Chapter 3

The weather isn't as I expected, and I'm glad I listened to my nephew, when I put on these clothes. It's uncannily hot for September in Britain, and to be honest, it annoys me. Everything annoys me, lately. But this muggy, unseasonal heat drives spikes of pain down my lower back, up my leg. The old ballet injury's been playing up again, ever since I started physical therapy a few months ago. When I complained, stupid doctor said maybe I should give up dancing.

As if I could.

As if there's anything else that gives sense to my life. If I stop dancing, might as well stop breathing. Is it any wonder I lost the flimsy self-control I still managed to hold on to? Is it any wonder I tried to find some respite elsewhere? Is it? Especially after the stunt the fuckers at the production company pulled on me. It was their fault, not mine. They should've checked the horses, made sure the animals were healthy. I complained the steed was limping, keeping weight from one of his hooves, but did they listen? That stupid assistant, did she listen? No wonder the horse threw me down when I had to push it to a gallop.

Not going to think about that, not now, no way. I'm already on edge for having to be here, what's gonna happen if I let my mind wander in these dark, narrow alleys? Sitting up straighter, I take a look out the car window, the bucolic scenery not really doing anything for me. I'm a city man, have been one all my life. But the school I attended was situated in a place just like this, wasn't it? Further up north, though. This is actually pretty, if I'm to be honest. All the green, and the blue skies dotted with fluffy white clouds, how fucking pastoral, how bloody soothing. My brother seems to think this is what I need, to get my head straight. It's not gonna be that simple, though, is it?

Not when the doctors insist on telling me my career as a dancer is over, not when the bloody network insists on replacing me with another actor for that main role, not when all the threads on social media are blaring about my sudden downfall. It wasn't a downfall; it was a horse fall. Maybe YuMing's right. Staying in China will only drive me mad. At least here no one knows who the fuck I am.

"Nearly there, Shushu," my nephew says, and I fake a smile his way.

My eyes meet his girlfriend's through the rearview mirror, and I can't help the usual feel that I've been slapped across the face whenever I meet her stare. This girl has one pair of cool, blue eyes. Like ice they are, and so intense. I actually believe she can hypnotise people with those eyes. Maybe that's what she's done to JunJie, boy's way over his head with this one. That's why his mother dislikes the girl so much, this is the real thing, xiao Jie's fallen in love for good, I think. Hope it doesn't end bad.

The house pops into view just then, a grandiose, modern architecture affair, with windows everywhere. The light inside must be phenomenal. Actually, everything about it is right up my alley, fits my every taste. Contemporary, minimalist, unadorned. Sherry parks the car up the driveway, and I'm quick to exit, suddenly excited to view this property. Of all those JunJie and my brother forwarded me, this is the only one that sparked my interest. I can see myself here for a stint. Maybe this is what I need, after all, a quiet, secluded place in a small, British countryside town, near my nephew. Who I seem to get along with far better than my own brother. Fifteen years separate me and YuMing, he was more of a father figure than an elder brother. Only ten stand between me and JunJie, no wonder I tend to see him as my xiao didi.

I follow him and Sherry, who rings the bell. The sound of a car starting catches my ear, I turn round to watch a dark blue van drive down the alley, coming from the side of the house. There must be a garage there. Was that the owner? Vehicle looked far too shabby for someone who owns a house like this. Maybe some repair man, for a last-minute job. Hope this place isn't falling apart, inside.

The door opens, and on the threshold stands the oddest figure I've ever laid eyes on.

Who the fuck is this? The owner's son?

Tall, lanky, in his late teens, early twenties, perhaps my nephew's age. But a far cry from JunJie. Where my nephew is conservative in his tastes, this young man is outrageous. A long-sleeved tee shirt - that fits loosely and is a bit frayed - covers a slim, long torso. Nothing wrong with it, black and white stripes in a classical cut make it look rather bland and inconspicuous, if it wasn't a tad too short for the wearer, who's quite tall. It rests just above his waistline, and if he raises his arms, I'm sure I'll get a good glimpse of his navel. It's the jeans that have me staring wide-eyed and shocked, though, like I'm one of those old-timers who gets easily appalled at young people's behaviour. When did I become this dowdy? The look on JunJie's face and Sherry's eyes vindicates me, they're equally stunned by the choice of apparel. These jeans are so ripped the entire front of his legs are on display.

