Omar took one final mouthful, chewed thoughtfully and set the plate down on the table. He took a deep sigh and said, “That was delicious, thank you.” He sat back in the couch and closed his eyes. His body felt more relaxed than it had in days, now nourished with something other than whisky. He suddenly felt exhausted. That all the nutrients in his belly demanded relief, and rest.

“Listen,” he said, “I need to lie down,” and stood up slowly.

“Sure, I’ll leave you to rest, Omar. Try to keep your strength up.” Nim walked towards the front door and slipped her heels back on.

“Thanks, really. I…will speak to you soon.” Omar unlocked the heavy wooden door and a cool breeze blew in. He felt lightheaded but calm. Nim smiled and leaned over to peck him lightly on the cheek. Omar recoiled. Her touch unnerved him, but it did not feel like pity, it felt of genuine concern.

“Sure. I’m in KL for a few more days, so let me know…” she smiled and walked away, her shapely calves sashaying steadily away from him, her hair blowing to the right from the breeze. As she stood at the lift lobby, she turned and smiled again. He heard the lift doors ding, stepped inside, closed the door firmly and locked it.

You’re what? I exclaimed. The two well-dressed white women at the table next to ours turned and stared in annoyance.

Del, keep it down please, Sumi whispered.

Sumi and Fairman had been trying to have a baby, and after her first miscarriage, she had another one, which was equally devastating. She had become fat in her wealth, with the IVF treatments, and had become one of those “ladies-who-lunch”, one of the many social butterflies that flitted in and around KL’s many trendy cafés. I could see that boredom had set in. She was dressed in an all-black ensemble, matching shoes, a patent black leather handbag and large Jackie O-type sunglasses. She masked her extra weight well; she was taller than I and had sleeker limbs, so the extra padding around her waist was well camouflaged.

Sumi had only seen me once after the suicide attempt and by all accounts, I was already a different person. But I had been nervous when I sat down to wait. It was a humid afternoon after the hot rains which had left the roads steaming. Tendrils of warm vapour eased upwards, disappearing into the underbellies of cars, briefly entwining with the feet and calves of pedestrians before evaporating. We had arranged to meet in a new patisserie, which had a selection of French breads, cakes and pastries, and I was nursing my second café latte when she swung into the booth with a flourish.

Sorry I’m late. Terrible parking today, and it’s so bloody humid! Whooh!