by Julie Caplin
‘Don’t you mind?’ asked Fiona, thinking her own mother would be quite jealous if she heard that. Judy Hanning was very possessive of her daughter and liked to think that they were very close.
‘No, not at all. We have always had a good, strong bond,’ Setsuko sighed. ‘I wish it was like that with Mayu. She’s very … modern and outspoken. She never listens to me.’ She spread her hands out in bewildered disapproval.
‘She’s a teenager,’ said Fiona with a reassuring smile. ‘It will change. And she’s a good kid. I enjoyed her company the other day and you’d never have known that her grandmother had coerced her into taking me out for the day.’
Setsuko laughed. ‘She took you to her favourite place. I don’t think it was a particular hardship.’
‘Maybe not.’ Fiona grinned. ‘But all the same, she was good company and wouldn’t you rather she was confident and independent?’
‘I guess so. The American part of me, yes. But everything is so loud. The music, the clothes, the films. I don’t understand any of it.’
‘I’m not sure you’re supposed to. Mums and teenagers never see eye to eye. It comes later,’ said Fiona as if she knew what she was talking about. She was the last person who should be dispensing any advice on mother-daughter relationships. With a wince she crossed her fingers in her pockets. Her mother had been a nightmare when she was a teenager, even bigger on melodrama than Fiona herself had been. Fiona couldn’t remember her ever dispensing sensible guidance and advice.
‘So Gabe. Tomorrow. Where is he taking you?’
‘I have to tell him where I want to go. I have no idea what to choose but it needs to be somewhere traditional, somewhere Japanese people go.’
Setsuko gave one of her gentle smiles. ‘We shall decide over dinner.’
Chapter 10
‘You take Fiona to Meji Shrine today,’ said Haruka in a scolding voice to Gabe as he arrived the next morning for breakfast, at the same time as giving him a welcoming hug. ‘And you look like hell. You drink too much.’
He ignored the latter comment – he was a big boy, after all – instead shooting Fiona an accusing ‘what have you been saying?’ glower. Haruka was very good at making him feel like he was in the doghouse but she was the one person he couldn’t bring himself to be rude to. Or Setsuko for that matter. The latter was far too gentle and the former had a backbone of steel that he wouldn’t want to mess with, plus the fact that this had become his second home and, despite the admonishments he received from Haruka on a regular basis about the way he lived his life, he knew it was well meant and that she cared.
Fiona’s eyes widened and she held up her hands in innocence. ‘I haven’t said a word.’
No, she probably hadn’t, not intentionally, but Haruka had a way of winkling information out of you without you realising it. The woman had an uncanny talent for listening to what was said, and hearing what wasn’t said.
‘Is that where Fiona would like to go, or where you’ve decided she should go?’ he asked, knowing the tiny woman’s bossiness outweighed her stature.
Haruka smiled, serene, confident, and a trifle smug. ‘It is a very beautiful, peaceful place and I think Fiona san will enjoy it very much.’
‘We talked over dinner last night and I think it will be perfect for what I want,’ snapped Fiona and he had to bite back a smile at her quickness to defend her host and herself. Looked like someone else had fallen slave to Haruka’s indomitable will.
‘Okay, the Meji Shrine it is. Certainly a gorgeous day for it.’ The chill of early spring had receded today and the promise of summer shimmered in the warm morning air, along with bright sunshine and a clear blue sky.
Putting his shoulders back, he gave Fiona a discreetly assessing glance as she busied herself checking everything was in her camera bag. Today he was going to try to be on his best behaviour, even though a trip to the shrine was right up there on the tedious list. Seen one, seen a dozen. But he owed Haruka and while guilt wasn’t entirely the right word for how Fiona’s challenge had impacted him yesterday, he did feel a sense of obligation. In his defence, he felt it was hardly shirking his duties to take her to the top tourist spots. That was definitely part of the deal … and it wasn’t his fault he’d seen them all before a dozen times and couldn’t bear to go again. Okay, so he might have been a tad selfish in dumping her and running – he was man enough to admit that.
