RM Fanfic Contest: The Date

by ~cheesecakem-consumo

The Date: Just a Spoonful of Shrimp Paste Helps the Pickled Leeks Go Down

The library was filled with thick, silent air. There was a minute sigh from a young toddler sitting on a beanbag every few minutes, but that was all. A public library is a place of quiet reverence to the spirits of Isaac Asimov and Douglas Adams.

A horrendous polyphonic version of The Toreador Song cut jaggedly through the atmosphere.

“Doo DOO do-do-do, do do-do doo doo.”

The dozen people in the ten metre range of the ring tone were thrown out of their literary bliss. An elderly man in an armchair tore his newspaper in half. The toddler began to whimper, her cheeks becoming rosy pink and her eyes glistening and her lips wobbling like a five hundred dollar massage chair from Japan...

Alex rubbed his right temple gently. He was having a hard time keeping his temper in check today. “Thanh!” he hissed quietly. “Why can’t you get a normal ring tone? It’s a disgrace to Carmen. Look, you even made the little girl cry.”

A girl of no more than four years –adorably sporting sequinned rainbow overalls, no less- should not be reduced to tears. It is a crime to make such an endearing creature weep. For the love of all that is holy and cute, the overalls were sequinned!

“You ruined my book!” she yelled (quietly; the library was a second home to her and she knew the rules). “You shattered the delicate ambience of my reading.” A fresh wave of salty tears ran down her round cheeks. “The Mongoose Pirate was just about to propose to his lady love, only to be interrupted by the mournful baa of the sheep left to drown in the shipwreck...and you just destroyed the suspense!”

The girl clenched her eyelids shut and pointed an accusing finger at the young woman, who was staring in shock. “The Mongoose Pirate swears a terrible vendetta against you!” she vowed, her mouth open wide in an ungodly shriek.

“Shssh!”

The toddler quietened to muffled sobbing. Thanh’s hand flew to her mouth.

“I’m sorry!” she cried, rushing forward and squatting so she could encircle her arms around the child. “I’m so sorry about ruining your book.” She gave a sidelong glance at the open page.

“Oh, the Mongoose Pirate and the Racoon are such a lovely couple, aren’t they?” Thanh asked conversationally, hoping to comfort the girl. “And the Racoon looks stunning in those polka dots. Very colourful.”

The little girl nodded, wiping her eyes. The shining sequins on her rainbow overalls seemed to grow brighter. “A notorious band of evil pirate pigeons ambushed the Racoon one starlit night and painted her with nine different colours exclusive to the Bunnings Hardware range! The Mongoose Pirate loves her very much. They are so romantic...” With a wistful sigh and a dreamy look in her eyes, the girl stared off into the musty interior of the library, vendetta forgotten.

“Wow, nine colours?” Thanh gasped, in the voice she used to hold discussions with young children (though this girl seemed to have a brain too big for her rainbow overalls). “I hear that’s a very lucky number.”

“Jackie? Where are you?” a voice called out. From behind a bookshelf a man appeared, carrying an armful of books on computer technology, martial arts and one called ‘The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People’. There was also a book on how to meditate. “There you are! What’s all this screaming about?”

The girl’s head perked up. “This lady ruined my book,” she mumbled. “She had a horrible ring tone. But it’s okay now. She said sorry to the Mongoose Pirate.”

Her father’s face softened. “Oh, well, that’s fine.” He turned to Thanh, who stood up and looked through her hair bashfully. “You know, I was about to totally beat you up there.”

The young girl’s eyes widened. “No, Daddy, please don’t do-”

“But you’re only a young girl, and it wouldn’t be right,” the man went on. “But if you had been a guy my own size...” He dropped his books down onto a table and mimed a few feeble hook punches. “Bam! You get my drift? If you were a guy my size and you had upset my little girl-”

Thanh nodded, venturing a weak smile. “Oh yes, I understand completely.” Behind her back, her hands made frantic clenching and waving motions to her friends. A pity she had never learned sign language.

The toddler stood up from the beanbag, saying pointedly, “Daa-ddy...!”

There was a crazed, excited grin on her father’s face by now. “Like, your brains would have been smeared all over these books. Totally smeared. Like, spaghetti sauce smeared...”

The girl dropped her arms by her side and took a deep, sucking breath.

“Dad! Stop pretending to be Bruce Willis!”

