposed to me. 

He did not choose to do so on Christmas Eve as the Italian restaurant was fully booked. 

In fact, Club 32 was where I worked as a chef. I knew that Christopher was going to propose to me on that night, as he sent me a bouquet of flowers before the evening with a card to warn me of his intentions. There were eleven red roses, and Christopher told me that I was the number twelve rose. 

I first met Christopher on a Wednesday while serving him the famous Baby Soft Beef Steak, our signature dish. Christopher requested it, but when the dish came he changed his order to Wild Roast Duck. Ordinarily this would not have involved me, but the man said that he knew another restaurant which served better Baby Soft Beef Steak. I was the chef who created this dish, so naturally I was sent to settle the score. 

I was told to find out the name of our competitor with the difficult customer who was Christopher, whereupon he asked me if I would be off the next Wednesday. I said no. Since then, Christopher came to dine every Wednesday, waiting for me to finish work before he paid for the bill, then coming around to the back door at the kitchen to look for me. It was as though Christopher and I had made a private arrangement. I knew that Christopher was rich from the kind of credit cards he used to pay for the bill. 

Don’t call me mercenary. I never planned to marry a rich man. Christopher was good looking. and he was kind. And that was why I liked him. I liked his kindness more than his good looks. Later on, I found out that he was a surgeon. To be a good surgeon you not only have to be good at sewing people up, you also have to be good looking for the patients to like you. 

Even mothers tended to hug their better-looking children more often. I didn’t know if it was because I could cook steak to the right tenderness that Christopher married me, or that he genuinely loved me. It couldn’t be because he wanted to learn how to cook beef steak from me. 

I loved my work. And I loved Christopher. 

On 13 January 1996 three years before today, Christopher Leow and I were married at the local Registry. It was a small house by the side of Fort Canning Road, just behind the Wesley Methodist Church. The ROM as it was short known, was so conveniently located that the pastor who performed the solemnization need only cross the road to the venue. 

We contemplated holding a ceremony at the church, but at the time Nancy was away in Canada. Nancy Leong was my best friend, and I promised her that she would be my bridesmaid when I married. So that since she was not available at the material time, we dismissed the idea of a church ceremony. Nancy did promise to call as soon as she returned from Canada. And Christopher and I decided that we would have a church ceremony the moment we heard from Nancy. 

Nancy never called me and so in the end Christopher and I married without the church ceremony. I missed wearing the white gown which made all the difference to our marriage. 

In all fairness Christopher was not a womanizer. I had tested him on almost all of my female friends. The only person he hadn’t met was Nancy. Nancy was pretty and rich. But Nancy suffered from polio. One of her legs was very much shorter than the other. I had never looked at her hard enough to remember which leg was shorter. 

I loved Nancy for her devotion to God. Nancy never once blamed God for her handicap, and she was not resentful towards anyone. She took life as it came dispute her short comings. Her face was free of blemishes, her nose small and curved out at the right angle. She had large eyes, which made her full of expression when she spoke. 

When Nancy and I were young children in school, I was selected to play the lead role, but I fell sick on the day. The white costume which Nancy was supposed to bring for me from her mother’s collection had to be kept aside as the play was cancelled.

I couldn’t say for sure if Nancy eventually rang and if Christopher picked up the call. But after the first argument arose between Christopher and myself, which was over the bill statements, Christopher and I began to quarrel more often. In the beginning it was over who was to wash up after dinner; later it became who was to drive the car down to the supermarket. 

Previously I would wash up after Christopher had cooked the Baby Soft Beef Steak – my signature dish which I had taught him. And then after dinner Christopher would go straight for the television. Once I was done in the kitchen I would join him. Christopher chose the channels. I was just the passive audience. 

I began suspecting that Christopher wanted to use the time that I washed up in the kitchen to call his lover. Nowadays he even wanted me out of the house, sending me to the supermarket by myself. But we were barely one year into our marriage. How could it have turned sour so soon? 

As Christopher started to eat out more often without me, I wanted to know where he went and whom he went out with. It was not difficult to find out where he went, since credit card companies listed the names of the merchants in their bill statements. 

It was always Rare or Well Done. I looked up the company on the Accounting and Corporate Regulatory Authority the ACRA to find out its whereabouts. That was how I found out about Christopher and her. To my horror, Christopher Leow was listed as one of the directors. 

Apparently, she also owned the restaurant. She was wealthy after all. My competitor was not to be underestimated. But was she whom I thought she was? This was what I went to find out that day. 

