The Little Teashop in Tokyo

by Julie Caplin

  ‘It makes me want to tell you things.’

  ‘You do not have to tell me anything. I wanted to bring you peace.’

  Fiona studied her demure hostess. ‘You’ve done that. Thank you.’

  ‘I know how it is to feel … troubled.’

  ‘You do?’ Fiona was surprised. Setsuko seemed to epitomise serenity.

  With a gracious incline of her head, she smiled at Fiona’s disbelief.

  ‘When we first came back to Japan, I was a teenager. An American teenager. I hated my parents for taking me away from everything I knew. Japan was alien and different, although in some ways familiar. It confused me but rather than learn, I fought. I fought against everything. You think Mayu is rebellious …’ she laughed. ‘She is easy. It took me a long time to settle. To learn that this is home. To learn that the traditional ways bring their own peace and harmony. I made life very difficult for my mother.’

  Fiona raised her eyebrows. Setsuko seemed so calm and gentle it was difficult to believe.

  ‘My mother is a remarkable woman. And very wise. She didn’t fight back. Not in obvious ways. She allowed herself to find her way back into the traditions and to share them with me. She never forced me to do anything or insist I followed the old ways and gradually I saw for myself that there was beauty and peace in them. Mayu complains that we make her go to the sakura, the cherry blossom, every year … but we never insist she comes. It is always her choice. And she always chooses to come. She pretends family is not so important but she loves her Jiji.’

  Fiona took a sip of the fragrant tea. ‘Teenage years are difficult in every culture.’

  ‘I think so. We know so little of ourselves, we’re not yet us. But we think we are.’

  ‘That’s a good way of putting it.’ Fiona was struck by the thought. She’d placed far too much emphasis on a youthful mistake that should have been laughed off as exactly that.

  They drank the rest of the tea in silence and a couple of times, Fiona wondered about telling Setsuko what had happened but the other woman didn’t prod her or have a hungry, expectant look on her face; she seemed as if her own thoughts had taken her elsewhere, so Fiona leaned back against the wall in the cosy confines of the room, sipped her tea, and let the memories wash over her.

  She’d been eighteen. She and Evie Blundell, a friend – not a best friend but they’d shared a passion for photography – had both been nominated by their art teacher to spend half term at an art camp in London, the October prior to A levels. Fiona brought the cup up to her nose, inhaling the fragrant smell of the tea, recalling that youthful fizz of excitement as the two of them boarded the train for their first day. An autumn day of russet colours where sunshine dappled the trees, heralding a morning full of the promise of what might be.

  Day one had exceeded expectation as they’d found themselves in a college environment where they were treated like young adults on first-name terms with their tutors rather than the formal distance of school. Fiona smiled to herself. By the end of the first week, she and Evie had imagined themselves quite grown up with a gloss of sophistication acquired through regular commuting into London and mixing with slightly older students, although everyone in the class had been equally star struck when it was announced that the following week Gabriel Burnett would be tutoring them. Gabriel Burnett. Even the cool kids were impressed.

  Even now, Fiona remembered the first time she’d met him.

  Gabriel Burnett had the bluest eyes Fiona had ever seen. He turned up slightly late on the first morning and apologised with charm and a laid-back approach that immediately set the over-excited class at ease. He might be used to mixing with models and celebrities, but he treated them as equals.

  ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ Fiona had sighed, gazing at him from the second row back.

  ‘Utterly, but way out of our league,’ agreed Evie, settling her chin into her hand and studying him with a happy groan.

  ‘Those eyes,’ Fiona whispered and as she did he glanced up sharply and stared right at her as if he’d heard her. A fizz bounced around her stomach as he’d held her gaze for … well, for ages – or at least it had felt like ages.

  ‘Contacts. They must be,’ said Evie, breaking the spell. ‘But he’s seriously fit. Check out that arse.’

  Fiona was too busy checking out the high cheekbones and longish hair swept off his face, tied with a leather strap which had seemed desperately glamorous and strikingly bohemian at the same time. Inside her chest her heart fluttered like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower.

  And he was so nice. So friendly. He chatted to everyone. She’d thought he might be arrogant and full of himself but he wasn’t at all. He was lovely.

