Sunny Days and Moon Cakes (8 page)

Finally I drift off to sleep, Mama’s bird nursery rhyme running through my head and my sketchbook still firmly clutched in my hands.

China! We’re finally in China. I feel a rush of excitement as I wait to step off the plane. Mum is standing beside me. Dad and Min are in front of us. Min asked the air steward if she could be the first person off the plane, because she’d been born in China and this was the first time she’d been back. I was mortified and Mum seemed a bit embarrassed too, but Dad thought it was hilarious. The air steward said he’d make sure of it. He asked me if I wanted to join Min, but I shook my head and stared down at the floor.

“She never talks,” Min said. “It’s really boring.”

Mum told the man that we’d follow on behind. When he’d gone, she gave out to Min for being mean to me, but my darling little sister went all huffy. “I was just telling the truth,” she said.

She was, but it still hurt.

There’s a crowd of people behind us now, all anxiously waiting for the doors of the plane to open so they can disembark. I can feel their impatience bubbling and snapping at our heels. It’s making me nervous.

Mum leans towards me. “Special day for you, pet. For all of us. First Sullivan family visit to China – the country that gave us our two beautiful daughters.”

I nod.

She presses her lips together, the way she always does when she’s trying not to cry. The last time she was in China was when she collected me and Min from the orphanage. I guess being back here reminds her of all that. I take her hand and squeeze it to say,
I know, Mum
.

“Thanks, Sunny,” she says. “You’re my best girl – you know that, don’t you? I love you so much.” Tears spring to her eyes.

I give her a
Mum, come on!
look and she smiles again and wipes her tears away with her fingertips.

“Sorry. Just your old mum getting emotional. Ignore me, sweetheart.”

The plane’s door is wide open now and the air steward waves Min goodbye and wishes her a good trip.

“Ready, Sunny?” Mum asks me.

I nod. My heart is racing, so I take a few deep breaths. As I walk out onto the plane’s steps, a wave of hot air hits me. It smells different to Irish air – metallic, sharp and strangely familiar. I squeeze Mum’s hand again.

“Warm, isn’t it?” she says. “Not like rainy old Cork, eh?”

Then we make our way down the steps and onto Chinese soil.

We walk up towards the airport building. Min and Dad are about ten strides ahead, Min dragging Dad along by the arm. She’s so impatient. I wish she’d wait for us. I always thought we’d share this moment together. Then suddenly she turns around and gives me a big smile and I start to feel better.

Once we’re in the main building, I stop and look out of the window. The sky is bright yet hazy, like there’s a thin grey veil over the sun.

“That’s the smog,” Mum says, reading my mind. “Do you remember it?”

I nod. There’s a surge of bodies behind us, pressing us forwards, and Mum says, “Better keep moving, Sunny. Let’s try to catch up with your dad and Min. Now, do I have the passports or does he have them?” She drops my hand and starts searching in her bag.

I continue walking, gazing out at the tower blocks in the near distance, thinking how strangely familiar everything is starting to feel. The hazy sun, the buildings, the smell, even the smog. And the number of people. In my memories of China, there are always hundreds and hundreds of people, all bustling along.

The next thing I know, I’ve lost Mum. She was just beside me, but now she’s disappeared. I climb onto some orange plastic seats near by so I can study the crowd ahead of me. When I still can’t see her, I start to panic. I have to find her!

A Chinese woman about Mum’s age comes up and asks me if I’m all right. I just stare at her, helplessly. Even the thought of speaking to her makes me more scared. After a while, the woman shrugs and moves on.

I’m afraid I’m going to faint, so I step off the seat and sit down on it instead. What if I can’t find Mum or Dad? I don’t even know the name of the hotel we’re staying in. Tears fill my eyes and I wipe them away.

I look up when I hear someone else say, “Are you all right?” in Cantonese. An official-looking man in a white short-sleeved shirt is standing in front of me.

I shake my head.

“Are you lost?” he asks.

I nod.

“What is your name? You cannot stay there,” he says when I don’t answer. “Do you understand? Please follow me.”

I stay glued to my seat, terrified.

“You must come with me to the office,” he says, irritated. “You cannot sit here on your own.” He reaches down to take my arm, but I shift away from him. I’m finding it hard to catch my breath, so I have to gasp in little puffs of air and my chest is starting to sting, like someone’s squeezing it really hard. I know this is just a panic attack, because I’ve had them before, but it still feels horrible and scary.

