by Julie Caplin
Tears pricked Fiona’s eyes at the quiet pride in Mayu’s voice.
‘And one day I’ll be a master of tea like Jiji.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ Fiona gave her a swift hug. ‘And your grandmother will very proud of you.’
‘After I’ve been a dancer at the Robot Restaurant first, of course.’
‘Well naturally. But master of tea … that’s going to make her very happy.’
‘Yeah, just don’t tell her yet,’ and Mayu winked.
***
Fiona followed the sound of voices and found Setsuko and Haruka all of a twitter in the kitchen.
‘Kaito’s friend has found you a flight tomorrow morning. First class.’ Haruka beamed proudly.
‘Oh. Wow. That’s …’ Were they really that desperate to be rid of her? Her consternation must have shown because Setsuko patted her on the shoulder. ‘It was the only flight available with Japanese Airlines that he could get upgraded and he thought you would like that. We will be very sad to see you go.’
‘But you will come back to see us,’ said Haruka as if this was a fact rather than a request.
‘Th-thank you. I don’t know what to say.’ It was all so sudden but now that the offer was there, she was suddenly desperate to go home. Sleep in her own bed and eat toast and Marmite. She’d enjoyed exploring Japanese food and culture but she was dying for a cup of PG Tips, a digestive biscuit, central heating, and sound-proof walls, although she wouldn’t mind taking a kotatsu table home with her.
‘I have something for you both.’ She handed them their individual albums.
They both opened the first page. Setsuko sighed and placed a hand over her heart. Haruka simply nodded. And then both of them, in complete accord, and with their usual calm reverence, insisted on going to sit down at the kotatsu to give the albums due consideration.
They turned the pages in silence, nodding every now and then. Fiona could feel herself hanging on to her breath waiting for their reaction but she wasn’t nervous. This was some of her very best work. The respect and admiration she felt for the Kobashi family was etched into every single picture. Her affection for the two women resonated from the pages of the album. Before they reached the end of their respective albums both of them had reached out a hand and laid it on Fiona’s.
‘Thank you,’ whispered Setsuko, resting her other hand on the album. ‘This is beautiful.’
Haruka didn’t say a word but a single tear worked its way down her normally impassive face and she gave Fiona a solemn bow. They sat in silence for several minutes more and Fiona couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt a greater sense of achievement.
***
With the kindness that had characterised her whole stay, the two women helped her pack, rolling up her clothes, admiring her leather jacket which she decided to travel in.
‘Would you mind getting rid of this for me?’ she asked, holding up the hairy coat, threadbare in some places and long overdue for the textile bank.
‘Can I have it?’ came a sudden yell from another room and Mayu appeared in the opening of the shoji doors. Yes, Fiona was definitely looking forward to sturdy walls again.
‘I guess.’ Fiona laughed while the teenage immediately put it on and modelled it with a prancing walk, a future master of tea but for the time being a rebellious teenager.
‘It’s cool.’
‘It’s ugly,’ said Haruka, making no apology to Fiona. ‘I despair.’ She frowned at her granddaughter and shook her head.
‘It’s had its day,’ Fiona said, ‘but I’m glad you like it.’ It was a symbol of her moving on. Gabe might have broken her heart but in admitting he had found her attractive, he’d also freed her from that awful sense of failure and humiliation that had influenced so many of the decisions that had limited her horizons. His heart might be out of reach, but she had her self-respect and that was worth plenty. She was a leather jacket kind of girl now.
Chapter 26
In the morning his head ached from too much thinking into the night, but he bounded out of bed with fresh purpose. He took the flight of stairs down to the studio and wondered whether to forgo coffee and go to Haruka’s straight away. Coffee won and while he was waiting for the machine, he switched on his computer. He stood and studied the photos he’d taken in the last couple of weeks. They were good, more than good. He’d got his mojo back. He’d known the pictures of Ken were good and already the magazine offers were coming thick and fast and he couldn’t wait to tackle the new commissions.
