this afternoon? Probably, yes. ‘First, strawberries!’ Doi empties a punnetful into the blender. He pulls a black velvet hood over the blender and liquidizes them. He removes hood and lid. ‘Then, tomatoes!’ He drops three overripe tomatoes in. ‘Red food massages away stress waves. Green aggravates. That’s why rabbits and veggies are so uptight . . . What next? Raspberry juice . . . raw tuna . . . azuki beans . . . all the major food groups.’ Doi replaces the lid, the hood, and blends. ‘And last of all, the crowning glory—’ With a flourish he produces a pink budgerigar from a handkerchief. It flaps, blinks and tweets. ‘In you go, little guy!’ He gently lowers it into the bright red liquid mush, and replaces the lid and hood. I know it is a stupid trick, so I refuse to look shocked. He lowers the blender behind the ledge between the cage and my rat-run – where he switches blenders, perhaps? – and then shakes the blender jug, cocktail-barman-style, to the Hawaiian slide guitar music on the radio.
‘Doi!’ Sachiko comes into the cage with her clipboard.
Doi jumps and puts down what he is holding guiltily.
‘I hate to inconvenience you with this annoying “work” business, but . . .’
‘Still on my break, chieftainess! Three more minutes! I’m showing Miyake my peace potion . . .’ He picks up the blender jug, still in its black hood, and liquidizes the contents for thirty seconds. Sachiko, defeated, sits down. Doi removes the hood, the lid, and drinks the soupy liquid straight back. ‘Deeelicious.’
‘Wow . . .’ Sachiko stands up, putting blender B – I knew it – on the ledge, minus velvet hood. ‘Did you make this imitation budgie? It’s so realistic. What’s it made of?’ She is genuinely impressed.
‘Ladyboss! You gave my trick away!’
‘Then don’t leave your props lying around the kitchen!’
‘Don’t call my Tutu a prop! Budgies have feelings too, diggit?’
‘Tutu doesn’t look very animated for a live budgie.’ Sachiko extracts the bird from the red gunge. Its head comes off in a shower of white powder.
‘Doi,’ I say, ‘please tell me this is a part of the trick.’
‘Doi’s eyes bulge in pure panic. ‘Oh, man . . .’
After the ambulance takes Doi to hospital for a stomach pump and rabies injections, I offer to do the scooter deliveries. Sachiko says she should because she knows the area better. Tomomi mans the phones alone. I prepare and box up three El Gringo – thick base, gorgonzola, spicy salami, tomato and basil crust – by the time Onizuka gets back. Tomomi tells him what happened to Doi – for a moment I think Onizuka may abandon his principles and smile, but the danger passes and he reverts to his miserable self. Business slackens a little. By 07.30 I have already memorized the breakfast news round-up. Trade talks, summits, visiting dignitaries. This is how to control entire populations – don’t suppress news, but make it so dumb and dull that nobody has any interest in it. The weather on Friday, 6th October will start cloudy, with a 60 per cent chance of rain by mid-afternoon, and a 90 per cent chance of rain by evening. I scour down the counters, hoping that no more orders come in during the next thirty minutes. I need to work out the cheapest way to get to Miyazaki. I peer into the inferno – six pizzas inching onwards, glowing karma-like. The radio plays a song called ‘I Feel the Earth Move under My Feet’. Radios and cats both go about their business whether anyone is there or not. Unlike guitars, which sort of stop being guitars when you close their cases. Sachiko lays an envelope on the counter of my rat-run. ‘I fiddled petty cash, but this is what Nero owes you.’
‘Sorry to leave you in the lurch.’
‘Well, the Nippon index will plummet once the news breaks, but somehow we’ll pull through. I may even don the chef’s apron myself, if head office can’t send anyone. It has been known. Call me, when you come back to Tokyo – I can’t promise to keep your job open in this branch, but I can get you in anywhere there’s a vacancy.’
‘I appreciate it.’
‘Any idea how long you’ll be away?’
‘Depends on . . . lots of things. If I can help my mother get well.’ I fold the envelope into my starved wallet.
‘Phone Ai. I don’t want to be the one to tell her that you’ve skipped