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‘Not just comment! Very intelligent and wise. Even tricky twist at end.’ His eyes narrowed and he stared at me without moving. ‘Someone tell you Chin is chicken?’
‘No.’
‘You visit Mandarin?’
‘No.’
‘You visit Jade Dragon?’
‘No.’
‘Chin not chicken!’
‘Correct.’
I could not explain about the man in the gardens without admitting that I had been too early for work. I tried smiling but Mr Chin did not smile back. He observed me as I sat down at my desk and went through the motions of opening the phonebook and turning on my computer.
It is difficult to avoid Mr Chin’s gaze because our desks are directly opposite each other. Mine faces the window and on the wall behind it hangs a large mirror that provides Mr Chin with a view of my back. There are only two of us in the office but we have enough furniture, computer equipment and telephones for ten. These furnishings were purchased in a liquidation sale and are arranged at one end of the large room like a circle of covered wagons on a prairie. In the centre of the circle is a decorative wooden table with a floral arrangement of silk flowers. The only other ornamentation in the room is a large fish tank with a bubbling oxygenator. The tank sits on tall metal legs against the far wall and contains several aquatic plants but no fish. Next to this is a standard lamp with a pink conical lampshade. The fish tank came from a Chinese restaurant that closed down but the lamp was in the office when Mr Chin moved in.
He was still watching me as I dialled up my first customer of the morning, a dentist from Dundee with the faint, whispery voice of an elderly person. The dentist was not friendly at first but warmed up once I explained our business and made my proposal.
I find this is often the case with dental professionals. Dentistry is a respectable profession and dentists are often proud and standoffish as individuals. You have to approach them in the correct manner or you get nowhere. The technique I use is called the Honey Trap and was invented and taught to me by Mr Chin. It is a simple yet effective technique: if the dentist is a man, which is often the case, I use a very soft voice and take a big gaspy breath every ten or so words. By the eleventh word I usually have his attention. With female dentists, I simply introduce myself and immediately start talking about financial incentives. The Honey Trap involves a strict set of prompts and responses and I am not permitted to diverge from this formula. This technique works over the phone but it would not work in person because I do not have a convincing personality. Mr Tanderhill was correct when he described me as nondescript. People often do not recognise me, even after several meetings. An effective salesperson needs recognisable charm and a winning smile. I do not smile often and I have never won anything in my life. Small talk is another thing I have yet to master. It is on my ‘To Do’ list along with most other social skills.
The Honey Trap is an effective business tool but will not be helpful once I finish calling all the dentists in the UK and Republic of Ireland and must find a new job. That is when I will need a university degree to launch a new vocation.
Since I joined Mr Chin’s office, I have called virtually every dentist in the lowlands of Scotland to the city of Dundee. According to The Greatest Cities of Great Britain, Dundee was founded on the three J’s: jute, jam and journalism. Today it is a vibrant modern city and popular tourist destination. The guidebook says the people of Dundee are naturally generous and among the friendliest in the world: ‘Gracious and polite, the charming folk of this bonny wee city greet you with dazzling smiles and open arms. Forget the old adage about the Scot being a stingy hoarder. The hearts of Dundonians are warm and their sporrans are deep and generous.’
My work is always easier when dentists respond positively to the Honey Trap. It can be upsetting when someone shouts in my ear or hangs up abruptly. I came across quite a few disgruntled dentists when I first tried calling clinics in London. The manners I encountered certainly put me off having any dental work done there.
The official title of my job is Gold Purchase Consultant. Mr Chin says we make a lot of dentists very happy and I believe he is right. We take unwanted gold off their hands and give them cash in return. I have noticed that people appreciate cash, especially dentists who nearly always have some gold in a drawer or cabinet. The dental industry’s attachment to this precious metal is historical. For centuries, gold was the best tooth filling money could buy. People even used to insert chips in their front teeth for decorative purposes but these days it is mainly rap music enthusiasts who seek this kind of dental augmentation. The most popular fillings are now made from composite materials or high-quality ceramics. Unfortunately for Mr Chin, these have no resale value.
