Page 70 of Behind Frenemy Lines

May Yin: “Last time I went to see the fortune teller, Iasked him to put a curse on Tom. He said they don’t really do that.”

Zurina, cheerfully: “You’re going to put Charles off.”

CG: “I’m not—I don’t think she’s interested.”

Zurina and May Yin exchanged a look.

Zurina: “I’d give it a shot, if I were you.” Gave me a look over the top of her spectacle frames.

Thought about that all the way home. The way Zurina had said,Any good friend of Kriya’s is a good friend of mine.

Stuck with me, for some reason. Not sure Kriya sees me as a friend, much less a good friend. It’s not how I feel about her.

Not that I see her merely as a colleague. But “friend” isn’t the word for it.

My flat felt especially empty when I let myself in, like somewhere abandoned by its occupants in a hurry.

My bedroom was a disaster zone. Worse than I’d imagined. There was a load of ceiling on my bed and a big hole, criss-crossed with beams, where the ceiling should have been. Carpet squelched underfoot.

I’d thought I might be able to sleep in Loretta’s room, if it wasn’t affected. Building management company had said there shouldn’t be any further flooding. But having seen my room, I wasn’t confident it would be safe to stay in the flat.

Opened my wardrobe, prepared for anything. To my surprise, most of my clothes had escaped damage, as well as the suitcase I kept in there.

Removed clothes and suitcase to the living room and packed one into the other. Loretta’s room was OK when I checked it, though the wall adjoining my room needed looking at. Emailed a reminder to myself to raise it with the building management company on Monday.

Reflected a moment, then sent another reminder to buy a suitcase, so I could pack up Loretta’s anime shit. Just in case. Would probably need two bags.

Stomach rumbled while I was locking up. Was glad that I had somewhere to go, and someone who was saving a plate of nasi lemak for me.

Kriya’s friends had left by the time I arrived at her place. The kitchen was clean—no sign of our labours earlier. Kriya was muttering to herself over piles of paper, spread out on the coffee table.

Kriya: “I’ve been catching up on life admin. Your nasi lemak’s in the oven, but it might be cold by now. You can microwave it if you’d like it hot, but the chicken you should probably air-fry. Or you could pop it under the grill—”

CG: “I’m sure it’s fine. Thanks.”

Kriya seemed busy, so I shoved my bag in a corner and tried to be inconspicuous. Not easy, given the size of the place. One bedroom, tiny hall with a bathroom off it, and the open plan lounge-cum-kitchen I’d slept in the night before. While Kriya was in the lounge, there was nowhere for me to go, to give her space.

Did my best anyway. After finishing my nasi lemak, I checked my work inbox. Wasn’t expecting anything to have come in, given we’d sent off the advice note late last night, but there was an email from Shaw:

Thanks. Reading advice now. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.

Felt somehow typical of Shaw. Though I’d never worked with him before, I could have predicted he’d have no respect for work/life balance. Of course, I don’t have a personal life to disrespect, but he wasn’t to know that.

Knocked through my emails, then went for a run. Partly because it was a nice day out, but mostly because I needed the exercise. I was getting edgy, spending all that time with Kriya in her flat.

A discreet wank would have been more to the point, but that was out of the question for now. Could have tossed one off in the bathroom, I suppose, but didn’t feel right.

Kriya had tidied away the papers on the coffee table when I got back. She stared at me.

Looked down at myself, wondering if I’d stepped in something, or got splattered with mud.

Kriya: “Those shorts are very… tight.”

CG: “Compression shorts. They help recovery. Well, they’re said to. I haven’t actually looked at the research.”

Kriya: “Learn something new every day. What do you want to have for dinner?”

We had hard-boiled eggs, fried so they were crispy on the outside, in the sambal Kriya’s friends had made earlier, along with the leftover rice cooked in coconut milk, and other leftovers scrounged from Kriya’s fridge: the rasam and some wilting bok choy, stir-fried with garlic.

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