Half the World Away - [11]

1) Tai chi sessions

2) Ballroom dancing. Really

3) Mah-jong players

4) People doing circus skills – juggling, diabolo

5) Musicians

6) Tea-drinkers at all the teahouses

7) Calligraphers who paint the paving stones with characters using giant brushes and water

8) People selling toffee – it’s shaped like filigree cut-outs of the signs of the zodiac, I think

9) Sword dancers

10) Men hitting spinning tops – serious ones, unlike the toys we had. The tops are the size of a large mug, the whips crack

11) People sketching and painting

12) People feeding the carp (with baby bottles, I kid you not) – all the ponds are full of them

The park is heaving. It feels like a carnival or festival but this is just an ordinary day. I am stopped four times by curious people and explain in my atrocious Chinese that I’m from England. I have practised this every day since I arrived. Each time I get a look of total incomprehension. Perhaps I have said, ‘Follow that teabag,’ or ‘How pretty is your camel.’ But the word ‘Manchester’ opens doors. Eyes light up, smiles blossom. Manchester! Manchester United! The Red Devils have paved the way for travellers the world over. Well, those of us from Manchester. I nod and do a little hand cheer, as if we scored a goal. Which we have in a way. Twice people ask to have a photograph taken with me. The last woman pats my arms and chatters away, and I smile and nod and hope I haven’t accidentally agreed to anything, like teaching all her grandchildren English every evening. Or marrying one of her sons.

The park is open from six in the morning till nine at night, when lanterns and lights glow among the bamboo plants and trees. And it feels safe. Another difference from the one at home where there’s an edginess, the peace shattered by some prat on a mini motorbike churning up the field, or a group of drunk kids getting physical.

Perhaps the biggest difference is that at home we’re out in public but we keep ourselves to ourselves – all that British reserve, we stay in our own little cliques. A nod as you pass someone is the height of interaction – apart from the dog-walkers, who like to mingle with their canine friends. In China, everyone is into everyone else’s business – there doesn’t seem to be any notion of privacy. People stare and interrupt and join in and interfere all the time. A crowd forms at the drop of a hat. It’s like a big party where everyone knows everyone else, except they don’t, they just act like they do. Lxxx

CHAPTER TEN

Emailing with Lori is sporadic. She usually replies a few days after receiving a message but rarely unprompted. We keep abreast of what she’s up to by following her blog. She posted a new one today, about parks. I showed it to the boys and we talked about the pictures.

Isaac kicks off at the tea table. ‘I hate macaroni cheese. It looks like sick.’

‘Yeuch! Gross!’ says Finn.

‘It’s that or toast,’ I say, my voice calm, not wanting a battle.

‘Don’t want toast.’

‘You’ll be hungry,’ Nick says.

Isaac sets his jaw, scowls, pushes at the pasta with his spoon, moving it to the very edge of his plate. A quick look at me to see if I’ll stop him. Another jab and the first of his food spills onto the table. I reach over and remove his plate.

‘Isaac,’ Nick shouts, ‘stop messing.’

Isaac jumps down, runs out and upstairs. I’m disappointed in Nick. If he hadn’t risen to the bait…

Nick shoves back his chair, the scrape on the laminate floor shredding my nerves. ‘Leave him,’ I say.

He hesitates.

‘We’ll finish tea. No point in him disrupting it for all of us.’

‘What’s for pudding?’ Finn says.

‘Apple pie,’ I say.

‘Yum. Is Isaac getting any?’

‘Don’t know.’ I jump in before Nick lays down any laws. ‘We’ll see. Are you going to feed Benji?’

Finn nods and starts to move, but I tell him to have his apple pie first.

Nick smiles at Finn but I can still feel the tension in him, almost hear the hum of impatience and irritation just below the surface. I’m getting so tired of his bad mood and resent the fact that I have to mediate between him and Isaac. We’ve always been good at parenting, well, good enough, presenting a united front. I’ll have to tackle him about it. Of course it’s the stress of redundancy that’s behind this but his refusal to talk to me about it makes it worse. Like he’s wallowing in it, savouring it. A martyr.

After another tantrum about toast tasting funny and a crying jag, Isaac is asleep at last. Finn is in bed with his book. He’ll drift off soon enough, and when one of us prises the book from his hands, he won’t wake.

Downstairs Nick is doing a shopping list, checking the fridge and the cupboards.

‘Can we talk?’ I say to him.

He makes a noise, noncommittal.

I sit down and pour myself a glass of wine, emptying the bottle. Nick opens another and refills his glass.

Sitting down, I say, ‘I’m worried about you.’

‘He needs clear boundaries,’ Nick says.

‘I’m not talking about Isaac,’ I say. ‘I’m talking about you. You’re shutting me out.’

‘I’m doing my best,’ he says.

‘Maybe you should talk to someone.’

‘Jo,’ he shakes his head, ‘come on.’