The agency phone and say they want me to work. I want to wash my hair, they want me to leave immediately. We thrash it out for a minute, and then the dragonlady says she is sending round a scooter to pick me up. Now.
I have to settle for washing my face, instead.
I don’t know the city as yet, we have only just moved to Asia, but as the driver crosses a bridge over water I realise that I am now on the outskirts. The streets look the same: there are few distinguishing features in this modern, densely packed city.
When I finish work and leave the high-rise building, I am at a loss. It is now night time, and I have no idea where the metro is. The streets are full of fast cars, a few neon lights wink from buildings, but mostly it is dark. I try to ask some people, make train noises, but they stare at me blankly or laugh at my pidgin Chinese.
I am supposed to be meeting my boyfriend at a Temple, so we can go to a night market nearby. I wander the streets for half an hour and am nearly crying by now, lost and lonely, frightened in this strange city.
Then a man comes up. He says his english name is Tim, and he will give me a lift on his scooter. He is in his forties and has a quaint, old-fashioned quality.
He drives like a maniac, and all the way there, he sternly tells me not to speak to strange men. “Like you?” I think.
He asks me how I think he will vote in the election. He is very surprised that I guess correctly.
“How did you know?” he yells, looking back over his shoulder, as the scooter swerves and I mentally prepare to die.
When we reach the Temple safely I am weak after all the agitation. I feel a rush of affection and gratitude towards Tim and give him a hug, which embarrasses him. His duty towards lost British girls fulfilled, he speeds off into the night on his scooter.