by Graham Marks
And then the serious stuff began to happen: overhead lockers were closed, seatbelts were checked, hand luggage stowed, and final warnings given about turning off mobile phones and other electrical equipment. Take-off was imminent. His mission was ready for go.
Nothing he could do now but watch movies and eat food.
Sarah Grey got home just after six p.m., glad to find that Adam had remembered to double-lock the front door and wondering if he’d managed to lock up at the back. Teenage boys appeared to have brains capable of concentrating for what seemed like days on computer games, but were totally incapable of remembering the small but important things in life. Like basic home security or flushing the toilet.
As she pushed the door open Sarah could feel there was post behind it, but she was in a hurry; Dave and Jess were coming round for dinner, which she hadn’t even begun to prepare, and Tony could pick the post up when he got back. You never knew, Adam might do it if he came home first. As she walked down the hall the last thought almost made her laugh.
Dave and Jess, two of their oldest, closest friends, had suggested the four of them meet up and go out for a meal. But Sarah knew that with the way she felt, preparing and cooking food – actually doing something – would distract her. It would keep her mind off Charlie, off her mother’s slow, inexorable plummet into dementia and the picture in her head of her dad wandering through their house like a lost soul, if only for a short time. Sarah had decided to cook something she hadn’t done before so she’d really have to concentrate: a Thai green curry, from scratch, no packets, nothing prepared.
Unpacking the three carrier bags she’d brought in from the car she had a momentary panic that there wasn’t enough food, that she’d forgotten to include Adam in her calculations – but there was, and she hadn’t. Anyway, he probably wouldn’t be home when they ate, or even eat with them if he was, but she liked to have food there for him when he wanted it. Tony thought she mollycoddled Adam and she knew she probably did, a bit, but why not? He wasn’t going to be living with them for ever.
In the end, after a couple of tricky moments, the meal had turned out to be pretty good, if she did say so herself. Even the rice, and Sarah was not known for being good at rice. Delicious though the food was, the main focus of the evening was not on the quality of her culinary skills. It was inevitable that just about all they’d talked about was Charlie – what else, under the circumstances, was there to do: discuss house prices?
The fact was, when Charlie wasn’t the topic of conversation, it was ageing, terminal parents they talked about. Sarah had known that that was how the evening was going to go, and had had no desire to get emotionally shredded in public. Bursting into tears in front of friends, ones like David and Jess who cared and understood, was absolutely fine – it was a huge relief being able to talk to people who didn’t just nod at you sympathetically – but it wasn’t something she could do in a restaurant.
After the weeping and the food and tears, Tony brought Dave and Jess up to speed with what he’d been told at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, which, when you added it all up, didn’t amount to much; the police, through Interpol, had contacted the Tokyo police authorities, and the FCO had contacted the UK embassy in Tokyo, who would, in turn, be getting in touch with all the consulates in other cities. The investigation into Charlie’s disappearance would apparently be handled entirely by the Japanese police, who, the FCO official had said, were unlikely to ask for help as their resources were more than adequate. They would, said the official, have to be patient. It had only been a week.
Only a week? ONLY A WEEK! Sarah had been furious when Tony, ringing from outside the FCO, had told her what the official had said. Bloody woman! There was no way on this earth she could have any kids of her own, but if for some bizarre, twisted reason she did, God help them. When Tony repeated that part of the story Sarah couldn’t stop the tears, hot and silent, from cascading down her cheeks again. Jess, holding her, cried too, and it was a relief all over again to shed the bottled-up emotions she’d been carrying round all day.
‘Did they say anything about whether you should go out there, Tony?’ Dave sat back after filling up their wine glasses.
‘Entirely up to us whether we do or not.’ Tony looked over at Sarah. ‘We’ve talked about it, haven’t we,’ Sarah nodded, biting her lower lip, ‘and there’s no way Sarah can go, with her mum and dad and everything, and I can’t leave her to cope with that situation on her own … no way, right?’
