The Little Teashop in Tokyo

by Julie Caplin

  ‘Don’t get carried away. I don’t need an assistant. I prefer working alone.’ Although Gabe said this with a smile, there was an uncompromising firmness to his words as he set off across the hexagonal concourse following the signs to the Kyoto line.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Fiona with a quick roll of her eyes, ‘I know the great Gabe Burnett is according me a huge honour.’

  ‘And don’t you forget it,’ he threw over his shoulder, this time the tone a little lighter, as he weaved through the station which buzzed with people all intent on getting to where they needed to be.

  A few steps along, he stopped at one of the many kiosks.

  ‘We might as well get lunch here and eat early on the train. We’ll need to go straight to the hotel when we get to Kyoto. I’ll get us a couple of bento boxes.’

  Fiona nodded even though he’d turned his back on her and was talking to the young man behind the counter.

  ‘Fancy a Kit-Kat?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fiona, startled by the question. She’d got used to everything being very Japanese.

  Gabe’s face held a hint of mischief. ‘What flavour would you like?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  He nodded towards a display on the front shelf of the kiosk. Fiona stared at the familiar, and yet totally unfamiliar, display of at least ten different Kit-Kat bars. She could see the familiar logo but that was where all similarity with what she was used to parted company with what she saw. These bars were wrapped in colourful packaging – green, pale blue, pink, orange, black – but also featured pictures indicating different flavours. There were lemons, peaches, nuts, even cherry blossom on the front.

  ‘I don’t even know what they are.’

  ‘Kit-Kat Matcha is green-tea flavour, Kit-Kat Tirol is apple flavour, Kit-Kat Sakura is green-tea and cherry blossom. Then there’s salt and caramel, soy sauce, wasabi.’

  ‘Soy?’ She pulled a yeuch face in disbelief. ‘You’re having me on.’

  ‘I’m not.’ He picked up a bar with purple and cream packaging which had a little bottle of soy sauce pictured in the left-hand corner and then nudged the bright green wasabi flavour with his thumb.

  ‘No, that’s so wrong! Although I guess I could be enticed by the salt and caramel. That sounds good.’ But she was hesitant. ‘But I’m not sure they needed to mess with a good thing.’

  ‘It’s a case of what you’re used to, but I have to confess I still prefer the classic. Want to try the salt and caramel?’

  ‘Hmm …’ She dithered for a moment.

  ‘Go on, live dangerously.’ Although he was teasing, there was a slight challenge in the words. Fiona wasn’t one for living dangerously. She had once. Before she kissed Gabe Burnett. Now she played safe. Always.

  Suddenly she said, ‘I’ll have the salt and caramel,’ and ignored Gabe’s triumphant grin.

  ***

  Down on the platform there was a hushed stillness as though they were in the presence of a great beast which was what the large white train put Fiona in mind of. Alongside each carriage doorway, painted lines on the platform made it clear where people were expected to queue. But Fiona was busy checking out the length of the train and all the carriages as the long white line stretched way down the platform. The sleek train had acquired almost mythical status in her head. With the promised magical speeds, it was going to be nothing like the little train that trundled into London from her Surrey village at home, which still had level crossings en route.

  ‘Do you mind if I go and take a few pictures?’

  ‘No, go ahead. We’re in carriage nine. I’ll get loaded up and you can come and find me.’

  Fiona walked quickly as there was quite a distance to cover. She studied the smooth, aerodynamic lines of the carriages. The unusual, long, flat-nosed front of the train, so different from the ones at home – which, to be perfectly honest, she had zero interest in – reminded her of a snake, lethal and silent, lying in the grass, waiting to be fired up. She stared at the storm-trooper-like, glossy white finish, the distinctive shape jangling a memory. Kaa, that was it, the sneaky mesmerising snake in the original Jungle Book. Amused by her thoughts, she lifted her camera and took a few quick, basic shots, aware of a couple of other tourists around her snapping away with their phones, posing and taking selfies. In her pocket, her bloody phone buzzed again. She ignored it. She was working. Instead, she took note of a couple of serious trainspotters with serious cameras taking serious pictures. One of them, a middle-aged man with a baseball cap and a huge messenger bag, had delight written all over his face. He caught Fiona’s eye. ‘Isn’t she a beauty?’ he breathed, awe struck, in an American accent.

