Sunny Days and Moon Cakes (10 page)

I nod again.

“I guess that’s all right,” Mum says, “if you really want to.”

I really do. I carefully place my new Monchhichi beside the white teddy. Then I close my eyes and say a prayer in my head.

Dear Mazu, It’s Soon Yi. I used to pray to you with Mama Wei. I’m trying to be a good sister and to look after Min, like I promised Mama. Anyway, I’ve left a present for you – it’s a Monchhichi. I hope you like it
. I pause, then add,
I know it’s a big thing to ask, but if you could help me with the whole speaking thing, that would be amazing. Thanks, Mazu
.

I open my eyes to find Min kneeling beside me, her eyes squeezed shut, her lips moving silently. I’m sure I see her mouth form the word “Sunny”. Is Min saying a prayer for me too?

On Thursday morning we go up the side of a mountain in a rickety old tram. OK, The Peak is actually a hill, but it’s a very big hill. Neither Mum nor I are fond of heights, so we don’t enjoy it much. Min loves it, of course – anything dangerous or dramatic is right up her street. And Dad’s lapping it up too, stretching out of his seat to take photos of the view.

When we reach the top, a huge zigzag of escalators whisks us up to the special viewing platform. The views are pretty spectacular – skyscrapers on one side, and the sea and a spooky-looking misty island on the other. Loads of the skyscrapers have swimming pools built halfway up them, so it looks like there are big patches of blue suspended in the air. I’ve never seen anything like it.

I stand at the wall and gaze over at the mainland, wondering whether it’s possible to see Shenzhen from here.

Dad joins me. He must have read my mind because he says, “Shenzhen is over in that general direction.” And he points across the bay, past Kowloon and slightly to the left. “Nervous about Monday, Sunny?”

I shrug. I am, but I don’t want to worry him.

He squeezes my shoulder. “It’s an amazing place, Hong Kong. We were very happy here, me and your mum. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is.”

I want to tell him that Little Bird is beautiful too, and that I’m glad he and Mum brought us to Ireland – but I can’t talk in public like this. So I stand on my toes and kiss him on the cheek instead.

We have a really nice lunch in a cafe called The Peak – burgers and chips for Dad and Min, Chinese noodles for me and Mum – and then we walk back down the hill to see where Mum and Dad used to live. Their apartment block is huge and built of stone the colour of coral. Me and Min count thirty-nine storeys. Mum says it has an underground gym and swimming pool, with a big hot tub.

“Can we live there?” Min asks.

“No way,” Dad says. “I don’t trust you girls and Jacuzzi bubbles one little bit.”

We all laugh.

On Friday, Saturday and Sunday we do so much sightseeing that our feet nearly drop off. We visit a bird market, see a giant Buddha on an island and take a trip on the old-fashioned green Star Ferry that I spotted from our hotel bedroom window. On Sunday evening we’re all so tired that Mum says we can order room service. After dinner, we flop down on Mum and Dad’s giant bed. Even Min’s exhausted, which is good as it means she’s not yapping away or jumping on the bed.

“I don’t know about you, girls, but I can barely keep my eyes open.” Dad gives a huge yawn. “Early night for everyone. Big day tomorrow.”

My stomach tightens. Tomorrow means Shenzhen and the orphanage.

“How long will it take to get there?” Mum asks.

“It’s not far,” Dad says, “only about fifty kilometres – but there will be a lot of traffic going through the city areas. The driver reckons it will take about two hours.”

Mum looks at me. “It’s not too late to change your mind about visiting, Sunny.”

“I know,” I say. But we’ve come so far and I’m aware that Mum and Dad want me to go. I can’t let them down.

“How does it feel being back in China?” Dad asks. “It’s been such a whirlwind we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. Is it how you remember it?”

“Kind of,” I say. “But I don’t remember ever being here on Hong Kong Island or in Kowloon. I remember temples and parks. And the food and the smelly seafood shops.”

Mum smiles. “They’d be hard to forget, all right.”

“I’d forgotten how busy it is, though,” I add. “There are so many people.”

“Does it scare you?” Mum asks. “The crowds, I mean.”

I shrug. “I don’t have to talk to the people in them so, no, not really.” Here, everyone walks quickly, minding their own business. It’s not like on Little Bird, where everyone wants to stop and chat all the time.

