He opens the journal. “I visited the doctor again today. He says I am still too frail to travel home. I must eat well and exercise and soon I will be strong enough to place this journal with the journals of my family’s fathers and sons.” Kenichi closes the notebook. “He wanted to come home, Shallot. He was thinking of his family.”
“So what happens next?”
“Your government offered to bury him in the Cowra War Cemetery, but Father said my great-grandfather didn’t die a soldier and it’s time for him to come home. That’s a good ending.”
I put my book aside. “I didn’t want a Japanese exchange student. Mum was the one who made it happen. That worked out okay too. Your dad will find out where Masaki’s photo belongs, and you didn’t turn out to be too boring after all.”
Kenichi laughs, then his voice wavers. “It’s my fault I was too late to bring my great-grandfather home alive. The competition was a year ago and my father wanted me to come then. I refused.”
“It’s not fair, but it’s not your fault. The timing wasn’t right then. Mum wasn’t on the Japanese Student Committee last year so wouldn’t have offered to look after you. If you didn’t stay with us, you wouldn’t have found anything. It took both of us, at this specific time, to make everything happen the way it did.”
“It’s not fair about Nana Ruth or Eli, either,” he says.
“No. It’s not.” But now I know I have to find ways to deal with when it’s not. I feel like I’m getting somewhere with that.
Kenichi’s phone buzzes and breaks the silence.
“It’s my father. He found Masaki’s daughter.”
I lean over to look, but the message is in Japanese.
“She lives in Kyoto with her aunt,” he says. “When the tsunami destroyed her village, she lost everything.’
“All the photos of her parents.”
“Yes.”
Now our puzzle is complete. There’s always one last piece on the floor, under the table. The final piece of sky is in its place.
“I’d like to go for a last run across the paddocks before I leave tomorrow,” Kenichi says.
“Would you like company?”
He nods.
I let him lead the way. We run in silence. The world is bright lemon-squash yellow and the sun is green and beaming.
It’s an awkward airport moment. The sort I sometimes see in movies.
Not so long ago I couldn’t wait for this day and now that it’s here, I wish it wasn’t.
Kenichi picks up his backpack and hooks it over one shoulder, our treasures tucked safely inside. His great-grandfather’s journal and Masaki’s photo. The wad of Nana Ruth’s Christmas-card cash Mum threw away, that I rescued and stashed in the back of my drawer. I’m sure Masaki’s daughter needs it more than I do.
“Goodbye, Shallot. I’ll see you in three years in Tokyo.”
I smile. I decided I would like to go to Japan after all. And I’m even considering taking Japanese and risking having Aunt Mandy as my teacher next year. I told him about the student exchange I’ll be applying for and he told me that, even if I’m not successful, his father can arrange something through the Embassy to reciprocate Kenichi’s stay with me.
“I’ll stay in touch. It’s a promise.” I know this promise won’t cause me any problems.
“Rainbow-coloured envelopes and texts,” he says.
We shake hands clumsily. His fingers linger against mine. As I look into his eyes, I know how I feel and I’m sure he feels the same. I won’t ever see what Lucy saw because it’s not like that. It’s something deeper, something old but something very new.
Something blue.
I feel like he’s my brother and in my heart I know Eli would approve.
Our hands separate.
I wave and watch until the exit door swallows him.
“Let’s get a milkshake and something to eat while we wait for Kenichi’s plane to leave,” Mum suggests.
I choose a chocolate milkshake and a chocolate donut while Mum has coffee and a custard tart. Mum nudges my foot under the table with hers. I smile. She opens her book and I check my phone. Sitting here with her feels comfortable. Soft music is playing inside my head.
My phone alarm beeps. “It’s time, Mum.”
“We’ll be able to see the plane take off from over here. Let’s go.” Mum heads towards a large viewing window. “I’m proud of you. I know it hasn’t been an easy week. What if we put Eli’s room back the way it was? Together.”
“No,” I say, carefully but decisively to Mum’s shocked face. “I’m good with the change now. It feels like the right time for it. What I’d really like to do is to call in and see Nana Ruth on the way home.”
Mum hesitates. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. It is time you visited Nana Ruth. I’m not ready yet, but I’ll take you and I’ll wait in the car.”
It’s a start. I stand closer to her and lean my head until we’re touching.
When I look out the window, Kenichi’s plane is taxiing down the runway. I watch as it lifts on its wings and disappears into the sky. The best days are so clear you can see right through them.
Today is as clear as cling wrap and if I try hard, I might be able to see all the way to Japan.
It took me a long time to write Red Day. Partly because I wanted to write an authentic middle-grade historical story and finding a way to do this against a backdrop of the Cowra Prisoner of War Camp was a huge challenge. And partly because my son’s increasing illness took the heart out of my writing.
I am indebted to the family, friends and colleagues who helped me through. My GP, Dr Goderie, to whom this book is dedicated. Bill Stuart, a close family friend who wandered Cowra’s historical sites with me offering excellent advice. Unfortunately, he was lost to us before the manuscript was finished. My writing partners, Di Bates and Bill Condon, and agent Pippa Masson – who never let me give up. The team at Walker Books Australia – Head of Australian Publishing, Linsay Knight, who believed in my story and made some key suggestions, editor Niki Foreman and Managing Editor Christina Pagliaro who both made my words shine.
Sandy Fussell loves words, numbers and the internet. She lives on the New South Wales south coast with her family, a Scottish deerhound and four cats, one of which likes to eat manuscript pages. She has won numerous awards including a CBCA shortlisting. Sandy is often found in a school library wielding her ‘Samurai Kids’ bokken or teaching a Minecraft-based writing workshop.
First published in 2020
by Walker Books Australia Pty Ltd
Locked Bag 22, Newtown
NSW 2042 Australia
www.walkerbooks.com.au
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
Text © 2020 Sandy Fussell
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Cover Images: Silhouetted Child © Mr Doomits/Alamy Stock Photo; Plum Blossoms and shadows on wall © atiger/Shutterstock.com
Red Day Page 14