The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,6

Perhaps tomorrow.

He never added a kiss. Not anymore. She was a married woman now. The familiar feeling of despair hit and settled into place. For a moment he waited, one hand resting on the still damp sink but there was no response and he could picture her face. He laughed without mirth. Picture her face? He knew every line and plane of that beautiful face, the shape of each delicate feature and every shadow cast by her graceful, elegant bone structure.

In his mind’s eye he could see the petulance of her bottom lip and the shadowed sad frown of disappointment. Poor Yumi, she was so desperately lonely and isolated out there in Osaka. She needed a friend. Her husband neglected her, but at the same time indulged her every wish and whim with his wealth.

He shook off the melancholy thoughts. Haruka always said to him Yumi had made her bed and must lie in it – or rather, the Japanese equivalent. Gabe stuffed his phone in his back pocket and left the house.

***

Fiona was ready, waiting, and bouncing; that was the only way he could describe it. Enthusiasm leaked from her and he almost took a step back as if it might be catching.

‘Morning,’ she called, kicking off her slippers and sliding her feet into a neat pair of Chelsea boots.

‘You’re very bright and cheerful. I take it you slept well.’

‘I did. There’s something different … I think it’s the smell of the tatami mats. It’s like sleeping outdoors.’

He raised one sceptical eyebrow, having become accustomed to the fragrant, grassy smell over the years.

‘Haruka been giving you a 101 in Japanese culture?’

‘I asked her about the mats. And,’ she added eagerly, ‘the sliding doors. Made of paper and wood. They’re rather beautiful.’

‘Shoji screens.’ He’d got used to them but he could remember a time when they’d been a novelty. ‘Designed originally to create space for a samurai to swing his sword.’ Okay, so he’d absorbed some information over the years and wasn’t averse to trying to impress her a little.

‘Yes, that’s what Haruka told me.’

He smiled. ‘The Japanese are very good at keeping their traditions alive while at the same time being one of the most innovative and technologically advanced societies. Talking of which, if you’re ready, we’ll take the train and then hit the subway system which should be a lot more civilised at this time of day.’

She stooped to pick up a padded camera bag.

‘You’re probably not going to need that today.’

‘Really?’ She clutched the strap as if he might have to wrest it away from her.

‘I want you to look today, see things, feel the atmosphere. Be in the moment. Too many photographers hide behind their cameras and they end up with superficial, surface shots. A good photographer reveals the layers beneath.’

She blinked at him.

And well she might. Where had that come from? Bullshit 101. It was something he might have believed once but now … Now he didn’t want her slowing down the day snapping at everything in sight; it would make an already tedious day even more unbearable.

Today was something to get through as smoothly as possible. He’d decided his strategy and he couldn’t help but wish he was on the train to Osaka instead.

***

Once they left the train station, Fiona developed an ache in her neck, craning this way and that to take everything in. Skyscrapers, neon lights flashing and, taking up every available bit of space, so many people. She’d never seen crowds like it. Gabe had said very little to her on the subway, although she realised that was probably due to local travel etiquette.

‘Here we are,’ said Gabe but she’d seen the sign from further down the road and had excitedly increased her pace. This had been one of the key priorities on her wish list when she’d been swotting up with her guide book on the long flight here. TOP Museum, the letters announced, which made her smile. The Tokyo Photographic Art Museum.

‘Perfect.’ She beamed at him. ‘How did you know?’

‘Know?’ She almost laughed at his horrified uncertainty and the way he stepped back as if she’d handed him a grenade and was waving the pin at him.

‘That this was my number one destination. The place I really wanted to visit.’

‘You’re a photographer?’ He spread his hands wide, his face wreathed in a charmingly insincere smile.

‘An amateur. I’m still learning. I’m actually a blogger and Instagrammer. Until I won this competition, I’ve never really thought of myself as a proper