The Little Teashop in Tokyo

by Julie Caplin

  ‘I’ll be fine. I’ve done the journey a few times; there’s not much walking.’ Besides, even if there had been, sheer vanity would carry her through. She liked the way the shoes flattered her legs, making them appear so much longer and slinkier. For once she didn’t feel like an awkward stork.

  ‘If you’re sure, dear. You don’t want to sprain your ankle or anything. Now, do you think I ought to take an umbrella?’

  ‘The forecast is good but if there’s room in your handbag I guess you might as well.’ Fiona knew that if she said no there’d be a protracted debate about the pros and cons of leaving it behind. ‘We need to go in a minute.’ It was a five-minute drive to the station but she didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

  ‘Yes. I’ll leave some food out for Daisy as we’ll be out until late. She’s had her nose pressed up against the window all day watching the birds nesting in the hedge. I worry about one of those poor babies falling out of the nest and Daisy pouncing on it.’

  Fiona didn’t laugh, although a wry smile touched her lips. The babies were safe because the cat was the laziest creature alive. Why pounce when dinner was on tap? She waited in the doorway of the kitchen, trying not to feel impatient as her mother took a fresh bowl out of the cupboard, picked up the dirty one and put it in the sink and began to wash it. Why did she have to start fussing with this sort of thing now? But she counted to ten as slowly as she could. They had time.

  ‘Do you want me to check the doors and windows?’ Fiona asked, knowing that this might hold them up too.

  ‘No, dear.’ Fiona blinked in surprise. That was new.

  ‘Peter says if a burglar really wants to get in, they will. The alarm is a better deterrent.’

  ‘Right.’ Peter? The man that lived next door and had done so for the last eighteen months.

  Her mother finally took the box of cat biscuits out of the cupboard, giving it a good shake, at which point bat-eared Daisy came streaking into the kitchen, early tea propelling her from her usual slothful indolence. Unfortunately, her speedy entrance coincided with Fiona’s mother’s sharp turn to fill up the bowl by the cat flap. There was an aggrieved yowl, a shower of cat biscuits and a crash as her mum went down in a crumpled heap and the cat shot out of the cat flap.

  ‘Mum! Are you okay?’ Fiona darted to her side.

  Blinking back tears, her mother’s mouth wobbled as she quavered. ‘My ankle. Ouch.’

  With a sinking heart, Fiona crouched at her side. ‘So much for sensible shoes.’

  Her mother managed a small laugh. ‘How silly of me.’

  ‘Come on, let’s you get up. We need to get that foot elevated.’

  Her mother allowed herself to be helped to her feet then hopped to the kitchen table and collapsed with a groan into one of the chairs. Fiona pulled a second chair out and propped her mother’s foot up, wincing. It was starting to swell.

  ‘What a stupid thing to happen,’ muttered her mother.

  ‘Do you think you twisted it or was there a crack or anything?’

  ‘I went over on it. It’s probably just a sprain.’ Fiona, a little nonplussed by this uncharacteristically pragmatic response simply nodded. Where were the histrionics? Her mother normally loved a drama.

  ‘We need to ice it.’ Elevate, ice and compress, she remembered from First Aid training. She crossed to the freezer to retrieve the cold pack in there. As a fully registered hypochondriac, her mother had kitted the house out with every piece of First Aid equipment she could get her hands on.

  The ankle was already swollen and was starting to turn a little blue. It didn’t look good at all.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Fiona had no idea.

  ‘I think I may have to go to A&E.’

  Fiona nodded. She thought so too. Looked as if she was going to miss her own exhibition.

  Now she really did want to cry. Although she was nervous, she was still eager to see people’s responses. The pictures represented her best work; tonight was supposed to be her triumph. And what if Gabe did turn up?

  ‘I’ll make a couple of calls. I need to contact Mr Morimoto at the gallery, let him know I won’t be there, and then we’ll go.’

  ‘Go? You’re not going anywhere, young lady. Well, apart from to London. You’ve got an exhibition to get to.’

  ‘I can’t leave you.’

  Her mother huffed. ‘Fiona, I’m aware that I’ve been quite a burden to you.’

  Fiona started to object.

