the living room and found Alice smiling as if something had just come back to her.
‘Hey Bec,’ she said. ‘Remember when I pierced your ears?’
They couldn’t practise law in China.
That was the joke played on the Western lawyer in Shanghai, and Shane liked to mention it whenever the clock was creeping close to midnight and the lights were going out all over Pudong and they were sipping their cold coffee at desks still crowded with paperwork.
It said
Foreign Lawyer
on their business cards, because it was different for foreigners. If you were a foreign lawyer working for a foreign firm in Shanghai, the People’s Republic of China restricted you to the role of legal representative and kept you in your place. Even a Chinese lawyer like Nancy Deng could not practise PRC law at a foreign firm and was designated
PRC lawyer, non-practising
. Butterfield, Hunt and West had to get all their Chinese contracts rubber-stamped by some tame local lawyer.
But despite not being real lawyers in the eyes of the PRC, most nights the endless bureaucracy of doing business in China kept Bill in the office until he was too tired to see straight, and too full of caffeine to contemplate sleep.
‘For blokes who can’t practise law here,’ Shane said, ‘we sure are busy little buggers.’ He yawned and stretched, and sat on Bill’s desk, squashing a stack of files marked Department of Land and Resources. ‘Enough for one night, mate. More than enough. Let’s get a beer.’
A beer sounded good. Bill knew that Becca and Holly would have gone to bed hours ago. Now that he was sleeping in the second bedroom so as not to disturb them when he came back late, and when he left for work early, it didn’t really matter when he got home. A little unwinding sounded like just what he needed.
‘I’m going to tell you how it works out here,’ Shane shouted, raising his voice above a song that Bill couldn’t quite place. Something about making things more complicated. ‘I’m going to tell you what we call the Kai Tak rules, okay?’
‘The what?’
‘The
Kai Tak
rules. Pay attention. The Kai Tak rules are very important.’
They were in a place called Suzy Too. ‘Everybody comes to Suzy Too,’ Shane said. It was loud, smoky, crowded beyond belief. There was a dance floor in one corner, although people were dancing all over the place, including on the bars.
There were young Chinese men with dyed blond hair and Western women in jeans and T-shirts and Western men in stained polo shirts or business suits with their ties hanging off and Chinese women in short skirts or
qipao
or jeans that said Juicy on the back. Lots of them.
A woman pulled at Bill’s sleeve. She looked hungry. She tapped in some numbers on her mobile phone and showed it to him. It said
1000
.
‘One thousand RMB,’ Shane said, taking Bill’s other sleeve. ‘That’s about £70.’
‘But eight hundred is okay,’ the woman said. She blinked, dazed by the smoke and exhaustion.
Bill stared at the handset, trying to understand.
‘Are you looking for a permanent girlfriend?’ she asked him.
Bill had pushed his face close to her, just to hear what she was saying. Now he reared back. ‘I’m married.’
The woman took this in her stride. ‘Yes, but are you looking for a permanent girlfriend?’
‘No thank you,’ Bill said, aware that he sounded as though he was declining a second cucumber sandwich at the vicar’s tea party.
Shane put a cold bottle of Tsingtao in his hand.
‘You know Kai Tak?’ the Australian said. ‘No? Kai Tak was the old airport in Hong Kong. Kowloon side. Your missus said she visited the Big Noodle as a kid. She would remember it. Before your time, mate.’ Shane’s free hand, the one that wasn’t holding a Tsingtao, impersonated a plane making an erratic landing. ‘Where you came in through the blocks of flats hanging their laundry on the balconies and you would often land with someone’s pants wrapped around your neck.
‘Hey Bec,’ she said. ‘Remember when I pierced your ears?’
They couldn’t practise law in China.
That was the joke played on the Western lawyer in Shanghai, and Shane liked to mention it whenever the clock was creeping close to midnight and the lights were going out all over Pudong and they were sipping their cold coffee at desks still crowded with paperwork.
It said
Foreign Lawyer
on their business cards, because it was different for foreigners. If you were a foreign lawyer working for a foreign firm in Shanghai, the People’s Republic of China restricted you to the role of legal representative and kept you in your place. Even a Chinese lawyer like Nancy Deng could not practise PRC law at a foreign firm and was designated
PRC lawyer, non-practising
. Butterfield, Hunt and West had to get all their Chinese contracts rubber-stamped by some tame local lawyer.
But despite not being real lawyers in the eyes of the PRC, most nights the endless bureaucracy of doing business in China kept Bill in the office until he was too tired to see straight, and too full of caffeine to contemplate sleep.
‘For blokes who can’t practise law here,’ Shane said, ‘we sure are busy little buggers.’ He yawned and stretched, and sat on Bill’s desk, squashing a stack of files marked Department of Land and Resources. ‘Enough for one night, mate. More than enough. Let’s get a beer.’
A beer sounded good. Bill knew that Becca and Holly would have gone to bed hours ago. Now that he was sleeping in the second bedroom so as not to disturb them when he came back late, and when he left for work early, it didn’t really matter when he got home. A little unwinding sounded like just what he needed.
‘I’m going to tell you how it works out here,’ Shane shouted, raising his voice above a song that Bill couldn’t quite place. Something about making things more complicated. ‘I’m going to tell you what we call the Kai Tak rules, okay?’
‘The what?’
‘The
Kai Tak
rules. Pay attention. The Kai Tak rules are very important.’
They were in a place called Suzy Too. ‘Everybody comes to Suzy Too,’ Shane said. It was loud, smoky, crowded beyond belief. There was a dance floor in one corner, although people were dancing all over the place, including on the bars.
There were young Chinese men with dyed blond hair and Western women in jeans and T-shirts and Western men in stained polo shirts or business suits with their ties hanging off and Chinese women in short skirts or
qipao
or jeans that said Juicy on the back. Lots of them.
A woman pulled at Bill’s sleeve. She looked hungry. She tapped in some numbers on her mobile phone and showed it to him. It said
1000
.
‘One thousand RMB,’ Shane said, taking Bill’s other sleeve. ‘That’s about £70.’
‘But eight hundred is okay,’ the woman said. She blinked, dazed by the smoke and exhaustion.
Bill stared at the handset, trying to understand.
‘Are you looking for a permanent girlfriend?’ she asked him.
Bill had pushed his face close to her, just to hear what she was saying. Now he reared back. ‘I’m married.’
The woman took this in her stride. ‘Yes, but are you looking for a permanent girlfriend?’
‘No thank you,’ Bill said, aware that he sounded as though he was declining a second cucumber sandwich at the vicar’s tea party.
Shane put a cold bottle of Tsingtao in his hand.
‘You know Kai Tak?’ the Australian said. ‘No? Kai Tak was the old airport in Hong Kong. Kowloon side. Your missus said she visited the Big Noodle as a kid. She would remember it. Before your time, mate.’ Shane’s free hand, the one that wasn’t holding a Tsingtao, impersonated a plane making an erratic landing. ‘Where you came in through the blocks of flats hanging their laundry on the balconies and you would often land with someone’s pants wrapped around your neck.
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