If it were up to him, he’d have the two of them elope. He’s heard about people who run off to Las Vegas to get married with five-dollar rings by a minister who looks like Elvis. He thinks this would be fun. Tie the knot, hit the casino, catch a show—this doesn’t sound too bad at all. Or Nathan could get ordained over the Internet and marry them on a beach in the Maldives. They’d honeymoon there, take surfing lessons. Yi surfs. As his parents and Mayling pick through the list of cousins, aunts, and uncles (once, twice, three times removed) from the UK, America, and Hong Kong, then former school friends, colleagues, and employers, Dave stares at the shrimp dumplings growing cold and sweaty in the steam basket and wonders if Mayling could ever be persuaded.

As soon as Dave and Mayling return to the flat, Dave hurries to the study and pulls up in front of the computer. He can’t tell if he’s trembling from the cold or from excitement.

10-14-02

9:03pm GMT

Yi,

I’ve just come back from the Lake District. I’m supposed to be getting married there in a few months. I should have mentioned this before. The truth is, I don’t know if—

“Where are you?” Mayling is calling from the living room or the kitchen.

“In the study!” Dave shouts. The panic in his voice surprises him.

“You just threw your bags on the floor!”

Dave makes an effort to sound normal. “Can you put the kettle on? I’ll be out in a minute!”

The truth is, I don’t know if this is what I want.

I need to think. I should go away for a while. I have my ticket for Hong Kong. We’re having a reception there as well. Fuck. I have to talk to Mayling. That’s my fiancée. She’ll be—

Dave looks at what he’s just written. He deletes it all and starts again:

I need to see you. I need—

He reads the line once, twice, three times. He notices that his neck is warm and damp. So are his palms. A message arrives:

10-14-02

4:06 am (GMT +7)

Hi Dave. We had the funeral today at a memorial hall in Tai Wai. The Christian service successfully alienated everyone present. I watched my uncle and aunts squirm at each mention of Jesus and stare dumbly at their English hymn books and throw dagger eyes at me. But it’s okay. It’s all token anyway. Uncle Yun is having a Taoist ceremony in a couple of days. They’ll find her a nice altar place in the temple. I always knew this was going to happen. I just wanted them to do one last thing for Popo, the way she would have wanted it. And to suffer a little more. If only you were here. We could go sit on the beach and share this bottle of bad whisky. I don’t feel good. // Yi