Lucky Cat
Rebecca Amber Moon didn’t like her first name. The distaste couldn’t even be alleviated through abbreviations, they were even worse, Becky, Becks, Becca or, as some of her school friends had constantly called her, to her dismay, ‘Becksta’. It was largely based on the vast array of Rebeccas and abbreviated Rebecca’s she had come across who didn’t live up to her standards of who a person carrying this name should be. Another problem to add to the list, lack of uniqueness - the name was too common. What were her parents thinking? After moving to England she had decided to reinvent herself as Amber, and was pleased to be far far away from any Coloradan Beckys.
Amber’s aunt’s house was disappointingly further away from London than she had expected. Her aunt had told her on the phone, “It’s practically London.” However, on meeting new people and sharing this information she was quickly corrected, “That’s not London, that’s Surrey. It doesn’t even have a London postcode.” Amber took note of how deceitful this claim was to English people and the importance of postcode etiquette. Aunt Julia suited her name, Amber thought. She had a type of panache and was resolute in her opinions, she certainly didn’t care what anyone thought about her and if she did then she was good at hiding it. Amber hoped these traits would be passed down by association, seeing as they had been skipped by genetics.
Aunt Julia had recently downsized to a house that was still far too big for the two of them, Amber’s far fetched imagination pictured her previous abode as some otherworldly castle, a smaller version of Buckingham palace maybe, her palatial knowledge being limited to where she had taken one of her tourist selfies. While the house felt expensive, it also felt like a home of Aunt Julia’s favourite things, abstract art pieces filled the walls, sculptures of dark unidentifiable objects were spread across spaces, Amber was unsure of what they were or their undoubtedly endless obscure meanings and unread books filled the rows of bookshelves while quietly collecting dust. Aunt Julia had never shown Amber her bedroom, or boudoir as she liked to call it, but once when Amber was doing laundry she found a sage satin floor length dress which she folded gently and decided to place on her aunt’s bed. Knocking on the bedroom door to no answer, she slowly pushed the door ajar, she paused in shock to see beautiful brushstroke paintings that were almost the same size as the walls, that looked very much like Aunt Julia in an array of sexual positions with unknown suitors. Amber was bemused by her findings, she thought it best to return the satin dress downstairs and leave it in the laundry room after all.
‘I don’t love the area, it’s pretty quiet, the burbs. Lot’s of old people and ‘yummy mummies’ but my aunt is so cool and her place is crazy. Hopefully I’ll be in ACTUAL London by the time you visit.’ Amber had whatsapped her best friend Jessica, who would always respond to her messages immediately out of compulsion and also out of loyalty from their long standing friendship. Jessica was saddened and blindsided when Amber, then Rebecca, had declared she was moving to England, she had stoically wrapped it up into excitement, promising she would visit her within a year but Jessica knew the unlikeliness and unattainability of this promise and knew that in time, this obligation would fade away. Amber felt a weight of guilt by leaving Jessica, her mother and younger sister Charlotte behind. “It’s not forever and if it is then it just means that I’ve made it in life and I’ll fly you both over on my private jet to live in my penthouse with me.” Amber promised.
It had been painful for her mother to let go but she didn’t want to deny Amber the chance to fulfil her dreams, she even used her savings for Amber’s flight and to cover six months of expenses. “I would give you and Charlotte my last penny and more. That’s why God made mothers.”’ She squeezed Amber tightly with a grip that said I Do Not Want To Let You Go But I Have To and which they would remember for the foreseeable future. Amber was ready to say goodbye to the only place she had ever known, she had no idea what to expect in England apart from drinking lots of tea and indulging in the odd crumpet. She shut her eyes, smiled and mouthed “Thank you,’”as the plane was getting ready to take off, knowing she would no longer unexpectedly bump into her father anymore, which was enough of a sole reason to want to leave Colorado.
