Lies

Mum was crying again. It seemed to be all she did these days.  She huddled under a grubby cashmere blanket on the leather sofa in the lounge, sniffling. The room was a tip; unfolded laundry was dumped on the floor, dust on the tv, the coffee table and the window sills. Shoes were strewn across the floor lying where they had been kicked off on entering. Even though it was afternoon, the curtains were still closed, blocking out the view from their seventeenth storey window. Below them the city of Suzhou buzzed.

Olivia wished she could be out there where people were living, going out, having fun. Even just going for a walk would be a   relief. She looked at her mother again and wondered why she had to be stuck with a mother who couldn’t cope. No doubt about it, she was pathetic. 

One moment Olivia felt sorry for her, and then the next she was angry. Angry at her father who had done this to her mother, done this to all of them, and angry that her mother had just seemed to let it happen and wasn’t fighting back. It wasn’t that Mum wasn’t doing anything, but anybody could see that her methods were less than effective. Whimpering, pleading, begging, whenever her father came around was hardly a come-on. He had been sleeping in the spare bedroom ever since they had come back from America. They hadn’t had a proper cooked meal for weeks, and when the ayi didn’t come in, the house was a mess. Olivia thought of their life up to the last six months, and she could hardly believe it was being lived by the same people.

But then they weren’t the same people were they. Six months ago she had been the golden girl, daddy’s girl. Memories crept in.

“Dad! Dad! I’ve got the part in the play!” Olivia is on her mobile phone. She is brimming with excitement. “Penelope thought she was going to get it but Mrs Shaw chose me! She says I bring a lot of depth to the part.”

“I knew you’d get it darling. I’m so proud of you. I’m going to bake a cake for us to celebrate tonight.”

“Dad, here’s my report card. I got top marks for English and Chinese.” 

“That’s great. I see you didn’t get a high mark in math. I think I’ll email your teacher and see find out what he’s doing wrong.”

“Olivia, I’ve brought some more books home for you to read. I want you to finish at least two a week. That will set you up well for your examinations next year.”

“Oh, I can do that easy, Dad.”

“Easily, Olivia. Take more care when you are speaking.”

“Dad, my speech was the best in the class. I am going to do it in front of the whole grade next week. Will you be able to come and hear me?”

“Of course, dear. I’ll bring my whole class to hear you if I have to.”

Olivia sagged. She had always felt so sure of herself. She was pretty and she knew it. She attracted attention wherever she went. People were always remarking on her enormous blue eyes, her mother’s eyes, and her long twiggy frame, like her Dad’s.  Both made her a novelty in China although she got fed up with all the staring and touching very quickly.  She did try hard to master the language even though she found the tones difficult. Dad seemed to think that was terribly important and his hand was always firm on her shoulder when they went about the city. He encouraged her to practice on everyone they met.

“Duo shao qian?” Olivia asks the man selling bird kites in the park. Hundreds of kites fill the air and Dad thinks that they should fly kites too, it’s the Chinese thing. “How much are they?”

“Wu shi kuai,” the man grins hopefully. Fifty kuai is double what he would usually get.

“Tai gui le,” responds Olivia, “er shi kuai?” That’s less than half so she figures that is a reasonable price.

The kite seller looks shocked and shakes his head emphatically. “Si shi kuai.” He’s drops ten.

“San shi kuai!” Olivia makes her counter offer.

“San shi wu.” He wants to split the difference so Olivia nods and her father hands over the money, telling the old man in Chinese what a hard bargainer he is.

The kite flying was not a huge success. Olivia remembered how the kite got tangled up that very first time they flew it. Dad wasn’t so impressed with that. The garden visit was more successful.

Olivia rolled her eyes remembering the long haired girls in the bus queue. So many of them were absolutely stunning, but then Suzhou was famous for producing the most beautiful women in China.

 Like the Chinese, Dad gets straight to the point. “Ni piaoliang,”  he says admiringly to a young girl dressed very fashionably in tailored shorts and very high heels. She giggles with her friends, saying, “Not beautiful.” Then they have a ridiculous conversation with her father speaking Chinese and telling the girl how beautiful she is, – her hair, her eyes, her skin, and the girl speaking In English, keen to practise and asking “Where are you from? How old are you? And Where are you going?” Next they are on the bus, squashed up between a young man in a suit yelling into his mobile phone and an old man who is half her size. Lily, their new friend gets off with them and insists on showing them around Canglang Ting, the Surging Waves Pavilion. Of course Dad has read up about the famous garden before the visit so he is able to correct Lily on a few points.  Lily shows them where to catch the bus back home. He tells Mum she should have come. They have had a great day.

They usually used buses, not like most of her friends who took taxis everywhere. ‘It’s so cheap,’ they’d say. ‘You can go anywhere for just a dollar or two and the buses are so crowded. Too many pickpockets. Much better to take a taxi.’ Then there were those who had their own cars and drivers. “You’d have to be mad to drive in this traffic and you can never get a taxi when you want one, especially if it’s raining.” Olivia envied them but Dad said if you were living in China you should try and experience the life there, not live in some expat bubble, and so they took buses. Mum pretended to agree, but Olivia noticed that if she thought she could get away with it, she would take a taxi when going somewhere without Dad. Mum was much keener on her home comforts. 

It was Mum who wanted the ayi to help with the housework. She had won Dad over with that one when she had pointed out that all the Chinese teachers at school had ayis – it was a very Chinese thing. Mind you, she had been extremely picky about who she would let into the house.

“Has she got a medical clearance”? Julia asks. The agent has brought in a young woman for her inspection. She is dressed neatly in light trousers and a floral blouse. She looks anxious.

“It’s not normal practice for ayis to get one,” the agent replies carefully.

“You can’t be too careful. If this woman is coming into the house and handling our dishes and things we eat from, it’s important to know that she is clean.” Julia is firm.

The agent looks embarrassed. “All our ayis are clean. We put them through special training before we assign them to families. I’m sure you’ll have no problem with her.”

“It’s the diseases she might have that I am concerned about. You never know when there will be another bird flu or something like that. I want a medical clearance.”

Three ayis come around before Julia is satisfied that her family’s health is not at risk.

Six months ago, Mum had been in control and very protective. Olivia looked over at her mother now, her eyes red and swollen, her hair hanging lankly around her face. She was wearing the same white T-shirt she had worn the day before and the day before that, and Olivia knew that she had slept in it too. Everything was just too much effort for her.

 Her mother’s snivelling was really getting to her. “Here you are, Mum, use these,” Olivia suggested as she tossed her a box of tissues. Her mother winced as it hit her on the shoulder. Olivia hadn’t meant to throw it that hard, but she was losing control. Even as she despised her mother, she knew she herself was partly to blame.

Then the tears were falling, and she was asking herself, “How could I have done it? How could I have put our family at risk? Why did I suddenly need to lie and then lie some more and let the lies grow bigger and bigger? Has anything been worth it?”

(to be continued)