Red Day

by Sandy Fussell

  “Have you come about the room? It’s only small. A single. It wouldn’t be big enough for two.” Her voice is dry and crackly like leaves, with a cough punctuating every few sentences.

  “We’re not here to rent a room.” Before I can explain more, the woman interrupts me.

  “What do you want then?” She lifts her glasses, as if she can see us better if she squints without them. “You’re just kids. How old are you? Fifteen?”

  “Thirteen,” Kenichi says. “I’m looking for someone. I hope you can help me.”

  “I’m not an Information Centre. I haven’t got time to waste answering random questions.” She taps her notebook with a scary index finger. “If you’re not interested in the room, I’m busy.”

  Kenichi turns away.

  I’m not going to let this happen to him. I grab Kenichi by the sleeve, pulling him back.

  “He only wants to ask one question. It won’t take long. It’s important.”

  The old woman studies his face.

  “I’ve always been a softie when it comes to a handsome young man. Ask your question, but make it quick.”

  Kenichi takes the envelope from his pocket and shows her his great-grandfather’s name. “Does this man still live here?”

  She puts her glasses back on. “Why would you be looking for him?” One half of her mouth lifts in a lopsided puzzled kind of way.

  “I think he’s my great-grandfather.”

  She removes her glasses and scrunches her face to squint again. “Might well be. You look like him.”

  She’d probably think all of Japan looked like Kenichi.

  “You took long enough to come and visit. I’ve been here thirty years and he never had a single visitor that I saw. And I see everyone who comes in.”

  “My family were told he died in Australia during the war. I’m only here for ten days. I was fortunate to meet someone who gave me this envelope. That’s how I found out he was still alive.”

  “Well, he ain’t anymore. You’re too late,” she says. “The fellow you’re looking for died three days ago.”

  The air thickens stale and dusty, as if all Kenichi’s joy has crumbled into it. I can taste the emptiness in his sadness. It’s overwhelming. I don’t know what to do.

  “What will I tell my family?” He rips the envelope in half. “I can’t even find out if it was him or not.”

  The old lady pokes Kenichi in the chest with her scary middle fingernail. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, lad. What if I let you look around the room? All of his stuff is still there. The Salvation Army are collecting it tomorrow. If he’s your Pop, maybe you’ll find something you recognise. Mostly junk though.”

  “Thank you.” Kenichi looks like he wants to hug her. “I’ve forgotten my manners. My name is Ken Chue and this is my friend, Shallot Cartwright.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ken. You too, Shallot. I’m Katherine but you can call me Missy. Most other folks do.”

  Strangely enough, I’m getting used to being called Shallot. It doesn’t fit as well as Charlie or Charlotte, but it’s no longer tight and uncomfortable.

  Missy leads us to the far end of the hallway, where she takes an overloaded ring of keys from her apron pocket and chooses one. The door squeaks open. The room is small but tidy. A bench with a microwave, a hotplate and a half-sink form the kitchen. I spy a shower off to the side in an alcove. There’s one old torn leather chair, a coffee table and a bookcase with two half-filled shelves.

  “Feel free to poke around. I’m happy to work on my stories while you do.” Missy sits on the chair and puts her feet on the table. “This chair is a comfy one. I might keep it for myself.”

  She takes a small notebook and pen from a second apron pocket, leaving Kenichi and me to explore.

  There’s nothing obvious to tell us anything about the man who lived here. No photos on the walls. No mail on the table. Kenichi opens a cupboard. Inside is just as neat as outside. Cans stacked in rows. One cup. One plate, one bowl.

  I’m not going to find anything useful. I leave Kenichi to search. Maybe Missy will know some more information.

  “Are you a writer?” I ask Missy.

  “I might be.” She tucks her hair behind her knitting needles and smiles.

  “What are your stories about?”

  “People I know, but I don’t make ’em up. I’m not one of those writers with a fancy imagination. I’ve been collecting these stories for years. The lodgers tell them to me and I write them down.”

  “So it’s a biographical collection, all true stories?”

