Don’t misunderstand me — Chinese New Year was a mere sideshow to all of this. I’m talking about something far more disruptive, the visit of DaiYee, the dreaded sister-in-law, to our modest abode for a full week. It was at short notice, and all the more unpleasant for the lack of preparation.
I’m a patient and tolerant man, as you know, mostly given to relaxing days in the club reminiscing about old times in banking, with an air of faint amusement at the frantic comings and goings of my young successors.
But even I find my wife’s beloved relative tests me to the limit. She arrived on the Thursday, a bustle of bags, bottles, dishes and other paraphernalia, like some ancient travelling saleswoman peddling everything from health potions to wristwatches. I half expected to find a menagerie in one of her innumerable suitcases. A week-long waking nightmare had begun, with alcohol the only sensible (and, eventually, insensible) solution.
And then, as suddenly as she had arrived, she was gone, engulfed by the crowd in the bus station where we had deposited her and whisked away in a whirlwind of dust and diesel. It was one of those rare clear days, and we walked up the hill towards the Peak Tram.
“I miss her already,” said TaiTai. I couldn’t agree, but I squeezed her hand like she wanted. The black kites were soaring over the Peak as we stood looking down at the city. It felt too quiet and I wondered if I was missing DaiYee after all.
But not for long.