by Helen Fields
Osaki nodded, lacing his fingers together on his lap and sitting upright, fighting the natural recline of the seat to do so.
‘I have failed,’ he said abruptly.
Maclure gave him a few moments to expand on the statement. When nothing more was said, he offered encouragement.
‘Failure’s subjective. It depends on the standards we set ourselves. If you judge yourself too harshly, almost anything can constitute a failure.’
‘If I had not failed, my wife would not have left me. I could not get a job or support her. She has to work long hours. It is not the life I promised her.’
He kept his eyes on his knees and spoke in a level tone. He’d already let himself down badly enough by crying in front of his wife. He couldn’t shame himself in front of the stranger, too.
‘Do you mind my asking how old you are?’ Maclure asked.
‘Twenty-five,’ Osaki replied.
‘And it sounds as if this is your second language, by your pronunciation, not your grammar. It’s impressive. Learning another language fluently is very demanding.’
‘I met my wife when she came to Japan on a student exchange three years ago. I could already speak English, but I made sure I was fluent before I came here when we were married.’
‘I see. That’s a long way to come for someone else and it’s difficult to start a new life in a foreign country. It can’t have been easy, job hunting here.’
Osaki thought of all the job interviews. It wasn’t just the language that was different, it was the use of facial expressions, the manners and formality, not to mention the customs. The feedback he’d had from those few potential employers who’d bothered to give any was that he was too uptight and direct for them. That wasn’t even limited to positions where he might have come into contact with the public. Corporations were looking for ‘team players’ or ‘good communicators’ and ‘inspiring colleagues who understood how to bond with their peers’. It hadn’t mattered that he’d been willing to work as many hours as he could get, or for minimum wage, or to perform tasks well below the expectations he’d had on getting his degree in systems management.
‘Japanese and Scottish cultures are different,’ he said simply.
‘I’m sure they are,’ Maclure said. ‘So how are things between you and your wife now?’
‘She is dissatisfied. There is another man who is providing her with comfort.’
‘In an intimate way?’ Maclure asked gently.
Osaki nodded.
‘So you’ve been unable to get a job, you’re away from your home and family, and your wife is having an affair. That’s a lot for anyone to deal with and it doesn’t sound to me as if you’ve failed. It seems to me that you’ve been very brave and need extra time and support to adjust to life here.’
The door opened yet again, and Vicki entered carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits. Maclure gave her a tense smile.
‘Thanks, Vicki. That’ll be fine on the table. Perhaps try knocking first, just in case it’s a bad moment.’
Vicki gave a slight sigh before issuing a curt apology and exiting.
‘She’s new,’ Maclure commented. ‘It can be a strange place to work until you’re familiar with it. So tell me what effect it’s having on you, this perception of failure.’
‘Not perception. It is real. If I go home, my parents will know I have failed them, too. They told me not to come. They said Kylie was wrong for me. I told them I knew better. I was rude to my parents. I have no right to take my deficiency back to them.’
‘That’s a big burden to be carrying and I understand there are cultural differences that I may be less then adequately equipped to advise on, but I can say that most parents forgive quickly and easily. Love makes us want nothing but the best, even in the worst circumstances. Have you tried talking to your family about what’s happening?’
‘I cannot. My wife brings another man to our flat, even when I am there. She laughs at me when I ask her not to. She says … she says personal things about my body and tells me if I was a proper man, she would not have to. I am ashamed. My parents should not have to bear that.’
Maclure picked up the form that remained only half-completed.
‘It’s Osaki, right? Tell me if I mispronounced that. I, too, am guilty of not being as worldly as I should be. As a counsellor, I try never to take a path where I demonise a partner or take sides. There’s always a lot left unsaid both between couples and between us in here, but all partnerships are based on mutual respect. If you know in your heart that you’ve been properly respectful to your wife, then you’re entitled to be shown an equal amount of respect in return. Perhaps it’s not you who’s dishonouring your marriage. I understand that your culture puts a different emphasis on the roles within a marriage, but I think it’s a universal truth that an inequality between two people in an intimate relationship almost always spells disaster.’
‘The cause no longer matters. I cannot find work. I cannot pay the rent. I cannot even satisfy my wife. I have disobeyed my parents and brought shame on myself. I am here because death is the only path I can see to redeem myself.’
‘All right, let’s think about that for a moment,’ Maclure said. ‘Did you want to try the coffee? It’s not great, but I’ve seen so many cups get cold if we don’t take a break from talking. Did you want yours?’
‘Thank you, no. I don’t like coffee.’ Osaki commented.
His head was bowed so low Maclure could hardly hear him.
‘Did you ask Vicki for tea or water, then? I can get you something else.’
‘No, I did not ask for anything, but the offer is appreciated.’
Maclure looked towards the door where Vicki had exited, wondering how their newest recruit was managing to get even the simplest of tasks wrong, given her impressive CV and references. At the very least, she was going to have to learn to leave her mobile alone during work hours. Nothing told people they were worthless like someone fiddling with a phone when they needed attention.