  “I don’t know about that. Some of them lodgers have wild imaginations. They might be making stuff up. Old Bill, that’s what we called him that lived here because it was easier to say than his other name, he reckoned he was a top-class fighter pilot. The stories he could spin about an air battle.”

  “My great-grandfather was a fighter pilot.” Kenichi closes the last cupboard door. “Were any of Bill’s stories about being a prisoner of war?”

  “Nah. Nothing like that. His was all action stuff.”

  I help Kenichi unstack the bookcase. It’s full of detective and crime novels.

  Missy sorts through the first pile. “I could do with some new reading material. What are you expecting to find?”

  “A journal,” Kenichi says. “If this is my great-grandfather’s room there has to be one hidden somewhere.”

  “It’s a family tradition,” I explain to Missy. “The eldest son writes in one every day.”

  When every book is on the floor, Kenichi sits hugging his head against his chest.

  I sit beside him, wishing there was something more I could do to help.

  “It’s not here and there’s nowhere else to look. This is not my great-grandfather’s room.”

  “What about under the bed?” I ask.

  He doesn’t lift his head. “I looked there.”

  “Between the mattress and the base? It’s where Eli always hid things.”

  His secret stuff he didn’t want me to know about, but there’s nothing nosier than a little sister.

  Kenichi and I lift the heavy mattress while Missy looks underneath.

  “I can see something. Don’t drop that thing on my head while I grab it.”

  She hands a small spiral-bound book to Kenichi. The sort you can buy in a supermarket for a few dollars. Kenichi cradles the book in cupped hands as if he’s afraid some magic trick will make it vanish.

  “Go on, open it,” I encourage. His reaction makes me hopeful. I desperately want it to be what he’s looking for.

  “What are you waiting for? Don’t keep us in suspense, boy. Is it him?” asks Missy.

  He points to the kanji on the cover. “This is his name. I’m so glad Shallot suggested looking under the mattress.”

  “Very sensible,” Missy agrees. “When I was a wee lass, my mam hid everything important there.” She scratches her cheek with a knitting needle. “It’s a shame Old Bill didn’t last long enough to meet you. But stories are the next best thing and now you’ve found a book full of ones he wrote.”

  Kenichi hugs the book close, like he’ll never let it out of his sight.

  “I suppose I can let you take it.” Missy seems unsure. “There might be rules about taking stuff from a dead lodger’s room.”

  She’s no Miss Beadle. I’m sure I can convince her it’s okay for Kenichi to have the diary.

  “Kenichi’s father works at the US Embassy in Tokyo. He can arrange whatever paperwork is necessary. There’ll probably be some sort of reward for your assistance.”

  “I need to take everything back to Japan,” Kenichi decides. “It’s not junk to me.”

  Missy looks disappointed.

  “Except the chair,” he says. “I’m sure my great-grandfather would have liked you to have it, but the rest of his things need to go home. It’s all we have left.”

  “Not quite, boy-o,” Missy says, flipping open her book and ripping out a wad of pages. “You might lik
e these stories he told me about being a young, hot-shot airman. Mostly they’re his words. I try to write them exactly the way I’m told.”

  Kenichi carefully tucks the pages between the covers of the journal. I’ve never seen him smile so much. It’s like his whole face is reflecting sunshine. I can feel the warmth on my own face.

  “Thank you.” He bows.

  Missy bows awkwardly in return. It makes me want to laugh but I don’t. It’s the perfect response.

  “Now I’ve got government problems to sort.” She puts everything back in her apron pockets. “They’re the worst kind.”

  “No one will get you in trouble for letting Kenichi have his great-grandfather’s things,” I reassure her.

  “It’s not that. Because Old Bill didn’t have any friends other than me, I had to fill in a form about how he had no relatives and it was okay to cremate him. I only posted it off yesterday. I had to sign that it was the truth, and now it’s not.”

  Kenichi wraps Missy in a hug.

  She shrugs and smiles. “I’ve never seen anyone happy about a wrongly filled-out form before.”

  “It means his great-grandfather isn’t buried yet,” I explain.

  “I can take him home to his family, where he belongs. He’ll never be alone again.”

