Chapter 40

They waited in the lobby of the hotel in Hanoi to be collected – no one showed. A phone call revealed that they were a day late for their departure to Halong Bay. Today’s departure was full, tomorrow was the first available sailing.

Poppy apologised profusely for mixing up the dates. Helen assured her it was okay. However, she didn’t want to spend another night in a no-star hotel where the toilet paper was individual translucent sheets of paper that stuck to your fingers when wet. Poppy stumbled over one of the mopeds parked in the foyer, which doubled as the staff’s parking lot.

Within an hour, they were sitting at a large window in a café next to their new hotel. Sipping strong coffee, they watched the world go by. A visit to the tourist board in Hoan Kiem had revealed a lot. It turned out Hanoi was very easy to navigate, when you knew what you were doing. They had moved to a small hotel, the Hanoi Plaza, in the Old Quarter. It was warm, friendly and the same price as the hotel they had previously stayed in – and only a few streets away.

“You must think I’m an incompetent fool,” Poppy said.

“It’s all turned out great, so stop beating yourself up!”

“Maybe we should just stay here for all our Hanoi nights rather than moving to the French Quarter after Halong Bay.”

“The French Quarter – isn’t that where the hotel with the pool is though?”

Poppy nodded but didn’t look convinced.

Helen tried a different tack to cheer her up.

“Every minute you spend unhappy is sixty seconds less spent being happy.”

“That’s very Zen of you, Helen,” Poppy smiled.

“I read it on the thought-of-the-day calendar from the local taxi company.” Helen indicated the reception desk. “And just think, if we hadn’t messed up the dates, we’d have been stuck in that awful hotel for another few nights, none the wiser.”

“You’re right.” Poppy perked up at last. “What will we do with our spare day in Hanoi? Do you fancy going to see the water puppets?”

“Not a chance.”

“There’s a Buddhist monastery, a little out of town. We can go and spend the day there, meditating, eating vegetarian food with the Buddhist nuns.”

“I’d sooner stick needles in my eyes, thanks. Tell you what, Pops, why don’t you go and hang out with the nuns. You can tell Ryvita the Hare Krishna all about it when you go home. There’s a town just outside Hanoi, I hear there are great silks there. I may as well make use of our unexpected spare day.”

“You can’t work on holiday!”

“It’s not work, well, not completely – you know how I like to drool over fabrics. It’ll be like indulging a fetish.”

Poppy exhaled loudly and they sat in silence for a moment. On the street, life shuffled on. A tourist, who struggled to protect a camera that was slung around his neck, bent over to retrieve his backpack from the rear seat of a taxi. They got a bird’s-eye view of his khaki-covered tight butt for twenty seconds. With raised eyebrows, they looked at each and started to laugh.

“Dirty bitch,” Helen grinned.

“I said nothing.” Poppy was wearing her butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth face.

“You didn’t have to – I know what you were thinking about that poor innocent traveller.”

“I’d say the pot is calling the kettle black!” Poppy laughed. “Maybe it’s karma that we didn’t make that boat – perhaps it’ll sink or something.” Poppy brightened.

“To karma!” Helen raised her cup.

“To Halong Bay! Who knows, maybe we’ll meet our soul mates on our re-scheduled junk. Here’s to destiny!” Poppy was suddenly excited at the prospect. Her vivaciousness was back.

Helen enjoyed watching her friend daydream. But she knew better – there was no such thing as a soul mate, no such thing as destiny. Such thoughts were for dreamers.

Chapter 41

The taxi dropped Poppy off at the monastery first. It was hidden behind large wooden gates in the middle of a shanty town. Barefoot children with dirty little faces stopped kicking their ball around so they could stare at the foreigners, who were unusual to see in their part of town. Shy, they giggled and watched from a distance.

“How on earth did you find this place?” Helen asked.

“Google. I’m delighted now that I contacted the nuns, even though I didn’t think I’d have time to visit. I can’t tempt you?”

“I’ll leave the spiritual stuff to you, thanks. See you in a few hours and try not to bonk any monks – Ryvita might get jealous.”

Poppy rolled her eyes and closed the car door.

Helen rolled down the window as the taxi pulled away. “And don’t forget your halo!”

Poppy stuck her tongue out just as the brown-robed nun cracked open a small side gate.

Helen watched through the rear window as Poppy disappeared from sight. She chuckled to herself as she sat back into the seat. She checked her phone: the screen remained annoyingly clear. She considered calling the office until she did a mental check on the time difference. Realising it was still night-time in London made her yawn. Thankfully, the taxi driver was the silent type who drove quickly, the fare being a negotiated flat rate. Helen closed her eyes for what only felt like a moment but soon the driver announced she’d arrived at Van Phuc silk village.

One silk shop after another blazed with colour, heaven on earth for the lingerie designer. She ran her hand along the smooth textures, studying the fine jacquard weaving. She found the coveted shade of red that she’d transform from classic Vietnamese styling to an Eden classic – the Santa Claus babydoll. They wouldn’t be able to afford real silk for the Eden price points but her head was racing with thoughts for a diffusion range. A high-class silk collection to capture the beauty of Vietnam, transforming it into a luxury lingerie anthology that not only looked beautiful but also felt so provocative to wear it released a woman’s sensuality as it touched her skin.

It’s do-able, Helen, if you can find the right supplier.

Helen stood in a narrow little shop lost in thought as she tried to figure out how she could make this work. She gazed out onto the street. The answer came to her as a man strode by holding a straw briefcase.

She put down the fabric and ran after him. The street was packed but she was determined this time he wouldn’t get away. The fact it was daylight also helped. She remained focused on his briefcase.

“Excuse me!” she called out when she was within earshot. “Hello, you with the briefcase!”

The man’s head tweaked slightly and, mercifully, he stopped and turned around.

Helen jogged up to him. She put her hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath. The man simply looked at her, puzzled.

“I really need to work on my cardio,” she panted and this seemed to amuse him somewhat. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

He shook his head.

“Heathrow. You recommended I buy a book on synchronicity.” Her breathing began to normalise as she saw a light go on in his face.

“Yes, I remember you now, what a coincidence!” he said, in elegant BBC English.

“No, that’s not all – I then saw you in Hong Kong – actually I saw your straw briefcase.”

“It’s bamboo.”

“Oh, okay, your bamboo briefcase. And now weeks later I see you in Vietnam. What do you think the odds of that are?”

He paused and appeared to be considering her question. “Are you involved in the garment industry?” he said then.

“Yes, but what has that got to do with it?”

“It’s the time of year for trade fairs and contract placement. Hong Kong is the meeting point for Asia and, well, look around you.” He swept his hand at the street where they stood, surrounded by fabric. “I’ll admit, Vietnam adds intrigue to your theory but if it wasn’t for my briefcase, the chances are we’d have passed each other by – without noticing.”

His eyes were deep brown with a distinctive slant but he wasn’t Asian. Mixed race, Helen guessed.

“True, I’m sorry to disturb you. I guess that book had me thinking there was something more to it than just the fact the world is a small place. And even smaller when you start talking in terms of the rag trade.” Helen hunched her shoulders in jest, now feeling a little foolish. She cocked her thumb. “I’d better get back to buying silk – I’ve left a very disappointed trader back there.” With a smile she walked away.

“Wait!” He caught up with her.

“Yes?”

He held out his hand. “I’m David Strong.”

“Helen Devine.” She shook his hand.

“Do you know what you’re looking for, Helen?”

Helen raised her eyebrows.

David reddened slightly. “I mean in terms of silk – perhaps I can guide you?”

“That’s very kind of you. I’ve managed to hunt down a particularly beautiful shade of red that I can use – but I’m looking for a factory – this area appears to be all retail.”

“As Lady Luck would have it, there’s one not five minutes from here. I’m going that way – I can show you if you like?” David smiled at her, a sparkle in his eye. His olive skin was smooth and slightly moist in the humidity. Despite that, his clothes had a smell of just-out-of-the-dryer freshness – summer meadow, as the fabric-softener ads would have you believe.

Helen tilted her head and smiled back. “Sure,” she said.

“This way.”

They began to walk side by side.

“What’s the deal with the briefcase, David?”

“It was my grandfather’s. I know it looks a little strange but it’s got a lot of sentimental value.”

Helen thumbed the ring on her little finger. The ring that had belonged to her grandmother.

There were a few moments of self-conscious silence as they walked, then David struck up a conversation.

“My grandmother was Vietnamese. She met my grandfather when he was here working. They lived together in the UK but our family links to Vietnam were very strong, if you’ll excuse the pun. My grandfather brought as much trade here as he could – he wanted the local people to benefit from Western consumers, not just be repressed by the West.” They had walked away from the crowds of the silk market and entered an industrial-looking area. “It’s not much further, maybe two hundred metres.”

“You were saying?” Helen coaxed him.

“Oh yes, my briefcase. I decided to come to Vietnam, continue what he had envisaged. He was too old to travel by then, so he gave me his old briefcase, said it would bring me luck. And as luck would have it, or synchrodestiny,” he paused to look at Helen, “I met my wife here in the very same village my grandfather had met my grandmother.”

The needle scratched across Helen’s vinyl. Great, there’s a wife, why is it all the good ones are already taken?

“Here we are.” David looked up at a stone building.

“What is it that you do exactly, David?” Helen asked, her curiosity piqued despite cold water being poured on her he-must-be-my-soul-mate theory.

“I have a garment factory – this is it!” he said with a grin as he pointed at the building.

Helen laughed. Now that was a coincidence.

“We were hoping to expand it,” he went on, his face again serious, “employ more people from the surrounding rural areas but I’m having difficulty getting in with the major players. I wanted to start in the UK, as it’s the market I know. But it’s all about who you know. They won’t even take a look at our offer. ‘Not currently seeking new suppliers’ appears to be the tagline.” He clamped his lips together tightly.

Helen wondered how often she’d heard Fred use those words.

“Could I have a look at your factory?”

“I’d be delighted.” He hesitated. “What sector did you say you were in, Helen?” They both knew she hadn’t said.

“I’m a designer.”

“I guessed as much,” David laughed. “You know, when I first saw you in London, I had you written off as a career-focused business executive. You look completely different out here – you appear relaxed and much more of the designer type.”

Helen grinned. “What exactly does a designer type look like?”

“I’m not sure I can define it . . . probably nonconformist and less afraid of letting their personality shine through by what they wear. It was my limited perception that pigeon-holed you into just one category back in London but if I may say, Vietnam suits you, Helen.”

“It just goes to show, David, appearances can be deceptive.”

You better believe it.

David’s wife sat hand-stitching a button on a prototype sample. She jumped up and started to brush rogue threads off her clothes when she realised they had company. David softly kissed her hello.

“This is Helen, she’s a designer. I said she’s welcome to look around the factory.”

“I’m Mai, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Helen. Would you like some tea?” Her English was as flawless as her complexion. She wore her hair tied back tight in a ponytail – a few strands hung loosely around her face and she tried to smooth them back in place.

“No, no – don’t go to any trouble, Mai, thank you. Are these your samples?”