The question stayed, waiting for someone, anyone, to answer it.
Tony frowned. ‘What’re you saying, Dave? That I should’ve gone?’
Dave shook his head, leaning forward, elbows on the table. ‘Not saying that, Tony, mate … course not, I just can’t get my head round what a bastard it is to have to make that sort of decision. And anyway, when you see people who have gone to try and help find someone who’s missing, they don’t seem to do anything much except provide news programmes with thirty seconds of film of them standing in some street, and a sound bite.’
Sarah blew her nose. ‘Did you phone that detective, Tony, the one who came here when we first reported Charlie missing?’
‘Venner?’ Tony took a drink. ‘Yeah, I did … he said he’d do some chasing, but like they said at the Foreign Office, all police contact has to be through Interpol. He said he’d call me tomorrow. Have you given up smoking, Dave?’
‘Why?’
‘Because if you haven’t, I would like one.’
‘Tony!’ Sarah frowned. ‘Don’t do it, don’t start again, if Adam sees you smoking – he said one of the reasons he’d stopped was because if you could, so could he.’
‘The discussion is moot, I have no fags.’ Dave nodded at his wife. ‘Nurse Ratchet over there would have my guts for garters if she even suspected I’d thought about buying a packet. Talking of Adam, how’s he taking all this?’
Sarah looked over at Tony. ‘Not particularly well … he got suspended for two weeks because he got into a fight at college. Some stupid boy making off-colour remarks about what Charlie was doing in Tokyo. He took it very personally. Broke the boy’s finger.’
‘He said it was a mistake, Sarah! What would you rather he did, let them say whatever they like about his sister?’
‘I’d actually rather we didn’t have an argument, not now …’
Dave and Jess left just before midnight, Sarah insisting she didn’t want any help with the clearing up. Back in the kitchen Tony, loading the dishwasher, apologised for losing his rag about Adam.
‘Where is he, anyway – did you see him today?’
‘This morning, just before I left to go to Mum and Dad’s.’
‘How was he?’
‘He was … he was OK.’
Tony looked up from arranging the dirty plates in ascending order of size. ‘What was the matter with him?’
‘Oh, I don’t know …’ Sarah wiped an already clean work surface. ‘He wasn’t himself, you know?’
‘None of us are, right now. D’you think he’s coming back tonight?’
‘Or staying with The Girlfriend? I’ve no idea, given up asking. Do you think we’ll ever get to meet her?’
Tony stood up. ‘Does she even exist?’
‘Oh, yes!’
‘Mother’s intuition?’
‘No, smelt the perfume, seen the lipstick – I’m not saying where – and I think her name’s Suzy.’
‘How d’you know that?’
‘Saw a piece of paper on his desk, covered with her name. You know, the way you do when you first fall for someone? Remember?’
‘Were you spying?’
‘Nothing so underhand, just getting his dirty laundry …’
Adam looked at his watch, which was still on UK time. It was twenty to midnight, which meant … He’d forgotten what the time difference was, disoriented from a combination of snacking, watching too many movies and not sleeping enough. He looked up and down the aisle, spotted the hostess – Tak
ako, if he’d remembered it right – who’d been looking after his section and got up to go and speak to her. She’d know what the time was in Tokyo.
He stretched, his cramped muscles complaining about being stuck in virtually the same position for hours on end, observing the hushed compartment full of people sleeping, reading, eating, engrossed in movies, some even talking to each other. All at 30,000 feet. He walked down the aisle to the station at the rear of the plane where the food and drink was stored and found Takako finishing a glass of water.
‘Hi, I um, could you …’ He showed her his watch. ‘I haven’t changed this yet … what’s the time in Tokyo?’
Takako smiled. ‘It’s twenty to eight, in morning. We’ll be landing around hour and half.’
He took his watch off and fiddled with the buttons to change the time in the watch’s second zone; it was now Wednesday, had been for hours. ‘What’s it like?’