“SHHSSSH!”

The man froze mid-roundhouse kick and went quiet, sneaking a glance down at his young daughter. With a resigned sigh, he picked up his books. “Darling, let’s go grab lunch.”

The child, who had been motionless in her position of dramatic agony (she had thrown a marvellous pose of pulling out her hair) retrieved her story book and trotted off between the shelves. As father and daughter walked away, the group heard a faint, admonishing voice. “Daddy, did you just use the word ‘brain’ in plural noun form? Be honest, Daddy.”

“I think I need to sit down,” moaned Thanh as her knees failed her. Alex and Raoul rushed to support her, which only resulted in them colliding into one another. With a flick of her wrist Christine flung a chair across the floor, which slid into position for Thanh to collapse on top of it.

Her arm trembling, Thanh held out her mobile phone and looked at it dazedly. “As if the freaky Bruce Willis guy threatening to beat me to a pulp with the most badly-aimed strikes in the history of action hero wannabes wasn’t enough, my boyfriend just broke up with me!”

“Oh, that’s terrible!” Christine said. “Uh, Thanh...you did say that your beau has just ended your relationship, didn’t you? Or am I very bad at understanding this modern language?”

“Don’t worry; I didn’t like him very much. Especially now that he’s broken up with me. Well, I did like him a little, but there was just no connection. No zap.”

Alex looked over her shoulder at the phone’s screen. “Thanh, didn’t I warn you? It's an internet relationship. In fact, it's only a friendship from my point of view. You may fall in love over the internet, but you're really falling in love with their words. And if that's as far as it goes, it's all right... But if you start treating him like a real boyfriend, it's going to get very messy very quickly. Do you understand my logic?” He narrowed his eyes and peered closer. Alex furrowed his brow at Thanh.

“You should have known better than to trust a dating website called Beautiful Birds and Buzybees. Would you look at the misspelling!”

Thanh sniffed. “Behold he wonders of text language,” she said sardonically. She frowned at her phone. “Does anyone know what a hork and a half wax are?”

Christine gasped and drew back. A look of pure horror and disgust was on her pale face. “He doesn’t mean to call you a whore, does he?”

“I’ve absolutely no idea,” Thanh replied, snapping the phone shut. She raised her arm to slam it onto the table, remembering just in time that she paid a lot of money for it. “It’s probably just another of his stupid made-up words. I’m okay with coming up with creative phrases for fun, but this guy was just so weird. It’s like he had another language! One day he’d send me a text filled with stereotypical ‘gangster’ slang...and the next day he’d send me an email written completely in Latin!” The exasperated woman threw up her arms.

“I can’t read Latin, and I hate people who overuse slang. You don’t have to use it like salt on a bland steak! I’m Vietnamese, for the love of cheesecake!”

An irate voice hissed, “Would you be quiet over there? Please, this is a library.”

Thanh winced, looking down miserably at her knees. Her companions looked on with pity and patted her shoulders. “Ai, I’m talking about food again. I’m hungry, and right now I could really do with some bún bò Huế!”

Raoul stepped forward, a finger raised in awkward offering. “You look a mess right now, dear girl. I- I would be happily oblige to escort you to wherever you are going.” His face froze in confusion for a second. His eyes were pools of frantic, futile thought. “Er. What’s that thing you just said?”

Nobility. They never think things through.

Thanh gave an appreciative, if slightly red and teary smile. “I’m not going anywhere special, just to my parents’ house. Mum cooks everything.” She paused, thinking carefully for a moment. Her mind was debating feverishly with itself. She wanted to get to know this friend of Alex’s –he had the most gorgeous hair- but... There was no way she could let him go and meet her family!

“But I’ll be fine on my own,” she assured, with a hint of regret in her voice. “It’s not like I’m concussed or anything.”

“Oh, but you are in emotional trauma!” Raoul countered. “You could be in such a daze that you walk right into the middle of a road. Why, I’ve heard of dreadful instances when inebriated men were killed by horse-drawn carriages.”

“The husband of Marie Curie died when a carriage ran him over, fair enough,” Alex agreed. “I’d go with you, but who knows what could happen to Raoul and Christine.” He looked apologetically at them. “There’s still a lot to learn about the modern world. Like computers...automatic weapons...politicians, and such. Let Raoul take you, you could use someone to talk to. Christine and I will stay here and keep working.”