Sure, they're nice, well-toned legs, but is this the way to welcome a prospective lodger into your place? No, this won't leave a good impression. Unless you're of a certain disposition, that is. I can't deny the boy has a good-looking pair of legs. And it's not those alone, his face is handsome, if in a juvenile, youthful way. For some reason, though, I can't stop gawking, and am a little short of breath.

"Hi," he says, and smiles openly. Great smile; genuine, welcoming. Girls would say it's a cute smile. The dimple on his cheek must drive them crazy.

"This is my uncle," JunJie is quick to say, "Lin DaoShi. Shushu, this is Wang YanJai, who owns the house."

I reach out a hand, which he shakes. Strong, honest shake. "Ni hao," I say, though I don't even know if he speaks Chinese. His name's Chinese, though, he looks the part, with that wide face, those high cheekbones, the crescent-shaped eyes. Lovely eyes, in fact, very dark, velvety. "Pleasure to meet you."

He blushes, smile tighter and less wide, as if he was suddenly shy. His eyes linger on mine, though, for what feels like a long time, and even if I find myself mentally scolding him for the brazenness, fact is, I don't do anything to break the stare, either. As if I'm fascinated by him. He's a good-looking boy, indeed, a bit effeminate, but very attractive. If you like the type, of course.

"Please, come in," he finally says, and steps aside to let us walk through.

Spacious, light-filled hallway; that's good. I take mental notes of all the house's features, the tall, wide windows being what really sticks to my head. We march up the stairs to view three good-sized bedrooms, the master suite being the finest. Massive window takes up one entire wall, and I can already picture myself there, waking up to the sight of greenery and those never-ending skies. I wonder what a boy like him does here - although the images that spring to my mind are best kept out of it. He doesn't hide his true nature, does he?

How can he own a house like this? I know, parents' passed away, and he stood to inherit, it's the only thing that makes sense. Must be an undergraduate, by the looks of him, and live on campus, bet that's how JunJie met him. Place is too big and stark for someone like him. I can't help stealing hooded glances at the boy, wonder if he was born here or in China, wonder what kind of life he's had. The way he dresses, doesn't seem like he comes from money, but those could be designer jeans, for all I know, price tag skyrocketing from being ripped to pieces. What do I know of fashion, after all? Though I get all these clothes to wear to events, I'd be happy if I could spend my day in dance leotards.

What am I doing? What's it to me, what this boy wears and how he came to own this place? Why does it bother me, that I catch him side-eyeing me, why does it make my pulse race and my skin warm? He smiles every time I catch him at it, and I can't help smiling back. Has a contagious little grin, he does. Reminds me of Chen San Niang, and I don't want to be reminded of my past lovers. YuMing's right, I need sometime away, far from what's been driving me crazy these last few months. Last few years, to be honest. A couple of weeks without being faced with what I can't control will do me a world of good, I think, and this house looks like the perfect place for that.

Living-room is large, full of light, with a nice dining-room just out of it. Kitchen is modern and streamlined, though too big for my needs, but opens to a garden that takes my breath away. This is what will eventually sell this house, that green expanse of grass surrounded by trees that once Spring hits and they blossom, will turn this place into a fairyland. I slide the doors open and step outside, the air fragrant with the scent of grass, a warmth carried in the soft breeze. Yes, I'll take it, I don't really need to look any further. This is the place. I have a good feeling about this, this is the place where I'll heal and rejuvenate, so I return stronger, more focused, ready to pick up and move forward. Onto bigger, better places.

"Did you decorate this place yourself?" I ask, turning round to meet the boy's eyes. Of course he hasn't, but maybe it'll shed some light on how he came to own this house. Why I'm so curious about it, beats me.

"No, Allen did, he had impeccable taste. And he'd already been living here for years, when we got married."

Huh? What did he say? I must have misheard him. My eyes swerve to his left hand, and sure enough, there it is. A simple, elegant wedding band. Platinum, by the looks of it.

"So you didn't redecorate?" I insist, if only to force him to repeat himself.

"There was no need, house's perfect as it is. Like I said, my husband had impeccable taste."

Husband.

Well, I could tell just by looking at him that the boy's gay, I mean, doesn't really hide it. But married? He's what, nineteen, twenty? Who the fuck gets married at that age? And where's the husband? Oh, maybe they're moving and need to rent the place. There's a knot in my stomach, I don't know why. Maybe because it reminds me of my own failed relationships. The marriage that never took place. Trying to push that right out of my head - it's one of the reasons my brother wants me out of China in the upcoming weeks - I walk off to a corridor I'd failed to spot previously, but can't stop staring at the boy. How can he be married? What kind of person did he marry? He's of an age where you want to enjoy your freedom, have some fun. At twenty, you want to meet people, not settle down. That comes later, after university, at least.

