whatever sting hung off the tail of that remark, it was interrupted by Francis's return.
9.
At tea-time Francis led Justin off to eat with the other children. Normally Eva and I would have eaten with Guy Criville and his staff, who made a point of their hospitality towards parents; but Criville was at an NAS conference in Birmingham, and when Justin's language therapist met us in the corridor, Eva was full of excuses about how we'd just eaten.
'We can't just ignore them,' I complained, as she led me across the lawn at the back of the main building.
'Don't you want to hear how he is?'
'Don't you dare play the guilt card with me.'
I made a good show of being exasperated. Six brick stairs led us down to the sports field, and beyond it
- where I remembered fields, a couple of years ago - a housing estate. 'What are we doing out here, anyway?'
'You think I don't know what she's like?' Eva snapped. 'you think I don't know what she married into?'
It didn't take a genius to work out what this was all about.
I thought of him, Eva's luckless grandfather, looking out from his frame on our living room wall, flushed by the light flooding in from Magazine Gap.
Come the Japanese occupation, it was said, Eva's granddad worked with Hong Kong's rag-tag resistance, spying for Britain through a cabal of canny pro-Allied fishing concerns. That, anyway, was the excuse the Kempeitei had made for beheading him.
Why Jimmy's father Zhenshu should have been the one to betray Eva's grandfather, no-one could ever tell me. There were no personal or business ties to speak of between them. Eva's granddad owned a fishing fleet; Zhenshu, one of a meagre handful of Chinese lecturers, taught electrical engineering at the University of Hong Kong. But Zhenshu's friendship with the senior officers of the Kempeitei had already made him a notorious figure long before any blood was spilled, and perhaps he was simply their spy. Whatever - by the time the war was over, the rumour of Zhenshu's treachery was rife enough that living any longer in Hong Kong was clearly impossible. Zhenshu met his wife the day he arrived in Tokyo, penniless and brandishing questionable papers. A wealthy woman by all accounts, she died in childbirth, less than a year after they met. Where her fortune went to wasn't clear, though as I later discovered while looking through his papers, Zhenshu's life was a long and confusing catalogue of legal wranglings and Quixotic projects, and might easily have consumed a dozen such personal fortunes. Little Jimmy grew up with his father in the Japanese whaling port of Abashiri. He told me about it once. The boats. The smell. His dad, living from hand to mouth, fixing short-wave radios. Yes, I knew what Money had married into. I also knew, better than most, the price she had paid. 'She's living in a foreign country,' I said, 'and she's just lost her husband. Cut her some slack, love, please.'
'You wouldn't know a threat if it grabbed you by the neck and shook you.'
'Really,' I said, conscious of the faint yellow marks under my chin.
'She knows where Justin lives.'
'So?'
'Adam, think. How could she know that? She's been spying on us.'
'Oh, really...' Money wasn't spying on us. She didn't have to. She knew where Justin was, because I had told her daughter, only the night before. 'She's got no reason at all to threaten us, Eva. None. She's just a lonely old woman.'
We got back to find Justin kneeling on the bed, the kaleidoscope glued to his eye, and Francis hogging the PlayStation.
'Yes, he should be able to manage that,' Francis said, quickly dropping the outsize, brightly-coloured control box. 'Justin? Come here, your daddy wants to show you something.'
Eva, sidelined again, shot him a hurt look.
'Justin,' I said, 'come look at this.'
Justin climbed off the bed.
'Mummy?' I said, 'are you going to see, too?'
Eva sat down cross-legged between me and Francis.
'Justin!'
Justin came over to our friendly triangle, collided with Eva and,
9.
At tea-time Francis led Justin off to eat with the other children. Normally Eva and I would have eaten with Guy Criville and his staff, who made a point of their hospitality towards parents; but Criville was at an NAS conference in Birmingham, and when Justin's language therapist met us in the corridor, Eva was full of excuses about how we'd just eaten.
'We can't just ignore them,' I complained, as she led me across the lawn at the back of the main building.
'Don't you want to hear how he is?'
'Don't you dare play the guilt card with me.'
I made a good show of being exasperated. Six brick stairs led us down to the sports field, and beyond it
- where I remembered fields, a couple of years ago - a housing estate. 'What are we doing out here, anyway?'
'You think I don't know what she's like?' Eva snapped. 'you think I don't know what she married into?'
It didn't take a genius to work out what this was all about.
I thought of him, Eva's luckless grandfather, looking out from his frame on our living room wall, flushed by the light flooding in from Magazine Gap.
Come the Japanese occupation, it was said, Eva's granddad worked with Hong Kong's rag-tag resistance, spying for Britain through a cabal of canny pro-Allied fishing concerns. That, anyway, was the excuse the Kempeitei had made for beheading him.
Why Jimmy's father Zhenshu should have been the one to betray Eva's grandfather, no-one could ever tell me. There were no personal or business ties to speak of between them. Eva's granddad owned a fishing fleet; Zhenshu, one of a meagre handful of Chinese lecturers, taught electrical engineering at the University of Hong Kong. But Zhenshu's friendship with the senior officers of the Kempeitei had already made him a notorious figure long before any blood was spilled, and perhaps he was simply their spy. Whatever - by the time the war was over, the rumour of Zhenshu's treachery was rife enough that living any longer in Hong Kong was clearly impossible. Zhenshu met his wife the day he arrived in Tokyo, penniless and brandishing questionable papers. A wealthy woman by all accounts, she died in childbirth, less than a year after they met. Where her fortune went to wasn't clear, though as I later discovered while looking through his papers, Zhenshu's life was a long and confusing catalogue of legal wranglings and Quixotic projects, and might easily have consumed a dozen such personal fortunes. Little Jimmy grew up with his father in the Japanese whaling port of Abashiri. He told me about it once. The boats. The smell. His dad, living from hand to mouth, fixing short-wave radios. Yes, I knew what Money had married into. I also knew, better than most, the price she had paid. 'She's living in a foreign country,' I said, 'and she's just lost her husband. Cut her some slack, love, please.'
'You wouldn't know a threat if it grabbed you by the neck and shook you.'
'Really,' I said, conscious of the faint yellow marks under my chin.
'She knows where Justin lives.'
'So?'
'Adam, think. How could she know that? She's been spying on us.'
'Oh, really...' Money wasn't spying on us. She didn't have to. She knew where Justin was, because I had told her daughter, only the night before. 'She's got no reason at all to threaten us, Eva. None. She's just a lonely old woman.'
We got back to find Justin kneeling on the bed, the kaleidoscope glued to his eye, and Francis hogging the PlayStation.
'Yes, he should be able to manage that,' Francis said, quickly dropping the outsize, brightly-coloured control box. 'Justin? Come here, your daddy wants to show you something.'
Eva, sidelined again, shot him a hurt look.
'Justin,' I said, 'come look at this.'
Justin climbed off the bed.
'Mummy?' I said, 'are you going to see, too?'
Eva sat down cross-legged between me and Francis.
'Justin!'
Justin came over to our friendly triangle, collided with Eva and,
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