by Julie Caplin
Setsuko jumped up and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, yes.’
Fiona started to feel a little apprehensive as Mayu hauled her to her feet and, while she was still wobbling and trying to gain her balance, started plucking at her clothes like a determined bird pecking at seed. ‘Take this off,’ she tugged at Fiona’s jumper.
Setsuko picked a garment from the pile in her mother’s arms. ‘First the under layer.’ She held out a white cotton T-shaped piece of fabric. ‘The hadujaban.’
The next thing Fiona knew was that Mayu had pulled off her jumper and Setsuko was guiding her arms into the wide square sleeves and threading the ties through holes under her arms while Haruka watched, her head bobbing up and down in approval.
Next came the sumptuous kimono which wasn’t as flimsy and lightweight as it first appeared because the gorgeous bright red silk was lined with a slightly heavier fabric. Following more of Setsuko’s gentle commands, she held out her arms on either side. With careful ceremony, Setsuko posted her arms through the voluminous sleeves as Haruka and May looked on, Haruka beaming with quiet pride.
‘This is beautiful,’ said Fiona, taking a quick moment to stroke one of the intricately embroidered motifs adorning the fabric: a black-headed, long-necked bird pictured in full flight with white frilled wings and long legs trailing gracefully beneath a black tail.
‘A crane,’ said Haruka.
‘They are very lucky in Japanese culture; in folk tales they lived for a thousand years,’ explained Setsuko, smoothing the fabric across Fiona’s chest before taking the front edges of the robe and wrapping them tightly across her body. ‘Always left to right,’ she said tugging the fabric tighter. ‘The other way for the dead.’
Haruka stepped forward with the wide cream band that Fiona recognised as the sash that went around the middle. ‘What’s it called?’ she asked, reaching out a hand to touch the cream silk.
‘It’s an obi,’ said Haruka handing it with both hands to her daughter.
For once Fiona didn’t mind being the centre of attention as Setsuko smiled up at her, wrapping the wide bulky sash around her middle. The Japanese woman pointed out the little stiffening rods set into the fabric to give the large bow at the back its shape as she tied it in place.
Finally, a little like a princess, she waited as Setsuko fitted white socks on to each foot and helped her step into the geta, the traditional wooden sandals with their thick soles.
Mayu darted forward shaking her head. ‘Your hair.’
Standing on one of the chairs and ignoring Haruka’s quick frown, she swept Fiona’s strawberry blonde hair back from her face and scooped her long plait up, coiling it into a bun. She then stuffed a bamboo comb into the hair with a sharp thrust which made Fiona wince as it scraped her scalp.
‘That’s better. There now.’ Mayu jumped down.
The three ladies stepped back to admire the picture and Fiona took a few steps in the shoes which felt very odd, forcing her to take careful, tiny moves. Against her skin, the cotton hadjuban felt soft and light, while the heavy silk of the kimono and the tight obi made her feel cocooned and a little constricted, but that was more than made up for by the easy, happy acceptance of the three women and the delighted expressions on their faces. Haruka clapped her hands together, her serene, elegant face wreathed in a motherly smile and Setsuko beamed at her, while Mayu nodded, her head tilted and her arms folded, pulling her mouth in an approving teenage moue.
On the table, Fiona’s phone began to ring with the Facetime tone. She winced and shook her head as Mayu went to pick it up and offer it to her.
‘No, I’ll call them later.’ She spread out her arms and did a little twirl for her audience, not wanting the spell to be broken. Although a foot taller than the three diminutive women, for once being different didn’t feel like being out of place or looking in from the outside.
‘Would you like me to take some pictures?’ asked Setsuko.
Fiona hesitated a moment; she didn’t really like having her photo taken. The minute a lens was pointed her way, it made her stiff and self-conscious but the kimono pictures would be perfect for her blog and she wanted to capture this lovely moment. She also wanted pictures of the three generations of women together. ‘Yes, please. With my camera. It’s in my room.’
‘I’ll get it.’ Mayu sprang up, hovered in the doorway for permission, and at Fiona’s nod darted away.