“Sunny? Oh, thank God.” It’s Mum.

“Do you know this girl?” the man asks, this time in English.

“Yes,” Mum says. “She’s my daughter. Thanks for your help.”

The man is looking at me curiously. “Is she all right? Does she need medical assistance?”

“No, she’ll be fine in a minute,” Mum says. “She’s just having an anxiety attack. We’re good, thank you.”

Mum sits down beside me as the man walks away. My chest is still incredibly tight and I’m gasping for air. “You’re going to be OK, Sunny. You just got a fright. Try to take deep breaths.” I feel Mum’s hand on my back. “Remember your milkshake breathing. Big breath in, and blow it out, nice and slow. Try to follow my voice. In … out. In … out. That’s it, good girl. Keep going. In … out…”

I do as she says, and slowly my breath goes back to normal and the pain in my chest starts to disappear. After a few minutes, I lift my head and look at Mum. I’ve never been so happy to see her in all my life.

“What happened?” she asks. “You were just gone. I’m so sorry I lost you, pet.”

My eyes well up again.

“Oh, Sunny.” Mum starts crying too. “You must have been so scared. Especially when that man came over and you couldn’t talk to him.”

“There you are.” Dad appears through the crowd, with Min riding on his shoulders. “We were wondering where you’d both got to.”

“I lost Sunny for a moment, Smiles,” Mum says. “She was right beside me and the next minute she’d disappeared. It gave me such a shock.”

“Nadia! How could you…?” Dad stops talking when he sees how upset Mum is. Instead he smiles gently at me.

“We’re all together now, that’s the main thing,” he says. “Hong Kong’s a very busy place, girls. From now on we’re not going to let you out of our sight. And if you do get lost, stay exactly where you are and ask someone who looks official for help.”

“Sunny can’t do that, Dad,” Min says.

“Sorry, of course,” Dad says. “We’ll give you a piece of paper with our mobile numbers on it, Sunny, and instructions asking the person who finds you to ring us immediately. We’ll write it in English and Cantonese and Mandarin. Cover all bases.”

I know he means well, but that makes me feel so small. Away from Little Bird and everything I know, I’m as helpless as a baby.

“I love this hotel,” Min says, bouncing on the super-king-sized mattress of Mum and Dad’s bed while I look out of the window. “What’s it called again?”

Dad frowns at her. “The Four Seasons. And you’re going to break that bed, Min.”

Min stops jumping and flops down belly first on the puffy feather duvet, which gives a gentle sigh underneath her. Mum’s taking a shower in the huge cream marble bathroom before we head out together for our first dinner in China.

“I want to
live
in this hotel,” Min says. “For ever and ever. And eat room service and swim in the pools every day.” The hotel has
two
swimming pools – at two different temperatures.

Dad walks over to stand beside me. “Quite a view, all right. That’s Kowloon over there on the mainland.” He points to the ultra-modern-looking skyscrapers across the water. “We’re on Hong Kong Island now, but we’ll go over to Kowloon tomorrow. Right now, I’m starving. Let’s go and wait for your mum downstairs.” Min’s so full of beans I think he’s worried she’ll wreck the room if he doesn’t get her outside.

* * *

“Small girl with the black hair and the cherry T-shirt,” Dad whispers to Min as we sit in the lobby.

Min studies the girl for a second then says, “Cherry Red. Dedicated to keeping little kids safe from robbers and kidnappers.”

“What’s her super power?” Dad asks.

“Poison. Each of those innocent-looking cherries on her T-shirt is actually a deadly poison-loaded bomb. She can pluck them off and throw them at baddies, killing them instantly.”

“No killing in the superhero game,” Dad reminds her.

“Freezing them instantly then,” Min says. “My turn. Tall man in the suit holding a briefcase. With the glasses.”

“Tricky one.” Dad sucks in his breath. “How about Super Glasses Man? Those are no ordinary glasses. They can see through, um…” Dad’s struggling a bit. “Clothes.”

Min tilts her head. “To look for guns and things? Or to see ladies’ boobies?”

“Min!” Dad looks appalled, but then his expression breaks and he starts to laugh. “No! To look for guns and explosives.”

Min fakes a yawn. “Boring. That’s a rubbish superhero. What do you think, Sunny? Who wins?”

I point at Min.

“Yeah!” She jumps off the sofa and does a little wiggling-bum victory dance.