What he’d found more difficult to swallow and had brooded about last night over the better part of a very nice and very expensive bottle of red wine, was her apparent disappointment in him. The watchful waiting while she drank her tea, as though she expected a better version of him to appear.
Well, she was in for a long wait. This was as good as it got these days. But her disappointment had chafed at him, like a burr under his skin, and all evening her words had kept coming back to him.
Her phone beeped – a text notification, he guessed – the sound loud and discordant in the kitchen. Fiona glanced at the screen and then at her watch, frowning before shoving the phone into her back pocket.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘We’d better be off. Make hay while the sun shines and all that. Got everything?’
‘Yes,’ said Fiona, brushing the end of her thick plait over her palm, as he’d seen her do a couple of times. Her eyes were a little unfocused as if she were elsewhere and he took the moment to study the unusual colour of her hair – real strawberry blonde. It fascinated him, and his photographer’s eye imagined it in different lights, turning burnished gold in some and dark bronze in others.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Hmm,’ she said and a few lines appeared on her forehead. ‘Yes. Just …’ she continued absently, still playing with her hair. ‘Sorry, I was thinking about the light today. It’s very bright.’
He took her words at face value, even though he thought her distraction had a lot to do with the text. ‘Don’t worry, there are plenty of trees; you’ll be able to get lots of light and shade to take some interesting shots. Come on then, let’s do this.’ He ushered her towards the door after giving Haruka a quick hug.
‘Take care of her,’ said Haruka, a touch mysteriously.
‘I think she’ll be safe at the shrine.’
As Fiona opened the door, the sun burst in, turning her hair into the exact shade of burnished gold he’d imagined. Struck by the colour, he stopped and for an uncharacteristic moment was almost tempted to ask her to undo her braid and let it ripple down over her shoulders so he could get the full effect. Just then, she glanced back over her shoulder and the juxtaposition of an innocent goddess framed by the halo of gold almost punched him in the gut. It was the first time in a very long time that he felt a burning need to take a picture. It would be a near impossible shot to capture, with the full sun behind her but his mind was already darting off in a different direction as to how it might be achieved.
‘Gabe?’ Fiona was staring at him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine. Why?’
‘You looked a little …’ She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and then gave him an unexpected, cheeky smile. ‘Away with the fairies. If there are such things in Gabe Burnett’s world. I suspect fairies are too prosaic.’
Being away with the fairies was better than being struck dumb, he mused as he followed her down the stairs. Now that he remembered her, things kept coming back to him. Like being fascinated by her hair and those bright, roving, questing blue eyes.
‘What do you know about the Meji Shrine?’ he asked, shoving the thoughts back in the box they belonged to, the one marked ancient history.
‘Not a lot, but I have this.’ She waved a guide book. ‘I can read it on the train.’
‘Or I could tell you a little about it on the way there. There’s quite a walk up to the main gate through Yoyogi Park and it’s such a lovely day that it would be a shame not to make the most of it.
He laughed at the suspicion on her face. ‘Who are you and what have you done with crotchety Gabe Burnett?�
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‘Let’s say my mood has improved with the sunshine. And being shown the error of my ways.’ Her smug smile almost rivalled Haruka’s. ‘And I’m terrified of Haruka.’
‘Oh please. She adores you.’
‘It’s mutual. She’s been a very good friend.’
‘She’s lovely.’
‘Hmm … not so sure lovely is quite the word I’d use. There’s an iron fist in that velvet glove. You do know that.’
‘I’d guessed, but she has a very good heart.’
‘That she does. And she’s a very canny business woman. Although not as shrewd as Setsuko; that one is a fox among hens. Watch out for her.’
‘Setsuko!’ Fiona gave a disbelieving laugh.
‘Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. The woman makes Alan Sugar look like a pussycat.’ He had an entire cupboard of tea to prove it.
Fiona rolled her eyes.