Mayu was keen to take the pictures and was a very quick learner – as soon as Fiona had shown her the basic controls on her SLR camera, she snapped away, pretending to be a paparazzo, which soon had all the women laughing.
‘Here, darling. Smile for me, Fiona. Give it to me baby. More. More.’
It was easy to relax with the enthusiastic teenager, laughing and joking and Fiona found herself loosening up, knowing she could easily delete most of the photos. She could always cut her own head off if her usual tortured grimaces were truly awful.
After a mixed day, including a low point where she’d really wanted to go home, Fiona reflected as she went to bed on how welcome the three women had made her feel. Maybe underneath it all, when you thought about what really mattered, Japan wasn’t so very different. People still loved, laughed, and cared for each other and those were values that were shared the world over.
Chapter 4
Faced with the slew of querulous texts that greeted her when she went to bed, relinquishing the warm company of the three women, Fiona couldn’t face calling her mother knowing that it would be a combative conversation. Her mother really hadn’t wanted her to come to Japan. Instead, she quickly worked out that if she called at seven the next morning, it would be ten at night in the UK. She sent a quick text, explaining it had been a long day and saying she’d call later.
The futon mattress was much more comfortable than she’d expected and with the thick padded covers, again so different from home, she found herself as snug as a bug and, despite the peaks and troughs of the day, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep as soon as she switched off the light.
She woke to her phone bleeping and blearily accepted the facetime call.
‘Fiona, I’ve been so worried about you.’
Fiona sighed. Her mother had got in first, before she could jump in with all the positives, like the kotatsu table, the kimono, the delicious breaded katsu chicken that Haruka had prepared for dinner, and the photographs she’d seen.
‘Hello to you too.’ She yawned and pushed her hair out of her face. ‘And why are you worried?’
‘Well the texts I was getting were very short. Anything could have happened and you didn’t call this morning.’
‘Mum.’ Two seconds in and Fiona’s patience had to be forced. ‘Japan is one of the safest countries in the world.’
‘Well, they might they say that but I don’t know. And I hadn’t heard from you and I’ve been feeling awful.’
Fiona ignored her latter comment. ‘I called you as soon as I landed.’ And messaged yesterday morning and evening. Luckily the nine-hour time difference meant that her mother would have been asleep during the middle of the day so she’d been able to avoid getting into a conversation with her, unlike now.
‘I’ve got a terrible sense of foreboding, you know.’
Fiona’s smile didn’t reflect her internal sigh of frustration. ‘Are you taking your tablets?’
‘Yes,’ her mother said with an indignant glare. ‘Of course I’m taking my tablets. I’m not senile, you know. And Dr Smithson was so mean last time.’
‘He wasn’t mean, he was concerned and was trying to impress the importance of taking your blood-pressure tablets.’
‘Well my blood pressure is bound to be through the roof with my only daughter so far away on her own in another country. Anything could happen to you.’ Before her mother could launch into a litany of terrible things that had happened to lone women travellers over the years, Fiona reminded her she wasn’t on her own.
‘The family I’m staying with are very kind and
all speak excellent English.’ Now would have been the time to tell her about trying on the kimono but she didn’t want to spoil the memory of it, that lovely glow of belonging and warmth. Instead she chose, without thinking it through properly, safer ground. ‘And I’ll be with Gabe during the day.’ Well, in as much as yesterday he’d delivered her to places and collected her later like an unwelcome parcel he’d rather return to sender.
‘Gabe? Who’s Gabe? I thought you were going to be with Yutaka Araki.’
Funny, when it suited her, her mother’s vagueness vanished.
Fiona really did sigh this time. Rookie error. ‘Unfortunately, Mr Araki has had a family bereavement, so he can’t mentor me.’
Her mother seemed shocked and for a moment Fiona thought she might get away with it as she remained speechless for oh, at least five seconds. ‘You mean you’ve gone all that way for nothing? I knew it was a mistake, didn’t I tell you?’
‘Mum, it’s all fine. They’ve provided me with another mentor.’
