The sun arrived right on cue. It streamed in through Frank Diggory’s slatted glass window, easily penetrating through his thin curtains and quickly lit up the room. Within seconds, it’s glow fell on Frank’s weary eyes and jolted them awake.
He grinned.
The darkness had fled from his room. The nightmare had gone.
He needed no alarm clock, or cockerel, to tell him it was morning.
He was awake. Wide awake.
And ready for another day in Paraiso.
And today was Sunday.
Frank dressed in his usual clothes – it was all he had and they were more than good enough for a rural church in the Philippines. He was, of course, accompanied by Eddie Reader and Fairground Attraction telling him everything had to be perfect, but Frank had to agree.
Pastor Josh had been good enough to help him become a good man. He had counselled him in the Christian faith, given him a good grounding in the Bible – of which he’d had no prior knowledge, as far as he knew – and, after his first few weeks in Paraiso, had baptised him in the sea behind the church.
But Frank had still not realised that there was a beach in the village. Not a proper one anyway.
Now he was heading out to breakfast in the knowledge that in just a few hours he would preach his first sermon – he, a man who had barely darkened the door of a church before now, that he could remember anyway, would be speaking from the Bible in front of villagers who had known it their whole life.
It all seemed quite bizarre to him.
But he would play along.
Maybe a spiritual man is who he should desire to become. Some day.
He crossed the road – which was usually quiet, but seemed even quieter on a Sunday, to take breakfast at Kainan Paraiso. As he sauntered across the asphalt, the slow, emotional pleadings of Dougie MacLean’s ‘Caledonia’ reached his ears:
I’m impressed. He thought to himself. That one must have been quite hard to find.
He greeted Andrea and Alberto with a big, warm smile upon his face. Andrea and Alberto didn’t need to ask why.
It had already been the subject of the 5.45am meeting, which had been led by a seriously over-enthusiastic Ethan, despite having bags under his eyes that were so big that if they had been made of plastic, he would have had to pay an environmental tax for both of them.
The potential relationship between Emet and Frank was already the talk of the village.
They put Ethan’s behaviour down to just being over-tired, since he’d barely had four hours sleep, and had spent much of it dreaming of his wedding to Reyna, and what they would call their children.
Frank sat at his usual table, which was always empty and expecting him. Within moments, his freshly made, and piping hot, porridge oats, made with water and not milk (the Highland way) arrived, along with a choice of sugar, syrup or chocolate to mix with it to make it less plain.
He thanked Alberto audibly. And whoever it was that was watching over him silently. They had nailed it.
Just as he was enjoying his delightfully warm, delightfully tasteless gloop, another unexpected customer came through the door of the restaurant, causing its bell to ding. Alberto looked up from the dishes he was drying and could not believe who he was seeing.
She must have no shame at all, he thought. ‘Psst, Andrea, tan-aw. Naa si Emet!’ he hissed to his wife, who was cooking in the back.
Even more ‘shamelessly’, she walked straight over to Frank's table and sat down right across from him. ‘Maayong buntag.’ she greeted him.
‘Wow! You’re here!’ Frank greeted her.
‘Well, I do live across the road.’ she chuckled.
‘Yes, but I never see you here.’
‘That’s because I can cook for myself. And it’s cheaper.’ she told him, with a mild put-down. ‘What on earth are you eating? Are you sick? Do you have stomach problems?’
Frank laughed. ‘No, this is a traditional breakfast where I’m from.’
‘Does your whole country have stomach problems?’ Emet retorted.
‘Well, we do drink far too much alcohol and eat too many fried foods, so it’s possible. Why do you ask?’
Emet smiled. ‘Because we eat lugaw when we’re sick and can’t eat anything else.’
‘This isn’t lugaw.’ Frank scoffed. ‘By the way, what’s lugaw?’
‘Rice porridge.’
‘This isn’t lugaw.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘Porridge.’
‘Then it’s lugaw.’
‘It can’t be. It's not made from rice.’
‘What is if made from, then?’
‘Oats.’
Emet and Frank both chuckled at each other and the stupidity of their discussion.
‘Are they flirting?’ Alberto whispered to his wife, who was watching Emet and Frank intently, but trying hard to not let them see what she was doing.