  ‘Yes, I have. I realised when I couldn’t get hold of you in Japan … I was all set to call the British Embassy.’

  Fiona almost laughed. Hadn’t she predicted that very thing?

  ‘And then when I’d spoken to the nice Japanese lady—’

  ‘You mean Haruka?’ Fiona smiled. She missed Haruka more than she would have imagined. And Setsuko. And Gabe.

  ‘Is that her name? She was very kind but it was then I realised how ridiculous I was being. And that I didn’t need to text and message you all the time. You have your own life to lead.’

  Fiona bit her lip. Oh, the irony. Gabe had been right all along.

  ‘And when I talked to Peter about it—’

  ‘Peter?’

  ‘Yes, Peter. He was very supportive while you were in Japan. Made me see things a lot more clearly. I’ve not been a very good mother.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Fiona protested. Her mother wasn’t that bad. She fussed a bit and was a hypochondriac but as Gabe had pointed out, perhaps Fiona had let her.

  ‘I could have been a lot better. When your dad died, I was so angry with him for leaving me. I put everything into taking care of you but when you got older and more independent, especially these last couple of years, there was nothing for me to do. So I leaned on you … too much. Anyway, Peter, well, he gave me quite a stern talking to. Said I had a lot of life left in me and I needed to start enjoying it and doing things on my own and to stop acting like a housebound old lady. He dared me to join the WI.’

  ‘I did wonder.’ Fiona gave her mother’s hand a squeeze.

  ‘Oh, look at the time, you need to go. You’ll have missed the first train but there’s another one in forty minutes. You’ll be a little late.’

  ‘Mum, I can’t leave you on your own. You ought to go to the hospital and get it checked out.’

  ‘I’ll ask Peter to take me. My mobile’s in my hand bag. Can you go and get it for me?’

  Chapter 28

  Unfortunately, the train was delayed by a points failure at Vauxhall which left Fiona drumming her fingers on her other palm wondering if she should let Mr Morimoto know of the further delay. Poor man had been beside himself when she told him about her mother. By the time she rushed through the doors to her own launch party she was an hour late. She stood in the small lobby for a moment considering turning tail. The next room was full, with people looking at the large framed prints. Excitement fizzed her in stomach. Her photographs. On display. And people were studying them, properly examining them. God, what if they didn’t like them? Goosebumps raised on her skin. There were so many people here. She crept forward to the entrance of the room, just hovering in the archway. From just out of sight she scanned the faces, searching for one particular face, her heart in her mouth.

  He wasn’t here. Everything inside curled a little with disappointment, like the edges of paper burning. He hadn’t come. She took a deep dragging breath followed by a half sob. You can’t cry. You can’t. Nor could she turn around and walk away, no matter how much she wanted to – and which she might have done eventually if a woman with long, dark glossy hair hadn’t spotted her. With a brilliant, mega-watt beam, she came striding straight over on long legs wearing ridiculously high stilettos and still managing to appear totally graceful.

  ‘Fashionably late, darling,’ said Avril, draping an arm around her shoulder and drawing her into the crowd.

  ‘Who are all these people?’ whispered Fiona, staring around at the packed room. ‘There are loads of the
m. Is that … Dan Snow? And Kay Burleigh?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Avril with an airy wave of her hand. ‘Now get your arse in here and throw some Prosecco down your neck then come and tell us about these fabulous photos. Especially the one of Mount Fuji.’ Her fingers dug into Fiona’s shoulder and she beckoned a waiter over and snagged Fiona a glass before guiding her to a group standing in front of the picture of the little boy and the torii gate.

  ‘Look who’s finally made it.’ Avril pushed her forward and suddenly she was surrounded by her friends. She grinned at them. The gang were all there, except for Sophie who was all loved up in the States with her decidedly delicious American boyfriend.

  There was a quick flurry of hugs and kisses.

  ‘This is a great photo,’ said Ben, pointing to the little boy in the red anorak. ‘They’re all great.’