Thanh’s brain jerked to a stop, then started up again. “No, no, you don’t want to go to my family’s house!” she tried. “I swear, it’s a madhouse in there! And it’s really out of the way, a long way from the city...”

“Thanh, I thought it was a twenty minute bus ride to the suburbs?”

Thanh gave what she thought to be a menacing look at Alex. He only lifted a hardcover book in front of his face, reading intently on the seven habits of highly effective people.

                                                    ---------

“Who’s the guy?”

Thanh elbowed her way past her elder brother. “A friend who decided to escort me home to make sure I don’t get gripped by a suicidal urge to stand in the middle of a busy road. Monsieur de Chagny, this is my brain-dead brother, Tuan.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Raoul said automatically.

“Hi.”

Raoul stood on the doorstep for a long moment. It would not be a lie to say that he had had a sheltered, upper class childhood. But nevertheless he had been a young lad and he wanted to get dirty and have fun every so often. Oh, the messes he made in the bedrooms and the way his nursemaid yelled... Good memories.

Still, Raoul de Chagny had never in his life come across a shoe mountain before. (The day he had spent hours in M. Collet’s shoe shop trying to find a pair that fit did not count.)

Tuan was standing in the centre of a sea of sneakers, sandals, slippers and heels. You could not glimpse his actual feet. It wasn’t that his jeans were too long...

In the corner of his mind, Raoul calmly noted that the twenty-first century obviously had no notion of how to make shoes look good.

A shrill, warbling voice wafted into the narrow hallway. “Tuan!” it shrieked. “Stop blocking the guest’s way and bring him in! Thanh says he’s a good friend.”

The youth turned around, gesturing with a flick his head for Raoul to follow him. A narrow trail was soon cleared through the footwear. The ocean of shoes closed in behind them with a distinct schlurp-oof noise, hungry to reconquer the floor space. Raoul swore that a black leather school shoe bit angrily at his heel.

The kitchen was small, but surprisingly not as stuffy as the kitchen in Raoul’s childhood home. However, it possessed the same ambience of flavoursome food cooking. The scent of fresh mint was overpowering.

“Mum, do we still have any rice noodles?” Thanh was inside a tiny pantry, sticking her arm into a drawer.

Raoul was almost bowled over by a small boy of seven sprinting into the kitchen. “I trust you will be fine here with your family now, Thanh?” he asked shakily, grabbing at the doorjamb to regain his balance.

“No, no, stay!” Thanh’s mother said jovially. “You’re not too busy for a bit of food, are you? Tuan, get me some tissues! Left the agar too long...”

“Yay! Jelly!” the small boy cried, jumping up and down. An ecstatic grin was on his face, his eyes sparkling. He knew of few other joys than jasmine-flavoured agar jelly desserts.

“Thanh, can you get your brother out?”

“Ben, the stove’s hot. Go into the living room and play.” Thanh droned.

“But it’s my jelly!”

“Benjamin, go. Mum...do you have time to make bún bò Huế?”

The woman at the stove spared a cursory glance at her visitors, pushing a stray lock of black hair out of her face. “Oh, not again. Your boy dumped you, eh? Thanh, you must stop getting so upset! Or at least get a comfort food that takes less time to make. Tuan-! Can someone else give a woman some tissues?”

“I’m not upset,” Thanh retorted. “I’m just hungry. I can make it myself.”

“Jelly, jelly, jelly!” Ben sang happily.

Raoul noticed a rectangular box with some soft pieces of paper sticking out from the opening. He pulled at one and made his way toward the stove. Thanh’s mother gave a bright smile.

“What a polite young man. Thanh, you should look for boys like your friend. You can’t trust those people on the internet...”

“Mum, you’re embarrassing me. Don’t you know anything about subtlety?”

“Moving on past your heartbreak already, Thanh?” Tuan asked mockingly from the doorway.

Thanh’s mother whirled around. “Tuan, if you’re not going to help, get out of the kitchen. And Ben, you know the jelly has to set in the fridge first. Go and play with your toys, just not here!”

Raoul gulped loudly. His spine hurt...

Thanh stopped her foray in a cupboard and stared at her mother, horror written all over her face. “Mum!”

“What?” she asked. “All right, all right, I’m making your noodles.”

