CHAPTER TWELVE

CHANGI AIRPORT, SINGAPORE

As Nick pushed his luggage cart into the arrival hall of Terminal 3, he saw a familiar face holding up a sign that read PROFESSOR NICHOLAS YOUNG, ESQ, PHD. Most people at the airport would have figured the guy with the sign—clad in a faded yellow ACS tank top, navy blue Adidas jogging pants, and flip-flops—as some surfer bum hired to be a substitute driver and not the heir to one of Singapore’s biggest fortunes.

“What are you doing here?” Nick said, hugging his best friend Colin Khoo.

“You haven’t been back since 2010. I wasn’t going to let you arrive without a proper greeting party,” Colin said cheerily.

“Look at you! Tan as ever and rockin’ that man bun! What does your father think of this look?”

Colin grinned. “He detests it. He says I look like an opium addict, and if this was the 1970s and I arrived at Changi Airport, Lee Kuan Yew would personally come down to Immigration, grab me by the ear, drag me to the nearest Indian barbershop, and have me shaved botak!”

They took the glass elevators down to Level B2, where Colin’s car was parked.

“What are you driving these days? Is this a Porsche Cayenne?” Nick asked as Colin helped him to load his luggage into the back of the SUV.

“No, this is the new 2016 Macan. It’s not actually out yet until March, but they let me have this special test driver.”

“Sweet,” Nick said, opening the passenger-side door. There was a cashmere wrap on the seat.

“Oh, just throw that in the back. That’s Minty’s. She freezes whenever she rides up front. She sends her love, by the way—she’s in Bhutan at her mother’s resort, doing a meditation retreat.”

“Sounds nice. You didn’t want to join her?”

“Nah, you know how my brain works. I’m totally ADHD—can’t meditate for the life of me. My form of meditation these days is Muay Thai boxing,” Colin said as he backed out of the parking spot at what felt like sixty miles per hour.

Trying not to flinch, Nick asked, “So it sounds like Araminta’s been feeling better?”

“Um…getting there,” Colin said haltingly.

“Glad to hear that. I know things have been rough lately.”

“Yeah, you know how it is—depression comes in waves. And this miscarriage really pulled her under for a while. She’s trying to be good to herself, doing all these retreats, and she’s cut back on work. She’s seeing a really great psychologist now, even though her parents aren’t thrilled about that.”

“Still?”

“Yeah, Minty’s dad made her doctor sign this gigantic stack of NDAs, even though you know all psychologists are already bound by a confidentiality code. But Peter Lee needed assurance that the doctor would never even admit that Minty is a client of his, or that she would ever need something as shameful as therapy.”

Nick shook his head. “It amazes me that there’s still such a huge stigma about mental illness here.”

“ ‘Stigma’ implies that something exists but society is prejudiced against it. Here, everyone’s in denial that it even exists!”

“Well, that explains why you’re not locked up,” Nick deadpanned.

Colin punched Nick playfully. “It’s so great to see you, to be able to say this stuff out loud!”

“Surely there are other people you can talk to?”

“Nobody wants to hear that Colin Khoo and Araminta Lee have any kind of problems. We’re too rich to have problems. We’re the golden couple, right?”

“You are the golden couple. And I’ve seen the pictures to prove it!”

Colin scoffed, remembering the infamous fashion shoot for Elle Singapore where he dressed up like James Bond and Araminta was painted in gold from head to toe. “Biggest mistake of my life was doing that photo shoot! I’m never going to live that down. You know, I was taking a piss at the bathroom at Paragon the other day when the guy at the next urinal suddenly looked at me and said, ‘Wah lao! Aren’t you that Golden God?’ ”

Nick burst out laughing. “So did you give him your number?”

“Fuck you!” Colin replied. “Strangely enough, guess who’s been a good friend to Minty lately? Kitty Pong!”

“Kitty! Really?”

“Yes, she was the one who connected Minty to her psychologist. I think it’s because Kitty’s not a local—she doesn’t have the same sort of baggage that we have, and Araminta feels like she can speak frankly with her because she’s completely removed from our tight little circle. She didn’t go to Raffles, MGS, or SCGS, and she’s not a Churchill Club member. She hangs with that foreign billionaire crowd.”

“It’s only fitting. She’s Mrs. Jack Bing now.”

“Yeah, I feel a bit sorry for Bernard Tai. As much of an idiot as he used to be, he did become a good father, from what I hear. But he totally got burned by Kitty. I don’t think he ever saw that Jack Bing thing coming. Hey, what ever happened to that daughter of his?”

