‘That leaves the poets and the musicians.’

Hotaka is with Miss Abe, giving a progress report on final preparations for the school’s Memorial Concert.

‘Excellent, Hotaka,’ she says. ‘I’m especially pleased that the geisha will perform. I’ve already cleared things with the musicians, by the way. So it’s only the poets to go.’ She produces a folder. ‘Here’s all the information you need for them – poems, names, email addresses and so on. Do it in your spare time.’ She laughs. ‘Not that you’d have much of that. I fear I’ve seriously overworked you.’

‘Not at all. It is a privilege to be part of this. As it happens, I have a free period now, so I’ll get onto this at once.’ He takes the folder, stands and bows.

‘Oh, Hotaka,’ Miss Abe calls as he walks away. ‘Any idea where Sakura might be? It’s not like her to miss a day at school.’

Hotaka shrugs. ‘Sorry, Abe-sensei. No idea at all.’

He’s wondered the same thing himself, but has been trying not to think about it. He goes to a secluded part of the library and sits down with the poems. His job for Miss Abe is simple. All he has to do is lump the addresses together into a group email and send it off with the permission message she wrote for him.

But he makes the mistake of flipping through the folder, reading some of the poems.

Barely ten years old,

The little boy

Pushes through the crowd,

Calling for his parents

Calling out their names for everyone to hear

Osamu! He shudders, knowing he should stop, but he can’t. Already captured. Like little traps, these poems. One more, he tells himself, and then the email.

But one more is too many. He knows it the moment he starts reading.

Though terrified

That his name will loom

among the lonely lists of the dead,

I force myself to scour them

Each and every day

Hotaka gasps. He tries to look away, to close his eyes, but can’t. Tries to pretend he didn’t read the words, but he did. Like a prisoner surveying his sentence, he reads the poem again, slowly, painfully. And as he does so, he can feel Takeshi behind him, leaning over his shoulder, pressing closer.

‘I searched every day,’ Hotaka whispers. ‘All day, every day, I searched for you, right through the town, what was left of it, always sure that I’d find you wandering in a daze somewhere. But I didn’t. And then I started searching the newspaper lists, the names. You weren’t there either.’

Hotaka leans back in the chair, and feels the arms gently fold around him.

‘There still isn’t a day when I don’t think of you, wonder where you might be. But then I’m sure you know that.’

He closes his eyes, trying to hold back the tears.

‘Where are you, Takeshi? You must let us know so that we can put you to rest, set your spirit free. And so that our hearts can begin to mend, too. Please let me know, my friend. Please.’

The arms tighten around Hotaka with a softness that feels safe and secure, a cocoon of assurance that all will be okay. For the first time ever since the tsunami, he detects a sense of release from the past. It’s only a shimmer, but it’s a whisper of hope that leaves him feeling comforted.

‘Thank you,’ he sighs, and returns the poem to its folder.

‘People often miss school,’ Osamu says. He and Hotaka are pushing the lunch trolley along the corridor. ‘Maybe she slept in. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well. Girls have days like that, you know? It’s—’

‘I know, you dork. It’s not that.’

‘Maybe she’s just being smart. Doesn’t want to do lunch duty, so she stays home. I bet you that’s it.’

‘No. Sakura wouldn’t do that. Anyway, there’s still the text I sent her. She hasn’t replied.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me. If you upset her as much as you told me, then she’s hardly going to reply in a hurry.’

‘I said I was really sorry.’

‘Maybe you need to show her you’re really sorry.’

For the rest of the day, Hotaka worries about Sakura. In the end he decides that Osamu is right. So as soon as school is out, he rides straight to Sakura’s house.

He knocks at the front door, glancing about as he waits. His eye is caught by a small blue and red cement kappa, the mythical lizard-like creature said to inhabit ponds and rivers in the Tōhoku region. It stares up at him as though challenging his presence. He waits a moment longer, then knocks again. He knows that Sakura’s uncle has a part-time job in construction, but is fairly sure her aunt doesn’t work because of arthritis. Eventually he hears movement and soon the door opens a little.

‘Good afternoon, Kita-san.’ He bows.

‘Hotaka,’ Sakura’s aunt replies, opening the door a little more. She stands as if lost for words.

‘Please forgive me for intruding like this,’ Hotaka continues. ‘But I’m worried about Sakura. She wasn’t at school today. Is she all right?’

‘Yes! I mean, no. I mean she’s all right now, but she wasn’t. Before, that is. She was quite ill last night and, er, this morning.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. But she’s okay now?’

‘Um, yes. And no.’ Mrs Kita gives a quick sideways glance. ‘She’s as well as can be expected.’ Hotaka is about to ask if he can see Sakura, but her aunt continues. ‘I’d invite you in but Sakura is asleep. I’d hate to disturb her.’

Hotaka smiles politely. He suspects that Sakura’s aunt is not being totally truthful, from the edginess in her voice and the way she’s holding the door so tightly. He decides that Sakura is on the other side of the door, and raises his voice accordingly.

‘I understand, Kita-san. Please tell Sakura that I am very sorry indeed, and hope that she will be better for school tomorrow. If she likes, I will call in the morning and we can go together. Please tell her that.’ He bows.

‘Of course, Hotaka,’ Mrs Kita replies. ‘You are most kind.’ She bows and closes the door.