Free The Colour of Tea by Hannah Tunnicliffe Page A

shop? I bring my friend. He speaks the English.”
    “Oh, right. Sure. I can do that.”
    “Two o’clock, no problem, okay?”
    “Okay, yes. No problem. Um, my name’s Grace.”
    “Okay, Grace.” He hangs up.
    *   *   *
    Pete drops his bag and coat onto a chair by the dining table and shakes his head, his mouth a thin line. He flips on a light, which makes me realize I am sitting in the dark. I sip from a glass of wine.
    “Bad day?”
    “Bloody nightmare.” He sighs.
    He’s come home irritated every night this week, normally making a beeline for the computer to check his sports betting and zone out. He wriggles out of his leather work shoes; they fall with heavy percussion against the floorboards. He pulls at his tie so that the knot hangs around the third button of his shirt—defeated. Then he comes over, sits next to me, and looks out the window. He glances at my hand, which is propping me up, as if he might pick it up and hold it or kiss it. Instead he turns his head to stare back out at the night sky.
    “Everything okay at work?”
    “It’s not even worth going into. It’s just a mess.” He shrugs.
    I imagine what he does not tell me. The mass of problems and glitches that bloom during the opening of a new casino. The deadlines that have been missed, the poor performers who continue to drag the team down, the unrealistic expectations of the investors and the board. Pete has been through all this before, but his shoulders still droop with disappointment, as though he had hoped for something different. He pulls his hand over his face, rubbing, as if he is trying to wipe off the day.
    “Wine?” I offer.
    “Yeah, thanks. That would be great.”
    I refill my glass and pour one for him. It’s only my second glass, but I can already feel the effects, my legs soft and leaden and my head lighter. Dutch courage.
    He sits up on the sill, leaning against the opposite corner. We watch people walking back and forth on the pedestrian crossing below. The view is always so dynamic, people moving and going places. This place does not sleep for a moment. Some days it makes me feel like I am the only person in the world inside an apartment, doing nothing. It makes me feel like a sad princess in her tower.
    Tonight there are a lot of children walking about with their parents and nannies and grandparents. I’ve become used to seeing little ones up at midnight or even later. I imagine Mama’s shocked voice whispering in my ear as a child walks home from a restaurant with his parents, being tugged along by the arm. “My God!” she would have said. “It’s well past his bedtime!” Forgetting that I had been awake at that time often—baking cakes, making volcanoes out of flour, building with LEGOs, drawing pictures of whales.
    “I think it’s a lantern festival or something. The end of Chinese New Year,” Pete explains, as though he can read my thoughts.
    “So we’re well and truly in the Year of the Rat then …” I say.
    He nods before leaning his head against the glass.
    I think back to last week’s fireworks and the bangs that splintered through my thoughts like lightning. “Is that why there are so many kids out?”
    “Yeah, I reckon.” He traces his finger around the rim of his wineglass.
    He must be right, as a few of the children are bouncing inflatable toys containing battery-powered lights. Below us a brotherand sister are skipping. He has a blue toy in the shape of a hammer, which he grasps by the handle, and she holds an enormous Hello Kitty head tied to a thin plastic stick. She swings it up and over her shoulder, like it’s a fishing line she’s casting. After a few swings, she connects with her brother’s head and he spins around to face her. Soon enough the blue hammer thuds against her forehead. She lets out a round-mouthed wail. We can’t hear it from where we are, but her face is red and aghast.
    “Ha!” Pete snorts. “Did you see that?”
    “I think Junior is going to get into