Half the World Away - страница 54

‘That’s near where Dawn lives,’ Shona says. ‘It’s huge.’

‘Twenty per cent of the world’s computers are made in Chengdu,’ Bradley tells us.

‘Seriously?’ Tom says.

‘Yep.’

‘Our new masters,’ Tom says.

‘Is spicy food OK?’ Rosemary says. ‘Or we can ask for little spice?’

It would be handy to have some sort of rating system on the menus, sticks of dynamite, maybe, or little bonfires.

We’re at a picnic table with bench seats. Tom and Shona are forced to sit sideways, Tom at my left and Shona to my right, as their legs won’t fit underneath. In the centre of the table is a large hole and below it a Calor-gas canister. We agree to try the standard hotpot menu. Rosemary and Bradley chatter in Chinese and then Bradley orders.

It’s ten at night and the street is still busy. There is a stall opposite us, piled with cherries and lychees and – it takes me a moment to identify them – goldfish in bags. A group of teenagers sit on their scooters, playing with their phones. I watch a couple walking with a toddler. The child holds the string to a shiny gold balloon that bobs above her. She keeps glancing up at it as though she’s afraid it will fly away, or burst.

I’m so tired that I wonder if I could just make my apologies and leave. My back feels as though the vertebrae are fused together. My eyes are gritty. Around us the other diners – all Chinese – talk with raised voices to compete with the traffic and each other.

We are served small bowls of pale green tea and provided with chopsticks, bowls and spoons in a cellophane pack. There is a plastic box of tissues at either end of the table and small wastebaskets on the floor. I sip the tea. Beer arrives, and I drink some of that.

‘So, your scooter was nicked?’ Tom says to Shona.

‘Yes.’ She pulls a face.

‘Nightmare,’ Rosemary says.

‘Does it happen a lot?’ Tom says.

‘Yes,’ Shona says.

‘I wish someone would steal mine,’ Bradley jokes. ‘I fancy a new one. But there’s a garage at my place,’ he explains, ‘in the basement with a security guy. No one is going to mess with him.’

‘You use it for work?’ Tom says.

‘Yeah – it’s an hour by bus, half that on the scooter. No-brainer.’

‘Isn’t it dangerous?’ I say. ‘The traffic?’

‘You get used to it,’ Shona says. ‘I’ve not seen many accidents – people aren’t going that fast, really.’

‘Are all the scooters electric?’ Tom says.

‘You can get petrol ones but you don’t need a licence for the electric ones so most people use them,’ Bradley says.

‘Will you report it stolen?’ I say to Shona.

She shakes her head. ‘No point.’

The waitress brings over a large metal bowl with a lid and places it in the hole. She stoops between Bradley and Rosemary and lights the gas.

The dish is not immediately appealing, a milky grey liquid, reminiscent of washing-up water, with chunks of tomato, bamboo shoots, shredded cabbage, something cream-coloured that I can’t identify, and brown meat floating in it. Next comes a large bowl of sticky rice, which Bradley doles out. There is a plate of spice, red chilli and dark green coriander. Shona points her chopsticks at it. ‘If you like it really hot, add some of that too.’

Following their lead, Tom and I pick up food from the hotpot, fishing out what we’d like to add to our rice. My first taste is savoury, salty, a rich stock with a sizzling punch that numbs my lips and catches at the back of my throat. I cough and drink some beer. The steam rises from the pot, my nose runs and sweat breaks across my scalp and face. The tissues are handy for blowing noses but also to wipe my mouth and fingers when things get messy and my attempts to use the chopsticks fail. The cream-coloured food is tofu, unlike any I’ve had before: silky, with a delicate taste almost like shellfish. The brown meat turns out to be pork, streaked with fat. I lean back from the table and fan my face.

Rosemary smiles. ‘We say to eat hot food is good in Sichuan because it is so damp here. This is very good for your health.’

Tom laughs. ‘You’re bright red, Jo.’

‘I’m not the only one.’ I snag a sliver of tofu and eat it. The chilli catches again in my throat and I cough.