‘Tokyo?’
‘Yeah … is that where you come from?’
Takako nodded. ‘But I live in London now, since I start flying … Your first time in Japan? On holiday?’
Adam’s turn to nod. ‘Sort of … my sister’s out there.’ Adam didn’t think this was the time to go into details about exactly what he was going to be doing in Japan. ‘What’s the best way to get in from the airport? Doesn’t look too far on the map, is there an underground, like at Heathrow?’
One of the male cabin crew came into the station.
‘What would you say, Giichi, the best way to get into Tokyo, train or coach?’
Giichi thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I think coach? Little bit more expensive, but leave more often maybe.’
‘Where are you staying?’ Takako smiled, head slightly to one side.
‘Can’t remember, got the address back at my seat … somewhere fairly central I think, near a station.’ Suzy had said the capsule hotels were all near mainline stations.
‘Probably best get train, then.’ Giichi nodded pensively. ‘You can get subway to anywhere from Asakusa, easy – plenty of English on the signs!’
‘How long are you staying?’
‘About ten days.’
‘Good time of year, not too hot.’ Takako nodded. ‘We must get breakfast ready now, sorry.’
‘Oh, right, breakfast.’ Adam looked at his watch, ‘Tokyo time … I’ll let you get on. Thanks for the advice.’
It was breakfast Japanese-style, with a hot, slightly fishy soup that actually turned out to be made of soy beans, and rice wrapped in dried seaweed. Not a muffin or a croissant in sight. Adam wasn’t really hungry, but he tried the rice, just to get in the mood, and didn’t particularly like it. After the debris had been cleared away Takako came by and gave him a folded piece of paper.
‘What’s this?’
‘Instructions, just in case.’
‘Just in case what?’
‘You get lost.’ Takako reached over and unfolded the paper and Adam saw she’d written a couple or more English phrases, like ‘Which way to the station, please?’ with their Japanese translation underneath. ‘Have a good trip.’
14
Stay real, be sexy
Adam sat looking at the immigration form in front of him. He’d filled everything in, except where he was staying. Could he write in Capsule Hotel Riverside, or Capsule Land Shibuya? According to the Rough Guide these places were ‘generally for one night’, so he thought maybe not … probably shouldn’t. He didn’t know how important it was to put down where you were staying, but had heard his dad tell the story about a friend who’d been turned round by immigration at JFK in New York and sent home. He couldn’t now remember why, just found himself worrying that it’d happened to someone sort of connected to him. Was that a bad omen?
But then, as he chewed the end of his pen, it slowly dawned on him that he could make it up. Surely they couldn’t check where every single visitor stayed, could they? He got the guidebook out of his small backpack again and began leafing through the accommodation section.
Standing in the queue, waiting his turn to be seen by an immigration officer, Adam wondered, if they somehow guessed he was lying about where he was staying, would they really turn him away, send him back home?
Home. His mind flashed on a series of images – his mum and dad … Badger … Grangie and Granpa Eddy, before, when they were both fine – and it came as a shock that he hadn’t thought about any of them since he’d left the house.
He wondered what would happen if his parents had found out what he’d done and had got in touch with the authorities in Tokyo – once they realised who he was would he be hauled out of the queue, handed over to the cops and then put on the first UK flight? Or would –
‘Excuse me, it’s your turn.’
Adam, feeling a tap on his shoulder, looked up and focused in front of him. He saw that, without realising, he’d moved so far forward he was now first in line and there was an empty bay to his right. He glanced at the man behind him, an American. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK, I’m kind of asleep at the wheel myself.’
Adam went over to where a doll-like woman, hardly visible over the ledge in front of her, was waiting for him to hand over his passport and papers. ‘Sorry.’
She nodded without looking at him and began to go through his passport, stopping to check the reality against the photo. ‘Grasses.’