“Colette? Hell if I know. After she had Rachel poisoned, we made sure to steer clear of her. I wanted to press charges against her, you know? But Rachel wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Hmm…Rachel sure is a forgiving person.”

“That she is. And that’s why I’m here. I’m under specific orders to come back and make peace with Ah Ma.”

“And is that what you want to do?”

Nick paused for a moment. “I’m not sure, quite honestly. Part of me feels like all this happened a lifetime ago. Our daily lives are so removed from everything going on here. On the one hand, I can’t ever forget the way Rachel was treated and how my grandmother couldn’t trust me, but on the other hand, her acceptance is kind of irrelevant now.”

“Everything ends up seeming irrelevant in the face of loss,” Colin said as he sped onto East Coast Parkway. “So am I taking you straight to the house, or do you want to grab a bite first?”

“You know what, it’s so late, I probably should go straight to the house. I’m sure there will be food for us there. With everyone in town, I think Ah Ching’s kitchen staff must be churning out food nonstop.”

“No problem. Tyersall Park, coming right up! I’m just going to visualize a hundred sticks of satay awaiting me there. You know, not to push you in any way, but I like your grandmother. She’s always been good to me. Remember how I ran away from home after my stepmonster threatened to ship me off to boarding school in Tasmania, and your grandma let us hide out in the tree house at Tyersall Park?”

“Yeah! And every morning, she would make the cook send a big basket full of breakfast goodies up to the tree,” Nick added.

“That’s what I mean! All my associations with your grandma revolve around food. I’ll never forget the chee cheong fun and char siew baos delivered on those bamboo trays, and the freshly baked roti prata! We were feasting like kings up there! When I finally got sent home, I wanted to find any excuse I could to run away to that little tree house again. Our cook was nothing compared to yours!”

“Haha! I remember you ran away from home so many times.”

“Yep. My stepmonster made life so miserable. You only ran away once, if I remember correctly.”

Nick nodded as the memory began to unfurl in his mind, taking him back to when he was eight years old…

They had been in the middle of dinner, just the three of them. His father, mother, and him, eating in the breakfast room off the kitchen, as they did when his parents weren’t entertaining guests in the formal dining room. He could even remember what they ate that night. Bak ku teh. He had poured too much of the rich, aromatic broth over his rice, making it too watery for his liking, but his mother had insisted he finish his bowl before she would let him redo it. She was more irritable than usual—it seemed like both his parents had been so tense for days now.

Someone came speeding up the driveway, too fast, and instead of parking by the front porch like all the guests would, the car kept going until it reached the back of the house, stopping just behind the garage. Nick looked out the window and saw Auntie Audrey, his parents’ good friend, emerging from her Honda Prelude. He liked Auntie Audrey, she always made the most delicious nyonya kuey. Was she bringing something yummy for dessert tonight? She came bursting through the back door, and Nick saw immediately that Auntie Audrey’s face was puffy and bruised, her lip bleeding. The sleeve from her blouse was torn, and she looked totally dazed.

“Alamak, Audrey! What happened?” His mother gasped, as several maids came rushing into the room.

Audrey ignored her, staring instead at his father, Philip. “Look what my husband did to me! I wanted you to see what the monster did to me!”

His mother rushed to Auntie Audrey’s side. “Desmond did this? Oh my dear!”

“Don’t touch me!” Audrey cried out as she crumpled to the floor.

His father stood up from the table. “Nicky, upstairs now!”

“But Dad—”

“NOW!” his father shouted.

Ling Jeh rushed to Nick’s side and steered him out of the dining room.

“What is happening? Is Auntie Audrey okay?” Nick asked worriedly.

“Don’t worry about her, let’s go to your room. I’ll play dominoes with you,” his nanny replied in her soothing Cantonese as she rushed him up the stairs.

They sat there in his bedroom for about fifteen minutes. Ling Jeh had laid out the dominoes, but he was too distracted by the sounds coming from downstairs. He could hear muffled shouts and a woman weeping. Was it his mum or Auntie Audrey? He ran out to the landing and overheard Auntie Audrey shouting, “Just because you are Youngs, you think you can go around fucking anyone you want?”

He couldn’t believe his ears. He had never heard an adult use the f word like that. What did this mean?

