Chapter Twenty-Four
That November I turned eighteen, and the myrtle grew like mad, overwhelming the planters until they fractured from their weight.
The broken pots lay on the ground for a good month before Gu Ma noticed.
My aunt took the thriving myrtle as a sign that at last our family’s fortunes were beginning to turn.
Indeed, toward the end of the year, the investigation into Chan Kiu Factory came to a standstill.
It was matter of timing, rather than a statement on my aunt’s innocence, as she would lead everyone to believe.
The whole country was on edge, the British consumed with rooting out any Communist factions that hid in Hong Kong’s underground and dealing with the influx of immigrants from the mainland.
Prosecuting a widowed factory owner like Gu Ma became a far less pressing issue.
Operations at the factory resumed quietly, but Gu Ma decided I served her best at home as a cook, and before long, Susu returned to her old position in the house.
By spring, Sai Ma’s so-called friends were back for their weekly games of mahjong, Baba took up his pipe once more, and my aunt bought a new car and hired a guard.
No one spoke of Lily. When her trove of stolen trinkets was found, Sai Ma threw everything away.
Gu Ma installed an additional barrel bolt outside Lily’s door to lock away any ghostly spirits, and Sai Ma removed all photographs of my sister from the house.
Every time Richard asked where his big sister had gone, Sai Ma lied without missing a beat: “To school.”
I hated her for it and yet I didn’t have the heart to tell Richard the truth.
I’d tell him stories about Lily, about how much she liked egg tarts and luncheon meat, and how she’d tickled his feet when he was a baby.
After a while, I ran out of stories and he asked to hear about the war instead.
His memory of Lily was fading, and to my distress, mine was, too.
Spring arrived, the sun fanning across the tops of the palms and banyan trees.
I was at the market shopping for watercress and pork knuckles.
My trips were short and purposeful. I rarely went far.
Still it felt good listening to the wind that tickled my ears, working the muscles in my calves and climbing the ladder streets to exercise my lungs.
I was tempted by egg tarts at Cheung Hing Bakery, I haggled over hawberries and admired a fresh array of gai lan being sold on the roadside.
I even grumbled about the humidity with strangers. Against my will, I was healing.
I usually stayed until the Jardine Noonday Gun was fired.
It was an old artillery stationed in Causeway Bay; from home or the factory I’d never noticed it go off, but the sound was louder in the market.
Invariably, its crackling boom punctuated the end of my peaceful mornings, for the roads subsequently buzzed with the lunchtime crowds.
Young women came in their button-down polka dot dresses, and I counted five Peaksoy bottles in different hands before I took it as a sign to go home.
I was a street away from the tram stop when I realized I’d forgotten to buy Baba’s salted fish. An inconvenience in the moment, but it was to be a crossroad in disguise. One that would change my life irrevocably.
Hurriedly I retraced my steps to the market. As I threaded through the traffic, I passed a Mercedes-Benz with the license plate 8828. Such a lucky number was bound to belong to a tycoon, so naturally I looked into the car for a glimpse. The last person I expected to find was Tommy.
The Tommy I knew had ketchup stains on his collar, walked his bicycle at his side, and brought iced soymilk to the traffic controllers on the street.
This Tommy wore a suit like his grandfather—gray with a white pocket square.
His black hair was combed into a fashionable swirl at his crown, and he was sitting beside a young woman who sparkled through the car windows.
Was she his girlfriend? I made the mistake of staring a beat too long. Tommy looked up—and saw me.
Damn it. I spun, weaving my way into the market.
“Ying!” he shouted.
I picked up speed. People swore at me for bumping into them, and I hoisted my groceries to my hip to move more easily. After a while, the shouts grew faint. I turned into an alleyway, dipping under a low awning, where I let out a breath.
Then came the tap on my shoulder.
“You’ve gotten faster, little hwamei,” Tommy said, his hands on his knees as he panted. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
“No,” I said. It was only half a lie thanks to my injury.
His smile fell apart. “Ying, I—I . . . I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say what he was apologizing for, but we both knew.
Fortune had abandoned my family while it showered favor on his.
Peaksoy was everywhere: the wet markets, the hawker stalls, the cafés.
At twenty cents each, it was cheaper than soda, and far more nutritious.
Children drank it at school, the elderly sipped it for breakfast, even foreigners, initially drawn to the evocative design on the bottle, found they liked it.
