The Cult of Following, Book One

  Below the open window, and beyond the flower laden boundary fence of the compound, voices grew loud. Two people were arguing. Percy could tell that it was an expat scolding a maid for walking a restricted dog in a public place without a muzzle. The maid was livid, and the row was turning into a slanging match. Percy roused himself and went to the window. The women immediately turned their attention to him, pointing and shouting at his naked body, suddenly in league where only moments before they had seemed mortal enemies. What was it with women, he wondered. Retreating, Percy pulled the curtain across the window, aware that once more the guard would be calling to tick him off.

  Wearily he climbed back into bed, the darkened room and warming day sending him to a deep sleep.

  *

  He slept all day and woke up a different man. He drank the finest cup of tea he’d ever tasted and ate toast that transformed him better than any medicine, before heading to the pool.

  Everything at the condo was buzzing with activity. Returning school buses, maids with their arms full of shopping, maids and parents hurrying to meet children, the first commuters returning home, carpenter bees busily feeding with their huge blue-black bodies crammed amongst the petals of purple flowers.

  Storms promised by the morning air had not yet arrived, and so the cloudlessly hot day had made a fine job of heating the pool. It was normally tepid and rarely cold, but Percy liked it the way it was today, warm enough to stand around in for as long as a person wanted to stand. Goggles firmly in place, he dropped himself in slowly and started swimming steady lengths, enjoying the feel of the water as it slipped across his skin. He wouldn’t be able to do many, he knew, but it felt fabulous. All too soon, children clearly desperate for boisterous fun and a cooling dip after a long day trapped in the classroom, began bumping him. He gave up and climbed out. The stamina required to battle playful hordes was severely weakened, and it was like swimming through a scrum of thrashing maggots. 

  Quickly observing that not a single sun lounger was free from swarming children or sprawling mothers, Percy set himself down at the edge of the pool and dangled his legs in the water. The ground, so hot it was close to burning the backs of his thighs, was cooled to bearable by the water streaming from his saturated swimming trunks. It would be a lot to give up, he thought, if he went back to England. Travelling in the cold to a chlorine-saturated pool you could smell a mile away would not be the same. But he accepted he could not afford to stay once Sal pulled the plug. And to afford a smaller place, with or without a pool, was not realistic.

  It was while his mind was drifting through thoughts of money – Singapore’s elite, Singapore’s poor, Singapore’s charity based homes for the elderly that he was too young to turn to – that a small voice, interrupted his thoughts.

  ‘Hello. Feeling better?’

  The neighbourly young boy from the morning stood over him, hair, rash-vest and swim-shorts, all dripping water onto Percy’s comfortably drying back. Smiling, the soggy boy pointed to a free bed, and Percy nodded his thanks before rushing to it. As he moved, many eyes were upon him. A neatly rolled blue towel had been placed on the side table, but there was nothing else to mark the territory. No book, no wet marks, no flip-flops, no phone. He cleared his conscience easily, and lying down enjoyed a wonderful sense of relief. With a restful blend of weariness and recovery, Percy closed his eyes.

  ‘Still tired then?’ the boy asked, having followed him.

  ‘Yes.’ Percy was short. 

  ‘Oh.’

  Percy felt something drop onto the lounger, squashing against the side of his thigh. Realising with horror that it was the boy’s wet bum, he made a show of wriggling away, eyes firmly shut.

  ‘Are you allergic?’

  Percy ignored the question. It couldn’t be answered without creating a conversation.

  ‘I said are you allergic?’

  Percy shook his head a little.

  The boy repeated the question, close to Percy’s ear, his little body damp and cold.

  ‘No! I am not allergic!’

  ‘I am.’

  Percy refused to say anything, hoping the boy would take the hint. He felt him shift, wriggling back to lean in a little closer and spreading more unwelcome dampness.

  ‘Dad won’t let me have a pet. The lady said I should have one to help with mum being gone. But it’s hair, you see.’

  Confused, Percy tried to maintain his silence.

   ‘You’re not allergic to hair, then? Like me.’

  Percy said nothing.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘No.’ Percy sighed.