  ‘Yes, I guess she is,’ replied Fiona.

  ‘You know she can get up to speeds of 186 mph.’

  Fiona nodded, watching his beaming face as he paused in silent, happy contemplation of the miracle before him.

  ‘Would you … would you mind if I took a couple of photos of you and …’ she nodded her head towards the train.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, act natural.’ She prayed he wouldn’t stiffen up and lose the unaffected joy that shone in his face. ‘Just take a couple of photos and write whatever you were writing. And keep seeing the magic,’ she added with a wink.

  ‘It is magic, isn’t it. What mankind can achieve?’ He beamed at her again. ‘And I’ll happily do that, if you’ll take a couple of pictures of me with my camera.’

  ‘Deal,’ said Fiona. ‘Pretend I’m not here.’ That, it appeared, as he went back to studying the train with the same previous passion, wasn’t very difficult. And there it was, the perfect shot, his head tilted, his whole body almost leaning forward as if he were drawn magnetically to the train. She crouched down, one knee brushing the dusty platform floor, to take the shot. That was it. Her heart did a little flip of delight. His dark tracksuit trousers with white stripes contrasted nicely with the white finish of the train. She fired off several shots, pleased with the way that the overhead lights bounced off the glossy surface. For a fanciful moment, she could almost imagine it rearing its head and taking a bite of any of the pesky tourists who didn’t keep a respectful distance.

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ she said, unable to stop herself grinning at him. ‘Safe travels and thank you, again.’

  ***

  There was a definite bounce in her own stride as she made her way to back along the platform to find Gabe.

  ‘You’re pleased with yourself,’ he said when she found him in the carriage, sitting in a big, wide seat like on airline … except for the fact there was plenty of legroom. She still couldn’t quite believe the change in him since they’d declared their truce; it was like being with a different man.

  ‘I got … well I think it’s going to be a good shot. Want to see?’ She was dying to show him, although nervous at the same time. He’d been so complimentary about her shot of Haruka and Setsuko, hopefully he’d see something in this one too.

  She slid into the seat next to him and handed her camera over, as her phone buzzed in her pocket again. As he examined the picture, she checked the message, let out a barely stifled groan of irritation and shoved the phone back in her pocket.

  Gabe lifted one brow in silent question.

  ‘My mother.’ She nodded to the camera.

  He went back to studying the view finder and then glanced at her, his face serious.

  ‘It’s good. Very good.’ He handed back the camera and Fiona tried not to feel too crestfallen at his delivery. She’d been so pleased with the picture.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, matching his business-like tone. ‘I’m beginning to think I might actually have the makings of an exhibition.’

  ‘Of course you will. Don’t be so faint hearted. Besides, most of the punters that come to these things wouldn’t know a good photograph if it bit them.’

  Fiona clasped her camera to her chest and shot him a glare. ‘I’d know.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Gabe shrugged.

  ‘How c
ome you’re so cynical these days?’ she asked, taking another quick peek at the American man’s expression as he beheld his beloved train.

  ‘I’m not.’

  Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘Well that sounded pretty cynical to me.’

  ‘I was being honest. There’s a difference. I don’t believe in sugar coating things. Or saying things to make people feel better.’

  ‘I had noticed that,’ she said with feeling. She’d been so pleased with her shot of the trainspotter.

  ‘What’s the point? Prolonging the agony. Making difficulties.’

  ‘Or perhaps it’s smoothing the path sometimes. Making life a bit easier. Brutal honesty can be quite hurtful.’

  Gabe shrugged again as, with very little ceremony, the train pulled away from the station, the motion so smooth that Fiona thought if she closed her eyes she wouldn’t know she was moving. He leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes, a resigned twist to his mouth.