‘You mentioned death,’ Maclure said matter-of-factly. ‘Is that an option you’ve been actively considering?’
‘It is inevitable. There is no other possibility,’ Osaki announced.
‘Well, let’s agree to disagree on that point just for now. Suicide prevents you from redeeming yourself. You can’t make things better with your parents, or plan a new life. It causes as much pain as it resolves. And it’s not always successful. There can be terrible non-fatal consequences.’
‘I have planned everything,’ Osaki said. ‘I do not wish to be any further burden to my family.’
‘But you’re here. I’m glad you are, because it tells me that you still have hope, you’re still open to the idea that there might be another way to proceed. Can we explore that?’
Osaki didn’t answer.
‘You know, I see a lot of people at many different stages in this process. I’ve come to believe over the years that it takes more courage to ask for help than it does to do the deed. You risk not being believed, or thought hysterical or attention-seeking. I can understand that your concerns about the state of your life are real and valid. I believe they would affect anyone, not just you. Where we differ is in the extent to which you are culpable.’
‘Culpable?’ Osaki asked.
‘Responsible. Accountable. It sounds as if there’s an element of racism in your failure to find jobs. Perhaps not overt or even deliberate, but it’s possible that potential employers have been unable to move past cultural differences and find ways to bridge the gap. You’re obviously intelligent and qualified. I see from the form that your degree is in systems management and you’re bilingual. I think perhaps you’re looking in the wrong place for employment. You need to embrace the differences rather than ignore them. Try the university or colleges, perhaps teaching Japanese. What about travel companies, or translation services?’
‘Say I get work. What about my wife? I don’t know what to do about that even if my s
ituation improves.’
‘That’s really up to you. Only you know if you want to save the relationship, but you both have to agree on the way forwards. It won’t be easy getting the trust back, but you should also ask yourself if you’re not owed more. Marriage should be about getting through the tough times together, not just the easy parts of the journey. Can you see your wife at your side long term?’
‘But what would I tell my parents? They do not believe in divorce.’
‘Here’s the thing. Japan is very far from Scotland. You can tell your parents whatever you want to. You’re a grown man. This is your life and you have one shot at it. I respect your sense of family and tradition. I think it’s essential for society to have structure and generational respect, but it cannot be at the cost of moving forwards how you want to.’
‘I cannot lie to them,’ Osaki said sternly. ‘That would only bring more shame. If they find out that my wife put another man in our bed … I might as well be dead already. They will never want to see me again. My father thought I was weak for coming to Scotland. He said I should have insisted that we remained in Tokyo. I hate that he was right.’
‘Your father wanted to keep you close, to help you. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for a parent to accept that their child is ready to live independently. There are plenty of ways to skin a cat, though,’ Maclure said.
Osaki looked horrified. ‘Skin a cat?’
‘It’s a saying. I didn’t mean literally. Think about it. You could tell your parents that you discovered your wife couldn’t have children and that it caused a divide between you. Or that there weren’t enough jobs available in Edinburgh and you opted to return to Tokyo, and that your wife felt unable to leave her family. Or even just that you missed them so much, you were willing to sacrifice the marriage to go back to your home country.
‘They might wonder about the details, but that would be enough to justify returning home. You could get work, start a new relationship. The divorce here would be relatively simple as she’s committed adultery. No death involved.’
‘It is still a deception.’
‘Reality is whatever we make it,’ Maclure said. ‘Don’t lose your life to pride or principle.’
‘It is not pride,’ Osaki countered. ‘It is humiliation. My wife calls me names. She says my …’ He looked up at Maclure, the cracks beneath the surface starting to show. ‘My penis is too small. If I argue, she threatens to email my parents and tell them I prefer men and will not have sex with her. I would rather die than have to explain what is really happening to my mother and father. They are very traditional. They will not understand.’
‘It sounds to me as if you’re trapped in a very abusive relationship. Too many people think that only women are victims of abuse. Psychological violence is still violence. It leaves wounds not visible to the eye but no less real. It’s hard for men to talk about it, because society portrays males as needing to be tough guys. It’s all bullshit. I look at it this way: if you saw your sister in an abusive relationship, you’d do everything in your power to get her out of it, right? You wouldn’t tell her she was weak or foolish, or that she should have been able to handle it herself.’
Osaki stood. ‘Thank you. You have helped very much.’
Maclure followed suit.
‘You don’t have to go. There are lots of options. We have information about places you can go, free legal advice, help sorting out your finances, even assistance getting employment. Sometimes it’s just about taking back control. Feeling as if your life is spiralling can be daunting. Let me put you in touch with …’
‘My decision has to be a rational one, based on research. You have been kind and I appreciate it. Now I must go.’
Maclure looked disheartened but extended a hand to shake Osaki’s.
‘There’s someone here twenty-four hours a day, or you can phone us. We even have an online chat facility now, if that’s easier.’
‘Mr Maclure,’ Osaki said warmly. ‘You are not responsible for me or for anything I choose to do. I did not mean to make another person feel sad.’