  Missy scrabbles in her apron pocket. “I might be needing a tissue.”

  “How can I ever thank you?” Kenichi asks.

  “It’s enough to have helped out and scored a decent chair, but your girlfriend did mention a reward.”

  His girlfriend? How could she possibly think that? Luckily Kenichi doesn’t react. He’s probably too distracted to notice.

  “If you were determined to get me a little something,” she says. “I wouldn’t say no to one or two of those stumpy trees they grow in dishes over in Japan. You might have noticed I’ve got a green thumb when it comes to pot plants.”

  “How’s Ken doing this morning?” Lucy waves to him at the back of the bus as she scrunches in beside me. “I cried when I read your text. It’s so unfair. He was so close.”

  “I know. He hasn’t talked about it much so I haven’t asked. I’m waiting for the right time. Maybe after tonight is over.”

  “I’ve decided I’m coming with you to the Visitor Centre.”

  “You can’t. If something goes wrong, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  “If you get caught, I’m already guilty of aiding and abetting a crime.”

  “It’s not just that,” I admit. “You’ll slow us down, Luce. We’ll be running from your place, and you’re not fast enough.”

  “You’ll need a lookout,” she persists. “I can follow along behind you.”

  I shake my head. “Think of it this way. I’ll make sure you get to spend some alone time with Kenichi before we go.”

  “Nah. I’ve decided you’re right. Ken will be in Japan this time next week, but there’s a new kid in some of my classes with serious boyfriend potential.” She pulls out her phone to show me a photo of a guy in a basketball jacket. “He’s very cute and here to stay. We’ve already discovered we follow the same team.”

  I grin. She didn’t follow any basketball teams yesterday.

  “Charlie!” Lucy’s mum gives me a hug.

  She’s always pleased to see me. Alice is a greenie, like her daughter. When I look at Alice, I see a yellow aura, like Mum, but she and Mum are very different. Alice is always campaigning to save something. She only uses organic food and makes her own cheese.

  This year she finally gave in and said Lucy could have a mobile phone. Now we can talk whenever we want to. So good. Alice worries about brain damage from radio waves. Mum says there might be some truth in that but nothing to panic about if you’re sensible and don’t sleep with it on your pillow. She bought my phone when I was in primary school and loaded it with apps and games.

  I often wonder why people have auras when they don’t mean anything. Lucy and other pink girls have a lot in common, but that’s just a coincidence. Kenichi is nothing like Eli, although having another blue boy around reminds me of Eli at unexpected times. The memories don’t hurt as much as they used to. I think about all the fun Eli and I had. How he looked after me and always bossed me around. How I always beat him at running and how maybe he let me. The red day is not so vivid anymore. Seeing Nana Ruth helped with that, too.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Alice shakes Kenichi’s hand. “The sofa bed in Lucy’s room is made up for you, Charlie. I’ve done the same for Kenichi in George’s room. I hope you don’t mind sharing with Lucy’s younger brother.”

  Lucy’s little brother is a total ratbag. George likes following Lucy and me around, trying to wreck whatever we’re doing. It’ll be a problem if he works out there’s something going on tonight.

  “George,” Alice calls.

  He bounds into the kitchen, like an oversized golden retriever. I bet he was listening all along.

  “Can you speak English?” George asks.

  “Thank you for letting me sleep in your room,” Kenichi says, with a thumbs up.

  “It’s not free. I’ve got to do a talk on Japan at school for news tomorrow. If you want to sleep in my room, you have to help me with it.”

  “That’s enough, George.” Alice shakes her head.

  “It’s okay. I’m happy to help. I know lots about Japan.” Kenichi grins. “We can start now.”

  George doesn’t look too pleased about that. Alice thinks it’s a great idea and waves them away. I think it’s a great idea too. It’ll give me some time alone with Lucy.

  I often sleep over at Lucy’s house. Her bedroom is nothing like mine. It’s not pink, but it’s definitely a girl’s room. A poster of her latest celebrity crush smiles from the wall, her desk is littered with make-up and bracelets, there are clothes on the chair, clothes on the floor and clothes on my sofa bed. She dumps those clothes on the floor too.