Nearly all the gold I purchase comes from crowns in teeth that have been extracted. Dentists often keep this gold because most people are too upset after having teeth pulled to ask about it. I doubt that I would remember to ask about mine. Tooth extraction can be painful and is often traumatic for the dental patient.
As a gold purchase consultant, my job is to make the first contact and break the ice using the Honey Trap. Once I have established the existence of surplus gold and the dentist’s willingness to sell it, Mr Chin takes over and handles negotiations. We are a team but the relationship is strictly a boss-assistant one. Mr Chin has very fixed ideas about business and has no interest in my opinions. I am forbidden to take initiative or deviate from the Honey Trap. This arrangement is ideal for me because I work best within set parameters. Decision-making is something I find difficult, especially when I am dealing with an aggressive dentist.
Mr Chin had kept his eye on me while I talked to the Dundee dentist and was still watching when I pushed the hold button and signalled for him to pick up the phone. The elderly dentist had just agreed to sell a shoebox of gold crowns. He told me he had been collecting them since 1958, which is the year the first parking meter was installed in England. The dentist said he would be happy to get rid of the box. It was taking up cupboard space and was now too heavy for him to lift.
I thought the purchase would make Mr Chin happy and I was right. When he got off the phone he took his personal chopsticks from his drawer and drummed on the desktop for at least thirty seconds. He was smiling with his mouth open and I could see the glint of gold fillings in his molars. The smile was still there when he left to eat an early lunch at the Mandarin restaurant.
There are two Chinese restaurants within walking distance of our office, which is located near the centre of town above the old Babylon Cinema. The Babylon was closed down in 1981 because of an electrical problem but had been a popular venue in its heyday. Its entrance is very ornate with a large metal awning and pillars designed to resemble the façade of a Roman bathhouse. I know precisely when it closed because you can still see the faded stills for Cat People in the display case on the wall next to the cinema entrance. The showpiece of the display is a length of dusty fake fur with the caption: ‘Actual replica of tail worn by Nastassja Kinski.’ I never saw Cat People but apparently it was a popular movie with nude scenes about people who turned into large cats. It was released before I was born.
The door to the office stairs is located behind one of the ornate pillars and is reinforced by steel rails to prevent access with a crowbar. Mr Chin had another steel door with a powerful spring hinge installed at the top of the stairs. He monitors the doorway from where he sits which happens to be directly above the trapdoor to the old projection room. This trapdoor is locked and covered with a colourful Chinese carpet square. Mr Chin’s desk and chair are positioned on top of the carpet. He says the projection room is dangerous and has forbidden me to go anywhere near it. I obey his instructions but do not understand his decision to sit above an unsafe trapdoor.
By the time Mr Chin returned to the office, I had called two more dentists and set up purchases of several more crowns. Mr Chin looked very different after his early lunch. His cheeks were red and shiny and his eyes were bloodshot. In his hand was a plastic bag from the Mandarin restaurant. It clinked as he placed it on his desk. Licking his lips, he circled the furniture, saying, ‘Yes, yes, yes.’ The only time I had seen him so agitated was during the Chinese New Year celebrations when he won a bottle of plum liquor in a raffle. I had not been working at the office very long and was quite surprised by the sudden liveliness of his manner. He was now showing the same vivacity and looking very pleased with himself.
‘Today now holiday. Chin require rest and relaxation,’ he said, waving his small hand around. He sat down on his Komfort King and pushed his head against its vinyl cushion. ‘Go home. Go shopping. Go find boyfriend. Do what normal girl do.’
‘Normally I work,’ I said. ‘Today is Friday, a normal working day.’
‘Normally, normally, normally. What normally? You not normal girl. Very abnormal in fact.’