  ‘I am. I’m allergic.’

  Percy felt himself tensing.

  ‘I sneeze, and I get a rash.’

  ‘Listen!’ Percy bolted upright. He had been about to send the child off with a flea in his ear, but instead paused for thought. He found himself making an offer. ‘I have a pet with no hair, if that’s the problem. You can have it, if you like.’

  The boy stared. ‘Is it a snake. Only I don’t like snakes. I’ve got a fish. I don’t mind fish. It’s called Multi-Colour.’

  ‘Then you have a pet.’

  ‘Not a proper one. Is it a lizard?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A…’

  ‘It’s a guinea pig,’ he said before the boy could continue, ‘a bald one.’

  ‘Gross!’

  Percy scowled, ‘Do you want it or not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well bugger off and swim then.’

  At that moment, a clap of thunder roared overhead, a deafening crackle rumbling into a loud boom. The boy jumped with fright. Just above them, dark clouds billowed, swelling and rolling, hidden until that moment behind the buildings, a storm brewed on a current of air that now moved amongst the swimmers. Parents and maids immediately stood up and sharply instructed their children and charges to leave the water. Most had leapt out anyway, familiar with the safety exercise that so often came at the most unwelcome of times. 

  Percy watched two adults resolutely remain in the water, despite a second enormous crash overhead. With what looked to be a puzzled determination, the pair clung to the side of the pool, susceptibly pale skin tinged with a tender bright pink, hinting at their newness.

  ‘Tell them to get out,’ the boy demanded.

  ‘Probably fresh from England,’ Percy replied, despite himself. ‘What they do is up to them.’

  With an easy acceptance, the boy shrugged. ‘Can we go back now and get the guinea pig?’

  Percy thought about it. ‘Maybe. You go ahead and check with your dad first. I’ll catch you up.’

  Huge spots of rain darkened the concrete paths; inky blots widening and overlapping, until no dry ground remained. With his maid running ahead, the boy scurried away with the other children, like so many dropped marbles rolling and scattering. 

  Percy, pleased to see the pool was virtually empty, slipped back into the broken water until a rain-drenched and growling guard insisted the three stubborn adults get out. 

  He walked home slowly, the tropical deluge freshening his spirit.

  *

  ‘You were a long time,’ said the boy, appearing at Percy’s door. Anything beyond six feet away was obscured behind a dense sheet of rain. ‘My dad wants to meet you.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Come on then,’

  ‘What? Now?’ Percy had just made a welcome cup of tea, after packing up Sinead’s belongings. ‘It’s bloody pouring.’

  ‘Yes. Now. He said what type of grown man keeps a bald guinea pig for a pet? So I said I’d show him. He’s waiting.’

  Percy did not want to go. How could a man whose wife had left him crushed and bitter through foul deception meet a man whose wife had just died? How could he look this boy’s father in the eye? What if he was a pitiful character? What if he, too, was crushed and bitter and feeling betrayed. How could one victim’s version of resentment possibly face the other?

  ‘Please can I see my new guine
a pig?’ the boy asked, trying to peer around Percy and into the house.

  ‘What if your dad says no?’

  ‘He already said yes. He just thought you might be a bit… funny… that’s all.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Percy, warily.

  ‘Talking to boys on their own at the pool, having a little pet for them to come and see, you know…’ the boy’s eyes glinted, as if he knew what he was saying.

  ‘Right. If your dad says yes then let’s get all this gear to yours. Come on, pick up those bags. Let’s get this done.’ He lifted the wire cage, Sinead scuffling and sliding on the smooth base. ‘And no more talk like that, okay. It’s not nice.’

  Percy placed a piece of card over the cage to save Sinead’s naked skin from slicing raindrops. Then he remembered the partially covered car park; they would be able to travel between the houses entirely under cover. He instructed the boy to start moving things downstairs to the basement.

  The boy nodded. Noticing a pair of tweezers on the coffee table, he picked them up, fingering the few stray hairs stuck to the tip.

  Percy quickly reminded the boy of his allergy, and berated him for fiddling with things that didn’t belong to him. 