“Yes, David is not long back from Britain, he was showing them there – they are still a little creased from the suitcase.” Mai brushed her hand along the silk garments as if that would iron out the creases.

“They are gorgeous.” Helen admired a long silk dress.

“Unfortunately, not gorgeous enough,” said David.

Mai and David exchanged a glance. Reassuringly, she rubbed his arm.

He opened a door and the buzz of sewing machines filled the air. He indicated to Helen and Mai to walk ahead.

“This is the heart of the place,” he said as they walked through rows of machines, his voice raised to be heard above the collective whirling noise.

The workers looked up with curiosity but soon turned their attention back to their seams. There were a lot of vacant machines.

“You can see we were hoping to expand. Most of our supplies are Vietnamese, from companies we carefully vet – it also helps reduce our carbon footprint. Our staff come from the town and surrounding areas. Many of these women provide the only source of income for their family.”

“It’s a lovely bright building. I can see you run it well.”

“It is important to us to provide good working conditions, and source components locally. We had a vision of an ethical production plant that would benefit everyone and add to the community. Many families get split up because the main income earner has to go to the large cities to find work.”

“Why do you say ‘had’ a vision?”

“Unless I can get a foot in the door with one of the larger chains, it’ll be hard to maintain. Small stores are great, we can continue to supply them but we need an anchor. If they’d just give us a try I know I could make it work.” The muscles of David’s face showed strain as he spoke.

“Have you considered making something other than evening dresses? That’s quite a limited market.”

“The machinists are skilled at handling silk, which as you know is a difficult fabric to handle,” Mai replied.

“I know, which means they’d quickly learn to work with other lightweight fabrics such as chiffon or satin.” Helen looked at the machines. “Your machines are suitable too. A few adjustments and finer needles and you could easily expand into a new market, a profitable market.”

David and Mai looked at each other.

“Lingerie, of course!” Helen drew up her shoulders and raised her hands.

David took a sharp intake of breath. “Yes, we thought of that but the margins are very tight. Give a garment a lingerie label and the asking price goes down. Call it outerwear and you can increase your profit margin. Besides, we can’t compete on price with producers who save money by exploiting the workforce or dump their dye-stuffs into rivers.”

Helen looked at him with curiosity.

“I don’t know how much you’ve seen, Helen, but trust me, there are some bad factories out there. Workers, often under age, are forced to work long hours, seven days a week in death-traps of factories. Many clients prefer to turn a blind eye and not ask questions.”

“They set up a model factory – the client companies only see that,” Mai added. “They keep the real workers hidden.” She handed the sample she’d been sewing to the line supervisor.

“Mai, remember the mill in India that dumped all their toxic waste into the river?” said David. “They poisoned the whole town’s water supply. That never even made it to the news.”

“That’s unbelievable!” Helen said.

“When people buy throw-away clothing they rarely stop to question where it came from and what exactly they are throwing away,” Mai said, her eyes dark.

“So are you saying to be competitive you have to act unethically?”

“On the contrary,” David replied. “There are plenty of low-cost suppliers that are doing a terrific job. In fact, some factories producing for the well-known brands are the biggest offenders.”

“It sounds like it’s down to people not caring,” Helen said as they started to walk back towards the office.

“Yes, but greed also – companies profiting from the misfortunes of others. Some people are so poor they’ll do anything to put food on the table.”

“Maybe if the end consumer knew more about it and they started to ask more questions,” said Helen, “the companies would be held accountable – no one wants bad press.”

“Hopefully, because unless some kind of miracle drops in our laps, it looks like we may have to close up shop and move back to the UK.” He held the door open to allow Helen and Mai to walk ahead.

In the office sat two children wearing a royal-blue school uniform. Beside them sat an elderly woman, her hands resting on her squared knees. The young children ran to Mai and David. They spoke in Vietnamese for a moment before the little boy came to Helen and said in carefully practised English, “I am very pleased to meet you.” His face split in a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

Helen stooped slightly and shook his tiny hand.

“Helen, this is my mother.” Mai said something to the older woman who nodded politely but looked away, bashful, then beat a hasty retreat, smiling and waving as she went. “My mother’s very shy, especially around foreigners.”

“And don’t I know it!” David laughed. “Eight years and I think she’s only starting to warm to me now. Would you like that tea now, Helen, or do you want to get back to your fabric-selecting?”

Helen pulled up a seat and sat down. “I think tea would be a good option.”

David raised an eyebrow ever so slightly but he smiled and simply said, “Certainly.”

“What is it that you design, Helen? Lingerie?” Mai asked as she laid the children’s colouring books on the office desk. “I may be able to help you find what you need.”

“Yes, lingerie, that’s right. Have you heard of Eden?”

“Eden, UK?” David’s tanned complexion paled, realisation dawning on him. “They’ve nearly five hundred stores throughout the UK – rumour is they’re expanding into Europe also.”

Their eyes now focused on Helen.

“David, I think your grandfather’s briefcase may just deliver that miracle you’ve been waiting for,” Helen said as she reached for her business card.

Chapter 42

They made the three-hour trek to Halong Bay on a rickety white bus. They started out at eight. Their fellow travellers, consisting of two couples, were talking in whispers or not at all.

Helen was happy to escape Hanoi’s endless traffic and market streets – for now. She knew it was time to exit the city when she saw Britney Spears’s Headstone, complete with picture and memoriam on Tombstone Street.

“I think I’ll start a bucket list and make Halong Bay the first item I tick off,” Helen said, leaning forward as she pulled a notebook from her bag. Poppy was sitting in the seat in front of her as they had both wanted a window view and neither was particularly partial to morning natters.

Poppy’s head bobbed up, and she peered over the top of the seat back. “You’re still glowing from yesterday, aren’t you?”

Without looking up, Helen nodded. “It’s a win-win situation. I saw the factory as it really is. David, Mai and their children get to stay in their home country and Fred can take the limelight and PR for Eden’s new Ethical Sourcing Campaign.”

“I didn’t know they had one.”

“They do now.” Helen rested the notebook on her lap. “To be fair, they’ve always been careful about their sourcing but I think this will up the ante a notch.” She started to write again.

Poppy settled back down. “Will you please make that a long list, Helen. I don’t want you putting the intention to the Universe that you’re ready to kick the bucket too soon – we want you around for a while yet.”

Helen looked down at the page where she’d just written the numbers one to ten. She quickly continued on to number twenty – that, she reckoned should see her through to the grand age of ninety-six. She wrote the words Halong Bay alongside the number one. She had time to think about the rest.

The bus trundled through the narrow streets of Hanoi’s Old Quarter. Streams of people interweaved, going in different directions, armies of ants undeterred by distractions, focused only on their goals. Everyone in a hurry. Traders were already plying their wares. Street kitchens set up kerbside where wizened old ladies cooked local delicacies: noodle soup and bun cha.

Looking out from the bus, Helen felt she was watching a movie, so detached was she from the mêlée. The bus driver jerked the vehicle to a halt, which caused Helen to bump her forehead against the window. The guide cheerfully announced they were stopping to pick up further members of the tour group.

“Please God, let there be a few singles.” Poppy stretched up to look over the top of the seat in front of her.

“Casual sex is allowed for the spiritually enlightened then?” Helen responded dryly, rubbing her sore head. She tried to get into a comfortable position but she was fighting a losing battle.

“Talk about a one-track mind! I meant someone we can have a laugh with, not all couples. But, now that you mention it, this could be the love of my life getting on the bus. A holiday isn’t complete without a bit of romance.”

“Romance my backside, you always want fireworks and roses, Poppy – I hate to burst your bubble but –” Before Helen could finish a tall attractive man boarded the bus.

“Morning,” he nodded to everyone as he passed them. His accent was undoubtedly Australian. His tanned face was somewhat weather-beaten and his dark-blond hair was showing signs of receding, which only added to his charisma. He wore a khaki-coloured waistcoat with lots of little pockets, the type photographers use. He was wearing the classic Aussie leather hat, topping off his clichéd Crocodile Dundee look.

Poppy perked up a bit when she saw him and turned to peer at Helen with raised eyebrows. She didn’t say anything – she didn’t need to – she was claiming first dibs. Fireworks and roses were already raining down in her mind’s eye.

Poppy looked like a child on Christmas Eve. Helen hid a smile and signalled to her to look again. Sure enough, clambering on the bus laden down with baggage was what could only be Mrs Dundee.

“Morning all!” the slender blonde woman called out from the top of the bus, her greeting upbeat, despite her heavy load.

“Easy come, easy go,” Poppy sighed and pulled her new Red Star of Vietnam peaked cap over her eyes, signalling her return to slumber.

The enthusiastic tour guide, Huy, who didn’t stop smiling even while talking, turned his microphone back on.

“Tropical Sails welcomes you, Pete and Lorraine!” He gave a little clap. “Just one more stop to pick up another gentleman and we’ll be on our way to the beautiful Halong Bay!” He appeared genuinely excited.

Either that or he’s a very good actor, Helen thought. She doubted if a European tour operator would carry out his duties in such a positive manner. Or was she just thinking of herself and her own attitude to Eden?

“So, now we are on Tin Street, Hang Thiec. Can anyone guess what they sell here?” Huy’s shoulders bobbed up and down as he tried to contain his laughter. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Tin!” His good humour was infectious and the mood on the bus was less restrained than before. He continued with his impromptu tour of the city. “In Old Town, Hanoi, all the streets are named by what was traditionally sold there. It make shopping very easy, I think.” Still laughing.

“Where’s Beer Street then, mate?” Pete the Aussie shouted from the back.

Huy doubled up with laughter, slapping his knee for added effect. His eyes bunched up into his laughter-soaked face as he exposed a row of crooked white teeth and a large amount of healthy pink gum.

“Ha, ha, Pete – you funny man, we have the bia hoi everywhere!” Huy gave a sweep of his arm.

“’Struth, they should be called paint-stripper stalls!” said Pete, rubbing his perfectly flat stomach. “We’d a few scoops there the other night. Tell you what, mate, my tummy still isn’t the better for it.”

“That was the ruou that did that, you wombat, not the beer!” the little blonde woman sitting beside Pete piped up. “You said the bia hoi was water so they gave you the rice wine instead!”

“Sounds about right, now that I think of it. Had me on the dunny all night!”

“Too right! And I had to lie in bed next to you!” Thankfully, she didn’t elaborate.

Helen and Poppy locked eyes: all couples or not, this boat-trip would be fun.

The banter continued until the narrow streets of the Old Quarter gave way to the wider metropolis of greater Hanoi. A traffic cop stood on a box in the middle of a seven road junction. No traffic lights, only her, a little slip of woman, in a dark uniform and pristine white gloves. A mask covered her mouth and nose to lessen the effect of the toxic emissions. Although the Vietnamese appeared to know when to stop and go, Helen closed her eyes, unable to look at the near-collisions taking place every few seconds. With her eyes closed, she stopped pressing her imaginary brake, before she put a hole in the floor of the already delicate bus.

“Here we are, our last stop, and then we’re on our way!” Huy announced.

