Emet was a little smaller than him. She had dark brown hair – a little lighter than her black-haired compatriots in the Subdivision. Her hair fell perfectly over her shoulders and a third of the way down her back. She looked like she never needed to spend a penny on cosmetics, so perfect was her complexion. And she had a smile – such a dimpled smile that Frank’s heart felt like it would burst on first sight of it. She spent most of her days at home, but again didn’t look like it. She looked fit. Strong. Capable.
Frank felt overcome.
And somewhere across the street, in the comfort of their own lounge, a neighbour had decided to start a little impromptu karaoke:
Emet smiled demurely and introduced herself. ‘Hi, Sir Frank. I’m Emet.’
‘You’re Emet.’ Frank echoed quietly. ‘You look so much better than the wall.’
Emet chuckled nervously.
‘Please. No need to call me “Sir”. The King hasn’t knighted me. I’m just a person like you.’ Frank told her. ‘Well, not really “like” you. Because no-one’s like you. Sorry, I’m havering. Please, come in before the mosquitoes make a meal of you.’ He stretched out a hand to beckon her in over the threshold and into his world.
‘Thank you... Frank.’ she smiled warmly as she took his hand. Her hand felt soft. Warm. Welcoming.
‘What do use on those hands? I mean, goodness! They’re like silk!’ Frank breathed in awe. ‘I’m not sure I want to let go!’
Emet stared right into his eyes, and he into hers. Two windows opened to the depths of their very being. ‘Then don’t.’ she told him. ‘You don’t have to.’ Before correcting herself. ‘Except if I need to use the CR. Then it might get a little awkward.’
‘Yes. The soundtrack is enough. I don’t think we quite need the movie. Not there anyway.’ Frank joked as he led her into the lounge.
‘You really have a way with words, you know.’ Emet replied, with only a mild tinge of sarcasm. ‘Oh, and I’m sorry for Ma’am Luz across the road. She’s normally quite shy, but after a few San Migs she thinks she’s Madonna. Or in this case, strangely enough, Bryan Adams.’
‘You mean to say there’s music playing?’ Frank smiled.
‘You really do have a way with words.’ Emet beamed.
They made their way into the lounge, still holding hands gently. They stood in front of the TV. Their interest might have been on the event unfolding seven thousand miles away, but everyone else there was drawn to some much more significant.
Their hands.
Including Emet’s parents. Who looked on stunned silence.
The wall between Emet and Frank had well and truly gone.
‘So, these two teams are from the same city.’ Emet processed.
‘Yes.’ Frank confirmed.
‘And their stadiums are just a few kilometres apart.’
‘Yep.’
‘So why do they hate each other again?’
After an eventful first half, played at a frantic pace, with fouls and questioned referee decisions and yelling and shouting and offensive singing aplenty, Emet and Frank headed to the kitchen to get more drinks from the fridge. While they were there, Emet’s dad, Josh Manalo – a man in his late fifties, greying, podgy, and plainly looking forward to retirement, sidled over to Frank.
‘What did you think, Pastor?’ Frank asked him.
‘Never in all my life have I seen a sport when so much noise can be made but nobody has scored a point.’ Pastor Josh replied.
Frank grinned knowingly. ‘Welcome to Scottish football.’ he told him.
‘I wanted to check you are fine to preach tomorrow.’ he checked with Frank.
Frank did his British best to weasel his way out of it. ‘Well, I am quite a recent convert. I don’t really know much about theology. And the text you gave me is quite close to the bone.’ he opined.
‘I wouldn’t worry about that. You are a white Americano. They will listen to you. Worst case, they will pretend and you will not know the difference.’ Pastor Josh grinned craftily.
‘You make me sound like a cup of coffee.’ Frank quipped. ‘I’m not American. I’m Scottish.’
Pastor Josh laughed. ‘It’s all the same to them.’
Just as the second half was about to begin, Pastor Josh quietly whispered to his daughter. ‘Wow, Emet! They ought to pay you a bonus! Talk about dedication to the cause! Great idea to pretend that you like the afam.’
Emet turned to him, and with a disapproving glare uttered two words he did not expect to hear: ‘Who’s pretending?’
The match continued its fierce testosterone and raw hatred fuelled competitiveness, which caused Doctor Bedi to leave the room on several occasions to partake in ‘breathing exercises’ and curse her HRT treatment.
As the match finished, Emet quietly helped Frank clear up, watched over with intense attention by her seated dad, before Emet and her family left for home next door, leaving Frank alone.
After they left, he thought he would see again just how far his observers would go, but this time he would go a little easier on them.
It was Sunday the following day, after all.
‘I really miss a good bowl of Scottish porridge in the morning, and fish and chips in the evening. And I kind of miss the song “Caledonia”.’ He smiled.