  ‘I really like the one of the man in the dark in front of Mount Fuji,’ said Kate, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

  ‘You would,’ said Ben with a teasing grin. ‘I was trying to compliment Fiona on her talent and skill, not the eye candy.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Fiona smiled shyly at him; he’d always been kind to her but even though he’d softened since moving in with Katie, she’d always found him a little intimidating, which was weird because Gabe was much more imposing in so many ways.

  ‘Such a great angle of the little boy. What did you do. Stand on your head?’ he said and she laughed far too loudly to hide the stab of regret. The memory of Gabe’s offer to hold her upside down pinched at her insides.

  ‘I suffered for that one. I lay on the wet grass. But …’ she gave the photo a quick pleased glance. It had turned out well. ‘It was worth it.’

  ‘Fiona, you are so talented. These are wonderful. Honestly, it makes me want to get on the next flight and go to Japan.’ Katie flung her arms around her.

  With her affectionate hug, the lump in Fiona’s throat threatened to overwhelm her again.

  ‘That was the intention.’ Fiona’s smile was brittle but no one seemed to notice. ‘I suppose I ought to make myself known to the organisers. I did phone and tell them I was running late but if I don’t show my face, Kaito, who was my host in Japan, will be humiliated.’

  ‘They can wait a bit longer,’ piped up the older man with greying air dressed in a dapper tweed jacket and a burgundy bow tie. ‘You’ve done an excellent job and if I was in the market for one of these, I’d buy that one of the people looking up at Shibuya Crossing. Bit costly for my purse.’ Conrad winked at her.

  ‘I don’t think they’re for sale. You can have one.’

  ‘That’s a very generous offer, young Fiona, but I think you’ll find that their value is going to skyrocket. This exhibition is going to put you on the map, mark my words.’

  ‘It will if I have anything to do with it,’ said Avril, and Christophe laughed as Conrad whispered to Fiona. ‘I’d sit back and enjoy the ride – you know what she’s like.’

  Motherhood had not slowed Avril down; she was still a dynamo even though her son Dylan was nearly two now.

  ‘They’re beautiful pictures, Fi,’ said David softly. ‘You should be so proud of yourself. You’ve come a long way.’

  ‘Thank you, David,’ she said, nearly undone by his kindness. ‘I almost didn’t come at all,’ she said, attempting to make light of it, hiding the horrible panic that had surfed her emotions before Peter had come to the rescue. ‘My mother had an accident and I thought I was going to have to take her to A&E, but luckily the handsome widower next door fancies himself as a knight in shining armour.’

  ‘That’s why you’re so late,’ said Katie. ‘It’s a shame, there was a gorgeous man here who particularly wanted to speak to you but he had a plane to catch.’

  Fiona whirled around, her heart somersaulting in her chest. ‘Who?’

  Katie’s eyes widened and she took a step back. ‘Er … erm. A man?’ she said hopefully. ‘Very handsome.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Hot,’ supplied Avril giving her husband’s arm a squeeze. ‘And familiar, I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere before.’

  Fiona could have shaken her. ‘Hair colour. Eyes.’

  ‘Dark hair. Collar length, swept back from his face. Striking eyes, almost navy blue. Divine suit. Honestly, he was very handsome.’

  ‘Gabe.’ Fiona’s body sagged.

  ‘Gabe Burnett?’ Avril straightened. ‘Oh, I’m so stupid. Of course, it was. He’s aged well. I knew I knew him.’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘No idea,’ she said. ‘I got chatting to the features editor on the Radio 4 arts show. She’d like to meet you.’ Fiona tried to smile but inside she was dying. Gabe had been here and she’d missed him. Why hadn’t he waited?

  Reece said very quietly, as if sensing her distress, ‘He left about five minutes before you arrived. He did wait for a while, pacing he was, but then he spoke to the woman at the desk and then left …’ Reece winced. ‘He was in a bit of a temper by the size of things. He snatched his coat from the rack and stalked out. He seemed pretty angry.’

  Fiona lifted her head and narrowed her gaze to the desk where there was a pretty Japanese woman in a black suit handing out programmes for the exhibition.

  ‘Excuse me a minute.’ She felt all eyes follow her as she walked over to the woman.

  ‘Hello, can I help you?’

  ‘Yes. I’m Fiona Hanning.’

