Ghostwritten Part 8

'But they're your earrings.'

That had been the wrong thing to say.

When I managed to calm Katy down I asked her what I was supposed to say.

'Tell her that there are certain standards we wish her to meet. Say that perhaps we weren't clear enough when we first hired her.'

'Maybe she's just a lazy b.i.t.c.h. What makes you think I'll have any effect?'

'The Chinese psyche: if you let her know who the master is, they listen. She looks at me like I'm a piece of dogs.h.i.+t. Theo's wife was telling me about it, she had the same problem. It doesn't even matter if she doesn't understand everything. They can tell from the tone of your voice.'

And the next Sunday I met the maid. So you see, Katy brought us together.

I had expected a cleaning lady. Maid meant maid. I guessed she was twenty-eight or twenty-nine. She was in a black and white uniform, and black tights. The material must make her skin sweat. She listened insouciantly, while I ran through my patter, avoiding eye contact for most of the time. Her hair was luscious, her skin dusky. After 30 seconds of being in the same room, I knew that she and I would end up f.u.c.king each other, and I knew that she knew it too.

And from then on, even on the nights when Katy and I had s.e.x three times to get her pregnant, I would close my eyes and see the maid underneath me.

The path rose sharply behind the Trappist Monastery, up into the purplish morning. Soon the tree-line was far below. I never knew there was so much sky here! I took my jacket off and slung it over my shoulder. I was still carrying my briefcase.

I got to an outcrop and sat down. My heart was tw.a.n.ging like a double-ba.s.s. Should I take some of those tablets? The doctor who does the Cavendish people, a Chinese quack, just said, 'Take three of these every day and you'll be all right.' I said, 'What are you giving me?' He said, 'A bottle of pink ones, a bottle of green ones, and a bottle of blue ones.' Cheers, Doc. Maybe I'll give the medicine a miss.

Alchemy was changing the sky. The sun was burnis.h.i.+ng the leaden dullness to silver. In turn the silver was shrouding blue. It was going to be a nice day after all.

A nearby furry rock lifted its head, blinking. It looked at me sorrowfully and mooed. I hadn't been this close to a cow I wasn't eating since... who knows? Wales, for all I knew. Hong Kong glistened in the distance, through the haze. Skysc.r.a.pers, construction, clamouring upwards like trees in a jungle.

My cordless telephone rang and triggered an instant relapse.

f.u.c.k, what have have I done! Please G.o.d let me wake up! I done! Please G.o.d let me wake up! Please! Please!

The cow mooed dolefully. f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k. Double f.u.c.k to the power of f.u.c.k squared. I am a lawyer living in a world where 'thirteen' means 'thirteen million bucks' and I am bunking off work like a schoolboy skipping double maths! The Taiwanese! Think! What excuse is serious enough, plausible enough, and yet too implausible for it to be a lie? Kidnapping? No, a heart attack? Avril knows I'm on medication. A seizure? Think! Serious, violent, incapacitating vomiting, then why aren't I on the boat, I'd need to pay a doctor, I'd need a receipt, and a reliable witness- Answer me! Answer me!

I clicked 'answer', and said, er...

Neal, isn't it about time that you you decided what const.i.tutes a crisis? decided what const.i.tutes a crisis?

Er... Nothing. I listened to Neal's heart. It sounded like a percussion grenade in a neighbouring valley.

'Neal? Neal?' Avril, sure enough. 'Neal, where are you?'

A large fly landed on my knee. A gothic tricycle. My relapse was over.

'Neal? Can you hear me? Chaing Yun's here. He's being very polite, but he's wondering what is so important that you are late for this meeting. And so am I. And so will Jim Hersch. And if Chiang Yun isn't important enough to warrant your valuable time, Mr Gregorski from St Petersburg has already phoned you twice, and it's not even 9 a.m.'

I looked at my Rolex. My, my, how time had flown. The cow frowned. I smelt its s.h.i.+t near by.

'I know you're there, Neal. I can hear you breathing. This had better be good. This had better be jolly good. Because nothing short of a capsized ferry is going to save you this time. Neal, you hear me Neal? Okay, look Neal, if you're unable to speak, then tap the phone twice now, all right?'

Aha! Doubt was creeping in to her contempt! I chuckled. Avril the ever-resourceful. Avril will go far will Avril.

