The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,46

Whose granny are you? Check out this shot. Worth a cold at the very least.’

‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Well don’t come complaining to me.’

But he knew she wouldn’t; she was still buzzing with that amazing high when you know you’ve nailed it. There was nothing quite like the rush – it made you feel invincible, as if anything were possible. Once, he’d been on top of the world. Where had it all gone? When had taking pictures become a job? When had he lost the thrill of knowing that the next shot was out there just waiting to be caught?

‘I can’t wait until I can get these onto my laptop and see them in full size.’

He knew the feeling; there were a couple of shots he’d taken this morning that he was itching to get into the studio to see himself.

‘Come to the studio this evening before dinner and we’ll go through them,’ he suggested before adding, ‘Shall we move on?’

Fiona nodded, camera in hand, scrolling through the series of pictures she’d taken of the boy. Unable to resist, he lifted his own camera and took a quick shot, the sun glistening on her hair, the absorption in her face, the curve of her neck revealing the creamy skin.

She glanced up sharply. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Squirrel.’ He pointed beyond her to the trees on the other side of the path. ‘But I don’t think I was quick enough.’

Suspicion darkened her eyes for a second before she turned away and squinted at the trees.

‘I don’t see it.’

‘No, it moved fast. It’ll probably be a blur. Come on, let’s keep moving. You need to keep warm.’

***

It was a while since he’d been to the shrine or anywhere like it, to be honest. He’d stopped playing the tourist in Japan a long time ago and now regret niggled at him like a splinter just burrowed under the skin. There was something about the hushed appreciation of the other visitors, both tourists and those who’d come to pay their respects, that made his senses kick into gear almost as if they’d been dozing. The Japanese were big on respect and honouring people, something he’d admired when he’d first lived here. Even a hardened cynic like him couldn’t fail to be moved by the prayer boards, small rectangles of wood inscribed with the prayers of visitors that hung on a wall. When he’d first come to the country he’d been fascinated by the spiritual side of the Japanese. Haruka had brought him here and it had been such a balm after the frenetic pace of London, where he’d lived life too fast. Japan had brought him peace and also a new sense of purpose for his photography. The memories of those early days tumbled through his mind like an avalanche, bringing with it small pinpricks of pleasure.

***

Fiona was soaking it all in, in her quiet measured way, studying things carefully before she picked up her camera. She stopped in front of the prayer wall, watching as a young woman bowed before hanging one of the wooden prayer boards onto a hook in front of her. Fiona bowed to her when they caught each other’s eye and lowered her camera, waiting until the other woman had moved away and then she hesitated and stepped back, a thoughtful frown on her face.

‘Don’t you want a picture of the prayer wall?’ he asked.

‘No. Having seen that woman, it seems a bit of an invasion of privacy.’ She laughed at herself. ‘Even though they’re in plain view. It doesn’t feel right. Not very respectful. A prayer is a private thing … even if it is in plain sight. Does that sound silly?’

‘No. It sounds very Japanese and I think Haruka would be very proud of you.’

Fiona beamed.

‘I see she’s got you under her spell too,’ he grumbled, steering her towards the main shrine area.

‘She’s … something else,’ said Fiona. ‘She showed me her garden last night. It’s beautiful.’ Her mouth bunched into a wrinkled prune as her phone buzzed and she rolled her eyes.

‘Anxious suitor?’ he asked, intrigued. She’d pulled her phone out a handful of times on the walk up to the shrine from the torii gate and pushed it back into her pocket.

‘Ha!’ She said with a scowl. ‘It’s my mother.’

‘I guess she’s worried about you. Mothers do that. You’re a long way from home.’ With a smile, he thought of his own parents. Thank goodness for FaceTime. It was rare for him not to speak to them