Chapter 18
18
Clarissa Low was plain in a deliberate way, with straight hair down to her shoulders and large, thick-rimmed glasses. She was wearing a black cardigan over a crisp white shirt and dark jeans. Behind the glasses, her face was thoughtful, a little reserved.
She didn’t smile when Alicia introduced her to Ket Siong. Once they were seated, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, stone-faced.
The café was on the fifth floor of a bookshop, a pleasant, light-filled space with exposed ceilings and worn wooden tables of different shapes and sizes. It was relatively quiet that morning, with only a handful of other people there, mostly frowning over their phones or laptops.
Alicia had snagged a table by the windows looking out on the brown and redbrick buildings next door. Their closest neighbour was one table over, a young woman hunched over her computer with Bose noise-cancelling headphones on. She was on her second black Americano, counting by the mugs on her table, and was munching through a pain au chocolat while typing with her free hand. They were probably as unlikely to be overheard here as anywhere else in central London.
“Were you OK coming in?” said Alicia, darting an uneasy glance from Clarissa to Ket Siong.
Alicia had insisted on buying everyone’s hot drinks, even though she was technically the one doing Ket Siong a favour. She seemed oppressed by the whole situation.
Ket Siong was keen to make it less awkward for her if he could, but he didn’t particularly want Low Teck Wee’s daughter to know where he lived. Instead of answering, he said to Clarissa:
“Thanks for making the time for this.”
After a moment, Clarissa nodded. She still looked forbidding, but something about the pause and the gesture made Ket Siong realise she was simply extremely nervous.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to help you,” she said. “I don’t have any involvement in the business. I’m studying art history. My dad’s very traditional, anyway. He wouldn’t take advice from his daughter on how to run his company, even if I wanted to give advice.”
She was redder and redder as she spoke. She went on, stuttering a little, “But obviously, when Alicia told me about your friend… I mean, if there’s anything I can do… I don’t know the ins and outs of what happened, but it sounds terrible.”
Ket Siong waited, but Clarissa had evidently run out of steam. She gave Alicia a desperate look. Alicia reflected it back at Ket Siong.
They both seemed to be hoping for some form of consolation. He thought about what he should say.
He had been brought up not to make a fuss about things. Even something like Stephen’s disappearance… its enormity was all the more reason for Ket Siong not to focus on his feelings about it. It was a tragedy, but not his tragedy.
But there was nothing to stop Clarissa Low from walking out if he said something that made her uncomfortable. Her guilt was his greatest source of leverage.
So he told the truth. “It has been devastating.”
Clarissa twitched. “Of course. I can’t imagine…” She trailed off, to give him the chance to interrupt.
Ket Siong had a feeling that what Clarissa really wanted was to be saved the act of imagination. Not to have to envision the cost of her family’s wealth, the effect on others of their impunity.
“I appreciate that you agreed to meet me,” he said. “Shall I explain why I asked?”
Clarissa nodded.
Ket Siong was braced for the words to stick in his throat. He’d expected it would hurt to talk about Stephen, as it had hurt when he’d asked Alicia to arrange this meeting.
Yet he found himself hesitating not because he didn’t want to speak, but because there was too much to say. “Stephen Jembu…”
Was my brother’s best friend—at least, that’s what they told us. We didn’t ask. It didn’t matter. He was part of the family. He came to our house one day when I was sixteen, and after that it felt like he never left. He dragged us to hot yoga and salsa and weightlifting and MMA classes. When he got drunk, he’d sing You’ll Never Walk Alone , and cry. He used to watch kdramas with my mother. He didn’t like durian or nasi lemak.
“The last time I saw Stephen,” said Ket Siong, “was around three years ago, when I was still living in Malaysia. He came by our house in the evening, after work.”
Their washing machine had been acting up again, and fixing it was a two-man job—one to brace the machine, while the other sorted out the pipes. The original plan had been for Ket Siong to help his brother on the weekend, but Stephen and Ket Hau had put the thing to rights by the time Ket Siong got home from the evening masterclass he’d been leading. Stephen was about to leave, finishing up the mug of Milo Ma had pressed on him.
“How’d it go?” Stephen greeted Ket Siong. “Trained up the new Vanessa-Mae? Very good. Don’t get up, eat your dinner.”
