The Last Tiger

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, as I said, I’ll pass on the message. Do you want another one in there?’ Felix pointed at Tuan’s empty glass.

  ‘Yeah, same again, please.’

  While Felix went to the bar, Tuan scanned through the dates on his phone, scrolling back to the time when Bee had come to London, the night they had been to the theatre. He was certain.

  *

  ‘That’s a falsage.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A falsage,’ Bee repeated, ‘A sausage with no meat in it. A false sausage. Falsage.’

  Boyce laughed. ‘Why did you buy them, anyway?’

  Bee gently placed gloved hands protectively over her belly, the bump not yet in evidence. ‘Because I don’t fancy meat at the moment. It seems so gross.’

  ‘Is that right? What about the bacon sandwich this morning? That seemed to go down okay.’

  ‘Ah, well I have a theory about bacon,’ she said, ‘Bacon is the one thing that very few of us veggies can resist.’

  ‘Us veggies…?’

  ‘Yes, us veggies. It isn’t actually meat, you know.’

  ‘Not meat? Isn’t that rather like saying an apple isn’t fruit?’

  ‘No. That’s just a rumour spread by Jesus or someone...’

  ‘I don’t think it was Jesus, Bee. And I don’t think anyone was implying apples were not fruits when they wrote the whole Adam and Eve thing.’ He paused for thought, ‘I suppose it doesn’t have a face.’

  ‘An apple?’

  ‘Bacon. Isn’t that the usual veggie argument? That food shouldn’t have a face? Well a pig’s backside does not have a face, at least it shouldn’t.’ Standing behind her, he hugged her tightly. ‘Bee, I am bloody freezing, remind me of why we are doing this.’

  ‘Because midwinter barbecues are fun.’

  ‘Oh I see. Especially midwinter vegetarian barbecues, I suppose?’ He squeezed her again, as if trying to become one, and kissed her head through her woolly hat. ‘Most people’s worst nightmare, I would think.’

  ‘Don’t be such an old fart.’ She warmed her hands over the charcoal, ‘I saw Nana yesterday. She said to say hi.’

  ‘How was she?’

  ‘Bit better I think.’

  ‘Good. So. How’s the book coming along? I’m sorry I never found time to read it. I’m sorry I took it that time, too. In the way I did.’

  ‘It’s not ready, anyway. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Right, I think the cardboard is done. Pass me that plate.’ Boyce proceeded to make a pile of pale sausages, ‘Gross. I suppose they are hot even though they look no different from when you first emptied them from the box. Hardly appetising. Where are the rolls?’

  ‘Just here. Hotdogs. Love it.’ Bee grinned.

  ‘Not exactly hotdogs. Hot… what’s the vegetable version of a dog?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  Boyce began filling bread rolls. ‘You know that meeting I had yesterday, the one in town? No one came. I was stood up. Again. Sauce?’

  ‘Yes please. What do you mean when you say again?’

  ‘Just that. About two weeks ago I had some bloke call me and arrange a meeting, but he never turned up. The same thing happened last week, and again yesterday. I mean, in this business these things happen but if I didn’t know better I would think someone was deliberately taking the piss.’

  ‘Was it the same man?’

  ‘Not sure, but I don’t think so.

  ‘Did you call back, when they didn’t show up?’ Her words were muffled by a desperate and hungry mouthful of faux dog.

  ‘Of course. The number either rang out or wasn’t recognised.’

  ‘But you had already spoken on that number? I mean to say, you had called it before? To check?’

  ‘I had no reason to call as they called me to reconfirm the time and so on.’

  ‘They confirmed?’

  Boyce opened an icy beer and nodded, ‘Yep, but what can I do? I need to meet up with people all the time, I can’t start assuming every call is a hoax, can I?’

  Bee had a thought, a realisation, but not one she cared to share. For the past few weeks Tuan had been back in touch. He claimed it was to discuss the dress but from the way he behaved, she suspected a far more personal motive. Could it be him calling? Sitting at Nana and Pappy’s kitchen table with swatches of cloth, he’d had a look in his eye she knew well. Even his texts seemed a little too intimate, considering their recent fall out. Between messages she would make a private pledge to ignore him, but invariably went on to compulsively re-read each new one as it came, analysing all possible meaning before guiltily deleting the words.