Thanh pointed worriedly at her mother’s hand. The woman looked down.

“Oh dear!” She hastily retracted her arm. Raoul’s stomach filled with air again, bulging out to its normal position. The bead of sweat on his forehead slid down the rest of the way. He pulled in a deep, relieved breath.

“Ah... Thank you, Madame.” He couldn’t believe how stupid he must have looked; he could have just stepped backward, away from the blade. But fear and shock did a strange thing to your muscles...

The woman smiled sheepishly, looking at the kitchen knife in her hand with embarrassment. “Sorry about that.” She extended her other hand, and Raoul thankfully noted that it wasn’t grasping a sharp fork. Forks can be very dangerous if used inappropriately, you know. “Just call me Mrs Nguyen.” She turned back to the stove. “I’ll make bún bò Huế for both of you. Sit down!”

Raoul eased himself into a chair at the table, his gaze roaming idly around the kitchen. There were at least three analogue clocks balancing on the countertop. None of them were ticking. Grease blurred their faces. Thanh took a chair on the other side of the table, leaning on her elbows.

“I think that might be a bit too spicy for Raoul, Mum.” She reached for the plate of fruit. “I’m starving. Do you want a banana, Raoul? I feel guilty eating on my own,” she said as sweetly as she could. Thanh looked down at the fruit as she peeled it. The things Heather would say now...

“Western tongue, eh?” Mrs Nguyen busied herself with ripping open a packet of rice noodles. “Hmm, I suppose I do put a bit more chilli and spice into it than most others do.”

Thanh leaned forward and whispered to Raoul, “She likes things hot. She puts wasabi and mustard into her noodles all the time! I suggest you stay away from her noodle dishes. Except maybe phở... Nope, that’s under attack too. She goes overboard with the tương and chilli sauce.”

Raoul nodded carefully, peeling his banana.

Thanh’s eyes widened as she watched Raoul bite into it.

“Tuan!” she shrieked, standing up. “You did the meat thing with the bananas again, didn’t you?!”

Raoul coughed gently. This fruit smelled strongly of pork... He went cross-eyed, wildly reaching for the box of tissues. There was a jarring crash as the chair toppled over.

“I’ll get you for this, and then make rice cakes out of your skin! Thằng mọi da bò!” Thanh ran out of the kitchen, going after her brother. He was fleeing to his bedroom, which was probably the wisest option. “Tuuuaaann!”

From his position on the floor, Raoul listened to the glorious, incredibly feminine sound of infuriated slaps.

Raoul sniffed cautiously at the banana peel. It very clearly smelled banana-y. It was a banana on the outside, but on the inside... Intriguing. A banana of solid meat! The taste in his mouth was salty, and slightly oily. Raoul was almost certain that he hadn’t been poisoned. At least, he didn’t feel poisoned. It was regular pork, just in a different shape. He could understand why the trick was so effective. One expected sweetness, but the taste of pork would cause so much shock that one would be gagging in horror. When in actual fact it was completely normal pork...

Nevertheless, Raoul spat the mouthful out, and not a moment too soon. His head felt light; Raoul had been that close to vomiting all over the kitchen floor... If Chelsey ever gave him or Christine a banana, he would have to examine it carefully, for their own safety. Not that he didn’t trust her, but...a pork banana...!

“I still don’t know how the boy does that,” Mrs Nguyen said apologetically. “Take another banana.”

Raoul stood up shakily, brushing down his clothes. “No, I couldn’t. Do not trouble yourself about me, Madame.”

The woman turned with a flourish and placed two large bowls on the table. “Not my best, since I rushed awfully; must be my record time! The broth’s a little thin and substituted the ham hock with tofu... But enjoy yourself, okay?”

Thanh walked into the kitchen, panting. “He’ll...get it...later on. Hey, yum!” She sat down hurriedly. Another thought suddenly struck her. Thanh leaned forward again. “Whatever you do,” she whispered in Raoul’s ear, “don’t let my mum offer you any leeks-”

“The pickled leeks are in the jar,” Mrs Nguyen said happily. “Would you like some, Raoul?” She was already reaching for the jar, twisting the lid off.

“Er.” Raoul glanced at Thanh. She was shaking her head, her mouth opening and closing like a live silver perch caught in a stainless steel sink, the knife hovering above its head... But surely a few pickled leeks couldn’t hurt? The lady was holding the jar out to him.

