There was an odd little incident when I picked Hao up at the cousins’ house thirty minutes later. Eric had gone and the front door was closed but the porch light was on and she opened as soon as I knocked. She was dressed to go out, in a dress and heels with a coat on top, and her luggage stood in the hallway behind her. She even wore hose and had put her hair up. But she also looked rather harassed. For a second I feared the worst.
‘Are you alright?’ I asked. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind, and you’re on your way to the airport!’
‘No, of course not! I’m coming back with you. Oh Paul, I’m so glad to see you!’
She came forward and stepped into my arms. I hugged her cautiously back.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I walked out on you like that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I had to get away, I needed to think–’
‘I deserved it. I behaved like an idiot.’
‘No you didn’t.’
We clung to each other for a moment, while I marvelled at the way my luck had changed once again. Then she disengaged.
‘I’m ready now, but I still have to say goodbye. Could you come in? I – I’d like you to be there.’
She took my hand and I followed her in. I hadn’t been past the front door before. She led me through to the back of the house, where the whole family was gathered around a large kitchen table, making chả giò, the small Vietnamese rolls, for the shop no doubt: father, mother, several children ranging from toddlers to young adults, and a grandmother or aged aunt of some sort. They looked up as we came in but no one said anything and when I said hello all I got in reply was a curt nod or two, which I thought odd. Vietnamese are normally very polite to strangers.
‘You remember Paul, don’t you?’ Hao said, still gripping my hand. I could feel the tension in her, like a tremor. ‘Anh Chị nhớ Anh Paul không? I’ll be going with him now.’
She let go my hand and took an envelope from the pocket of her coat. She spoke to the mother, a grim-faced woman in brown slacks and a grey cardigan, who looked back at us with hard suspicious eyes.
‘Chị, I must thank you for letting me stay here. I know it hasn’t been easy for you. You’ve been very kind to me. But it’s better this way.’ She spoke in Vietnamese, in the northern accent, which gave a sharp edge to her words. The family, I remembered, were northerners, like Khiem, and although born and bred in the south Hao could speak pure northern when she wanted, thanks to her father. My own Vietnamese had much improved in recent weeks and I understood most of what she said.
‘This is for you. I’ve already given you money for my room but this should cover any other expenses.’
She held the envelope out, but the mother made no move to take it. Hao put it on the table. The envelope was unsealed and contained a bundle of notes, in hundreds and fifties.
‘Please. Take it. It’s yours. I would hate to think you’ve lost money because of Eric or me.’
The woman hesitated, then took the envelope and put it in the pocket of her cardigan.
‘Chắc Ông nay giàu lắm, nên Cô mới có nhiều tiền như thế!’ she said in a cutting tone. She had the kind of grating voice common to many Vietnamese women, which seems made for sarcasm. I translated mentally – This gentleman must be very rich, for you to have so much money. Hao flushed angrily.
‘Anh Paul là người hiền và đạo đức, và tôi không phải là gái bán thân! Tiền này là tiền của tôi!’’ she retorted. (Paul is a kind and decent man, and I’m not a prostitute who sells her body. This is my money!) ‘But he’s been very helpful to me and I’m very happy to be going back with him!’
I couldn’t resist.
‘Tôi cũng mừng lắm, vì Cô Hảo la một người bạn quý mến,’ I said in my best Vietnamese. (I’m also very glad, because Hao is a dear and precious friend.) Everyone stared, Hao included. She was the first to recover. She bent down to the older woman, said a few words of farewell, then turned to me. Vietnamese are invariably respectful towards the old, no matter what the circumstances. ‘We can go now,’ she said in a low voice. There was a sheen of tears in her eyes. She took my hand again, I nodded around one more time, received a few more nods in return, and we left, picking her luggage up on the way.
‘What was that all about?’ I asked as we drove off. She sat upright in her seat, clutching her coat around her, still visibly upset.
‘I didn’t know you still spoke such good Vietnamese.’
‘I’ve been revising it. I wanted to give you a surprise.’
She smiled faintly.
‘She called me a whore.’
‘I thought that’s what she said.’
‘Not just then. On Friday, after I called you. And yesterday, when I told her I was coming back with you. She said I was behaving like a bar-girl, the way I was chasing after you, I was bringing shame on the family, and on Khiem’s name. If only she knew!’
‘What a nasty thing to say! Didn’t she know why you came to stay the first time?’
‘I don’t think she cares. All she could think of was the family name. She said who did I think I was, with my fancy clothes, running after white men, if I wanted you so much why had I come back, you must have got tired of me–’
‘You should have told me, I could have come yesterday–’
She shook her head.
‘It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gone back there. I knew what she was like, and they’ve only got a small house, and they’re a large family – but that’s the way with Vietnamese, when you’re family you can always make room for one more, and it wasn’t as if I didn’t do anything, I paid for my board, I helped as much as I could, in the house, in the shop–’
‘You certainly paid them enough. That was quite a sum you gave her.’
‘I didn’t want them to think I was leaving because I owed them any money.’
I reached across and put my hand on hers. She gripped it briefly, then released it so I could concentrate on my driving.
‘How was your trip to Canberra?’ she asked. ‘Did everything go as you wanted?’
‘Pretty well. Did Eric tell you about it?’
‘He hardly said anything. He said you’d explain. But he was very excited. He kept talking about some photos you’d got him.’
‘They’re photos of his father. I’ll show them to you later. I asked if they had any and they got some from records.’ I knew I owed her a detailed explanation, but I didn’t want to go into it just then.
‘I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Everything went well. Don’t worry. They liked him.’
She didn’t say anything. When we got home we put her luggage in her bedroom, then went to the sitting room. The flat was chilly and I switched on the heater. I asked if she wanted something to eat but neither of us was hungry. I helped her off with her coat and recognised the brown dress with white spots she’d worn when I’d taken her out to dinner, nearly four weeks earlier.
‘I love that dress,’ I said. ‘That’s the evening I started to fall in love with you.’
She smiled.
‘I bought it specially that day. I went into town straight after your phone call. I was so happy that you’d seen Eric, and you seemed to be getting on.’
She put her arms around me. I held her close, feeling her slender strength through the thin material. I still couldn’t quite believe my luck.
‘You do love me, don’t you Paul?’ she asked. ‘You weren’t just saying that?’
‘No. I mean it. Why, don’t you believe me?’
‘I do. But I need to be sure. People sometimes imagine things.’
‘Believe me, I’ve never been surer of anything. What about you? Do you love me?’
‘Yes. I do. Very much.’
‘Well then, it’s alright, isn’t it. We don’t need that talk after all.’
‘Yes we do.’
‘Alright. Let me clean up first. I feel rather grotty after that long drive.’
She sat down and I went off to have a shower. I shaved as well, even put on deodorant. Whatever the evening held in store I wasn’t taking any chances. I changed into clean clothes and went back to the sitting room.
Hao was still sitting where I’d left her, staring gloomily at the heater. I sat down next to her.
‘Don’t let that woman get to you,’ I said. ‘She’s probably just jealous. I’m sure deep down she wishes she could be like you, wearing fine clothes, free to do what you want …’
‘Maybe. But she was right, you know. I have behaved like a whore.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Not with you. Before. I had an affair, Paul. When Khiem was still alive. And I behaved pretty badly.’
‘It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.’
‘No. I want to tell you. You need to know about it, if we’re going to be together. I’m only afraid you’ll think what a slut I’ve been.’
‘I’ll never do that.’