Free The Orchid Tree by Siobhan Daiko

him. ‘Happy Birthday,’ he says, touching my arm.
    My heart dances. I’ve known him for about eight months now, but never tire of looking at him. I’ve such a crush. If only I were more gown-up and knew what to do where boys were concerned . . .
    How can I tell if he likes me as much as I like him?
     
    ***
     
    On the 30 th of October, I’m at an informal celebration for Charles’ eighteenth birthday on the village green. Even though the weather is still hot, the air has turned dry and we no longer drip with sweat. Mrs Pearce has saved her flour rations and has baked a sponge cake in one of the communal ovens. I’ve contributed the few biscuits I kept from my comfort parcel.
    The Red Cross deliveries indeed included some desperately needed medicines. Only a small amount of quinine, though, which has to be shared among countless others. Mama sits on the edge of the group, sipping watered-down tea. She’s receiving treatment, but she’s still weak.
    I bite into the unaccustomed floury texture of the cake and lick my fingers. There were tears as I struggled to find something pretty to wear. In the end, I put on one of Mama’s blouses. It’s too big for me and looks funny worn over my shorts.
    I giggle at Charles; he’s doing an impression of Professor Morris, and has got his “now for your Latin homework” saying spot-on. A loud drumming noise echoes. A flock of silver planes soars above. I can just make out the stars of the US Air Force under their wings. ‘Look! They’ve come to rescue us!’
    ‘They’re probably headed towards Canton,’ Charles says calmly.
    Gunshots ring through the air. The Japanese soldiers at the fort on the other side of the camp have started firing at the planes, even though they’re a mile high. ‘Ha,’ Charles laughs. ‘They’ll never hit them.’
    ‘Come indoors,’ Mama says briskly. ‘We don’t want to catch a stray bullet.’
    In our tiny room I huddle with my parents, Charles and his family. Explosions boom in the distance and, through the window, a cloud of black smoke rises behind the mountains.
    ‘They’re bombing the airport,’ Papa says in a loud voice.
    Charles leaps up. ‘It’s begun.’
    ‘At last,’ Mama murmurs.
    ‘The Americans are going to set us free,’ I squeal, excitement making me dizzy.
     
    ***
     
    The next afternoon, I set off for school as usual. There hasn’t been a repeat of the bombing raid. Surely there’ll be another one soon? Then the Japanese will be so badly hit they won’t be able to do anything but surrender Hong Kong.
    I sit on a mat spread on the floor. Charles lowers himself down next to me, and I give him a surprised glance before going back to the algebra problem scribbled on the back of an old piece of card. There aren’t any exercise books available for school. I chew the end of my pencil; I haven’t got the faintest idea how to do the sum.
    ‘Here, let me help you.’ Charles talks me through the working-out step by step.
    ‘I’ve think I’ve got it.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘No. Not really. I hate maths. I’m much better at geography.’
    ‘Then, when we do geography, you can help me.’
    I’m sure he’s good at geography too, but the lie doesn’t matter. He fixes his gaze on me and our eyes lock. I glance away then back again, not knowing what to say. Idiot! Ask him something about himself! ‘Is it strange for you to be in your old school?’
    ‘A bit. I keep expecting to bump into one of my old teachers. Which school did you go to?’
    There’s only one school considered suitable for expatriates. ‘The Central British School in Kowloon. It took me ages to get there and back every day. I would have gone to boarding school if it hadn’t been for the war.’
    ‘I’m hoping to go to university in London. When the war ends.’
    ‘I sometimes wish my mother and I had been evacuated. Papa was ill so we stayed on. My parents never believed the Japanese would dare attack.’
    ‘My mother tried to get us