The Little Teashop in Tokyo

by Julie Caplin

  ‘You’re going to catch your death of cold,’ he said brusquely.

  ‘Please! Whose granny are you? Check out this shot. Worth a cold at the very least.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Well don’t come complaining to me.’

  But he knew she wouldn’t; she was still buzzing with that amazing high when you know you’ve nailed it. There was nothing quite like the rush – it made you feel invincible, as if anything were possible. Once, he’d been on top of the world. Where had it all gone? When had taking pictures become a job? When had he lost the thrill of knowing that the next shot was out there just waiting to be caught?

  ‘I can’t wait until I can get these onto my laptop and see them in full size.’

  He knew the feeling; there were a couple of shots he’d taken this morning that he was itching to get into the studio to see himself.

  ‘Come to the studio this evening before dinner and we’ll go through them,’ he suggested before adding, ‘Shall we move on?’

  Fiona nodded, camera in hand, scrolling through the series of pictures she’d taken of the boy. Unable to resist, he lifted his own camera and took a quick shot, the sun glistening on her hair, the absorption in her face, the curve of her neck revealing the creamy skin.

  She glanced up sharply. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Squirrel.’ He pointed beyond her to the trees on the other side of the path. ‘But I don’t think I was quick enough.’

  Suspicion darkened her eyes for a second before she turned away and squinted at the trees.

  ‘I don’t see it.’

  ‘No, it moved fast. It’ll probably be a blur. Come on, let’s keep moving. You need to keep warm.’

  ***

  It was a while since he’d been to the shrine or anywhere like it, to be honest. He’d stopped playing the tourist in Japan a long time ago and now regret niggled at him like a splinter just burrowed under the skin. There was something about the hushed appreciation of the other visitors, both tourists and those who’d come to pay their respects, that made his senses kick into gear almost as if they’d been dozing. The Japanese were big on respect and honouring people, something he’d admired when he’d first lived here. Even a hardened cynic like him couldn’t fail to be moved by the prayer boards, small rectangles of wood inscribed with the prayers of visitors that hung on a wall. When he’d first come to the country he’d been fascinated by the spiritual side of the Japanese. Haruka had brought him here and it had been such a balm after the frenetic pace of London, where he’d lived life too fast. Japan had brought him peace and also a new sense of purpose for his photography. The memories of those early days tumbled through his mind like an avalanche, bringing with it small pinpricks of pleasure.

  ***

  Fiona was soaking it all in, in her quiet measured way, studying things carefully before she picked up her camera. She stopped in front of the prayer wall, watching as a young woman bowed before hanging one of the wooden prayer boards onto a hook in front of her. Fiona bowed to her when they caught each other’s eye and lowered her camera, waiting until the other woman had moved away and then she hesitated and stepped back, a thoughtful frown on her face.

  ‘Don’t you want a picture of the prayer wall?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Having seen that woman, it seems a bit of an invasion of privacy.’ She laughed at herself. ‘Even though they’re in plain view. It doesn’t feel right. Not very respectful. A prayer is a private thing … even if it is in plain sight. Does that sound silly?’

  ‘No. It sounds very Japanese and I think Haruka would be very proud of you.’

  Fiona beamed.

  ‘I see she’s got you under her spell too,’ he grumbled, steering her towards the main shrine area.

  ‘She’s … something else,’ said Fiona. ‘She showed me her garden last night. It’s beautiful.’ Her mouth bunched into a wrinkled prune as her phone buzzed and she rolled her eyes.

  ‘Anxious suitor?’ he asked, intrigued. She’d pulled her phone out a handful of times on the walk up to the shrine from the torii gate and pushed it back into her pocket.

  ‘Ha!’ She said with a scowl. ‘It’s my mother.’

  ‘I guess she’s worried about you. Mothers do that. You’re a long way from home.’ With a smile, he thought of his own parents. Thank goodness for FaceTime. It was rare for him not to speak to them at least once a week, even though his dad insisted on updating him on Plymouth Argyle’s latest dismal performance at Home Park every single time.