Ket Siong had only nodded, too tired for chat. There was no need to make polite small talk with Stephen. His brother had seen Stephen out.
“The next morning, around eight a.m.,” said Ket Siong, “Stephen drove to the offices of the NGO where he worked, as usual. A van swerved in front of his car, forcing him to stop. Some men wearing masks came out of the van, took Stephen from his car, and forced him into the back of the van. Then the van drove off. He hasn’t been seen since then.”
He heard his voice wobble on the last line. He paused to take a breath, feeling the dull insistent thud of his heart in his chest.
“Nobody knows what happened to him,” he said.
The women were wide-eyed.
Clarissa was pale. “The police couldn’t find anything?”
“There were issues with the police investigation,” said Ket Siong carefully. “Do you know what Stephen was doing, when he disappeared?”
Clarissa glanced at Alicia.
“You said he was involved in a campaign against Clarissa’s dad’s company,” said Alicia.
Clarissa went red again.
Ket Siong said, “Stephen was from a village called Ensengei in Sarawak. The surrounding forest was a gazetted reserve. Freshview was conducting logging there.”
“Freshview held a licence,” blurted Clarissa. “I—I looked it up.”
Ket Siong wondered if she’d asked her father. He thought not. Low Teck Wee wouldn’t have allowed his daughter to attend this meeting, if he knew about it.
“They said they held a licence, yes,” said Ket Siong. “But there was no consultation, the local community didn’t give their approval. Those are legal requirements. The organisation Stephen worked for was helping the villagers, supporting their lawsuit to challenge the licence. They were successful, at first. But Freshview appealed and won.”
He paused. “You’ll know it’s not transparent, how these things are done. Timber concessions are not tendered. They’re not published. The community finds out after the fact, when the bulldozers show up.”
“You’re overestimating how much I know,” said Clarissa. Her hands were moving restlessly, pleating her cardigan. “My father doesn’t tell us these things.”
“Maybe it’s time you started asking,” said Ket Siong.
Alicia broke the ensuing silence by saying, all in one breath:
“I’m really sorry, but I’m desperate for a wee. Can we have a comfort break?”
It punctured the tension. Clarissa even laughed weakly.
“Of course,” said Ket Siong.
Clarissa shook her head when Alicia gave her an inquiring look. “I’m good.”
Clarissa waited till she’d rushed off to turn to Ket Siong.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” she said. “I can see Freshview doesn’t come off well. I understand why you might suspect… But look, my dad and I don’t see eye to eye on everything. But there’s no way he’d be involved in anything like that. He donates a lot to charity. He’s very community-minded. This would be completely against his principles.”
She believed what she was saying. Tears were welling up in her eyes.
Ket Siong looked away. Stephen would probably say it was a male chauvinist’s instinct, to be discomfited by the mere sight of a woman crying.
“You think your father wouldn’t go so far as to do something like that,” he said. “Get rid of an activist for causing trouble for his business.”
“Yes,” said Clarissa, without hesitation. “He’s not like that. He’s not greedy . He’d be the first to tell you, he already has more than enough.”
Ket Siong bit back the obvious question of why, in that case, Low Teck Wee had permitted his company to destroy irreplaceable primary rainforest. He wasn’t interested in hearing a defence of Low Teck Wee’s good qualities.
“There were other interests at play,” he said instead. “The rumour was the timber licence was granted by the state premier’s son-in-law. Although the premier’s daughter resigned last year, you’ll know she was on the board of Freshview at the time.”
“What are you trying to say?” said Clarissa.
“I’m not saying Tan Sri Low arranged for it to happen,” said Ket Siong. “But he might have closed one eye. He might have been under pressure.” He thought of the Hornbill Gazette post that had mentioned Stephen. He hadn’t heard from the author, two weeks on, though he’d messaged again.
“It may not have had anything to do with your father’s business,” he said slowly. “Stephen may have known something. Something that threatened someone else, badly enough that they wanted to get rid of him. But if anyone has an idea what that was, your father might.
“Miss Low, I am not an activist or a reporter. If what you say about your father is true, he has nothing to fear from me. All I want is to know what happened to my friend.”
