Fragrant Harbour (33 page)

I called the office from the ferry. Ah Wong answered.

‘Wei?’

‘He said yes.’

Wong whooped. I could hear him call to the others. There was cheering. ‘You are a big hero. Now what?’

I realised that I didn’t know. ‘His people are setting it up. They’ll be in touch. Listen, I’m not coming back to the office today. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Don’t forget,’ Wong said. ‘One hundred million US.’

‘I thought you’d forgotten.’

‘No you didn’t.’

Then I called my wife.

‘Hello?’

‘He said yes.’

She let out a very long sigh. It was as if she had been holding her breath since the last time I saw her. ‘So when are you coming home?’ she said.

‘Soon as I can. But first –’

‘You’ve got to tell Grandfather.’

‘Yes. I’m nervous.’

She let out a sigh almost as long as the first one. ‘Good luck.’

The people who took the ferry were different at this time of day. It was something I had noticed before. After work and in the morning the traffic is all commuters. But this ferry was full of tourists and people who had jobs with irregular hours.

The harbour was rough, and one or two people looked as if they were feeling sick. I stood in the air for about twenty minutes, and then when I had filled my lungs with the breeze and the smell of the harbour I went back inside. In the cabin, three boys were crowded together trying to watch
The Matrix
on a portable DVD player. All three of them were wearing caps with the Nike swoosh.

We came in past the fish farms. Because it was only afternoon, the restaurants around the little harbour were quiet. The night fishermen had not gone out yet and the day fishermen had not returned. I bought a
South China Morning Post
and set off up the hill to give Grandfather my news.

I knew he would be upset. But I would tell him that I did it because I am a refugee. I had no choice. The future is more
important
than the past. I did it because I am a refugee.

John Lanchester was born in Hamburg in 1962. He has worked as a football reporter, obituary writer, book editor, restaurant critic, and deputy editor of the
London Review of Books
, where his pieces still appear. He is a regular contributor to the
New Yorker
. He has written three novels,
The Debt to Pleasure, Mr Phillips
and
Fragrant Harbour
, and two works of non-fiction:
Family Romance
, a memoir; and
Whoops!: Why everyone
owes everyone and no one can pay
, a book about the global financial crisis. His books have won the Hawthornden Prize, the Whitbread First Novel Prize, E. M. Forster Award, and the Premi Llibreter, been longlisted for the Booker Prize, and been translated into twenty-five languages. He is married, has two children and lives in London.