‘Abnormal?’ I sat up straight and made a mental note to record the word in the COMMENTS subsection of my OBSERVATIONS ring binder. It is the Chinese custom to criticise and I have learned to take such criticism as encouragement. Mr Chin’s assessment was like a red flag.
‘Certainly abnormal. No friend. No boyfriend. No dog. Not even small dog that is high-quality Pekinese. You very peculiar girl.’
‘Peculiar?’ Another word to file away.
‘Peculiar. Abnormal. No matter what.’ Mr Chin closed his eyes and smiled to himself. Opening them again, he pointed a finger at me. ‘You come to office too early, work too late. Never complain. Never thieve ballpoint pen. Never make private phone call and email. What English girl do such? Certainly not normal English girl.’
‘But as you said, I have no friends to call or email. And you don’t supply pens so I couldn’t steal one even if I were that way inclined.’
‘Crazy and nuts. I supply petty cash box of ten pounds sterling in rolling drawer. Normal person buy pen with petty cash then thieve. That is most regular English solution.’ He looked at me and shook his head. ‘You like house of too many window. Wind blow through house always. Take force and energy. House too empty. You too yin, too damp-cold. Need yang.’
‘My feet do get cold in winter.’ In fact my feet were cold as I spoke and it was not even winter. ‘Is there a cure?’
‘Eat meat of pork and so on. Take more yang force. Warm up feets.’
‘I couldn’t eat pork and so on. Modern animal husbandry is not humane and mass-produced meat is full of chemicals. You never know what you might find inside a sausage.’ I did not bother to tell him that my mother believed sausages were stuffed with sweepings from the floor of the abattoir.
‘Abnormal.’ Mr Chin pursed his lips into a point and shook his head. ‘Sausage is traditional English. Normal English love sausage and so on.’
‘Correct.’ Despite my mother’s beliefs about their contents, she bought pork sausages every week from Mr Da Silva. ‘I am partial to vegetarian sausages.’
‘You need professional expert. American Jewish make highest-quality expert for head. Go find such person.’ He hesitated a moment, as if thinking over something important. ‘I give you present of one hundred pound liquid cash.’
‘One hundred pounds! That’s a very handsome gift!’ I was stunned by the offer. Mr Chin never gave money away, ever. My condition had to be a lot more serious than I imagined.
‘One-time only investment.’ Mr Chin lifted his heavy money belt out from under his shirt. It was made of flesh-coloured leather and perfectly camouflaged against his skin. He removed a wad of banknotes, counting five twenties across the table in a fan. With a thumb and forefinger, he then pinched each note to make sure it was a single. Mr Chin was a great believer in the power of money and liked to say that ‘cash is king’.
‘Here, take as bonus. Now leave premise. Come back Monday for work at normal time. Come back more normal. Normal girl with friend and so on.’ He leaned back in his Komfort King and patted his chest with authority. ‘Order of kind and generous boss.’
I felt a jolt. The chalk message from the gardens flashed through my mind: ‘HAIL TO THE KING OF KINGS. HE IS THE KINDEST BOSS.’
‘One-time offer only.’ Mr Chin zipped up his money belt and tucked it back inside his shirt where it protruded like the stomach of an Australian lager drinker. He looked at me again but with an expression flickering between kindness and irritation. From experience, I knew that irritation was the more dominant of Mr Chin’s moods and sprang into action before it could settle over him.
I slipped on my cardigan and, leaning down, opened my file drawer, taking care to roll it slowly. The hypnotherapist had not cured me of my bad habits but I had discovered that with concentration, I could control my impulse to yank the drawer open. I had also been training myself to chew my cuticles instead of my nails. This habit gave me almost the same pleasure as nail biting but allowed my fingernails to grow. In the week since my visit to Industry Drive, my nails had developed a ridge and I was now able to pick up coins and even scratch my forearms where the wool of my cardigan rubbed. It was a new sensation and thoroughly enjoyable.
