Students dominated the lunch crowd at Seoul Cafe. They sat in groups, sporting hip-hop gear, gold chains and dyed hair.

Sophie stopped at the entrance to the dining room and scanned the interior. The restaurant had been difficult to find – she’d entered via a lift hidden within a newsagent on Liverpool Street. A young waiter hurried over with a menu. Sophie indicated she wanted a table for one, and he led her to a small booth by a window. The restaurant smelled of pickled cabbage and meat. Sophie leaned into her seat, tuned to the sizzle of fat hitting hotplates. The steam from the barbecue settled into her shirt. She already felt clammy and by the time she got out of here, she would reek.

‘Something to drink?’ Most of the diners were indulging in midday soju sessions. They held thimbles of the potent spirit in the air with gusto.

Sophie nodded. ‘Some tea.’

She looked out the window and down to the street below. Lunchtime pedestrians headed west. She flipped through the picture menu and, when the waiter returned with her tea, she selected rice cakes and kimchi soup.

‘And I’m looking for one of your staff,’ she said, handing back the menu.

‘Excuse me?’ The waiter studied Sophie, his face a furrow of confusion. ‘My English is not so good.’ He smiled apologetically.

‘A waiter,’ said Sophie. ‘His name is Tae Hun. Do you know him?’

Sophie watched a vein pop out on the boy’s temple as he leaned in closer. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Tae Hun,’ said Sophie, raising her voice above the noise of a rowdy table beside her. No doubt she’d mangled the pronunciation. ‘I’m looking for Tae Hun.’

The boy shook his head, miserably. ‘My English is not so good,’ he mumbled. ‘One minute.’

Sophie waited. She took a sip of her tea. Her muscles relaxed.

‘Can I help you?’

Sophie looked up. In front of her stood Tae Hun.

‘Sophie.’ Tae Hun’s face drained of colour. He placed a hand on the table, as though to steady himself. ‘Do you remember me?’

‘I came looking for you.’

Tae Hun slid onto the bench seat opposite.

‘Have you heard the news?’

‘You mean Wendy?’ He looked at the table, straightened the mat with smooth fingers. ‘I didn’t know she felt so…’ He searched for the right word. He looked up at Sophie, his eyes wide. ‘I didn’t know she felt so sad.’

‘Did you see her the day she died?’ Sophie asked. ‘Had anything changed?’

Tae Hun leaned forward. ‘Oh no,’ he said quickly. ‘You don’t understand. I hadn’t seen Wendy for many weeks.’

‘I thought you were friends?’

‘She dumped me.’

‘She wasn’t who she said she was.’

Tae Hun scratched at his chin. ‘I heard this,’ he said. ‘But to me, she was Wendy.’ He paused, as though searching for something. ‘For foreign students,’ he said, ‘this city is not so friendly. It’s not easy.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s not easy to be a foreigner,’ he continued. ‘We are students together. We share our experiences here, not our history.’

Sophie looked at Tae Hun. She knew how it felt to be a foreigner.

Laowai! On ice-cold Beijing days, she’d wandered the streets, inhaling China’s fragrance: drain water, coal dust, chicken fat and skin. The place was part of her heritage and yet she’d felt so lonely and pined so much for home.

‘I wish I could have helped,’ Sophie said.

Tae Hun examined her closely, like someone trying to unlock a code.

‘Can I tell you something?’ he asked. ‘A secret?’

Sophie nodded. ‘I’m good at those.’

‘Nine o’clock tonight,’ he said. ‘The Three Monkeys.’