The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,19

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