  The highlight of the week came on Wednesday when he singled out one of her pictures, leaning over her, so close that she could see the tiny pinpricks of stubble on his skin and smell his aftershave – some woodsy, sophisticated scent that had made her breath shudder in appreciation.

  ‘This is a great composition, Fiona.’ Her heart had thundered in her chest. He. Knew. Her. Name. ‘I love what you’ve done bringing the background into focus here.’ He laid a hand on her shoulder as he leaned even closer to point to something on the picture. ‘And that little plane of light. This is excellent work.’ She swallowed and turned her head, meeting his eyes, and she saw them suddenly flare. A hot sweat seared through her. He felt it too.

  He smiled at her. ‘Very good work, Fiona.’ And then as if nothing had happened, he stood up and walked to the next student. But she hadn’t imagined it. Gabriel Burnett liked her.

  ‘It was the way he looked at me,’ she had said to Evie on the way home that evening.

  ‘He looks at everyone that way,’ said Evie, who was clearly jealous that Gabe hadn’t singled her work out. ‘It’s a bit cheesy to be honest.’

  She didn’t agree; when he talked to her, she really felt like he knew her and understood her.

  Fiona shuddered at the vivid memories and Setsuko turned her gentle doe eyes towards her.

  ‘I kissed him,’ Fiona announced rather baldly.

  Setsuko raised one delicately arched eyebrow in silent query.

  ‘Gabe Burnett. When I was eighteen. He was my teacher.’ She let out a half sob, half giggle. ‘Like the Abba song, “When I kissed the teacher”.’

  Both of Setsuko’s eyebrows rose, startled.

  ‘I know.’ Fiona took in a deep breath, horrified that she’d blurted it out like that. ‘I don’t know why I told you that.’

  ‘Perhaps because you needed to.’

  ‘I kissed him. He was standing in front of me, in the corridor. It was the end of the week and I knew I might never see him again. And I was mad about him. And stupidly I’d convinced myself that he might feel the same. So I stood on tip toe. Kissed him. Right on the mouth.’ She paused watching Setsuko’s reaction carefully.

  Now Setsuko began to smile. ‘You kissed Gabe san.’ Her mouth curved, shy dimples appearing.

  Fiona nodded.

  Setsuko sniggered, an unladylike snuffly snorting noise that was most unlike her usual graceful demeanour. ‘You kissed Gabe.’ She clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes dancing with mirth.

  Fiona, remembering the moment, suddenly saw the ridiculousness of it. That quick, hasty bob up to peck at his mouth and she smiled back at Setsuko, a giggle escaping.

  ‘I know. Crazy teenage hormones.’ And as she relaxed and saw the funny side of it, escaping the band of shame that had dogged her for so many years, a memory tumbled loose – his hands, warm and firm, coming to rest on her hips, steadying them. Her pulse missed a beat. And with a heart-jolting shock, she remembered his lips moving under hers. He. Had. Kissed. Her. Back.

  She sat up straight and had to put a hand over her heart to steady the ridiculous rollicking beat that it had taken up. Gabe had kissed her back … and she’d completely forgotten. It had been buried in everything that came after. Not that it meant anything now but it kind of made up for all that embarras
sment. The humiliation … well, that had come later.

  ‘What happened after that?’ asked Setsuko, her almond eyes wide and for once her reserve cast aside.

  ‘I don’t know who was more shocked, him or me. And then,’ she sobered, ‘my friend, my so-called friend, Evie, came round the corner. Gabe was already pushing me away. He must have been horrified that this girl was throwing herself at him. I mean, he dated sophisticated models, famous actors … people like Yumi. But Evie saw enough. And later I told her what I’d done. Well it was pretty obvious.’ Fiona’s face crumpled, the pain still as sharp as ever.

  Setsuko winced. ‘Something bad.’

  ‘Evie told everyone at school what I’d done and that Gabe had rejected me. It was awful. Everyone laughed at me. A couple of the teachers were really disapproving. And for a few weeks I kept my head down hoping it would blow over, but then at the end of term, in the annual talent show, Evie with a couple of other girls sang the Abba song. This time everyone in the whole school knew.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Setsuko laid a cool hand on hers.

