Yuki meets Taichi outside the Family Mart. They walk next to each other as the streetlamps blink on above their heads. The cherry blossom is in bloom, though nowhere near them. Ahead, the sky deepens to a turquoise.
It had been two weeks since Yuki was forced on a flight back from England to Japan. Since she was threatened with charges of assault and intrusion, a court hearing and potential fine or prison sentence.
The man who had threatened Yuki was the girl-woman’s father, Hector, the man whose house she had invaded. Yuki had seen him once before, at that concert, the night when she had seen the girl-woman for the first time. He had looked her up and down, she remembers. He had played out his Asian female fantasies in his head right in front of her. She could see it all, felt every sexual act he wanted from her, just from the way he surveyed her, up and down, up and down, up and down, his eye contact violent, like the intercourse he imagined. He probably read Shogun back in the seventies.
They walk slowly, side by side, and she wonders what would happen if someone, a neighbour in a passing car saw them together like this. How long it would take for the story to carry from house to house, like a sickness. Yuki realises she doesn’t have the energy to care. She knows Taichi will one day, like the others, pass judgement too, that one day she will be a pariah to him, that for now she must make the most of his attention, and tell him everything, until her everything becomes too much.
So, you didn’t see her?
She was at a . . . A violin lesson. They wouldn’t let me see her. Said I was dangerous.
Oh, Yuki. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have encouraged you to go.
No. I’m sorry . . . I’ll pay you back. I promise.
Don’t even think about it.
They reach his car. Yuki knows he is going to offer to drive her home. He will take the longer, scenic route like he used to when they were teenagers, when he would walk her home through the snow.
Can I drive you?
Ah . . . Thank you.
He opens the door for her. The scent of cigarette smoke and new leather closing over her. Yuki feels herself pulse with excitement and doesn’t understand why. She has the sense that she can’t trust her body anymore, that it calls for all the wrong things, all the wrong people.
He pulls out onto the road and drives. She watches the shops and the houses, and, beyond, the fields, blur past into a dim watercolour. She wonders to herself how she is still here, in this pocket of Japan, still travelling down the same roads, with the same people.
Taichi turns on the radio. A terrible pop song blares out. He turns it off again.
So, what are you going to do now? he says. Like he’s asking her about her weekend plans.
Yuki is quiet for a moment.
I don’t know. There’s a part of me that wants to. To give up. To run from it all, from his—
Oh, now you can’t go running off. We only just became friends again. He laughs, watching her.
She ignores him. But I’ve never felt more . . . Awake. Like I’m seeing him or myself or the world properly for the first time. Before it was very . . . Or I, I don’t know it’s hard to explain. I think. I lost myself. And now, strangely, I. Well, it’s like I said, I feel awake.
You’re going to fight him?
I’m going to prepare myself to fight.
They stop at a set of traffic lights. No cars pass. They sit and wait for nothing.
He turns to her and says,
Do you ever think what would have happened if we’d . . .
She looks at him.
What?
The light against his face switches from red to amber to blue. He keeps looking at her. A car horn toots from behind.
She can feel it in her body, the anticipation, as he steers the car onto the side of the road. It is dark under the canopy of trees. She imagines him dragging her into the woods and raping and killing her and she plans her escape just in case. Run out of the car and onto the road and flag down a passing driver in the hope that they aren’t a murderer too. He keeps the ignition running.
Yuki, he says.
There it is again, her name said with such earnestness. Though this time Yuki doesn’t want to laugh. She wants him and his earnestness to lift her out of the deep and take her some place where she doesn’t have to think or feel or do.
Yes? she says.
I wish when we were younger I’d had the courage . . . To talk to you, to really talk to you. I know it sounds ridiculous, but you were intimidating.
Oh. I’m. Sorry, she says, though she isn’t sorry at all.
That’s okay. I’m sorry too.
Yuki needs the toilet. She wonders how long it will take him to confess his feelings for her.
Listen, I want to help you in whatever way I can. I. Feel a great deal towards you. I always have.
She can practically feel him hardening next to her.
Okay.
Will you let me help you, Yuki-chan?
I. I don’t—
Let me.
He goes for her again. This time he doesn’t hold back. His tongue is in her mouth. He says her name, over and over again, like he’s trying to memorise it. They kiss for a very long time. Yuki’s tongue becomes heavy and tired.
Here , he says, breathless, taking out his wallet. Here. Take it. I want you to have it. For the lawyer fees. And whatever else you need.
Yuki stares at the money. One hundred thousand yen.
I don’t want your money, Taichi.
I want you to have it.
No, it . . . You’ve already done enough—
Just take it! I want you to take it! he says, voice raised, the sound reverberating around the car.
Yuki shivers.
. . . I think you should drive me home now.
Taichi looks at her, chest rising. He shakes his head.
Oh. Yes. Okay . . . I’m sorry.
You should get back home to your family.
Yes. I’m sorry.
The drive to the house is silent. Yuki looks out the window and thinks about Mei-chan’s bedroom back in London. How lovely it was. The kind of bedroom that she had always wanted for her daughter. With a bookshelf and a night lamp and freshly painted walls. A comfy rug that didn’t itch, one that Mei could lie on, belly first in her vest and knickers. Soft, warm towels after bath time. Matching My Little Pony duvets and pillowcases. White wooden drawers that open and close with ease.
She imagines the girl-woman tucking a strand of hair behind Meiko’s ear like she is her own. Reading her bedtime stories from English fairy tales with English characters on English adventures. She imagines Mei-chan inviting friends over for play time, the pride she must feel as she shows them the trampoline in the garden, the vanilla cupcakes the Laotian nanny has made. No small, main-road apartment, no foreign mum with the smelly food that the kids in reception used to tease Mei for. She will have skiing holidays in Val d’Isère and Easter holidays in Barbados and her food will be bland and neutral-smelling and she will forget all about her mother that pushed her out, a mother who didn’t entirely know how to be a mother, but tried, tried all the same, with all her heart, all her being.
They pull up outside the house. He turns to her, his face grave.
I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, Yuki-san. You’re right. I have a wife and children and I’m acting like I’m still a teenager.
That’s okay. I encouraged it. It’s not your fault.
No. Well. We both got carried away.
Yuki is silent.
Let’s start over, okay? You really should come over for dinner. Eniko makes fantastic o-den!
. . .That’s nice.
Yes. Well. He looks straight ahead. Look. I feel stupid . . . I have this money now. And I want you to take it. I know you said you don’t want it. But I really didn’t mean to make it feel like . . . A proposition. I just want you to, to be happy. And the money is still yours, if you’ll take it, but I understand completely if you don’t. Want it.
Thanks.
Yuki leaves with the cash in her bag.