tongue. Phoned at midnight and croaked until dawn. Drove a Volvo, wore blazers, gave out CDs of himself singing madrigals, and confided unsolicited fantasies when Ai begged me to say she was out. He and Ai would marry at Tokyo Disneyland, tour Athens, Montreal and Paris with their three sons, Delius, Sibelius and Yoyo. One time his mother called – she wanted Ai’s parents’ number in Niigata so she start marriage negotiations directly with the manufacturer. Me and Ai had to concoct an ex-boxer boyfriend in prison who half strangled Ai’s last admirer.’
‘I can promise, my mother will never call. But—’
‘Ever worked in a pizza kitchen, karate kid?’
‘A pizza kitchen? Why?’
‘Ai says you need a job as from tomorrow.’
‘True, but I never worked in a kitchen before.’
‘No worries. Chimpanzees could do the job. In fact, we have hired lots of furry, tree-dwelling higher primates in the past. The hours are lousy – midnight to eight a. m. – the kitchen is hotter than the core of the sun but on the graveyard shift the money is good. Central location – the Nero’s opposite Jupiter Café, site of legendary head-butt. Plus, you get to work with me. Has Ai mentioned my name?’
‘Uh . . .’
‘Obviously I am the last thing on her mind. Sachiko Sera. As in “Che Sarà, Sarà, whatever li-lah, li-lah.” Well, almost. Can you start tomorrow evening? Monday?’
‘I don’t want to talk you out of giving me a job I need so badly, Ms Sera, but, uh, don’t you want to meet me first?’
Sachiko Sera does a beyond-the-tomb voice. ‘Eiji Miyake, native son of Yakushima . . . I know everything about you . . .’
‘Mr Miyake?’ At Amadeus Tea Room, Butler stops pedalling his fingers. Arched eyebrows: butlership is all in the eyebrows. ‘Please follow me. The Tsukiyamas are waiting for you.’ Tsukiyamas ? Could my grandfather have persuaded my father to come too? The place is busier than last week – a funeral party is meeting here, many of the customers are in black – and I have trouble trying to locate an elderly man and a middle-aged one who looks like me. So when Butler pulls a chair out at a table where a woman and a girl my age are seated, I assume he has made made a mistake. His eyebrows tell me there is no mistake, so I gawp, while they assess me. ‘Will you require an additional cup, madam?’ asks Butler. The woman dismisses him with a ‘most certainly not.’ The girl stares at me – a ‘will the turd round the U-bend?’ sort of stare – while my memory grapples with a similarity . . . Anju! A chubby, crinkle-cut, scowly Anju. We have the same feather eyebrows. ‘Eiji Miyake,’ she says, and I nod as if it were a question, ‘you are one sorry, shameless creep.’ All at once, I understand. My half-sister. My stepmother fingers the bronze torc around her neck – thick enough to halt an axe-swing – and sighs. ‘Let us try to keep this meeting as brief and painless as possible. Sit down, Mr Miyake.’
I sit down. Amadeus Tea Room continues in the background, as if on a video screen. ‘Mrs Tsukiyama’ – I grope around for pleasantries – ‘thank you for your letter last month.’
Fake surprise. ‘“Thank you”? Irony is your opening move, Mr Miyake?’
I look around. ‘Uh . . . actually I was expecting my grandfather . . .’
‘Yes, we know all about that. Your little rendezvous was recorded in his diary. Regrettably, my father-in-law is unable to attend.’
‘Oh . . . I see.’ Have you locked him in a cupboard?
Half-sister has a slappy voice. ‘Grandpapa passed away three days ago.’
Slap.
A waitress passes with a tray of raspberry cheesecake slices.
Stepmother openly fakes a smile. ‘I am frankly astonished that you failed to see how sick he was last Monday. Running around at your beck and call, plotting conspiracies. I only hope you are proud of yourself.’
This makes no sense. ‘I never met him last Monday.’
‘Liar!’ slaps Half-sister. ‘Liar! Mother already told you – we have his appointment diary! Guess whose name we found for a meeting here one week ago!’ I want to wrap this girl’s mouth in carpet tape.
‘But my grandfather was still in hospital last Monday.’
Stepmother does a head-resting-on-hands pose. ‘Your lies really are rather embarrassing, Mr Miyake. We know my father-in-law left his hospice last Monday to meet you! He didn’t ask for permission from the duty nurse, because he wouldn’t