Page 87 of Behind Frenemy Lines

CG: “Yes. But she’s quit now.”

Ma: “Oh, what’s she going to do?”

CG: “She’s thinking of going in-house. Working at a company, in industry, instead of a law firm. She’s interviewing with a company in Hong Kong, actually.”

Mistake to mention that.

Ma: “She’s coming to Hong Kong? I told you, it’s a good place to work. The tax is lower. And you’re closer to family. When you get older, you’ll realise that’s important. The parents are in Malaysia? The flight is not too long, I think. Four hours?”

I’d been doing well, but when I opened my mouth to answer, the words got stuck in my throat.

Had known I wanted Kriya. Just hadn’t realised how much I wanted of her. It was as though her rejecting me had unlocked some door in my head, behind which all these fantasies had been lurking.

Now they poured out, images I hadn’t even known I’d been harbouring. Introducing Kriya to Ma. Going on holiday with her. Putting my arm around her on the sofa, arguing about what to watch on Netflix. Pouring her tea at a dim sum restaurant.

Didn’t even know if she liked dim sum. Hardly knew anything about her, really. Except that her ex had broken her heart and her boss was mental and she liked cooking and she had excellent drafting skills and when I made her laugh it felt like I could do anything.

Ma: “Charles? Hello? Can you hear me?”

CG: “Yeah. I’m here. Look, Ma, about Kriya, don’t get too excited. It’s nothing—”

Nothing serious,I was going to say.Nothing real.

Ma said: “Do you like her?”

Stared at the TV. Some kind of reality show playing, aboutpeople going on dates. Some guy with unfortunate hair was on the screen, saying: “She’s hot, she’s sexy, she’s fun. I felt there was a real connection there.”

Cut to the woman: “Yeah. No.” She grimaced.

CG: “Yes. I like her. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not going anywhere.”

Ma: “Why not?”

Because she doesn’t like me back. Not enough.

CG: “Never mind. There’s no point talking about it. How’s your leg?” Turned off the TV.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Kriya

Zuri was nevertoo busy to talk, so long as you rang her during the working day. She was still at the office when I got home at four thirty and rang her—the first time in recorded history I’d ever logged off earlier than her.

She said, “Yeah, I can talk. Let me go find a quiet corner.”

Once she was settled in a suitably quiet corner, I said, “Eh, you know the Helen Daley piece in theGuardian? You said you know somebody who knows the source, right? The YouTuber May Yin was telling us about.”

“It’s his boyfriend my friend knows,” said Zuri. “Why?”

“I’ve got a work issue.” I paused, staring out of the window of my living room.

Charles was basically right about confidentiality and privilege. But I was also right that it was fucked up that, with sufficient money, any criminal could make the legal system into a tool to hammer any critic into silence. This had to be the right thing to do.

“I can’t say much,” I said. “It’s all super sensitive. But my firm’s been approached to act in relation to the article, let’s put it that way. I’ve been thinking whether there’s anything I can do about it.”

My parents would take the view that I’d done more than enough in announcing my resignation. Leave it to the firm to decide whether they wanted to get involved in Jamaludin’s business, Amma and Appa would say. Even if I could do anything to affect that decision, what difference would it make to the likes of the Prime Minister and his right-hand man? They’d just go and find another law firm to act. They were bound to find one willing to hold its nose and take their money. Getting Swithin Watkins to decline representation was, at most, an inconvenience—a pebble in their shoe.

But it was the most I might ever be able to do. It wasn’t explosive diarrhoea, much less a criminal conviction for multiple counts of fraud, money laundering, conspiracy to murder, and all the rest of it. But it was better than nothing.

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