That was the day that created this day – 13 January 1999. 

That night, as usual, Christopher was not coming home for dinner again. What more evidence do you want? How long more do you want to wait? I found a voice asking myself these questions. 

I stopped the taxi at the roadside just where you could see the name of the restaurant in English above the drawing of a cow. A little bell was attached to it, so that even if I had decided not to go in the minute I touched the door, the people inside would know that someone was outside. 

Of course, I was not very unhappy after I had gone to the scene of the crime. To commit adultery against your wife is as bad as killing your enemy or stealing money from your boss. Adultery is listed as one of the sins in the Bible alongside the commandment not to steal and not to kill. It was almost impossible to pardon such an act unless you were God yourself. Most people would have filed for divorce under such circumstances, but I had not. 

So now I was heartbroken. I was sad because I knew that I will never be able to compete with my competitor. She had won him over, and now she was going to be my husband’s wife, if not his lover already. I tried to imagine him making love with her, but it was difficult to conjure up the image. 

I told myself to hire a private detective to collect evidence of adultery and to tie up the loose ends. Life like this, knowing that your husband was with another woman and yet not being able to divorce him, was most unsatisfactory. I wanted to decide on the ground for divorce. 

Inevitably it had to be adultery. I knew that Christopher was sleeping with her because I had not had sex with him for more than three years. We had been operating on “two households” three years ago, so that I could ask for a divorce on the ground of a “three-year separation” rather than the ground of adultery. 

I thought of the credit card bills and the fact that I was still using his supplementary card to pay for the more expensive transactions. Using his card for payment had never been an issue, so that we were still “one household”. 

I thought of the ground of desertion. I had not seen Christopher for almost two years now and I would have to wait another three years. I had it so clear in my mind that it was two years ago because I stopped taking the pill since the day I stood outside Rare or Well Done, pondering whether to go in to confront the two of them. The restaurant’s hours 6:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. were carved on the wooden door. 

Christopher stopped coming home that day. I stopped taking the pill as soon as I realized once and for all that I would not be having children with Christopher. 

Two years ago, I stood outside before I decided to walk into Rare or Well Done. When I saw a wheelchair prominently parked at the entrance, I had a hunch who was inside with Christopher. It was only 2:00 p.m., not time for the little Italian restaurant to open yet. 

I also saw a bunch of flowers wrapped up in apple green paper. They were nice flowers. I counted eleven red roses. Inside the wrapper a slip below the flowers were the words: Marry Me, Nancy. So, Nancy had finally come back from Canada, and Christopher had picked her up. I knew that it would happen one day. My premonition had come true. 

My husband has always been a very kind man. And I was not sure if he loved Nancy or if he felt sorry for her. That was why till this date I still haven’t filed for divorce. I simply could not decide on the ground to pursue.  

I wished them all my best.

You can fit me into your bag ….

My father tells me to always carry sufficient cash with me. 

I did not know what he meant until the day it was raining, and I was caught without an umbrella. Usually I carried an umbrella with me. But that morning I woke up feeling severely depressed, and I wanted to do something different. By that I meant I wanted to change my outlook for the day. 

So, in order to put together a different image, instead of wearing pants I decided to put on a skirt. I opened my wardrobe and found that all my tops were in white. My skirts were all black and grey. Very unimaginative, I had not realized it until then. I was working for an interior designer and the office wear was always either black white or grey. In order to blend with the office crowd, I had inadvertently chosen the same colours. 

Since it was raining I decided that I must catch a taxi. I usually take the bus unless it falls under one of the three categories: raining, I was late or if I had heavy things to carry. So, I made a quick calculation, it was raining and so I was entitled to catch a taxi. Taxis are expensive, but not so if you compare it with other cities. 

I proceeded to walk towards the nearest taxi stand at Liat Towers. It has no shelter. The queue was short, only four people waiting and I think two of them belong together. I stood next to one of them but before that I casually asked the man standing there with an umbrella if he were at the head or the end of the queue. He looked at me nonchalantly and said, “the end”. 

I stood next to him. Many taxis passed by. All of them had the Hired sign displayed. I stood in the rain and I could feel my hair getting wet. But I was more worried about my handbag. I had just bought it yesterday and it was Gucci. I had saved up for ten months for this item. It is leather, and it couldn’t afford to touch water. I took a look at the man beside me. He had an umbrella.

I was sure that he will not mind me sharing his umbrella with him. The umbrella was large enough for two persons. So I squeezed my way up next to him, standing close enough for the temporary shelter. 