The golden letters for the Four Seasons Hotel glimmered, looking like a golden carp in a sea of minnow. The driver steered off the busy street, up the steep driveway, an oasis surrounded by abundant vegetation and manicured gardens. Huy jumped out and made his way to the entrance. Everyone was curious to see the face of the man who was staying here, Poppy and Helen included.

Helen poked Poppy’s shoulder. “Check this out – we must be getting a luxury boat after all – no way someone is going to leave a Four Season’s bed for a junker. You might even get diamond-loaded fireworks, Pop!”

“Sssh!” Poppy looked cross, but Helen just laughed.

The bubbly Huy came back into view, practically skipping to the bus. And then they saw him – Mr Five Star, with his multidirectional wheeled suitcase, white sport socks and sandals.

Poppy said nothing.

“I’m off men anyway, Poppy – go ahead and dibs all you want,” Helen said as she put the white buds of her iPod in her ears.

The dark-haired man climbed on. His eyes darted nervously, looking for a seat, careful not to make eye contact.

Helen sensed his uneasiness and silently ticked herself off for being so judgemental. She smiled and said, “Hello,” as the oversized, slightly awkward man passed by. Distracted by Helen’s smile, he stumbled.

The cars, motorbikes and scooters thinned out and city buildings became sparse – replaced with dramatic green paddy fields. Workers in conical hats and rolled-up trousers bent over the crops, picture-postcard style. The road ahead was long and straight. In each direction, women walked along the side of the tarmac, bamboo sticks placed across their shoulders. Huge baskets carrying an array of produce – mangoes, oranges, and bananas weighed down each side of the bamboo, as they swung rhythmically. The women held out pieces of fruit – appealing for a sale. But the tourists rarely stopped.

The terminal at Halong Bay was chaotic.

“You buy something? You buy something from me?” the hawkers on the pier shouted, with mantra-like repetition, and thus became a vibration to which weary tourists became oblivious.

Huy had the girls and company on a feeder boat heading towards the landing dock within minutes of arriving.

Helen and Poppy were tired and not in conversation mode. But as their little boat headed out into the bay, they were rendered speechless anyhow. Words were superfluous as the beauty unfolded before their eyes. Even Crocodile Dundee shut up.

Despite so many people and boats, nothing detracted from the splendour of the karsts – colossal rock formations towering over them like dragons. Majestic and noble, they commanded speechless humility in their presence. The people were dwarfed as they entered the Valley of the Rock Giants. The two friends huddled together and watched, as the Goliath forms appeared to glide past. Helen thought many of them were rather phallic but decided not to admit where her mind had wandered.

They docked.

“Kayaks, everyone!” Huy’s voice jolted them back to reality. The tour was to start with kayaking.

Helen, not a lover of water in general, was a bit dubious about the whole thing.

“I’m not sure I’ll go, Poppy – I might sit this one out.” She looked at the water, saddened by the slicks of oil and trash – the pollution the tourists had inadvertently brought with them.

“I’m not going on my own, come on.” Poppy wasn’t going to be put off.

“Come, ladies, this is your boat.” Huy handed them yellow lifejackets – they smelt of must.

Helen donned her lifejacket, took hold of the paddle, and faced her fear of water.

The tour brochure had said “Kayaking Lesson”. The lesson consisted of Huy shouting, “Go for it, ladies!” as he pushed their vessel away from the dock.

At first, things were a bit wobbly as they tried to coordinate their paddling by taking a paddle each. They ended up going around in a circle. Then Poppy, who was sitting behind Helen, insisted on paddling solo.

“All those hours giving massage will pay off now. I’ve got muscles on my muscles,” she declared.

Australian Pete declared a mini-Olympics. “England versus Ireland, Australia versus New Zealand. See you suckers!” He paddled furiously, leaving the wife to just hang on to her hat. He was an annoyingly macho Southern Hemisphere male, but a very likable one.

On cue, the previously quiet bus-load of strangers-turned-kayakers rose to the challenge and paddled in their respective country’s honour, whooping and hollering as they went. The Irish were still going in circles though despite Poppy’s solo efforts.

The banter caught the attention of neighbouring boats, of which there were too many to count. Helen felt someone watching her.

“Pops, take a rest, I’ve got this,” she said.

“It must be a different group of muscles for paddling – my arms are knackered already.” Poppy reluctantly let go.

“Let’s see if all my yoga Downward Dog poses will stand to us.” Helen paddled and the kayak straightened up.

“Well done, girl, but I think it’s your sex positions that are standing to you,” Poppy laughed.

Helen splashed her.

Something made Helen look around. A young man was watching her from another kayak. He was alone. Despite the distance between them she could see that actually he was beaming at her. Their eyes fixed on one another. For a moment, she forgot to paddle.

“Hells, what are you doing, we’re losing the race!” Poppy pounded the side of the craft as if she were on a racing horse.

Helen threw an impish smile back at the guy. There was something familiar about him. Even at a distance, she could make out the curve of his mouth, the angle of his chin – distinguished, without conceit.

Eye contact was broken – she started to paddle again, only this time she made a vain attempt to look graceful.

“Check out that guy over there,” she said. “He keeps staring over at us.”

It didn’t take Poppy long to spot him amongst the skirmish of kayaks.

“The young blond bloke? Jesus, Helen – he’s about twelve!”

“I didn’t say he was checking us out, for Christ sake! I just said he keeps looking over. And let’s face it – he’s more than smiling – he’s radiating at us. It’s odd.”

“You most likely remind him of his mother.”

“Cheers, babe, you’re great for the self-esteem!”

“He probably feels sorry for us,” Poppy replied flatly.

“Remind me never to go on holidays with you again!” Helen panted as she upped the pace again. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

“We could do with him on our boat – look how easy he makes it seem. He’s a natural,” Poppy said, as the man’s strokes brushed through the water.

Helen flashed one of her dazzling smiles at him, as if to reassure him Mommy was okay. Water-Boy returned an even wider, porcelain smile. Or was he laughing? It was hard to make out, now that he’d gone further across the bay.

The encounter cost Helen and Poppy valuable paddle-time and Team England took advantage.

“Make a hard right, Helen, the Aussies are heading into that tunnel!” Poppy shouted, having appointed herself navigator.

“Is it a cave? It doesn’t look very big if it is,” Helen asked, paddling furiously.

Poppy didn’t reply – she was looking up in awe at the height of the limestone islands surrounding them.

“It’s some kind of channel, I think. It doesn’t look very high though,” Helen said, ignoring the scenery, focused on where she was trying to get to – before the English. Feeling a twinge of claustrophobia coming on, she manoeuvred the small craft as if she’d been doing this all her life. Between the hygiene, the hotels and now water and caves, Vietnam had proven to be a challenge to all her fears, on every level.

Team Australia was out of sight, having entered the mysterious tunnel moments before. Team England had forgotten about the race, instead stopping to take in the strange formations of the area they had entered, their mouths open in wonder.

An eerie silence enveloped them. But there was light at the end of the tunnel, both literally and metaphorically.

Once she’d gone far enough ahead to ensure placing for Team Ireland, Helen slowed down to see what all the fuss was about. The tunnel was low and dark – above them, icicle-like stalactites made curious forms. A droplet of water fell from one of the tips, hitting the water’s surface, causing an echoing sound to vibrate around them. Like a wooden stick on a Chinese singing bowl, this was the sound of silence.

They and their new companions drifted on the still water, communicating with each other by eye contact and smiles. No one spoke. Everyone felt special to be here, in this place and time – the collective consciousness transfixed by beauty and stillness. It was a moment that would stay with a person for a lifetime.

After a short time, almost by its own volition, the kayak started to drift towards the light of the cove. Emerging from the cave-like tunnel, a beam of sunlight peeped out from behind hazy karsts.

“It’s like the hand of God reaching out to touch you,” Poppy whispered.

“I feel I’m in a dream, it’s so unreal, yet here we are,” Helen whispered back, her usual wisecracks vanished.

The water lapping the kayak was the only sound.

“Why are we whispering?” Poppy leant towards Helen.

“I don’t know – it’s just so humbling maybe? Or maybe we’ve entered the twilight zone . . .” Helen widened her eyes and wiggled her fingers hypnotically at Poppy.

They entered an enclosed cove. Akin to New York tourists, people craned their necks looking at the cloud-dotted sky visible through the circle-like formation of the giant limestone.

“Hello!” Lorraine, the Australian woman, called out, breaking the silence.

Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello! echoed all around them.

Everyone laughed. The silence was broken, but for some reason it was okay, as if it was time. Their laughter echoed as well, which caused them to laugh even more.

When they’d stopped laughing Helen turned to Poppy. “I feel so lucky to be here.” She twisted the ring on her little finger.

“Me too, I’ll treasure this moment forever.”

“It’s like, nothing else matters – nothing, before now, matters. When we paddle back out through the tunnel, I’ll have been reborn in some way, given a clean slate to start again. Does that sound weird?” Helen wasn’t used to the kind of words she found herself saying. Leaving her comfort zone and coming to Vietnam had opened her eyes. And now it had led to here.

“No, I understand that. It’s as though we’ve been cleansed by witnessing such incredible beauty,” Poppy said softly.

Helen looked at her oldest, dearest friend. “Thanks for sharing it with me.”

Poppy smiled, no words needed.

Helen wiped her eye. “We’d better head back out – there are other kayaks about to come in – it’d be nice to let them have their chocolate-box moment.” She guided the kayak towards the small rocky opening, silently thanking the Universe for whatever had just happened.

Chapter 43

It was a self-established traffic system in the tunnel, incoming boats on the left, outgoing on the right. As the light of the cove receded behind Helen and Poppy, it illuminated the faces of the people in a neighbouring boat as they entered – they glowed with curiosity and marvel.

Their anticipation was tangible.

And then – he was there.

The smiling Water-Boy rowed towards the light, his kayak only feet away.

Their eyes fastened as they glided past each other.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” was all Helen could say, like the echo she had just left. Her heart thumped. She opened her mouth to say something else – what, she didn’t know – but the moment had passed and he was gone. Two ships passing in the night.

“Wasn’t that the guy from earlier?” Poppy asked.

“I think so,” Helen said, trying to catch her breath. She wondered why her heart was beating so fast, just from a look.

“He’s older than he looked from a distance, almost within your age range, Helen,” Poppy added with an air of deviousness in her voice. “He’s probably about twenty-five, I reckon – pity – too old for your taste, hey?”

“Sod off, you – you can paddle back for being such a smart-arse.” Helen playfully pushed the paddle to a groaning Poppy.

“The old Helen is back, I see.”

“Last back has to buy the beer!” Australian Pete shouted out at them. He’d appeared out of nowhere and was energetically making his way to the dock.

Helen grabbed the paddle back from Poppy, who was happy to oblige.

“Losers!” she shouted back and quickly gained ground on him.

They pulled up to the wooden gangway. Pete and Lorraine had won by a hair’s breadth – according to Poppy and Helen, that is. People from the kayak-hire company and Huy hurried over to help them disembark onto a slippery deck. The water-boat saleswomen weren’t far behind.

“Lady, you buy something?” a little Vietnamese woman shouted at them, her boat overloaded with bottles of water, Coca-Cola, fruit and chocolate. Three identical boats joined in chorus, all vying for a few tourists’ dollars. They accepted Dollar, Dong, Sterling and Euro, sorry, no American Express.

