The Last Tiger

  Secondly, you should know that I have regretted the means by which I saved you from Pulau Tua everyday since. The guilt has weighed more heavily upon me with each passing year, as a rolling ball of hard ice gathers snow. I can offer only one excuse, that I was afraid you might not come with me and that others might reach you first. I forced you and it was wrong. But my regret ends there. It was right you should leave.

  I have never been a good man. I was never a good boy. Forgive me. You have been a kind and loyal son when you might have hated me. Undeserving of your affection, I was always grateful for it. It was your remarkable willingness to move on that gave me my chance at redemption.

  You have kept many secrets, I know, and have never shared with me anything of your own Faith. A child, perhaps you left it behind. Perhaps, like so many young people, you do not need it. I need mine, but I do not expect to feel God’s pleasure. Remember me always as a man who loved you as a son should be loved.

  Your Father, Giles Patterson.

  Tuan thumbed through the papers, other sheets that were the drafts of similar looking letters Giles had written yet never given. All spoke of love. And so the last remnants of tranquility fell away and it seemed then only a deathly silence pervaded, true purpose eating at his mind once more. Screwing up Giles’ regrets, he stuffed them back in his pocket. They would not be left here.

  Open the bag he withdrew his weaponry. No need for hammers or pickaxes or chisels. No need to flatten that which had stood for so long and contained not only Giles but the one who had brought him into this world so innocently. With a long flathead screwdriver he jimmied off a lid, gloss paint blood-red beneath. Then he opened another and another until in the shadow of the tomb stood ten identical tins. He needed no torch, for the Moon was bright and his eyes sharp. Without a sound each upturned lid was carefully placed on a nearby patch of grass, so as not to mark the pale limestone gravel. He liked the neat little stones. They need not share in the shame.

  He slipped off his coat without feeling the bitter air. Hearing a sound he straightened for a moment. Suddenly aware of the glaring white of his loose shirt, he hurried it off. Half naked now, his body was hardly visible at all. He stood, barely breathing, listening and waiting. Then he saw it, a fox making its way through distant undergrowth. He relaxed. Conspiratorially, the Moon continued to glow brightly. The cloudless sky was magnificent although cruelly chilling all that lay under it, and for the first time Tuan was aware of the condensed fog of his breath. He puffed small clouds into the night. Quickly they disappeared.

  How long had he known about his mother now, he wondered, how much time had passed since that awful day? He couldn’t say. Everything had taken on new meaning, new scale, the veneer of his life stripped away. How many nights had gone by? How had he got through them? Or was it weeks? Maybe it was months.

  The pots of paint formed a single, perfect, even row. Carefully, Tuan moved them one by one, placing each on the top of the tomb before climbing up himself. It was a different sensation, being on the tomb rather than looking at it from the ground, and crouching atop the stone slab roof he imagined Giles’ remains stretched out below him. There were no tears left to shed, nothing rose in his throat, it was as if there was nothing left to feel, no real compulsion to act, only mechanical motion.

  ‘I gave your home away,’ he whispered finally, as he poured the first pot, ‘and I gave it to someone you thought was a whore.’

  *

  Bee sat gazing across the valley. The warm colours had gone from the trees and winter was upon them. The old Hall across the way was clearly visible and Bee could see activity all over the property, as a team of gardeners steadily went about their business. She leaned back and pulled the blanket more closely around herself, blocking out the persistent creeping chill. It all seemed so perfect, the valley almost motionless. Life itself had seemed perfect until six weeks ago, all doubts about life with Boyce safely battened down with logic. But then she had been stupid. Now the reassuring intimacy of home-life was sullied and spoiled, suffocating beneath haunting feelings of guilt and fear. Worse: duplicitous desire. Smoke from several fires slowly drifted into the valley and hung amongst the trees like mist in the jungle. She had not seen or heard from Tuan since leaving London and every day felt like a year.