“Nicky, come back into the room at once!” Ling Jeh yelled, pulling him back into his bedroom. She shut the door tightly and began rushing around, hurriedly shutting the jalousie windows and turning on the air conditioner. Suddenly the familiar tock, tock sound of an old taxi could be heard laboring up the steep driveway. Nick rushed to the veranda and leaning out he could see that it was Uncle Desmond—Auntie Audrey’s husband—stumbling out of the taxi. His father came outside, and he could hear the both of them arguing in the dark, Uncle Desmond pleading, “She’s lying! It’s all lies, I’m telling you!” while his father murmured something and then suddenly, forcefully, raised his voice. “Not in my house. NOT IN MY HOUSE!”

At some point he must have fallen asleep. He woke up, not knowing what time it was. Ling Jeh had left the room, and the air conditioner had been turned off but the jalousie windows were still closed. It felt stiflingly hot. He cracked open the door carefully and saw across the hallway the line of light underneath the door to his parents’ bedroom. Did he dare leave his room? Or would they be shouting at each other again? He didn’t want to hear them fighting—he knew he wasn’t supposed to hear them. He was feeling thirsty, so he walked out to the landing where there was a refrigerator that was always stocked with ice and a jug of water. As he opened the fridge and stood in front of it, feeling the cool draft against his body, he heard sobs coming from his parents’ bedroom. Creeping over to their door, he could hear his mother suddenly scream, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare! You’ll see your name splashed over the front pages tomorrow.”

“Lower your voice!” his father shouted back angrily.

“I’m going to ruin your precious name, I tell you! What I’ve had to put up with all these years from your family! I’m going to run. I’ll run off with Nicky to America and you’ll never see him again!”

“I’ll kill you if you take my son!”

Nicky could feel his heart pounding. He had never heard his parents this angry before. He rushed into his bedroom, stripped off his pajamas, and threw on a T-shirt and his soccer shorts. He took out all the ang pow money he had saved in his little metal safe box—$790—and grabbed his silver flashlight, tucking it into the waistband of his shorts. He went out the door leading onto the veranda, where a large guava tree arched over the second floor. He grasped hold of one of the thick branches, swung onto the tree trunk, and quickly shimmied down to the ground, as he had done hundreds of times.

Jumping onto his ten-speed bicycle, he raced out of the garage and down Tudor Close. He could hear the Alsatians at his neighbor’s house begin to bark, and it made him cycle even faster. He sped down the long slope of Harlyn Road until he reached Berrima Road. At the second house on the right, he stopped in front of the tall steel electronic gate and looked around. The concrete fence had glass spikes at the top, but he wondered whether he could still climb it, holding on to the edges and propelling himself quickly enough that he wouldn’t get cut. He was still out of breath from his escape. A Malay guard came out of the sentry box next to the gate, astonished to see a boy standing there at two in the morning.

“What do you want, boy?”

It was the night guard who didn’t know him. “I need to see Colin. Can you tell him Nicky is here?”

The guard looked momentarily perplexed, but then he went into his sentry box and got on the phone. A few minutes later, Nick could see lights come on in the house, and the metal gate began to slide open with a quiet clang. As Nick walked down the driveway toward the house, the porch lights came on and the front door opened. Colin’s British grandmother, Winifred Khoo, who always reminded him of a plumper version of Margaret Thatcher, stood at the doorway in a quilted peach silk robe.

“Nicholas Young! Is everything all right?”

He ran up to her and breathlessly blurted out, “My parents are fighting! They want to kill each other, and my mother wants to take me away!”

“Calm down, calm down. No one is going to take you away,” Mrs. Khoo said soothingly, putting her arms around him. The tension that had been bottled up all evening came out, and he began sobbing uncontrollably.

Half an hour later, as he sat on a barstool in the upstairs library, enjoying a vanilla root beer float with Colin, Philip and Eleanor Young arrived at the Khoo residence. He could hear their polite tones as they talked to Winifred Khoo in the drawing room downstairs.

“Naturally, our boy overreacted. I think his imagination got away with him.” He could hear his mother laughing, speaking in that English accent of hers that she put on whenever she was talking to Westerners.

“All the same, I think he should probably just spend the night here,” Winifred Khoo said.

Just then, another car could be heard pulling up the front driveway. Colin turned on the television, which flickered a security-camera screen that revealed a stately black Mercedes 600 Pullman limousine arriving at the front door. A tall uniformed Gurkha jumped out and opened the passenger door.

“It’s your Ah Ma!” Colin said excitedly, as the boys rushed to the banister to peek at what was going on downstairs.

Su Yi entered the house, with two Thai lady’s maids trailing behind her, and Nick’s nanny, Ling Jeh, suddenly also appeared, clutching three big boxes of mooncakes. Nick figured that Ling Jeh must have alerted his grandmother to what had happened at his house. Even though she now worked for his parents, her ultimate loyalty was always to Su Yi.

