Several guests did arrive later that night. Soon after Hotaka’s mother and the boys had set up some rooms, Abbot Etsudo brought two families and three old people; all had lost their homes. He also brought a pile of mattresses, sheets, blankets and towels, as well as bags of second-hand clothes; most people had only what was on their backs. He had boxes of food, too – mainly rice, noodles and tins – promising to return with more in a few days.

‘No need for all that,’ Hotaka’s mother insisted. ‘We will feed and provide bedding for our guests.’

The abbot bowed. ‘That is most generous of you, Yamato-san.’

‘Not at all, Jūshoku-san. It’s the least we can do.’

After the abbot left, Hotaka and Osamu helped feed the guests and settle them in. They all wanted to talk – needed to talk – of what had happened to them, of what they’d seen and heard, and how they felt. Their loss was great, their grief deep; the talking seemed to ease their pain a little.

It was after ten by the time they were ready for bed. Hotaka could see that his mother was exhausted, so he took charge, escorting each group of guests in turn to their rooms. Then he made sure Osamu was settled before eventually returning to his mother to say goodnight.

She was standing in the hall outside her bedroom, swaying slightly as if unsure on her feet, one hand on the wall to support herself. Hotaka rushed straight to her side.

‘Okāsan! What’s the matter?’

Her face was pale, her body trembling. But she steadied herself and raised her other hand, clutching her phone. ‘That was Rho-san. He was breaking up all the time, and I lost him eventually, the network down again. But I heard enough.’

‘What? What did you hear?’

‘Jīchan left yesterday.’

‘To come home?’

‘Yes. On the bus.’

‘What bus? What time?’

‘Rho-san wasn’t absolutely sure. He thought Jīchan caught the midday bus.’

‘But that means he could have, no, would have arrived just about when the earthquake hit.’

‘I know. That’s if Rho-san is right.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Hotaka shouted. ‘Why doesn’t he know what bus?’

‘Don’t be angry with Rho-san. Jīchan says his old friend is more forgetful every day, and I must say he sounded awfully vague on the phone.’

‘But it makes all the difference in the world, Okāsan!’

‘I know it does. If Jīchan caught a later bus he’s probably just stuck somewhere. There would have been no way in or out of Omori-wan yesterday after the quake and tsunami, and I bet the roads are still in a dreadful mess.’

‘But if he caught the midday bus—’

‘No, my son.’ His mother cut him short, pressing her fingers against his lips. ‘Don’t say it. Just because we don’t know for certain doesn’t mean we must think the worst.’

Hotaka and his mother stared at each other in silence. Eventually she pulled him close and hugged him hard.

‘Tomorrow,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll find out all we can first thing tomorrow.’

‘But—’

‘Hush, my son. It’s how you told me to think about Uncle Yori: wait until we know for sure. Tomorrow.’

Hotaka allowed himself to sink into his mother, letting her calm ease his fears. ‘Of course, Okāsan.’

Hotaka collapsed onto his futon, drained and distraught, his mind swimming in a sea of emotion. So many doubts and fears and visions swirling around him. Takeshi, Grandpa, Uncle Yori, they were all there in his thoughts, looming large, surrounded by the welter of terrible things he’d seen that day, and the day before.

And then there was Osamu. He was on the other side of the room, lying on his back, his silhouette just visible, his breathing slow and even. Hotaka tried to imagine the agonies his new friend must be suffering, the thoughts coursing through his mind, the nightmares brewing, but he found it too distressing. At least Osamu was asleep, Hotaka was pleased to see, and rolled on his side with a mind to do the same.

Hotaka woke suddenly the next morning, well before sunrise. He sat up at once, eyes wide open, jolted from his sleep.

He dressed quickly and quietly. Osamu was sound asleep, one foot and a clump of wild hair visible. No one else was up yet as Hotaka sneaked down the hall and out into the crisp morning. To his left, the road past his house went over the top of Monk Head Hill and then curved back down into Omori-wan. On his right, the road went along the top of a ridge that led to the northern headland of Omori Bay.

Hotaka turned right and set off briskly. The morning was free of mist and fog, the air remarkably clear, allowing glimpses of the Pacific Ocean through the trees on his left. Omori-wan and the bay were on his other side but not visible from the road.

He came to a narrow path on his left, and his spirits immediately lifted. At least he now knew where he was going: Eagle Cliff, that special place where he and Takeshi came so many times, the spot where they threw themselves into the sea, each in their own way.

Hotaka turned down the path and followed it until it emerged from the trees. There he paused and stared across a clearing. About twenty metres away was that drop into the sea. He breathed in and slowly crossed the clearing, his heart beating faster with each step. Soon he was standing at the very edge of Eagle Cliff.

The sun was still below the horizon, although its golden-red glow was growing with every second. Hotaka gazed north and south as far as he could see up and down the coast. He couldn’t help wondering how other places had fared in the earthquake and tsunami, big centres like Kesennuma, Rikuzentakata and Kamaishi. Abbot Etsudo and the guests had talked of devastation along hundreds of kilometres of the Tōhoku coast.

All that destruction and death! Hotaka turned his eyes angrily on the ocean. That’s where it came from, he thought. That’s where the monster lay, the thing that had washed his world away, somewhere out there. Yet it was almost impossible to imagine such violence and chaos now, for there was barely a ripple to be seen that morning. The ocean was calm and still, as if waiting for the sun to wake and warm its skin.

Suddenly the sun appeared, a mere glint of light but surprisingly bright. And in that brightness it dawned on Hotaka – the reason for his being there, in that particular place, at that particular time. He was there for the three people uppermost in his mind: Uncle Yori, Grandpa, and Takeshi. This place held a special bond through him to each of them.

It was from here that he’d often seen Uncle Yori’s bright blue and white trawler heading out to sea or returning with a catch. He peered out now, scanning the horizon, searching for any sign of his uncle’s boat, wishing and hoping. Nothing, and yet he was certain that all was fine with the big fisherman.

He then pulled right back and let his gaze drop to a tiny beach some way along from the bottom of the cliff. He called it Grandpa’s Beach. His grandfather had often taken him there, sailing in his little sabani all the way from Omori Bay out into the sea and north. Grandpa always brought a picnic, and sat on the beach while Hotaka swam among the rocks.

‘Where are you, Jīchan?’ he whispered to the little beach. ‘Please be okay. Please!’

And then there was the very deep body of water directly below Hotaka at the base of the cliff. That was where Takeshi always dived. He would sprint across the clearing and spring from the cliff, slicing through the air. His slim spearlike body would pierce the emerald water, his happy face bursting the surface a moment later, followed by that infectious laugh of his. And the yelling, of course. Always the yelling.

‘Come on, Hotaka, jump. Hurry up, I’m waiting. Jump!’

There wasn’t any yelling now, though. No laughing, either. No splash to be heard. No emerald sparkling water, the sea below a cold steely grey, everything as still as a grave.

Hotaka fell to his knees, cries echoing in his head – cries of anguish, over and over.

Takeshi.

Where are you, my friend?

Uncle Yori.

Jīchan.

I need you all. Where are you?