We left to rejoin the guests, with dad leaving us to circulate around. Grandpa looked up at me, his eyebrow raised, and I nodded slightly and lifted Sai’s left hand to show him the engagement ring in its proper place. Grandpa called us over, embracing me quickly and holding Sai a little longer, then kissed her cheek and held her to him one more time, then gently propelled us back into the lounge to talk with all the guests.
We passed around sandwiches like dutiful hosts, trying to avoid looking like a couple; a lot of the people here knew us as siblings, so a slip now could have significant long-term consequences; nobody gossips like rural people, and putting two and two together is something they do really well.
Eventually, the whole dreary business of feeding the mourners was done; I was numb with hearing how she’ll be missed, how popular she was, what a pillar of the community she was, all the platitudes. All I knew was that my Gran was gone, the only mum I had ever known, and I wanted to go somewhere quiet and cry for a while.
As I sat in my misery, I suddenly remembered what Sai had told me about how the people back home viewed where the ancestors were, and again I felt comforted; it felt emotionally right, exactly right. It gave me hope, thinking that she was somewhere close, just out of sight, and I remembered the odd dream I’d had, seeing the person I was convinced was Sai’s mother watching her play, smiling, visible to me as I watched us play from the same place, the spirit world we go to in our dreams.
Physically tired, but emotionally re-balanced, I went looking for Sai, finding her sitting next to dad in the lounge, arms around him, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing, like she used to do when she was small, and dad stroking her hair, probably not even aware he was doing it. I watched for a moment, feeling like a voyeur, then quietly left, not wanting to intrude on a private moment. I would have a lifetime with her, so I couldn’t begrudge him this time with her. I wandered from room to room, feeling displaced, no longer at home, the way I had when I was young, with the sense of Gran’s presence fading by the minute now that her passing had become just a matter of record.
I found Grandpa looking at the photographs on the shelves in the parlour, pictures of dad when he was a boy, family portraits in Hong Kong, Grandpa in his army uniform, familiar pictures all, plus one I’d never seen before. It was a beautiful slim girl in a ball-gown, her dark hair swept over one eye and down over her shoulder in a Veronica Lake ‘peek-a-boo’ hairstyle, and it took me a moment to realise it was Gran, but a Gran I’d never seen before. I was mesmerised; apart from her obviously Caucasian features, at that age she looked uncannily like Sai Fong. I looked at Grandpa, who was watching me.
“She was so beautiful that day, the first time I saw her, she was 15, and it was her first formal dance. I couldn’t believe my luck when she agreed to dance with me, I was 16, and I walked on air all night. We saw each other often, then the war with Japan came, and she was evacuated to India. You know about Hong Kong, what happened, but she waited for me, came back to Hong Kong when the war ended, and then I was sent to Korea, that whole mess ended, and then the Malaya crisis blew up, and so off I went again. We eventually got married in Kowloon in 1953, but I was still in the army, still involved in Malaya, so your dad didn’t come along until 1956. She loved to dance, you know that, and she was so very, very beautiful. You and Sai Fong get your hair and eyes from her.”
I had never seen a young photograph of Gran; I’d only ever known her with bobbed white hair, and now to see her so young, so beautiful, was a shock and a sharp reminder of her, of Grandpa and his loss. Grandpa put his hand around my shoulder, squeezed and patted it.
“Thank you for everything today, son. You should get some rest soon, Harry Boy, you look done in. Now I think I want to stay alone with her for a while longer, so you go and find your little girl, I think your father needs a quick word with both of you.”
I found dad still sitting in the parlour, and Sai was in the kitchen, making something to drink.
“Sit, down, son.” He patted the sofa next to him. As I did, Sai came in with three coffees, gave us our drinks and perched on the easy-chair, facing dad, who cleared his throat and began speaking.
“Harry, Sai Fong, your Grandpa and I, we’ve decided to sell this place; he doesn’t want to stay here, not now, and the place in Cosford is easier for him, not so many stairs, so what we’ve decided is, the proceeds from the sale of this place will go into as many Building Society accounts as necessary to safeguard it, in your joint names. When you get married, you’re going to need a home; this will be your nest-egg, your deposit when you come to buy your own place. It won’t be a huge amount, property prices are not that great round here, but it should give you a good head-start. In the fullness of time, the place in Cosford will become yours as well, so there’s some additional capital if you or your children ever need it. This is our wedding present to the both of you.”
Sai was open-mouthed, tears in her eyes as she absorbed the fact of dad’s acceptance of us and our plans, gratitude for the start they were giving us written plain on her face. She put her coffee down and moved over to kneel on the floor next to dad, rested her head on his leg, and said “Toh Hsieh, Baba!”(Thank you, daddy) so softly I barely heard her. Dad smiled and stroked her hair, then lifted her chin, smiled at her, and handed her up, standing up himself to hug her, including me in the family hug.
“You two have plans to make now, so I’ll leave you to it!” he grinned, “And, kids, separate bedrooms tonight, eh?”
+++
We married on Sai Fong’s 21st birthday, in the Wren church, on Ludgate Hill, in the City of London; dad gave her away, and Grandpa stood as my best man, with all our university friends and work colleagues in attendance. Sai had graduated that summer, and had decided to become a freelance graphic designer, picking up commissions based on her annual exhibitions at The Slade. I had accepted a job with a European military aircraft consortium based near London, and we were still living in the old flat, with Sai using the lounge as a makeshift studio while looking for a place of our own.
While I was at work, she spent the days looking through and talking with Estate Agents, trying to find the perfect place. One evening I asked her what the requirements were she’d given the Estate Agents for her perfect house, and she ticked them off for me.
“We need a large garden, must be far from a major traffic route or main road, but not remote, set back from the road, have at least 3 bedrooms, old and comfortable, not over-modernized but not needing renovation, lots of period features, and a nursery near the master bedroom.”
I was miles away, reading a design performance specification for a new type of helicopter airframe.
“What do we want a nursery for?” I asked her absently.
“Because, dopey, I don’t want this baby sleeping in bed with us!”
Her comment resonated for some reason, suddenly I realised what she’d just said, my head snapping up to look at her in astonishment.
“What did… I mean… what… are you…!”
Sai grinned her old cheeky grin. “That’s right, Brain of Britain, I’m preggie!”
Now my life really was complete, with all I ever wanted right here, right now.