Funny, how wealth could reshape a person’s entire character.
I was sure I looked different too. My hair was unbrushed, I was on my fifth day in a row of wearing the same checkered dress, and I’d lost weight.
I wasn’t as thin as I’d been during the war, but my cheeks were sunken, my arms like frail twigs.
A far cry from the effervescent fifteen-year-old I still saw on the billboards, but was I ashamed of how I looked?
No, I stood tall, looking him levelly in the eye.
“I hope your family is well,” I said.
“Wait. Wait, Yut Ying.” His voice was soft. “I’ve missed you.”
I meant to walk away, but my legs wouldn’t move. My lips wouldn’t move, either. I wanted to hear what he had to say.
“Let me explain,” said Tommy.
“Explain what?” said a new voice. It was airy and shrill like a cheap bamboo flute, and it came from the sparkling girl I’d seen inside Tommy’s car.
The sparkles turned out to be diamond earrings dangling from her lobes in two winding scrolls. “Tommy, dear, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
Dear? In the past, I’d refused to think of Tommy as anything more than my friend, but now an unfamiliar twinge twisted in my gut.
“Priscilla-Mae,” said Tommy, averting his eyes from mine, “this is Helen. You might recognize her as the face of Peaksoy.”
The girl’s hand jumped to her mouth. “It is!” She circled me. “You’re so much taller than you looked in the poster.” She slid her arm under Tommy’s. “I was wondering why you left the car in such a rush. You should’ve told me you met someone who worked for you.”
“Helen’s not an employee,” said Tommy. “She’s a good friend.”
I forced a smile, quite aware that Priscilla-Mae was looking me up and down.
I did the same, taking in her spotless white dress, her pearl bracelet, her teeth the color of sugar. Over one shoulder was a turtle skin handbag, and over the other was a mink stole, so soft it still looked alive.
“Helen,” Priscilla-Mae tested out my name. “How do you know Tommy?”
“He ran into me on his bicycle,” I replied, repeating the story I’d once told his grandfather. “Down the steps on Sandy Mound Road.”
“Sandy Mound Road.” She touched her chin. “Peaksoy’s first factory is down the street.”
All these years I’d known him, he’d never mentioned his family having a factory nearby.
“Are you looking for more work?” she went on. “I’m sure we can convince Director Fung to hire you again soon. Peaksoy is about to launch overseas in Singapore, then in Australia. The news isn’t public yet, so don’t spread it around: Tommy’s been chosen to take over.”
I turned to Tommy a little stunned. “Congratulations.”
He barely nodded. This was what he had secretly wanted—why did he look so glum?
“Have you seen the new bottles?” said Priscilla-Mae.
“You’re on the label now! You’re practically a Hong Kong legend at this point.
Did you know, there was a billboard that I would see coming down from my parents’ penthouse on the Peak, and I would wonder, who was that country girl in the yellow polka dot dress.
The original model they hired was too fancy—she didn’t look right advertising soymilk. But you—you were perfect.”
A muscle twitched in my jaw. The noise of her chattering made my left ear hurt, and I couldn’t force a smile without pain.
“We should get going, Tommy,” Priscilla-Mae went on. “Traffic is horrible at this hour, and we can’t be late to dinner with our parents. Goodbye, Ellen. It was a thrill meeting you.” She blew me a kiss. “Soy is joy.”
“Soy is joy,” I echoed woodenly. I made a bow with my head that I regretted, then I turned.
“Wait.” Tommy reached into his pocket, fishing out a small orange fruit. “From your tree.”
Surprise dissolved my anger as I took the loquat.
It rolled onto my palm like a little sun.
What was he doing carrying a loquat around in his pocket, I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t in front of Priscilla-Mae, whose smile was shrinking by the second, showing less and less of those sugar-colored teeth. Instead, I asked, “It bore fruit?”
“Last week.” His voice lifted, turning hopeful. “You should visit it.”
I closed my fist over the loquat.
“Tommy,” Priscilla-Mae called impatiently.
He sent me an apologetic look, but he didn’t argue.
When the car was gone, I examined the loquat Tommy had given me. It was a ripe shade of orange, its skin pale and velvety. How incredible that from one lone seed, I had grown this perfect fruit.
I tucked it into my pocket, satisfied that I’d done at least one good thing in this life.