“How much is your Buddha beer?” Pete asked, pointing to a golden-coloured can of the Vietnamese beer.

“Two dollar.” The woman quickly held up a can.

“You want anything, girls? Bound to be cheaper here than on the boat,” he asked his wife, Helen and Poppy.

“We’re grand thanks, Pete – anyway, I thought we were supposed to be buying the beer?” said Poppy.

“No worries, I was just kidding. It’s your turn on the boat though!”

Lorraine lightly punched him on the arm. “Be nice, Pete! Ignore him, girls, he’s only pulling your leg. He’s delighted the Irish are on board tonight.”

“Damn right, it’s bound to be a right good party! Actually, throw us up six tinnies, love,” he said, holding up six fingers before reaching for his wallet. With the sight of the trade, more floating shops paddled in their direction in the hope of getting some share of the bread.

“How do they all make a living out here?” Poppy said to Helen.

“With difficulty, I’d say,” Helen replied distractedly. “We don’t realise how lucky we are.” She was looking back across the bay.

The group gathered and Huy did a head-count.

“Good, good, all here. Now we go by small motor-boat to your Tropical Sails Junk, The Phoenix.” Huy cupped his hand in a sweeping motion, as though he was seeing the name in lights.

“That’s apt, a bird, reborn from the flames. Maybe it’s a sign of new beginnings,” Poppy smiled. She had noticed Helen was very quiet.

The motor idled as passengers clambered on. Then, with a pull from the driver, it spluttered dark smoke and coughed its way to life.

The noise of the engine drowned conversation. Helen let the wind blow through her hair as they headed, at speed, away from the quay and out into Halong Bay.

She couldn’t help but look back and, sure enough, she spotted him.

Water-Boy or Water-Man, as she now realised, was standing on the pier – which she had left only minutes ago. What was it about this guy that she could pick him out, his gait, his presence? It was almost as though she could sense him. The back of her neck prickled with goose bumps.

Damn, she thought. Talk about missing the boat!

“Who’s for beer?” Lorraine shouted as she popped open a can.

“Yes, please!” said Poppy, eager as an under-age schoolgirl. “Isn’t it funny – a laughing Buddha on the can!” She mimed as she pointed to the can, as it was hard to hear over the engine. She took a long gulp of the warm, frothy liquid. “I’m thinking the Buddha guarantees hang-over free beer!”

“Wishful thinking!” another passenger joined in.

The dark-haired man, who had joined them from the Four Seasons, smiled and laughed. He was trying to fit in – he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and stole a glance at Helen. Her fair hair was blowing back from her face, revealing a long graceful neck. She had a dreamy look on her face.

Twilight was settling and lights from the junks began to twinkle around the bay like fairy lights on a Christmas tree. Helen looked up high into the sky – the stars were turning on now too, winking back at her. A gust of wind caused her to shudder – she pulled her denim jacket tightly around her torso. As they reached their junk, home for the night, she looked around her – they were an eclectic group of people. And they were in for a good night.

Chapter 44

05:50 a.m. Helen cautiously opened a bleary eye. Her other eye was buried deep into the pillow, as she had fallen asleep face down last night – or was it that she had collapsed face down? Her mouth, dry as the Sahara, was open, the lower lip stuck to the white cotton pillowcase. She tried to swallow but lack of saliva made it difficult. That could mean only one thing – drool. And drooling meant a black mamba of a hangover.

Before moving her head too much, she tried to assess the situation. Jerky motions now could result in a shot of searing pain to her oxygen-deprived brain. Poppy was softly snoring in the next bed, her arms outstretched like Jesus Christ on the crucifix. Helen willed herself back to sleep as, despite her cotton-wool head, she could remember that they had only stumbled down to their cabin a mere four hours previously.

“Water, I need water,” she muttered like a castaway shipwrecked on a desert island. She decided she’d have to attempt moving. To her pleasant surprise, a thumping headache failed to appear.

Score, she thought. She threw back the duvet to find she had only half undressed last night. Her shoes and jeans lay strewn on the floor. As she stood, she noticed the boat had started to sway.

“I hope that’s the boat and not me,” she said, trying to remain vertical as she pulled on her jeans. Poppy’s reply was a continuing, even snort.

Grabbing up her shoes and scooping up her packet of paracetamol, she tip-toed to the cabin door, which brought a whole new challenge: sunlight.

“Bugger!” Helen winced as she stubbed her toe on the lip of the doorframe.

“You buy something?” A voice and the sound of oars swishing through water came from the side of the boat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Helen declared as she looked overboard to see if there really was a floating shop alongside them at the break of dawn.

Thankfully there was.

“There is a God! Water, please – a big bottle. And have you any Mars bars?” Helen called down to the Vietnamese saleswoman.

The woman handed the goods up to Helen. “Something else for you, lady? Buddha beer maybe?” she asked, head cocked innocently.

Helen wasn’t ready to start the hair of the dog cure, because then she’d seriously have to question her drinking habits.

“No, that’s it, thanks, how much?”

“Three dollar,” the woman replied, happy to have a handsome sale so early in the day.

Helen took her supplies and headed up the stairs towards the main dining room. There were bodies everywhere – the crew slept in sleeping-bags in the dining-room-turned–staff-quarters. She continued on up to the top tier of the junk and lay back on a sun-lounger. She unscrewed the water-bottle cap, downed two paracetamol for the hangover she knew was coming, and then took a bite out of her Mars bar.

An early-morning mist enveloped the bay, giving the karsts a mystical vibration.

What a good place to have a hangover, she thought happily. She closed her eyes and listened as the sounds of solitude lulled her into a gentle slumber.

“Helen – are you up there?” Poppy shouted up the stairs, unwilling or unable to climb them.

The boat had come to life. Sounds of pots and pans clattering from the galley indicated the day had officially started.

Helen roused. “Eh, yep,” she shouted down. “I’ve got water if you need some. I’ve eaten the chocolate though – sorry!” She was not a bit sorry at all.

Poppy’s bed-head came into view as she climbed up.

“And the dead arose and appeared to many!” Helen laughed when she saw her friend.

“Like you can talk – have you looked in the mirror this morning?” Poppy retorted, grabbing the bottle of water.

Helen handed her the packet of pain-relievers. “Good night though, hey?” she chuckled.

“It was a laugh – I just wish we’d gone to bed a bit earlier.” Poppy crunched her head from side to side. It was still attached, thank goodness.

“What the hell, we’re on holiday. Anyway, this Cat Ba Island we’re heading to today sounds quiet enough – we can sleep tonight.” She said it as if she meant it.

“Sleep now sounds like a better idea,” said Poppy as she settled herself on a sun-lounger. The aroma of baking drifted from the kitchen below. “Breakfast smells good though.”

“How can you even think of eating? Coffee would be good, mind.”

“Come on, let’s go down before the others scoff the lot.”

Helen groaned but headed down the wooden steps with Poppy.

“Good morning, ladies! How are you this morning?” Huy greeted them with his usual toothy grin and child-like enthusiasm.

“Too much karaoke last night, Huy – you know yourself,” Helen said, touching her throat, blaming singing into the Tannoy until the wee hours for her delicate state of being.

Huy laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He was inclined to do that – a lot.

“Yes, yes, I remember – you very good singer – Freddie Mercury!” he said, slapping his thigh.

Helen had forgotten about that bit. It reminded her of Fred, Hong Kong and of course, Eden, which she had managed to push to the back of her mind for the night.

Once Huy composed himself, he continued, “So it’s just three of you go on the Cat Ba Island tour. We leave in few minutes, okay? There will be breakfast for you on the other boat.”

“G’day, girls,” Pete said, lifting his hat to them as he entered the room.

“’Struth, did we really drink that much!” Lorraine declared, checking through their bar bill as she walked in behind him. “Hiya, girls!” she beamed, but then her expression changed to a questioning frown. “Are you definitely leaving us then?”

“I’m afraid so – we’re off to a quiet island to look at flora and fauna,” Poppy said flatly.

“Is it just the two of you going? Why don’t you stay here, with us?” Pete looked around the dining room – no one else appeared to be packing up.

Helen and Poppy shrugged.

“I think that English bloke mentioned he’s leaving today too. You know, the quiet guy, dark hair, said he was a geography teacher or something.” Lorraine counted out her cash.

Helen felt her hangover kicking in.

A quick bird bath and clothes haphazardly shoved into their bags, and Helen and Poppy were back up on deck to say their goodbyes.

Lorraine gave each of the girls a warm hug. “We’ll miss you guys tonight – won’t be the same without Team Ireland.”

Having exchanged email addresses with their drinking buddies, Helen and Poppy got into the feeder boat where Mr Four Seasons, with the multidirectional suitcase, already waited. The group waved farewell to them from the junk’s deck. The captain and crew stood on the upper deck and continued to wave until their boat was out of sight.

Helen, Poppy, Keith and Huy headed across the bay.

“Do you know much about the island, Keith?” Poppy enquired of their only other tour mate.

“Indeed I do, Poppy – I’ve done quite a lot of research. We’re in for a treat. There’s a proliferation of wildlife specific to the region that I, for one, will study in depth. And then there is Thien Long Cave – I’m very excited about that. We’ll see the roots of a hundred-year-old Si tree – as long as you don’t mind bats, of course.” He paused to remove his glasses, which had steamed up from the Halong Bay mist.

Or was it from excitement, Poppy wondered.

“Looks like we’ve arrived at our new boat.” Poppy fixed her hair into a pony-tail. She noticed the crew waiting to greet them starboard on a junk, similar to the one they’d just left.

“We go on here, have breakfasts, then we go on to Cat Ba,” Huy briefly informed them before calling out to the crew in his native tongue.

The rope was thrown and once more they clambered off one boat and on to another.

“Oh dear, this vessel appears to be rather full of people.” Keith pushed his case in front of him as they entered the dining room. “I was under the impression it would just be the three of us.” He zipped up his windcheater jacket to his neck, despite the fact they were indoors.

The room quietened and conversation lulled as everyone looked up to see who was coming on board.

“Christ, I feel like a goldfish in a bowl,” Helen said under her breath, as Huy walked them through the room to a reserved table.

“Please sit, you have breakfast here, then we take a smaller boat to Cat Ba.”

Not another bloody boat!

“Coffee?” Huy asked.

“Definitely – no more boats without caffeine,” Helen grumbled.

Huy laughed. “You’re funny lady,” he said before disappearing.

The interest in their boarding was short-lived and the room had returned to its chatter.

“It sounded like a fun evening last night,” Keith said.

“Lord, Keith, I’m sorry, were we loud? I hope Gloria Gaynor here didn’t keep you awake, singing ‘I Will Survive’,” Helen grinned.

Poppy kicked her under the table. “Hey, you’d an unfair advantage. You’ve done Asian karaoke lots of times. Why didn’t you join us, Keith?”

“I’m not much of a singer, I’m afraid,” Keith replied, pushing both hands, palm to palm, tightly between his thighs.