  She knew that to say anything to Boyce would bring about a total confession, something she had to avoid at any cost. But she felt rejuvenated by the attention, rescued from self-pity just knowing Tuan still thought of her so fondly. It was enough to make her feel better about life and to an extent it had also rejuvenated her relationship with Boyce, although at the same time blurred the boundaries. Sex was again something they shared except Bee always found her thoughts far away from her fiancé.

  The text messages made her nervous; a private life of her own was something Boyce tried very hard to deny Bee. At least in talking to someone face-to-face the conversation could be left behind. But texts, they just kept coming and coming in a never-ending dialogue. The greatest concern, however, was that Tuan would up his game. His was always a resolve likely to escalate.

  ‘So what are you so caught up in, dreamy?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘Your hoaxer. Whoever it is,’ she said, her newly sculpted rendering of happiness already tainted with reality. ‘They must be very bored or very stupid. Take no notice.’

  ‘How‘s the cardboard?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I’m beginning to think that proper sausages fall into the same non-meat category as bacon.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’

  ‘Why do you suppose people who don’t eat meat want food that pretends to be it?’

  ‘Because they want what they think they shouldn’t have, I suppose.’

  ‘Hmm. I guess. Charcoal’s still hot.’ Bee stared at the pile of rejected sausage shapes. ‘It seems such a waste.’

  ‘I’ll go and get something from the freezer.’ He picked up the rejected food, ‘Unfortunately I don’t think this is the sort of cardboard we can recycle.’

  KINSMAN HALL

  To view the Hall as old would be to oversimplify history. Every crevice was filled with the microscopic remnants of five hundred years of human occupation, and combined with the musty secretions of an aging framework the entire structure exuded the unmistakable odour of tradition and heritage. Dust fallen though gaps coated ancient batons and rafters, adding a morbid scent of its own, a thick grey Who’s Who of skin. The whole place evoked a sense of awe and reverence as many might experience entering a church or temple. This is how Tuan perceived it.

  ‘Smells old, doesn’t it?’ Felix said.

  ‘I suppose it does.’ Tuan flared his nostrils and inhaled deeply, ‘Wonderful. And so quiet, as if someone has switched off sound.’ Through the silence came a creak from the room above. He smiled, ‘Almost. Ghost?’

  ‘Maybe. But the ghost of a pipe if it is! I see the place has heating. Or it could be a beam or something, shifting in response to the change in atmosphere. These old places are full of creaks and groans, just from the rafters and so on. I’m surprised we haven’t heard more. It must have become quite damp. How long has it been empty?’

  ‘It hasn’t been, not really, the place is only empty now because I bought it.’

  ‘You bought it?’ The words coughed from him.

  Tuan nodded absently and wandered into another room, ‘Why do you think we’re here? Misses P will love this kitchen,’ he called back.

  ‘You bought it!’

  ‘I bought it.’ Tuan echoed.

  ‘M
isses P? Will she come?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Does Bee know? That you’ve bought it?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘So you’re selling up in London?’

  ‘Sold. As good as, anyway.’ Tuan’s voice echoed, ‘I don’t want to be there anymore. I need a rest. You know, slow down for a while.’

  ‘Retire?’

  ‘No. Just… let go of the reins. Make time to breathe.’

  Felix moved to the window and looked across the valley to Bee’s house, where smoke billowed from a bonfire in the garden. He drew out his phone but found no signal. ‘I had no idea you could see Bee’s place so clearly,’ he said, voice faint.

  Tuan reappeared through a different door. ‘Coming upstairs to check out the ghost?’

  ‘Sure. Do you know who Kinsman was?’

  ‘The man who commissioned the original building, but I don’t know much else. Kinsman Hall. Sounds grand, though, eh?’

  ‘It is grand, in its own way.’

