‘We are? Don’t I have a say in this?’ Not that there would be any arguments from me, but still, I couldn’t let him away with that level of surety.
He laughed and pushed my hair back off my face, looking into my eyes. ‘Why? Do you have any objections, boss?’
I rolled my eyes and grinned weakly. ‘No.’ I was pathetic, I thought. A few hours of admittedly earth-moving passion and my resolve crumbled.
We lay in bed until early afternoon when we realised we were starving.
‘Let’s go back to my place and I’ll make you lunch.’
‘I can’t. I have to house hunt.’
‘Or…’ he paused, and I could see he was thinking. ‘You could bring all your stuff over and move in with me until you find somewhere.’
I closed my eyes. Here we go again. Why did I never have a relationship that started with a gentle friendship, then a couple of years to get to know each other before the engagement announcement went into The Times? Then another couple of years of occasional illicit sexual encounters, before we walked up the aisle, pension plans and endowments in place. I’d seen porno movies that had lasted longer than my courtships. Whoever invented the phrase ‘seize the day’ must have known I was coming.
I suppose, I thought as I emptied my underwear drawer into my suitcase, I just didn’t see the point of delaying the inevitable. I loved the spontaneity and excitement of the beginning of a relationship. Enthusiasm and optimism, they got me every time.
At least it solved my immediate accommodation problem, but it created another one. The hotel management would frown upon me becoming overfamiliar with the staff. I explained this to Sam.
‘If we are going to do this, Sam, then nobody can ever find out about it. Promise me.’
‘And here’s me planning to announce it over the tannoy tonight,’ he replied, looking mortally offended.
‘I’m serious, Sam. Nobody, okay.’
‘Whatever you say, boss.’
‘And stop bloody calling me boss. From now on it’s “babe”, “darling”, “sweetheart” and in moments of passion, “you gorgeous, amazing shag”. Understood?’
‘Yes, boss.’ His smirk made me giggle. I had the feeling that this was going to be interesting. Irrational, eventful, unpredictable but definitely interesting.
I made Sam leave five minutes before me, carrying my suitcase, then met up with him outside. We caught the MTR to Causeway Bay, then climbed a million stairs to street level. Any man who could do that carrying my suitcase and not require oxygen at the top deserved a medal. We weaved in and out the crowded streets before reaching the entrance to a block of flats. We were about to enter when a voice called out.
‘Mr Sam. Lay Ho Ma.’ I’d already learned it was Cantonese for ‘how are you?’
We turned around to see the source of the greeting. I was confused. The only people in sight were three old homeless men lying on camp beds under a flyover across the road. Sam beckoned me over to them and shook their hands, talking to them in Cantonese. He introduced me and they giggled, winking at Sam and patting his arm proudly.
‘Carly, this is Huey, Dewy and Louie. They help me with my Cantonese in return for a case of beer and some food money every week.’
‘What are their real names?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think even they remember. They told me someone once called them that and it stuck.’
‘They live here?’ I looked around at the pile of sleeping bags and the makeshift beds. It was hard to believe that the authorities let them live like this in the middle of one of the world’s busiest cities. Sam nodded, as the other three began chatting to him.
‘What are they saying?’ I asked him.
‘That you look like a woman with lots of, em, energy,’ he laughed.
Impressed by their easy friendship, I smiled. Sam Morton was full of surprises.
We said goodbye and went upstairs. I was feeling nervous. What if his house was a disgusting bachelor pad? It struck me that I knew nothing about him. I know, any rational person would have had these misgivings long before they were standing in the hallway, next to their suitcase, about to enter their new home.
He swung open the door and as I edged inside, I sighed with relief.
The flat consisted of three rooms. The largest was open plan, about twenty-five feet square with white walls and wood flooring. In one corner was a double bed, made up with cushions scattered across the top. Piles of books stood to attention next to it. In the centre of the room were two cream sofas, parallel to each other with a pine coffee table in the middle. Against one wall was a hi-fi unit with a television, video and stereo, against another there was a row of wardrobes. In the opposite corner from the bed, there was a small pine dining table and two chairs.
I explored the other rooms. One was a shower room, with a spotlessly clean white bathroom suite and the other was a tiny kitchen, with only room for two cupboards, a fridge, a two-ring stove and a microwave.
Sam had obviously discovered the minimalist look long before it was fashionable. I could live here, I decided. It would be cosy, but it was clean and bright and comfortable and so much better than anything I’d looked at in my budget.
He pulled me to him and kissed me.
‘Welcome home.’
I resisted his manoeuvres to christen our new abode and made for the kitchen. For once my stomach was overruling my libido. I opened the cupboards and searched for sustenance, while he made space for my things in his wardrobe.
I opened a couple of cans of soup and heated them on the stove, then found a stick of fresh bread in the cupboard. When it was ready, I called him over. As he pulled out a chair at the dining table, he watched, puzzled, as I passed him, carrying a large Pyrex dish on
