Page 10 of Don't Point at the Moon

A pretty but unknown Asian woman stood to Daley’s right. The photographer—probably more concerned about the foreground matter—had captured the poor thing with her eyes closed. But that wasn’t what had caught Tommy’s attention. Whoever she was, the woman seemed overly familiar with Daley, leaning in close while holding his hand.

Had Sammi seen the picture? Did he dare ask or show her? Perhaps there was a perfectly innocent explanation. Having said that, she had enough on her plate right now without worrying about her husband-to-be’s fidelity. But he had to know the truth. She was his sister, after all.

“Sammi,” he began, holding up the magazine cover. “Did you buy this?”

“Please. Give me some credit. When have you known me to buy that sort of trash? Somebody left it in the shop. Why are you asking?”

“Do you mind if I take this copy? Not my kind of thing, but there’s an article that might interest Devon.”

“Be my guest. I was going to drop the thing into the trash where it belongs. Now will you please answer my question? Mum and Dad have been nagging me constantly about who you’re bringing. They hate to be blindsided when people ask questions about you. And Grandma said she’ll hit the roof if you bring another one of those pretty but dumb shop mannequins.”

As Tommy tucked the magazine into his jacket, he looked up when the ping of a bell and a new voice—one he knew only too well—carried across the space.

“She will, too,” came his grandmother’s voice. “You are thirty years old this year. At your age, I had two children to raise and still did the accounts for all three of your grandfather’s companies. And what do you have? Not even a casual boyfriend.”

Tommy laughed again. His grandmother on his mother’s side was the coolest person on the planet. While his mother and father had reacted with disappointment learning about their little prince’s sexual orientation, his grandmother had embraced the difference and scolded his parents for being shocked at being blessed with such a loving child. Moreover, she never once commented on his private life.

“I have a job teaching kids to look after their physical well-being, Grandma. And what did Grandfather always say? Get a steady job first and the rest will follow later.”

“And? You have the steady job. Now start worrying before you run out of time,” she said, stopping to pick up and sniff at a French vanilla-scented candle. “It’s gone nine. Why is the closed sign still on the door? Do you not want business? It’sthe weekend, in case you had forgotten. Everybody will be out shopping very soon.”

“Morning, Po-po," said Sammi. "Shop opens at ten.”

“Ten? I have finished most of my shopping by ten.”

“That’s only because I taught you to shop online. If you’re talking about online shopping and shipping then my business is never closed.”

“Smart girl has an answer for everything.”

“Just like you taught me, Po-po.”

Tommy made the mistake of chuckling. When his grandmother’s attention swung his way, he noticed his sister grinning as she checked stock.

“Are you helping your sister in the shop today, Tommy?”

“Can’t, Grandma. Having coffee with Devon in a minute. He has a special favour to ask. Then I’ve got a lunch meeting with a teacher colleague. We’re discussing plans for the new play she’s co-directing and I’m stage managing.”

“Always helping other people. And will they return the favour and suggest a nice boy for you to bring to your sister’s wedding? Would be good to enjoy the celebration without having to spend the day making excuses to our relatives about why my good-looking and eligible grandson is still single.”

His sister snorted loudly while bending down to pull out a wrapped object. Tommy sighed and rolled his eyes. Okay, he thought,mostof the time his grandmother didn’t pester him about his love life.

“Don’t worry, Po-po. I promise I’ll bring someone to make you proud.”

Two months until the big day. Battles had been fought and won in less time. And if he couldn’t find a suitable hottie by then, there was always his best friend, Devon.

Chapter Three

With his small rucksack slung over one shoulder, Mitchell descended the concrete stairwell from his fifth-floor Kennedy Town walk-up after finishing his weekly household chores. Clothes and bedlinen hung in the tiny bathroom with the dehumidifier running on overdrive—otherwise, they would never dry in the cloying humidity. Everything would be ready for either ironing or folding away in the morning. With the quilt, pillowcases and bedsheet replaced and the bamboo flooring vacuumed and mopped, everything else had been dusted, polished, tidied away and made ready for the week ahead. Hardly a superhuman effort, with only three hundred and twenty square feet of living space. He’d even given the spare room a quick spring clean, tossing out old boxes and ensuring the space wouldn’t need much work for Zane’s arrival.

The thought evoked a sense of uneasiness. Mitchell had never had to bear responsibility for anyone other than himself—outside of work—in all his time in Hong Kong. Having Zane around would obviously change that.

“Mr Mitchell. How are you today?” came the cheerful voice of Mrs Lau from the open doorway of her flat on the first floor. Harold had confided that many residents in his block considered her a nosy neighbour, referring to her as something that sounded like ‘‘butt-paw’’ in Cantonese. Mitchell found her cheerful and neighbourly, always smiling and checking in to make sure he didn’t want for anything. She had even helped by translating for him the few times local workmen came into complete renovations. His minor recompense had been in occasionally buying her Macau egg tarts from a little cake shop on Lyndhurst Terrace.

All communication with his landlady, Mrs Zhang, went through Mrs Lau. He assumed they must be friends or have been neighbours at some point. He had never seen the actual landlady in his six years living there, the original rental agreement having been signed in a local solicitors’ office, where the man had stated his landlady’s preference to have Mrs Lau act as their go-between. Mitchell, rightly or wrongly, assumed that Mrs Zhang preferred not to communicate in English. On the plus side, his rent had never once been raised. Many of his colleagues’ landlords pushed for rent increases every time their contracts were renewed. Then again, on his part, he had paid out of his pocket to renovate the apartment’s older features—obviously with Mrs Zhang’s permission. He had upgraded the things he’d considered essential, like modernising the kitchen and bathroom, and installing double-glazed windows throughout the apartment.

“Morning, Mrs Lau. All good, thank you. I'm heading out to lunch.”

Right then, the phone in Mitchell’s pocket pinged with a message. Rather than read the text, he ignored the phone.

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