  In the wide entrance hall the great wooden door was still ajar from when they had first arrived. Felix closed it, even though it seemed warmer out than in. Ahead of them an elegant double staircase of polished oak swept up and around, following the walls to create two identical and symmetrical stairways leading to the level above, framed with an ornate balustrade.

  ‘The original staircase… well… not the actual original original, if you know what I mean,’ Tuan said, indicating the entire feature with a sweep of an arm as they slowly made their way up. ‘But very beautiful, don’t you think? I would be happy just sitting down there in the entrance hall and staring at it all day.’

  ‘It certainly is beautifully made,’ Felix agreed, ‘incredible craftsmanship. What era is it? The house itself, I mean.’

  ‘Take your pick. It’s been chopped and changed, added to and remodelled so many times in the last five hundred years the place has become a real mongrel of a building.’

  ‘It’s listed though? A property this old must be, surely.’

  ‘Sadly yes.’

  ‘I can’t believe you bought this place, Tuan. Just like that.’

  ‘How else would I buy it?’

  Felix looked around, ‘Nan will want to know every detail.’

  ‘I can read you like a book, Felix,’ Tuan said as he held open a door, ‘It all costs too much, am I right?’

  Felix shrugged, ‘Well, you know me. It’s your money.’

  ‘Come in. This is the nursery.’

  Felix nearly choked.

  ‘I know she told you about us, Felix. She told you last week. She couldn’t help herself.’

  ‘Whatever Bee may or may not have told me is not up for discussion, at least not here and now. We can have a spot of lunch and talk about it then, eh? But not here, like this.’

  ‘Seen enough?’ Tuan asked.

  ‘No way,’ Felix smiled encouragingly, ‘this is a fantastic place you have here, and I want to see every nook and cranny. Nan will be grilling me. It’s wonderful. Which is your room?’

  ‘Just over there. We’ll be right next to the nursery.’

  Felix turned away from Tuan. ‘Now, most importantly, where is our room, surely there is a little space somewhere for Nan and me?’

  Tuan beamed, ‘Of course. Absolutely. You are both welcome here anytime. You know that. And I will show you the guest quarters in a moment, on the top floor.’

  ‘Servants quarters!’

  ‘Very fancy servant’s quarters.’

  ‘I should think so. You know, this whole place looks like someone has made a real effort to keep it authentic, every detail looks… well, it looks ancient, even though it couldn’t possibly be that old, not all of it, not from what you’ve said. Could it? Surely not? Who lived here before?’

  ‘Some film director. Never heard of him, but I don’t watch many films these days.’

  ‘Nor me, so I can’t even guess. I imagine a lot of money was spent on it? I mean in restoration costs. It all looks very well done, as if… well… like I said… it’s been properly restored.’

  ‘It was. No expense spared. But there is only so much you can do with a listed building. I think as soon as it was finished he lost interest.’

  ‘I knew a man with a consecrated shed, once. An old neighbour of ours.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘Nope. I never saw inside, but from the outside it was just a regular garden shed. He named it… I can’t remember now… something-or-another Chapel. He and his wife used to worship there if they couldn’t get along to church. He was quite a bit older than she was. Funny couple, but nice enough. She was quite… you know… glamorous, and he was old and a bit untidy. He was never a vicar or anything like that, but they had that typical vicar and racy wife thing going on.’

  ‘I wonder if they still have the chapel.’

  ‘Well, he’d be long gone by now, he was fairly old even then, but it would be interesting to know what happened to the shed.’

  Tuan smiled. These days it was good to hear stories from the past, even if they were somebody else’s.

  *

  Alone now, Tuan sat on the window seat leaning against the cold glass, watching daylight slowly fade. He had been right to bring Felix, for it announced so many things without having to say a word to anyone himself. Despite his flamboyant image, he remained as guarded as he had always been. Even since the death of Giles, whose memory he hated and whose life he could never forgive, Tuan had kept the secret of his kidnapping.

