Page 73 of Don't Point at the Moon

Mrs Zhang put a hand to her lips and giggled like a young girl.

“I do that for all my tenants. Do you like them?”

“Mrs Lau translates them for me. My fridge door is plastered with untold amounts of wisdom you've sent to me from across the years.”

“And which is your favourite?”

“Too many to pick. But there was one you sent that didn’t mean much at the time. Right now, though, with my current situation, the words make perfect sense. It reads something like timber already being a boat and rice already being cooked. In English, I suppose, we would use the expression, what’s done is done. There’s no going back.”

Mrs Zhang nodded and spoke a few words in Cantonese. “And what about your current situation makes that one so meaningful, Mitchell? Can I call you Mitchell?”

“Of course,” he said before staring into the crowd. “Decisions have been made in my professional career that I have no control over. My job is on the line, which will affect my income, which in turn may affect my ability to stay in Hong Kong. I fear I might have to give notice on the apartment soon—”

“No,” said Mrs Zhang, placing the fingers of her right hand over Mitchell’s heart.

“I’m sorry?”

“That will not happen. You’ve been an exemplary tenant over the years, so if you have short-term financial concerns, you let me know. Besides, your story is not yet told. I can see this in you,even though we have only just met. You have a good heart and more to give. Just be patient and positive.”

“We’ll see,” he said, amused and touched by the sentiment. “But thank you for those kind words.”

“Now go and take a seat. The ceremony is about to begin.”

A member of the serving staff offered flutes of champagne and soft drinks. Bearing in mind the heat and humidity of what was likely to be a very long day, Mitchell thanked the young girl and plucked a chilled sparking water from the tray before moving to an empty seat on the back row.

A sea of bare heads and a hodgepodge of colourful hats faced an archway of white flowers on a low podium with the South China Sea as a backdrop. Matching floral displays on pedestals bordered each of the rows across the lush front lawn. Some guests read from the wedding programmes while most used them to fan themselves. Agreeing to forge ahead with plans had been a serious gamble considering the threat of a super-typhoon reported in the region and heading their way, but one that had paid off because Mitchell saw barely a cloud in the sky. Daley and his groomsmen—minus Alec, the best man—already stood on one side of the stage looking out to the audience while a trio of identical-looking women opposite played Vivaldi, slowing to a stop at the nod from the celebrant.

As Michell scanned the crowd, a red-haired man sitting on an aisle seat a few rows in front caught his eye and waved. Mitchell didn’t recognise him, assuming the gesture was probably in response to Mitchell’s tardiness, but he returned a smile. After a furtive glance down the aisle, the man stood and came over to Mitchell, who moved a seat along to give the stranger space to sit.

“Cutting it a bit fine, Mitchell?” The man had an Australian accent. He dressed like most of the men, in a black dress suit. Only his flaming red hair stood out from the crowd.

“I am a bit,” said Mitchell. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“I’m Gerry, or Gez,” said the man, shaking Mitchell’s hand. “Mate of Alec, the best man. He told me to look out for you. Said you’d be here on your own. Nice togs, by the way.”

The name rang a bell. Was this the guy Alec and Tommy had wanted to set him up with? Did that mean Alec and Tommy had already gotten together? He should have phoned Tommy to check yesterday instead of working into the night.

“Thank you,” Mitchell replied. “You too. So you probably already know I’m a friend of the bride’s brother.”

“Nice.”

Mitchell scanned the crowd but couldn’t spot Tommy. Not that he expected to. Even though they would sit together for the wedding meal, Tommy had other duties to perform such as attending the pre-wedding games and participating in the ceremony. On their shopping day together, Tommy had tried to explain Chinese wedding etiquette to Mitchell and how weddings involved something referred to as door games, a set of often silly pre-ceremony challenges for the groom, devised by the bridesmaids, to demonstrate his devotion and commitment to his soon-to-be bride.

Even after the ceremony, Tommy had been enlisted to help with guests. Not-so-discreet Devon had let on to Mitchell and Oscar that Tommy would be playing the cello to punctuate the bride’s entrance, although Devon had no idea what song he had chosen.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” called the celebrant, finally silencing the crowd, “welcome to the wedding of Daley Tan and Sammi Chow. Please make yourselves comfortable and enjoy this glorious day. Before the ceremony begins, we have a small surprise for you. The bride’s brother has agreed to join the musicians in accompanying the bride’s procession with a song chosen especially by and for the couple. Please put yourhands together for Tommy Chow, accompanied by the Melody Triplets.”

Mitchell hadn’t noticed Tommy until he stepped onto the small stage. Alec moved before him and placed a wooden chair in front of the three standing musicians. Tommy, holding his cello and bow in one hand, lowered himself into the chair. In a gesture that would have been innocent involving anyone else, Alec squeezed Tommy’s shoulder and whispered something to him, and was rewarded by a smile and Tommy’s free hand patting the top of Alec’s. Mitchell squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a deep steadying breath.

He opened them again when music began playing. Alec had moved across the stage to stand by Daley’s side. Tommy had the large cello between his legs and sat with his head lowered and hands frozen in place on the fretboard, waiting as the three female violinists played an ethereal introduction, unknown and yet at the same time vaguely familiar. Tommy wore a light purple suit with a double-breasted embroidered waistcoat and matching bow tie in deep purple. A white rose buttonhole added a further touch of elegance. He looked incredible, and—for today, at least—Mitchell felt proud to call Tommy his date. Visually, the ensemble blended beautifully together, the three female violinists wearing matching milky-peach flowing gowns.

“That him? Your friend?” asked the man, Gerry, next to him.

“Yes. That’s Tommy,” said Mitchell, unable to stop smiling.

“Alec was right. He’s a stunner.”

Gerry’s comment soured his mood only momentarily, because when Tommy began playing, swaying as he infused the main melody, raising an appreciative murmur through the crowd, Mitchell’s chest filled with pride. “A Thousand Years” by Christina Perri filled the air with the mournful cello picking out the vocal line. Maybe the song had been employed at countless weddings around the globe, but the outdoor setting with a gentlebreeze blowing across the lawn and the sea glistening in the distance provided the perfect union. The arrangement sounded faultless, with violins plucked or playing countermelodies dancing around the central theme.

---