After that hissy fit she threw, though, she declined fast. She got sicker and sicker. Her face grew hectic and hot. She grew thinner and complained that her bones ached. She coughed up green phlegm tinged with blood, and then she just coughed up blood. By then, Father had already married Polly Tsai Mei-Gwan and set her up in her own house in the Mid-Levels, which Second Mother Polly dubbed the Nest. Mother couldn’t do anything about it. She died shortly after that. I know Father felt regret, because he asked us to keep her room intact, and he still came and slept there sometimes. So extravagant when there was such a shortage of space in Hong Kong! But now rich Chinese people leave empty flats and houses all over the world. No wonder communist ideology took hold in China! His grief was both extravagant and neglectful—it was Emily and me who were asked to nurture and honour it, to keep it alive. I do think he really loved our mother, but death and dying were such a regular part of life in those days, for rich people as much as for poor people. As were second and third wives, even while earlier wives were still living. Women were just expected to accept it. He kept her in his memory, but he also continued to move forward.

Second Mother Polly was a kind woman. But she was also tough, pragmatic, and astute. She always treated me and Emily well, but kept us at arm’s length. As the daughters of the first wife, we posed a minor threat. Until her position in the family was consolidated, she didn’t want us too close. She set to work having children and making sure that Father was on her side. She was young when she married him, not much older than us. Is “gross” a sociology word, Ophelia? I don’t think it is. I’m not saying it was good, I’m just saying it’s how things were.