'I haven't even told Steph and Bianca,' said Maeve, taking back the notebook. 'I feel really guilty not sharing it with them. We've always told each other everything. But I'm scared that if I tell them, then they'll pressure me to do something. I'm not sure what I want to do. Not yet. So it's like the biggest secret. You can't tell anyone.'

Jackson leant across the table. For a moment, Maeve thought he was going to kiss her. But instead, he gently adjusted the strap of her singlet top, snibbing the safety pin shut. Then he brushed her long fringe away from her eyes. 'Your secrets are safe with me,' he whispered.

When Maeve got back to the boarding house, she sat down on the bed and pulled the green notebook out of her bag. She flipped through it, searching for a blank page to paste in the photos of Jackson and herself. The notebook was so much thicker now, the pages buckling with the number of images that were glued inside it. She turned back to where her father's letter was pasted down and smoothed out the ripples of the thin onionskin paper. She squirmed as she read through the first romantic paragraph. This guy was definitely hot for her mother. Why had he disappeared? There was no return address, no indication of where he was heading next or if he'd ever return to Ireland. Maeve looked at the tiny photo-booth image again, studying every crevice of his face. She picked up a pen and began to write in tiny letters around the margins of the page.

Who is David Lee? Is he still alive? Why did my grandparents hate him? Why did he leave Mum? Why didn't Mum tell me every secret little thing about him? Why does it matter to me? What if I did find him and he was horrible? Or if he was perfect? A perfect dad who had always wanted a daughter? What if he asked me to stay?

The next morning, as soon as she could get into the school library, Maeve googled Davy Lee. She groaned when the results came up. Four million and forty thousand! She changed it to David Lee but that got even more results more than a hundred million sites popped up in the Google listing. It was a name that everyone owned. There were millions of Chinese Lees and millions of Anglo-Irish Lees all around the world. She'd always known it was a common Chinese name but never realised the world was full of Irish Lees as well. Why couldn't he have been called something unusual, something unique that would make it possible to find him?

The first Davy Lee that had shown up owned a business selling caravans. Another was an old movie star. It was hopeless. She didn't have any clues. She flipped open the green notebook and frowned at the drawings on his letter. The bell for first period was going to ring soon and she'd have to come back and try again later.

Frantically, she tried adding all sorts of different key words; 'Ireland', 'Nepal', and finally, as a wild guess, 'artist'. Finally, she got the results down to one million hits. Her dad was one in a million. How was she ever going to find him? Should she even be trying?

Goong Goong and Por Por arranged to be in Sydney the day before Maeve was to fly overseas. Maeve let herself into the Potts Point apartment. Her bags were waiting for her, neatly stacked beside the bed in the spare room. She sat down at the end of her bed and stared at the suitcases. They didn't look out of place. It made her realise she'd been living out of a suitcase ever since her mother had died. Nowhere felt like home any more.

That night at dinner, Por Por outdid herself cooking Maeve's favourite dishes: pan-fried dumplings, steamed fish with coriander and chilli, and crunchy Chinese greens with oyster sauce. Maeve had got used to not talking while they ate, so she was surprised when Goong Goong turned to her and said, 'Siu Siu, this journey, it will change you. There is a Chinese proverb I would like you to think about while you are away. "A tree has its roots, a stream its source." Do you understand this saying?'

'Sort of,' said Maeve, rolling her chopsticks between her fingers. Was he asking her to be grateful for his generosity or was he warning her against something?

Goong Goong still wasn't well enough to drive, so Steph's parents picked Maeve up from Potts Point the next morning for the trip out to the airport. Por Por hugged Maeve extra tight, holding onto her as if it was the last time they would see each other.

'It's okay, Por Por. I'll be back in a few weeks,' said Maeve.

'I know. But it's a long way. You take care. Stay close to Mr McCabe and the other girls. Don't go anywhere alone.'

It was a relief to get all the baggage checked and finally make it to the gates of international departures. Girls were hugging their parents goodbye and kissing their boyfriends as McCabe and Ms Donahue did a head count and checked that everyone was ready. The St Philomena's girls were about to pa.s.s through the barrier where family and friends couldn't follow when Andy came running towards them, dodging Ned's pusher between the crowds. The wheels squealed as he came to a violent stop beside Maeve.