Breakfast arrived. Helen popped a bread roll into her mouth, holding it between her teeth as she gathered her hair off her face to tie it back as Poppy had already done with hers. Helen took the opportunity to survey the room. It was a carbon copy of the boat they’d just left – it was adorned with lots of brass, chandeliers and a selection of karaoke casualties. They all faded into the background, though, when her eyes fell on one blond-haired man.

And he was looking straight at her.

What were the chances?

Higher than it appeared, it would seem.

Then he was smiling again.

At her.

That beaming smile that had caught her attention across a crowded Halong Bay.

Of all the boats, in all the world, and you just happened to walk into mine.

Although, technically, she had got on his boat.

Typical, I look like the Wild Woman of the West after a day ploughing the fields and downing ten bottles of stout, she thought. She took the bread-roll out of her mouth. Poppy didn’t appear to notice and Keith was still giving them a National Geographic type lesson.

Water-Boy was sitting with a group of The Beautiful People. A pretty girl was flicking her hair at him as she spoke. She whispered something in his ear. He leaned closer to hear her.

Ah well, the fantasy was nice while it lasted!

He glanced over again and she smiled at him as she would smile at a pleasant shop assistant.

“Isn’t that the guy from yesterday?” Poppy whispered as Huy gathered together the Cat Ba Island tour group.

“Yep, him and his entourage of nubile bunnies, by the looks of it,” Helen sniffed. She felt old and envious as she listened to the happy chatter about last night’s drunken escapades from their six new companions.

“Thank goodness it’s not the entire boat of people on our expedition,” Keith said, sticking close to Helen and Poppy.

Helen went to the bathroom, which unfortunately had a mirror. She made a feeble attempt to apply some make-up but gave up. She would fit in very well with the Cat Ba Island wildlife with her current look.

“Where were you? I’ll never remember all the names,” Poppy said when Helen returned. Huy had just completed another round of introductions.

“Don’t worry about it. They’re as hung-over as we are, except they’re about twenty years younger so it hasn’t hit them in the same way. Blame the onset of Alzheimer’s, if anyone gets insulted.” Helen looked around, fairly sure their fellow passengers wouldn’t care if they remembered their names or not.

Another boat. Another attempt at looking refined, when at any moment, embarking and disembarking, you could slip and go arse-over-elbow.

“The air is clearing my head.” Poppy closed her eyes as she lifted her face to the sky. A hazy sun was trying to peek through a gauze of cloud.

Helen listened to the lapping of the water against the boat as they sailed towards the island. A peaked cap and sunglasses meant she could subtly observe The Beautiful People, without appearing stalker-like – but her eyes kept drifting back to just one person.

Chapter 45

“You’ve got to check out the restrooms, dudes,” the All-American surfer declared, as he sat back down at the lunch table.

“They can’t be as bad as the ones when we docked, can they?” Poppy asked him. She had patiently held off peeing, after exiting from the last bathroom-stop gagging.

Helen stood up. “I’m going anyway. Thank God for alcohol dehydration. You’re right – the last pit-stop smelt like a cross between a down-town New Delhi cesspit on a hot day and a skunk with an upset tummy.”

There was silence around the table, no one sure how to react to Helen’s toilet humour.

“I’ll go with you, it can’t be so bad here,” Poppy said as she checked her bag for extra supplies of tissue. “It’s a restaurant for goodness sake. The food was good and the plates were clean, sort of.”

“God bless your optimism, Poppy. We’re in a stilt-house, on the side of a river, in the middle of nowhere, on an island that no one I know has ever heard of,” Helen reminded her. “I feel like I’m on the set of Lost – any moment now the Black Smoke will come to claim us.” She laughed, having got over the fact that Water-Boy was unavailable. It had left her free to spend the morning in the caves, which she actually really enjoyed. Even Keith had been an interesting guide.

“Once more, I’ve no idea what you’re on about but you really ought to watch less TV, Helen,” Poppy said, stuffing tissues in her pocket.

The girls started to walk along a dusty path. They followed the makeshift, hand-written sign, cut in the shape of an arrow: “TO LET”.

“What do you think they’re renting?” Helen quipped. “I’m guessing it’s the two-by-four wooden shed over there with the corrugated tin roof – what do you reckon?” She looked questioningly at Poppy whose brow had wrinkled into a worried frown.

“Why is there a hose and a bucket outside the door?” Poppy bit her lower lip.

With that, one of the girls from their group emerged, gasping for breath. Her face had turned a paler shade of green.

“Oh Lord . . .” Poppy was crestfallen as she felt her bladder hit her throat in protest.

“Guys, don’t go in there if you value your five senses.” The poor girl managed to point at the cause of the offense, despite being doubled over.

“And we’ve just had lunch in this joint!” said Helen.

A scrawny chicken waddled over to Helen’s feet and started pecking at the bare ground.

“Yes, and you’ve probably just eaten her mother.” Poppy, who had declared vegetarianism since seeing the pig incident, frowned at Helen.

“Who do you think you’re kidding? You’ll be back eating bacon butties within two weeks of getting home.” Helen had seen Poppy’s attempts at purity fall by the wayside on more than one occasion, usually spurred on by Helen herself. “Okay, I’m going in.” She took a deep breath.

With trepidation Helen edged open the cracked, timber door. Tears sprang to her eyes as the putrid stench of stale urine punched her. Poppy looked on horrified as she watched Helen’s sun-kissed face turn pallid and contorted. Yet still Helen disappeared into the abyss that was the toilet.

Helen willed herself not to breathe. She unbuttoned her light cotton trousers with one hand while trying to keep the wooden door closed, by pulling on a feeble piece of string that constituted the handle. It occurred to her she could shout to Poppy to stand guard, but that would involve breathing, a risk she was unwilling to take.

She almost lost balance when one of her shoes failed to maintain its grip on the slime either side of the hole in the ground. Squatting dangerously close to the peeing hole, Helen silently gave thanks. Thank you, Universe, that I cannot see what it is I’m standing on. And thank you, God, that it’s just a wee and nothing more. With that, she looped her free hand around the waist of her pants, to avoid peeing on them.

Outside, Poppy edged closer to the loo. There were sizable gaps above and below the swing door, which provided ventilation but also left the occupants feeling exposed.

“You okay in there, Helen?”

Helen emerged triumphant, but still holding her breath, and trousers, which she had pulled up but hadn’t fastened yet, saving precious breathing seconds.

“Hi there!” Water-Boy appeared to emerge from nowhere. “Are you sick?” A look of concern was etched on his face.

“Loo,” Poppy and Helen both said.

He nodded his understanding.

“John, hurry up, Buddy’s starting another card game,” an attractive female companion called to him from the stilt-house.

“You guys go ahead!” he hollered back. “Sorry about that,” he smiled at Helen and Poppy. “So, the restrooms, that good, hey?” He scratched his stubble, all blond and perfect.

At that moment, Helen wished she’d buttoned her trousers and she wasn’t flashing her waist-high comfy travel knickers.

“John, are you and your friends staying on the island tonight?” Poppy asked.

“They’re not my friends.” He paused. “What I mean is I just met them last night.”

This answer seemed to please Poppy. “Really? We thought you were all together. Although, now that you mention it, didn’t you say you’d seen John kayaking alone across the bay yesterday, Helen?” Poppy acted confused, putting Helen on the spot.

Helen feigned a smile, which meant, I will strangle you later, woman. “Hmm, maybe – shouldn’t we be getting back to the others?” she said with wide-eyed innocence.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he said. “You kind of look like you need CPR . . .”

Is that an offer, Blondie?

Poppy stifled a laugh, and pretended she was coughing.

Helen wondered if Water-Boy was tuned into her and Poppy’s humour. She didn’t know him well enough to venture there. Instead she buttoned up her trousers, discreetly tugging at her backside seam as she smiled. Now well adjusted, she lifted her chin and said, “See you back at the bus, John,” before she walked away.

The coach pulled up outside a hostel in the seaside town of Cat Ba island.

“All staying in Lucky Star, please get off here. Have a good night and we’ll collect you here at eight thirty tomorrow morning.” Huy said, beaming even more than usual. The day had gone well and he was depositing his guests while the sun was still smiling.

The twenty-something Beautiful People got off, not looking overly enthusiastic at the sight of their accommodation. It appeared a day of caves and lack of sanitary facilities had taken their toll, even on the young, who were now facing a night in a hostel. Helen realised that just maybe being a bit older had its advantages. Water-Boy didn’t get off with them.

“I have three of you in the Princess Hotel and one in Island Resort.” Huy flicked through his clipboard.

The bus laboured to change direction, and set off only to stop two minutes later.

“Not exactly a big holiday resort, is it?” Helen wisecracked as she pulled her bag from the overhead bin.

“Let me get that for you.” John jumped up to get the bag.

“Thanks – enjoy your evening.” Helen smiled with a pinch of disappointment.

“Mr John, Miss Helen, Miss Poppy, your dinner is included in the tour. It is served between seven thirty and eight thirty, okay?” Huy looked for confirmation that they’d understood.

There is a God!

Keith, who as it turned out was actually a geography professor, looked deflated.

“You stay in the top hotel, Mr Keith – stay on bus, it is just two minutes away, up the hill.”

“The Four Seasons of Cat Ba, hey, Keith?” Poppy jested. “Come to our hotel later if you feel like company – right, Helen?” She dug her elbow in Helen’s ribs.

“Of course, I owe you a drink – if it wasn’t for you, I’d have thought I was looking at a pile of old rocks today,” Helen reassured him, which appeared to work.

They checked in.

Helen pressed the button to call the lift.

“We’re in 221. Do you want to have dinner with us tonight, John?” Poppy asked as only a woman with no interest in a guy could.

Good girl, Poppy!

“Unless you’re meeting up with your friends from last night, that is?”

He grinned. “No, one night was enough, thanks. Sure, I’ll meet you guys in the restaurant later.” The doors slid open, the three got into the tiny space. They rode in silence, watching the digital panel above the door. A ping announced the second floor.

“I’m 222 – it’s a good number.”

The girls looked at him.

“In case you need to call me.” He adjusted his back-pack. “By the way – John, that’s the name on my passport – but my friends call me Jack. Jack Taylor.”

And then he was gone.

In their room Poppy looked at Helen. “Stop looking so innocent, you slapper!”

“What? I don’t know what you’re on about,” Helen said, looking out the window at the promenade and harbour.

Poppy decided to let her friend off lightly – for now. Jack Taylor was far too young and handsome to be anything but heartache.

“It’s beautiful here, let’s go out and have a look around.” Helen changed the subject.

Despite the lack of her usual creature comforts over the past week, Poppy hadn’t seen Helen looking so relaxed in years.

They walked the promenade of the picturesque fishing village.

“Is Dublin six or seven hours behind here?” Poppy was thinking of giving Lily a call.

They were directed to the post-office for phone-calls and not surprisingly – stamps. They climbed the steps up to the entrance of the state-run building.

“Hello!” exclaimed the postmistress enthusiastically from behind the brass bars of her caged office. “Can I help you?” She was a very young and pretty postmistress.

“We want to make two calls, long distance – we were told to come here?”

The girl pushed a small piece of paper and pencil across the counter. “Write numbers here. How much you want to spend?”