  Too many pints at lunchtime had seen a rise in tension once the subject of Bee had been brought back to the fore, but in time more beer shifted focus back to world events and politics, each man choosing to ignore that which would spoil a pleasant few hours spent in a good pub. It was no small task, setting the world to rights in a single afternoon. But as they left the pub Tuan made clear his belief that the child was his. Felix commented only that given the option he would not have had Bee end up with Boyce. He had smothered her spark, he said, but she had made her choice and there it was. What could anyone do?

  ‘We should support her, Tuan. It’s her life.’

  ‘How about supporting me?’

  ‘She has lived with him for years, Tuan, and is marrying him very soon. They have a house… a home, a life together. She chose it. For God’s sake, they’re having a baby…’

  ‘…my baby.’

  The subsequent brief silence wounded the younger man with its implied lack of faith.

  ‘Rocky times happen to everyone, Tuan, and those are the moments when you strengthen what you have with sweat and tears. It’s not painless and it takes time. Relationships are not easy, son. She must be allowed space to at least try and make it work.’

  ‘And what if it’s totally wrong? Which, I might add, we all know it is.’

  Felix had shrugged and ably changed the subject. Tuan replayed the afternoon’s conversations many times as he watched the darkening sky. Fading shadows smoothed the trees and fields into two dimensions as edging greyness slowly flattened the depth of the day. The house was cold. Across the way he could see light filling the windows of Bee’s house and white clouds billowing from the chimney. He wondered what Felix the Eco Warrior would make of his granddaughter’s smoking house lit up like a Christmas tree, and also wondered how he could stand by and watch while she cobbled together a life with the wrong man. Not just the wrong man, an old man and an idiot. Tuan’s thoughts diverted. He was rapidly aging himself and couldn’t judge with certainty if he appeared younger or older than Boyce. He guessed older. He had always looked older, he knew.

  In the silence of the house, save for the creaking of ghostly pipes, his decision to sell up and move seemed entirely justified. Here, in a house he knew Bee loved and where she could raise a child in joy, he might finally find the peace that had proved so elusive. There was a time when the semblance of peace had been his, after he and Giles had wande
red into a close familial relationship. But since then, he understood true contentment lay only with Bee. It surprised him to know the feeling was most pronounced when they were engaged in very ordinary, sedentary activities: studying in the library, sitting in the cinema, relaxing in the theatre, or when they were taking gentle country walks or city strolls. A quick drink in a local pub was wonderful, especially if they were alone. Even the occasional discordant moment felt significant, for it seemed to Tuan that disagreement was a vital instrument complimenting the large, harmonious orchestra that made up their relationship.

  His gaze drifted to the backs of his hands and the black markings. What would he have been without them, he wondered. What if he had been a plain brown boy? Or white? He took some wine and looked again to Bee’s house. When had she become such an obsession? He couldn’t recall. He thought maybe always, ever since he first saw those tearful, desperate, eyes peeping through the gap in the hut wall. He had known she was the one for him even before that moment, for when he watched her sailing to and fro in the bumboat had he not sensed her potential? His mind briefly wandered through events preceding the final moments in his homeland, precise memories regarding the manner of leaving still safely buried. He lingered once more upon that initial encounter, when their gaze connected for the first time. For a second, there in the house he could feel the warm sand beneath his feet. The colour of her eyes had astonished him. That they were not black had been such a shock. They were so blue, like the inside of a shell. And when she grabbed him and ran, how could he have known the hold would remain forever?

  Drink finished, he poured another. Where had it all gone wrong? What made it all so complicated? Did it start to fall apart just because she befriended Boyce? Had he really been that petty? Surely not, but he couldn’t be certain. And had he not been clear about his own intentions all along? Did she not know that he loved her? Perhaps he had frightened her. The idea of wasted opportunities weighed heavily. The greatest: running away and ignoring her the moment they came together, perfect intimacy too much for his fragile self to accept. And Char: was it thoughtless? Poor Bee. So much regret. He groaned aloud as he thought of work. Always too important, always so busy, what was he thinking of letting it take him away from the one constant in his life, over and over again.