'Neal! This is not funny! You are royally royally messing up one of the biggest contracts we've ever seen! One of the biggest that has ever been heard of ! I'm going to have to tell D.C. You can't seriously expect me to take the flack for this!' messing up one of the biggest contracts we've ever seen! One of the biggest that has ever been heard of ! I'm going to have to tell D.C. You can't seriously expect me to take the flack for this!'

Ah, shut the f.u.c.k up. I clicked the thing off and placed it on the warm rock.

A buzzard circled, and there was an anvil-shaped cloud.

You never see them coming. They lurk in the overlooked and undusted places. They grow to huge proportions, and all along you don't even dream about them, not in their true form. And then one day a chance meeting happens, a glimpse of that you didn't know you wanted, and a latch is raised...

Avril tried my beeper. Jesus, I was armed to the teeth with telecommunications devices. Like John Wayne unholstering himself after a hard day slaughtering Hispanic bandits with bad teeth, I unclipped it. I clicked open my briefcase. There was the Mickey Kwan File whoops and Huw Llewellyn's calling card. I put in my beeper and cordless phone. I stood up, took a big under-arm swing, and hurled it into the void. It drew an elegant parabola, I could still hear my beeper, a costly, mewling kitten. The briefcase hit the mountainside running, and spun down the slope in terminal leaps... in big beautiful wheels, fast enough to kill on impact, like Mama Lion, like a tumbler, like a lemming, like Piggy from The Lord of the Flies. The Lord of the Flies.

My briefcase hung for a moment in the morning sun, weightless.

Then it plummeted like a gannet into the sea.

It seemed Katy had forgotten to cancel the maid.

The first week after Katy's departure I came home one night to find my was.h.i.+ng done, the dishes washed up and neatly stacked, the toilet and the bathroom cleaned, and the windows polished. She'd even ironed my s.h.i.+rts, bless her sour-plum little Chinese nipples.

I certainly wasn't going to cancel that. Weekdays, I had to plan in my Filofax when I was going to s.h.i.+t. Seriously.

The maid didn't take long to work out that Katy had gone.

She came one Sunday morning. I was lying on the sofa watching Sesame Street. Sesame Street. I heard the keys, and she entered as if she owned the place. She was not wearing her ap.r.o.n. I heard the keys, and she entered as if she owned the place. She was not wearing her ap.r.o.n.

She locked the door behind her, walked over to me as though I was inanimate, knelt on me, and started ma.s.saging my c.o.c.k with one hand. Big Bird, Ernie and Bert were singing a song about the magic 'E' that makes the 'A' say its name. I tried to kiss her but she shoved my face back with her hand, and kept it there, her hand coiling me tighter and tighter. She pulled off my T-s.h.i.+rt, and pushed my trousers down with her foot. Athletic girl. She pinched the skin between my b.a.l.l.s, like a ring through the nose of an ox, led me to the bedroom, and laid me down on Katy's side of the bed. She slid out of her pants and knelt on my rib cage. I started unb.u.t.toning her, but she made a tsu-tsuuuu noise, slapped me and dug her fingernails into my s.c.r.o.t.u.m until I capitulated. Then she spoke, for the first, and almost the last, time.

'Say: you want me, you don't want Katty b.i.t.c.h.'

'Yeah, I do.'

'Say!'

'I want you, I don't want her.'

'Say. Katty b.i.t.c.h is b.i.t.c.h trash, I am real woman.'

I can't say that.

Still keeping my t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es hostage, she pulled off her top with one hand, and unclipped her bra. I heard her giggling in the other room. Her nipples rose and darkened like something in a tale.

'She was a b.i.t.c.h. Trash. You are a real woman.'

'You would give money. You would give her stuff. All of it. A present.'

'She took a lot back with her.'

'She left much things. Mine now. Say it.' Her hand slid up my shaft, tighter and tighter.

'It's yours now.'

She put my hand onto her breast. 'Say: You stronger than me.'

'You are stronger than me.'

Formalities, rituals and contract-signing over, she lunged down on me. For a fraction of a second I thought about contraception, but the warmth and wetness and rhythm nudged me further and further away.

Once I tried to get on top, but she bit me and elbowed me and rolled me back over.