“This could be manna from heaven, hey? Mary can’t complain if I get cut off halfway through her weather report.” Helen smiled wickedly.

“Five hundred thousand Dong for the two calls and stamps for postcards to Europe, please.” Poppy counted out how many postcards they had just purchased from the boulevard shop that sold everything from locally farmed pearls to buckets and spades. She made a mental note of which one she wanted to send to Angelo. The one with the funny little monkey on it. “Twenty stamps, please!” she concluded.

“Do we know that many people?” Helen looked dubious.

“First number, your call will be in booth number six.” The postmistress-cum-telephone operator pointed to a line of wooden telephone booths that stood the length of the post-office wall. It appeared they’d entered a time-warp, the scene reminiscent of an old black and white movie. Gregory Peck could appear any moment, cigarette in hand.

“Second number,” she said, looking at Helen, “please go to booth three.” Smiling she added, “May I wear your sunglasses while you on the phone, please?” Only the postmistress’s shoulders and head were visible behind the heavy marble counter top and large brass poles. She was either very small or her chair was set low – it was probably a bit of both. Taken aback, Helen took her black oversized Prada sunglasses off her head and handed them to her before heading for the booth.

“Hi, Mum, how’s it going there?”

“Helen, where are you now, love?” Mary’s excited voice echoed down the line.

“A beautiful little island town. It’s a bit like Howth, without the BMWs.”

“Nuala!” Mary shouted out to her friend in the background. “It’s Helen ringing from Vietnam – she was put through by an operator. Imagine they still have operators there! Nuala just popped in for a quick cup of tea, love – Lily popped home to pick up a few things – other than that I haven’t seen anyone.”

There was a lot of popping going on, it seemed. By ‘anyone’, Helen assumed her mother meant Cyril.

“How’s the weather over there, Helen? It’s raining here but it’s to clear up tomorrow.”

“The sun is setting now, it’s just perfect.”

“That’s good, love, but mind yourself – wasn’t it terrible what happened to that poor unfortunate tourist over there?”

“On Cat Ba Island? Seriously, Mother?”

“No, in Vietnam, I’m sure it was Vietnam, no, was it India? Nuala, where was that Sky news report from?”

The operator came on the line – they’d one minute left, saving Helen from the news report, but giving her enough time to interrupt Mary’s flow and say “I love you, Mum”. Sure enough, seconds later the line went dead.

Poppy and Helen emerged from their booths more or less at the same time, and laughed at what they saw: a beautiful but tiny face trying to keep designer shades on, the girl’s face held high in an effort to keep them from falling off as she pursed her lips as a little girl dressing up might do, in an attempt to look sophisticated.

“You look good, may I take a picture?” Helen got her disposable camera at the ready – the Vietnamese girl obliged with a Hollywood pout.

Laughing, Helen and Poppy left their new friend at the post office, with a promise to post the picture. The setting sun had turned the spotless pavements golden. Fishing boats were silhouetted against a canvas of tangerine sea and a firecracker sky.

“Wow!” was all Poppy managed to say.

“I know, it’s amazing.”

“But I was talking about the sunset, Helen,” Poppy grinned.

Helen hadn’t seen Jack walking towards them.

“Hi, Jack!” She smiled broadly at him.

“Hi there, something else here, isn’t it?” Poppy said to him.

“Stunning.” Jack wasn’t looking at the harbour.

Jack’s professional-looking Nikon camera was hanging around his neck.

“Would you like us to take a photo of you?” Poppy asked, indicating the camera.

“Thanks, that’d be great. I’ve just come down from the mountain – I got some amazing shots.” He carefully removed the camera and handed it to Poppy who equally carefully hung it around her neck. “Will you get into the picture with me, Helen?”

“Don’t be silly! In a few weeks’ time you’ll be wondering who that stranger in the photo is.” Helen brushed him off as the blood rushed to her face.

“Nah, come on, I’d like you to – please?” Jack held out his hand to her.

“Oh, okay so.” Helen smoothed down her T-shirt. “Take one with mine as well, Poppy.” She handed over her battered disposable camera.

Jack and Helen stood against the water’s edge. Jack slipped his arm around Helen’s waist and pulled her closer to him. Her shoulder fitted perfectly under his. She could smell him now, his skin scented with citrus wood cologne, and a tinge of fresh perspiration from his hike up the mountain.

“Squishy tomatoes!” Poppy shouted and snapped them with Helen’s disposable. The handsome couple before her broke into genuine smiles. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought they were life-long lovers. She handed the camera back to Helen and snapped them again with Jack’s.

“Thanks for that, Poppy,” he grinned.

“A pleasure. Who’s for cocktails?” She handed back his camera.

“Sounds good.” Jack put the lens cover back on.

“What about across the road?” Helen pointed to a bar. On its terrace were little round tables, covered with green-and-white tablecloths.

“The Green Mango – looks good,” he said.

“To be honest, Jack, we did a little recce earlier and they’ve the best, actually the only, cocktail menu in town!” Poppy laughed.

“I like your style, ladies! I figured the flora and fauna of the island was its chief highlights – guess I got that wrong.”

They crossed the road.

“We’re more into soaking up the local culture than scenery,” Helen said, enjoying the view just fine. With that, a blast of European pop music echoed from a neighbouring bar. “Except for the karaoke, that is,” she added. She picked up a menu. “Don’t even think about going there, Gloria,” she said to Poppy, without looking up.

Thankfully, once seated, the potted plants and soft, piped music of the Green Mango protected them from the high-decibel competition.

“Welcome to the Green Mango, would you like to see our food and cocktail menu?” a portly man with impeccable English said, as they were settling into the best table on the terrace.

“Is that really a Munster rugby jersey you’re wearing?” Helen asked.

“Are you Irish?” The owner’s face lit up.

“Yes.”

“My Cork friends sent this to me – they were on holiday here last year,” he said with pride.

“Of all the bars, in all the world . . .” Helen laughed.

“Only the Irish,” Jack laughed. “It’s incredible – for such a small population, you guys get everywhere.”

“Please, you must have a drink, on the house,” the jovial owner said.

And so the night began.

Chapter 46

They missed dinner. Willingly strong-armed into ordering a tequila cocktail, Jack raised the oversized balloon-shaped glass to his lips, taking the opportunity to observe Helen. Since he’d first spotted her, she’d been smiling. There was something about her smile that illuminated everything around her and made you want to smile with her. It was kind of infectious, he reckoned. He loved this place, this moment with this woman. Up-close he could see a few freckles across her sun-tanned cheeks. Usually quite reserved, he didn’t know why he had pulled her towards him for the photo earlier, other than a sudden urge to hold her. He knew one thing though – he had to struggle to take his eyes off her.

Suddenly her eyes were on him: his stomach somersaulted. Had she noticed him looking at her? Her smile appeared more seductive than before – maybe he should slow down on the cocktails.

“So, what brings you here, Jack?” Keith’s voice interrupted his reverie. They had spotted the geography professor wandering the promenade and called him in.

The candle on their table flickered in the soft breeze. He thought about Amy.

He looked into his glass, as though it held the answer. “Oh, just this and that really, I’m moving to LA – I decided to take the scenic route.” He tapped his foot rhythmically under the table.

“LA via Cat Ba – I like it!” Poppy grinned.

“I suppose that would depend where you were coming from?” Keith pushed his glasses farther up his nose.

Jack shifted his weight, a little uncomfortable being the centre of attention.

“I was working in Dubai on a contract. I thought I’d like to see some of Asia, take an extended vacation. There was no plan as such – I could just as easily be in Laos now. It just happened that the flight to Hanoi had a better connection.” He kicked back and rubbed the back of his head.

He looked at Helen again.

She looked back.

The fine hairs on Helen’s arms stood on end. She had goose pimples. It was probably just the light wind coming in from the bay.

Until he looked at her again.

“What were you working at in Dubai?” Helen asked abruptly, breaking her rule of never asking what people did for a living.

“I’m an architect. I was working on a few new-build projects. How about you guys, what do you do back home?” Jack cleared an imaginary tickle from his throat.

“Lingerie designer with Eden, a UK chain.” She scanned Jack’s face. His brow furrowed as if he was trying to remember something.

“Masseuse, amongst other things.” Poppy held up her hand.

“I teach geography,” Keith said modestly but was unable to leave it at that – as they’d learnt earlier, Keith loved his work. “My specific area of interest is geology, the study of which dates back to ancient Greece . . . ah . . .” He stopped himself. “Perhaps the ladies should go first.” He sucked hard on his straw, which caused his cheeks to hollow.

But Helen wasn’t listening – the cogs in her brain were turning. Could it be possible? “You weren’t working on The Palm Development by any chance?” she asked Jack, swallowing hard.

Jack’s puzzlement gave way to his signature beaming smile. “I wondered when you mentioned the name Eden. You’re Helen Devine, aren’t you?” He locked eyes with her.

“Jack Taylor, my architect.” Helen clasped her hand to her mouth, hiding a grin, unable to say any more.

Poppy and Keith looked from one to the other, as if they were watching a Wimbledon tennis final.

It was Keith who broke the silence. “You know each other?”

Poppy clapped her hands together and bounced excitedly on her chair as she waited to hear more.

“Not exactly. But I believe we spoke on the phone some weeks ago. Isn’t that right, Jack?” Helen blushed, her heart pounded.

“Right – nice to meet you in person, Ms Devine!” Jack raised his glass to her.

“Have I got this right? You’ve worked together?” Keith looked puzzled.

“I work with an architectural firm, as one of a team. We were involved with this particular development. Helen would have dealt with the sales agents, so the connection is indirect. But she is correct – I, or rather my employer, worked on her behalf.”

“The six degrees of separation theory unfolds before our eyes. What a co-incidence.” Keith sat back, now all was clear in his head.

“There’s no such thing as coincidence. It’s the Universe telling you something – now you just have to figure what that is,” Poppy announced.

“Here we go again!” Helen gave an exaggerated eye-roll.

“What age are you, Jack?” Poppy asked out of the blue.

“Thirty.” Jack waited for Poppy to clarify what his age had to do with the Universe’s conspiring.

Helen kicked her under the table.

Poppy ignored her, rapidly stirring her drink with a swizzle-stick. Not the only thing she was about to stir. “That’s interesting – we reckoned you were about twenty-five. Helen’s still in her thirties too.” She gave her best Shirley Temple smile.

Fate sealed: Poppy Power, tourist, found hanged, drawn and quartered, proving Mary Devine’s theory of crimes against tourists true. Associate Helen Devine wanted for questioning.

“This calls for a celebration!” Poppy waved the waitress over to the table. “May we have another round of these, whatever they are – the acid-green things.” She made a circular motion with her forefinger.

“Green Mango specials!” the waitress smiled.

“And what’s that T-shirt you’ve got on?” Poppy wanted to know. “Save the Cat Ba – what?”

“Languars – they are facing extinction.” The waitress picked up the empty glasses from the table.

“That’s a cool T-shirt,” Poppy said, admiring it.

“They are available for sale if you like – the proceeds go to the languar fund, on the island.”

Poppy decided to be generous. “We’ll have one for everyone in the audience!”