Sipping at his coffee he studied the last lot of shots he’d worked on late last night, cropping to make sure they put the subject and compositions centre stage and gave himself a small pat on the back. There was an energy and honesty about his work that had been missing for quite a while. He’d called Fiona Sleeping Beauty, but it had been him that had been sleep walking through the past three years.
He winced. Funny how quickly a scene like that could remove the scales. Yumi didn’t really love anyone but herself and with sadness, he reflected, she probably hadn’t ever loved him anymore than he’d really loved her. It had suited them both, their careers and their lifestyles, to be together; it had become habit and then when she’d married, pride had made him hang on to a friendship to demonstrate to curious eyes that he was man enough to take her rejection. A friendship that was as empty as it was authentic.
Despite these less than edifying thoughts – and the realisation he’d been a complete arse for a lot of his life – this morning the world appeared so much brighter. The load was lighter. He scanned the surface of the desk. The memory card. It had gone. He sighed. He didn’t blame Fiona; he’d said some awful things to her, when she was the person he most wanted to be with. Over the last two weeks he’d woken up. It was time to make amends.
He put down the coffee and saw the studio through fresh eyes, remembering the first time Fiona had stood taking in the pictures of Yumi. Her hair had flamed gold in the light, that wide mouth dropping open in admiration. They were good pictures; he would always be proud of them, but it was time to take them down and make way for new work. Maybe he’d ask Fiona to choose some pictures to replace them. His mouth curved with a smile of anticipation. They could work together. The idea gave him a warm glow and he put down his coffee, kicked off his slippers, and padded down the stairs to pull on his shoes.
***
‘Hello,’ he called into the quiet house. There was no answer but the kettle on the gas top was steaming slightly and Haruka’s shoes had been in the genkan. He walked through the house to the engwan and followed it round to find Haruka leaning on the top wooden rail. Stern and unapproachable, she glanced up at him briefly before turning back to her silent contemplation of the garden.
For once he stopped, taking in all the tiny details, the moss-covered stones around the pond, a touch of verdigris on the bronze pots, the fierce, stalwart shadows of the bonsai fir trees their sturdy shapes untouched by the light wind rippling through the bigger trees. The strength in their small compact shape belied by their size. Haruka had done a beautiful job. His blood sang with the urge to take a picture of her, a close-up of her smooth, impassive face shaded by the cherry blossom, or with the blossom in the background, or in the autumn among the russet and red colours of the exotic trees. He traced her profile, the small nose, the neat chin. Despite her size she was a formidable character with a depth and spirituality to her that he’d yet to find in anyone else.
‘Do you know where Fiona is?’
‘Yes.’ Her tone wasn’t exactly forthcoming but it wasn’t the first time he’d been on the receiving end of her disapproval.
He waited for her to say more but her mouth was pinned shut. ‘Where is she?’
Haruka slowly lifted her wrist and checked her watch. ‘Gone to the airport.’
‘The airport? Why?’ He felt a kick to his pulse.
‘To catch a plane.’
He stared at her.
‘But her flight’s not until tomorrow.
’ Panic gnawed low in his belly.
‘Kaito was able to get her a sooner flight.’ Her voice was too innocent, too smooth, and a little bit too satisfied.
‘But …’ He glared at her. She’d had a hand in this.
‘You let her go,’ she said reprovingly.
‘I made a mistake.’ His voice rose, as the reality of it hit him.
‘Even monkeys fall out of trees,’ she said with a dismissive lift of her shoulders.
Everyone makes mistakes. It hit like a demolition ball. This wasn’t just a mistake, it was … he couldn’t put the panicky, turn-your-stomach-inside-out fears into words.
‘I need to speak to Fiona, to see her.’
‘Too late,’ said Haruka with finality, smug triumph in the way she dusted her hands together.
It couldn’t be too late. There was too much he had to say to her. He had to say sorry. He had to tell her … to tell her things … all those things jumbled up in his head and he couldn’t pluck one particular thing but he knew he needed to see her. When he saw her face, everything would be all right. He’d know the words then. Find them. If not he’d say it in other ways. She’d know. ‘I need to speak to her, to tell her …’ He lifted his shoulders to cover the gap.