It had been a year since Amber had jumped over the pond. She stared at the colourful magazine cut out vision board on her wall and became painstakingly aware that it didn’t match her current reality. She made a list of all her problems that shouldn’t be happening at twenty seven.
Still living at my aunts
Not living in London (SCREAM)
Not made any friends, (not real ones)
Hate my job - soul destroying
Haven’t got the job I want (what I should be doing)
No boyfriend and never had one
Skin keeps breaking out, looks like start of rosacea
Amber was frustrated by the lack of doors opening for her despite how hard she had been banging on them. She didn’t expect to be a fashion designer straight away, but she also hadn’t imagined the only job she would be offered with an acceptable salary would be in Finance, something she had absolutely no interest in whatsoever but they needed a Receptionist and she needed some money.
“Let’s go darling, I’m out the door!’ Aunt Julia called up the spiral staircase.
“Coming!” Amber shouted down, as she took her final glances in the mirror applying several layers of clear lip gloss before grabbing a cherry coloured nineties style bag that she could only fit her keys and phone in. They walked through their local high street, arm in arm like an unstoppable duo, there was a warmth to Aunt Julia that surprised Amber, she hadn’t expected it from someone she had never met before even if they were family. When Amber had complained to her aunt that she hadn’t made any friends, she told her “I’ll be a better friend to you than any new ones you’ll make anyway, so you have nothing to worry about darling.” Amber did wonder whether Aunt Julia ever felt lonely, she guessed this is why she had invited her to stay, it must be lonesome in a big house by yourself, she had plenty of people in her circle and her wider entourage but that wasn’t the same as having a husband or a family of your own, was it?
“Aunt Julia, did you want to get married when you were younger?” Amber probed, her curiosity refusing to stay in its cage.
“Well yes, I think every little girl thinks about getting married. But, as I got older I realised why my friends were getting divorced and why those that were married were living in separate boudoirs. So I think I got away scot free in the end.” She smiled, but a hint of sadness escaped too.
Aunt Julia halted outside one of the local charity shops, her attention being drawn to the window, within seconds they were both inside.
“Why are we here? It's got a weird smell.” Amber whined.
“We always come in here?”
“I know that’s the problem. Haven’t we got somewhere to be?”
“Oh give me a minute.” Unlinking Amber’s arm she hurried over to the shop assistant to ask about a porcelain vase that she suspected was an unbeknown expensive item someone had carelessly given away.
Amber begrudgingly strolled through the shop, bustling in and out of coat racks and dodging other shoppers, stopping at a small Japanese lucky cat shaking its paw at her, its huge dilated pupils wouldn’t leave her glare. She liked the colour palette, white, green, red and gold and she liked it enough that she decided she would clean it up and place it in her room, facing out the window to bring her some good luck. Amber picked up the lucky cat, looking for the price she turned it over and saw an engraving on the bottom, but who was Zhang Yue?
*
Zhang Yue was two years old when her parents left The New Territories to start again six thousand miles away in a town called Rochester. Yue’s parents had always spoken about moving to Britain, it was something that had magnetised them together, they had big dreams of moving to England and setting up their empire but marriage, an unexpected Yue and saving, it all took its time.
“We have to leave next year, no more excuses.” Yue’s father said.
“How can we leave our family?” Yue’s mother said.
“We will send them money.”
“With what?”
“What we make, we’ll find a way. If they don’t want to come now then fine, maybe they will in time. We must go for our own family before we can’t.”
“What if there is no opportunity for us there?”
“What if all our opportunities are taken away here? What if things change so much further than our eyes can see?” Yue’s father was sceptical of Hong Kong’s future once it was to be placed back into China’s hands, with only four brown leather strap suitcases they made the journey to a country they had never been to but who Yue’s father thought they could trust. That night, Yue’s grandfather sat alone by the window, watching the flashes of planes light up the indigo sky. He imagined the Zhang family in each one that went past and pictured Yue’s mother looking out the window for him. How elated he had been when he was given the maneki-neko for his tenth birthday, how he would dream about all the fortune and prosperity that would be brought to him. He engraved his granddaughter's name into it instantly after they had told him they were leaving for England and prayed it would bring them enormous luck, worried that they might in fact, really need it.
