•

After all that, their actual release came as something of an anti-climax. A guard came to her cell and told her to get ready, then an hour later she was able to change back into the clothes she’d arrived in—which still fit, it seemed her body hadn’t changed—and then they were being sent through the gate into a crowd. Lay Kuan immediately started waving and talking to reporters, and the others went to their families. Siew Li looked around for her mother, and instead there was Jason, still in his uniform. He led her away and into a taxi. They were pulling away when she realised she hadn’t said goodbye to the other women, didn’t even have their phone numbers, but of course they would see each other again.

Her mother was waiting at the flat, having cooked a huge amount of food. Siew Li was made to do the usual things—pour flower water over her head, to wash away bad luck; offer incense to their ancestors, for protection. Her bedroom was exactly the same, fresh sheets on the bed, although she noticed some of the books on her shelf were in the wrong order. Her mother put food on her plate and Jason told her all the news she’d missed, even things he’d already mentioned on his visits. They were treating her like someone who’d been ill a long time. Her mother seemed quite happy for Jason to be there. She wondered if they’d been meeting while she was away.

By the end of her first week out, she was starting to feel herself again. It may have been the familiarity of her surroundings that helped her slip back into this life, or her mother’s determination to behave as if the last two years had merely been an unpleasant interruption, that they could all simply pick up where they’d left off. The country was going through a big change, anyway, and everyone was unsettled.

The school wouldn’t take her back, naturally, but she didn’t want to go back anyway, there was more important work to be done. Too much was happening. The Emergency might be winding down, but the British were still here. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to happen next, but this couldn’t be the end of the struggle. The sorts of protests they’d organised before now seemed childish—they’d always been going to fail, she could see that now. Who would ever be swayed by schoolboys and girls chanting so earnestly and waving their banners? They needed to be strategic. Look at Chin Peng, the Ma Gong leader, walking away from the Baling talks and returning to the jungle because he didn’t like the terms the British were offering.