‘You need to show her,’ reproved Haruka. ‘Go to London. Chase her. Words aren’t enough.’
He held up his hands. ‘I’ve been a fool.’
Haruka raised one stately eyebrow of agreement. He eyed her, suspicions stirring. He wasn’t fool enough to accuse her of setting this up, but he had a pretty good idea that she had been pulling a few strings.
‘She left twenty minutes ago.’
***
He’d always dismissed those films where the hero makes a mad dash to the airport to stop the love of his life disappearing into the blue yonder and show her how much he cares – the stupid sap should have just told her – but now as he jostled his way through the queue at the barrier from the monorail to Haneda International Airport, he prayed to move faster. He’d also always jeered at the dumb dolt who’d left his phone on the side with the camera doing a meaty close up. Why hadn’t he texted her? Told her to wait for him. Irritation at his own dumb-ass stupidity made him jittery and jumpy, hopping from foot to foot to the rampant disapproval of the woman in front of him. When he started to mutter under his breath, she turned and shot him a sharp scowl, but for Pete’s sake couldn’t she see he was in a hurry? He needed to catch Fiona before she went through security and … well, he still wasn’t sure what he wanted to tell her. His brain had gone into some kind of basic hunter mode where getting to the airport and finding her at check-in was the primary focus. The baseline was that he had to see her.
He hurtled into the airport terminal scanning the departures display for the combination of JAL and Heathrow. Bugger. He hadn’t even stopped to get the flight number. Haruka had thought that it left at about twelve-thirty which made the last check-in at ten-thirty and it was ten past ten now.
There, he’d spotted it. Check-in desk G, or it could be N, depending on what class she was flying. Shit, he had no idea. Taking off at a run he headed down to the check-in lines. The one at G was long and so was the one at N. There were too many people, lots of Westerners, so he couldn’t even pick out her hair. Her hairy coat. That was individual. No one else had a coat like that. He examined the queue once and then again. No sign of her. He ran to the next queue, for business class. Again he checked the people in the queue. He forced himself to slow down and check again. Where was she? She couldn’t have gone through. Not already.
In desperation he scanned the crowd again, one by one. Sweat, real actual sweat, dripped down his back and his hand was shaking. Maybe she wasn’t here yet.
He paced. He watched the clock. The queue got shorter and shorter until there were only two people left to check in.
It was now ten-thirty. The girl on the desk rose and the lights above the desk went out.
He stood there and stared at the darkened screen, unable to move.
She’d gone.
With despair clutching at his gut, Gabe turned and then, miraculously, in the distance he spotted the sleeve of a familiar coat. His heart leapt. There was Fiona’s hairy coat moving along in a tide of people walking down the concourse. The rush of relief almost pushed his pulse into overdrive. Taking off at a run he belted down the concourse. ‘Fiona! Fiona!’
The coat stopped and a figure detached itself from the group.
Disappointment, sharp and jagged, tore through him. ‘Mayu?’
‘Gabe! What are you doing here?’
‘Where’s Fiona?’
‘Oh, she’s gone. Went through ages ago. I like hanging around here; it’s kinda cool.’
Unable to say anything, he gestured to the coat.
‘Great, isn’t it? Fiona gave it to me.’ She clutched the lapels and swaggered, twisting her shoulders from side to side.
He grimaced, a sort of yes, from between pinched lips and looked back towards the gates.
‘Have you got your phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘I need it. I need to phone Fiona.’
Mayu smiled cheerfully at him. ‘Her phone’s dead. No charge. And no cable. It’s in her suitcase. She said no worries because she couldn’t use it on the plane anyway.’
He pushed his hands through his hair. Even if he bought a plane ticket, he didn’t have his passport. He threw his head back and sighed.
‘What are you doing here, Gabe?’ asked Mayu with a puzzled frown.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said.
‘Were you going to say goodbye to Fiona? Do you like her? Please tell me you don’t like Yumi anymore. Fiona is so much nicer.’