  ‘Hmm, it’s not me she’s worrying about. She thinks she’s having a stroke.’

  There was a silence while he tried to connect the alarming words with the curious mix of mutinous resignation on her face.

  ‘A stroke!’ That was serious. Fiona seemed remarkably calm. ‘Don’t you want to call her or something? Make sure she’s all right?’ His dad had had a minor heart attack last year and even though the doctors had assured his mother he was fine, Gabe had been on the next flight home.

  Staring down at her hands, she exhaled with a small sigh. ‘She’s fine.’

  ‘You don’t sound completely sure.’

  ‘It’s a regular occurrence … usually when I’m doing something she doesn’t want me to.’

  ‘Oh … but what …?’

  ‘If you’re worrying about the old “cry wolf” scenario, don’t. Been there, done that.’

  ‘What? She really did have a stroke?’

  ‘No, but she had some kind of funny turn. She hadn’t been taking her medication. She has high blood pressure. The doctor had warned her. All I can do is make sure she takes her tablets. I remind her every day. Sorry, I must sound cold-hearted. It’s been a regular pattern for a long time. My mother’s a bit of a hypochondriac. I should be more sympathetic really because it’s born of loneliness and too much time on her hands.’

  ‘Do you still live at home?’

  ‘For the time being, yes. Until I can afford to move out. I feel guilty thinking about it because then she’ll be on her own.’

  ‘Heavy responsibility. She must have had you quite late.’

  Fiona let out a mirthless laugh. ‘My mother’s only forty-eight.’

  He raised an eyebrow at that. ‘That’s young.’

  ‘I know, but she’s dissatisfied with the way her life turned out. My dad died when I was a baby. He was supposed to take care of her.’

  ‘And now you have to,’ he said, joining the dots.

  She shrugged. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You could switch your phone off.’

  ‘What if there were a real emergency?’ She was tugging at her braid again, flicking the tufted end between her fingers.

  ‘There’s not a lot you can do from here.’ He gave her a reassuring smile but she stared beyond him, her eyes clouded. ‘If she can contact you, she can call 999.’

  Fiona pursed her lips and focused back on his face. ‘Shall we go and see the shrine?’

  ***

  Sublime to the ridiculous, he thought, several hours later as they crossed the road while Fiona scouted the views trying to work out where she could take the best picture. After the quiet peace of the shrine, the madness of the traffic and the rush of people brushing by, Shibuya crossing was a salutary reminder of why he loved this crazy country. He enjoyed the contrasts.

  When he’d asked, ‘Where to next?’ he’d been slightly taken aback when she said, ‘I’d like to go back to Shibuya.’

  Apart from the texts which Fiona was more surreptitious about checking, the day was far better than he’d expected. For some reason they irritated him, but the sudden change of pace and scene had staved off the inevitable boredom he’d anticipated and now he was enjoying the intense concentration on Fiona’s face as she strode from street corner to street corner, taking her life in her hands as she stopped mid-stream among the flow of pedestrians to try and take her pictures.

  Any moment now she was liable to be taken out by a swinging laptop case or a tourist’s backpack. It
was both comical and slightly terrifying but it didn’t seem to faze her – in fact, she seemed oblivious, so intent was she on getting the picture that she’d envisioned. And there it was, as he’d foreseen, a man hurrying by caught her. She span, buffeted by the passing man, and he took the shot just as she twirled out of range, her skirt whipping up to expose long, slender legs. His heart caught in his mouth and he wasn’t sure if it was the sight of the elegant limbs or the elation of nailing the picture. It was one of those moments when everything dropped into place with the sort of serendipitous perfection that he no longer believed in.

  When he finally took a good long look at the digital image, his mouth quirked at the sight of her lemon skirt a blur, her plait flying out behind her and her wide mouth open. That was what he’d call it: ‘Surprise on Shibuya’.