“Thanks, Sunny,” Dad says grumpily. “She only won because I’m jet-lagged.” He’s ultra-competitive and a bad loser. He takes every game seriously, even silly ones like this. Mum says that’s what makes him so good at his job – he’s an oil trader – so we shouldn’t tease him about it.

“Let’s play again,” Min says. “Me first this time. Boy in the stripy top with the headphones.” Min points at a good-looking Chinese boy of about fourteen who is nodding his head to his music.

“Supersonic Ear Boy,” Mum says, sneaking up on us and making me jump. “His hearing is so sensitive that he has to wear those earphones to deaden sound. Oh, and he can even make out thoughts. So he can hear Sunny thinking he’s cute.”

I thump her on the arm.

Mum just laughs. “So, everyone ready? I’ve been waiting for you guys for ages. What kept you?”

“Ha, ha, Mother,” Min says. “Very funny. Race you all to the door.”

As she tears away, Dad shouts after her, “Min Sullivan, what did we tell you about running off?”

Min is waiting for us outside the entrance to the hotel. It’s the early evening now, but the air outside is still warm and smoggy. It catches at the back of your throat like builder’s dust.

“Next time, you wait inside the door, young lady,” Dad says sternly. “I mean it. This isn’t Ireland, Min – understand?”

“OK, sorry,” Min says, the smile dropping off her face.

“We wouldn’t want to lose you, pet, that’s all,” Mum says. “Remember what happened to Sunny at the airport?”

“It wouldn’t happen to me,” Min says. “I’m not an idiot who won’t speak to people.”

“I’ve warned you before about being unkind to your sister,” Mum says. “You know it’s not Sunny’s fault.”

Min rolls her eyes. “It’s always about Sunny. Sunny, Sunny, Sunny.”

“Min, that’s enough!” Mum snaps.

“It’s OK, Nadia,” Dad says, putting his hand on Mum’s arm. “I think Min gets it. And you won’t do it again, will you, Min? Say sorry to Sunny.”

“Sorry,” Min mutters, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it.

“Ready to do a little exploring before dinner, girls?” Dad says.

“Yes! And hurry up, slowcoaches, there’s a taxi.” Min waves her arms in the air and a yellow cab pulls up in front of the entrance.

“Let me or your mum do that, please, Min,” says Dad.

We all bundle into the taxi – Dad in the front, and me, Min and Mum in the back. On the way to the restaurant, Mum talks to the driver in Cantonese.

“My daughters, Soon Yi and Min Yen,” she says.

The driver tells Mum that we are beautiful girls.

“Dohjeh,”
Mum says. Thank you.

I mouth the word to myself, hearing Mama’s voice ringing in my ears. It was one of the first words she ever taught me. “Don’t forget your pleases and thank yous, Soon Yi,” she always said. “It shows respect to your elders.” There are different words that mean thank you in Cantonese.
Dohjeh
is for when someone gives you a gift or a compliment,
mhgoi
is for when someone helps you.

“Mum, when did you first learn Cantonese?” Min asks. “When you were my age?”

Mum laughs. “No, a long time after that. I was a teacher here, remember? I had lots of Chinese students and I did some evening classes. My Cantonese came in very useful when we were adopting you, because your Chinese family spoke it too. That’s pretty unusual. Lots of people in Shenzhen speak Mandarin instead. The adoption agency was surprised – but pleased, I think – that I was able to speak to you both in your native language.”

I’ll never forget Mum speaking in Cantonese the first time we met her. It made me feel less afraid and less alone. She said, “Hello, Soon Yi and Min Yen. We’re so happy to finally meet you.”

“Well, I can speak
three
languages,” Min says. “English, Irish and Cantonese.”

I glare at Min. She knows a few words of Cantonese – Mum taught her – but she can’t “speak” it, not the way I can. I wish I could show her, by talking to the driver. But even the thought of opening my mouth in front of him makes me feel sick.

“Tell us about our Collection Day,” Min pipes up, oblivious to the fact that I’m staring at her.

“Let’s save it until Monday,” Dad says. “It’s a long way to Shenzhen, Min. We’ll have plenty of time for stories on the drive.”

I stare out of the window again. I vividly remember seeing my new white parents for the first time. I was terrified, literally shaking all over. But once I realized that the smiling couple really was taking both of us, me and Min, and that Mum knew Cantonese, I stopped being quite so scared.

“Sunny? Did you hear what I said?” Min says.