The waitress returned to the table with the drinks and a bundle of flat-packed tops, in various sizes. They each pulled on a black-cotton T-shirt, with a print of an endearing primate on it.

“Here’s to Universal Law and saving cute monkeys at the same time!” Poppy proposed the toast.

All four raised their glass. But only two of them let their fingertips touch.

“The T-shirt looks good on you,” Jack said to Helen, as they walked back to the hotel. He looked up at the full moon.

“Yours too.” Helen smiled, before looking away.

The sound of the waves crashed against the shore, below them. Up ahead, they could hear Keith and Poppy laughing.

“Does she ever stop laughing?” Jack was laughing now too.

“No, not these days – this holiday has really brought her back to her old self.”

Helen looked at Jack with a new shyness, unfamiliar to her. There was a moment’s silence between them. They stopped walking and looked out to sea, as the moonlight glistened on the water.

Alone for the first time.

All night, they had skirted around each other. Exchanging glances, sharing a secret language without any words, holding eye contact just a little longer and more often than they should have but not so long that anyone else would notice.

Jack looked at Helen’s mouth. The light of the moon picked up tiny sparkles on her lips. He turned to face her. As he did, he noticed that Keith and Poppy had stopped walking, their two figures outlined by the stark fluorescent lighting that spilled out into the road from the hotel lobby.

Jack and Helen stood so close now, she could feel his breath on her skin.

“I think they’re waiting on us.” Jack tilted his head up towards the other couple.

“Oh, of course, Keith is staying further on up, he’s probably waiting to say goodnight.” Helen’s sigh was barely audible. Forgetting that she was using her sunglasses as a hair-band, she attempted to run her fingers through her hair – and the glasses slipped off her head.

They both dived to try and save them but bumped heads instead as the glasses fell to the ground. Embarrassed and a bit stunned, Helen quickly hunkered down to retrieve them from the dark pavement.

“Got them!” She held up the glasses as a three-times-bridesmaid holds up the nuptial bouquet.

Jack held out his hand to help her back up. She reached out to clasp his forearm and began to push herself up – when her bracelet got caught – in the zip of his trousers.

“Oh my God!” Helen tugged at the bracelet.

“Whoa, let me help you!” Jack laughed, taking hold of her hand.

She peered closer, trying to see how the bracelet had attached itself.

Two hundred yards further up the road, Poppy and Keith watched what looked like Scandal of the Century in downtown Cat Ba.

“Goodness gracious, you Irish are a friendly bunch,” Keith said as he pushed his tongue into his cheek to hide his smile.

Poppy decided she’d have to distract him. She kissed him – needless to say, he kissed her back.

Helen, now detached from her bracelet, pushed her hair back off her face as a chuckling Jack walked over to a streetlight to see exactly how the jangling bracelet had attached itself. He tugged at the offending charm, trying to free himself.

Helen looked on, mortified. “Maybe take your trousers off!” she called over to him. “When you get back to your room I mean!” She wasn’t getting any of this right.

“I think I’ve got it . . .” Jack gave the bracelet a final tug. “Ah, here we go, still intact and thankfully I won’t sound like Santa’s sleigh.” He grinned, holding out her bracelet as he walked back to her. He slipped it on her wrist and held her hand for a fraction longer than was necessary. But their moment was over.

They walked side by side back towards the hotel where Poppy and Keith’s silhouettes had become one as they kissed.

Jack looked a little awkward as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, they’re snogging, right, okay, em . . .” Helen looked around her as though looking for somewhere to place a hot potato.

Jack laughed. “I wouldn’t have put them together.” He scratched his temple to avoid looking at Poppy and Keith.

“No, nor would I, but Poppy’s very affectionate,” Helen nodded, avoiding eye contact. If they were fifteen, it’d be their cue to snog too. One of those fabulous French kisses during the slow set in the school-gym-cum-dancehall. And if you were lucky (or unlucky depending on who’d asked you to dance) the DJ played “Stairway to Heaven”. Unfortunately, they weren’t fifteen.

“I think we’re good to go,” Jack said.

Helen turned to look around. Poppy had come up for air.

Helen pressed the steel button to call the lift. In the harsh light of the foyer, Jack looked tired and preoccupied. Appear casual, Helen told herself, unwilling to look like a desperate older woman lusting after a younger man. None of them spoke.

The ping of the bell indicated the second floor. The heavy steel door slid open and Jack put his arm across to hold it and allow the ladies out first.

“I’m shattered.” Poppy patted her hand to her mouth and gave an exaggerated yawn. “Night, Jack, see you at breakfast.” She reached up on her tippy-toes and gave him a friendly hug. In a swift movement, she had the key card in the door and was out of sight.

Jack was desperate to prolong their night and recapture some of the mood from earlier. He decided to take a chance on inviting her back to his room for a nightcap.

“Oh, damn – there’s no minibar in the room!” he blurted out when he realised the small fact he’d overlooked. Trying to save face he quickly added, “It’s just that I’ve no water, no big deal.” He’d seen Helen’s mood change – he should have just let the notion of recapturing the moment slide. “Thanks for a great night. See you in the morning.” And, with that, he left with a friendly wave, no eye contact, not even a peck on the cheek.

I completely misread the situation, Helen scolded herself. Her stomach was in a knot and her disappointment palpable. She felt like a complete fool.

His bedroom door clicked to a close.

The night and its dreams ended.

“What are you doing here?” Poppy was getting into her Eden pyjamas. She stared at Helen.

“It’s my room too, remember?”

“I thought you and lover boy were getting jiggy with it! His bedroom not public enough for you?”

“We explained all that to you and Keith!” Helen rolled her eyes as she started to undress. “And whatever gave you the idea I fancy him? I definitely don’t!” It was easier to lie, than admit Jack just didn’t fancy her.

“You always say that,” Poppy said as she moved into the bathroom.

“You always claim not to sleep with them, Mrs Hare Krishna. And keep your voice down – he’s just next door!”

“Maybe he’s gay.” She was trying to cheer Helen up.

“Why are we talking about me – what was that with Keith?”

“You have to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince, Helen,” Poppy said as she spat toothpaste into the sink. “I haven’t given up on true love yet.” She paused and thought for a moment. “That, coupled with moonlight, cocktails and trying to save your nymphomaniac ass. Besides he’s a very sweet guy once he shuts up talking about his rocks.”

“Well, I’m not looking for a holiday romance, particularly not one that makes me a cougar. As I said, I don’t fancy him. Nice guy and all that, but too much of a baby-face for me.” She sounded so convincing she started to believe it herself. “We had a great chat about Dubai – that’s probably what you’re picking up on. Jack said it’s a fabulous apartment and I should make sure I use it as soon as it’s ready rather than putting it on the long finger.” She took her turn in the bathroom.

“Nah, there’s something else. That’s too big a synchronicity to ignore,” Poppy said as she pulled back the duvet. “When it transpired you’d literally bumped into each other in Hong Kong it definitely became synchrodestiny. What was it he said? He remembered your dazzling green eyes.” She pretended to swoon as she got into bed.

“It was probably my crow’s feet he noticed – he was just being polite,” Helen mumbled.

“Yeah, right. Night, Hells, sweet dreams.”

“Night, Pop, sleep well.”

After Helen got into bed, she lay in the dark for some time, her eyes open. Her throat felt tight.

Why did she feel sick inside?

She replayed everything in her head. The first time she saw him. The fuzzy feeling she got when he stood close to her. The whole thing didn’t make sense – the strong draw to this man, who unbeknownst to him had penetrated her armour – she was putty in his hands. But he didn’t want her. And now he lay just feet away, a thin wall separating them. A tear escaped as she closed her eyes to sleep.

Jack sat on the bed, his back pressed against the dividing wall. He thought about Helen – how her voice had caught his interest over the phone, all those weeks ago. How he’d thought of her as a typical stressed-out business executive. Then, in Hong Kong, she’d slammed into him but it was her eyes that knocked the breath out of him, as emerald as gemstones. Finally, when he spotted her across the bay amongst all the boats, he had felt a magnetism and was drawn to look in her direction. He couldn’t believe his luck when she stepped on to his junk. The girls he’d met until now were fun but flighty and immature, Amy included. Helen had a soft confidence, something about the way she moved, laughed. Damn, she’s sexy. He’d found it hard not to stare at her all night. She had been radiant and then she’d started looking back at him. He felt the stir of arousal, thinking about her.

So why didn’t he kiss her?

Because, you take things slowly, Jack. Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey. But he knew he was only fooling himself. Amy hadn’t cheated on him only the one time. He’d been suspicious about others, but he always gave her the benefit of the doubt. Only after getting caught red-handed did her web of deceit start to unravel – taking his world down with it. And so he’d started to run away, and up until now it had served him pretty well. He’d met amazing people, seen more places in the past ten months than he had done in his thirty years of life, prior to the break-up. Amy had done him a favour, in a way. Otherwise, he’d be married to her now, probably with a kid on the way, mortgage on a house in Connecticut, with a white picket-fence.

Suddenly, he felt he’d been punched in the stomach, all over again. Would that feeling ever go away?

Then he thought about Helen Devine. A lingerie designer, no less. He smiled when he thought of her. He realised, in the day he’d spent with Helen, the thoughts of Amy that haunted him daily were gone.

Helen had replaced the punches with flutters.

Chapter 47

“Good morning, ladies!” Jack waved at the girls, bright as a morning lark. He had anxiously scanned the large dining area for them when he got out of the elevator, but there had been no sign of them. Then he noticed an outside patio area through large glass doors, where he was relieved to see Poppy’s distinctive flame-coloured hair and the blonde head of her partner in crime, Helen.

“Over here, Jack!” Poppy called as she put down her coffee cup. “We kept you a seat.” Which, technically wasn’t true but the table was set for four so it worked out well.

Helen tried to look casual by stretching an arm out over the back of the chair next to her. Her attempts to look casual failed miserably when her arm missed the back of the chair.

“Hey.” She tried to regain her composure and sound casual, hoping to God that Jack didn’t notice her clumsiness.

“The cocktails still have you feeling unbalanced, hey, Helen?”

So much for him not noticing.

In the bright morning light she realised her ridiculous attraction to Jack had been a combination of the sunset, the ocean and too many cocktails. She hoped he didn’t think she was a basket-case.

“Can I get you guys anything?” Jack eyed their half-finished food, to see what the breakfast buffet had on offer.

“Coffee, please, sir.” Helen proffered her cup and gave Jack a cheeky smile. Sunglasses hid her eyes.

His hand brushed against hers as he took the cup from her. A bolt of static coursed through them.

Jack jumped – he had never experienced anything like that before. “Wow, did you feel that?”

“I felt it alright – I usually get static shocks from freezer doors in the supermarket, not people.” Helen shook her hand to dissipate the energy charge.

Cynical Helen was back.

Poppy was more enthusiastic. “Energy charges – how exciting! You two definitely have some kind of other-dimension connection. Who knows – maybe you were Jack’s mother in a past life, Helen!”

Cheers, Poppy. “That’s a load of baloney.” Helen raised her eyes to heaven, but caught Jack’s eye instead, by a play of sunbeam, even through darkened lenses. He smiled at her.

