The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,15

Mayu in flawless English. ‘You don’t have anything like it in England.’

Fiona smiled at her slightly boastful tone. ‘We don’t. Have you been to England?’

‘I spent six months there at the language school in Winchester where Jane Austen is buried.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘I love England. I can practise my English with you.’

‘It sounds pretty good to me.’

‘My dad is American. He’s a pilot with JAL. Japanese Airlines.’

That explained a lot.

‘Would you like some tea?’ asked Haruka leaning forward to the centre of the table to pick up a ceramic teapot. She poured the tea into the small pottery cups and dispensed them with a slight bow. Fiona inhaled the fragrant brew and smiled to herself. After her hellish journey she already felt as if she were in another world. This was a lovely, cosy cocoon, like coming back to shore after being cast adrift in a storm.

‘Green tea, a special mix of my own,’ said Haruka. ‘You must come into the teashop. I will show you around.’

‘You’ll enjoy that,’ said Setsuko with a quiet smile. ‘My haha is quite an expert. Unless you’re a coffee addict.’

‘No, I drink it but I prefer tea. Gabe told me that you are’—she turned to Haruka—‘a master of tea.’

‘She is,’ said Setsuko proudly. ‘And in the teashop there are many, many blends of tea. They can be bought. This is where we hold the tea ceremonies. You should come,’ said Setsuko, checking in with her mother who seemed to have no problem following her daughter’s English.

Haruka nodded. ‘Yes. You must come.’

‘Yes, please, I’d like that,’ said Fiona taking a tiny sip, both hands cupped around the hot china. ‘Mmm. That’s good.’

Haruka nodded approvingly and sipped at her own tea. ‘Apart from your journey home, did you have a good day?’

‘Very interesting.’ Fiona nodded, telling them where she’d been. Surprisingly, as the cosy warmth gradually permeated her chilly bones, she found herself abandoning her usual reticence and raving about the tempura bar and how Gabe had introduced her to the wonderful food.

‘He is a good man,’ observed Haruka.

‘He’s a very good photographer. I saw a few of his pictures in the museum. Of a woman called Yumi.’

‘Pah!’ said Haruka, turning away from the table. She let loose a volley of low-pitched Japanese. Fiona didn’t need a translator to surmise that Yumi was not popular with the older woman. ‘She is not a good woman.’

Setsuko patted her mother’s hand with a chiding tut while her daughter, Mayu, rolled her eyes in a gesture that was entirely teenage. ‘Okasaan, you shouldn’t say such things.’

‘Yumi is very famous and very beautiful,’ Mayu chipped in with teenage bluntness. ‘Jiji doesn’t like her.’

Haruka said something else and Setsuko shook her head, ducking it slightly to hide a reluctant smile.

‘What did she say?’ asked Fiona.

‘It’s a phrase we use,’ explained Setsuko, her eyes dancing although she tried to keep her face sombre. ‘The literal translation is “Dumplings over flowers”. It means you should value practical things, like dumplings, that will feed you, over things that are beautiful. Just as you might say something like all style and no substance.’

‘And Yumi,’ Setsuko smiled as Haruka nodded enthusiastically, ‘beautiful as she is, has no substance. Or at least my mother doesn’t think so.’ Setsuko’s gentle tone robbed her words of offence.

Mayu shook her head. ‘But that contradicts Jiji’s other beliefs that we should find and respect beauty in nature.’

Setsuko frowned at her but this time Haruka shook her head before she could say anything.

‘It’s different,’ said Haruka. ‘Wabi Sabi. I don’t know. You young people don’t understand.’

‘No, Jiji,’ said Mayu, with a resigned teasing lilt to her voice, but she leaned over and gave her grandmother a hug, while shooting a naughty wink Fiona’s way.

‘They just think they do,’ said Haruka. Fiona had to take a hefty gulp of tea and do her best not to snort in laughter when, over Mayu’s bent head, Haruka winked at her as well.

Setsuko, who saw all of this, sent her eyes heavenward before giving Fiona a warm smile.

‘You all speak such good English.’ Fiona was keen to divert a family row although, on reflection, there seemed to be so much warmth and genuine affection between the three generations, she thought perhaps her effort hadn’t been required.

‘My husband’s job took us to America for many years. Setsuko grew up there and we spent fifteen years there.’

‘It took me a long time to learn to speak Japanese,’ admitted Setsuko. ‘Growing up in America, I wanted to fit in.