‘You haven’t,’ Maclure said. ‘You made me hopeful as soon as you walked through the door. I just want you to take some positivity back out with you.’
They shook hands. Osaki showed himself out. It was how he’d always handled difficult decisions in his life. With careful thought and deliberation, taking objective counsel. Except for his choice of a wife. That had been all raging hormones and overactive ego when the visiting Scottish girl, who all his friends had competed for, had chosen him. Now, as his father had predicted, he’d come to regret acting on impulse. He wouldn’t do so again, even when it came to making a life-ending decision. Rune Maclure had helped him more than he could possibly have known.
Vicki walked him to the door, a stack of neatly labelled files tucked under one arm, telling him distractedly to have a good day. She really did need some additional training, Osaki thought as he avoided another man heading down the path towards him.
‘You just ring the blue buzzer to the left of the door handle,’ Osaki told him.
‘I’m not here to get help,’ the male responded gruffly, offence written plainly on his face. ‘I’m meeting a friend.’
‘Apologies.’
Osaki inclined his head slightly as Vicki stepped out, fastening her jacket, pausing when she saw Osaki still there.
‘I haven’t got long,’ the offended man said.
Vicki joined him and together they walked along the path towards the pavement.
‘What was he in for?’ he half whispered, still easily loud enough for Osaki to hear.
‘Would you shut it?’ Vicki hissed.
Osaki waited for them to choose a direction then went the opposite way. He didn’t need to hear any more of their conversation to know what the offended man thought of him. It was obvious by his response. Seeking help was weak. Pathetic. He might as well have labelled himself a loser, that was the popular phrase, and how appropriate to him. He’d lost everything. His country, his family, his culture. His pride. It was time to do something about it, sooner rather than later. He had made a decision. All that remained was to put it in place.
Osaki set off for the nearest hardware store.
Chapter Fifteen
6 March
Since Callanach’s journalist friend, Lance Proudfoot, had published his online article, the phone lines had been alive with callers offering information about both Fenella Hawksmith and her daughter, Alice. Ava was all too aware that most of it would turn out to be a diversion rather than substance, but they had to start somewhere.
She’d just reviewed Pax Graham’s report on the nursing home murder, noting with dismay the additional evidence that Bruce Jenson’s genitalia had been damaged in the attack. There was no doubt about Callanach in her mind, though. He’d proved himself to her time and again. There was nothing hidden between the two of them, no lies. She’d be willing to bet her life on that, so she was more than happy to bet her career on it.
Callanach had texted her at 7 a.m. to warn her that he’d set up the online article, trying to push for results in the Hawksmith case, while she’d been busy swallowing painkillers for her head and hoping the alcohol hadn’t invalidated the benefits of the antibiotics completely.
‘How was Natasha?’ Callanach asked before Ava had time to look up as her half-open door received a brief single knock.
‘On her usual electrifying form,’ Ava grinned. ‘She asked after you.’
‘I miss Natasha. Why don’t you both come to dinner at my apartment next week?’
‘She’s a bit busy with the latest conquest,’ Ava dissembled. There was absolutely no prospect of her putting Natasha and Callanach in the same room while Tasha was so intrigued by their misconstrued nights together. ‘Good call asking Lance Proudfoot to release the article. Looks like it’s been shared successfully. There’s information flying in.’
‘That’s why I’m here,’ Callanach said. ‘Fenella
Hawksmith’s medical notes just arrived. She had a history of suicide attempts, including a period when she was committed to a hospital for her own safety.’
‘Was she still taking medication?’ Ava asked.
‘Not any that was prescribed; although it’s possible she was taking non-prescription drugs. The tox screen will give us more details. I’ve checked with the Scenes of Crime team. There was no medication, legal or otherwise, found at the flat, other than standard over-the-counter stuff, and they were out of date with some still in the pack.’
‘So no sign of addiction, then.’
‘None,’ Callanach agreed.
They stared at one another across the desk. Ava studied her fingernails, still ragged from clutching the wall at Tantallon, and wondered who was going to say it first. Callanach let her do the honours.
‘You don’t think …’ she said slowly.
‘It has to be a coincidence,’ he replied. ‘Because otherwise you and I are going back to Tantallon, and back up on that fucking wall.’
‘It’s rained almost non-stop since the night Stephen Berry died. The chances of us picking up anything useful now is slim, but I think we have to try.’
‘Ava, we already have one victim from the nursing home and Fenella Hawksmith. Are you sure about this?’
‘Stephen Berry attempted suicide a few weeks ago, now he’s dead following a long drop from a castle wall in the middle of the night. Think about it. The chemicals in his body that showed up on the tox screen confirmed that he hadn’t gone off his meds. He was doing what his doctor had instructed him to do. There should have been enough serotonin in him to keep him steady, if not what you and I would think of as happy. He had a girlfriend, right?’
‘Ex,’ Callanach confirmed.
‘So let’s talk to her, confirm his movements and moods between the attempt from the Queensferry Crossing and his trip to Tantallon.’