The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) by Michele Gorman Read Free Book Online Page A

There was someone else looking at it, and you can’t even imagine this girl. She didn’t stop giggling the whole time we were together. She invited me for a coffee, which was nice of her, but she’s so flaky, Sam. She claims that crystals heal people, and has a guru called Neil. Seriously, what guru is called Neil? Apparently my aura needs cleaning.’
    ‘Oh, that’s great. I’m sorry darlin’, but can I call you back? Mr. Nguyen just came in. Okay Mr. Nguyen, I’m happy to go through it again. Sorry, Han, I’ll talk to you later, okay?’ He hangs up. Convo interruptus.
    I suppose it was a little unfair to expect him to kick his feet up on the desk for a chinwag at work. I should be more understanding. When I worked for my horror boss in London, I wouldn’t have been able to take a personal phone call, let alone enjoy it. Still, now I feel unfulfilled and frustrated. I wanted our conversation to ease the panicky loss I’m feeling. Instead, it just sharpened it. Given that he’s done nothing to make me feel insecure, I have to admit the possibility that it’s me.
    This is not a comfortable thought as I pick my way through Sheung Wan’s higgledy-piggledy streets, careful to avoid the shallow woven baskets that are strewn across the pavements. Most are full of urchins and scallops that have been drying in the heat of the day.
    One basket holds what look like reptilian lollipops. They’re actual lizards, splayed out flat on sticks. Do diners gnaw on them like jerky, or soak them in water till they reconstitute into their fleshy former selves? Their heads are still attached. I’m not crazy about eating something that could, theoretically, watch me fork it in. This feels a million miles away from the sleek skyscrapers in Central. In street after narrow street shops sell things that I've never even contemplated putting in my mouth. Most look a bit like garages, with wide roll-up doors on the front, some with shelves along one wall and a counter, some with hundreds of bags of mysterious dried things. This is what I expected when I moved – the sheer foreignness is overwhelming, and exciting! Wonderful pungent smells waft through the street, herbs and grassy, hay-like aromas, fish and a spicy, smoky smell. It’s strong but not off-putting.
    It’s one of the true joys of this city. You never know what’s around the corner. The next street is lined with Chinese medicine shops. Although they’re probably just called medicine shops here, like Swedish massages are simply called massages in Stockholm. Window labels tell me they’re selling deer antlers. They’re rich brown and fuzzy, chopped into sausage-sized pieces. And there are dinosaur teeth. Surely those are supposed to be in a museum. And… what on earth is that? Through the window I glimpse a man, a customer, standing in front of a tray of dark, rounded, fleshy-looking objects. He’s picking each one up and weighing it in his hand. I notice one on a tray in the window. It has definitely come from an animal. I wonder which part? Uncertainly I enter the shop, catching the clerk’s attention as the customer leaves. ‘Do you speak English?’ I ask politely. He comes over to the counter as if ready to answer my question, so I point to the object. ‘What is this?’ He smiles, but doesn’t answer. It feels rude to walk out now, so instead we begin a game of charades.
    I point to it, then to my tongue. It could be a tongue. A burst of laughter erupts from the corner. I hadn’t noticed that another clerk, a lady, is sitting at a little table shaving pieces off an antler. The man shakes his head, looking unsure now. He splays his fingers out from his ears. I get it, it’s from a deer. Not antlers though. He takes his hand and moves it to his midsection. Oh. Oh no. I’m about to make this nice man mime deer penis. I wince in anticipation. Then he puts it on his bottom and flicks it up and down.
    ‘A tail?’ I say hopefully, praying he hasn’t got his