Lee Weeks - Kiss and Die

Mann ran at the dummy and let fly his shuriken. Six gleaming stars spun through the air, and missed.

‘Fuck. I’m going to have to practise. It’s not so easy when you’ve only got four and a half fingers and you can’t feel three of them.’

Mia, Daniel Lu and Shrimp were standing on the rooftop with him at sunrise. They scattered Ng’s ashes to the morning breeze. Tom Sheng’s body was buried in a family plot. Mia hadn’t been allowed to attend the funeral; she was just the mistress.

‘What are we going to do with the monkey?’ asked Mia. ‘It’s not meant to live on ice cream and takeaways. Ng liked things to be what they were meant to be.’

The mention of Ng’s name sat heavily in the air.

‘You two are going to have to take some time off. Shrimp, we have to count ourselves lucky you’re still here.’ Mia smiled at Shrimp.

He nodded his head but he didn’t smile or answer. Mann looked at him and he understood that this would change Shrimp forever. The pink flush of dawn was on his pale face. He would carry with him scars on his heart that would cut deeper than any knife could.

‘We can’t get to Victoria Chan now,’ said Mia.

‘She’ll be back. She’ll be wanting to take over as the Dragon Head of the Wo Shing Shing,’ Mann answered. He went to stand by the edge. He looked out at the morning blossom-coloured sky.

‘What about your father’s affairs? What about the Mansions?’ asked Daniel.

‘I am giving it to the people who deserve it. I am turning it over to the people who live there. They can own a part of it. They can also be responsible for it. They will have their own community police inside it, made up of all the nationalities. They can meet regularly, sort out differences. The refurb can go ahead but just floor by floor. Michelle will have a restaurant. PJ can have a secure tenancy with the Delhi Grill. I am giving everything else away. It might take me a while but I intend to do it somehow. It will never bring me happiness. Then I am taking Shrimp away somewhere to heal his soul and mine.’

Mann could hear the black-eared eagle kite calling. It flew near the edge now. It watched them as it always did.

When they’d all left him, Mann stayed on the roof. He took out his phone.

‘Alfie? Tell Jake I’m coming. Tell him his brother wants to see him. Tell him I miss him.’

He stood on the parapet. Mann looked back at the horizon. He looked down on the eagle, the blush of the first rays of sun touching its back. He looked out on the Hong Kong he loved. He picked up the last handful of Ng’s ashes and let them seep through his fist like powder. They flew off in a swirl.

‘Goodbye, my friend. See you on the other side. The way is not in the sky. The way is in your heart.’

Across town in the Mansions, Lilly was serving customers and helping her mother out with the stall. The Mansions had a new calm about them. Without their figurehead or their Red Poles the Outcasts had collapsed. The kids wandered the streets in search of a new gang.

A young backpacker couple from England stopped by Michelle’s stall to buy dinner. It was their first time in Asia. They were on a gap year. They were young and excited and it was lovely to see. Michelle gave them an extra helping. They took it to the Mansion steps on Nathan Road to eat it. It was their first taste of Filipino food. Crackling pork with fried rice. As he used his fingers to pick up the pieces of meat, the lad paused and smiled and showed his girlfriend.

‘Look at this on my crackling. It must be a pig brand. How funny. Look what it says… MUM.’

Back at the stall Michelle looked at Lilly.

‘We’ll have to get pork from somewhere else now that Nina’s gone.’

In Conversation with Lee Weeks

If you were stranded on a desert island, which book would you take with you?

I would probably take the bible. Not really for religious reasons. It’s a big fascinating book, would take me ages to read and try and make sense of. Plus I might find something useful in the parables like: if a man takes two pieces of bamboo and ties them together he can make a raft – that kind of thing.

Where does your inspiration come from?

The technical side, the ideas, come from newspapers, documentaries, conversation, issues that bother me in today’s society, my travels and what I encounter. The emotions that I impart into the story come from my personal experience.

Have you always wanted to become a writer?

In my early years, I was one of those annoying children that if you came round to my house you had to listen to one of my poems. In the in-between adult years, when I was supporting a family, making do, surviving, no…I had to put personal ambitions on hold.

What’s the strangest job you’ve ever had?

I modelled a Bedouin bridal collection.

When you’re not writing, what are your favourite things to do?

I walk my dogs, go to the gym, go dancing with my mates, I paint but only when I have time in-between books. I laugh a lot.

What is a typical working day like for you? Have you ever had writer’s block? If so, how did you cope with it?

In the different phases of my book the routine will alter. In the first phase: the research, that’s essentially my relaxing time. I might be travelling or researching on the internet and taking lots of notes and making a plan for the book. It’s a great time for me. The second phase is the main part when I have to get the first draft down. Then I get up about 6 a.m. I dream a lot because I am a very light sleeper so my dreams will often be relevant to my writing and I have to get them down. I then sort emails, enquiries and personal stuff and start writing in earnest by about 8 a.m. I write until something stops me. It is never a chore. I love it. I never get writer’s block – I can’t afford the luxury. I get times when I lose my way in the manuscript. Then I go for a walk with my dogs and think and think until it’s sorted. Or I go to the gym and get on an exercise bike or the treadmill and the more my body hurts the more my mind frees and comes up with the solution. Sorry – bit weird that! The third phase is a mad rush at the end where ideas are firing on all cylinders as loose ends need tying and all the (hopefully) smart bits are put in. It’s a time when I can work seventeen hours a day, a few days in a row. Then I collapse and start again. It works best when I get in the zone and stay there but it’s exhausting.

Do you have any secret ambitions?

My only ambition would be to add up to something that helps others in the short time we are on this planet. I am not someone who looks ahead. I would like it put on my gravestone that I was a good mother. For me that’s the most important job of all. All my ambitions have been realized: I have two wonderful kids, I am happy within myself; I am fulfilled with my writing.

What can’t you live without?

Family, friends, music, adventure, wine.

When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I loved to paint and write poetry when I was young. Painting came naturally to me but it frightened me. I lost whole days and ended up wearing more paint than I got down on the canvas. I decided it didn’t do me any good and that I wanted to exist in society and not isolate myself. So, now I paint enough to decorate my home with what I consider to be wallpaper pictures: abstracts. Of course I have chosen another isolating career but it is one that I feel in control of (slightly) and one that does not control me. Another small ambition was: I saw the film Gypsy when I was young (based on the life of Gypsy Rose Lee). It fascinated, captivated me and I thought it was made for me – a sign. The name matched, the girl was dark haired. But I also had a strange attraction to religion and wrote religious poems and asked to be confirmed. So, I think my other chosen career could have been as a stripper nun!