Mr Chin nodded as I removed the fan of twenty-pound notes from his desk and folded them into my new vinyl purse. Neither of us spoke but I had no illusions about the gravity of the moment. He had set me a formidable task and had given me the means to achieve it by Monday. It was a challenge and I knew from reading about Sir Edmund Percival Hillary that challenges were an integral part of character building. I wanted to be a better person and win Mr Chin’s approval. Indeed, my future depended on it.
It was Sir Edmund who once said, ‘It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves,’ which is quite a profound statement when you think about it. He certainly knew what he was talking about. He was the first person to reach the summit of Mount Everest, the highest mountain in the world. Mountain climbing is a rigorous activity and carries considerable risk. I would not like to die on a mountainside or lose a nose or fingers to frostbite. Fortunately, Sir Edmund never lost any facial features or extremities. After his adventures, he returned to beekeeping, which is a job that requires considerable manual dexterity.
4
The idea of normality was flashing in my mind’s eye like the rotating beacon of a lighthouse as I made my way down the office stairs. The stairwell was pitch dark but I knew the width and squeak of every stair by heart. I used to run up and down the stairs until Mr Chin forbade it: ‘This run, run, run get on my nerve. Walk up stair at normal human speed or forget interesting and exciting job.’
The stairwell lights do not work because their electrical supply is connected to the faulty circuitry of the cinema. It would cost hundreds of thousands of pounds to rewire the Babylon and make the building fireproof, which had been the original plan when the council purchased it from its bankrupt owner in 1990. The Babylon was going to be refurbished and turned into a centre of local culture and history with photo panels and audiovisual displays. This plan was one of the first things to go when Jerry Clench became mayor. Mr Clench was not interested in the cinema’s architecture or its historical value. It was an eyesore and a fleapit, he said. He not only refused to allocate funds for its renovation but also said there was no budget to have it pulled down.
Mr Chin is more than happy with the dark stairwell because it discourages people from visiting the office. He had the reinforced metal doors installed after a boy scout carrying a plastic donation bucket made it to the landing with the aid of his pocket torch. The boy’s arrival had sent Mr Chin into a frenzy. He began screeching and waving a length of green bamboo around his head. After the boy had fled, I asked Mr Chin why he was so upset.
‘Foolish and stupid!’ he shouted, shoving the bamboo back into his personal storeroom. ‘You understand nothing.’
‘About boy scouts?’
‘About criminal people.’
‘Criminal? Boy scouts assist the elderly.’ I had read only good things about scouts and their love of the outdoors. ‘They know their roots and berries.’
‘Root and berry! Ha!’ Mr Chin wagged his finger at me. ‘Never trust such person. Maybe such person is spy and thief.’
‘He was wearing an official uniform.’
‘Uniform mean nothing. Worst crook in Hong Kong that is so-call police and military wear uniform.’ Mr Chin pounded the top of his desk with a fist. ‘Here office for private and personal business. Trespasser and other strictly forbidden.’
‘But—’
‘Enough of but! This but, but, but get on my nerve!’
He chopped the air with his hand to end the conversation. His face had flushed angry red and stayed that way for several minutes. Later that evening, I made a note in the CHIN subsection of my OBSERVATIONS ring binder: ‘Scouts upset Mr Chin. Suspicious of uniforms. To be followed up.’
The door clicked shut behind me and I paused for my eyes to adjust to the dim light under the awning. Out of habit, I turned to examine the old movie stills in the display case but as I did this, my foot touched something solid and organic. I looked down and saw a boy, curled up asleep on a square of cardboard. It is not unusual to find people sleeping in doorways in the centre of town. Unemployment is high and the list for council housing is long. But I had never seen anyone so young sleeping so unprotected.
‘Hello,’ I said.
The boy’s eyes flicked open. He scrambled to a crouch.
‘You’re not a cop,’ he said, looking me up and down.
‘No.’
‘Social services?’
I shook my head. ‘I work in the office upstairs.’