Gabe dredged up a reluctant smile. ‘Yes, she is.’
Mayu suddenly stopped and her eyes widened with saucer-like wonder. ‘You came to stop her. Like in the films. The big gesture.’
‘Grand gesture,’ murmured Gabe.
‘You have to go to London. On the next plane.’
‘I do have to go London. You’re right. But not on the next plane.’ No, this time he was going to do things properly. He knew exactly how he was going to show her how he felt.
Chapter 27
Fiona put her phone down with a thud on her dressing table and stared out of her bedroom window at the early hawthorn blossom in the hedgerow. She picked up the little netsuke and held it tightly, the smooth planes of the rabbit tucked into the centre of her palm. It had been two weeks and she hadn’t heard a word from Gabe. Not that she’d expected too. Not really.
Except, her exhibition opened this evening. In a few hours. Inside, she had a tiny desperate hope that he might come. Or at least wish her luck. But there’d been nothing, and why should there be? He was in love with Yumi.
It wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. Memories of those two days at the hotel shouldn’t have burned their way into her consciousness as much as they had done. She wasn’t supposed to have fallen in love with him.
She eyed her phone and right on cue it beeped.
Even though she knew it couldn’t possibly be Gabe she snatched it up. A message from Avril.
See you soon. Break a leg. Ax.
Oh God, she felt nervous. Avril had been nagging her about what she was going to wear. In a fit of obstinacy, she’d decided she’d wear the linen jumpsuit but she had bought some navy-blue suede stiletto-heeled boots to dress it up and had abandoned the cami underneath, instead opting to wear a chunky gold signature necklace and show a bit of cleavage.
It didn’t take a psychologist to work out that she was hoping Gabe might turn up, or the message she was sending by wearing the damn thing.
Now, standing in her underwear, she reached for it with a tortured mix of emotions. Why hadn’t she decided to wear something else? It seemed impossible to erase the image of Gabe opening the buttons or his fingers stroking her skin around the lace of her camisole. With a hitch of her breath she pictured him, his fingers dipping into her cl
eavage.
‘Fiona,’ her mother called up the stairs. ‘Fiona, are you there?’
She closed her eyes with a sigh and resisted the urge to call back, ‘No.’
Luckily her mother hadn’t noticed her lack of appetite or propensity to stare out of windows lost in thought. She was actually busy. To Fiona’s amazement, she’d joined the WI in the village which was a very brave and unexpected new step. When Fiona had asked what had brought this on, her mother had given her a guileless shrug and said she didn’t know what Fiona was talking about.
‘Be down in a minute, Mum.’ She glanced at her watch, checking the timings again. Four-thirty train. That would get them into Waterloo at twenty past five. Then half an hour to get to Kensington which left half an hour before the official launch party began. She knew the timings because she’d been to the white-walled gallery with its stark black floors and shoji-style windows several times to supervise the final arrangement of the pictures and watch them all be hung by the gallery manager, Mr Morimoto, a small dapper man who bowed like a bobbing robin and had twinkling bird-bright eyes. He also had the propensity to worry about every last detail which was reassuring as she was confident he had everything under control. All she had to do was turn up and, thanks to Avril’s mile-long contact list, they were guaranteed plenty of attendees including her friends, Kate and Ben, David and his husband Reece, Conrad and Avril’s husband Christophe.
‘You look nice, Mum,’ she said, meeting her mother at the bottom of the stairs. Judy Hanning was always neat and tidy but today in a pale blue shift dress, she looked much younger and prettier than usual. Normally she wore unflattering mid-length skirts and baggy cardigans that made her appear more like an old lady.
‘Thank you, dear. And so do you. I do like how you’re wearing your hair down. I’d forgotten what a glorious colour it is.’ She reached forward and smoothed a curl from Fiona’s face.
Fiona swallowed and pressed her lips tightly together, worried she might burst into tears.
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right walking in those heels though? I’ve put my flats on because sometimes you have to walk miles from the platform at the station down to the tube.’ She held out a leg and waggled her foot encased in a very sensible black ballet flat.