  After the incident in the museum Bee had taken him to Wilson, guiding each step as they went. Wilson helped Tuan into the car and waited until they were home – Tuan lying safely out of earshot – before asking Bee what had happened. She noted a greyness pass over Wilson’s face as she recounted the incident. Perhaps he was predicting the future, she thought.

  She’d set about cancelling arrangements made for the evening and instructed the housekeeper to cook up some chicken soup and fresh bread. Sitting in the kitchen and watching Misses P chop and fry and mix, Bee decided to let the night pass before postponing her journey home. It was obvious she should stay on but it would be difficult to explain. Maybe it would be clearer in the morning. She drank glass after glass of red wine, but somehow it never hit the spot and reluctantly she remained stone cold sober. Periodically, with a clear head and heavy legs, she left the kitchen and made her way slowly up the stairs to check on her friend. Rarely did he respond and when he did he politely requested to be left in peace.

  Many hours passed before he finally emerged, and on hearing his approach Bee began serving the simple dinner. Tuan sat down, vacant and acquiescent. He looked drawn, she thought, and guessed from his puffy face and swollen eyes that he had been crying. They ate in near silence, and at first Tuan did not touch the wine Bee had poured for him. But as the meal slowly progressed so he began to drink, and then it seemed to Bee that he would never stop. Eventually she walked him back to his room and put him to bed before retiring herself.

  In homage to that part of his youth Tuan yearned for, the guest suite contained a small library well stocked with books and Bee had been trying to distract herself with a short story, when unexpectedly the door opened. It didn’t burst open or slowly creep ajar, but simply opened as if someone intended to pass through it. Wrapped in a sheet, Tuan looked utterly wretched, and without a word to Bee he shambled in.

  She watched as he moved closer. Carefully putting the book to one side, she stared, barely breathing.

  This was what she had so often dreamt of but never imagined would ever be. This was what caused her to avoid Boyce’s eyes some mornings, or made her reach out to him in the night in an effort to satisfy that which had begun in her sleep, leaving her restless and eager. She knew she would feel ashamed, she already felt it after every one of those dreams, and she knew she should ask Tuan to leave. But rejection would be heartless and impossible. The sheet slipped away as he approached and she could see the old scar, the plain square on his thigh where his own skin had been taken, stripe forever gone.

  Bee persuaded herself that, if nothing else, it may help her draw a line under things and finally she would be able to move on. She and Tuan might be so poorly matched it would end the fantasy. Perhaps it was worth sacrificing fidelity if the very act brought about resolution, ending years of fruitless desire. Was it possible that treachery was the only way to secure a settled future? It was only seconds of reflection, but already his fingers had found her willing. All night they made love as if nothing in the world were more natural, instantly in rhythm, each craving the endless touch of the other whilst yearning to explore a body so familiar yet entirely new. But in quiet moments, when Bee could think, she pondered ways to leave Boyce, finally certain of the future. Never mind the house, the valley, the magazine and the friends who would never forgive her. She had never been so happy or felt so right.

  In the morning she stirred late. Turning to find Tuan, again ready to make love, Bee found the bed empty. All that remained of what had been were the still damp sheets and a ranting, fretful, note linking Bee to the memory of his homeland and therefore to his mother. Tying Bee unfairly, it seemed, to everything. It made little sense and was d
istressingly final. Given all that had happened, she understood his anxiety and waited for him to come back. When he didn’t, she tried to call but it was no use. Eventually, a sombre Wilson drove her to the station, and not until the platform had nearly gone from view did she dare look back and accept that he wasn’t coming. She had told him so much, dared to reveal all that she felt for him; that she loved him. She had trusted. She felt physically sick.