'May-yay!' shouted Ned, reaching out for her.

'Maeve, I'm sorry we're late. We were just about to go when Ned pulled a cup of chocolate milk all over himself and I had to change his clothes.'

'You could have brought him sticky. I wouldn't have minded,' said Maeve.

She held Ned in her arms and squashed his face close to hers. It made her eyes p.r.i.c.k with tears. Awkwardly, Andy hugged her too, enveloping Ned at the same time.

'Maeve,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry for all the c.r.a.p that's gone down lately. Ned is my only son but you're my only daughter. You can come home to us. Any time. When you're ready. You can always come home to us. One day, any day.'

Maeve pressed her face against Ned's tummy, needing to hide.

'Thanks, Andy,' she mumbled, and handed Ned back.

She scooped up her flight bag and followed the other girls through the doors without looking back.

28.

Ghost world Even though Maeve had been in airports more times than she could count, she'd never pa.s.sed through the doors to international departures. It was like entering another world, a weird holding bay between universes. There were backpackers and businessmen, whole families with sleepy children draped over the parents' shoulders, and the excited gaggle of St Philomena's students cl.u.s.tered together in the queue. Ms Donahue stood at the front, clutching the pa.s.sports and then handed one to each of the girls as they approached the customs checkpoint.

Bianca looked bored. She'd been through this routine too many times. Then a security guard opened her bag for inspection.

'But they're only tweezers,' said Bianca, looking outraged that anything of hers should be confiscated. 'You know, you pluck your eyebrows with them!'

'Sorry, miss. No sharp objects on board. That's the rules.'

Bianca turned to Maeve and muttered angrily, 'Oh what, like I'm so going to hijack a plane with a pair of tweezers. What do they think I'm going to do? Pluck the air hostess to death? I mean, pleeeze.'

Steph sighed. 'I'll just be glad when we're on the plane. I won't believe we've made it out of Australia until we touch down in Hong Kong.'

It was a nine-hour flight but between the meals, the movies and the endless swapping of seats, the hours disappeared quickly.

Maeve pressed her face against the gla.s.s as they descended. She gripped the arms of her seat so tightly that Steph turned to her.

'What's wrong? Are you scared of the landing?'

'No, I'm thinking. About Mum. How I always thought I'd come here with her one day. And now I'm here without her.'

Steph slipped her hand over Maeve's and held it tight. 'But you're not alone, Maeve.'

Hong Kong was warm and steamy. The minibus hummed with the excited conversation of girls as it drove along Nathan Road. It was dark by the time they reached the hotel in Kowloon but no one was tired.

'It's stupid being in Hong Kong first,' said Bianca. 'We should be coming here on the way home so we can shop.'

Maeve shrugged. 'It's just meant to break the flight, Bunka. It's a drama tour, not a shopping tour.'

'They'd better let us at least go to the night markets.'

Maeve glanced at their itinerary. 'We're doing that tonight. Looks like we've got something to do every minute of the day tomorrow as well. Por Por gave me this long list of relatives she wanted me to try and contact but we've only got twenty-four hours.'

Ms Donahue and McCabe marshalled the girls into small groups and they headed out into the warm, oily night. Everything about Hong Kong surprised Maeve; the brilliant colours of the neon signs in Nathan Road, the hazy swirl of exhaust fumes mingling with the rich layers of cooking scents exuded by the roadside foodstalls, the bustle of millions of people all hurrying into the night, talking, laughing, intent upon their evening business. People turned to stare at Maeve, taking a second look at the pale-skinned Asian girl walking arm-in-arm with two fair-haired Australians. She'd noticed that reaction to her before in Chinatown, the way some people would turn back to look at her, trying to decide if she was an Asian-looking white girl or a Western-looking Asian girl. She listened to the sound of their voices, the way the words seemed to have a strange lilt to them that went up and down like notes in a song. She made a vow to herself that one day she really would go to Chinese school and learn how to speak the language.

McCabe stuck close to the Musketeers as they were jostled by the crowds along Temple Street.

'Are you shadowing us, sir?' asked Bianca.

'You three are the youngest students on the tour,' said McCabe.