Clarissa was gazing down at the table. She raised her eyes to Ket Siong’s. “Let’s say my dad knows the answer. Let’s say he was even involved somehow. Wouldn’t you be worried something might happen to you? For trying to find out.”
It took Ket Siong a moment to understand that she genuinely thought this was a hypothetical scenario. “I am.”
Clarissa stared at him. Alicia reappeared before she mustered an answer.
“I had no idea it was getting so late,” said Alicia. “Clarissa, you’ve got that thing you need to go to, right?”
From the look the women exchanged, it was clear they had arranged this exit in advance. But Clarissa glanced back at Ket Siong and said, “I can stay a little longer, if that would be helpful.”
“I think we’re done,” said Ket Siong. “Thank you.”
“I don’t—I’m not sure I’ll be able to find anything out,” said Clarissa. “But I’ll try.” She hesitated. “How do I contact you? If there is anything.”
“Alicia has my number,” said Ket Siong. “You can pass on any messages through her.”
He stayed at the table after they had gone, staring out of the window.
Talking about Stephen had brought him so vividly before Ket Siong that it seemed strange to find himself looking out on the white skies and brown brick of London. He felt unreal, a ghost trespassing upon the living.
The real Ket Siong was back in Malaysia, leading the life he should have had. Expecting to see Stephen the next day or the day after, whenever he decided to drop by. They’d go for a run together, or a workout session at the gym, or out for a movie and a stint at their favourite mamak stall afterwards—Ket Hau would come if it didn’t involve exercise. Ket Siong had spent so many evenings defending his Maggi goreng mamak from his brother and Stephen while they talked about work, politics, football, everyone they knew…
But now he was here. And Stephen, most likely, was dead.
“Are you all right?”
It was the woman at the next table but one who’d spoken. She’d taken her Bose headphones off and was looking half-concerned, half-annoyed at being drawn away from her work. “Do you need…” She rummaged in her backpack and produced a tissue, holding it out to him.
“Thank you,” said Ket Siong. He wiped his eyes and got up to go.
Ket Siong checked his phone as he descended the stairs into the bookshop. Renee had messaged.
As an event, this was no longer as disturbing to his peace of mind as it would have been at the beginning of the week. They had been texting nearly continuously since their unscheduled dinner at the expensive Malaysian joint in Chelsea. Ket Hau had started making pointed comments about how much time Ket Siong was spending on his phone: “Don’t tell me you’ve discovered Candy Crush fifteen years after everybody else.”
On this occasion, Renee had sent a video of a small child playing the piano. The accompanying text said:
This made me think of you.
Ket Siong was busy composing a reply when he heard his name.
“Ket!”
He blinked. Nathalie was by a stand of books directly in his line of sight ( TRAVEL WITHOUT LEAVING YOUR HOME! said the sign). She was in a floral midi dress and white trainers. It was strange running into her, like being catapulted back in time to his student days.
“It is my mental health day,” she said, after Ket Siong apologised for blanking her. “I take a day off every month, so I do not kill either my co-workers or my family. I am buying a book, and then I will go for a pedicure. What are you doing today?”
There was a slightly unnerving glint in her eye.
“Just browsing,” said Ket Siong. “I’m teaching later today.”
“Hmm,” said Nathalie.
He wasn’t, he concluded, imagining the chill in the air. Nathalie was probably suspicious of him, despite their recent forced rapprochement. At university they had been friendly, but not close. Renee had drawn them together, but when he and Renee had split, Nathalie had picked a side, and it hadn’t been his. Whenever he’d seen Nathalie around the Academy buildings after, the look she’d given him had made it clear he should not expect to be acknowledged.
He didn’t hold it against her. At the time, Ket Siong had even found her resentment comforting. It was what he’d felt he deserved.
His phone buzzed as he was walking to the Tube station. Renee again. This time she’d sent a link to a music competition taking place at the Southbank Centre in the spring.
You should go for this! You’d smash it.
Ket Siong hadn’t thought of competitions in more than half a decade. None of his students now were at a level to compete.
He was just short of being too old for this one, though he’d squeak in under the maximum age threshold in time for the next round. Given he hadn’t performed or practised seriously in years, it wasn’t a lot of time to prepare.
And yet…
Thanks. I’ll check it out.