“Why not?” Raoul said brightly. Thanh closed her eyes, muttering a prayer.

Why not? she thought to herself. Because my mother is a heathen demon who is fatally obsessed with pickled leeks!

Mrs Nguyen spooned a few small leeks into the broth. They were like white teardrops in an orange-coloured ocean. A pinch of spice and shrimp paste could go a long way.

“A few more?” Thanh’s mother asked. “Oh, there’s always room for a few more leeks! Adds plenty of variety, especially to a noodle dish so spicy. They’re cold too, so if you think it’s too hot, just bite into a leek.” She smiled widely. “Why, a pickled leek should be thanked for. So small and yet so full of flavour!” More pickled leeks splashed into the bowl, droplets of scalding hot soup falling onto Raoul’s arm.

He held up his hands, putting a grateful smile on his face. “I couldn’t possibly ask more from you, Madame.” Another leek rolled out of the jar. “You’re so generous,” Raoul said dryly. Plop, plop, plop.

Mrs Nguyen grinned back, and Raoul shivered in his seat. There was an Erik-ish gleam of madness in her eyes. The spoon in her hand moved-

"You know what I always say, Thanh," Mrs Nguyen said, in the absent-minded tone that is in the arsenal of all mothers (absented-minded in that harmlessly whimsical way, but leading inevitably to some earth-shattering revelation).

The two wooden chopsticks clicked together in the awkward silence that followed. The cube of tofu broke apart and fell back into the bowl, sinking into the fiery depths. "Mum?" was all Thanh could mumble.

"Viva la pickles, is what I say!" For a long moment Raoul gazed upon the woman's face, filled with all the suicidal, righteous enthusiasm of an insane zealot. The large spoon waved and cut through the air like a baton of demonic death. The jar of pickled leeks, however, remained in her firm grip -as if she feared they would fall or that a squadron of ninja monkeys would at that moment crash through the window and steal them.

"VIVA LA PICKLES, Thanh, that's what I say!" the woman screamed, raising the spoon in her hand in a salute to the heavens. Or rather, the plaster ceiling of the kitchen.

No ninja monkey in THIS universe purloins Mrs Nguyen's pickled leeks.

Meanwhile, Thanh made a quiet strangled noise. The oranges on the fruit plate seemed to snicker cruelly. The only thing that would make this worse, she thought, is if she leapt up onto the table and set fire to the curtains.

"Long live the pickles!" was her cry. "Freedom! Liberation! Lower grocery prices!"

“Mum,” Thanh at last interjected, her voice wavering, “I think Ben’s agar jelly’s ready.”

“I’ll leave the jar open,” her mother said cheerfully. She walked away, calling to Ben.

Thanh watched Raoul fumble with the chopsticks for a moment, then handed him a fork.

“Eating with two thin sticks,” he said. “Ingenious. Very versatile. Thank you for the fork, though.” He speared one of the pickled leeks and brought it to his mouth.

“Agh-! Dear God!”

Thanh sadly watched the fork clatter onto the tabletop through the steam of her noodles. “Sour?”

His face twisted into a grimace of culinary pain, Raoul nodded feebly.

“Pickles are like that.”

Raoul swallowed hard, tears forming in his eyes. He retrieved his fork and picked up a maroon cube floating in the soup. “What am I eating now?” he asked conversationally.

Thanh shifted in her chair anxiously. “Er... That’s a cube of congealed pig’s blood.”

Her companion bit off a corner. Its texture was similar to a firm jelly. “It definitely tastes congealed.”

Thanh giggled. Raoul kept eating it. Relieved, Thanh chewed on a mouthful of thick rice noodles. Wow, she and Raoul were dining together. She had tried so hard to protect him from her mother’s seasoning and her brother’s pranks, she hadn’t gotten to know him very well at all. At last they were alone. Somehow it wasn’t as romantic as Thanh had imagined it...

“Look what I drew!” A piece of paper was pushed in front of her face. The hand that gripped it belonged to her younger brother, Ben.

“Oh look, a polka-dotted racoon,” she said half-heartedly, scrutinising the rough diagram. The head of the animal was too big and bulbous for the body, and its limbs were not dissimilar to octopus tentacles in shape and length. It was well-coloured, however.

