Page 77 of The Friend Zone Experiment

“Oh. Yes.” That was what it was called. An image rose before him: Stephen on the sofa in their small, cluttered living room back home, unwrapping his haul from a work trip, talking about mountain goats. “It’s a gift. A friend got it in India.”

“Must have been a good friend,” said Renee. “Real pashmina isn’t cheap.”

“He was.” Stephen had got two scarves, white for Ma andbeige for Ket Siong. Ket Hau, to his outrage, had received a box of chocolate truffles with durian filling, the kind found only in airports and tourist-trap souvenir shops.

Renee looked cosy in the scarf. Seeing her in it gave Ket Siong a pleasure so intense it felt almost sinful. He looked away to try to hide it, sweetness spreading through his chest.

What was it his brother had said?You and I know, better than most people.

It was incalculably precious that he got to be here with Renee, ten years after he’d broken her heart. It was the being here that was important. Renee had drawn her lines. It wasn’t his place to ask for anything more.

So he’d been telling himself. But what if Renee had changed her mind?

She didn’t want him to leave her alone, that much he felt he could conclude from the memes and the invitations to dinner. But was it simply that she was lonely, or enjoyed the attention? Despite the deceptive openness of her manner, he knew Renee found it hard to trust people. She hadn’t mentioned any friends in London other than Nathalie. Even during their university days, she had seemed strangely lonely, set apart from others, despite her retinue of male admirers.

She’d trusted Ket Siong back then. Did she trust him now?

The thought was not pleasant. He suspected he knew the answer.

He hadn’t wanted to force a discussion about their past, when she hadn’t seemed inclined to go over that old ground. But if he explained himself now, told her why he’d hurt her all those years ago…

Maybe it wouldn’t make any difference. But he wouldn’t know until he tried.

They were at the front of the queue now. The person behind them was on her phone, talking loudly in what sounded like Serbian. A sudden fit of recklessness possessed him.

“Renee,” said Ket Siong, and who knew what he might have said next, except Renee said:

“I saw Andrew the other day. You remember Andrew Yeoh?”

“Your ex,” said Ket Siong, after a moment.

Renee grimaced. “You date a guy for a few months one time and he’s your ex for life. Even if he threw your phone out of the window.” She blew out a rueful breath. “He’s on the other side of the deal.”

“On this pitch you’ve been working on?”

“Yeah,” said Renee. “I knew Andrew was Low Teck Wee’s nephew, but I didn’t know he’d started working for Freshview. Last I heard, he was at Morgan Stanley. I mean, you can’t blame him. It’s probably an easier ride working in the family business.”

“What?” said Ket Siong.

A waitress popped her head out of the restaurant and said:

“Table for two? Right, come on through.”

The bustle of getting seated suspended all private conversation. Once they’d been left with the menu to consider their choice of nine different varieties of ramen, Renee took off his scarf and held it out over the table.

“Thanks,” she said.

She’d be cold once they got out of the restaurant. But he didn’t try to insist she keep it.

“Your pitch,” said Ket Siong. “It’s to Freshview Industries?”

“Oh, you’ve heard of them?” said Renee.

The restaurant was tiny and achingly trendy: the walls were painted stark black, exposed pipes hanging low from the ceiling. Their table was shoved right up against their neighbours’. Renee glanced at them—East Asian university students on their phones—then leaned forward, lowering her voice.

“They’re leading a redevelopment project here, converting an old factory site in South London. It’s a huge job, major investment by the Malaysian government. We’re hoping to win the construction work. Dad’s an old hand. Chahaya built half the high-risesin Singapore.” Renee paused. “It’s not public yet, though. We’ll only announce if they decide to go for us.”

Ket Siong stared fixedly at his menu. Competing aromas crowded the room: tonkotsu broth, pickled ginger, green tea, and soy sauce. Underneath these, the faint scent of roses wafting from his scarf felt like a secret, something Renee had confided to his particular care. “I won’t tell anyone.”

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