  Sinead peered at them both, her freshly plucked completely bald nose a raw pink.

  The visit went smoothly, the boy’s father showing no signs of suspicion regarding Percy, and nothing in his manner suggested he had been recently bereaved. What was revealed, however, was his enormous gratitude for the hairless pet given so freely to a boy in need of something to focus on.

  Chapter 21

  THE MATTER OF WORDS

  Sal leaned back in her chair, brown legs loosely crossed at the ankle. Her arms were not folded, and nothing about her posture suggested anything other than confidence. From across the table, Percy inspected her. She wore what Percy thought was typically bold expat jewellery and clothing, except she now sported a thin, expensive looking cardigan; testimony to complete acclimatisation. Her hair was blonder than it had been, shiny and sleek without a hint of fuzz, her evenly tanned skin flawless and smooth. Smoother, in fact, than it had ever been before.

  He studied her face with interest. ‘Have you had some kind of thing done to your face?’ he questioned, ‘Botox or whatever?’ He could not be certain if it was the deadpan result of facial treatment, or her dislike of him, but Sal’s cold look cooled further. She said nothing. ‘Why the sudden animosity? You’re the bad guy, Sal, not me.’

  She rolled her eyes, so dark and brown and inviting that Percy used to feel as if he were falling into them. He did again, for the briefest of moments. Picking up her hot chocolate, she sipped while those brown eyes randomly explored the mall, her focus, Percy realised, anywhere but on him.

  Around them the afternoon bustled. Saturday shoppers slowly browsed; children bickered, couples held hands and looked proud, maids carried bags or babies or both. Families occupied themselves with personal electronic gadgetry over coffee and cake, enjoying one another’s company without the stress of actual communication. Large groups of day-trippers laughed, while one-night stopovers fresh from the airport and dressed too warmly for Singapore’s climate, revelled in the cool of the air conditioning.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Percy asked.

  Sal put her drink down on the table and rummaged in the depths of her costly shoulder bag, producing nothing at the end of the exploration. Her actions appeared to serve only as a distraction, an avoidance of saying whatever it was she had come to say. Percy wondered if perhaps, for once, she wasn’t feeling as confident as she looked.

  ‘I assume you asked me here for a reason?’

  She closed her bag and looked at him.

  ‘Sal!’ he persisted. ‘Speak, for God’s sake.’

  ‘I suppose I did.’

  ‘You want to come back, is that it?’ he ventured, hopefully.

  ‘No.’ The reply was sharp.

  ‘Then what?’

  Sal sighed, ‘Two things.’

  ‘Okay. What two things?’

  ‘You can’t stay in the house much longer. The company know we are separated and want you to leave.’

  ‘I thought I could stay until the end the rental term?’

  ‘And you probably can, Percy, but that moment is not far away. Not when you think about it.’ She shook her head, ‘I knew you’d just sit there and do nothing about finding a place to live. I just knew it.’

  ‘I had a perfectly nice place to live until you left me in the shit.’

  His wife cleared her throat, ‘And the other thing is, I want a divorce.’

  Percy was stunned.

  ‘The fact is, Ethan and I want to get married.’

  ‘You and Ethan want to get married? Ethan? Ethan! What kind of name is Ethan? Why are all Singaporean men called Ethan? I thought that the first time I met him. Ethan, I thought. Ethan!’

  Sal narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Can’t you be a nice person for once.’

  Percy roared with affected laughter, causing others to look. 

  Sal hushed him.

  ‘No!’ he barked. ‘I will not be quiet. Be a nice person? You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? How dare you suggest it is me who is the bastard. YOU are the liar, YOU are the cheat and it is YOU who wants me to roll over and give YOU what YOU want just because YOU think what YOU want is more important than ME! Well fuck YOU, quite frankly.’

  Sal gathered her things as if to leave, but remained seated. ‘Look,’ she hissed, through perfectly shaped gritted teeth, ‘I want a divorce, Percy. It can be easy or it can be hard, but I am divorcing you.’