  “So, what’s the big plan?” Lucy asks, as soon as we’re alone.

  “Keep it simple and quick so nothing can go wrong. Race in, grab the photo from its fancy frame and replace it with the fake copy Kenichi printed out last night. Then race out. The copy looks exactly like the original. We had to look up on YouTube how to age it. You can find anything there. I don’t think anyone will notice the difference.” I pick up the bracelet I gave Lucy for her birthday three years ago. Pink coral. “I’m feeling nervous even though it’s a foolproof plan.”

  “You’ll be fine. Have you got gloves? You don’t want to leave fingerprints.”

  “Kenichi made a list. I’m sure he remembered everything. I need to borrow something black to wear tonight. He’s making me dress like a ninja.”

  “Black is very sexy. A good choice anytime. But you never do anything anyone else tells you, not even me. I’m beginning to think he might be the right guy for you after all.”

  “Definitely not. Stop teasing me. You know I’m not interested. It’s like you said, Japan is too far away for that sort of thing.”

  “I knew it.” Lucy jumps up and wiggles her finger at me. “You thought about it.”

  I shake my head. She can be so exasperating sometimes. “We’re just working together to solve the same problem, Luce. That’s all.”

  “I believe you. I’m not interested either. I’m glad you visited your Nana Ruth.”

  “Me too. Thanks for giving me the courage to do it. Guess what? Nana Ruth has synaethaesia too. It can be inherited. It skipped Mum and landed on me. Now I’ve got someone who feels things like I do I don’t feel so strange. I owe you big time.”

  “We’re best friends.” She gives me a hug. “Maybe we should rescue Ken from George. It’s getting a bit mushy here.”

  I hug her back even harder. “Okay.”

  Lucy hasn’t given up on Kenichi at all. I’m sure of that when she checks her hair and reapplies lip gloss.

  “We’re only going to George’s room.”

  “I know. It’s just a habit. I check every time I g
o out the door.”

  She does not, but I’m not going to argue.

  George and Kenichi are sitting on the floor playing snakes and ladders.

  “You two are supposed to be working,” Lucy says.

  “We’ve finished. Go and stick your nose somewhere else. No girls are allowed in here.” George makes a sign to ward off evil.

  “You don’t know how lucky you are,” Kenichi tells George. “Your sister is great. If you had even one of my three sisters, you would have something to complain about.”

  “All right. You can both stay if you play the next game with us.”

  I sit cross-legged between the boys and Lucy sits opposite me.

  “I might change my mind,” Lucy mouths when Kenichi isn’t looking.

  I knew it.

  It’s 1 am. The alarm on my phone buzzes under my pillow, but I’m already awake. Have been for three hours, listening to Lucy snuffle. Lucy’s alarm echoes mine and her blankets rustle as she sits up. My senses are fuzzy and ragged and the last thing I want to do is run two kilometres to the Visitor Centre.

  “Good morning,” I whisper.

  “Ugh,” she grunts.

  Lucy isn’t a morning person and even I’m not a this-early-in-the-morning person.

  I drag myself out of bed and turn on the bedside lamp. Lucy pulls on a pink dressing gown. In the pale light, with her blonde sleep-fluffed hair, she looks like a fairy princess.

  A soft knock on the door announces Kenichi, who quietly slips into the room, already dressed in black. “What do you think?” he asks. “Do I look like a ninja?”

  For a torn-edged moment, my world stops. I see one blue boy perfectly transposed over another. Eli’s favourite tracksuit was black, just like the one Kenichi is wearing. I can’t find my voice or any words to go with it.

  Lucy tugs on his hoodie cords so the material closes in around his face. “That’s better.”

  I slept in my break-and-enter outfit. Lucy’s black tights and black bomber jacket. I just need to slip on her ski balaclava and the black skate shoes I wear for school. Except for the shoes, there’s no black in my wardrobe. It’s not even a colour. It’s the absence of colour and there’s nothing I like about that. Black is for other people, not me.