‘They're talking about lugaw.’ she told her husband.
‘But flirtatiously?’ he asked.
‘If you think that’s flirting, then it explains why my Valentine’s Days are so disappointing.’ Andrea quipped.
‘Hey, I bought you that card!’ Alberto protested.
Andrea put him in his place. ‘It was a birthday card.’ she reminded him.
‘And it was discounted!’ Alberto argued. ‘It was recycled. I was saving the environment.’
‘Let me show you what a real breakfast looks like.’ Emet told him. She called Alberto over and ordered a tosilog. Frank insisted it went on his tab. Emet resisted – weakly – but Frank insisted.
‘What are you listening to here?’ Emet asked Frank. ‘What is this music?’
‘Have you never heard of Dougie MacLean’s “Caledonia”?’ Frank asked her in mild disbelief.
‘No? Why? Is it a disease? Did he recover?’ Emet asked, honestly.
Frank stifled a large chuckle at her ignorance. ‘It’s a song by a Canadian with Scottish ancestry, longing to return home.’
‘To Canada?’
‘To Scotland. He’s longing for an idealised vision of his ancestral home. “Caledonia” is the old Roman term for Scotland.’ Frank explained.
‘So he’s longing for a country that probably doesn’t exist.’ Emet mused.
‘Well, yes.’ Frank agreed.
‘And you’re here, eating that...’ Emet pointed to the dregs of Frank’s porridge. ‘...while listening to some Canadian guy sing about the country you come from, while you’re in probably the most beautiful country in the world...’ At that precise moment, Alberto arrived with her tosilog. ‘...with certainly one of the best cuisines in the world. Frank Diggory, it's time to wake up! There is so much more to this place than the food on your plate.’
Frank stared at the red, sticky spiced pork, sunny side up fried egg and garlic fried rice on Emet’s plate. ‘What is that?’ he asked in mild adoration.
Emet smiled. She had him hooked. She knew it. ‘Pork tocino – spiced with tomato sauce, garlic fried rice, and surely you've seen a fried egg before.’ she scoffed gently.
‘Do you know, I have never seen that pork dish before anywhere else.’ Frank told her.
‘That doesn’t surprise me. I don’t think you've been anywhere else.’ Emet chuckled. She cut off a little tocino with her fork and scooped it onto her spoon. ‘Here.’ she invited him. ‘Try a little.’
Frank agreed. He opened his mouth and Emet let him take it off her spoon.
‘Alberto, she’s feeding him now!’ Andrea hissed, with stunned excitement.
Frank savoured what he was eating. ‘Wow! This is... this is really delicious!’ he exclaimed, as he chewed the spiced pork.
‘Kuya Alberto! Another tosilog, palihug!’ Emet called out to Alberto.
‘And put it on my tab!’ Frank confirmed.
Alberto took the order, which Andrea began to prepare. While she was cooking, Alberto hastily called a really sleepy Ethan. ‘Kuya Ethan, something is happening here. The afam is eating our food, and he likes it!’
‘And he appears to be getting very friendly with Emet!’ Andrea added, leaning over to the phone while she was cooking.
The little independent church in Paraiso was normally half-empty every Sunday. It only had morning services. Most people in the Subdivision were tired after a hard week of mostly looking after Frank – most of them unknown to him – so they often had a long lie in.
But not today.
They were curious. Really curious. Word about what had happened in Kainan Paraiso had spread like wildfire. Most of the village had already arrived and were gathered around the front door, when Frank arrived with Emet and her mum and dad. Pastor Josh was quite amazed by the turnout, but he knew his neighbours far too well to attribute this to some form of religious revival. He knew what this was: bored people with no real life of their own, curious to see what was rumoured to be happening between Emet and Frank.
And if he was honest, so was he.
He was observing them as much as anyone else.
But from a very different perspective.
Among them were many people who had never even been to this church before in their lives – such as Ethan Peteros (whom he had forbidden from installing any microphones or cameras in the church as ‘this is a house of prayer, where we observe our duty before God, not each other) and Captain Reyna Bautista. They were seated together on the back row, very closely, and out of the view of any other watching eyes.