  ‘Instead of getting better, the girls just got worse. I couldn’t face going to school. I felt sick every day. Eventually I told my mum what had happened and … she was great.’ Except she hadn’t been, not really. No, her mum had made a melodrama out of her. Caused a fuss and said no daughter of hers was going back to that school. She could stay at home. And that had been the worst thing Fiona could have done. Isolated herself.

  ‘I didn’t go back to school. Didn’t take my exams. Didn’t go to university. Started spending more time online and blogging. And … well, that has been good.’ She shrugged her shoulders; it had taken a long time to be good. ‘And then a couple of years ago, my Instagram posts started to take off and I started going out and meeting people in real life instead of just online. I made some friends who are quite bossy and inspirational, who chivvy me into doing things, and it was my friend Avril who suggested I enter the competition to come here.’

  Setsuko’s mouth dropped open into a pretty little ‘o’. ‘And you had no idea that you would meet Gabe san.’

  ‘No,’ said Fiona. ‘Although he doesn’t recognise me.’

  ‘Are you going to tell him?’

  ‘God no! That would be so embarrassing.’

  ‘He might have been flattered.’

  ‘Look at me. He associates with people like Yumi.’

  ‘But she is not very beautiful on the inside,’ said Setsuko with unexpected severity. ‘You have what we call shibui.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Fiona leaned forward, keen to learn more about Japanese culture.

  ‘Shibui is simplicity, modesty, naturalness, everydayness … you are you. You don’t try to be something that you’re not. Subdued in some ways but not others.’ She smiled. ‘Today when you were talking I saw the flash of fire in your eyes, especially when you talked about Gabe. You are understated but your hair has subtle beauty. You are very well mannered. Shibui is all of these things.’

  Fiona smiled. ‘Well, I’m glad about that. My mother would be pleased to hear that I’m well mannered.’

  ‘That is why my mother liked you straight away. You are refined. You listen and accord respect. You are interested.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t be? Your country is fascinating. This …’ she waved her hand, indicating the teashop, ‘it’s such a contrast to the Tokyo I saw yesterday.’

  Setsuko smiled. ‘And there is so much more to see.’

  Fiona felt her heart suddenly blossom, like a flower blooming from bud. ‘There is.’ She beamed at the other woman realising that she wanted to know more, more about the city, the culture, the art … God, there was just so much. ‘Thank you, Setsuko. You’ve opened my eyes this morning.’

  Chapter 5

  Haruka fussed over her when she returned to the house, leaving Setsuko in the teashop laying out an exquisitely presented breakfast of tiny square dishes filled with pickled vegetables and salad vegetables, along with a small bowl of steaming miso soup and a little bowl of steamed rice.

  For a moment, Fiona examined the perfect presentation and the attention to detail, amazed by the work that had gone into breakfast. This wasn’t ‘grab a bowl of cereal by the sink in the morning’. With all the little bowls and dishes on the red, black, and gold lacquer tray, she could have been in a restaurant and Haruka had clearly made a huge effort.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to her hostess, biting her lip, a little uncertain where to start. Immediately Haruka patted her on the arm and stepped forward, sitting down opposite her, as ever a generous and kind hostess.

  ‘This is miso soup. Very good for starting the day. Gentle on your stomach. Warming for the body. This is pickled ginger and here is a salad.’

  ‘It smells good,’ said Fiona a little reluctantly. Soup for breakfast, that was a new one, but it was well known that the Japanese were a long-lived nation and all the women Fiona had seen were exceptionally trim. The diet here was famed for being healthy and nutritionally well balanced, so who was she to argue. Copying her hostess, she picked up the bowl and took a careful sip of the hot soup as Haruka watched her like a mother anticipating her child’s first steps.

  ‘Mmm,’ she said, surprised by the clean, bright flavour. ‘This is delicious.’ She took another eager mouthful of the fragrant soup, thinking that she could get used to eating like this. Picking up the chopsticks, she attempted to dig into the bowl of rice to take a scoop and Haruka tsked as she dropped half of it on the table.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Fiona.