Afterwards the fan droned on our bodies. Nothing left of all that fire but the smell of low tide. I felt... I don't know what I felt. Maybe I felt nothing. The theme music of Sesame Street Sesame Street played itself out. played itself out.

She got up, and sat down at Katy's dressing table. She opened the drawer, and took out a coral necklace, and fastened it around her neck. Slenderer than Katy's.

I wanted her again. This was costing me more than money, so I may as well push for maximum value and d.a.m.n myself properly. I got up and f.u.c.ked her from behind, on the dressing table. We broke the mirror.

s.e.x with the maid became a drug. Once p.r.i.c.ked, I was addicted. I thought about her at work. When I got back in the evening, my erection would start even as I inserted my key. If I could smell Katy's cologne in the entrance hall, it would mean she was waiting. If not, well, if not, I'd have to make do with whisky. Hugo Hamish and Theo at the office tried to persuade me to go drinking at Mad Dogs a few times, thinking I was cut up about Katy, but the truth is, she didn't cross my mind that often. She was living in another compartment, and I didn't have to encounter her unless I went looking for her. The maid was different: she came looking for me.

When I got home one night and saw Mrs Feng's shoes in the entrance I realised trouble had come visiting. Mrs Feng and Katy were sitting at our dining-room table. They had that speak of the devil look. The final verdict on Neal Brose had just been handed down.

'Neal,' Katy said in her headmistress voice, which came out when she was nervous as f.u.c.k but wanted to seem in control. 'Mrs Feng's been telling me about our visitor. Sit down.'

I wanted a beer, I wanted a shower, I wanted steak and chips, I wanted Manchester United v. Liverpool on satellite TV.

'Listen to Mrs Feng! Before you do anything.'

The sooner this was over, the sooner I could get on with my evening.

Mrs Feng waited for me to sit down and stop fidgeting. The way she looked at me made me feel a suspect at an ident.i.ty parade. 'You are not alone in this apartment.'

'We know.'

'She is hiding now. She is a little girl, and is afraid of me.'

I could quite see why. Mrs Feng's eyes were smoked gla.s.s. When she blinked I swear I heard doors hiss.

'There are three possibilities. For centuries, unwanted childrens were left on Lantau by night, to the mercy of the winter nights and the wild animals. She could be one such ancient. But these rarely reside in modern buildings. A second possibility is, she was one of the undesirables rounded up by the j.a.panese when they occupied Hong Kong during the war. They were brought to Discovery Bay, ordered to dig their graves, up where Phase 1 was built in the seventies, and shot so they fell back into the holes. Perhaps she had stolen some bauble. The third possibility is that she is a... I don't know the English word. She is the child of a gwai lo gwai lo man and a maid. The man would have left, and the maid flung the girl off one of these buildings.' man and a maid. The man would have left, and the maid flung the girl off one of these buildings.'

'Modern mothercare.'

'Neal, shut up!'

'A boy would bring disgrace, but a baby girl, worse than that. It often happens, even when the parents are married and both Chinese, if they are not rich. The dowries can cripple a couple's married life. I believe that she is one of these.'

Why were they both looking at me? Was it my fault?

'There's something else,' Katy said. 'Mrs Feng says she's drawn to men. You.'

'Do you know what you're sounding like?'

'Mrs Feng says she sees me as a rival, and for as long as we're here, I'll never be able to have a baby. We'll have to leave Lantau. It can't follow you over water.'

'Dr Chan forwarded a slightly more plausible reason for the non-appearance of a Brose-Forbes junior, don't you think?' f.u.c.k, that came out wrongly.

'So, you're saying it's all a figment of my imagination.'

'No. Occasionally, there is a presence here. But stratospheric rents on Central and Victoria Peak are a rather more concrete reality. The Chinese are the first to forget their sacred f.u.c.king feng shui feng shui when money's making the suggestion. Forget it, Katy. We can't afford to move. And there is no way we're moving in with the Triad and the Plebs and the Immigrants down in Kowloon. You'd have a baby there and they'd chop it up and desiccate it for medicine.' when money's making the suggestion. Forget it, Katy. We can't afford to move. And there is no way we're moving in with the Triad and the Plebs and the Immigrants down in Kowloon. You'd have a baby there and they'd chop it up and desiccate it for medicine.'