Pastor Josh and his little group entered the church and sat down on reserved seating at the front. Frank was, as anyone would expect, quite nervous. But Emet seemed to have a calming effect on him.
Pastor Josh got up, stood at the wooden pulpit at the front of the church, and began the meeting.
A group of eager and enthusiastic young people led worship on electronic drums, keyboard, electric and bass guitar, with three singers singing their heart out. The songs switched from English to Bisaya to Tagalog and back again. Frank didn’t understand most of it, but the open-hearted sincerity moved him deeply.
Once they had finished, Pastor Josh led them in a prayer and then introduced Frank in English, so Frank could understand. ‘You will know that Kuya Frank from Scotland has been here now for just over a month. Since he has arrived, I have helped him to come to know what we believe and to become a better follower of Jesus Christ. Today, he will be teaching us from the Bible for the first time and showing us what he knows. So please, pay attention, eksoon, and listen to what God will say to you through him. Kuya Frank, please.’ He stood back, gestured to Frank to head to the pulpit and take over, before taking his seat on the front row.
Frank nervously left his seat and took his place behind the pulpit, where he opened a Bible he had found in his home, where he used his notes as a marker. And then he began:
‘Today’s message is from the first letter of John, chapter one, verses five to seven: “This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth: but if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.”’
‘To me, these verses are about being honest about who we are: honest to God and honest with each other. That honesty is something we call “integrity”. Without integrity, it is not possible to have a relationship with God, or with each other. Integrity is absolutely necessary for us to live together as human beings. Without it, we are hopelessly alone.’
Pastor Josh listened as Frank continued his pre-prepared sermon. He watched as, through the nerves and the obvious unease, the words were burning into Frank’s soul.
There could be no more deception.
There could be no more lies.
Frank had to truly be himself.
Whoever that was.
After the service, Frank was like a minor celebrity. Church attender after church attender lined up one by one to shake his hand bashfully and tell him what a good job he had done.
Except Ethan and Captain Bautista. They decided it would be better that Frank did not know who they were.
Pastor Josh caught them as they were edging their way out of the small, but crowded building. ‘Good to see you both – together. Maybe I will be seeing you again soon.’ he greeted them, with the emphasis on the idea that they should make a habit of attending.
Captain Bautista was non-committal. ‘Maybe, maybe.’ she responded. ‘Nice message. Did you help him with it?’
‘Partly, but then every human being should seek personal integrity. Don’t you think, Captain Bautista?’ he asked pointedly.
Captain Bautista felt the heat of his words. She didn’t know where to put herself.
Ethan dug her out of the hole by changing the subject. ‘Your daughter is looking quite close to Kuya Frank. Are you sure that’s a good idea? We don’t know too much about him. He could be dangerous.’
‘I trust her judgement.’ Pastor Josh replied. ‘She has never been wrong before.’
‘Are you sure?’ Ethan asked. ‘A lot of money is being spent on him right now. Do you know what else the mga afam spend a lot of money on? Weapons of mass destruction.’
‘They also spend a lot on vacations. What are you trying to say?’ Pastor Josh parried.
‘That we don’t really know who he is. So getting close to him is risky.’ Ethan clarified.
‘Thank you, but the same could be said of a lot of people.’ Pastor Josh glowered, his disapproving stare aimed directly at Captain Bautista. A stare she felt intensely.
Ethan noticed, but he was so happy to be with her he chose to ignore it. ‘Well, I hope they're happy. And stay that way.’
With that, Ethan and Captain Bautista left the church, to have a delightful lunch at Ethan’s place, followed by an afternoon swim in his pool.
And Ethan ignored the warning.
For now.
Emet and Frank headed to her parents’ place for lunch – and her parents made sure it was all local food: chicken adobo, pork humba, barbecued chicken and pork and fish, fish tinula, and, of course, a plentiful supply of rice, iced tea and soft drinks.
Frank readily admitted that he had never eaten food that was better.
The British cuisine he had demanded from whoever was watching over him seemed like a distant memory.
Even the fish and chips he had requested for dinner seemed less and less appealing.
