The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,47

at least once a week, even though his dad insisted on updating him on Plymouth Argyle’s latest dismal performance at Home Park every single time.

‘Hmm, it’s not me she’s worrying about. She thinks she’s having a stroke.’

There was a silence while he tried to connect the alarming words with the curious mix of mutinous resignation on her face.

‘A stroke!’ That was serious. Fiona seemed remarkably calm. ‘Don’t you want to call her or something? Make sure she’s all right?’ His dad had had a minor heart attack last year and even though the doctors had assured his mother he was fine, Gabe had been on the next flight home.

Staring down at her hands, she exhaled with a small sigh. ‘She’s fine.’

‘You don’t sound completely sure.’

‘It’s a regular occurrence … usually when I’m doing something she doesn’t want me to.’

‘Oh … but what …?’

‘If you’re worrying about the old “cry wolf” scenario, don’t. Been there, done that.’

‘What? She really did have a stroke?’

‘No, but she had some kind of funny turn. She hadn’t been taking her medication. She has high blood pressure. The doctor had warned her. All I can do is make sure she takes her tablets. I remind her every day. Sorry, I must sound cold-hearted. It’s been a regular pattern for a long time. My mother’s a bit of a hypochondriac. I should be more sympathetic really because it’s born of loneliness and too much time on her hands.’

‘Do you still live at home?’

‘For the time being, yes. Until I can afford to move out. I feel guilty thinking about it because then she’ll be on her own.’

‘Heavy responsibility. She must have had you quite late.’

Fiona let out a mirthless laugh. ‘My mother’s only forty-eight.’

He raised an eyebrow at that. ‘That’s young.’

‘I know, but she’s dissatisfied with the way her life turned out. My dad died when I was a baby. He was supposed to take care of her.’

‘And now you have to,’ he said, joining the dots.

She shrugged. ‘Something like that.’

‘You could switch your phone off.’

‘What if there were a real emergency?’ She was tugging at her braid again, flicking the tufted end between her fingers.

‘There’s not a lot you can do from here.’ He gave her a reassuring smile but she stared beyond him, her eyes clouded. ‘If she can contact you, she can call 999.’

Fiona pursed her lips and focused back on his face. ‘Shall we go and see the shrine?’

***

Sublime to the ridiculous, he thought, several hours later as they crossed the road while Fiona scouted the views trying to work out where she could take the best picture. After the quiet peace of the shrine, the madness of the traffic and the rush of people brushing by, Shibuya crossing was a salutary reminder of why he loved this crazy country. He enjoyed the contrasts.

When he’d asked, ‘Where to next?’ he’d been slightly taken aback when she said, ‘I’d like to go back to Shibuya.’

Apart from the texts which Fiona was more surreptitious about checking, the day was far better than he’d expected. For some reason they irritated him, but the sudden change of pace and scene had staved off the inevitable boredom he’d anticipated and now he was enjoying the intense concentration on Fiona’s face as she strode from street corner to street corner, taking her life in her hands as she stopped mid-stream among the flow of pedestrians to try and take her pictures.

Any moment now she was liable to be taken out by a swinging laptop case or a tourist’s backpack. It was both comical and slightly terrifying but it didn’t seem to faze her – in fact, she seemed oblivious, so intent was she on getting the picture that she’d envisioned. And there it was, as he’d foreseen, a man hurrying by caught her. She span, buffeted by the passing man, and he took the shot just as she twirled out of range, her skirt whipping up to expose long, slender legs. His heart caught in his mouth and he wasn’t sure if it was the sight of the elegant limbs or the elation of nailing the picture. It was one of those moments when everything dropped into place with the sort of serendipitous perfection that he no longer believed in.

When he finally took a good long look at the digital image, his mouth quirked at the sight of her lemon skirt a blur, her plait flying out behind her and her wide mouth open. That was what he’d call