Let’s see what they do with that, he thought to himself.
Although he was tired, he knew better than just collapsing into bed. He would need to freshen up first. So he headed into the bathroom to get rid of the sweat of the day’s labours.
He ran some more cold water into the plastic barrel beside the sink, undressed, carefully balanced his clothes on the towel rail so they would not get wet, and began sloshing himself with cold water, using a plastic scoop.
But something was missing from his, albeit delayed, nightly regime.
‘Emmet, are you there?’ he called out quietly.
‘Yes. I waited for you.’ came the tender reply.
‘I am so happy that I saw you today.’ Frank told her.
‘I’m so happy that you think I'm worth seeing.’ Emet replied.
‘Very much so.’ Frank smiled.
‘Well, I felt like, since I saw you, you should return the favour. That’s how we work here.’ Emet told him. ‘Look, Frank, I know you’re something of a creature of habit...’
Frank interjected. ‘Before you it was all I had.’
‘Would you be willing to break it and join me for a walk along the beach tomorrow?’ she asked him. ‘I could bring some of our food for you to try.’
‘There’s a beach nearby?’ Frank asked, surprised at the very notion.
Emet laughed. ‘It’s two minutes’ walk from the church. Didn’t you know?’
Frank excused his inattention. ‘My habits didn’t take me there. But you can. After lunch. If that’s alright with you.’
Delight flashed across Emet’s face. ‘That is definitely alright with me. Okay, it’s a date.’
Frank smiled as widely. ‘It’s a date.’
Once they said their tender, but still a little nervous, goodbyes through their tiled bathroom walls, Emet called Ethan, who was sound asleep, snoring like a stuck piglet, eye mask firmly in place.
‘Ethan, I can’t do this. I’m done. Whatever he remembers or does not remember is up to him. I’m playing no part in this anymore.’ she told him.
‘But the money?’ Ethan protested.
Emet had a reply ready. ‘Money isn’t everything. I want to earn mine honestly. Not like this.’
She ended the call abruptly.
And felt like a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders.
Ethan Peteros had had much easier evenings.
The late news from Emet left him reeling. He was already on a video chat with Agent Hughes to try to understand what on earth “porridge” was (her explanation took him aback – he’d realised it was lugaw, but when he heard it was made from rolled oats, he also realised he could simply arrange for a delivery of Quaker Oats and they just might get away with it). The idea of ‘fish and chips’ took him by surprise, though.
Who would eat fish with a potato or rice snack from a sealed plastic bag?
When Agent Hughes told him that it was the British equivalent of French fries, but thicker, he felt a bit more in control.
Until he'd heard from Emet Manalo.
That set him back on his heels again.
He and Agent Hughes decided this needed everyone’s attention. And so, at short notice, an invitation was hastily sent to Captain Bautista and Agent Kaplan.
Half an hour later, there was a less insistent rap on his French windows. ‘Hey, Peteros! It’s me: Bautista.’
Ethan Peteros knew precisely what to do. He ran from his now dimly-lit kitchen and quickly opened the French doors. ‘Welcome! Welcome!’ he greeted Captain Bautista.
She was the same intimidating beauty who always left him stunned. But this time she was carrying a small black rucksack on her back.
She came into the Ethan’s house and was a little surprised.
The lights were off.
On every shelf and worktop and on his glass table, red candles had been lit. Captain Bautista had never seen so many candles. Not even at her last confession (she had stopped going when the priest had questioned her dress sense and asked if she’d wanted to confess to being a lesbian).
‘What’s up, Peteros? You got a brown out? Won’t that make it a bit hard to have a video call?’ she asked him.
‘I thought I’d give the place a more feminine vibe. For you. Do you like it? Is it too much?’ Ethan stammered, very unsure of himself.
Captain Bautista smiled. ‘It’s too soon. But I like it. Nice effort.’
Ethan sighed the deepest sigh of relief. ‘Can I help you with your bag?’ he offered, chivalrously.
‘Yeah, put it by the pool. On a sun lounger, if you have one.’ she told him.
Even through the romantic gloom, she could see his eyebrows raise.
‘Yeah, Peteros, after the call, we’re going night swimming. If that’s okay.’
Ethan’s spirit nearly crashed through the ceiling with delight. ‘Of course. Absolutely. Yes.’ He gushed.
The call began on schedule at midnight.
Agent Kaplan was taking no prisoners. ‘Okay, Peteros, tell us why you have us on a call.’
‘We have a problem. Two problems, in fact.’ Ethan began. ‘As Agent Hughes is aware, the target has begun to demand things that have stretched our people to the max.’
‘Is this the first time you’ve dealt with a British person overseas?’ Agent Hughes asked Ethan.