“Yeah, with purple and green and red and yellow and azure and peach and rust and cerise and auburn polka dots.”

Raoul glanced up at the drawing. His chewing slowed, then stopped altogether. A noodle hung out of the corner of his mouth. After a long moment his mouth opened wider, the noodle dropping back into the broth. His eyelid twitched.

Raoul’s chair fell backwards, knocking into the wall behind him. His legs curled up to his chest and he pointed a shaking finger at the child’s drawing.

“It’s wearing a mask!”

Thanh stood up, looking at Raoul worriedly. “Who is?”

“The racoon!” Raoul shouted in answer. “The spotted animal has a mask!”

Thanh turned her gaze to the picture. “Oh! That’s a black marking around the eyes, like- like a panda!”

“What in God’s name is a panda?!”

Thanh was getting nervous. “Ben, can you hide the drawing?” she urged.

The boy’s face had ‘crestfallen’ etched all over. “Don’t you want to see my picture?”

“Later, when Raoul’s not here, okay? He doesn’t like masks.” She nudged him away.

“You don’t want to see my picture!”

Thanh sighed; this was becoming increasingly similar to the incident in the library. “Listen, Raoul doesn’t like masks. Now go away so we can eat, or he’ll wave his hand and then you’ll have corn growing from your head instead of hair! Okay?”

Ben looked suspiciously up at his sister. “How can he do that?”

“Raoul has magic powers. He’s a... Um... A time traveller from the nineteenth century! He can do stuff like that! Now go, Ben.”

The child stamped his foot. “I don’t believe you! Your new boyfriend’s dumb!”

Thanh put her hands on her hips. She suddenly wished that Tuan was standing behind him, so he could tickle the back of Ben’s neck. That would scare him off. “Ben, that’s not polite,” she scolded.

“He’s even got blonde hair. Ew!”

“Ben!” Thanh yelled, saliva flying out of her mouth. “Don’t be racist!”

Their mother appeared in the doorway, alerted by the shouting. “Benjamin Binh Nguyen, did I just hear that come from your mouth? Young man, I will not tolerate racism in this house!” She came forward and picked up the crying boy in her arms, carrying him out of the kitchen.

Raoul was clutching his head, curled into as small a ball as possible on the chair. His bulging eyes looked out from between locks of his hair. Thanh gently patted his arm.

“It’s okay. The polka-dotted racoon is gone.”

Raoul’s feet gradually returned to the ground. He was breathing deeply and blinking a lot. “I’m sorry, Thanh. I have a great fear of masks.”

“Oh, like the one Erik wears? I met him when Chelsey brought him to the apartment.” She picked up her chopsticks again. “And don’t worry. I have a great fear of pickled leeks. ”

Thanh felt a fluttering in her chest when Raoul smiled at that. She went on to say, “Man, the crazy whopper I had to tell Ben! I spend too much time with Chelsey.”

He didn’t respond to that, but he appeared to be thinking about it. They ate in silence for a minute, with the clocks that didn’t tick and the smell of mint and five spice.

“Thanh, do you love your family?” Raoul finally asked.

She raised her head in genuine confusion. “Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity, you could say,” he replied.

Thanh focused on her noodles. “Love them, yes. Liking them is harder. I told you this place was a madhouse.”

“Sometimes it is hard to like your family, but you get used to their ways. It takes time, in some cases many decades,” Raoul said thoughtfully.

“I’m not far off twenty,” Thanh pointed out. “I moved out with Heather and Chelsey because I couldn’t stand my family anymore.”

Raoul straightened his back, abandoning his food for the moment. “You don’t mean that. I know you don’t.”

Thanh bit her lip, looking down so her scarlet-coloured hair hid her face. “All right, I don’t really. I moved out for the freedom, for the excitement of the city. I just didn’t want Tuan to be standing over me and making sarcastic jokes all the time, you know? Sorry about the meat banana. I have no idea how he does that.”

“I’m fine. Your mother’s leeks helped get rid of the aftertaste.” He bit into another of the pickled leeks. The taste wasn’t as strong as the first time, after eating the spicy noodles. Instead it was slightly refreshing. Mrs Nguyen was right after all! Even though she was still extremely fearsome when she was holding that jar. There were at least ten- No, make that a dozen leeks still somewhere in the bowl.