  ‘Miss Hanning. Does Mr Morimoto know you are here? Everyone loves your pictures. There’s been so much excitement here. We’re very honoured to have them.’ She bowed. ‘Very good pictures.’

  ‘Thank you. There was a man here earlier but he had to leave. Dark hair. Blue eyes.’

  ‘Oh yes. He was asking when you would be arriving as he had to catch a flight. Mr Morimoto told him your mother had fallen ill and before he could finish and explain that you were on your way, he bowed, said thank you and that he was going to miss his plane. He left very quickly.’

  Fiona winced uncomfortably, reminded of the image of Gabe’s furious face the last time she’d seen him. ‘Thank you.’ Well, that was that then. Gabe had been and she’d missed him. She turned to walk away, her boots like concrete weighing down her steps. ‘Oh wait, he left something. It’s a bit …’ She held up a crumpled flyer. ‘I don’t know if it was for you. He screwed it up and left it on the desk.’

  The woman handed over the creased leaflet.

  Love Letters.

  An exhibition by Gabe Burnett.

  The Castille Gallery, Dover Street.

  April 25th – June 15th

  Fiona stuffed it into her pocket. It wasn’t for her. He’d talked about a retrospective. She wasn’t a glutton for punishment. Those pictures of Yumi were brilliant, clever, and inspiring but she’d seen enough of Yumi to last her a lifetime.

  Why had he even come this evening? Because he was in the country? As a courtesy to Haruka and Kaito? They would have expected him to call in, she was sure. And if he were coming to see her, or of his own accord, surely he would have been in touch. To tell her was going to be here. Or that he was even in the country. And if he had a flight to catch, he’d clearly never intended on staying for very long. Why hadn’t he texted or phoned her? If he’d wanted to see her, he could have done either.

  ‘Miss Hanning. You are here.’ Mr Miromito stepped into her path and bowed. ‘Welcome.’

  ‘Hello, I’m so sorry I’m so late.’

  He bowed again and with his hands waved away her apology. ‘Your mother had an accident. How is she? I was most sorry to hear this.’

  ‘She’s fine. It’s not serious, I don’t think. She had a fall.’ That sounded better than that she tripped over the stupid cat. ‘She’s gone to the hospital with a friend to get it checked out.’

  He bowed again. ‘I am very pleased to hear that she is being looked after. I hope that she will make a fast and good recovery. May I introduce you to some people?’

  The rest of
the evening was a blur of bowing, shaking hands and being introduced to so many people whose names she was never going to remember – well, except for the few celebrities that were there. Who would ever forget meeting Bryan Adams and talking photography techniques with him? Or Katie giving her a thumbs up and taking lots of pictures on her phone. She even spotted Brian May with his wife.

  Even so, none of it made up for the disappointment squeezing her heart without mercy.

  Finally, as the crowd began to thin, she had no more excuses for avoiding Avril and she made her way back to the others.

  ‘Well, I think you’ve officially got a hit on your hands, young lady,’ declared Conrad.

  ‘It seems like it,’ said Fiona, a little bemused. She’d been talking to the arts editor of one of the nationals who was going to put it in his guide for the weekend as a must-see show.

  ‘Well done, Fi,’ said David.

  Avril was putting her phone away. ‘Sweetie, I’ve been speaking to my producer and he’s agreed we can film a segment here and interview you. With the Olympics coming up, tourism in Japan has had a huge boost. So we’re going to run a story on that and we’ll include a little piece on the exhibition and your inspiration. I’ll liaise with the crew tomorrow but I’d like to film it the day after tomorrow. Will you be free?’

  ‘Er … erm, I suppose—’

  ‘The answer is, “yes, Avril I’d love to, you’re amazing. Thank you so much.” You do realise people would kill to be on my morning programme?’

  ‘Not everyone wants their five minutes of fame,’ drawled Ben.

  ‘Yes, they do. And Fiona needs the exposure. This will do wonders for her blog, her influencer profile, and her career as a photographer.’

  ‘You’ve got it all sussed,’ said Ben.

  She patted him on the cheek. ‘You’d better believe it, babe.’

  Fiona was starting to relax, thinking she’d got away with it, when Avril pounced.