Chapter 26
26
Helen Daley of the Hornbill Gazette lived in a rectangular white building in West London. The nearest station was Bayswater; the nearest Malaysian restaurant five minutes’ walk away.
“Little Malaysia,” said Ket Hau, looking up at the building. “You think she moved here before or after the Interpol notice?”
Ket Siong couldn’t help feeling relieved at this sign of life. Ket Hau hadn’t been himself since he’d told them the secret he had been keeping for Stephen. As though, along with the burden of secrecy, he had felt himself released from the obligation to pretend he was OK.
That was probably a good thing on the whole, even if a Ket Hau who wasn’t perpetually cracking jokes didn’t feel right.
It had taken him a while to agree to meeting Helen Daley. Ket Siong and Ma had decided it was worth doing long before he was won over. Daley’s position meant she received information from all kinds of sources. There were rumblings, she’d told Ket Siong, of an impending downfall of the Sarawak state premier. An accumulation of scandals and the unexpected departure of several allies meant his grip on power was loosening. The state elections were coming up. All that was needed was something to tip the balance.
If she was able to talk to Ket Hau, she thought that might help. She’d supplied her home address:
I can give you a cup of tea and a biscuit.
When Ket Siong showed the message to Ket Hau, he looked at it in silence for a long moment.
“What does she think I know?” he said.
Ket Siong shrugged. “There’s one way to find out.” He tapped the screen. “Look at the address.”
“St. Stephens Mansions.” Ket Hau laughed. “You think it’s a sign?”
There was a part of Ket Siong that did believe that. “She’s trying to show we can trust her.”
“OK,” said Ket Hau. “When are we going?”
They ended up going on a Sunday, after Mass. They sat at Helen Daley’s dining table while she made them tea in her kitchen.
The flat was cosy in a slightly worn, very British way. The kitchen had bottle-green tiles on the walls and a handsome range cooker, the handles draped with the sort of tea towels to be found in National Trust gift shops, faded from use. The place was stuffed with furniture (Ket Siong had already banged his knee on two different side tables). There were kilim rugs on the floors, art on the walls, and stacks of books, magazines, journals, and newspapers on every flat surface. Nothing was from IKEA.
Helen Daley was a brisk middle-aged woman with penetrating blue eyes and flyaway brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She spoke well and carried herself with a supreme but unfussy self-confidence, like the headmistress of a good girls’ school. It was easy to imagine her at her various reported exploits, whether it was grilling politicians or trekking through the Bornean jungle to interview the locals.
“That’s one peppermint tea, and one normal tea, no milk, two sugars,” she said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Daley,” said Ket Hau.
“Please, call me Helen,” said Helen. She took a chair across from the brothers and leaned forward, businesslike. “I appreciate your coming here. I have some sense of the concerns you will have had. But I did think it was worth talking in person.
“I’m sure we’re all agreed Sarawak cannot continue under the disastrous mismanagement and corruption of the present regime. If there is anything we can do to help people enact democratic change, we have a moral duty to do it. I’m writing a piece for the Guardian about what’s been going on there, I think that could have real impact. But there are some pieces of the puzzle missing. That’s where you could help, if you’re willing.”
Ket Hau exchanged a look with Ket Siong.
“We’d like to help, if we can,” said Ket Siong. “But there are some things we’d like to understand. What made you want to talk to us?”
“I thought you might ask. I’ll tell you. Better than that,” said Helen, getting up. “I’ll show you.” She leaned over the back of a sofa, reaching for something out of sight, and went on, in a slightly muffled voice: “If the technology doesn’t let us down.”
She emerged triumphant, holding a tablet aloft. “I was worried my daughter had taken this out with her. Right, bear with me a moment.”
She set the device down on the table, fiddling with the case so as to stand it upright.
“I’ll start the call off here,” said Helen. “But if you would rather speak in private at any point, you can go into my study, over there. I’ve got plenty to get on with, so take all the time you need.”
Ket Hau had been a little pale, but dignified and professional. At this, his composure wavered. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What call?”
Helen was busy jabbing at the tablet screen. It was turned towards her, so Ket Hau and Ket Siong couldn’t see what was on it.