Yue was happy when her sister was born, it meant there would be more people in Rochester that looked like her. Yue’s sister was given a more English name, Shan, their parents had decided that now they were living in England it was best to integrate with Western culture - to an extent. Yue and Shan looked so similar that people often had trouble telling them apart, they were both petite, their small features wrapped by long black silky hair although Shan’s was slightly thicker which Yue often pointed out. Chinese school was every Sunday, it was the only time they sat in a classroom with children that looked like them, to Yue’s satisfaction. Yue enjoyed learning Cantonese and understanding more about her culture, unlike her sister, who would make excuses to avoid going, sick again, feeling weird, and on being ignored and personally seatbelted in the car would eye roll and pull faces until they got there.
It was an unusually humid grey day and even though Yue’s father had told her to never leave the house without a coat, she had not expected the afternoon showers to arrive. Yue dashed from the train station in a yellow polkadot dress, which her mother had handed down to her and tailored so it would fit perfectly. She wished she hadn’t worn brown sandals, they were too troublesome to run in and left her toes out in the cold to fend for themselves. After a short time struggling to run in the sandals, she accepted her fate, and power walked all the way home, letting the rain wash over her. Yue’s parents were bound to fuss over her drenched state, the last thing Yue wanted was for them to be concerned, she knew they had been worrying about a lot of other things recently, she had heard them arguing about the takeaway, school trips and something about sending money back home. Stealth mode activated. She would sneak upstairs before they even had time to realise. Yue gently twisted the key in the door, jammed again, she twisted it the other way, this dance lasted for what felt like an eternity. She felt herself getting increasingly frustrated that:
1. Her dad hadn’t fixed the lock yet even after her endless complaints
2. Her parents would see her and worry would erupt
It was no good. The door was stuck at the hinge. Yue was about to give up, maybe being out here in the rain isn’t so bad after all, she conceded. Finally! Victory! Push. Push. Suddenly, the door swung open, her father freezing at the sight of Yue, his eyebrows jumping up to expose years of worried forehead lines. Yue noticed straight away how tired her father looked, like he had woken from a nap yet needed another, he pulled her inside, “Yue! What happened to you? Get in quickly! Where’s your coat?”
Yue brushed out the knots from her tangled wet hair as she sat at the dinner table in warm, clean clothes. The smell of her mother’s cooking had filled the air. It was one of Yue's favourite meals, fanqie chao dan, stir fried fluffy eggs with bursting juicy tomatoes, a simple meal but no one could make it quite like her mother.
“Shan, can you set the table please?” Yue’s mother called out.
“She’s too busy on msn chatting to her gwei jai.” Yue replied.
“Oh shut up Yue. Just because I have friends and people actually like me.” Shan retorted, sending her a private dirty look.
“Is he just a friend?” Yue prodded, already knowing the answer.
“Who is he? Should I know who this person is?” Yue’s father asked, grabbing chopsticks and setting them across the table as Shan hadn’t moved an inch.
“No one!”
“Rory!”
“YUE, SHUT UP.” Shan angrily got up from the computer screen, barging past Yue’s seat. “Just ‘cause you’re bored with your own little life doesn’t mean you can make up things about mine, comprende?”
“Si comprende mamacita.”
“Well girls, at least you’re taking something away from your Spanish classes. Hey, wouldn’t it be great if you speak three languages, now that would be something.” Yue’s father gleamed, proud of the possibility.
“Sik fan.” Yue’s mother summoned the family to the table, placing down the last bowl of fanqie chao dan. Yue’s eyes lit up, she didn’t hesitate to take a bite, a burst of sweet tomatoes ruptured on her tongue followed by the creamy eggs, she savoured the taste and wondered if there would be any left over for a late night time snack.
