Marlowe

I had spent a day with my stomach in my mouth, waiting for Mr Zhāng to call. When he never did, I took a cab to the Red Lantern Hotel in search of him. Bì Yù should have been with me, translating, but she refused to come. Why did my family abandon me whenever I needed them most? I was tired of people letting me down. I wasn’t going to let the broker be one of them.

In the hotel lobby I asked the receptionist to call Mr Zhāng in room 1109.

She told me he had already checked out.

It took a moment for her words to register, but when they did, I ran to the toilets and vomited. I thought of everything I had done to get to this point. I’d paid him all the money Mum left me, I’d dragged my gravely ill sister all the way to Shanghai and I’d lied to my family. The possibility that it was all for nothing, that Harper might not get her transplant after all, made my insides turn cold.

Overwhelmed by sadness, I left the hotel and got into a cab at the rank outside. But instead of giving the driver the address of Bì Yù’s apartment, I asked to be dropped at Zhōngshān Park.

I followed a path through the park, raising my head to admire a wide pink arch made by the branches of plum blossom trees.

This is Harper’s special place and I refused to bring her here.

I sat on a bench and studied the closest tree. She would spend hours in this park when she was small. It was always her favourite place in Shanghai. I recalled the many childhood holidays spent in Shanghai and the family picnics we had in this park, Harper sitting under these trees, singing to herself.

And I have refused to bring her here.

How consumed by the past I had become. My memories were like beads on Harper’s necklace. Sometimes, they caught the light and shone. Sometimes they fell, broke, and I would have to pick up the pieces.

In front of me, a young couple walked hand in hand. He moved his arm to wrap it around her waist and nuzzled her cheek. She smiled, her face glowing. His lips hovered over hers, teasing for a kiss. She laughed and leaned in. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. The sight of them made me ache.

Beads of memory twinkled. One fell, and I was back in London, with Olly.

Fairy lights pulsed red and green. We were at a Christmas party in a Holborn share house. It was late, music throbbed, the spiced scent of mulled wine lingered. We were standing in the middle of the room, a throng of sweating bodies writhing around us to the beat of the music.

Olly took my hand. His body swayed to the music and mine followed, guided by his. Dancing became easy this way.

After a while the music changed to something slower, softer. I could feel myself turning red. I can’t do this. I don’t know how.

He drew me close.

‘Don’t think so much,’ he whispered.

I closed my eyes and let the weight of my body sink into his. For a while we moved together and I realised I was no longer thinking about how to dance.

We felt so natural together, easy and tender. Was this love? Was this what my parents had felt? Was this what Harper felt with Louis?

I had never felt this way before. Never wanted to.

‘Marlowe.’ Olly was smiling in a lopsided kind of way; it made me dizzy. Our eyes locked. I wanted to look away but I couldn’t.

‘I love you.’

Before his words registered, I felt his lips flutter over mine.

Wait. Be careful.

It was as though the floor was shifting beneath my feet.

‘I’m so lucky,’ he murmured. He ran his fingertips over my cheek, brushing the hair away from my face. ‘I really love you.’

I froze as the words hit me. A current ran through me, sharp and icy. I bolted from the living room, down the hall and through the front door, out into the cold. Frigid air assaulted my lungs with each gasping breath. I sat on the steps with my head between my legs.

It didn’t make sense. I recounted the seconds, minutes and hours I had spent with Olly, wanting to tell him I loved him but was unable to. Perhaps it was cowardice, perhaps it was fear – although I had no idea what I was afraid of. And now that he had told me he loved me, it was the perfect time for me to say it back. Yet I hadn’t… couldn’t.

The front door opened and then Olly was sitting beside me on the step.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.’

‘It’s my fault.’ Although I knew this much, I couldn’t explain myself further.

‘You don’t need to say it back; I still –’

‘Thank you.’

Thank you?

He smiled again, always lopsided, then ducked his head so I couldn’t see his face.

Wind grazed the side of my cheek like a fine blade to the skin. As I crossed the busy road to Bì Yù’s apartment block, dodging bicycles, motorcyclists and cars, my eyes met those of an old lady crossing in the other direction. She smiled at me, and dimples appeared on her cheeks.

Dimples.

I smiled back, clutching the locket at my throat.

Bì Yù was cooking dinner when I entered. How she could do something so mundane when we were in the middle of a crisis baffled me.

‘Spaghetti is for dinner,’ Harper said from the sofa. She looked pale; her hair was plastered to the sides of her head with sweat. Did she have a fever? I went to her and put my hand to her forehead, but she pulled away.

I tried to remember where I had left the thermometer. On the kitchen bench, I thought.

Smells of sautéing onion, garlic and basil wafted up from the stove. Bì Yù was emptying a pot of pasta into a dish. She saw me and set the pan back onto the counter. Her eyes were soft. I felt the harder edges of my frustration melt.

‘Did you find Mr Zhāng?’ she asked.

I shook my head.

‘So what now? Will you take her home?’

‘I can’t let her go,’ I said, avoiding her eyes. I picked up the thermometer and cleaned the tip with my shirt.

Her face tightened. ‘But do you really want to save her like this?’ We stood there facing one another, without making eye contact, without speaking. I listened to the humming of the refrigerator, the sound of the exhaust fan sucking up steam from the cooling pasta, the sound of her breath, of my own.

The sound of the clock on the wall. Tick tick tick.

I tried to quell the voice in my head telling me that Mr Zhāng had run off with my money. I put my hand on the phone and looked at Bì Yù.

‘Please.’ My voice cracked. ‘I know you don’t agree with what I’m doing, but I need you. Please.’

She stared at my hand on the phone for what felt like hours, then she brushed my hand aside, picked up the phone. I handed her the slip of paper Anita gave me and Bì Yù dialled the number.

It rang out.

Shit.

My stomach lurched.

‘Try again. Please try again.’

She pressed redial.

Again, it rang out.

I took the phone from her and dialled the number myself. The number I had rehearsed in my head over and over again, each night when I couldn’t sleep.

‘Wéi?’

Thank whatever God might or might not exist.

I thrust the phone at Bì Yù.

She spoke in rapid Chinese. Paused. Spoke again, her voice rising.

‘Bì Yù!’

She slammed down the phone.

‘What did he say?’ I demanded.

She was panting.

‘Tell me’ – I tried to keep my voice steady – ‘exactly what he said.’

Her cheeks were red, eyes flashing. ‘He said there was a problem with the donor. We have to wait another three days. It’s time to stop, Marlowe.’

Stop. But I couldn’t.

I knew she was going to argue with me again and I didn’t want to hear it, so I walked out of the kitchen with the thermometer and took Harper’s temperature. It was elevated, but not dangerously so.

Leaving her on the couch, I went to my room. There I sat on the bed and counted my breaths until I was calm again.