Ayani held Ben’s hand as he led her through the crowd towards the shopping centre. Every so often, bodies attempted to cross through the space in between them and her grip would tighten. Hong Kong was unexpectedly chaotic, even though Ben had warned her before their move, describing how main streets in the city looked like corporate mosh pits during lunch time. Ayani would listen quietly, her phone balanced deftly against ear and shoulder, as she used both hands to pack their belongings away.
Before they left, their close friends threw them a going-away party. They toasted farewell to the “Ying-Yang couple”, a nickname that had stuck with them over the years. Ben was tall, with an imposing frame and sallow skin that appeared almost translucent under stark lighting. Next to him, Ayani appeared as fragile as a bird, with thin limbs that housed a permanent holiday glow. Ayani never expected she would leave Australia, but after a few years together as a couple, before they even had a chance to discuss getting a dog, Ben told her he’d been given a job offer in the Hong Kong office. Ayani toyed with the different pros and cons, before finally deciding it would be a good chance to explore Asia more and focus on her interest in photography.
Now, in bustling Hong Kong, they made lists of items they needed for their new apartment and spent their weekends procuring them. Waking onto an overpass, Ayani stopped suddenly, instinctively squeezing Ben’s hand.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Ben replied. “It’s maid’s day.”
Ayani surveyed the scene before her, trying to take in as much in as possible. There were women everywhere. Sitting in small groups, they took up every inch of space except for a narrow strip which people passed through. Huddled together on flattened pieces of cardboard, they were surrounded by plastic containers of food, playing cards and even musical instruments. One woman was colouring another’s hair, meticulously lathering a cream solution over her slicked scalp. Their chatter echoed across the sheltered overpass. It puzzled Ayani that they were engaging in activities she would normally only do in the privacy of her own home. She felt like a fly on the wall at a teenage sleepover, although these were not teenagers but women, young and old. Women who didn’t look homeless, yet it seemed that they might be without a home.
“They’re Filipino maids,” Ben explained. “They usually live in their employers’ houses. Remember some of the apartments we saw had those tiny maid’s quarters?”
“The apartments here are so small though.”
“Well Sunday is their day off, so they all meet up and hang out I guess.”
“They’re cleaners?” Ayani asked.
“Housekeepers, nannies, they do everything. It’s like this every Sunday.” Ben quickened his pace.
They entered the shopping complex and were met with a gust of cool air.
A month later, Ayani was quickly growing accustomed to the constant stifling humidity. She had begun temping part-time at a real estate agency and learnt the constant dance of sweating profusely outside, then shivering through artic air conditioning when indoors. Ben worked long hours and when Ayani took on additional days, he suggested that they hire a maid. Back in Melbourne, they had unwittingly embraced domesticity and formed an unspoken routine when it came to chores. Ayani would load the dishwasher and Ben would empty it. Ben washed the laundry and Ayani tackled the ironing. These habits had moved across with them, reminding her of home.
“Really? There isn’t that much to do, the apartment is tiny.”
“All the expats here have them, Yani,” Ben squeezed her shoulder. “Just once a week would be good.”
Ayani agreed to try it out and thought about how they hadn’t had a proper argument since moving. Things seemed to be going well between them. Things often went well, she thought, which made that one particular month in the previous year even more puzzling. During that time, Ayani had felt an ongoing repulsion towards Ben. Waking up one morning, she felt overwhelming irritation when he turned to face her. She wondered if it was the carry-over effects of a bad dream, but as the day progressed, the feeling persisted. It seemed to creep incessantly across her skin, although to Ben it must have been unnoticeable. If she recoiled at his touch, it was only to the slightest degree. Every meal he cooked that month tasted the same. Then, just when she was gradually losing her sense of resolve, the feeling left just as swiftly as it had come, and she warmed to him once more. There hadn’t been a time like it since, and Ayani had never spoken to Ben about it, choosing to let it pass like a quiet storm.
During a long brunch, the topic of domestic help came up again and one of Ayani’s friends from the gym slid her phone across the table towards her. “We’re moving to Singapore soon, why don’t you use our maid? She’s trustworthy and all that. Greg lights up when he sees his underwear drawer colour-coordinated. I told him he better not get used to it!”
Ayani messaged the potential maid, Tessie, on WhatsApp the next day. As the message sent, a small image popped up. Zooming in, the picture revealed a slim youthful face framed by poker-straight black hair. She wore bright red sunglasses and her expression reminded Ayani of the Mona Lisa.
She arranged for Tessie to come over to the apartment that Friday for three hours of cleaning and they agreed on a price. Ayani messaged in a matter-of-fact way, and when Tessie responded using smiley faces and thumbs-up emojis instead of full stops, she wondered if she should be less formal.
Ayani waved her phone under Ben’s face. “How old do you think she is?”
“Who cares, as long as she does a good job.” Ben’s gaze remained fixated on the spreadsheet on his laptop.
On Friday, Ayani spent the morning organizing cleaning equipment and putting it all in one place. She planned to let Tessie in, show her what needed to be done and then leave the apartment. The thought of being there while someone cleaned made her feel awkward.
