Kiko listened at the top of the basement stairs. She had stayed in the laundry as long as she dared. At least the clothes were clean and, as far as she could tell in the poor light, not pink. She’d hung everything on the taut cables that spanned the room, hoping that was how the laundry was normally dried. She didn’t mind having to do the jobs at all – in fact, she was quite enjoying doing something for others instead of studying from dawn to dusk. But she had to uncover a way out and ask for help to find the house she was seeking. She couldn’t stay with Obaasan and her squirrels forever.

Kiko pulled her cap lower and went to tuck her hair back inside. She felt for her plait but of course it was no longer there. It was hidden inside her t-shirt. She had thought it would be more difficult – her hair had always been long – but in a couple of sharp chops it was done. She’d tidied it up as best she could and wondered what she looked like now. It was strange; she felt so much lighter.

The house was silent. Kiko tiptoed along the hallway to her room. Once inside, she found her backpack, opened the zip and stuffed the plait in. She wondered if she might be able to sell it. Surely there were wigmakers who would pay for good quality hair. Kiko pulled out her jacket. She dug her hand into the pocket and froze. Her fingers searched every corner – then the other pocket too. But nothing.

She up-ended the bag, wondering if it had fallen out when she’d put her jacket inside the previous evening. The diary fell to the floor and her plait tumbled on top of it but nothing else. She unzipped the front pouch. It was empty too. Kiko shook the futon, hoping desperately that her necklace had slipped out and fallen among the bedding.

‘Are you in there, boy?’ Obaasan called from somewhere down the hall.

Kiko hurriedly fixed her bed and stuffed her jacket and hair inside the backpack. She placed the diary carefully down the side and zipped the bag up. Her heart beat even faster than when she’d been caught at the turnstile in the subway. She gasped for breath.

That boy – Taro – he must have been snooping in her room. He could have taken it, or his father, Tatsu. Kiko had felt the necklace in her pocket before she’d dozed off outside the door last night. It was right there and now it was gone. What if it had fallen out while she was sleeping on the doorstep? Kiko couldn’t think.

She wanted to get out of the house. Her head was spinning. She ran to the hallway and looked towards the back door – but the padlocks were still in place.

‘Yoshi, you come here now,’ Obaasan yelled.

Kiko turned and saw the old woman shuffling towards her. She felt as if she might throw up.

‘What are you staring at the door for? Never mind those locks. They are to keep the old people in. I can’t have them wandering off. Are you hungry, boy?’

Kiko’s stomach was in knots. Food was the last thing she felt like.

‘I called you for lunch but you were still doing the laundry. Did you do the ironing too?’ Obaasan asked. ‘If that’s the case, I will keep you forever.’

The clothes weren’t even dry and Kiko hadn’t the first clue about ironing.

‘Well, I have left you some noodles and chicken and rice,’ Obaasan said. ‘You did a good job with the sorting. Better than fat boy. He is my grandson and the stupidest boy I have ever known. Maybe I will get rid of him and keep you instead.’

‘Does Taro do other jobs?’ Kiko asked quietly. She was hoping he had some chores outside the house.

‘What did you say, boy? Speak up! My hearing is not as good since my last birthday. Eighty-two and suddenly you are on the downhill slide, though I am still a baby compared with that lot in there.’ Obaasan pointed her thumb over her shoulder towards the sitting room.

‘I could go to the market for you,’ Kiko said a little louder. Kiko had seen grocery bags in the kitchen the day before and wondered who was responsible for the shopping.

‘Mmm. Taro is always messing up my order. If you like, you can go to the market tomorrow. I have a very looooong list.’

‘Do you need me to go today?’ Kiko asked. She was desperate to get outside and search the alley for her necklace.

Obaasan shook her head. ‘No.’

The old woman shuffled past Kiko into the bedroom.

She reached under the covers and pulled out Kiko’s backpack.

‘I will look after this for you.’

Kiko’s heart froze. ‘Why?’ she whispered.

‘This is my insurance. I don’t want you to take my shopping money and run off, boy.’ Obaasan grinned. Flecks of noodles sat between her yellow teeth. ‘Whatever is in this bag must be important to you. I’m sure you would have run away last night if it hadn’t been sitting under my foot. I will give it back once I am sure I can trust you.’ The old woman unzipped the top and pulled out the change of clothes Kiko had brought with her. ‘But you can keep these. I don’t want you to smell bad.’ Obaasan held them out. She squinted through her glasses. ‘Mmm . . . maybe you are not so good at washing – have you turned your own underpants pink?’

Kiko quickly snatched the underpants and white t-shirt. She felt sick. Her necklace was already gone. There was no way she could lose her mother’s diary too.