  ‘Have you done this journey a lot?’ asked Fiona

  ‘Just a few times. At the end of the day, it’s a train, albeit a very fast train.’

  She thought of the picture and her American friend, who no doubt would be enjoying his journey with all the enthusiastic delight of a puppy. A joy clearly lost on some people. She still got a kick out of going into an airport terminal; she wondered if the American man’s pleasure would ever fade, and she was grateful that she’d been able to capture that moment of delightful anticipation.

  What had Pepys famously said? ‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.’ Gabe seemed to be tired of everything.

  They quickly slid out of Tokyo and before long the train was hurtling through the open countryside. The Shinkansen wasn’t called a bullet train for nothing.

  Now they were speeding through brilliant green countryside, paddy fields laid out in squares, the curved roof temples dotted here and there and in the distance, tree-covered hills and mountains.

  As usual, there was near silence in the carriage and with an apologetic gesture, waving his earphones to indicate the silent carriage, Gabe plugged them in and began to listen to something on his phone. Fiona followed suit by listening to a downloaded BBC Radio 4 News Quiz podcast and doing her best to ignore the incoming bombardment of messages from her mother.

  ‘She still having a stroke?’ asked Gabe in a low whisper, nudging her with his elbow after she’d been exchanging messages for a good twenty minutes.

  ‘No … she thinks she’s got an upper respiratory infection,’ Fiona whispered back.

  ‘And is it serious?’

  ‘No, with mum that’s long hand for a common cold.’ Fiona had done her best to send sympathetic but firm no-nonsense messages with advice that her mother clearly had no intention of following. ‘I told her to stay in bed for the day, take a Lemsip and go back to sleep.’

  ‘Sage advice.’ He frowned. ‘Isn’t it one o’clock in the morning there?’

  ‘It is but she can’t sleep.’ Fiona sighed because apparently that was her fault too. ‘She doesn’t like being alone in the house.’ Fiona let out a despairing sigh as another message popped up on the screen.

  There was no doubt that Gabe could easily see the pathetic first line of the message.

  I feel so poorly, I really wish you were …

  It didn’t take any prizes to guess the rest. Fiona turned the phone over on her knee and put her hand over it, both helpless and irritated. There was nothing she could do from here.

  ‘You could switch it off,’ he suggested in another one of those low, intimate whispers, laying an unexpected hand over hers guarding the phone.

  ‘I could,’ she replied, conscious of the warm touch of his fingers lightly settled on hers. He regarded her with a steady gaze and she felt her rib cage lift and tighten as she held her breath. God, he was still as gorgeous as ever. Those eyes. So blue. She sucked in the breath, giving herself a stern talking to. Stop imagining things again, Fiona. With a calm smile she said, ‘But all those messages would still be there when I switched it on. It’s better to keep responding. If I ignore her she’ll work herself up into an even bigger state. It’s easier to keep pace with them.’

  ‘How about trying to distract her?’ Gabe’s mouth quirked with sympathy. ‘That’s always a good technique.’ He tapped his index finger on her hand on the phone. ‘Send her pictures of the view.’

  Relieved to slide her hand out from under his before she did something silly and misinterpret his touch, she picked up her camera and took a couple of shots from the window. ‘Good idea.’

  She forgot to whisper and the man in the row next to them turned their way and gave them a fierce, disapproving stare.

  ‘I don’t suppose you can block your own mother,’ Gabe leaned in and whispered in her ear. Even at this low tone his words resonated with mischief and his warm breath brushed a little too close to her skin.

  ‘Don’t tempt me,’ she whispered back, horribly aware of how close their faces were. She could see the little dark flecks around the iris of those almost navy-blue eyes as they danced with wicked amusement as if daring her to go right ahead.

  ‘Tell her that the train goes so fast it doesn’t get a signal so you’ll be offline for the next couple of hours.’ The fine lines around his eyes crinkled in naughty challenge.