Momentarily taken aback by the fact that Japanese people really did totally pronounce their Ls as Rs, Adam smiled to himself, then saw the woman was miming someone taking off a pair of specs. He’d forgotten he had his new sunglasses on. ‘Sorry …’
The immigration officer was now checking the form he’d filled in on the plane and Adam found he wasn’t tired any more as he stared down at the top of the woman’s head, willing her not to ask him about where he was staying. He’d chosen a place the book had said was cheap, cheerful and what he could afford. All she had to do was stamp whatever she had to stamp and let him go …
‘Horiday?’
‘What? Oh, yes … just a short one.’
Ka-thunk. ‘Have nice stay.’
And that was it. No more polite ‘sorry’s, he was through. He was in Japan and all he had to do now was find Charlie.
It was almost midday by the time he got into Tokyo. He’d decided to get off the train at Asakusa because that’s where the guidebook said there was a pretty decent capsule hotel; the only trouble was, he couldn’t book in until at least 3:00 p.m.
Three hours before he could crash. Adam stood outside the station in the bright sunshine just letting everything sink in: this street, these people, this city, all so much the same as at home and at the same time so incredibly dissimilar. People streamed by on the pavement, all different, all individual, but all Japanese. As he watched it occurred to him that this wasn’t at all like being in Chinatown back home, like he’d imagined it would be.
Here he was the odd man out, the alien, and he couldn’t work out if it was simply how tired he was, but, like a waking dream, nothing quite fitted. On the road it was the same story, with cars, trucks and vans driving on the same side of the road as at home, oddly enough, and all mostly makes he knew – but they were models he hadn’t seen before, and everywhere he looked, there were bicycles. Even on the pavements. It seemed like everything you could do while walking, the Japanese also did on a bike – phoning, using a parasol, eating – and all the time ringing their bells to alert pedestrians that they should get out of the way, and quick.
Adam realised he hadn’t seen another Caucasian face since leaving the train, that here on the street he must stick out; but no one was staring at him, the way you would at a freak, which made him feel he wasn’t quite such a stranger. Maybe Japanese politeness didn’t allow pointing. Whatever. Adam still wasn’t hungry – it was, he reminded himself, three in the morning body-clock UK time – but he thought maybe he ought to pin down where the Capsule Hotel Riverside was before he did anything else.
Using the small
map at the back of the guidebook to orient himself, he crossed the street and hoped that would take him in the direction of the river and the road where the hotel was. When he reached the cross street which should, to his left, lead past a water bus pier to a bridge, he was pleased to see that it did. Who said you had to have been a Boy Scout to be able to read maps?
He went over the road and walked down the small side street opposite till he came to a nondescript white structure with a narrow, external staircase running up the side of it. He couldn’t read the Japanese sign above him, attached to the outside of the building, but another one on the wall by the stairs, with a large orange arrow on it, was dual language and told him that this was the Capsule Hotel Riverside, with everything he needed to know – when he could check in, when he had to check out and how much it would cost him to stay. He did a quick calculation and thought £15 sounded reasonable enough, although he still had no idea what a room, or rather a capsule, in one of these places looked like. Truthfully, he really didn’t care as long as he could – eventually – lie down in it.
Adam turned round and made his way back to the main road. There were still two and a half hours to go before he would be allowed in, so he might as well not waste his time and instead use it to try and figure out a plan of action. He was so tired that he knew there was no point right now in attempting to find the bar where Charlie said she and Alice had been working, but if he bought a bigger map and then found somewhere to sit, a small restaurant or something, then he could get to grips with where everything was and be more up to speed tomorrow morning. The state he was in, it sounded like the best sort of plan he could come up with.
About half an hour later he found a magazine shop; it was a tiny place, packed with more magazines than he’d seen in his entire life. There were magazines on everything you could imagine, right down to the most obscure subject – if you liked dogs you could simply buy Dog Fan, but you could also feed your specialist need with a slick, glossy copy of Dachshund Family. Luckily, the shop also stocked tourist maps.