Page 67 of The Friend Zone Experiment

“I’m going to the office,” he said. Su Khoon was renting a tony co-working space in Knightsbridge, not far from the family’s townhouse, with a private office for him and desks for his staff. “Are you coming? We should do a debrief.”

“I’ve got an appointment,” said Renee. In fact she’d allocated the rest of the day to Virtu, but she knew better than to say so. “I’ll send you my notes on the meeting. There were a couple of points you could get the team to look into. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Su Khoon gave her a look that suggested he saw right through her excuse. But maybe he really was pleased with how she’d acquitted herself. He said peaceably, “Catch up tomorrow, then. See you.”

18

Clarissa Low wasplain in a deliberate way, with straight hair down to her shoulders and large, thick-rimmed glasses. She was wearing a black cardigan over a crisp white shirt and dark jeans. Behind the glasses, her face was thoughtful, a little reserved.

She didn’t smile when Alicia introduced her to Ket Siong. Once they were seated, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, stone-faced.

The café was on the fifth floor of a bookshop, a pleasant, light-filled space with exposed ceilings and worn wooden tables of different shapes and sizes. It was relatively quiet that morning, with only a handful of other people there, mostly frowning over their phones or laptops.

Alicia had snagged a table by the windows looking out on the brown and redbrick buildings next door. Their closest neighbour was one table over, a young woman hunched over her computer with Bose noise-cancelling headphones on. She was on her second black Americano, counting by the mugs on her table, and was munching through a pain au chocolat while typing with her free hand. They were probably as unlikely to be overheard here as anywhere else in central London.

“Were you OK coming in?” said Alicia, darting an uneasy glance from Clarissa to Ket Siong.

Alicia had insisted on buying everyone’s hot drinks, eventhough she was technically the one doing Ket Siong a favour. She seemed oppressed by the whole situation.

Ket Siong was keen to make it less awkward for her if he could, but he didn’t particularly want Low Teck Wee’s daughter to know where he lived. Instead of answering, he said to Clarissa:

“Thanks for making the time for this.”

After a moment, Clarissa nodded. She still looked forbidding, but something about the pause and the gesture made Ket Siong realise she was simply extremely nervous.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to help you,” she said. “I don’t have any involvement in the business. I’m studying art history. My dad’s very traditional, anyway. He wouldn’t take advice from his daughter on how to run his company, even if I wanted to give advice.”

She was redder and redder as she spoke. She went on, stuttering a little, “But obviously, when Alicia told me about your friend… I mean, if there’s anything I can do… I don’t know the ins and outs of what happened, but it sounds terrible.”

Ket Siong waited, but Clarissa had evidently run out of steam. She gave Alicia a desperate look. Alicia reflected it back at Ket Siong.

They both seemed to be hoping for some form of consolation. He thought about what he should say.

He had been brought up not to make a fuss about things. Even something like Stephen’s disappearance… its enormity was all the more reason for Ket Siong not to focus on his feelings about it. It was a tragedy, but nothistragedy.

But there was nothing to stop Clarissa Low from walking out if he said something that made her uncomfortable. Her guilt was his greatest source of leverage.

So he told the truth. “It has been devastating.”

Clarissa twitched. “Of course. I can’t imagine…” She trailed off, to give him the chance to interrupt.

Ket Siong had a feeling that what Clarissa really wanted wasto be saved the act of imagination. Not to have to envision the cost of her family’s wealth, the effect on others of their impunity.

“I appreciate that you agreed to meet me,” he said. “Shall I explain why I asked?”

Clarissa nodded.

Ket Siong was braced for the words to stick in his throat. He’d expected it would hurt to talk about Stephen, as it had hurt when he’d asked Alicia to arrange this meeting.

Yet he found himself hesitating not because he didn’t want to speak, but because there was too much to say. “Stephen Jembu…”

Was my brother’s best friend—at least, that’s what they told us. We didn’t ask. It didn’t matter. He was part of the family. He came to our house one day when I was sixteen, and after that it felt like he never left. He dragged us to hot yoga and salsa and weightlifting and MMA classes. When he got drunk, he’d singYou’ll Never Walk Alone, and cry. He used to watch kdramas with my mother. He didn’t like durian or nasi lemak.

“The last time I saw Stephen,” said Ket Siong, “was around three years ago, when I was still living in Malaysia. He came by our house in the evening, after work.”

Their washing machine had been acting up again, and fixing it was a two-man job—one to brace the machine, while the other sorted out the pipes. The original plan had been for Ket Siong to help his brother on the weekend, but Stephen and Ket Hau had put the thing to rights by the time Ket Siong got home from the evening masterclass he’d been leading. Stephen was about to leave, finishing up the mug of Milo Ma had pressed on him.

“How’d it go?” Stephen greeted Ket Siong. “Trained up the new Vanessa-Mae? Very good. Don’t get up, eat your dinner.”

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