  When he lifted his head, Fiona had gone and he peered through the crowd trying to spot her. Not again!

  Then he spotted the golden hair towering above everyone, literally a good foot above and he realised as he wove his way closer through the busy street that she was standing on top of one of the street vendors’ carts, the owner gleefully admiring her legs while he held the cart steady for her. Quite a crowd had drawn to watch her, which was hardly surprising because it wasn’t something you saw every day on a Japanese street. Fiona was happily snapping away, throwing the odd word down to the vendor, without a care in the world. Gabe stopped dead with horrified admiration. You didn’t make a spectacle of yourself in Japan; you were quiet and respectful in public but … he grinned. By God, she looked amazing. A warrior princess on a mission. For someone who on the surface seemed quite shy and retiring, it appeared in reality she was a Valkyrie. Widening the angle to include the onlookers, he took a couple of landscape shots before swapping to portrait. It was certainly a one-off composition.

  ‘Hey up there,’ he called as he approached, weaving his way through the gathered crowd.

  ‘Hello, I wondered where you’d got to,’ she said, glancing down, barely registering his arrival as she raised her camera to her eye, her brow wrinkling with concentration. She fired off another volley of quick snaps, her mouth moving in tandem, as if emoting with her subjects. He shook his head at her absorption and waited, folding his arms and leaning against the nearby wall, although he did give the vendor a warning nod of the head. The man gave him an indefatigable grin and said something in quick Japanese to the effect of ‘she’s quite something’. Gabe rolled his eyes and agreed. She’d surprised him today.

  Finally, she jumped down, offered the vendor some money which he declined, shaking his head furiously and bowing to her several times. A couple of people in the audience clapped and she grinned at them.

  ‘He says it was an honour,’ drawled Gabe, a little irritated.

  ‘Oh, that’s sweet of him.’

  ‘Should I even ask how you came to be standing up there?’

  ‘I was trying to get the shots of people tilting their heads backwards and I realised I wanted to be higher than them, so I found a box but as soon as I stood on it, it collapsed. Yuto, who used to live in London, asked me what I was doing and when I explained, he said I could stand on the cart. Wasn’t that nice of him?’

  ‘Yes, very nice. I don’t suppose it had anything to do with the fact he had a bird’s eye view of your legs.’

  Fiona tutted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s interested in photography. We had a very nice chat about the museum. He’s a big fan of Araki’s so he was very excited when I told him that he was supposed to be mentoring me.’

  ‘I’ll just bet he was.’

  ‘Are you cross with me?’ asked Fiona.

  ‘No, what gives you that impression?’

  ‘Your voice goes all drawly and disinterested, as if you can’t be bothered with anything.’

  How astute, he thought. ‘I’m fine. Just slightly appalled by you almost causing a riot in the street. Haruka would be horrified, although I think young Mayu would be thrilled by your behaviour.’

  ‘I didn’t think. I … got a bit carried away. I could see the picture in my head. I needed to get a bit of height and when he …’

  ‘Hey, don’t beat yourself up. I was teasing. You don’t remember lamppost-gate then?’

  Her worry slid away as awareness dawned on her face. ‘You were arrested. I do remember; it made the front page of most of the newspapers.’

  ‘That’s because Dolly Fitzsimmons belted the policeman that helped me down from the lamppost. She was the one who was arrested.’ In fact, if the lanky model hadn’t been so handy with her right hook, he might have got away with a simple warning, instead of which the pair of them were marched off to the nearest police station.

  ‘Why were you up there?’

  He grinned at her. ‘Like you, I wanted to get the perfect shot and it seemed the logical thing to do at the time.’

  For a moment she stared owlishly at him before her face broke into a smile of understanding. ‘So it’s not just me then.’