  She stared up at him with reluctant admiration and as they stared at each other, again something tightened in her stomach. ‘That’s a terribly good idea,’ she whispered in an over jolly way, trying to compensate for the rush of something inappropriate currently coursing through her body. Don’t make that mistake again, Fiona. Quickly she looked away and busied herself sending another message to her mother. She noticed Gabe stuffing his earphones back in and closing his eyes. See? It didn’t mean anything to him.

  Thankfully that last message gave her a reprieve for the rest of the journey. Following Gabe’s example, she plugged her own earphones in and began to listen to Miles Jupp and the team, every now and then breaking into silent laughter before her eyelids drooped. It had been an early start and she gave in, switching off her phone and nestling into the seat.

  Just as she’d settled into a light doze she jerked awake at the familiar, irritating, silent buzz but realised it was Gabe’s phone. He stared down at the screen and hesitated as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to pick it up. She saw the name Yumi flashing on the screen, along with a tiny avatar of a close up of her gorgeous face. Gabe turned the phone over and tapped his fingers on his jean-clad thigh. A few seconds later the phone rang again. His mouth tightened.

  When the phone rang for the third time, Fiona lifted her face to his.

  ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ she whispered, aware that the carriage was still silent and her words were pretty redundant. ‘Or switch your phone off?’

  She regretted her words when she met his steady, unapproachable stare and her stomach flipped again, this time with a touch of nerves. He seemed so cold and unapproachable. Where was the earlier teasing warmth?

  She dropped her gaze to his fingers tap-tap-tapping with a slow drumbeat on his leg. It felt as if she were sitting next to a tiger who might lash out at any moment. Each time he examined the screen there was a little frown of frustration etching a deep furrow in his forehead. The phone rang again and this time he snatched it up and rose from his seat, walking in quick jerky strides down the carriage. Fiona had noticed quite a few people walking up and down and realised that they were going to make calls in the deck area between the carriages.

  When Gabe came back he seemed distracted and didn’t say anything. He put his earphones in and closed his eyes but Fiona got the impression he was deep in thought.

  When they finally drew in to their destination after a half hour during which they’d not spoken at all, Gabe was cool and distracted as Fiona tried to help him get the bags down from the overhead luggage racks. She was tempted to ask him what had got into him but she had a pretty good idea what it was … or rather
whom.

  Chapter 14

  By the time they arrived at the hotel – a beautiful compromise between Japanese and Western design – a touch of anxiety plagued Fiona. As the lift doors closed taking them up to their respective rooms, she sneaked a quick sideways peep at Gabe’s stern profile, dismay making her swallow hard. She had that definite surplus-to-requirement feeling and suddenly regretted coming. But, bugger it, he had invited her. If he’d changed his mind, why didn’t he say so?

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Fiona shocked by her boldness as the lift pulled away.

  ‘Fine.’

  Fiona grimaced. ‘You’ve gone very quiet.’

  Gabe didn’t even turn her way as he said, ‘Just focused.’

  The lift arrived at the second floor and thankfully their rooms were in opposite directions.

  ‘I’ll see you on the top floor in the suite whenever you’re ready,’ said Gabe and strode off down the corridor.

  ‘Right,’ said Fiona, more to herself than him, as he might as well be leaving roadrunner tracks in the carpet behind him the speed he was going.

  She tugged her bag behind her and followed the room numbers to the right door and pushed it open.

  ‘Nice,’ she breathed as she walked into the luxurious room. ‘Oh, yes, this will do nicely.’

  Knowing that her mother would get a kick out of being able to boast about her daughter staying in five-star luxury, she took a couple of pictures quickly and WhatsApped them to her.

  A huge bed dressed with white cotton bedding embroidered with a pale green bamboo motif dominated the room. It had to be bigger than a king-size. What was that? Emperor? Rather fitting for Japan, she guessed. She smoothed her fingers over the crisp duvet, too intimidated to bounce on it or throw herself onto it Pretty Woman-style; instead she dropped her squashy handbag onto one of the stylish grey button-backed chairs with its splayed-out beech legs.