While they were eating, Pastor Josh broached the sensitive subject. ‘You know, there is a rumour in the Subdivision about you two.’ he stated, looking at Emmet and Frank, who suddenly had the look of two teenagers caught snogging behind the bike sheds.
He didn’t even have to tell them what the rumour was. They had already guessed.
Emet tried to put things straight. ‘People start rumours about anything these days.’ she said. ‘I blame TV. If it was more interesting then people wouldn’t have the time to gossip about other people’s lives.’
Pastor Josh was having none of it. ‘Is there any truth in the rumour?’ he asked.
Emet and Frank looked at each other like two people who’s secret they had guarded was now out.
‘You don’t need to answer that.’ Pastor Josh told them. ‘I can see what it is. Look, you are both adults. I respect you both. You just need to be aware of what you are getting into. This will not be easy.’
‘It never is.’ Emet’s mum Judy added. ‘But in your case there are... complications.’
Hurt flashed across Emet’s face. ‘What complications?’
‘Well, normally in a relationship, you are getting to know each other. Because of what happened to Frank – whatever that was – he is also getting to know himself all over again.’ Pastor Josh told them.
‘I know that. We both know that.’ Emet argued. ‘It’s not as if we’re getting married tomorrow.’
‘Whatever happens, Sir, Ma’am, and whoever I become, I want you to know that hurting Emet is the furthest thing from my mind.’ Frank reassured them. ‘Right now she matters to me more than anyone else.’
That was enough for Pastor Josh. ‘Then I won’t stand in your way.’ he told them. ‘You have my support.’
‘And mine.’ Judy agreed.
Ethan and Captain Bautista sat at a plastic table, in their swimming costumes and towels, munching on barbecued chicken, rice and vegetable stew.
‘So when do you think we can, you know, go public about... us?’ Ethan asked her.
‘You really want people to know, huh?’ Captain Bautista asked him, smiling.
Ethan chuckled. ‘I want them to know when I've levelled up in a computer game. With you I feel like I've levelled up in life.’
‘I get it. I’m a catch.’ Captain Bautista smiled. ‘But, you know, right now we kind of need the focus to be on Emet and Frank. I wouldn’t want to distract from that.’
Ethan considered carefully what she’d said. ‘Okay. Okay. I see where you're coming from. So we go public once Frank remembers whatever it is he has forgotten and all this over.’
Likewise, Captain Bautista mulled it over briefly. ‘Sure. That would work. Yeah.’
He bought it. She thought to herself.
Emet and Frank left her parents’ house full to the brim and walked briefly through the Subdivision until they came to the church. They walked down a narrow alleyway to its left side, walked behind it, and soon came to a brown sand, palm tree fringed beach, which they wandered along, carefree, holding hands under the smiling afternoon sun.
‘This is amazing. Absolutely wonderful.’ Frank told her. ‘You know, I forget everything when I'm with you.’
Emet grinned. ‘Most people in the Subdivision would love to hear you say that.’
Frank turned to her, confused, and asked ‘Why?’
Emet balked a little. It was too late now. The cat was well and truly out the bag. She sighed. ‘Because there are some really rich people – from outside the Philippines – who know who you are. Who you really are, that is. And they are paying big money to the Mayor and others in the Subdivision to monitor you. Your home, your job, the radio station, even your meals – everything about it is controlled to keep you happy until you remember.’
Frank stopped dead in his tracks. Stunned. ‘So that’s what you meant when you said it was all fake.’ he mused.
Emet nodded. ‘Yes. That’s it.’
‘And what about my girlfriend? And best friend? And washroom wall confidante? Was that all fake too?’ Frank asked her, a pained expression covering every pore of his face.
Emet looked at him and sighed. She had spent enough time in the darkness. It was time to step into the light. ‘At first, yes, I was being paid to take care of you. They called me “the Night Shift”. They thought that if someone around your age was caring for you, then you would never expect that it was fake. Plus, if you ever did remember your secret, who would you be the most likely to share it with?’
Frank’s pained expression was gradually mutating towards anger. He let go of her hand sharply. ‘So you were toying with me?’ he asked.
Emet hung her head in shame. ‘At first, yes.’
‘And now?’