“What about you, Min?” Mum asks. “Does being here make you remember anything?”

“A few things,” she says. “Like the smell in the temple. I think I was in one before, when I was little.”

I look at her in surprise, wondering why she didn’t say anything to me earlier about it. Min’s funny that way – you can never completely read her.

“What?” she asks me. “I know you think you’re special with your stupid silence, but guess what? I’m from here too.”

I open my mouth to tell her that’s not what I was thinking, but Mum gets in first. “Min, I’ve had just about enough of you being rude to your sister over the last few days,” she says. “Apologize right now.”

“No!” Min says. “Why is everything always about Sunny? Sunny this, Sunny that. I spend my whole time helping her, telling everyone what she’s saying. I’m like her own personal translator, and it’s not fair. I always have to go where she wants to go and do what she wants to do. I even put bracelets on for her.”

“When?” I ask.

“At your birthday party in the cafe.”

She’s right – she fastened my new bracelet for me.

“I’m sick of it,” she continues. “What about me and what I want to do? I’m a person too.”

“We know you are, Min,” Dad says. “Lord knows we do. And I’m sorry. You help Sunny a lot. But she does things for you too.”

“Like what?” Min asks.

Dad opens his mouth and then closes it again. He clearly can’t think of anything. And right now, neither can I.

“See?” Min says. “I do everything for her. I’m the normal one. She’s the freak.”

“Min Sullivan, you take that back immediately,” Mum says. “Your sister is not a freak. How could you say such a thing?”

“She’s just tired, Nadia,” Dad says. “You don’t mean it, do you, Min?”

Min shakes her head but says nothing.

“Why don’t I take you to bed, Minnie Mouse?” Dad says. “Read you some stories? Would you like that? Some Min and Daddy time?”

Min nods. “OK.”

Dad carries her through the interconnecting door to our room. When they’ve gone, Mum says to me, “You know she didn’t mean any of that, don’t you? Your dad’s right – she’s just wiped out from all the travelling and the excitement.”

“I know.” But Min’s right – I do rely on her help.

“Sunny, can I ask you something?” Mum says. “Why did you leave your new Monchhichi in the temple the other day? I’ve been wondering about it.”

“We used to go to a temple just like that with our minder, Mama Wei,” I explain. “The statue in there was of one of her favourite gods, Mazu, so I left her a present.”

“Were you asking Mazu for a favour? Was that it?”

I nod and feel my cheeks go red. Mum can probably guess what I asked for.

Mum smiles at me gently. “Sunny, you know we love you just the way you are, pet. We just want you to be happy, you and your sister. We love you both so much.”

“I know. I love you too.” I crawl over the bed towards her and give her a hug. I’m aware of exactly how much they love us, which is why I feel so guilty all the time. Mum and Dad deserve a normal daughter, not one like me. Min’s right – I am a freak.

The following morning – orphanage day – I’m so anxious I can barely eat any breakfast. Min is tucking into a whole plate of pastries – tiny croissants, strawberry tartlets and pains au chocolat – but all I can manage is some fruit salad and a little toast.

I know Mum’s worried about me – she keeps looking at me – but I wish she’d stop. I’m not all right. I’m all over the place. I’m petrified and on the verge of tears. A bit of me wants to tell them that I don’t want to go because it will bring back too many memories, but another part of me desperately wants to see Shenzhen and the orphanage again. They are a part of who I am, and it feels important to remember that. Also, I want Min to see where we’re from. And, yes, I’m still hoping that somehow this trip will make me feel less anxious and unlock my voice.

After breakfast we go outside to wait for the car Dad has ordered, a long black Mercedes. When it arrives, a Chinese man in his twenties in a smart, dark suit climbs out and bows his head to us. “My name is Mr Lin and I’ll be your driver today.”

Mum and Dad both bow back.

Once our journey is underway, Mr Lin closes the partition between us and the front seats, to give us some privacy, or perhaps because Min keeps asking, “Are we there yet?” every five minutes.

I look out of the tinted window and try not to think about what lies ahead.

“I’m bored,” Min whines.

“You can play a game on my phone,” Dad suggests.

Min shakes her head and starts bouncing up and down on the seat, her seatbelt straining against her chest.

“Min!” Dad says. “Stay still.”

“Why don’t I tell you the Collection Day story?” Mum says. “I did promise.”