‘On your head be it. Now, are you going to listen to me or not? I can tell you about the shrine because I did a two-day shoot there a long time ago, for Burberry actually, when I was going through my David Bailey phase and I was escorted by a very chatty Japanese PR girl who insisted I know all about it. Some of it stuck. It’s actually quite interesting.’
‘Quite interesting,’ teased Fiona. ‘Now you’re really selling it.’
He paused, remembering the very first time he’d seen the shrine and how struck he’d been by the huge wooden torii, the main gate. The immense structure that left such a lasting impression with its simple beauty. Gosh, he’d forgotten that wonderful sense of otherness, of being somewhere so different from home. The feelings rushed back into a space that he’d thought was empty. The magic of seeing through a visitor’s eyes, for the very first time. When had he lost that wonder?
‘Do you know what, I think I’ll let you see it for yourself.’
A fizz of excitement bellied its way up from his stomach and he suddenly felt ten years younger, remembering that indeterminate sensation of always being on the cusp of discovering some amazing shot, the belief that possibility was always waiting around the next corner.
With a sudden jolt, he realised that he had taken the germ of her idea, pictures of tourists discovering the sights, but he was interested in her response. Yesterday he’d been reluctantly impressed by her ideas for the exhibition, even though he wasn’t convinced they were new ideas, but then it did depend on the interpretation of them. She’d talked intelligently about bringing them to life. As she’d talked, her slender butterfly hands had caught his attention, those long, slim fingers that conveyed everything with great animation. She had a habit of lifting her chin, almost as if she were daring the world to challenge her, a habit that exposed her long neck and the smooth expanse of throat. Not that he was thinking about her pale skin or the soft peach bloom on her cheeks, which in this morning’s sunshine appeared luminous and dewy fresh. It was the portrait photographer in him, he told himself.
Taking another look, he mentally framed her face; she’d make a good subject, when she wasn’t aware of the camera. There was a self-consciousness about her that he’d noticed the first time he’d seen her at the airport. It intrigued him and he’d almost considered photographing her then. Almost. He wasn’t in the market for a new subject or a muse. He didn’t do that sort of thing any more. He did the jobs he was asked to do. Earned the big bucks thanks to his reputation. If anyone guessed that he was just going through the motions these days, they were far too polite to say so. It was too much effort putting himself out there these days.
They walked through the heavily wooded park in silence accompanied by the trill of birdsong and the heavy scent of the trees. Sunlight stole through the leaves leaving intricate dappled patterns on the broad paths.
‘This is so peaceful,’ Fiona finally said. ‘Almost spiritual.’
‘Wait until you get to the shrine. It was erected as a memorial to the Emperor Meji who died in 1912.’
‘So not that old?’
‘Not old at all. It was destroyed in air raids during World War Two and completely rebuilt in 1958.’
The path meandered through the trees and then he paused, taking out his camera, before they rounded the corner of the path that would give them the first sight of the torii.
‘Wow,’ said Fiona, her face lighting up with simple wonder, and with the press of a button he was able to capture the stars in her eyes and the perfect ‘o’ of her mouth as she gazed up at the huge wooden uprights that held the cross bars.
‘The torii is a gateway marking the transition from the mundane world to the sacred,’ he explained and watched as she absorbed the information with a gentle smile that touched her almost-too-wide mouth.
She gazed up with awestruck silence as they passed between the two uprights and under the gate. ‘This is it. This is where I want to get pictures of people seeing it for the first time. It will be the perfect spot.’
‘Don’t you want to see the rest of the shrine before you make up your mind?’
‘No, this is it. It’s awe inspiring. Unique. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It says Japan. Although getting the scale and size of it will be tricky.’ She tilted her head further back. ‘I want that sky as well. And I want quite a few people, all looking up.’
She crouched down on the ground, the bottom of her jeans trailing in the still damp grass and angled her camera up. His mouth twitched, remembering himself years ago, contorting himself at strange angles, hanging off trees, perching on the top of fences trying to get the right picture in his viewfinder.
‘Don’t lie down,’ he warned as she began to lean forward. ‘You’ll get soaked.’