Two taxis came and stopped at the queue. Some people got up and we became the first in line. We waited for another five minutes before another taxi came by. But it drove past without stopping. I was getting hungry and I looked at my watch. Five past six. The rain had delayed me by thirty-five minutes. Good thing it was a Friday night and tomorrow was the alternate Saturday where I get an off day. 

Finally, another taxi came. It stopped, and three passengers came out. They looked all dressed up, I was sure that they came to this part of town for some Friday night fun. And thank God they came. I quickly held the door open for the man to go in, he was standing closer to the car. But before he closed the car door, I rushed into the taxi with him. I didn’t want to lose his umbrella. If I allowed him to leave with the taxi, I would be left standing in the queue without an umbrella. 

So, I got in. I closed the door shut. 

“Where do you want to go?” the man looked shocked. 

I was wondering if he realized that I was sharing his umbrella with him all this while. 

“Anywhere,” I said. 

I just wanted shelter from the rain. The driver turned around to look at the both of us, wondering if we were together. 

“Maybe you just bring me to a shopping center,” I quickly said. 

I haven’t decided where I wanted to go. All I wanted was a means to go home without getting wet. The rain was heavy. 

“Miss … are you together?” the driver asked, beginning to sense that something was amiss. 

I looked at the man. He didn’t say a word. I think my white blouse was all wet and looking transparent. 

“Bring me to Holland Village,” he ordered the taxi driver. I kept quiet. 

That’s not where I wanted to drop. It was still far away from my home. I live at Farrer Road, and if he dropped at Holland Village I would have to take the taxi back again. I was not sure that the driver would oblige. At Holland there is no shelter either. I wanted to go somewhere like ION Orchard where I could queue up again. 

The driveway there is covered all the way. The thing was that afterwards the man ignored me completely, as though my being with him in the taxi was the most natural thing. He didn’t attempt to get me out of the car. Neither did he deny that I was with him in the queue. All I wanted just now was his umbrella and now I wanted his taxi. 

So, I turned to him and asked, “Can you drop me at Farrer Road after you go to Holland Village?” 

“Sure. You can tell the driver where you want to go after I had gone down.” 

At this point in time the taxi driver interrupted, “You have two destinations?” he queried. 

“Is it ok?” I pleaded with the driver. 

“It’s not on the way, I would have to go up Holland then come down again,” the driver grumbled.

But then he drove off, leaving the taxi stand. I relaxed in the car. This taxi did not have a radio installed so it was quiet. I wondered if it was necessary for me to make small talk with the man since he did me the favor of giving me a ride. But short of thank you I had nothing more to say to him. 

I let the silence dominate the atmosphere as I started to feel a little uneasy. The rain was getting heavier and I could hardly see the view in front of me. It is uncommon for Singapore to rain like this, especially at this time of the year in October. 

“Fancy going to Holland Village with me?” I knew this was coming. 

This man is making a pass at me. Of course, I asked for it, I followed him into his taxi. But then in Singapore it is very safe. Nothing bad can happen to you if you are careful. No one can force you into doing anything you don’t want.

“No, I am going home,” I volunteered the information. I shouldn’t have let the man know that Farrer Road is my home address. 

“I will pay for the fare.” I said, in an attempt to change the topic of conversation. 

I knew that that was not what he was concerned with. As if he were to drop first then naturally the meter will run until the taxi reached the final destination at Farrer.” 

“Ok then.” I was surprised he did not offer to pay the journey to Holland. I had expected to put up with an argument on this topic. 

We carried on without a further word. I had my objective achieved now I just want to be home for a quick hot shower. Rover is waiting for me at home. He needs his chunk of beef and I can’t walk him because of the rain. Rover is my golden retriever and he is only one-year old. When the taxi reached Holland Village the car pulled in at the curb just right in front of several passengers. 

I could feel a sigh of relieve as the queue began to move. The first one in the queue stepped up to open the door for us even though it was unnecessary. But when only the man got out and then I had to tell her that I was taking the journey elsewhere I could see her muttering under her breath swearing. The man my fellow rider walked away and was nowhere to be found.

I sank back into the upholstery and gave the taxi driver my address as Level Z. He did not reply. But I was pretty sure he heard me. Then suddenly I saw a black wallet on the seat. The man had left his things behind! I have to find him and return it. What was his name? I reproached myself for not having asked him. We had all the time in the car. 