“OK,” Min says, settling back into her seat. “I’ll start: ‘Nadia and John Sullivan wanted a baby very much.’” We’ve both heard this story so many times we almost know it off by heart.

Mum smiles. “That’s right. But unfortunately they couldn’t have one so they decided to give a home to two beautiful daughters from China instead. Nadia and Smiles had lived in Hong Kong for many years and loved Chinese culture.”

“Especially dim sum and noodles,” Min adds. “And moon cakes, like Sunny does too.”

Mum laughs. “Yes, they especially liked the food. Anyway, it took almost ten years for Nadia and Smiles to find the right daughters. They had moved into a castle on a small island called Little Bird by then. One day they got a phone call to tell them that their daughters were waiting for them in Shenzhen. So they booked flights immediately.”

“You were very excited, weren’t you?” Min says.

Mum nods. “Yes, very. We couldn’t sit still for two minutes, just like you, Min. The night before we were due to meet you for the first time, we couldn’t sleep a wink. We were so worried. Would our new daughters like us? Would we recognize them from their photos? But as soon as we stepped into the offices of the adoption agency, we knew you both instantly. You had a little red ribbon in your hair, Min, and you were holding Sunny’s hand so tightly I was worried you’d stop her blood circulation.”

In fact, it was the other way round – I was the one squeezing Min’s hand – but I’ve never told my parents that and Min was probably too small to remember.

“Then I knelt down and hugged you both,” Mum continues. “And your dad took hundreds of photos.”

“You were crying, weren’t you, Mum?” Min says.

“Not as much as your dad was,” Mum says, blinking quickly. She always cries telling this story.

Dad laughs. “It was an emotional day. And then we had to wait two days until the official Giving and Receiving Day ceremony, when you became our legal daughters.”

“It was hard, wasn’t it, Smiles? Having to wait like that?” Mum says. “We just wanted to swoop you both up and take you home to Ireland.”

“But it was worth the wait,” Dad says. “Then two weeks later, after your Irish passports had arrived, we flew back to London and then on to Cork with our new family. It was a miracle.” Dad sniffs.

“Still an old softie.” Mum leans over and pats his arm. They smile at each other and Mum blows Dad a kiss. The Collection Day story always makes them like this – all soppy and emotional.

“You’re the luckiest parents in the world to have not one but two amazing daughters,” Min says. “The end.”

Min loves that story, and I guess, if I’m honest, I do too. It’s so sweet. And now we’re going back to the place where it all began.

We pull up outside the gates. Inside, three large grey buildings with lots of windows form a U-shape around an open courtyard. There are bright murals on the walls of the buildings and playground games painted onto the concrete ground.

“This is it, Mr Sullivan,” our driver, Mr Lin, says. “I’ll ask them to open the gates.” He gets out of the car and walks towards the intercom on the wall.

“Do you remember this place, Sunny?” Mum asks. “It looks nice. I like the murals on the walls. All the cartoon characters.”

“Yes,” I say quietly. “The buildings all look the same, but the murals are new.”

Memories flow through my head now, like I’m watching a movie: the reception area through the door in the right-hand building where we waited with Mama Wei to be signed in after Papa died, the courtyard where we played, the tall swaying trees of the garden behind the buildings that I could see from my bedroom window.

Min coughs, trying to get attention, and then slides forwards on her seat. “What about me, Mum? You never asked me.”

“Not now, Min,” Dad says, his voice all serious.

“Sorr-eee,” she says huffily, sitting back again. “I think I remember it a bit, in case anyone’s interested. We used to play catch over there.” She points at the courtyard. “And skipping with a long rope.”

“Are you sure, Min?” Mum asks. “You were very small.”

“She’s right,” I say. “We did. Well remembered, Min.”

“Thanks.” She smiles at me.

I smile back. She was annoying me the whole way here, but now she seems calmer. Like me, she’s staring out of the window, taking everything in.

Mum and Dad exchange a glance. They obviously think she was too young to remember anything about the orphanage, but from what she’s just said I’m not so sure. She was two when we arrived and just four when we left a year and a bit later. Maybe she is starting to remember things about our life here – first the temple, now this place. China isn’t just my story; it’s Min’s too. It’s something we share.

The gates buzz open and Mr Lin gets back into the car. He drives through and parks beside the courtyard. A gang of children runs out of the doorway to the left, towards the car, cheering and laughing.