When the doorbell rang, Ayani milled about for a minute before answering the door. She watched as Tessie pried off her sneakers before walking into the house. Her hair was held back loosely with a plastic clasp and she wore a red t-shirt with the words Aloha Girl emblazoned across the chest. Tessie didn’t speak much, and as Ayani led her through the apartment, she occasionally nodded and said “yes, madam” in a light voice.
Later that day, as Ayani sat on an exercise bike, she thought about Tessie. She pictured her emptying their rubbish and washing their undergarments, wondering what it revealed about her and Ben. The arrangement worked well, and as weeks and months passed, Ben often reminded Ayani it was his brilliant idea to hire Tessie.
When winter set in, Ayani caught a bad flu and took some days off work. That Friday, when Tessie arrived, Ayani explained she was feeling ill and would be resting in the bedroom. “If you need something, tell me.” Tessie flashed a winsome smile and Ayani saw a small indent appear in her left cheek—too slight to be called a dimple, yet unmistakably present.
As morning seeped into afternoon, Ayani grew tired of slipping in and out of sleep and decided to try and fight the foggy feeling by reading a book. But as she flipped through the pages, only every second line was sinking in and it became easier to focus on the dull noises coming from the rest of the apartment: the tinkle of running water, a gush of steam from the iron, small jangles as trinkets were lifted so that surfaces could be wiped. Ayani felt grateful that she didn’t have to do these things herself.
Over time, Ayani had learnt small facts about Tessie. Tessie would be visiting her family in the Philippines during the Christmas holidays. She had two younger sisters. They took turns asking each other if they missed home. Ayani sighed and put her book down. Sweat had accumulated in the space between her breasts causing tiny droplets to seep through her t-shirt. She always felt childlike when she was sick, using the opportunity to bring out her Snoopy-patterned pyjama pants and zealously bury herself in oversized shirts. It was comforting remembering how her mother would place a delicate hand on her forehead—always knowing which level of warmth to be alarmed at.
She wandered into the kitchen, startling Tessie who was carefully wiping a bowl.
“I’m going to make some green tea,” Ayani said as she switched the kettle on.
“I can do it,” Tessie put the bowl down and hurriedly reached for a mug.
As the kettle came to a boil, Ayani watched as Tessie took a teabag out from the cupboard. She suddenly had the urge to tell her to forget about the rest of the cleaning and watch a movie with her instead. Her forehead was growing even warmer. Stumbling a little, she leant on the countertop.
Ayani took the green tea and slumped onto the couch. She wondered if she should message Ben and tell him she was unwell. Instead, she let the phone slide out of her hand and turned to Tessie.
“What time did you start again?”
“I’m finishing now,” Tessie answered. “Shall I bring you something? You need me to stay and help?”
“Thank you, no,” Ayani shook her head. “You’ve been great. Ben would probably just try and ring a doctor who does house calls.”
Tessie refilled the empty mug with more tea and placed it back on to the table.
“You know you have a thing on your cheek, like a dimple when you smile.” Ayani lifted herself up slightly from the depths of the couch.
Tessie’s hand flew to her face. “Yes, from stitches. I fell when I was little.”
“Well, it’s beautiful. You should have a new picture of you smiling for your messenger apps. I can take it for you, I’m into photography,” Ayani offered.
Tessie paused for a moment, then placed her handbag on the ground. As she knelt, her small knees pressed into the soft carpet. There was a faint smell of bleach coming from Tessie’s clothing and Ayani wondered if her own clothes smelt of sickness.
Tessie lifted her hand to pull out the elastic band from her ponytail. Her hair tumbled around her face and she gingerly tucked it behind her ears. Turning her face slightly, her left cheek became fully exposed. Through the screen, her face seemed even more luminous.
“It’s a funny thing, isn’t it, to smile when you’re asked to?” Ayani began to take pictures.
Tessie’s lips curled into an orchestrated smile as she sidled closer to the couch. Slowly reaching out her hand, Ayani ran it gently against the lines of Tessie’s jaw, past her lips and onto the small crease indenting her left cheek. Her skin was so soft that Ayani couldn’t imagine it had once been pierced with needle and thread.
It would be hours until Ben came home, and as Tessie sat by her, Ayani slipped into a deep sleep. When she opened her eyes, they hurt. Rubbing them slowly, she noticed the elastic band from Tessie’s hair sitting on the corner of the coffee table. A noise came from the kitchen, and in the dim light she saw Ben walking purposefully from fridge to microwave. An urge to call out to him came and passed swiftly. She closed her eyes once more, attempting to transport herself back to the dream she had woken from.
Image credit: Radharc Images/Alamy
About the author
Faiza has a Pakistani background and was born and raised in Perth, Western Australia. She currently lives in Hong Kong. With a Masters in Psychology, she has always been incurably obsessed with stories. Her writing has appeared in places like Chaleur Magazine, Indian Review, Halfway Down the Stairs, Brilliant Flash Fiction, Burnt Roti Magazine, The Brown Orient and more. She was shortlisted for the 2018 Stuart Hadow Short Story Prize.