  ***

  He’d timed it badly for the journey back as the rush hour had begun and the subway train they needed to catch for the main line was already rammed. Despite the orderly queue adhering to the white lines on the platform, there was a territorial rush and push when the train pulled into the station and he and Fiona were swept forward into the tightly packed crush. They ended up almost nose to nose in the carriage as she hung onto the pole that was all that separated them. On autopilot, as he always did, his eyes scanned her face, the cool inventory-taking of a portrait photographer identifying the quirks and anomalies that made her face different. He catalogued the light dusting of freckles over her nose and cheekbones, noted that the hairs at her temple were even fairer, one arched eyebrow was infinitesimally higher than the other, and the wide mouth that made her face different became lit up with her smile, when it came, making it even more rewarding.

  She looked up sharply and he saw her body stiffen as if she were straining to put distance between them.

  ‘You okay?’ He mouthed.

  Her mobile mouth tightened and she nodded, the tendons in her neck belying her meaning. With deliberate coolness that didn’t fool him, she lifted her chin and gazed beyond him.

  Was she embarrassed by their proximity because of what had happened all those years ago? He hated to think that was the case. He gripped the pole tighter and deliberately went back to studying her face. That mouth drew his attention again and he examined the tiny lines at the corners, the little dip under her nose. It crimped tightly closed with displeasure and although she refused acknowledge him, her chin lifted another centimetre higher.

  Just then the train jolted in an archetypal cliched moment that threw them together, his hands grabbing her waist as she catapulted into him. His face brushed hers and he caught the faint scent of freesia as he tried to steady her.

  She recoiled sharply, pulling her face away with a gasp which punched right to his stomach. Now he felt awful. He should have told her before that he recognised her. Although, he was puzzled as to why she was so skittish around him. From what he remembered that kiss had been consensual. In fact, he was sure he’d pulled away first because sense had knocked its way through the haze of desire, reminding him that as her teacher his behaviour was totally inappropriate.

  A crowded train carriage was probably not the place to have that conversation though. He’d have to wait until she came to the studio that evening to go through the day’s pictures.

  Chapter 11

  She really wanted to see how the pictures of the little boy at Meji had come out and Gabe had said to come over any time before dinner – he was invited to Haruka’s that evening – so she was taking him at his word. He’d given her a few searching looks on the train, probably because she’d overreacted. For some bizarre reason, being in such close proximity had stirred her up and the urge to kiss him had resurrected itself with alarming urgency. The thought of him seeing that while he was so intently studying her face had been terrifying. S
he really ought to come clean, make a joke of it. Ha, ha, isn’t it funny we’ve ended up working together. What a small world.

  The main light of the studio was off but she could see the glow of light in the other room. It lit the shadowed figure of Gabe standing in front of the picture of Yumi. She paused and unanticipated pity swelled in her chest at the sight of the disconsolate figure that he posed. One side of his face was illuminated by the sliver of light that came through the doors and she could see the slash of his mouth, grim and brooding. With his hunched shoulders, hands stuffed in his pockets, he seemed a little lost. The dejected posture made her stop rather than disturb him. If she’d had her camera and it wasn’t such an invasion of privacy, it would have made a perfect shot. A picture of demoralised solitude.

  Carefully and quietly she backed down the stairs, her palms sweaty. She’d geared herself up for this. For a moment she stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her pulse to regain its equilibrium and then she took a breath. She needed to be brave; it was past time to put this stupid episode behind her. It had happened ten years ago and for too long it had influenced her life. It hadn’t ruined her life, as her mother liked to say, but it had impacted it. For a while it had held her back, stopped her doing the things she should have been doing at her age, but it had been a sliding-doors moment and if it hadn’t happened, she wouldn’t be where she was today and she was quite proud of what she’d achieved in the last couple of years. Gabe didn’t need to know about the heartache caused by her momentary madness.

  ‘Gabe? Are you up there?’ she called. ‘It’s Fiona.’ She did her best with the soft slippers to make a sound on the steps to make it clear she was headed on up.

  She heard him clear his throat. ‘Yes, up here.’