“Since when have you used a spoon?” Yue asked Shan, in disbelief at what she was witnessing.
“We use chopsticks in this house.” Yue’s father agreed.
“It’s because of Rory she thinks she is a gwei mui now.” Yue stated, not pausing in between mouthfuls of food.
“Please Shan.” Yue’s mother said, pushing chopsticks towards her bowl. Shan felt ostracised by each Zhang’s chastisement, frustrated that they were all conspiring against her. She was clenching her mouth tightly together to stop herself from retaliating and leaving the table. She paused, taking several deep breaths before reluctantly reaching for the chopsticks, wearily pulling them closer to appease the judge and jury before her.
It was Yue’s turn to help out at the takeaway, she was best placed at reception taking orders, Yue’s father said she hadn’t quite mastered the focus and culinary skills for the kitchen, which she felt was a fair assessment. It was going to be another busy Saturday night, plus Manchester United football club was playing Tottenham which meant there would be even more orders and prank calls. Yue’s parents were in the back kitchen cooking with another mother they had met from the Chinese school, Yaling. Yaling didn’t need the money, she didn’t have to work at all, she came from a wealthy family in China and her husband also owned a successful import and export company. Yaling had offered to give Yue’s parents money when she found out they were struggling with the takeaway, she desperately wanted to help, an offer Yue’s parents could never accept. As a compromise, they allowed Yaling to work in the shop with them occasionally and Yaling forced them to agree that her payment would be learning new recipes and some food to take home.
Yue grimaced and slumped in her chair almost all the way to the floor as a rowdy group of slurry mouthed men barged through the door. The speed at which they were pouring cans of beers into their mouths reminded Yue of when she had accidentally drank one of her dad’s alcoholic drinks and how pungent the taste was, like poison, she imagined. Yue’s father immediately stormed in, his apron speckled with food splashings, he told Yue to go to the kitchen, and stoically waited as the boisterous group took their time confusingly ordering countless meals. Yue, Yue’s mother and Yaling poked their head through the kitchen window from time to time and were relieved to see the group finally leave, strings of noodles being ploughed into their mouths before they were even out the door.
“You two should leave, you look tired, like you haven’t rested. Me and Yue will clean up. Please go.” Yaling insisted, as it approached eleven o clock.
“We could not let you do that Yaling, besides it will be quicker if we do it together. We’ll all be home before we know it.” Yue’s father said, walking past with large bags of food rubbish.
Relief swept through Yue as she locked the door, it meant the day was over, no more customers and sleep was waiting for her. Yue didn’t mind the customers in general, in fact she found the assortment of people quite interesting to observe. Working at the takeaway, Yue had learnt that adults could often act like children, she decided that she would not grow up to become an adult child, she would become an adult adult.
“Oh my god, oh my god!” Yue screamed.
“What?” Yue’s mother and Yaling shouted in unison.
“They’ve stolen the lucky cat!” Yue cried out.
*
Chandra Modi took a long drag on her thin cigarette, tapping the remnants of ash into a small ceramic painted bowl that she knew was far too beautiful for such a job. Standing in the small shadow of shade her balcony had afforded her, she observed the passers by, the joggers in their tiny tight shorts which left little to the imagination, the dog walkers being dragged along by excitement, the tired but persevering mothers pushing their prams and she wondered what tribulations they were facing. Someone is always facing a tribulation at one time, at least? Does a tribulation turn into a midlife crisis when you hit middle age? And how many midlife crises could a person have?
Chandra had met Dinesh soon after the collapse of her first marriage. Dinesh was instantly magnetised by her illustrious beauty, which he spoke of at length in his wedding speech along with her quick wit which often outsmarted him. Chandra’s independent spirit and pursuit of life’s offerings had attracted Dinesh; he liked the fact that she didn’t need him, instead it made him feel that he needed her. Chandra was hesitant at first but eventually she began to trust him, he patiently listened to the struggles from her first marriage and offered advice, he vowed theirs would be different and with that she relinquished her stubbornness and let him into her world.