Why didn’t I? Yes, I was afraid that he might think that I am making a pass. Getting into a car with a complete stranger and striking a conversation I could easily be mistaken as a hooker. In the beginning I wanted shelter in the rain I couldn’t be bothered with what he thought. 

In order to return the wallet, I had to open it and trace the name and address of the owner. This information has to be somewhere inside. Immediately I took over the article and I open it without hesitation. The leather was smooth it must be an expensive item. 

Gosh! They were all notes inside, all of which were fifty dollars bills. The notes were seasoned and the whole stack could easily come up to one thousand dollars. I had never carried such a large amount of money with me before. Anything more than three hundred dollars I would use a credit card. 

One thousand dollars is not a lot of money. But one thousand dollars is a large sum of money to lose. Or leave behind in a taxi for that matter. Did the man leave it behind intentionally? But he couldn’t have. It was by chance that we met at the taxi stand. Even if he had wanted to give it to me in exchange for a favour he couldn’t have anticipated that he would meet me earlier on. So, I concluded that it was pure carelessness. 

There were several compartments. I examined them one after another. One had two credit cards and the other was a membership card to the Singapore Island Country Club. That membership costs at least two hundred thousand. No wonder this man is so careless about money. And then there was also a Club 21 discount card. But what got me really amused was the MRT card which I saw. The rich man takes buses too! 

And then I saw his pink IC. The photograph on the IC showed that the document was unmistakably his. I could see his address as 3A Holland Drive, Singapore 287664. Man lives in a landed property. Now I want to know if he were older than me. If so, then maybe I would really want to befriend him. Never mind if he thought I was a hooker. 

Some of them do marry rich. Pretty Woman was one instance. I am still single, and I do need to get married one day. 18 June 1968. Ha! The man is going to be forty-seven soon. He is definitely older than me. The next question is, is he married? The identity card does not provide with this information. 

Frantically I looked at his other cards to search for the answer. But none of it contains his marital status. If he is single I can easily drop in at his house and get myself acquainted to him on the pretext of returning him the wallet. If he is married than I might as well throw away all his stuff and just keep the cash. It is his own folly that he left his possession behind in a taxi. But then I would not know if he were available unless I dropped in at his house. Yes, unless I take a chance. 

I wished I had taken a look at his ring finger when I was in the taxi with him just now. Why didn’t I? Why wasn’t I curious? I suppose the man wasn’t attractive looking enough. The proposition of getting to know him only came when I found that he had lots of money. Anyway, he did not know who I was, and if I were to take his money now he would never be able to trace me. 

Hold it! The taxi is about to turn into Level Z. 

“Hey uncle, don’t turn in.” I raised my voice, almost shouting at the driver. 

I must not let the driver know where I live, in case the man has the taxi driver’s car number and tracks me down. But I remember clearly that he did not pay the fare then there was no record at all. So, I was safe. The purpose of me getting into this taxi in the first place was to avoid getting wet in the rain. If I were to drop off before the turning into my condominium that would defeat the purpose entirely. 

I said to the driver, “Uncle, go in.” 

“But just now you said no.” The driver sounded cross. 

“You want to go in or you don’t want to go in?” He jammed his brakes. 

“Err,” I was stuck. I wanted to order him to go back to Holland Village the 3A Holland Drive address and return the man his wallet. 

There seems to be an urgency now. If I kept the wallet and waited, who knows the man might accuse me of taking some of his cash even when I did not. I didn’t count the money exactly, but it is his word against mine. No one would believe me even if I had not taken a cent from his wallet. 

Come to think of it, if this were the case, then maybe I should help myself to one or two notes. If one thousand dollars is a lot of money, then one hundred may not be. This is consideration for my taking the extra effort in returning the man his wallet, cards and all. If he had to replace them it would incur a lot of admin work and inconvenience, money and time spent. 

In any case this is a rich man by all standards. “Miss, do you want to go in or not?” the driver was asking me again, this time his voice a little louder. I could hear the annoyance. 

“No, can you bring me back to Holland Village?” I requested.

“What?” he shouted. 

“Let me pay you the fare until here, but I don’t get off your taxi, and then you start the meter again.” I made an offer. 

“So now you want to go back to Holland?” the driver confirmed.

In the rain I didn’t want to get off and walk the slope up into Level Z. The rain has died down somewhat, but the drizzle was still strong. If I take a detour and return the wallet now I could get in touch with the rich man instantly, and then carry on from there. I have an inkling that he was still unmarried. As if he was he would have stopped me from getting into the taxi with him. Didn’t he say ‘Fancy going to Holland Village with me’ just now? 