“I’m ringing the person who told me to look for you,” she said absently. “Oh, here we are! Hello there. Can you hear me?”
There was an indistinct crackle from the tablet.
“Yes, they’re here,” said Helen. “Hold on, let me adjust the volume.”
“You invited us here to talk to you,” said Ket Siong, glancing at Ket Hau. His brother was thrumming with nervous energy, poised for flight. “You didn’t mention anyone else.”
Helen wasn’t really listening. “He didn’t want me to say anything. In case… and it does seem better this way. Yes, you can explain yourself in a moment.” She paused, looking up at Ket Siong and his brother.
“This may come as a bit of a shock,” she said, and turned the tablet to face them.
For a split second, Ket Siong thought Helen had started an old video of Stephen playing, though it was one he had never seen before. Indignation scythed through him. He’d overcome his brother’s misgivings to get him here; it wasn’t right to subject him to this without warning. He opened his mouth to express his outrage.
Then the face on the screen blinked and said, “Hello?”
Shock stole Ket Siong’s voice away.
No one spoke. Ket Hau had turned to stone next to him.
“Stephen?” said Ket Siong faintly, after what felt like a long time. His face felt numb.
Stephen—if it was him, and it could be no one else—had altered since the night Ket Siong had last seen him. He had aged more than three years could account for: his face was thinner, new lines carved into it. And he had grown out his hair. It was shaggy, past his chin, with white strands that hadn’t been there before. It made him look like an ageing member of a Malay rock band.
His expression, however, was familiar. It was the same expression Stephen had worn when he used to keep Ket Hau out late watching football at mamak stalls, only to come in for an almighty telling-off from Ma the next morning.
“Hi, hi!” he said, looking relieved. “Hello. Hi.”
Ket Siong glanced warily at Ket Hau. His face was perfectly blank. Ket Siong looked back at the screen.
Extraordinarily, Stephen was still on it, the image of his face fuzzy but unmistakable. His eyebrows were practically bristling with anxiety.
Ket Siong must be dreaming. The conviction imparted a certain recklessness. It didn’t seem all that important what he said.
“Where are you?” he said, mostly to make conversation. It seemed absurd to care where Stephen was, when he was alive.
“What? Oh, Geneva. Switzerland,” said Stephen. “I’m a refugee now. Got the official letter all that. Took a while. Ha! It’s been interesting. Interesting few years. Yes. How, uh, how are you?”
Stephen clearly did not have the same feeling as Ket Siong, that nothing he said was of any real consequence. Ket Siong didn’t answer, since Stephen’s question wasn’t for him.
But Ket Hau didn’t speak, either. Ket Siong could feel something great and terrible working through him. Behind the blank wall of his expression, he was like a kettle coming to the boil.
“Hau?” said Stephen.
When Ket Hau finally spoke, the wall crumbled all at once.
“You fucking bastard!” he said. It was like an explosive going off. “You fucker! What the fuck, Stephen?”
Ket Siong leaned away a little. Helen Daley suddenly found something of vital interest on her mantelpiece to inspect.
“Sorry! I’m sorry,” said Stephen. “Seriously, these past few years, it’s been crazy. Then when I could finally start looking for you all, you were gone! Nobody knew where you went. Somebody told me you moved to Perth. I’m damn broke now, or I would have flown there. It’s only when I got in touch with Helen, I asked her did she hear anything about you guys. At first she said she couldn’t help me, but then DAP messaged her—”
Helen’s ears pricked up at the mention of her name.
“DAP?” she said. “I haven’t had any contact from anyone there. Are they involved?”
“Ah, no, not the political party,” said Stephen. “That’s my nickname for Siong. You know, because his name sounds like Lim Kit Siang. The DAP leader. He’s the father of Lim Guan Eng, the guy who—”
“Stephen,” said Ket Siong. “Why didn’t you contact us?”
Stephen looked stricken. “I was scared you all would think I was a scammer or what. Helen was talking to you anyway, she said she’d set something up. But you all didn’t guess? You’re not the ones who hired this PI firm?”
“What PI firm?” said Ket Siong.