Chandra brushed her teeth, not wanting the cigarette smell to linger and worsen in her mouth, she wiped away the smudges of mascara at the corners of her eyes with an already used cotton bud and tied her thick long black hair into a loose bun. Cooking had always been a therapeutic affair, she loved experimenting and putting her own twist on Indian recipes that had been passed down through generations in her family. Thinly slicing the onions, she gently peeled back the ginger and crushed the garlic to sizzle in an oil filled pan with turmeric and cumin which immediately filled the air with a burst of spiced aromas.
Chandra made herself a small plate of steaming chicken biryani, she wasn’t particularly hungry but she knew coffee and cigarettes would only get her so far. Bowing her head, she whispered her gratitude before scooping the first handful into her mouth. The short moment of patience before eating always seemed to make her food taste even better.
Carefully removing the red velvet cake adorned with delicate iced flowers from the busy fridge, she placed it in the centre of the dining table. Searching in disorganised kitchen drawers amongst odd container lids, kitchen towels, elastic bands and utility manuals she eventually found three half used candles for the cake. As the candle flame danced in accompaniment with the breeze entering through the open sliding doors, Chandra’s eyes fixated on the flickering figure, she would strive to keep her gaze without blinking but her watering eyes would not allow it and she would briefly close them for respite before trying again, a meditative technique, trataka, she had been taught by her grandmother.
Jangle jangle. Jangling keys, unexpectedly the front door creaked open enough for Dinesh to slide in. Chandra could faintly hear him muttering about something, and his looming footsteps clicking across the wooden floors. He stopped at the doorway, unsure of the marital danger that could lie ahead should he take another step, fiddling with his suit jacket in an attempt to hide the days’ frolics but it was too late Chandra had already noticed the make up stains on his shirt.
“I’ve told you a thousand times to take your shoes off at the door.” Chandra said, shuddering at the mess he had brought with him into the house.
“Sorry I forgot.” He sheepishly replied.
“I wish I found it so easy to forget things.” Chandra sighed, turning her face away from a man she no longer understood.
The cake scowled at him, he froze, the sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, knowing this day should have been filled with joy for Chandra yet there was only sombreness. An unsettling silence rang in the air, the type where breath and heartbeat disappear, everything is still and there is nowhere to escape until it’s broken.
“I’m leaving tomorrow and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Where will you go?” Dinesh asked, half relieved and half concerned for the increasing uncertainty of his future.
“Somewhere to celebrate my birthday.” Chandra said, watching the candle wax melt into the creamy glazed icing.
Chandra hoped her barely used rusty red car wouldn’t fail on the motorway. She didn’t like the responsibility of driving and recently she had been making the most of Birmingham public transport so it hadn’t felt necessary. From tasting new flavours at food markets and spilling drippings of hot sauce from tempura prawn bao buns on her cream lace blouse only to wipe it into a giant fiery stain to visiting modern art exhibitions with sculptures which held some similarity to her own GCSE Art submissions and all these trips had all been accompanied by Zoya.
Chandra had been Zoya’s English Literature and Creative Writing lecturer for her second year at university. Chandra found Zoya’s participation in class impressive, her intelligent writing, original erudite viewpoints and outright boldness let Chandra know that she was in a different league to her peers and although she praised Zoya when credit was due she didn’t overstate her accomplishments knowing that Zoya would succeed with or without a gold star from her teacher. Chandra also noticed Zoya’s lack of participation on days when her red hair was frizzier than usual, last night’s glitzy eyeshadow still shimmering and she looked like she should still be in bed with a large glass of water which she would have been if her attendance record wasn’t at stake.