  ‘Like this.’ Once again Haruka showed her, guiding her fingers and thumb onto the wooden sticks, showing Fiona how to hold them properly and pushed the bowl into her hands and towards her mouth. It reminded her of Gabe yesterday and that unwelcome flutter of sensation when he’d held her hand.

  ‘Ah, that’s much easier,’ said Fiona, pushing Gabe out of her head and taking a mouthful of the cool sticky rice. The consistency was slightly different to that at home but it had a freshness and a nuttier flavour. The combination of the rice, the soup, and the pickled ginger was a marriage of light, sharp and clean and as unfamiliar as it was, Fiona enjoyed every mouthful. Perhaps, thanks to her early morning tea with Setsuko, she was far more open to trying new things.

  To finish, Haruka brought out a mouth-watering shallow plate of beautifully arranged fruit. There were slices of juicy mandarin, carefully peeled so there wasn’t a speck of white pith, sliced love hearts of bright red strawberries, which looked too good to eat, and translucent thin sections of honeydew melon. ‘This looks too good to disturb.’

  ‘No, no. You must. It is fresh from the market today.’

  Haruka beamed at her as she sighed over the sweetness of the strawberries and the tang of the mandarins.

  ‘Thank you, that was a lovely breakfast. I usually just have toast and cereal, neither of which I think are very good for you.’

  ‘There is very little bread in our diet.’ Haruka explained. ‘In the West you eat too much bread. It is not good for …’ she patted her stomach.

  ‘No, this is lovely and light.’ She didn’t feel the least bit bloated or over full.

  As Haruka cleared away the dishes, insisting that she didn’t need any help despite the offer, Fiona checked her watch. Gabe was due to collect her in under an hour. She was all set, her camera at her side as well as a notebook. She wanted to do a tourist’s guide to Tokyo on her blog and planned to write down station names, because she’d never remember them, and directions to key tourist landmarks. Today Gabe was taking her to the Skytree, the tallest building in Japan and, Mayu had told her proudly the night before, the tallest tower in the world. Fiona had smiled. It was all about definitions, she thought.

  ‘Would you mind if I took some pictures of the house?’ she asked Haruka. ‘I’d like to put them on my Instagram page and write about what it’s like to live in a Japanese house; it’s so different to houses at home. Especially the toilet.’

  She hadn’
t had the courage to ask her hostess about all the buttons and symbols on the toilet. It all looked rather high tech and complicated, although she was taken with the nifty tap-sink arrangement on top of the toilet cistern where you washed your hands and the water was used to flush the toilet. Completely ingenious.

  As she rose to her feet, her phone beeped.

  I’m afraid an unexpected job has come up and I shall be tied up in the studio all day today. We shall have to postpone our trip. Pick you up at the same time tomorrow?

  Fiona dropped her phone on the table. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said letting out a heartfelt groan. ‘Gabe has called today off.’

  Haruka frowned. ‘That is very bad mannered. Is he unwell?’

  ‘No, he says he has to work.’

  Her mouth folded into a disapproving line and Haruka looked positively cross – well, as cross as was possible on her lovely serene face. ‘You could go to work with him. That would be mentoring. I am very sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Fiona winced. It wasn’t fine at all. She was eager to get started today and take some pictures for her exhibition.

  ‘No, it is not,’ said Haruka, blinking furiously, her hands fidgeting on the table

  Fiona’s voice softened and she reached out to touch the agitated woman. ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘You are a guest in our country. It is most impolite and very unlike Gabriel. I am disappointed in him.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ll do something else. At least I know how to find my way on the trains.’

  Haruka ignored the feeble joke and patted her hand. ‘Green tea. I’ll make some tea and then we will decide what to do.’

  Fiona almost smiled at the very Englishness of it, tea and sympathy, and watched as Haruka rolled up her sleeves and bustled busily back to the kitchen, her slippers whispering over the tatami mats.

  She followed her and was gestured into a seat as Haruka warmed the water on one of the gas rings. The kitchen was very spare and compact compared to her mother’s cluttered farmhouse style and it took her a moment to work out what was missing. There was no oven. The only way of cooking seemed to be the gas rings on a small hob, not that it seemed to hold Haruka back, but it was still positively modern compared to the cubby hole in the teashop.