‘No. Not one bit. Last night I called the man in charge of this whole charade and I told him I wanted out. He can keep his money. I don’t want it. I hate what they are doing to you.’
Frank threw her a stare that cut to her soul.
‘Okay, what I was doing to you too. I’m sorry, Frank. I should never have gotten involved. I didn’t even need the money! But I won’t ever do it to you again. And I have a way to make them really pay.’ She faced Frank and took both of his hands.
Frank was still bewildered. Still processing. Still wondering what she might suggest. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked her.
She grinned craftily. ‘I’m thinking we need to disappear.’
Frank’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘ Okay.’ he told her. ‘I’m listening.’
That evening, after his delightful walk with Emet had not completely gone to plan, he made his way – alone – to Kainan Paraiso for dinner, where he was promptly served with a battered fish on a plate of chips – French fries cut thickly to perfection – and a tiny pot of boiled peas.
Frank smiled.
This was exactly what he wanted. He even asked Alberto for a little vinegar. Alberto brought him it and watched with real surprise as Frank sprinkled it over his chips. It didn’t quite taste the same as the malt vinegar he was used to, but it was still delicious.
He sat there in the quiet, in a restaurant few people used, by a road with almost no passing traffic, and took time to process what had happened.
He was still stinging from Emet’s admission that she had been paid to be his friend. That hurt him. Quite deeply. And there was sufficient evidence that she was telling the truth about his situation: the music, the food, the regular and unchanging rhythm of all that he did.
Not to mention his job. He felt like he was on a treadmill; a hamster on a wheel that went nowhere; a tiny cog in a giant machine that generated nothing but movement for movement’s sake.
But for all his life seemed to be going nowhere, he was happy where he was. It suited him. It felt right.
He wasn’t sure what to make of Emet now. He didn’t think she was acting. He didn’t think it was pretend. He felt like she had some affection for him.
But it also felt like she was about to take a wrecking ball to everything familiar and easy in his life. And he wasn’t sure if he was ready yet for that.
Or if he would ever be.
A few blocks down the road, Ma’am Luz was evidently back on the lash, because her karaoke microphone was again getting a good workout:
Frank kept mulling it over as he munched slowly on the mild and deliciously bland fish and his salted and vinegared chips.
He wasn’t aware at all of the presence of someone sitting opposite him. Or even when they stole a vinegared chip from his plate. Or even when they took a bite and savoured it for a second or two.
He was only aware when she opened her mouth and talked. ‘Okay, I could get used to this. I think. But do you know what would make this better? Soy sauce. Soy sauce makes everything better.’
Frank looked up from his meal. There, seated in front of him once more, was Emet.
‘I’m not sure if that would work. I think it’s pretty perfect as it is.’ Frank protested gently.
‘Frank, you have a superpower. You ask for something and you get it. Is this the best you can do?’ Emet asked him, scolding him jokingly.
‘What do you suggest?’ he asked.
‘Did you know there are a lot of poor people who live around this Subdivision who can barely afford to feed themselves and their children?’ Emet told him.
‘Really. That’s sad. But what can I do about it?’ Frank replied over a forkful of fish.
‘Make a wish.’ Emet smiled. ‘Remember: they want you to be happy. So be happy.’
Captain Bautista rode home later that evening as dusk had given way to darkness. She had waited in case anyone she knew saw her there.
The bike ride was normally a pretty straightforward jaunt through the dark: only the odd stray dog and risk-taking villager to avoid, and the throaty growl and throb of her motorcycle engine usually warned them to get out of the way. Her horn was barely needed.
But this time she was distracted.
And she didn’t like it at all.
In fact, she hated it.
That pastor – Josh Manalo – seemed to know her. Too well, in fact. But she didn’t know how. And that really bothered her. She knew he might put it down to vision or a dream or some revelation of the Holy Spirit. That’s what his people did.
But she was having none of it. He knew her. How?
However, there was something more. And it gnawed at her soul like a rat eating cheese. She had manipulated and double-crossed men (and occasionally women) for years – more than a decade. And she had mocked their gullibility after taking them for a ride. It was how she lived. It was how she survived.
So why was manipulating Ethan Peteros so hard?
What was holding her back?
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