Su Yi, wearing her trademark tinted glasses, was dressed in a chic rose-colored linen pantsuit with a ruffled high-necked blouse, looking as if she had just come from addressing the UN General Assembly. “I must apologize for inconveniencing you like this,” he heard his grandmother say to Winifred Khoo in perfect English. Nick had no idea his grandmother could speak English so well. He saw his parents standing off to the side with stunned, chastened looks on their faces.

Ling Jeh handed Winifred the towering stack of square tin boxes.

“My goodness, the famous mooncakes from Tyersall Park! This is much too generous of you!” Winifred said.

“Not at all. I am so appreciative of your calling me. Now, where’s Nicky?” his grandmother asked. Nick and Colin ran back into the library, pretending they had heard nothing until they were summoned downstairs by Colin’s nanny.

“Nicky, there you are!” his grandmother said. She put her hand on his shoulder and said, “Now, say thank you to Mrs. Khoo.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Khoo. Good night, Colin,” he said with a grin, as his grandmother guided him out the front door and into the Mercedes. She climbed in after him, and Ling Jeh also got in, sitting on the folding seat in the middle row of the stretch limousine with the Thai lady’s maids. As the car door was about to shut, his father came rushing out. “Mummy, are you taking Nicky to—”

“Wah mai chup!” Su Yi said sharply in Hokkien, turning away from her son as the guard shut the door firmly.

As the car pulled out of the Khoo residence, he asked his grandmother in Cantonese, “Are we going to your house?”

“Yes, I am taking you to Tyersall Park.”

“How long can I stay there?”

“For as long as you want.”

“Will Dad and Mum come to see me?”

“Only if they can learn to behave themselves,” Su Yi replied. His grandmother reached her arm out, drawing him closer, and he remembered being surprised by the gesture, by the softness of her body as he leaned against her while the car rocked gently back and forth as it navigated down the dark leafy lanes.

And now in a flash Nick found himself on that same dark lane again, more than two decades later, with Colin at the wheel of his Porsche. As the car wound along Tyersall Avenue, Nick felt like he knew every curve and bump of the road—the sudden dip that put them eye level with the gnarled ancient tree trunks, the dense overhang of foliage that kept it cool even on the hottest day. He must have walked or cycled down this narrow lane a thousand times as a kid. He realized for the first time that he was excited to be home again, and that the hurt he had felt over the past few years was fading. Without quite realizing it, he had already forgiven his grandmother.

The car pulled up to the familiar gates of Tyersall Park, and Colin breezily announced to the approaching guard, “I’m delivering Nicholas Young.”

The yellow-turbaned Gurkha peered in the front window of the car at the both of them and said, “I’m sorry, but we’re not expecting any more visitors tonight.”

“We’re not visitors. This is Nicholas Young right here. This is his grandmother’s house,” Colin insisted.

Nick leaned toward the driver’s seat, trying to get a better look at the guard. He didn’t recognize the man—he must have started working for Tyersall Park after his last visit. “Hey, I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Nick—they are expecting my arrival up at the house.”

The guard turned around and went back into the guardhouse for a moment. He returned with a brown paper log and began flipping through the pages. Colin turned to Nick and snickered in disbelief. “Can you believe this?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see either of your names here, and we are under high alert at the moment. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.”

“Look, is Vikram here? Can you please call Vikram?” Nick asked, beginning to lose his patience. Vikram, who headed the guard unit for the past two decades, would quickly put an end to this absurdity.

“Captain Ghale is off duty right now. He returns at eight tomorrow morning.”

“Well, call him, or call whoever the on-duty supervisor is.”

“That would be Sergeant Gurung,” the guard said, getting out his walkie-talkie. He began talking in Nepali into the device, and a few minutes later, an officer emerged from the darkness, having come from the main guardhouse up the road.

Nick recognized him immediately. “Hey, Joey, it’s me, Nick! Will you tell your friend here to let us through?”

The burly guard in the starched olive fatigues walked up to the passenger-side window with a big smile. “Nicky Young! It’s so good to see you! What has it been? Four, five years now?”

“I was last back in 2010. That’s why your compadre over here doesn’t know me.”

Sergeant Gurung leaned against the car window. “Listen, we are under specific orders here. I don’t quite know how to put this, but we’re not allowed to let you enter.”

Malay for “bald-headed.” For some reason, the word has also become popular as a nickname for little boys with crew cuts.

Singapore Chinese Girls’ School, which we ACS boys used to call Sucking Co—uh, never mind.

Hokkien for “I couldn’t give a damn.”