I wished I had taken up on his offer that would have made things a lot easier. So, I made an instant decision to meet the eligible man. The man must be home by now. He had an umbrella so most likely he walked from the taxi stand at Holland Village to his home. I let the image of him walking in the rain fade away into another image of him sitting in front of his television set having a cup of hot tea. 

The taxi driver drove along with his meter ticking away. I think he felt sorry for me. And I think he didn’t see all the activity at the back seat of his taxi all this while. I certainly did not inform him of my discovery. The rain was heavy, and the driver had to concentrate on the road, no time to spy into his passenger. I opened my handbag and I put the black wallet into my bag. I had not taken any money from it yet. So far, I am still honest. The thing that kept me going was my curiosity. 

If the man was alone at home at this hour chances are that he is single. If a woman answers the door, then maybe I shouldn’t return him his wallet. What shall I do then? Ring the doorbell and then ask for Mr. Chia. I saw his name on his NRIC. 

If Mrs. Chia appears I would just say I found the wrong house. No, don’t ask for Mr. Chia, ask for John Smith. In that way if Mrs. Chia opens the door I can very well pretend that I found the wrong house. Ok, that’s it. I made a sign of the cross and prayed that I would make the right move later on. 

The journey back to Holland Village wasn’t so long after all. In no time I arrived at the same taxi stand. 

“Ma’am, here you are,” the driver said. 

“No, I want to go to Holland Drive, number 3A.” I insisted.

“I thought you said you wanted to come back to Holland Village. Ma’am, I have to drop you here.”

I think he has decided that he wants to be rid of me by now. 

“Sir, it’s raining,” I started calling the driver Sir, pleading with him. 

Luckily for me the guy spoke good English, but there is a communication break down here. There is a serious mistake.

“Let me pay you fifty dollars for this entire trip and you bring me to Holland Drive.” I opened my bag took out my purse in order to pay him. Help! I only had two ten dollar notes and one two-dollar note. 

Yes, if I had taken the taxi from the Liat Towers taxi stand to Level Z I would have more than sufficient cash to pay the fare. I remember that I wanted to withdraw cash at the ATM but didn’t make the trip because of the rain. I have some cash at home. 

But I know that I can’t make the taxi driver bring me back to Level Z, wait for me to go up to my apartment and collect money, and then come down and pay him. It would be beyond him. No taxi driver in the world would do that for his passenger. 

My father tells me to always carry sufficient cash with me. And I think he is right this time. What can I do now? For the first time I looked at the meter. 

“Twenty-four dollars and forty-eight cents.” Even if I alight now and paid the driver the fare was more than I could afford it. I unzipped the coin compartment, dug out all the coins and I gave it to the driver. He took it somewhat reluctantly, then he started counting.

“Ok, that’s enough,” the driver was satisfied, and he returned me two ten cent coins. 

I took the returned change and took my time to get out of the taxi. The passenger at the taxi stand was just waiting to get in. This time there was no man with an umbrella that I could make use of. I tugged my handbag under my arm hoping to shield it from the rain. Life is hard. At thirty-six I am still single. And no close boyfriends either. Even if many people have said that I was attractive and that I consider myself educated. Actually, I have a degree from the Faculty of Architecture, but I don’t know why I ended up in an interior design firm. I suppose the firm pays well. Well enough for me to travel by taxis daily. 

As I walked I kept my thoughts to myself, almost forgetting my purpose here to Holland Village. I even walked past the DBS Bank where I could put in the one thousand dollars. The bank doesn’t close until seven p.m. One thousand dollars or the chance to meet the man of my dreams. If he were married, then all my efforts to return the wallet would be wasted. doesn’t provide an answer under the circumstances. Even if I read the Bible from cover to cover I still won’t find the answer. 

Finally, I gave up as I stood right in front of 3A. Then I realized that I had reached Holland Drive. The house was not very large. But the car that was parked in the narrow garage was formidable. A BMW. White. I looked at it and I wondered why the man had to resort to taxis. 

Could this be his house? Then the answer came. This must be his wife’s car. So, the man must be married. Why would a single man buy an expensive car and use public transport? It makes no sense. I peeped into the window and I could see the lights on. The upper floor was also lit. Invariably I took the wallet out from my handbag and I slipped it into the letterbox by the side of the gate. Then I started to walk away. 