“I haven’t told Helen about this yet,” said Stephen. “Happened a couple of days ago. I got tracked down by these guys, called themselves enquiry agents. I thought, shit, that’s it for me. But they said they just want to talk to me. Claim they’ve been hired by an unbiased party or unconnected party or something like that. I thought maybe it was you all, looking for me.”
“No, I… we didn’t know there was something to look for.” The term enquiry agent was familiar. Ket Siong had heard it before, relatively recently—though he couldn’t, at that moment, remember exactly when.
He gave up on chasing down the memory, a wave of self-recrimination rolling over him. He should have thought of hiring investigators. He didn’t have the money for it, but he could have come up with some way to raise the funds.
“But Stephen,” he said, “what happened? You got taken, right? Who did it? Was Freshview behind it?”
“Who took me?” said Stephen. “Fuck if I know! They didn’t give me their business cards. I mean, could be anybody. There are so many candidates. Did Hau show you? It’s all in the USB drive. Do you guys have the USB drive?”
They all looked at Ket Hau. Ket Hau opened his mouth, turned away, buried his face in his palms, and burst into tears.
This was not like the time he had broken down while telling Ket Siong and their mother about the USB drive. His sobs racked his body, his shoulders shaking. He was almost howling, with the pure and terrible abandonment of a child.
“Ko!” said Ket Siong, horrified.
“Oh, now, now,” said Helen.
But Stephen said, “Baby—oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”
“We can end the call,” said Helen. “I’m sorry, I should have prepared you better…”
“No! Hau, baby, talk to me,” said Stephen urgently.
Ket Hau gave his head a savage shake. His shoulders were heaving, his breathing harsh. He said, in a voice guttural with tears, “No.”
It was not clear which of them he was talking to. Helen hesitated, but then Ket Hau grabbed the tablet and stalked out of the room, banging the door shut behind him.
Ket Siong and Helen Daley stared at each other.
“Well,” said Helen.
“Stephen is his boyfriend,” blurted Ket Siong.
“Right,” said Helen, after a moment. “I’m going to make myself a cup of tea, with sugar in this time. Would you like something? Another peppermint tea, or something stronger? I really think you ought to have something stronger. And then we can chat. I’m happy to answer any questions you have. I suspect,” said Helen, glancing at the door, “we’re going to have plenty of time.”
There was no noise coming from Helen’s study, where Ket Hau had shut himself up with the tablet.
“I’m sure they’re just talking things out,” said Helen. “We’ve got excellent soundproofing. My daughter plays the guitar.”
She was a comforting person to be around when your world had been turned upside down several times in the space of twenty minutes. Once she’d made herself a fresh cup of tea and confirmed Ket Siong didn’t want any of her husband’s eighteen-year-old single malt, she sat down and told Ket Siong what she knew.
“I don’t know how much you’ve been following local politics,” she said. “In Sarawak, I mean. But I’ve been hearing for a while now, from people in the know, that they think the time is coming. There’s a real groundswell of dissatisfaction with the regime. What Stephen found out before he got kidnapped could make all the difference in the elections. Not just the state elections, either. That’s why he reached out to me. It’s the evidence we need. Stephen lost the documents his informant passed to him. He didn’t have the chance to get his things before he left the country.”
“But what happened?” said Ket Siong. “There were eyewitnesses, they said they saw him get kidnapped…”
“Oh yes, that happened. But he managed to escape,” said Helen. “I don’t know the full story, but I gather it was quite dramatic. He fought off his kidnappers and got away—they probably weren’t expecting a trained martial artist. He managed to get on a plane out of the country. He’s been in hiding since then. He thinks his attackers made out they got rid of him, so they could collect their fee, and that’s why he hasn’t had much trouble. Everyone thinks he’s dead.”
“We thought so, too,” said Ket Siong. He thought of his brother’s face before he’d left the room. His heart twisted. “Stephen could have told us.”
Helen’s face creased with sympathy. “You must try to understand. He was terrified. Your brother was the last person he wanted to expose.