Zoya was slim. She had an arm full of tattoos which didn’t really have any deep meaning but she argued that not everything was meant to. Her hair colour changed regularly, she was able to carry off outfits that others couldn’t, faux fur coats, patchwork dungarees, fluffy hats while other days it would be an all black ensemble with heavy eyeliner importantly explaining to her three hundred and forty two social media followers, ‘I don’t really have a look, everything I wear is just mood dependent.’
Zoya had not yet had a serious romantic relationship and she wasn’t worried about it. As a teenager she knew that it would be difficult to find, she never took a liking to anyone at school, finding herself disappointed in their dullness and lack of life experience. Instead, she had found the adroitness from her year nine politics teacher and the dexterous abilities from her year ten art teacher unusually enticing. Rather than question which boy was going to ask her to the prom, Zoya lusted over her parents' friends who offered advice and would often debate with their precocious friend’s daughter at length, they were impressed by her promise and formidable nature but unfortunately for Zoya, that was the extent of it it.
Zoya openly admitted how excited she had been to have the distinguished Chandra as her tutor, and claimed the title of superfan, “In a non creepy way.” She had read both of Chandra’s novels, back to back and was baffled by the lack of success they had bestowed. Zoya was desperate to preserve her connection with Chandra past her second year, she wasn’t nervous about many things but had been described by her friends as “on edge”, about asking Chandra if she would be her mentor to which an unlikely relationship arose.
“You know, I wasn’t sure if you would come to the open mic night.” Zoya said reminiscently.
“When?” Chandra asked, picking at the large portion of parmesan fries they were sharing.
“The first time we went, at Moody’s.”
“Oh. Well I don’t blame you. I would have been worried, inviting someone to such a dive as well.” Chandra mocked.
“Hey!” Zoya laughed, poking Chandra gently in her ribcage.“I remember feeling really anxious then.”
“Why?”
“Well, I didn’t know what your feelings were for one and well, I always felt there was a lot on the line.” Zoya opened up, a flutter of anxiousness taking over her body.
“Which is?”
“Well, you.”
“That seems like so long ago now. Look how much has changed.” Chandra said, brushing away the serious conversation being instigated. Chandra’s mind took her to the university student she had first met who had now become the budding brilliant news journalist with so much more still ahead of her.
“Have you thought anymore about spending some time with me in Brighton?” Zoya theatrically fluttered her eyelashes.
“It’s all I can think about.”
“Oh I don’t know if you’re being serious or not. I hate it when you do that.”
“I am thinking about it.” Chandra said, turning to look at Zoya in the eyes.
“Well, stop thinking and do. What’s stopping you? You have the summer off. You part timer.” Zoya insisted, still not convinced of her commitment.
“Well I’m in the middle of my novel.”
“I can help you write it. Or at the very least I can make you some cups of tea and snacks to keep you going. That doesn’t sound too terrible does it?” Zoya said in earnest.
“It doesn’t sound too terrible at all.” Chandra said, popping several fries into Zoya’s mouth.
Chandra savoured the last gulp of her black coffee on her pit stop to Brighton, she strolled along the high street, glancing into each shop and noticing their clientele. She really ought to be on her way but there was something in her bag that she wanted to set free. The night before as she packed her suitcase, she could feel a pair of large pupils curiously watching her, wondering where she was going. She remembered the night she had walked into a chinese takeaway just before a group of boisterous men appeared, she had become nervous and dropped the lucky cat into her bag. After her first marriage, she had formed a habit of taking things out of nervousness and found a joie de vivre in the thrilling anticipation of whether she would be caught. Over the years, Chandra had the intention of returning it; she once even drove to Kent but either couldn’t find the takeaway or it was no longer there. She wondered who Zhang Yue was and hoped that maybe by giving it to a charity shop, it would one day reach the hands of its rightful owner.
“Hi there. Would you take this?” Chandra asked.
“Sure. Thanks.” The shop assistant said, briefly looking up.
“Hopefully it will bring someone luck.” Chandra said, wishing that her own turn for good fortune was waiting around the corner.