  That first night at home, Bee was sure Boyce would sense a change in her, and so she pushed aside heartache and let the skillful caresses of the night before drift into her mind unchecked until arousal was certain. It hadn’t been easy, given that she was sick with grief, and shedding tears in the bathroom Bee wondered if she could go though with it. But feelings of sexual longing came and once truly underway every touch made Bee feel more whole. It was manipulative, but she went through the motions believing it to be part of the healing process, a cure for the ills of betrayal. It was a way to cling on to hope, however dull the future suddenly seemed: a feeble attempt at reinvention. The next night had been the same, with a rekindled lust again the source, but this time with every push was a sincere apology. After that, exhausted and depressed, Bee lost the knack of method acting and unable to make any kind of connection, Ian Boyce’s nights became lonelier. Perhaps genuine feeling and desire would come back, she hoped, once she had properly grieved her loss; after that she and Boyce might find steady ground again. But weeks passed with depressing monotony and Bee began to loathe going to bed, dreading turning him away yet again, too much distance and despair for her to feign interest anymore.

  *

  The smell of burning wood reached Bee, evoking memories of bonfires and fireworks, pumpkin carving and hot wine. Soon it would be too cold to stay outside however much she enjoyed being there, but to go inside was depressing.

  A certain vacancy settled on her, absent acceptance. It never entered her head that she should leave this place and the man she shared it with because she no longer loved him. That implying conjugal affection was deceitful, trapping Boyce into a loveless commitment. For Bee, choice concerned only her private security. It was Tuan or Ian Boyce, not Tuan or nothing. Living alone never entered her head. And now, six weeks on from that night when she thought life was finally exploding into action, sitting alone on a cold iron bench, she was still battling to recover the happier life that had never been, exhausted and pregnant with an unwanted wedding set for spring.

  NEW LIFE

  Tuan heard via Bee’s grandfather about the baby and his first response was overwhelming joy.

  Since Bee had confided some of what had happened during her stay – events, at least, within the confines of the museum – Felix had been calling Tuan regularly, telling Bee he was heartbroken to think anyone felt so alone. His ageing eyes had filled with tears as he said it. He called him weekly but never at a regular time, aware that Tuan’s constantly shifting mood might cause him to avoid answering the phone if he suspected artful charity. Sometimes there would be nothing more than an abrupt rejection with Tuan wearily claiming overwhelming work commitments, which Felix told Bee was poorly disguised depression. At other times he would receive a warm and effusive invitation to dinner. It was during one of these more communicative and amiable episodes that Felix had told him Bee’s news, sat in a booth in a quiet corner of their favourite pub.

  ‘She’s about three months, I think,’ said Felix, ‘There’s this whole twelve week thing people like to get past before telling anyone, and apparently that includes family. Nan was a bit pissed off not to know sooner, to tell you the truth. She likes to be the first to hear about family matters. You know how she is.’

  Ordinarily Tuan would have asked after Nan and her health but all he could do was calculate. ‘Three months you say?’

  ‘That’s right, three months.’

  Tuan beamed. ‘I think this is the most electrifying news I have ever had.’

  Felix laughed, ‘I know. Isn’t it great! She and Ian struck lucky almost as soon as they decided on a family. So I am going to be a great grandpa and Nana will be a great nana. Actually, I think Nan maybe just as pissed off about that as not knowing in the first place, although how that works is baffling. How can anyone be fed up about not knowing the very thing they find annoying? It makes no sense.’ Felix paused, grinning, ‘Of course, don’t tell her I said that.’

  Tuan stiffened; smile no longer really smiling. He had not meant for this transparency to sit on his face but there was nothing he could do to hide his emotions.

  ‘I’m kidding, of course,’ added Felix, ‘Naturally we can’t wait. It seems to be a tradition to have kids young in our family. Bee will be the oldest of us all in that sense. Maybe we’ll be great-great grandparents one day!’ He let out a huge roar of laughter, ‘I can see Nan’s face now!’

  Tuan felt cold inside. Envy was not an unfamiliar feeling where Bee was concerned. There had been many times in his life when it had been a close companion and he knew that once it got a firm grip it would be hard to shake off, but to succumb and wallow in it was inexplicably tempting. He considered his next move, all the while feeling irresistibly drawn towards the murky depths of unpolluted jealousy.

  ‘You okay?’ Felix was only half smiling. ‘I know you’re fond of Bee and not so keen on Ian but…’ The sentence trailed into nothingness.