“It was only very recently that I heard from him,” she added. “Only a few months before you contacted me. He was very cagey, he used a pseudonym. I had my suspicions from early on, but it took him a while to trust me enough to admit who he was. Getting asylum was a big deal. I think he’s felt much more confident since then.
“He’s been worried about you. Ket Hau most of all, but all of you. He told me you’re the closest he’s got to a family.”
Ket Siong realised Helen was trying to plead Stephen’s case with him. That she, a stranger, should feel the need to do this made everything feel more surreal than ever.
“He’s part of our family,” he said.
“And family is complicated,” said Helen. “I know you haven’t asked for advice, but you’ll forgive me for giving it. I’m much older than you and I feel that gives me the right to speak, you know. Stephen did what he thought he needed to. He really was planning to fly to Australia, after he was granted asylum. He even asked me for a loan. I told him he could have the money, but he should wait until he had a better lead. And now here we are. You will forgive him, won’t you?”
Evidently Ket Siong’s attempt to explain had not worked.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said. “We’ve been worried about him, too.”
“Right. I’m glad to hear that,” said Helen.
They both looked at the door to her study. It betrayed no hint of what was going on behind it.
“I wasn’t sure…” she said. “Your brother seemed upset.”
“He’s just shocked,” said Ket Siong.
But it was true Ket Hau still looked furious when he eventually rejoined them. His eyes were red and swollen, though at least he wasn’t crying anymore. He merely looked mad as hell.
He handed the tablet to Helen. “Thanks.”
Helen and Ket Siong exchanged a glance.
“Was it all right?” she said.
“The technology worked,” said Ket Hau.
Ket Siong wanted to be respectful. But after all, Stephen was his friend, too.
“What did he say?” said Ket Siong.
“Who?” said Ket Hau.
For a moment Ket Siong wondered if his brother had actually lost it.
Then:
“Stephen? You want to know what he said?” said Ket Hau. “I’ll tell you what that bastard said. He said gay marriage is legal here. Three years, not a single word, me having nightmares every night. And that’s what he’s got to say for himself. Fucking hell. He’s lucky he’s in Geneva. If he was here, I’d kill him myself.”
On any other day, Ket Siong might have been staggered at the idea of Stephen proposing marriage to Ket Hau. But it was the least unlikely thing that had happened since they’d arrived at Helen Daley’s flat.
“Are you getting married?” said Ket Siong.
“What do you think!” snarled Ket Hau. He flung himself around and went to the window, standing with his back to them.
“If you want,” said Ket Siong, “I could talk to Ma.” Another thought struck him. “So is Stephen coming here? Or are you going to move to Switzerland?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Ket Hau. “I’m never talking to that bastard again. Unbelievable.”
Clearly this was not a point to pursue until Ket Hau had had a chance to cool down.
Now that Ket Siong thought about it, he was not sure Ma had not known about Ket Hau and Stephen all along. If he had had his suspicions, so must she. But how she would feel about gaining Stephen as a son-in-law was hard to predict.
Ket Hau turned around. “Mrs. Daley—Helen. You’ve been very patient while we’ve been subjecting you to our drama.”
“Not at all,” said Helen readily. “It’s been a pleasure hosting you. I’m only sorry I couldn’t persuade your brother to try some Glenmorangie. Would you like some? I find a dram steadies the nerves wonderfully.”
Ket Hau declined, but only after an extended pause that suggested he was seriously considering the offer.
“About the USB drive Stephen mentioned,” he said. “I don’t have it on me right now. But it’s in our possession. I can tell you what the evidence consists of, if that would be helpful.”
“I would be very interested in hearing that,” said Helen. “Stephen wasn’t able to tell me much of the detail. It’s been so long since he had access to the documents. But are you sure you’d like to talk about it now? You’ve had rather a trying day. We could always speak another time.”
“I’m fine,” said Ket Hau. He drew out a chair, sitting down at the dining table. “I should have tried to do something with the information three years ago. But better late than never.”
“It couldn’t be a better time if you had planned it,” said Helen. “So let’s say it’s all for the best, in this best of all possible worlds. You’re sure you don’t want another drink? All right. Do you mind if I record this conversation? Perfect.” She smiled. “Take it away.”