Sara MacDonald - The Hour Before Dawn

Fleur turned away, back into the room. It was like a small sign from the gods. Hope for her and her daughter; new life in the grandchild to come. She ate a quick breakfast and took the lift downstairs. The young Malaysian porter stood by the huge glass doors. He beamed at her.

‘ Selamat pagi! Apa khabar? ’

Fleur beamed back. ‘ Baik. OK. Terima kasih. Can I walk to the Botanical Gardens from here?’

‘Yes, Mem, turn left out of hotel. About fifteen minutes’ walk.’

‘ Terima kasih.’ ‘Sama-sama. ’

Outside on the steps she blinked in the glare and put on her sunglasses. She turned left, waited for the lights and crossed the intersection. The heat bore down on her. Fleur lifted her arm for a taxi. She could not walk far in this heat without melting and she wanted to explore the gardens.

The taxi turned off Bukit Timar Road and into a wide road full of colonial-type buildings that had probably been embassy houses. At the end of one leafy road stood the Botanical Gardens with its gated entrance. Fleur remembered none of this. The taxi took her inside the gates and dropped her in front of the building where groups of taxi drivers waited for fares. She walked through the entrance and inside.

Years ago, there had been no formal entrance. Fleur remembered entering from a small side gate off a busy road. It must have been at the other end of the gardens. It had been more of a park then; people picnicked on the grass. There had been one small place to eat and buy drinks. Amahs and Indian ayahs pushed prams or ran after toddlers and flitted like exotic butterflies round the small paths through the trees. There had been a fountain and in the pool fat yellow fish hid behind lily leaves. There had been monkeys swinging from the trees and down beside you to pinch your food. Grumbling and fighting up in the branches, their tails switching, their voices screeching ominously above you. There had been a man in uniform leaning against a tree by the fountain, waiting for her.

Fleur’s heart pounded in memory as she walked the wide tended paths that were all signposted now. Large glasshouses stood on a hill and a new pavilion was being made. The grass was neatly kept and there were fewer trees to hide in the shade. Fewer places to hold hands when you should not; to kiss, shaking with the possibility that all might become well and whole again if you did not think, if you pretended for an afternoon away from the army base, away from the uniforms, in this one anonymous place in the centre of a city. If you clung to the only sure and safe person in a life so suddenly turned on its head.

Restaurants and cafés were now placed strategically in clearings. There was no anonymity any more. Wealthy Europeans and Chinese walked together, pushing expensive buggies full of children down the wide cleansed paths. It had all been sanitised and commercialised. It was beautiful still, but the gardens had lost their mystery. Without the monkeys and the deep shade of trees and the hint of danger, it was a place that could have been any botanical gardens anywhere in the world.

Fleur made her way to the Orchid House and bought a ticket. Instantly she was back in the army quarter in the naval base with Ah Heng bringing orchids back from the market and placing them in Chinese vases all over the house. Ah Heng arranging them just so, her stiff little back and dark glossy hair drawn back in a bun, bent to the blooms, her face inscrutable.

She took some photos, unable to compete with some Japanese tourists who had cameras the size of matchboxes. She stood still, watching water trickling on polished stones and small tendrils of ferns arranged against trees. One orchid stood in a wooden vase by a sculpture.

Ah Heng had slept in a little room in a block behind the kitchen with a lavatory and shower. Her small shuttered room had contained so much: an aged sewing machine, materials bought in Chinatown, chairs of ironing ready to bring into the house, toys and books for the twins. Baskets of personal things, hanging chimes, but always, always flowers for luck in a little wooden vase outside her door.

The heat trickled down the inside of Fleur’s dress. She was not used to the humidity any more and her tongue stuck to her mouth. She had left her bottle of water in her room. She made her way slowly back to the café; she had seen. The gardens were not the same, but she was glad she had come; they were still an oasis in the middle of the teeming city; still somewhere you would come for peace again and again.

She bought a cold drink and ordered nasi goreng. She glanced at her watch. Plenty of time; she had nothing to pack. Everything was still in her suitcase. All she had to do was change into trousers and check out, and then she would wait in the foyer with her book for the airport bus.

This time tomorrow she would be with Nikki. The Chinese waitress flip-flopped over with her food. Fleur got herself another drink. The nasi goreng was wonderful; familiar. Ah Heng had made it once a week, usually when David was flying, because it was light and Fleur and the twins loved it. She smiled as she remembered how proficient their tiny hands were with chopsticks, which they used long before a knife and fork.

The couple at the next table got up to go and Fleur leant over to pick up a paper in English they had left behind. It was The Straits Times. She flicked through the pages looking for headlines that used to make David and Fergus laugh when she pointed them out. AN AMOK CAUSES PANIC IN CHINATOWN. BUSINESSMAN CHARLIE CHAN FOILS INDEFATIGABLE ROBBERY.

She turned another page and another, smiling. Suddenly a small headline with a photograph caught her eye, near the bottom of the page. She started to read it. Her heart jumped painfully making breathing difficult. Her hands began to shake and her eyes became blurred with shock. She placed the paper flat on the table, her food forgotten. She blinked and made herself read the words over again, very slowly, sickness rising up in her throat.

She placed her hands over the page and stared down at them as they trembled over the print. She thought for a second that she would pass out and she gripped the edges of the table until her knuckles were white. She made herself breathe again. Breathe.

The gardens and the people around Fleur receded, leaving her beached and isolated at her small table. She did not know how long she sat staring down at her hands. Then, infinitely carefully, she tore the page out and placed it in her bag. She paid for her unfinished food and walked to the entrance.

Taxi drivers called out to her: ‘ Datang…Datang…Teksi…Teksi, Mem? Hotel? Restoran? Shops? ’ She walked past them, stumbling, blind and numb to anything but that terrible small and lonely image etched indelibly on her heart.

‘No,’ Jack said. ‘Nikki, there’s no way I’m letting you fly to Singapore on your own. You’re seven and a half months pregnant and you shouldn’t even be flying. I’m coming and nothing you say is going to make any difference.’

‘Jack, listen, you should be here when the charter boats start to come in. It’s the end of the season and what if my mother suddenly turns up…’

‘Sorry, Nik. You’re my priority, you and the baby. Both Neil and Rudi can manage the boats without me and Dad says he will fly down with mum and stay in the house if the boys have any problems.’

‘But, it might just be a complete misunderstanding with mum…’

‘Nikki, your mother’s left all her belongings in a hotel in Singapore. We’ve heard absolutely nothing for twenty-four hours.’

Nikki closed her eyes. ‘Oh, God. I’m so frightened for her.’

‘I know you are. So don’t push me away, Nik. We’re in this together and we’ll find out what’s happened together.’