  Percy glared, ‘Fine. Divorce me,’ he said, bitterly, ‘I won’t stand in your way. But you can pay for it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sal sighed.

  Sal may have been placated, but Percy’s temper was still rising. Her relief was so obvious it was painful to see. ‘Thank you?’ he growled. ‘Thank you? Is that all you can say? Don’t thank me. Jesus, you’re a bitch, Sal. And I can tell you this for nothing, if it goes wrong or if you change your mind I will not have you back!’ 

  She laughed a little.

  ‘I will not have you back,’ he repeated, ignoring her, ‘but you’ll be sorry. There are plenty of people out there who think I am great, who’d give anything to be with me. But not you, eh? Not Sal, who fancied a bit of exotica for a change. And how is Ethan? Good is he? Knows what you like, does he?’

  ‘Percy!’

  Percy’s temper boiled over. He leaned toward Sal, and snarled, ‘Oh yes. I can see from your face he knows what you like. Knows what you want.’

  She gave a defiant smirk.

  ‘Yes! I bet he does!’ Percy formed an expression of affected lust. ‘A little bit of a finger in here… oo, yeah… a bit of tongue up there. Mmm, little kisses…. Oh yes, he knows all right because he’s had enough practice with you, hasn’t he!’ He stabbed the air with his finger, ‘I’m not fucking stupid, Sal. All those work trips before you dragged me out here, then all those late nights, busy weekends. Busy doing what, eh Sal? Busy fucking someone else, that’s what…’

  Percy’s monologue was loud and long, and by the time he had finished, Sal had gone. Accusations echoed after her in the marble atrium. Nobody cared. Most saw only a white man being uncouth and ignored him, save for the security guard striding in, preparing to re-establish the peace.

  Chapter 22

  CHANGI

  Percy stomped around for days. He found himself snarling spiteful words at empty teacups as he banged them into the sink, or finished loo rolls as he hurled the cardboard tubes just short of the bin, and there had been a number since his stomach was playing up again. He’d considered visiting the doctor but decided against it. The last thing he wanted was someone’s finger up his backside. It would go of its own accord. It always did. It was probably stress, or perhaps his sensitive stomach was still irritated from the miserable night of the crab. Percy himself was still irritated from it when he thought about the taxi dr
iver. 

  For all his banging about, the anger felt towards Sal would not lessen. How dare she divorce him? How could she have moved on so completely? Whatever he did, however ferociously he tried to purge the feeling, the simmering resentment refused to soften its clutch. It was a strange sensation and nothing like the upset Sal had already managed to bring about through leaving and cheating. 

  Divorce. It was as if despite having already left him feeling of no value, she had somehow managed to diminish him further. Sal had proved it was possible for a person to feel less than worthless.

  So the news that Art was coming to visit was a Godsend. When Percy opened the email he realised there and then that the thing he needed most was his old friend. Of course the real tears over Sal were long gone, but with Art by his side the resentment might go too. Percy hated feeling bad about Sal because it elevated her, when what he wanted to feel more than anything was indifference.

  Percy had been preparing to go to the pool when the email arrived. He almost didn’t bother to look when the phone announced its arrival, he’d grown so used to finding only adverts waiting to be opened. When he saw it was Art, he sat down on a seat on the back balcony, beside the kitchen and dining area, and read with delight.

  Fieldy. Hope things are okay out there in the swamp. Room in the tree house for one more? Found a cheap return flight via most of Europe and thought I’d come for ten days, see how the other half lives. No prob if not, except I’ve booked it. Flight details attached. Art.

  Percy grinned and it felt great. He opened the file and nodded approvingly. Four days and Art would be here.

  *

  Percy paid the driver and climbed out of the cool taxi into the heat of the day. This is how it would feel to Art, he mused. They would leave the comfort of the terminal building and Art would be wowed by the hot moist air as surely as if some stranger had run up and wrapped a heavy blanket around him. He might hate it, of course, as Percy had, but that didn’t matter. He would feel it, which was wonderful. The prospect of sharing his Singapore experience with a friend was exciting. There had been no visitors at all since moving, despite the size of the house.