Page 66 of Behind Frenemy Lines

“Charles works at the same firm as me,” I said. “We share an office.”

“You didn’t tell us Kawan Baik looks likethat,” said May Yin.

Thankfully Zuri shushed her. I said hastily, “Do you have to get back to your place straight away, Charles? You might as well stay for brunch. You like nasi lemak, right?”

Charles muttered something about not wanting to intrude, but he might as well have saved his energy. There was no way the girls were going to let him go until they’d got to the bottom of what was going on.

“Come and help us cook,” said Zuri. “May Yin was going to do the chopping, but technically she shouldn’t be cooking when she’s got the baby in the carrier.”

“Are you from Malaysia?” said May Yin. “Oh, Hong Kong.”

“Eh, have you tried this place on Brick Lane?” said Zuri. “It’s like a Hong Kong style diner. It’s really cute.”

I considered intervening, but Charles was already measuring out rice into the rice cooker while Zuri gave instructions. I tidied away all the choking hazards I could identify in the living room and put down the yoga mat for May Yin’s baby, then said:

“Sorry, guys, I’ve got to do my laundry, or I won’t have anything to wear next week. You all know where everything is? Do you want me to get out the air fryer for the chicken?”

“No need. It’s in that cupboard over there, right?” said Zuri. “Go, go. It’s all under control.”

Inevitably, they’d drifted onto the topic of Malaysian politics by the time I came back. Charles was looking a little watery-eyed from the sambal—the pungent smell of chillies and belacan frying in oil pervaded the flat. But otherwise he seemed to be bearing up well under the full force of my friends’ personalities.

“Is Ethan OK with that?” I said, raising my voice over the sizzle of the wok.

May Yin’s baby was on his stomach on the yoga mat, trying to roll over, with limited success. I pushed the windows open as far as they’d go, for his benefit.

May Yin said, “He’s a Malaysian baby, he must get used to sambal. We’re talking about theHornbill Gazettelady’sGuardianarticle. Have you read it? It’s very detailed. Supposedly it’s going to be a series.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it going round on social media,” I said. I added to Charles, “This is a write-up of our big corruption scandal. Our Prime Minister stole billions of dollars of Malaysian public funds. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.”

“I cannot tahan,” said Zuri, who was making the sambal. She gave the red slurry in the wok a vengeful stir. “Every time I try reading it, I get a stomachache.”

“Do you think it’ll make a difference to the election?” I said. I came over to slice up some cucumber. The chicken was marinating, and Charles had been set to work peeling hard-boiled eggs.

“No lah,” said Zuri. “Most it will do is give Jamaludin astomachache also. But it won’t kick him out of office. The rural Malays are not going to be reading theGuardian.”

“Have you seen the YouTube videos by this guy, Stephen what’s his name?” said May Yin. “This Iban guy, he’s an activist.”

“Oh, the whistleblower? Stephen Jembu.”

“I haven’t heard of him,” I said, but I wasn’t really paying attention. Should I bring my laundry out onto the balcony? I didn’t want to go into work smelling of belacan.

“He’s the one who gave the evidence to theHornbill Gazette,for the article,” said Zuri. “They tried to get rid of him, but he got away. Living in Switzerland now. He can’t go back to Malaysia, if not they’ll catch him.”

May Yin frowned. “You didn’t read the article also, how come you know so much?”

“My friend knows his boyfriend.” Zuri raised my spatula and waved it at me and Charles. “Eh, the boyfriend is a lawyer, you know.”

“Oh, is Stephen Jembu gay?” said May Yin, interested. “I’ve been watching his videos, they’re pretty good. Explaining what happened, who stole what, where did the money go. They’re in Malay, but with subtitles, Chinese and English. He put out a call for a Tamil translator actually.”

Zuri said, “Kriya, you should do it!”

“So long as he keeps it to Standard One level, maybe I can manage,” I said.

I would bring my laundry outside, I decided. The sun had come out, so that would help the clothes dry faster, too.

I’d hauled the drying rack out onto the balcony and was coming back in when Charles said to me:

“I’m going to head off. Thanks for letting me stay the night.”

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