And in my tiredness, and in my fatigue and in my day-old pyjamas, unwashed, oily hair and face, furry teeth and seething anger, I screamed at my sick child crying in her cot, at her standing there crying, in unchanged nappy and streaming snot, I screamed at her and said things that I should not have, I wailed and cried and tore at my hair and pyjamas and curled up on the floor I wept like her, my child staring at me wailing, and I like a crazed creature, spouting curses and venom, squirming in rage, my toes curling, my fingers reaching to grasp, pick, throw, shatter, all things in my way, I crawled on all fours until I reached the fridge and uncorking the bottle, drinking all that was in there, all the liquid that was clear and cold and refreshing and I drank it all until I was sated, the liquid fire silencing me, silencing all that pain, silencing it all, until my head felt light, and the stillness washed over me like a fog, and gave me sleep.

On 31 October 2003, Mahathir Mohamad ceased to be Prime Minister of Malaysia. He was replaced by his deputy, Abdullah Badawi, the soft-spoken, well-liked politician who hailed from Penang. Malaysians were joyous, exhilarated, relieved. The demagogue that was Mahathir was gone, it was the end of an era, the end of darkness and finally, there would be light.

All across the city, people celebrated. It was Halloween, after all, and there were parties from Bangsar to Cheras, Bukit Bintang to Damansara Heights. Mahathir masks were popular, caricatures of his fleshy eyes and jowls were paraded on faces, and Anwar’s transposed black eye was met with howls of laughter, jibes and jubilation. There were parties on rooftops and bars, terrace gardens and bedrooms.

Omar and Fairman were in the office, having sealed another contract. They had just ended a conference call with their partners in Lagos and had gotten the go-ahead for another project that would start in 2004. Fairman thumped the table. Omar smiled and nodded his head.

“Wow, I was a little worried about that one, to be honest. Especially now.” Omar loosened his tie and sat down at his desk, putting his feet up.

“I told you, I would sort it out, and I did,” Fairman replied. “Come on, let’s have a drink.”

Omar slid open the drawer on his right and pulled out a new bottle of single malt. He rolled his chair over to the left to pull two crystal snifters from a bookcase. Fairman ruffled his hair, took out a handkerchief from his pocket and started cleaning his glasses. Omar peeled the thin metal covering off the top of the bottle and pulled out the cork slowly.

“Aaah,” he sighed as he inhaled deeply. He poured generously into the two glasses and passed one to Fairman.

Both men looked at each other and chuckled.