Wishful thinking. Or was it? Ket Siong was a nice, normal person. He’d worry about anyone who was sending him cryptic messages suggesting she might need the authorities to intervene to rescue her from her own brother.
She replied:
All good. Tell you everything another time.
The double blue ticks appeared straight away, but there was no response. Renee decided it was beneath her dignity to wait for more than a minute for a reply, and slipped her phone back into her bag.
She could get an Uber, but she wasn’t that far from her flat. About half an hour’s walk, which sounded exactly what the doctor ordered. She’d worn comfortable shoes on purpose, in case she needed to run.
The narrow townhouses here had little by way of frontage, with just enough paved yard to place a potted plant or two in. Passersby could peer over the railings right into the front rooms, which was why all the windows facing the street either had blinds or shutters on them, screening out prying eyes. Golden light spilt through the chinks, blotted out occasionally by shadowy figures moving around their homes.
The Gohs were never in London long enough to make their neighbours’ acquaintance. Renee wondered what families lived inthe other houses, and whether they could possibly be as messed up as hers.
It was a well-lit residential street, quiet on a Monday night. She hadn’t seen anyone else on it, so the voice behind her made her jump.
“Renee!”
Renee whipped around. She recognised the tall, broad-shouldered figure crossing the road even before he moved into the amber light of the streetlamp.
Ket Siong looked decidedly sheepish.
“What are you doing here?” said Renee.
“Sorry,” said Ket Siong. “I was worried.” He looked her over, conducting a thorough and unapologetic survey.
His gaze should have felt intrusive, but it didn’t. Renee was reminded of being inspected by her nanny for injuries, when as a child Renee had run to her, seeking comfort for a bump on the head or a skinned knee.
The look, and the association, should have been weird. It wasn’t. She felt… cared for.
She cleared her throat, pushing down an unexpected swell of shyness. “How did you know where to find—oh, I sent you my location. Of course.”
Ket Siong glanced over his shoulder at her family’s house. “I wanted to be around, in case… I’m sorry. I should have told you I was coming.”
“Oh my God, no. I should be the one apologising,” said Renee. Necessity had taken precedence over self-consciousness, earlier, but it was coming home to her exactly how bizarre this situation must seem to Ket Siong. “I had no business dragging you into my stupid family drama. I just couldn’t think of anyone else to message.”
She immediately wished she hadn’t said that last line—way too pathetic.
But Ket Siong didn’t seem to mind. “I’m glad you messaged.” He paused, his eyes searching. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah,” said Renee.
How did she keep ending up locking eyes with Ket Siong? There had to be some way to avoid this. It felt like he was about to unpack every embarrassing secret she had, every vulnerability she hid from the world.
She tore her gaze away. “It was fine. As fine as things ever are with my family, you know. Really, you shouldn’t have come.”
That sent Ket Siong’s shoulders up around his ears. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’tapologise again,” said Renee. “I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t mean to break up your evening, that’s all.”
She didn’t want to meet his eyes again, in case he saw more in hers than she wanted him to, so she looked at his chin.
Ket Siong had a great chin. She hadn’t known it was possible for chins to be that attractive. Men’s forearms, yes. Their shoulders and thighs, absolutely. But the male chin had never made it onto her list of physical attributes capable of provoking desire, before now.
“It was nice of you to be worried,” she said. “Thank you.”
Ket Siong ducked his head. “How are you getting home?”
“Oh, I’m going to walk. It’s not far.” Renee hesitated.