  Tuan took up his glass and began to drink, composing his thoughts and calming the blistering feeling inside his stomach. He took out his phone and pulled up the diary.

  He repeated his earlier question regarding dates and Felix agreed he’d been told it was three months. As Tuan thought so the two men sat wordlessly, Tuan’s focus drifting away from Felix. Surely the baby was his.

  He knew it would not be like a black baby unexpectedly born to a white couple at odds of five hundred thousand to one, or a very pale baby born into a uniformly dark skinned family. Tuan knew these children could reasonably be the fruit of a recessive, forgotten gene from way back suddenly making a break for it, just as easily as the consequence of infidelity on the mother’s part. For this child, his child, the skin inherited would be entirely defining.

  Tuan looked at Felix wondering if he knew, for Bee told her grandfather things that most women wouldn’t share even with their mothers. But Tuan was not prepared to take the risk. He suspected announcing Bee’s infidelity by claiming her unborn baby would not sit well with anyone. Maybe the course of the pregnancy would help them find common ground again and she would forgive him for indulging himself in her bed and then cruelly running away. Why he had run he couldn’t say.

  The peculiar silence rolled on and Felix, sitting back in his seat and sipping a headless pint of bitter, allowed his eyes to watch the pretty young barmaid smoothly pulling pints. Oblivious to the uneasiness of the moment, Tuan continued to drink and think. He had abandoned Bee and left her with no choice but to run back to Boyce. Clearly it was his fault and he wanted to rectify things, finding the idea of fatherhood and family thoroughly appealing. But it was the prospect of exercising his superiority he most enjoyed, of finally retrieving Bee from Boyce

  Having fully appreciated the barmaid’s curves and the stripes tattooed on the backs of her upper arms, Felix’s attention retreated back into the booth, ‘Are you okay?’ he asked Tuan.

  ‘Absolutely. Tell her I am very happy for her.’ He smiled and raised a glass, ‘To Bee and her baby.’

  ‘And to families.’

  Tuan showed his approval and offered his glass again. ‘Families.’

  ‘So when will we see you out our way? Nan misses you, and Bee’s mum and dad. Seems like along time since you’ve been back.’

  ‘Oh, you know how it is. Work, work and more work.’

  ‘But you don’t need to work so hard, do you? Let’s be honest, you don’t really need to work at all. Lucky bugger.’

  ‘Well that’s where you’re wrong. I do need to work, although not for the money, obviously. Anyway, I love it. It’s w
hat I always wanted to do. It keeps me sane. God knows how my creativity would have manifested itself if I had stayed on the island. I mean, what would I have done? Who the hell would I have been?’

  ‘You’d have been you, Tuan. And who knows what role you would have had. But it would have been a creative one, I am sure. Not making coats like that one, though!’

  ‘Maybe I would have gone the way of my father. He tried to leave.’

  ‘I know. Very sad.’

  Tuan sighed.

  ‘By the way, Nan asked me to tell you that she saw your new range in some daytime show she was watching. She loves it, but thinks you are nuts. Her words not mine. She asked me to ask you if she can have the flower covered basque for Bee’s wedding? I have to tell you, Tuan, that I require you to politely decline.’

  Tuan laughed, ‘Come on Felix, she’d looked great in it! But actually I have to say no because that particular piece is already spoken for. I can see you’re disappointed.’ He laughed again. ‘Speaking of the wedding, could you tell Bee my offer still stands.’

  ‘Ah, the dress. She mentioned it but I wasn’t sure if it was happening or not.’

  ‘Absolutely. I need to see her, actually, and soon, if it’s going to be ready in time.’

  ‘Well this is more her mum and Nana’s area of expertise, but I will certainly pass on the message.’

  ‘I’m surprised the wedding is happening so soon, I know she didn’t want to be showing.’

  ‘So you knew they were trying?’

  ‘Suspected.’

  ‘Well I can’t imagine Bee caring about something like that? Young people today don’t worry about having babies outside of marriage, do they?’

  Tuan smiled, ‘It’s not a moral issue, Felix, it’s about the fit of the dress.’