“I understand about having an older brother, by the way,” Raoul said. “He was twenty years older than me, and outrageously overprotective. I couldn’t go out on my own until I was sixteen.”

Thanh rested her chin on her hands, looking into Raoul’s eyes. “You’re very intelligent and sensitive, Raoul. You have an insightful approach. I like that.”

Raoul shrugged, smiling wryly. “A century of being tied to a post and having a madman rave at you can do that.”

Thanh chuckled, shaking with laughter. She casually flicked the hair out of her eyes. “You’re hilarious, too!”

Oh yes, Raoul thought. To everyone but Chelsey and perhaps Alex, the notion of ghosts carrying on is a bit unbelievable. He just smiled more, unsure of how to respond.

Thanh quietened, grinning at him. “What’s your brother’s name?”

The bowl of rice noodles was suddenly easier to look at than at Thanh. “His name was Philippe. He died when he was forty-one. It wasn’t a bad age, I suppose.”

Raoul heard Thanh gasp. “Oh my god, I am so sorry I brought that up.”

“No, don’t apologise,” he said quickly. “I haven’t talked about my brother for a very long time. It’s...nice to talk about family.”

There was a sobbing sound. Raoul leaned over the table and patted Thanh’s hand. “Don’t feel bad for me! I’ve gotten over the grief.”

A tiny smile flashed across Thanh’s face. She shook her head, laughing ruefully. “It’s not that, although I am sorry for you. I just imagined what it would be like if Benjamin suddenly died.” She took a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “It’d be awful! Mum and Dad would hardly ever smile; Tuan would be depressed and violent... And I’d miss the boy so much. It’s like a tragic Disney movie!”

She sniffed. “We’d better finish the noodles. They soak up the liquid if they’re left too long and get bigger. You might say they multiply.”

The atmosphere around the table was neither sad nor cheerful. It was simply peaceful, and nice. Thanh was satisfied with that, and she felt happy that Raoul had opened up to her about his brother like he had with no one else. There would always be next time if she wanted to spend more time talking with him.

“Thanh... None of the clocks in this kitchen work.”

She looked up at them. “Oh yeah. Mum likes to see the time from wherever she stands in the kitchen, but the batteries ran out ages ago. No one’s bothered to change them. They’ve just been there so long, yeah?”

Raoul wiped his mouth with a tissue. He was certain his mouth was still orange. “So what time is it really?”

Thanh left her seat and put the bowl in the sink. “Let me go check...”

Raoul sat in tick-less, tock-less silence.

Thanh reappeared at the kitchen doorway. “It’s almost four in the afternoon,” she announced. Thanh watched in amazement as Raoul leapt to his feet and ran out of the kitchen. He was surprisingly fast on a full stomach. “Late for something, are you?” she called after him.

“Christine and the others have been waiting for hours. I don’t know what I’ll say to them.”

“Just mention the pickled leeks,” said Thanh with a grin. “That’s a good enough excuse.”

Raoul turned the doorknob, but the door didn’t open.

“I’ll get the key. Be right back.” Thanh disappeared into the kitchen again.

Raoul took a moment to compose himself. How rude of him to run off like that! He would be sure to properly thank Thanh and her mother...

“Now, if I can remember which key it was... One, two, three, four- Here.” Thanh shoved the key into the lock and turned. Standing to one side, she held the door open.

“Monsieur de Chagny!”

Raoul straightened from his bow, and winked. “I found the food delightful, Mademoiselle Thanh! I’ll be sure to recommend your mother. I’m certain we’ll meet again, but for now, au revoir!” He stepped through the door, tripped on a stray stiletto (that Thanh’s mother never wore), stumbling the rest of the way. And then he was gone.

Thanh let go of the doorknob, staring down in wonder at her knuckles. That gentle kiss on the hand...

Not bad for a first date, Thanh, she though happily. Even if it was at your family’s house.

“Who’s Christine?”

Thanh spun around to see her little brother standing innocently with his hands behind his back. “Er... I think that’s his wife.” Oops, she thought immediately after.

“Wife?!” Tuan cried out, coming out from his bedroom. “Thanh, this is worse than the crush you had on Charles Dance! And he exceeded your age by forty years.”

“I got over that crush when I was thirteen! And Raoul’s only twenty-one!” she shot back.

“But he’s married!”

“I’m telling Mummy!” Ben screamed.