‘As well they might but it’s hardly going to be comparable to Yutaka Araki, is it?’ With time on her hands, of course her mother had Googled him. Now, after weeks of complaint, she chose to be impressed. ‘I really do think you’ve made a terrible mistake.’
‘He’s a very good photographer. I’ll learn plenty.’
‘Who? Who is as good that they can find just like that? You’re being fobbed off with someone who won’t be anywhere near as good as Yutaka Araki. You do know his pictures are displayed in museums and galleries all around the world? New York, Boston, Tokyo’—at that Fiona really did roll her eyes; she’d seen several yesterday—‘Sydney, Toronto. Who are they possibly going to find to replace him?’
Fiona weighed it up and the balance of the scales fell to the wrong side, but honesty was the best policy and it was better to get this over and done with. You never know, it might distract her mother from her health.
‘My mentor is …’ Oh God, she was going to have to say it. She looked directly at the screen, at her mother’s fluttering hands and her frail form sitting in the usual high-backed armchair that was more suited to an elderly, infirm person rather than a woman of not quite fifty.
‘Who?’
‘It’s Gabriel Burnett.’
That really did shock her into silence and then her mother clutched her throat with melodramatic horror. ‘Gabriel Burnett! The man who ruined your life!’ Her mother’s face contorted. ‘I think I’m having a spasm.’
‘Mother you’re not flaming Mrs Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. People don’t have spasms. And he didn’t ruin my life.’ Just changed its course a little.
‘Gabriel Burnett.’ Her mother shook her head. ‘Gabriel Burnett. What did he say? I hope he apologised.’
‘He didn’t recognise me and he hasn’t got anything to apologise for.’
‘Oh. Well I still think it’s a mistake.’
‘He’s a very good photographer and someone I can learn from.’
‘Well you learned plenty from him last time, didn’t you? I’d have thought once bitten and all that.’
‘Mum, that was a long time ago.’ She shifted her gaze towards the window where the bright sunshine was peeping around the edges of the blind, as if trying to entice her outside. ‘I was eighteen and very young for my age at that.’ Fiona felt the flush of embarrassment stain her cheek. God, she had been incredibly young for her age. Naïve and clumsy. And yes, she’d beaten herself up about it for years, supported admirably by her mother’s melodramatics, until she’d confessed what she’d done to Avril who’d laughed her head off and told her it was perfectly normal deluded teenage behaviour and to stop being such a wally about it. Everyone did stupid things when they were young. Her precise words had been, ‘Get over yourself already.’
In hindsight, Fiona wondered whether, had her mother had taken a more rational, balanced approach at the time, she could have been reconciled to the whole silly episode far sooner and been more practical about sorting out the bullying at school that had followed.
‘Well just watch yourself with him. Men like him don’t change their spots.’
‘Like I said, he doesn’t even remember me. Anyway, I need to go. Gabe is picking me up to go to the Tokyo Skytree.’ Actually, he wasn’t coming until lunchtime but her mother didn’t need to know that and it looked like a gorgeous morning. Fiona was itching to do some exploring; she hadn’t seen anything of the garden or the teashop.
‘You’re actually going to go with him? Do you think that’s a good idea? You’re not going to fall in love with him all over again, are you?’
‘No, Mum. I’m not a silly, impressionable teenager anymore. I’m not the least bit attracted to him.’
‘Well, I’m not happy.’ Her hand clapped to her chest. ‘I think I can feel palpitations.’
‘Mum, you’ll be fine. Make yourself a nice cup of tea. Did I tell you the lady I’m staying with is a master of tea? It’s a really big deal in Japan. And she runs a teashop. And conducts tea ceremonies. I think that will be fascinating to see, don’t you?’
Her mother sniffed. ‘It does sound interesting. Perhaps you can bring me some tea back. The Japanese are an incredibly healthy nation, after all.’
Fiona bit back a smile, grateful she’d successfully diverted her mother.
They talked tea for the final few minutes of the conversation, before Fiona gratefully said goodbye to her mother and plugged in her phone to charge.