‘Well, yes. We don’t get many British people here. Or Americans.’ Ethan told them.
‘Sounds perfect. When can I visit?’ Agent Hughes quipped dryly.
‘Any time except October to December as it’s typhoon season.’ Ethan told her. ‘Why?’
Then he realised. She was being sarcastic. Trying to make a joke.
And failing.
He decided to just let it pass.
‘The second problem is that one of our women here appears to have fallen for the target.’ Ethan informed them.
Both agents sighed deeply in frustration. ‘Well, look: this needn’t be such a disaster.’ Agent Kaplan pointed out. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve used emotional enticement to get what we wanted.’
Ethan was taken aback. ‘Really? Have you done it recently?’ he asked.
Agent Kaplan shut him down right away. ‘That’s classified.’ he snapped.
‘We’ve used it in the past. With radical left wing and environmentalist groups mostly. It's not always popular, but it works.’ Agent Hughes added.
‘I’m not sure if she can be persuaded She seemed pretty firm earlier.’ Ethan told them. ‘She even turned the money down.’
‘Well, persuade her, Peteros.’ Kaplan snarled. ‘That’s why we're paying you the big bucks. Manage the situation.’
‘You must be good at persuading women. I mean, look: you got Bautista to agree to a candle-lit date, and she’s a total hard case.’ Agent Hughes smiled.
Captain Bautista set them straight. ‘Oh, this is not a date. Not at all. I'm just swimming in his pool later.’
‘I hope that’s not a euphemism for something.’ Agent Hughes teased them, a cheeky glint in her eye. ‘I never had you for that type of a woman.’
Captain Bautista raised her eyebrows. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’ She quipped.
The call finished pretty shortly afterwards.
Captain Bautista asked where Ethan’s bathroom was, changed into a black two-piece swimsuit that showed exactly what she wanted to show, and then dived into the pool. Ethan was utterly awestruck, but she beckoned him in and he could not resist. So a few minutes later, both of them were doing laps together, talking, laughing, splashing each other like children, all under the flickering glow of Ethan’s candles through his floor-to-ceiling glass window.
‘You know, Peteros, you are intelligent, kind, generous, easy to manipulate and totally clueless around women.’ she told him.
Ethan stared at her – more than he’d done all night long, but this time he was wounded.
Captain Bautista grinned. ‘You are everything I want in a man.’
‘And you are everything I want in a woman, but would never dare to dream for.’ Ethan told her.
‘Okay, so now it’s a date.’ she told him, as she splashed him some more.
It was almost 2am when Captain Bautista left Ethan’s house. ‘You know, Ethan, I had a lot of fun tonight. It felt good to be me for a while.’ she told him.
‘I loved every millisecond.’ Ethan gushed. ‘You know, now we’re...’ He wanted to say ‘together’, but that almost felt like he would jinx it. ‘... us, you can come up here any time. Even if I'm not here. I have a spare key I could give you.’
Captain Bautista smiled at him. ‘Maybe another time. Feels a bit soon. In the meantime, I’m sure you’re probably readying your social media posts about this, but it’s new, you know. It’s a little fragile. Let’s keep it a little quiet. See what develops.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Ethan agreed. ‘But just so you know, when this does go live, I am totally going to go overboard. I mean the whole big reveal thing. They will know about this on ABS-CBN, CNN, all the “N’s”. Astronauts will read of this.’
Captain Bautista laughed gently. ‘And that’s why I... really like you, Ethan. By the way, there's no need to be formal now we’re... us. You can call me Reyna.’
At that moment, you could have scraped Ethan off the ceiling, so overjoyed was he. ‘Okay... Reyna. Oh, that gave me such a buzz! See you tomorrow? Same time?’ he asked.
‘Why? Are we having another call?’ she asked him.
‘Oh, I really hope not!’ Ethan replied.
‘Okay.’ she chuckled. ‘Same time tomorrow.’
And with that, Reyna was gone.
She arrived smartly at the side of the road and made a call on her mobile. ‘Okay, Kaplan. We’ve got him. The plan is working.’
‘He fell for it?’ Agent Kaplan asked her.
‘So hard.’ Reyna confirmed.
‘Okay, just make sure that dumb mayor doesn’t distract him. And when Diggory remembers, you tell me first, alright?’
‘Agreed. And you’ll keep your side of the bargain?’
‘A million dollars and a settlement visa for you and whoever comes with you? Sure, no problem.’
‘Cool. Talk later.’
The call ended.
Reyna then made another call. ‘Okay, Hughes? We’ve got him. The plan is working.’
‘He fell for it?’ Agent Hughes asked her.
‘So hard.’ she responded.
