The guard looked momentarily perplexed, but then he went into his sentry box and got on the phone. A few minutes later, Nick could see lights come on in the house, and the metal gate began to slide open with a quiet clang. As Nick walked down the driveway toward the house, the porch lights came on and the front door opened. Colin’s British grandmother, Winifred Khoo, who always reminded him of a plumper version of Margaret Thatcher, stood at the doorway in a quilted peach silk robe.

“Nicholas Young! Is everything all right?”

He ran up to her and breathlessly blurted out, “My parents are fighting! They want to kill each other, and my mother wants to take me away!”

“Calm down, calm down. No one is going to take you away,” Mrs. Khoo said soothingly, putting her arms around him. The tension that had been bottled up all evening came out, and he began sobbing uncontrollably.

Half an hour later, as he sat on a barstool in the upstairs library, enjoying a vanilla root beer float with Colin, Philip and Eleanor Young arrived at the Khoo residence. He could hear their polite tones as they talked to Winifred Khoo in the drawing room downstairs.

“Naturally, our boy overreacted. I think his imagination got away with him.” He could hear his mother laughing, speaking in that English accent of hers that she put on whenever she was talking to Westerners.

“All the same, I think he should probably just spend the night here,” Winifred Khoo said.

Just then, another car could be heard pulling up the front driveway. Colin turned on the television, which flickered a security-camera screen that revealed a stately black Mercedes 600 Pullman limousine arriving at the front door. A tall uniformed Gurkha jumped out and opened the passenger door.

“It’s your Ah Ma!” Colin said excitedly, as the boys rushed to the banister to peek at what was going on downstairs.

Su Yi entered the house, with two Thai lady’s maids trailing behind her, and Nick’s nanny, Ling Jeh, suddenly also appeared, clutching three big boxes of mooncakes. Nick figured that Ling Jeh must have alerted his grandmother to what had happened at his house. Even though she now worked for his parents, her ultimate loyalty was always to Su Yi.

Su Yi, wearing her trademark tinted glasses, was dressed in a chic rose-colored linen pantsuit with a ruffled high-necked blouse, looking as if she had just come from addressing the UN General Assembly. “I must apologize for inconveniencing you like this,” he heard his grandmother say to Winifred Khoo in perfect English. Nick had no idea his grandmother could speak English so well. He saw his parents standing off to the side with stunned, chastened looks on their faces.

Ling Jeh handed Winifred the towering stack of square tin boxes.

“My goodness, the famous mooncakes from Tyersall Park! This is much too generous of you!” Winifred said.

“Not at all. I am so appreciative of your calling me. Now, where’s Nicky?” his grandmother asked. Nick and Colin ran back into the library, pretending they had heard nothing until they were summoned downstairs by Colin’s nanny.

“Nicky, there you are!” his grandmother said. She put her hand on his shoulder and said, “Now, say thank you to Mrs. Khoo.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Khoo. Good night, Colin,” he said with a grin, as his grandmother guided him out the front door and into the Mercedes. She climbed in after him, and Ling Jeh also got in, sitting on the folding seat in the middle row of the stretch limousine with the Thai lady’s maids. As the car door was about to shut, his father came rushing out. “Mummy, are you taking Nicky to—”

“Wah mai chup!”*3 Su Yi said sharply in Hokkien, turning away from her son as the guard shut the door firmly.

As the car pulled out of the Khoo residence, he asked his grandmother in Cantonese, “Are we going to your house?”

“Yes, I am taking you to Tyersall Park.”

“How long can I stay there?”

“For as long as you want.”

“Will Dad and Mum come to see me?”

“Only if they can learn to behave themselves,” Su Yi replied. His grandmother reached her arm out, drawing him closer, and he remembered being surprised by the gesture, by the softness of her body as he leaned against her while the car rocked gently back and forth as it navigated down the dark leafy lanes.

And now in a flash Nick found himself on that same dark lane again, more than two decades later, with Colin at the wheel of his Porsche. As the car wound along Tyersall Avenue, Nick felt like he knew every curve and bump of the road—the sudden dip that put them eye level with the gnarled ancient tree trunks, the dense overhang of foliage that kept it cool even on the hottest day. He must have walked or cycled down this narrow lane a thousand times as a kid. He realized for the first time that he was excited to be home again, and that the hurt he had felt over the past few years was fading. Without quite realizing it, he had already forgiven his grandmother.

The car pulled up to the familiar gates of Tyersall Park, and Colin breezily announced to the approaching guard, “I’m delivering Nicholas Young.”

The yellow-turbaned Gurkha peered in the front window of the car at the both of them and said, “I’m sorry, but we’re not expecting any more visitors tonight.”

“We’re not visitors. This is Nicholas Young right here. This is his grandmother’s house,” Colin insisted.

Nick leaned toward the driver’s seat, trying to get a better look at the guard. He didn’t recognize the man—he must have started working for Tyersall Park after his last visit. “Hey, I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Nick—they are expecting my arrival up at the house.”

The guard turned around and went back into the guardhouse for a moment. He returned with a brown paper log and began flipping through the pages. Colin turned to Nick and snickered in disbelief. “Can you believe this?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see either of your names here, and we are under high alert at the moment. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.”

“Look, is Vikram here? Can you please call Vikram?” Nick asked, beginning to lose his patience. Vikram, who headed the guard unit for the past two decades, would quickly put an end to this absurdity.

“Captain Ghale is off duty right now. He returns at eight tomorrow morning.”

“Well, call him, or call whoever the on-duty supervisor is.”

“That would be Sergeant Gurung,” the guard said, getting out his walkie-talkie. He began talking in Nepali into the device, and a few minutes later, an officer emerged from the darkness, having come from the main guardhouse up the road.

Nick recognized him immediately. “Hey, Joey, it’s me, Nick! Will you tell your friend here to let us through?”

The burly guard in the starched olive fatigues walked up to the passenger-side window with a big smile. “Nicky Young! It’s so good to see you! What has it been? Four, five years now?”

“I was last back in 2010. That’s why your compadre over here doesn’t know me.”

Sergeant Gurung leaned against the car window. “Listen, we are under specific orders here. I don’t quite know how to put this, but we’re not allowed to let you enter.”

* * *