The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,14
shaky legs, she headed across the road to the station, buffeted by the growing tide of commuters who were starting to head home.
Above the ticket barriers were a plethora of signs, coloured lines and numbers. And then she spotted it. Green. Yamanote. That was it. Light-headed with relief, she wriggled her way through to the correct barrier with her rail pass. She had no idea which platform to choose but if the line was circular she would just stay on it and pray she recognised a station name. She gritted her teeth and made a choice wishing for the hundredth time that she’d never come here.
The platform she chose was already ten deep with everyone wedged up against each other in the neat lines. The pervading silence felt hostile as if everyone was gearing up to go into battle the minute train arrived. She’d barely been there thirty seconds before a train thundered in and everyone surged forward with death defying eagerness before it had even stopped. As soon as the doors opened her feet barely touched the floor – it was like crowd surfing at a gig and thoroughly unnerving. Even if she’d wanted to there was no way she could have changed direction. Somehow, she was carried forward onto the train and pinned between several people who held her upright. Close to tears again, she stared glassy eyed at the map on the carriage wall trying to make out the impossibly unpronounceable names. Shinjuku, Takadanobaba, Ikebukuro, all of which sounded as if they were places in a galaxy far, far away. Nishi Nippori. Nippori. That was it. Her heart sped up with sudden excitement. Nippori, she remembered. Thank God. The sudden relief kept her sane through the miserably overcrowded journey.
By the time the train pulled into Nippori, she didn’t care if it was the wrong station or not, she was so desperate to escape the stifling crowd. Limp and exhausted, she staggered off the train, wishing she could catch the next flight home. This place was alien, inhospitable, and claustrophobic, and now, to cap it all off, it was pissing with rain. The only bright side was that at least she recognised the little parade of kiosks opposite the station and knew where to go. She hoped.
Chapter 3
There it was. Through the sheeting rain, the lamp burning in the window of the pretty little teahouse was a magical beacon and Fiona almost collapsed with relief. She’d made it.
Remembering that Gabe had told her the Japanese never locked their doors, she stepped inside the house, shivering slightly in the sudden warmth, kicked off her sopping shoes and slid her feet into the dry slippers.
Haruka came bustling to the door, concern etched into the worried frown on her face. ‘Come, come. What happened?’
‘I lost Gabe,’ Fiona muttered, wrung out with emotion but also with a slight sense of triumph. Despite all her fears and the awful journey, she had found her way back.
Within minutes, Fiona was wrapped in a blanket and led into a room where two other women were seated at the funny table with its own duvet. ‘Come, sit.’ Haruka urged her towards one of the floor-level padded chairs with its high back and she crouched down into it. The chair was a foot off the floor but as soon as her legs were tucked under the table she felt a delicious heat. It was warm underneath the duvet and slowly the cold in her bones started to seep away.
She slumped in the chair, too drained to say anything, while Haruka called Gabe to let him know she was safe and sound. Apparently he was still at Shibuya looking for her. Fiona couldn’t help but smile at the thought.
Gradually she began to revive, the warmth of the wonderful table bringing her back to life.
‘Mmm,’ she finally groaned, the numbness in her cold toes starting to recede. ‘This is lovely. Is Gabe OK?’
‘He was worried but … I knew you were a sensible girl.’ Haruka beamed at her. ‘Fiona san, this is my daughter Setsuko and my granddaughter, Mayu.’
‘Hello,’ said Fiona nodding shyly, slightly unnerved by being thrust into such close proximity to complete strangers but with goose bumps running riot over her skin there was no way she was retreating from the lovely comfort of this, her new favourite piece of furniture. ‘What is this?’ Would it be rude to lift the curtain of thick, heavy fabric to peer underneath?