'Oh, I thought you were hoping to pick up some tips on how to bargain,' said Bianca.

She stopped at a trestle table laden with old Chinese coins, Communist Party badges and antique-looking chess sets. There were even old wind-up alarm clocks with the face of Mao Zedong nodding in time to the second hand.

'Omar would love one of these,' said Bianca, picking up one of the alarm clocks.

'Omar?' said Steph and Maeve in unison.

'I know. He was a jerk. But he's matured.'

Bianca held the clock up and the stall-holder keyed a price into his calculator and showed it to her.

'Ho gwai!' she exclaimed, shaking her head.

The stall-holder tried another amount but Bianca held out until, sighing, he reduced it to a quarter of the original price.

Maeve felt embarra.s.sed that she didn't know what ho gwai meant. She was glad when Bianca explained to McCabe that it was Chinese for 'too expensive'.

As they moved deeper into the markets, Maeve kept imagining she caught a glimpse of someone she knew weaving through the crowd. Every few minutes, a voice would make her start, as if someone had spoken her name, as if they were quietly calling her. But when she spun around to try and discover who it was, she was confronted by a sea of strangers. She quickened her pace and kept close to Bianca and Steph.

When they reached the Tin Hau Temple, Steph was excited to find a row of fortune-tellers. While Steph went to have her fortune told, Bianca haggled with a stall-holder. Maeve glanced over her shoulder again. The feeling wouldn't go away. It was as if someone was stalking her, but not someone evil. She was sure it was someone she knew. Suddenly, it dawned on her who it was. Every woman behind every stall, every figure disappearing into the shadows seemed to hold an echo of her mother. She stood very still and let the feeling possess her. A wave of dej vu swept over her.

'Are you all right, Maeve?' asked McCabe. His voice pulled her back from the edge of darkness.

'I didn't expect to feel like this,' she said.

'Are you jet-lagged?'

'No,' said Maeve. 'It's as if I'm being haunted, but not in a bad way. I have this weird feeling that I've been here before.'

'Some people believe that we carry our ancestors' memories with us, even if we never knew them,' said McCabe. 'They call it race memory.'

Maeve nodded. Her heart felt too full for her to speak. She could see Goong Goong here as a young man, she could see Por Por and her mother visiting as mother and daughter. Goong Goong's proverb came back to her: 'A tree has its roots, a stream its source.' Was this the source of her family? She shut her eyes and let the feeling of belonging wash over her.

The next morning, they caught the subway down to the Star Ferry Terminal from their hotel in Kowloon so they could cross over to Hong Kong Island.

'It's like being in Sydney,' said Steph, as they stepped onto the ferry.

The roar of the ferry engine, the lapping of the waters against the prow, the sharp tang of oil and salt, made Maeve feel at home. The sense of belonging that she'd felt at the night markets was even stronger here. The Star Ferry chugged across the wide harbour in exactly seven minutes and the tribe of St Philomena's girls marched across the terminal to where trams shot up the side of Victoria Peak, the highest point in Hong Kong.

When they reached the Peak they could see right across the island and the harbour to the New Territories. The girls all squashed up close as a group while Bianca took photos with her digital camera. She was the only one with global roaming on her mobile, so everyone wanted her to send snapshots home. While she was busy being the official photographer, Maeve leant on the railing and gazed out at the view.

A dense smog sat like heavy cloud between the skysc.r.a.pers. The side of the peak was thick with lush tropical growth, and the city leapt out of the s.p.a.ce between the water and the forest like a dream of gla.s.s and steel.

In that moment, Maeve felt it again as if her mother was behind her. A breeze swirled up the side of the Peak and blew Maeve's hair from her face. She shut her eyes, holding the moment, imagining Sue really was beside her, not a shimmering ghost but real and warm and alive again. When she opened her eyes, she felt surrounded and yet utterly alone. It was the weirdest feeling. The other girls had all left the viewing deck and the wind had suddenly become sharp. She stared down at the haze of pollution that blanketed the city, trying to make sense of her emotions.

'Maeve!' called McCabe, startling her from her reverie. 'You're not quite with us, are you?'

'Sorry, sir. I didn't think that being here would mean anything. But I keep having all these weird feelings. There's a lot I have to figure out about this place.'