Mrs Feng watched us. I could swear she was enjoying this.

'Mrs Feng,' I said. 'You know everything there is to know. What should we do? Call an exorcist?'

My sarcasm was dead on arrival. Mrs Feng nodded slightly. 'In ordinary circ.u.mstances, yes, there are a number of specialist geomancers I could recommend. But this apartment is so very unlucky, I believe it is beyond redemption. You must move.'

'We're not moving. We can't move.'

Mrs Feng stood up. 'Then you will excuse me.'

Katy stood and made 'won't you stay and have some more tea' noises, but she was already pa.s.sing through the doorway. 'Beware,' she warned without turning around, 'of what is at the other end of the door.'

While I was trying to work out what the f.u.c.k that was supposed to mean, Katy stood up and went into the spare bedroom. I heard her lock it.

Madness, f.u.c.king madness. I got myself a beer, and lay on the sofa, too tired to make myself some food. Thanks, Katy. You've had all f.u.c.king day to make something. So what if there is a f.u.c.king ghost?

I never knew there were so many f.u.c.king locks in this place.

The boy and the girl in the cafe last night, I keep seeing them.

Katy and me. What happened to Love?

Well, Love went to bed. It f.u.c.ked, over and over, until it got sore-k.n.o.b bored, quite frankly. Then Love looked around for something else to do, and it saw its lovely friends all having lovely babies. So Love decided to do the same, but Love kept having its periods, same as ever, however much it inseminated itself. So Love went to an infertility clinic, and discovered the truth. As far as I know Love's stiff is there to this very day. And that, boys and girls, is the Story of What Happened to Love.

I want to go back to the coffee bar and tell them. 'Listen to me, both of you, you are ill. You're not seeing things how they are.'

Who are you to tell anyone they are ill, Neal?

Katy had phoned that evening. The maid had left two minutes before. I was just climbing into the shower, still sticky. How do women manage to time these things? She spoke to my answering machine. She was drunk. I let her speak to it, listening in, standing stark b.o.l.l.o.c.k naked in the living room, smelling of multiple s.e.x with the maid Katy had hated.

'Neal, I know you're there. I can tell. It's five in the afternoon here, dunno what that makes it there, eleven I suppose.' I didn't know what the time was either. 'I've been watching the Brits get slaughtered at Wimbledon... Wanted to say h.e.l.lo I s'pose, dunno why I'm phoning really, I'm well, thanks, how are you? I'm well. I'm flat-hunting. I should be closing on a little flat in Islington this time next week. The pipes are noisy but at least there aren't any ghosts. Sorry, that's not funny. I'm doing a lot of P.A.ing for Cecile's Temp Agency, just to keep my hand in. Vernwood's left for Wall Street. Some hotshot fresh from the London School of Economics has been given his desk. I was wondering if you could get the Queen Anne chair s.h.i.+pped back sometime, it's worth a bob or two, you know. Spoke with your sister last week, b.u.mped into her in Harvey Nic's funnily enough, quite by chance... She said you'd just extended your contract by another eighteen months... will you be coming back at Christmas? Might be nice to meet up, I just thought, y'know, but then again you'll probably have people to meet and all that... And some of my jewellery is still in your apartment. We wouldn't want that maid getting her hands on it and running back to China, eh? I don't think I ever got those keys back from her. You'd better change the locks. I'm okay, but I need a holiday. About forty years would do me. Well, if you're not too tired when you get in give me a call, I'll be watching the doubles finals for the next couple of hours... Oh, and your sister said to tell you to call your mother... Your dad's pancreatic thingy has come back... 'bye then...'

I never got round to returning that call. What would I say?

A grave. Its back to the mountain, its face to the sea. The sun was high and pestilent. I took off my tie and hung it on a th.o.r.n.y tree. No point trying to read the name of the grave's occupant. There are thousands of these Chinese hieroglyphs making up the world's clonkiest writing system. I knew five: alcohol, mountain, river, love, exit. I sometimes think, these hieroglyphs are are the real Chinese, living down through the centuries, hiding their meanings in their similarities to outwit the foreigner, by and large immune to tampering. Mao himself failed to modernise his language. the real Chinese, living down through the centuries, hiding their meanings in their similarities to outwit the foreigner, by and large immune to tampering. Mao himself failed to modernise his language.