Our first Loy Krathong. At the time I did not understand the importance of the festival to the Thai people. I had seen ready-made baskets being sold by the side of the road without understanding their significance. Without the Botans as our neighbours, we would have missed it completely.
Rory and Keeva were excited and happy about the whole concept. Putting down their Oxford Junior Atlas, spending all afternoon making baskets and then staying out late to send them out to sea – what was not to like?
Now, as we watched them prepare to push their baskets across the glassy black surface of the Andaman, the sea as unmoving as a skating rink, the Botans attempted to explain the significance of the night to us all.
‘Loy means float,’ said Mr Botan. ‘Krathong means …’ He reached for the words. ‘Leaf cup?’ he said, looking at his wife.
Mrs Botan said, ‘To honour the spirit of the water for providing life to the land.’ She thought about it. ‘To beg forgiveness for the sins of the humans who spoil the land.’
‘Cool,’ said Keeva.
Mr Botan took out a cigarette and hungrily eyed the unlit roll-up.
‘For a better day,’ he said simply, and as I watched the tiny lights shimmer in the darkness, I decided that is how I would define Loy Krathong to myself, and how I would understand it. A small prayer for a better day. But it was really much later before I really understood how important the ceremony was to Thai people. On that very first Loy Krathong all I saw was the beauty and magic of a night that seemed to be swarming with fireflies.
Mrs Botan shot her husband a look and the old fisherman slipped the cigarette into his pocket, deciding not to risk it. Keeva gave her basket a hefty shove and it spun away. Rory held his basket like a precious chalice, reluctant to release it. He turned his face imploringly to Mrs Botan, and the flames flickered on the pink and blue candles that he had pushed into the soft surface of the banana tree basket.
‘Can I just keep it?’ he said. ‘Maybe I should do that.’
She laughed and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You have to let it go.’
Together they bent down and slipped the basket into the water with a soft splash. We watched their baskets disappear into the night, until the pinpricks of flame were lost among all the others.
The longtail boats bobbed in the darkness and we felt the soft white sands of Hat Nai Yang under our bare feet. I tried to work out where the sea ended and the sky began. Voices murmured all along Hat Nai Yang but I had never been in a place more still than that beach on Loy Krathong.
Tess took my hand and squeezed it and as I saw her smile on the beach with her face lit by nothing but November’s full moon, I knew that she saw it too. It was beautiful.
Suddenly the peace was shattered.
Voices were being raised. Fingers were pointed. There was an excited babble of Thai and I realized that there was a boat out on the sea. Not a longtail, with a diesel engine that split the night. But a wooden boat that slipped across the water with almost no sound and revealed itself as just the faintest silhouette – a blur of black against more black. Then, as your eyes focused on all that darkness, you could see why the boat was out there. Whoever was on it was scooping up the Loy Krathong baskets as if they were some exotic form of fish.
A cry of anguish came from further down Hat Nai Yang. The voices of men and women who were suddenly angry. A child began to cry and protest in Thai and I saw a basket with its tiny prick of flame lifted from the water and stashed inside the boat.
Out in the shadows a small body slipped over the side of the boat and into the sea. A small armada of Loy Krathong baskets were ushered to the side of the boat. Hands lifted them from the water and the birthday cake candles went out. There was no attempt to disguise the thieving now.
People were so angry that I expected someone to wade into the water and go after the thieves in a longtail. But nobody moved from the shore.
‘Why would someone do something like that?’ Tess said. ‘Steal a child’s basket?’
‘They steal,’ said Mr Botan. ‘They steal and sell to tourists on the beaches of the south. The tourists who can’t make their own Loy Krathong.’
‘Good business,’ said Mrs Botan, as if it was a racket that was worth getting into.
Then I heard his laughter, out on the water, seeming to enjoy the angry cries of the people on the beach of Nai Yang. I heard his laughter and I saw his small hard body as he pulled himself back into the boat. And as the boat turned away, the moon caught the strange flash of light in his hair and it shone like gold.
My daughter looked up at me.
‘Chatree,’ she said, breathless with excitement.
My son did not take his eyes from the sea.
‘That bad boy,’ he said. ‘He’s so bad. He’ll get punished for being so bad.’
‘Maybe he’s not really bad,’ Tess said. ‘Maybe he’s just trying to feed his family.’
‘They get it in the end,’ said Rory.
8
I rode under the barrier and past the security guard and as I looked up at Farren’s balcony I saw the grey uniform and sunglasses of a member of the Royal Thai Police.
I touched my brakes and sat on the Royal Enfield, the engine still running, staring up at him, and under the crash helmet my face was damp with bike sweat and dread. I glanced back at the security guard in his little hut as if his face might tell me what was happening, but he had gone. I wondered if something had happened to Farren, if there was an innocent explanation to have cops crawling all over his home.
The cop was up there staring at the infinity pool, his thumbs cocked inside his belt, and he seemed to be trying to work out how the trick was done, how this sheet of still water just seemed to stretch out into space and stop there. Then there was another cop, and then one more, all of them looking at the infinity pool and laughing. I swore under my breath, the sickness rising in my throat. I swallowed hard, forcing it back down, torn between running away and going up to the house. Neither of them felt like a good thing. Then I heard another bike.
The rider pulled up beside me and pulled off his helmet, and his face was pale and dark at the same time. The Russian from the night of Muay Thai. He looked briefly at the cops on the balcony and then jammed his helmet back on and rode off, swerving around the security barrier without waiting for the guard to lift it. I watched him go, and the petrol stink of the Royal Enfield mixed with the fear in my gut, making my head feel light and giddy.
‘Tom!’
Jesse was jogging up the dirt-track road that led to the marina. He got on to the back of the bike.
‘Just go,’ he said, indicating the way he had come, and I rode back down the unmade road to the Wild Palm office, sitting among the trees like an air-raid shelter in a rainforest. Inside there was none of the usual babble of cajoling, pleading and promises. The Wild Palm staff talked in lowered voices. The phones were silent.
‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ Jesse said, and I watched him tearing things from his desk and throwing them into a rucksack. They seemed like important things. A passport. Keys. Phone. Thai baht and English pounds. ‘We can take the bike to the end of the road and get out by the marina,’ he said, hefting the rucksack on his back.
‘But we’re not doing anything wrong, are we?’ I said, and he looked at me as if I knew it wasn’t true.
‘Let’s