“Be careful what you say to journalists,” warned Cheng Mun, waiting with her.

“I won’t talk to journalists.”

“There’s no harm—of course people will be curious. But don’t tell them we mistreated you.”

“I’ll just say no comment.”

“If you say anything bad, it will affect the release of the others.” She didn’t ask what others. She no longer wanted to know. It made her feel a little better, knowing she was not the last to be released.

“What will you do?”

“I’m not sure.” She wondered if she would ever see him again. “I don’t think the teaching service will take me back.”

“That’s too bad. But you can’t take a chance where kids
are concerned.”

“Maybe I’ll give tuition. I’d like to travel—” She bit her tongue. The terms of her release prohibited her from leaving Singapore. He seemed not to notice.

“Look, here’s your mother.” And sure enough, Vanda was stumping bad-temperedly across the car park. She was wearing giant sunglasses, as if afraid of being recognised. “Goodbye, Stella,” said Cheng Mun. “Don’t be a security threat in the future.” Was that a joke? She didn’t know if she should laugh, and compromised by smiling vaguely. He shook her hand very gallantly and helped carry her suitcase down the stairs.

Vanda continued to be grumpy as she started the car. “Had to cancel my hair appointment,” she muttered. “And now I’ll have to wait another week. I’ll look like a fright at the Wongs’ party this Sunday.”

“Thank you for coming, anyway.”

“No joke. I almost told them to keep you in there another night. Why don’t they give more notice? Calling me this morning, saying come get you.”

“That’s how they do things. We knew it would be around this time.”

Vanda wasn’t listening. Her brow furrowed as she negotiated a badly parked van. The car slipped through a gate, which slipped shut unobtrusively behind them. They turned a corner, and suddenly they were on a busy road. It was early, probably the dregs of rush hour. And there they were, two women in a car, going home.

Stella had prepared herself for this. She knew it would be difficult to reacclimatise. This is what agoraphobia must feel like, she thought. The great trees, the rushing traffic, it was all too much. How did people cope, every day, with all this noise? She wondered if she still remembered how to cross a road, or if she would be mown down at the first attempt. Did cars really go this fast all the time?

“Looked stupid on television,” Vanda was saying, and Stella realised she was talking about the confession. “It was on during the news. Everyone saw it. The neighbours were shocked. When you were arrested they said it must be a mistake, you were such a nice girl. But to hear you admitting to all those things. You’ve let us all down.”

Stella said nothing. She wished her father had come, but of course he wasn’t well enough.