The boy assumed his full height, which was at least a head shorter than me. He was thin and pre-pubescent with fierce blue eyes and a tight lipless mouth. I could not see the top of his head for a dirty red baseball cap but the stubble around his ears was blond. He looked about ten years old. On his cheek was a furry birthmark. It was brown and perfectly round like a two-pence piece.
‘Got a spare fiver?’ He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
‘Why do you want five pounds?’
‘Why do you think?’ The boy scowled at me from under the cap.
I had just read an article in the Cockerel about boys sniffing industrial chemicals. The newspaper referred to them as ‘feral’ and said they terrorised the town in gangs and vandalised public property. I had never encountered a gang of savage children but I was very familiar with vandalism. ‘To buy paint thinner?’
‘Do I look that stupid?’
‘It’s hard to tell.’
‘Well, you definitely look stupid.’ The boy pointed to my trousers. ‘What the hell do you call those?’
‘Tartan trousers.’ I did not bother commenting on the boy’s grimy, oversized white T-shirt and baggy jeans. Fashion is a matter of personal taste and people can be sensitive to criticism. ‘Do you need money to buy clothes?’
‘I’m hungry, you idiot.’
My purse contained Mr Chin’s one hundred pounds in addition to the one pound eighty I keep on hand for purchasing spiral notebooks. ‘I don’t have five pounds in change but if you come with me I’ll buy you a sandwich and a beverage.’
‘Why should I trust you?’ The boy squinted at me. ‘You could be one of those molesterers. I’m a minor.’
‘I’ll take you to a public place.’ I hesitated. An idea was forming in my mind. ‘And rather than give you five pounds, I’ll employ you and pay you to do something for me.’
‘I’m not nicking anything.’
‘I’m not a lawbreaker and would never encourage a minor to become one either.’ I offered the boy my hand. ‘My name’s Sherry.’
The boy eyed my hand suspiciously. He kept his arms at his sides. ‘That’s not a real name.’
‘It wasn’t my choice.’ I let my arm drop. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Nigel, but that’s not my real name either. And I don’t want a sandwich.’
‘What would you like?’
‘A cup of tea and a cake.’ He thought a moment. ‘And a Coke.’
As we set off down Harry Secombe Parade, the boy hung back, trailing me along the pavement.
‘You don’t want to walk beside me?’
‘Not when you walk like that.’
I stopped swinging my arms to chest height and slowed down but the boy continued to follow several steps behind. I glanced back to check on him as I passed under the old rail bridge. His shoulders were hunched and his hands were in the pockets of his baggy jeans but he was light on his feet and made no sound as he walked. At the high street he paused, scanning it before continuing.
Several people were milling around in front of the council buildings but they took no notice of us as we passed. Ten years previously the town hall square had been furnished with iron benches and rubbish bins stamped with the town’s coat of arms but these had been ripped up under Mr Clench’s drive to give the council a new face. Cobblestones had been imported from Italy and laid in a circular pattern. A marble fountain of a semi-naked woman in a clamshell was installed as a decorative centrepiece. The nozzle of this landmark has not spouted for several years but its clamshell is always filled with rainwater.
As I neared the betting shop, a man stepped out of a doorway and blocked my way. He was my height and looked about thirty-five. His head was small and his dark hair was oily and uncombed. He was wearing a black T-shirt printed with a skull and bones design and blue nylon sports trousers with a mismatched green nylon jacket. His face had an unhealthy pallor and he did not look like someone who practised sport. Smouldering between his fingers was a hand-rolled cigarette.
‘Spare change, love?’ he asked, crumpling his face in a tragic way and holding out his free hand. ‘Down on my luck.’
I turned to see what Nigel was doing only to discover that the boy had disappeared.
‘Are you hungry?’ I asked the man, removing one pound from my purse.
He eyed me as he snatched the coin. ‘Nope.’
‘Why do you need money?’
‘The derby.’ He turned to go.
‘You’re going to bet on horses?’