‘Okay, just make sure that dumb mayor doesn’t distract him. And when Diggory remembers, you tell me first, right?’
‘Agreed. And you'll keep your side of the bargain?’
‘A million pounds and a settlement visa for you and whoever comes with you? Sure, no problem.’
‘Cool. Talk later.’
The call ended.
Reyna put on her helmet and started up her motorcycle.
‘Boy, people are dumb.’ she muttered to herself. ‘Really, really dumb.’
The rain felt like it would never end. It tumbled from the sky in great globules of water, splashing incessantly on already soaked asphalt and running for cover from itself down huge Victorian drains. Taking shelter under the Heilanman’s Umbrella on Argyle Street was almost like plunging into a waterfall.
But that’s what Frank Diggory did.
While the last trains thundered overhead, he entered the domain of drunks, fast food shops and bars, until he came across a homeless man. The man was comatose: taking refuge from the terror of life on the streets in a booze and drug filled stupor.
Frank could not care less. He watched in deep shame as he called out to the man above the roar of teaming rain.
The man did not respond. Not because he did not hear, but because he’d hoped Frank would leave him alone – or better still, would think he was dead.
Frank was undeterred.
He swung a leg back and gave the man a kick: not too hard to injure, but enough that his demands would not be ignored.
The man awoke with a wounded, angry yell.
Frank ignored it. He barked at him for information.
The homeless man waved him away and tried to re-enter his stupor.
Frank kicked out again.
The homeless man glowered at him.
Frank demanded the same information.
The man refused.
Frank grabbed the man and pinned him against a wall.
The man acquiesced. He pointed in the direction of a nearby casino.
Frank threw him down onto the road, chucked a few pennies at him for his troubles, and stomped off through the almost waterfall on the opposite side of the Heilanman’s Umbrella.
It took him just a few minutes to find the entrance to the casino. He flashed an ID at the door steward, who gestured reluctantly at him to go inside.
Under the chandeliers handing from the white ceiling, and seated on a stool at a card table on the scarlet carpet, was the man he was looking for. He was a Balkan man: tall, thin with swarthy skin, short cropped hair and an icy cold look in his brown eyes.
Frank tapped him on the shoulder. He seemed to be demanding something from this man too. The Balkan turned around on his stool and eyeballed Frank, before laughing in his face, mocking him loudly, waving his hands around passionately.
Frank had heard enough. He swung for the man and struck him on the jaw hard with his fist. The man was furious. He tried to grab Frank, but Frank shook him off. He swung for Frank too. They grabbed each other. Struggled. Wrestled. Two burly security men ran over. Pulled them apart. Both men dusted themselves down, before being forcefully thrown out of the casino.
In a nearby bar, a local band serenaded them with a classic song:
You've got to know when to hold 'em Know when to fold 'em Know when to walk away And know when to run You never count your money When you're sittin' at the table There'll be time enough for countin' When the dealing's done
The argument continued on the street. It was loud. Furious. It took seconds before they came to blows once more. They grappled, struggled, struck out. Frank got him down on the ground. Kicked him hard. He did not get back up. Frank dragged him to the car park by the side of the casino. The beating continued. Savage kick after savage kick landed around the man’s body, around his head, until he blacked out.
Then Frank was done.
He abandoned him where he lay.
And then stood on the street, made a phone call, and walked away.
Frank paced up and down in his bathroom. His dream bothered him. Really bothered him. Every time he saw his bathroom mirror, he had to look away.
He was deeply, deeply ashamed.
No alert had come through for Emet. She'd had a feeling that would happen. She wanted out, so they’d put her out.
But Emet was prepared for it. She had recorded the time when Frank’s nightmares struck and worked out when she should be awake to talk him back to normality. So at 1.07am precisely her phone buzzed. She'd been sleeping very lightly, so she stopped it right away and snuck into the washroom by phone torch light to avoid waking her parents up.
Frank was beside himself. He needed help this time. Really needed help. ‘Emet, are you there?’ he called out quietly.
‘Yes, Frank, I am. Did you have a bad dream again?’
‘Yes. I did. Awful.’ Frank composed himself. ‘Emet, what if one day I go back to being the man I was before: who kicked a homeless man and beat another man to a pulp outside a casino?’ he asked, his voice quivering with despair.
‘Well, I’d be glad you’re not inside the casino, because that means you don’t have a gambling problem. I like that in a man.’ Emet reasoned, before replying, ‘I would not give up on you. I would pray for you to realise who you really are. And I would come here each night, waiting for you to return.’
Deep gratitude lit up Frank’s face and calmed his troubled soul. ‘I don’t think I deserve someone like you.’
Emet suddenly felt deep shame.
She didn’t feel like she deserved him either.
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