“I’m telling you, Helen, there are too many coincidences, too many connections – it’s a sign and you shouldn’t ignore it.” Poppy stood up, as if standing above Helen would add weight to her argument.

“What kind of sign?” Jack was listening.

“I don’t know, that’s up to the Universe – you’ll just have to be open to the possibilities. I’m getting seconds – the bus will be here in twenty minutes and Lord knows when we’ll eat again.”

“I swear you’ve got hollow legs, Pops,” Helen laughed. “It’s not fair! If I ate the amount you do I’d be a blob.”

Jack doubted that.

“What can I say – I’m a Vata!” Poppy popped a piece of toast into her mouth but then she stopped. “Jack, didn’t you say your surname is Taylor?”

Jack nodded, Poppy raised her eyebrows. “I like it! The lingerie designer meets the Taylor.” She laughed at the pun.

“Very funny, Poppy,” growled Helen. “It’s too early for all that. Now, either Ms Vata or Mr Electrifier, I don’t care which, please refill my coffee cup before my caffeine levels drop to normal.”

“Coming right up, boss.” Jack gave Helen a salute as he walked back to the breakfast room, a grin on his face.

I electrify her, he thought.

Chapter 48

“What time is it?” Poppy asked Helen as she woke from an uncomfortable sleep. She rubbed the back of her neck. The horns and the noise indicated they were back in Hanoi. Sadness crept over her as she looked out the window at the rain-drenched streets. Only a few hours earlier they’d bathed in sunlight, watching people tend the paddy fields wearing the by now familiar conical hats. They had stopped along the way for a photo opportunity. The other passengers clicked snapshots of workers in the fields but Poppy was transfixed by a thin-framed woman, who walked the road’s edge.

The Vietnamese worked hard – in the fields and off them. This woman was loaded down with goods for sale, balanced in two baskets that hung, one either side of a long stick, which lay across her shoulders. As the woman walked, the baskets swayed with a hypnotic rhythmic motion. She was quite close before Poppy could see her face clearly – her conical hat shielded her. Poppy wondered whether she was being a typical tourist, so mesmerised by the landscape and repetitive motions of its inhabitants, that she was imagining this woman’s contentment from the gentle glide of her step.

The Vietnamese woman didn’t look up as another tour bus passed her, kicking up dust as it did so. Her goods weren’t for them. Poppy had smiled to herself as she thought about this land of contrast: the Vietnamese who embraced capitalism in all its vulgarity by doing their best to squeeze as many dollars as possible out of foreigners, to the Vietnamese who shied away from tourists and what they brought, maybe a little distrustful of foreigners, and who could blame them? Being under attack was part of their history – Chinese, French, Japanese – all had wanted Vietnam.

For Poppy, this woman was the memory she wanted as a snapshot forever imprinted on the canvas of mind. She didn’t want to use her camera. The woman’s skin was smooth and even. Eyes, calm. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, this worker of the land radiated one thing: contentment.

What was indeed a heavy load, she made look as light as a feather. Her burden was physical, her work looked laborious, she had deadlines but they were largely set by the land, therefore she couldn’t harness them because she could not control them. The circadian rhythm. She didn’t face hours of motorway delays – her mode of transport was her feet.

They briefly made eye contact as the woman walked past, the peasant worker never missing her stride. Back and forth the baskets swung as she continued on her journey. As her silhouette became smaller, Poppy decided to take a picture after all.

“It’s a tough life, isn’t it?” Helen came up to Poppy, both set of eyes following the figure on the road.

“Is it though? She looked more peaceful to me than anyone back home.”

“It’s just the weight of all that fruit, the walking for miles. Can you imagine being bent over all day with your bare feet stuck in muddy water and all you have to show for it at the end of the week is a pittance?” Helen shook her head.

Poppy remembered the brief eye contact. “Maybe you’re right, but the funny thing is, I got the feeling she felt sorry for us.”

“Really, why would she?”

“We always want more – no matter how much we have, always looking outside ourselves for happiness.” In the dry earthen road, Poppy made a figure eight with her foot. “Like going to Asia, to ‘find ourselves’ as if spirituality is only found in Asia, whereas it’s inside us, no matter where we are in the world. We just need to tap into it.” She looked at Helen.

“Hey, you’re preaching to the converted!”

Poppy sighed with contentment. “I’m really loving being here, Helen. Stepping out of my life, my roles and responsibilities, just being myself, even for a couple of weeks. I do miss Lily though.”

“I know you do and, hey, it is hard being a single parent – you’re doing great. It’s okay to take off on holiday once in a while, just be Poppy, not the mother, the therapist – the nut-job!” Helen smirked.

“Thanks, Helen, I can always rely on you to say it straight.”

Another bus trundled past them.

“Hey, Team Ireland, how’s it going, mates?” The Australian couple, Pete and Lorraine, waved out an open window at them. “Last one to Hanoi buys the beer!” Pete shouted, before his bus went out of earshot.

Arm in arm, Helen and Poppy got back on their coach, leaving the fields of Vietnam behind.

The bus blasted its horn at one of the hundreds of mopeds weaving in a zigzag chaos that was not for the faint-hearted. Poppy nudged Helen again to see what time it was. She never wore a watch, as she refused to live her life by one, which annoyed the hell out of her nearest and dearest, because she kept asking them to tell her the time instead.

“Nearly five o’clock,” Helen whispered, not wanting to wake Jack whose head slumbered on her left shoulder. Sitting on a long lumpy seat at the back of the bus, Helen had never felt so happy to be wedged for hours beside her new American buddy – or son in a past life, if she was to listen to Poppy.

Just then Jack tried to shift around in the cramped seat but an exposed spring, jutting out from the seat in front, made it difficult. One of his butt cheeks had gone numb which he reckoned was just as well because he’d a feeling another metal coil was straining to release through the cracked imitation leather. He hoped it didn’t spring while he sat there – mortally damaging his manhood.

“Are we there yet?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to eliminate sleep dribble.

Helen’s shoulder had made the journey tolerable. At one point, he had opened his eyes to realise how close he was to her cleavage. He felt a needling in his trousers. A spring dug into him – he decided it was safer to sleep.

The bus crawled along the narrow streets of the Old Quarter and in ones and twos people started to disembark at various hotels.

Keith stood, his head hung low, too tall to stand straight.

“Are you getting off here, Keith?” Poppy looked dubiously out at the street.

“I cancelled my reservation in the Four Seasons, decided to get a feel for the local culture after all,” he said, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Good for you, Keith!” Helen said.

“Who knows, you may even see me drinking bia hoi at one of the street stalls. I’m looking forward to having a tipple.”

The picture of six-foot-three Keith of five-star mentality, squatting down on a tiny plastic stool, at the side of the pavement, made them all smile.

“Perhaps I can tempt you to join me, Poppy?” he asked.

Poppy smiled up at him. “Sounds good but we’ve another few days here – I’ll text you.” She patted her breast pocket where earlier she’d placed Keith’s business card.

“Make sure you get a picture for your album!” Helen called after him, as he made his way back down the bus.

Without turning around, he waved in acknowledgement before he was out of sight. Keith had survived ‘Irish night’ and was feeling all the better for it.

Poppy smiled. “Keith told me he only takes a holiday every second year. He saves so he can go somewhere exotic and stay in the best hotels.”

“Maybe now he’ll downgrade and take a holiday every year. It’s about the experience after all, not the hotel room.” Helen locked eyes with her friend – they both knew it wasn’t just Keith who’d left his comfort zone and enjoyed it.

“Hong Ngoc Hotel!” Huy called out.

“That’ll be me. Where are you two staying?” Jack grabbed his back-pack.

“Well, we were staying in the Hanoi Plaza, a small hotel just at the end of your street.” Helen pointed in the direction of the many terraced hotels there.

“Awesome, you’re only two minutes from me. I’ll meet you in reception, say about seven?” Jack rubbed his back. He was anxious to get off the bus. Although he liked being close to Helen, he was feeling in need of fresh air after being cooped up for so long.

“No, we were staying there. We decided to move to the French Quarter – to experience a side of the city other than the Old Quarter. And have a pool.” Helen looked miserable. The itinerary they’d agreed on a few weeks ago back home wasn’t so appealing now.

“We’ll text you to arrange a time – have we got your number?” Poppy said helpfully.

“I’ve no phone – I’m on sabbatical, remember? Come to my hotel, when you’re ready – just ask for Mr Jack.”

And then he was gone. Again. Jack disappeared a lot.

“That was a bit vague don’t you think?” Helen said to Poppy, looking for reassurance.

“No, it’s simple enough. We’ll call to his hotel – if he’s there, great, if not, I’m sure we’ll bump into him in one of the usual tourist haunts. The Old Quarter is compact enough.”

Helen wasn’t convinced – she preferred definite planning. “I suppose so. I can’t imagine switching my phone off for two months though.” She checked her phone as if to emphasise the point. There were no messages from Eden or anyone for that matter.

“I think it sounds wonderful! Lord, Helen, I hope our bags were transferred to the new hotel – I’m in dire need of a change.” Poppy flapped her T-shirt to create a flow of air. They had brought the bare essentials (big travel pants included) to Halong Bay, as instructed, due to the amount of jumping on and off boats that took place.

“Army Hotel!” Huy shouted about ten minutes later. “You ladies are the last! I hope you enjoyed your Tropical Sails tour!” Huy hadn’t stopped smiling for two days – they’d miss him.

They looked out at a grey building, red-uniformed guards at the gate.

They bade farewell to Huy and got out.

“It’s rather glum,” Helen remarked, as they looked up at their new hotel.

“It’s your uniform fetish we were indulging by coming here. With a pool to boot, it sounded perfect.” Poppy reminded her of the logic behind their decision.

“What were we thinking? The sodding French Quarter. We can hop on the Eurostar for that,” Helen grumbled.

“Oh, quit moaning, Helen.”

“I can’t, I’m Irish – I’m genetically programmed to moan.”

The Vietnamese army, who were there in large numbers, owned the Army Hotel. Reception was large and functional as was the twin-bedded room the girls had booked. There was also a lot of bugle-blowing.

“What was that?” Helen pulled back the sheer curtain to open the patio door of their balcony. The room had a view of the pool. An army wedding was in full swing, buffet tables set up around the sun-loungers. There were red uniforms everywhere. The bride wore white.

“Guess we won’t be using the pool this evening so,” Poppy said.

“We’ve no swimsuits anyway – look, no bags.”

Outside, a bugle blasted and caused them to jump.

“If he blows that bloody thing once more I’ll ram it up his arse.” Helen was tired and ratty.

A few phone calls revealed that their bags were still in the Hanoi Plaza.

Even Poppy, who usually saw the bright side of things, was looking frayed. “Look, it’s not the end of the world – we’re heading back over that side anyway.” She rubbed her temples as though trying to stop a headache from taking up residence.

“But look at us! We look like bedraggled rats. I need fresh clothes, make-up even.” Helen sounded as though she might cry.

So much for seduction.

Another blast of a bugle sounded. Poppy grabbed her jacket. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”