'I'm afraid you'll have to save that for another trip. We really need to keep moving.'

Maeve smiled. 'That's okay, sir. I'm definitely coming back here one day. The ghosts can wait until then.'

29.

Secret-keeper Maeve glanced across at McCabe as they stood waiting for their bus outside Dublin Airport. Sometimes she felt he was watching her, as if he knew she was planning something. She wished she didn't feel so edgy. It wasn't as if she was likely to b.u.mp into David Lee on the first street corner. She wouldn't even recognise him if she did. But as the bus moved into the traffic, she pressed her face against the gla.s.s, trying to take in every sight and sound of Dublin, wondering if he was out there somewhere.

Rain sleeted down as the mini-bus pulled up outside their accommodation. The B&B was a tall Victorian terrace house with six steps up to a shiny black front door. Maeve, Bianca and Stephanie dragged their suitcases up a narrow flight of stairs lined with fading line drawings of the sights of Dublin. The whole building smelt faintly of bacon, but it was warm and cosy in their room at the top. The ceiling sloped down on all sides and Bianca insisted they toss a coin to see who shared the double bed and who won the only single.

'I hate that carpet. That's the sort of carpet that used to give me nightmares when I was little. You know, you look over the side of the bed and the swirly bits look like giant spiders.'

'What are you worrying about the carpet for?' said Maeve. 'We're in Dublin! This is where the tour really starts. This is where things are going to happen!'

Maeve hurried over to the window to look out into the street. They were near a ca.n.a.l in a long line of terraces. Maybe her father was just around the corner. Maybe her whole life was about to change.

In the morning, they were served huge plates of fried eggs with bacon, tomatoes and something that looked like a dark sliced sausage.

'What's this?' asked Bianca, prodding the speckled circle of meat.

'It's black pudding,' said McCabe, amused.

'Black pudding?'

'It's traditional. They make it with blood, that's why it's so dark,' he said.

Every girl in the breakfast room pushed the little dark circles to the corner of their plates except Maeve.

'Black pudding is no big deal. My granny makes me eat pig's blood congee. If I can handle Chinese food, I can handle Irish. I mean, I am half-Irish.'

'Well, so am I,' said Steph. 'Like, all my ancestors came from Ireland, but that doesn't mean I have to regress!'

After breakfast they met in the street. There was a bite in the spring air and Maeve plunged her hands deep into her pockets.

Ms Donahue handed out copies of the day's itinerary plus a list of emergency procedures. On the back was a map of how to get back to the B&Bs if they got separated from the group. Maeve slipped the sheet into her pocket. She was definitely going to be separated from everyone and she couldn't wait. She had her own plans.

As they walked along the streets of Dublin, Maeve found herself looking into the faces of the crowd, searching for a man with pale eyes and wild hair, a scary ghost of a man who might be her father. She turned at the familiar sound of a voice but it was only an Australian tourist. Of course her dad wouldn't sound Australian. No, he'd have a soft Irish accent and he'd look much older than the face in the photo. But the more she searched the crowds, the more daunting her task became. The faces on the street were young, with pink cheeks, not the weathered face she imagined her father would possess. The only older people seemed to be the beggars on the footpaths. A man lying asleep in a doorway caught her eye. What if she pulled back the green chenille bedspread covering his face and discovered her father? The possibility sent a chill down her spine.

In O'Connell Street, they boarded a double-decker tour bus. 'It's a good way for you all to get your bearings, girls,' announced Ms Donahue, as the bus wove its way through the streets of Dublin.

'It's a good way to freeze our a.r.s.es off,' said Bianca, pulling the collar of her coat up high. It started to rain and most of the girls went below, but Steph and Maeve stuck it out on the open roof of the red double-decker.

Maeve noted where everything was, as if she was soaking up a map of the city, soaking it into her bones. As the bus drove past the General Post Office she sat up and craned to see it.

'And in 1916, the post office was the site of the famous Easter uprising that turned the tide against the English,' said the guide.

'I read about that!' said Steph, turning to Maeve in her excitement. 'This is so cool. It's all, like, weirdly familiar. My great-great-grandparents came from Ireland. It's sort of like finding my roots, seeing all this.'