She grimaced up at him, ‘But …’
With a laugh that felt sort of rusty, he held up his hands, recalling the fervour that had once gripped him. ‘I know, I know. It’s the shot. But you’ll be sopping wet all morning. And it’s still early. There aren’t that many people about. It’ll get busier.’
‘I want to get the shot lined up; it’ll be dry later.’ Her pout amused him – not easy with that mouth – and he laughed again.
‘Here, give me your camera.’ He held out a hand. ‘Do a handstand, hook your legs over my shoulders and I’ll hold you and you can take some practice shots … see if the angles work.’
‘What?’ She stared at him. ‘I’m not doing that.’
‘Live a little,’ he teased. ‘You never know you might snag an award winner.’
‘You might drop me.’
He shrugged. ‘Where’s the pleasure in an easy shot? You’ve got to suffer for your art.’
She raised one of those delicate golden eyebrows.
‘Go on, I dare you.’
‘How are old you?’
‘Old enough to know better.’ He grinned at her; she was weakening.
‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘It’s far too crazy. Besides, I haven’t done a handstand since I was at school. I’d probably kick you in the face or knock you over.’
‘But I bet you do Pilates or yoga or something.’ With those long limbs and that slim athletic build, she had to do something.
‘Haven’t you noticed how clumsy I am?’
‘No. Are you? I hadn’t noticed it.’
She stared at him, genuine confusion on her face.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘I feel clumsy. I was always the tallest at school. Always out of place. I tower over the women here.’
‘That doesn’t make you clumsy.’
‘I never know what to do with my legs.’ She shrugged again. ‘My … my mum says I’m ungainly. I always feel … out of place, clumsy.’
Now it was his turn to stare at her. ‘Well don’t.’ The words came out a little more forcefully than he meant them to and he added more softly, ‘You’re actually rather graceful.’ As soon as he said it, he realised that it was true and was also something he’d unconsciously noticed about her – that long-legged, smooth stride and the elegant way sh
e used her arms when she was talking or gesticulating. Her hands often did the talking for her, punctuating her speech and extending her ideas.
She laughed at that. ‘As Haruka would say, you’re full of bull.’
A Japanese family came into view, a man and a woman with an elderly woman and a toddler who was bundled up in a red anorak, his dark hair shining in the sunshine. The small boy hadn’t spotted the torii gate yet and as the thought popped into Gabe’s head, from the sudden gasp below him he knew it had occurred to Fiona. Heedless of the wet grass, she threw herself forward onto the ground, turned onto her side and raised the camera in anticipation, preparing herself for the ground level shot.
He heard the whirr of the shutter at the very moment the little boy stopped and craned his head backwards, the tiny figure dwarfed by the structure towering over him. Gabe grinned.
Something made him raise his own camera as Fiona rolled over and sat up, beaming up at him. He took the shot, a split-second decision, homing on in her face which contained the most delightful combination of smugness and elation.
‘You got it.’
With a nod, she held out her camera. Instead, he grasped her wrist, tutted at the dark blue patches on her jeans where the dew had well and truly soaked in, and hauled her to her feet.
‘Look,’ she said, ignoring him, the fizz of excitement almost radiating from her as she cradled the camera in both hands to frame the viewfinder.
Although the digital image was tiny, the composition was spot on. The tiny boy, dwarfed by one of the timber posts of the torii gate, was spot lit by a slanting sunbeam. It was one of those shots of a lifetime and he felt … he felt happy. Really happy. Quite ecstatic on her behalf.
Tamping down the unfamiliar emotion, he tapped the viewfinder with his index finger. ‘I think you might have the makings of a great shot, here. Well done, you.’
Turning her head, scant inches from him, she gave him an unreservedly impish, excited grin as if she’d forgotten who he was and then … it happened – a funny flipping sensation in his chest, like a landed salmon flopping about. In the morning sunshine she glowed with happiness and it … it made him want to scoop her up, hug her, and spin her around. Which was not a Gabe Burnett thing to do.
