They are then able to discuss some of the stories on the news with reasonable civility. Henry complains about the folly of Brexit, a country cutting itself off from the world, and his father points out that Singapore did the same, albeit not voluntarily, but no one could argue with the results. Henry tries to explain that the circumstances were completely different, the populace in Singapore didn’t get a real vote, but Jason is already drifting off. It was all so long ago, he’s bored of it all. So much history, especially with the 50th anniversary of independence just recently. Everyone wallowing in it—all over the TV and papers, even in the streets. Why? Bad enough living through it the first time round.

Jason feels almost tender towards his son during these conversations. For all that it seems impossible to say anything without one or the other of them being offended, this at least feels more bearable than the brittle politeness he suffers with Janet. The difference in time zones doesn’t help the patchiness of their conversations. When Henry answers the phone with “good morning,” he takes weak pleasure in answering “afternoon.”

“When are you coming to see me?” Jason now says, his voice querulous.

“It’s not very long till the end of term, maybe then?” Maybe. “I’ve had a look at tickets, they’re quite pricey.”

“Of course they are, everyone knows it’s expensive to fly in the summer. You should have booked your flight sooner.”

“I didn’t know you were going to fall ill,” says Henry quite reasonably. “And it’s term time.”

“Let me know when you’ve fixed a date.”

“Of course. I’ve got to go now. I’ll see you soon.”

“You should come now. I might die.”

“I have responsibilities. You’ll just have to hang on.”

•

Siew Li and Mollie appear to him at different ages. Mollie sometimes comes as a little girl, demanding a leg-up onto the rambutan tree in their back garden. Siew Li was in her teens when they met, and not a great deal older when she left—still, each new glimpse startles him with how different she has become. Siew Li in her Nanyang Girls’ uniform, Siew Li as a bride, then with her babies, and much later in that other uniform, when—

He knows they are not in the room with him, not really: his faculties aren’t quite that gone yet. But when the alternatives are the clammy dark, the coughs and moans of his fellow inmates, he can’t resist giving in to them. Mollie’s cool hands on his temples, Siew Li arranging his pillows the way he likes them, folded over to support his neck. Let them be here. Let the dead return.