Didn't he say had, when referring to the husband? Did they divorce, and he got himself the house in the settlement? Not a bad deal, come to think of it.

"What's down there?" I point at a door and he rushes to join me. Heat comes off him in waves, as he stands by my side, taller than me by half a head.

"The office, come, I'll show you. There's a toilet to your right." He opens a door to the world's tiniest toilet, and I can't help chuckling.

Still follow him down the corridor, studying his long, lean legs and the tapered waistline. There's something of the dancer to him, present in the way he moves his limbs, the delicateness of his gestures, a certain elegance that flows through him. I wonder if he ever took to it, JunJie did mention something about a dance studio, didn't he?

I walk into an office that's not as spacious as the other rooms, but is as thoughtfully decorated. This one, in a manner that's functional, more than aesthetic. A large desk, with a glass top and metal legs, takes up the central space, like a throne. Behind it, what looks like a comfortable chair sits abandoned and neglected - for there's an air of neglect to this place, as if no one's entered it in quite a while. The walls have shelves and cabinets all around - except for the picture window, of course - and they're filled with what looks like medical tomes. Husband must be a doctor, then. If they separated and he got the house, why hasn't the other man collected his stuff? Come to think of it, there were suits, shirts and ties in the closet, weren't there? Maybe not separated, then. But why does this room look so cold, so bereft of life?

I sneak another glance at him, wondering just what's going on with this marriage, and can't fail to notice the way he blinks repeatedly, eyes searching around as if he's reacquainting himself with it. Or reliving old memories made inside this chamber. Shit, he looks like he's about to cry.

"I'm sorry, haven't yet got round to clearing up this room," he explains. "Allen's stuff is still here."

Allen's stuff. Still here. So it's not supposed to be. Why hasn't the former husband taken his stuff? Why does it have to be the boy clearing up someone else's shit?

"He's a doctor?" I ask, dying to get to the bottom of this mystery, too self-conscious to actually ask openly.

"Cardiologist. I'll clear it up if you decide to rent, don't worry." His voice trembles, like there's a knot in his throat.

"Where's your husband? Is he the owner of the house?"

He stares out the window, but worries his lower lip, which seems to be trembling. Shit, I hit a sore nerve for sure, he really looks on the verge of tears, now.

"Dr Allen Sommers passed away seven months ago," Sherry says.

"Eight," the boy whispers, voice shaking.

I didn't see this one coming. Should have crossed my mind, though, his eyes have been gradually losing their initial light the more we move about the house. Must be full of memories, and by the looks of him, this death took a toll on the boy. Guess he really loved the deceased, huh? Maybe that's why they married young, it was a moment of passion, one they'd probably have regretted later in life, when their personal growth also led them apart.

"Must have passed away young, huh? I mean, you're so young, yourself. Had you been together for long?"

Shouldn't have asked, his face crumples and he looks like he's about to burst into sobs. Shit, me and my big mouth. I reach a tentative hand his way, don't even know why. What am I gonna do, comfort him? Don't even know this boy, but now I feel guilty I brought the entire subject up.

"Dr Sommers was older than Jai," Sherry explains, "by at least thirty years. They'd been married for what, two years? When he passed away."

Thirty years older? Sugar daddy? Boy looks the part, but his reaction... nah, I'm not buying it. Maybe the deceased took advantage of him, seduced him with his worldly mien, his lifestyle, the attention he shed on the pretty young thing. But from this boy's reaction, I'd say there's far more to this than meets the eye. He's still mourning the death of his husband, which must mean he did love the man. A sudden melancholy washes over me, I wonder why.

"I'm sorry, I need some air," he mutters, and rushes through the sliding doors.

I notice a shaky hand covering his mouth, one that muffles the sobs fighting to come out. We stand still, watching him swerve to the right, hair that's a bit too long and in need of a wash flopping against his neck, those long legs scissoring as he puts distance between himself and the rest of us. For some reason, my heart shrinks and hurts, I'm suddenly swarmed by a sense of pity so immense I can hardly keep myself afloat. My fault, I shouldn't have asked, shouldn't have prodded, at least not in front of the boy. Should have waited until I was alone with xiao Jie, to slacken my curiosity.

Sherry moves to my left, intending to go after him, I curl fingers round her wrist without even meeting her eyes.

"Let me," I say, and shock even myself; this is so unlike me.