The rain was getting smaller. And I must get home for dinner. Rover must be hungry but suddenly I realized that I had no more money to go home. I couldn’t very well walk from Holland Drive to Farrer Road. So, I turned back, and I came up to 3A again. This time I rang the doorbell. I did not have to wait long before a man came up to the gate. It was him! The man in the taxi with me. The man with the umbrella. 

“Oh God! I have been calling the taxi company.” 

“You got my wallet?” immediately he asked. 

“Yes, it’s here,” I said, pointing to the letterbox. 

“Why did you put it there?” he was a little surprised. 

“Oh, I wanted to return it without telling you.” I told him the truth. 

Without further prompting, the man opened his letterbox from inside his house. “No, there is nothing inside,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The letterbox is empty,” he said affirmatively. 

I did not believe him, so I stepped into his house and together we looked into the letterbox. Yes, he was right. It was empty. There was nothing inside. So, somebody must have taken the wallet away from the letterbox whilst I was away, between the time I dropped it and when I came back the second time. But who could have known that I had put the wallet inside. I don’t think anyone saw me, although I must say that I didn’t look around before I did it. 

So, I merely said, “I am sorry, but I really don’t know, Mr. Chia.” 

I have never been so dumb, I knew then straight away that I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have called him Mr. Chia. Unless I had peeped into his wallet I won’t know he is Mr. Chia. 

“I am going to report you to the police,” Mr. Chia quickly grabbed hold of my hand. 

“No, I didn’t take it,” I struggled. 

“Then who could have taken it?” he replied. 

“And you have no reason to put it in the letterbox,” 

“Hey, if I had wanted your wallet I won’t have come all this way,” I retorted, putting some sense into this man. 

Just at this time, a woman came to my rescue. 

“Who is she?” she asked. 

“A thief,” Mr. Chia said. 

“She stole my wallet.” Now it was my turn to become furious.

“You left it in the taxi yourself,” I shouted back. 

“What? You took a taxi back with her?” the woman said. 

“You gave me the car this morning because you wanted to go out with this woman?” the woman also became angry. 

It seemed that there was already some discord between the two of them and that she was suspicious of him. In that case this must be Mrs. Chia. I got my answer now. Mr. Chia is married. But first, now I must get myself out of this shit. The man’s wallet is lost once and for all, and I had no means to return it. On top of it all, I am accused of having stolen it. 

“If you didn’t take my wallet, how did you know my name?” that’s a good question. 

“And how did you know my address?” 

“You must have looked into the wallet and found the information.” Arguments were strong one after another and I could only say that I did not take his wallet. 

“Search me,” I offered. 

“No, you would accuse me of molesting you, besides, who knows where you have hidden it?” 

“Alright, if I had your wallet, why did I come back here again?” 

“Only God knows,” was the reply. 

The woman was watching us all the while, contemplating if she should call the police. The rain was getting lighter turning into a drizzle. But my fate was getting into a downturn. I had to think fast to get myself out of this shit. 

“Look, I only discovered your wallet after you had alighted,” I continued, 

“I ordered the taxi driver to come here to return it to you, then I dropped it into your letterbox, because I didn’t want to come in to disturb you. I walked away and came back because I realized that I had no more money to go home, so I was hoping to come in and borrow some cash from you since I did you the favour of returning your wallet, I had no idea that it was stolen.”

By now the woman standing next to him was satisfied. She gave me a queer look and she pulled Mr. Chia inside, “Come here, I want to tell you something,” she said quietly. 

I wanted to run away when he stood aside. But if he had called the police from his house I won’t be able to go far. So I waited hoping for them to believe my story. After all it was true. And then suddenly the mystery was solved. 

“So, you had the wallet!” Mr. Chia said to the woman. 

“Yes, I was the one who took it from the letterbox,” woman confessed. 

Of course, only a person from inside the house could have opened the letterbox. Why did his wife take the wallet and not tell her husband she found it? It was clear by now that this couple is having marital problems. I wanted to give her a tight slap, but I wasn’t a bad-tempered person. I simply turned and walked away from the two of them, disgusted with the whole episode. 

“Wait a minute, did you say you had no cash left with you?” 

Mrs. Chia shouted after me, and at the same time she held out two fifty-dollar notes, “thank you for the trouble, a small token.” 

I wished that I had just taken it from the stack when it was in the taxi. 

Normally I am very proud, and I would rather steal than to accept charity. But this time I simply took the notes from the mad woman. This is because I decided that I must listen to my father’s advice: Always carry sufficient cash with you.

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.