THE small boy standing on the doormat speaks Cantonese with a slightly odd accent. 'Jo san. Luk Sin-Saang hai-mm-hai do?' Luk Ming-ming considers what she should reply to the child asking whether her father is in. 'Keui mm hai-do, keui faan seh-tsee-lau,' she says, informing him that he is out, gone to the office.
She peers through the metal grille at the boy. He seems vaguely familiar. A cousin? She decides that the boy definitely has the Luk family nose. She asks him whether he is a member of the family. He nods with enthusiasm. She lets him in. 'My father will be home at 7 o'clock,' she says. 'Are you related to my uncle in Toronto?' The boy shakes his head. 'No,' he says. 'I am your father's number one son. From Shenzhen.' Luk Ming-ming's jaw drops open, and she runs to find her mother.
Scenes like the above are happening all the time in Hong Kong. And they are going to be replayed in much larger numbers in the weeks and months to come.
The court ruling on the Right of Abode has caused considerable worry among people who fear that Hong Kong's infrastructure may not cope with the new arrivals.
But the people who are truly living in a state of terror, I am quite sure, are the huge number of men who have secretly fathered children in south China - youngsters who now have the right to come to Hong Kong and turn up on their father's doorsteps. What fun it would be to be a fly on the wall and listen to some of these conversations when Ah-ba gets home from the office and finds his taai-taai waiting for him at home with his newly discovered child.
Child: Hello Ah-ba! Dad: ! Wife: Well, Ah-Chun? Do you know this child? Dad: I've never seen him before in my life.