It irked that her mother thought she might fall for Gabe again. She was nearly thirty, not an impressionable eighteen-year-old. Gabe Burnett did nothing for her now. She was far too sensible and grown-up to fall for his looks or his charm, which was in decided short supply these days.
Wide awake now and thoroughly irritated by her mother, Fiona got up and dressed quickly. Fresh air and sunshine called.
***
There was no sign of life when she crept down the stairs and went out into the street with her camera. Stepping back to the other side of the street, she took a couple of quick shots of the pretty scene before realising that Setsuko was in the window of the teahouse beckoning her over.
In the next minute she was at the door.
‘Good morning, Fiona san. Did you sleep well?’
‘I did … until my mother called.’ She tried to hide the irritation which had left her raw and chafed inside. Setsuko might not approve. Japanese families were renowned for looking after their elders and she seemed very close to her own mother.
Setsuko’s clear, dark eyes surveyed her face. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked in her gentle way.
‘It’s fine,’ said Fiona, guilty now. Her mother wasn’t so bad, just lonely and bored, which made her focus most of her attention on her health and her only daughter.
Setsuko raised one elegant eyebrow. ‘I think you need a cup of tea. Come on.’ She turned and led the way into the shop.
Without stopping to make sure Fiona was following her, Setsuko hurried into the shop and through an open doorway. Fiona stopped to take stock and was immediately transfixed by the quaint interior. It was like stepping back in time and there was a hushed air of calm in the small but perfectly formed shop. What struck her the most was that all the materials were natural, from the wood panelled walls and bamboo stools, to the cotton-padded dark wood benches and the linen hangings next to the now familiar shoji screens. Gentle light filtered in through the big bay window, highlighting dust motes dancing like tiny fairies. One wall of the shop was shelved from floor to ceiling, the shelves containing big black lacquered canisters, each with elegant Japanese script in golden ink on the front, promising secrets and magic. On the small counter opposite were little open hessian sacks full of different teas, curled like tiny caterpillar husks, pieces of bark and dried grasses, the scents of jasmine, smoke and grass spilling from them. It was like a magician’s cave where blends of sorcery and magic were served up in the delicate tea pots, glazed in pale blues, greens and bronzes and the solid
china cups that would fit perfectly in your hands.
Beyond the room, Setsuko was standing in a tiny, almost primitive kitchen, with a large frying-pan-sized ring full of glowing coals, atop which was a big copper kettle. Fiona had never seen anything like it and couldn’t imagine how Setsuko could work in such a tiny space although it was beautifully organised with everything in its place on the bamboo shelves. There wasn’t a single electric appliance apart from a rice steamer and the only other modern thing was a calculator next to a pot of bamboo and wood utensils.
Setsuko had laid a red lacquer tray with a matt black teapot with a curved bamboo handle and two cups glazed with turquoise around the rims fading to darker blue at the bottom, and once she’d poured boiling water into the teapot from the big copper kettle, she motioned for Fiona to follow her to one of the tables which looked out to the other side of the building and to a secret garden hidden by a canopy of green shrubbery.
As soon as she sat down, the weight seemed to lift from her shoulders and that abraded rawness inside that her mother always managed to stir up eased. Being here was like being in a private den, closed off from the rest of the world and the worries it carried with it. ‘This is lovely. It’s so …’ she couldn’t quite put it into words. Romantic, otherworldly, traditional.
Setsuko poured them each a cup of tea and handed one to Fiona.
‘It’s a place to think and to be. Or to talk and share.’
Fiona studied the pale green liquid, the steam bringing the scent of grass and pine. Share. That wasn’t something she did very much of.
‘One of my own blends,’ said Setsuko holding her cup in both hands and bowing to Fiona. ‘It contains kanayamidori and sayamakaori green teas.’
‘I love these … what do you call them?’ she indicated the handleless cups.
‘Chawan. Or matcha bowl.’
Setsuko stared down into her own tea, the picture of humility and respect, leaving the silence to stretch out between them. The peace of the room brought a mesmerising sense of calm. A smile crossed Fiona’s face.