“No, no, don’t you dare!” Thanh leapt after the boy. “Ben, I’ll give you a chocolate if you shut up. And you!” She marched up to Tuan, stabbing a threatening finger at him. Her eyes oozed the murderous intent of revenge.

“Don’t fool yourself into thinking I’ve forgotten or forgiven the banana thing!”

                                                    ---------

The sea was calm. In fact it was so calm, it was barely moving. In fact, it wasn’t moving at all. It was too lazy. The wind was lazy as well, and so was the sun. The Mediterranean can do that to you. Everything was taking the climatic equivalent of a nap.

“Well, what a thoughtful boy to be making drawings of me,” said the Racoon, in hopes of rekindling conversation.

“Aye,” the Mongoose Pirate agreed. “And the way that lass defended me! Aye, she’ll be a fine shipmate, and make a lucky pirate captain very happy one day.” The sunlight glinted magnificently off the blade of his cutlass. He had one hand on his hip, the other arm raising his blade in salute to the sky, and a debonair grin on his face. He thought he looked rather dashing, but those knowledgeable in disco moves were secretly humming ‘Shake Your Groove Thing’.

An impatient baa interrupted  the lovers’ talk. It was a forward-thinking sheep that the crew had affectionately nick-named Wilbur, for sentimental reasons unknown.

“I say, would you stop dillydallying and rescue us in need? You’re not getting paid to just stand there!”

“I ain’t on wages,” replied the Mongoose. “I take booty when I sees it. ‘Sides, we’re all stuck in this tableau until Jackie starts reading again. Mustn’t go on wif the story wiffout the reader!” Which was a shame, because he had an itch on his nose...

The Polka-Dotted Racoon would have nodded in agreement, had it not been for their current circumstances. Frozen in time...again. “She’ll not read it in the car. She’ll wait until she gets home, lock her bedroom door, then rumple her quilt just perfectly and check the chocolate truffles are at the right consistency.” The Racoon was sitting on the wooden rail of the ship, dangerously unbalanced. Had there been any swell she would have fallen right into the sea. The Mongoose made a mental note to rescue her first, no matter how irritating a sheep could be.

Wilbur the Sheep groaned, “Well I do so wish she hastens. Poor Albert’s come down with below-decks-steadily-filling-with-seawater fever!”

“Mphlerple fagooglermint ABBA-GOOSHY-SLARTIBARTFAST-SQUEEZLE-HYA-TERRYPRATCHETT!” cried Albert, which translates from Fever Gibberish to Sheep to Mongoosian to Humanoidese as, “Help us quick, there’s an orange in my nose!”

The Mongoose Pirate swivelled his eyes as reassuringly as he could to the sheep. His sword arm ached for action and general heroics. Well, while they were all there...

“My dear multi-coloured racoon, I can not wait a second longer, not even for my most cherished reader! You are my soul mate and I love you! Marry me, my sweet!”

Tears slowly formed in his lover’s eyes. “Oh darling, this book has been borrowed a hundred times but this page never gets old! Each time I swear you are more romantic and I love you more and more every time I say yes!”

The Mongoose Pirate’s debonair grin widened a millimetre. “My dear, I’d embrace you if the lass hadn’t stopped at this scene!”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “And every time, you two get more and more boring!” He did his best to shake his head, which didn’t shake very much. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Look at all those exclamation marks...”

“And your posh, snobby accent gets more annoying ev’ry time too!”

The Polka-Dotted Racoon’s eyes were shining with happiness. “And to think, it all started thanks to Beautiful Birds and Buzybees.”

“Aye, that it did.” His mouth attempted to frown. “Though that accursed website set me first mate, Ronan the Silly Chook, up wi’ an evil vixen of an Arctic Fox!”

“That was a doomed romance from the beginning,” said the Racoon sadly. “Still, we must invite her over for tea sometime, see if the two can make up...”

“Not ev’rybody can be as lucky as us, dear. But that Thanh girl seems to be on the right track now.”

And they all thanked their lucky stars that in very young children’s fiction, there was no such thing as divorce.

“What’s that I hear? A signal for help from the pocket booger dimension? To the Mongoose Mobile!” The Mongoose Pirate put on a deep voice, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’ll be buck!”

“That’s Arnold Schwarzenegger, darling, not Bruce Willis.”

“Really? Ah, curses.”