I cup my hands to my mouth. They didn’t. I will still have to see this woman every day for as long as my children are at that school.
‘But… she will know. She could sue me!’
‘And they could fingerprint you and you’d be never found out. CCTV will see an old Asian lady going in the cubicle and I’ll just say I was ill and confused and leave the country if I have to,’ Linh says, laughing with glee.
Meg stops for a moment as we take cover by some trees. ‘Grace, do you know how hard it is to watch someone you love be ganged up on by a complete and utter crapbag like that? It hurt us very much. We refused to just sit back and watch.’
‘So this was your answer?’ I’d like to say they look contrite but they don’t. ‘You didn’t think to use something like baked beans? Ketchup? Something that would stain?’ I say, rolling my eyes. I can’t hate them. I see it in the joy in their faces, their pride that they got to do that, for me. ‘I expect this crap from Lucy, not you,’ I tell Meg.
‘Everything we do is to look after you, Grace. To give your story a happier ending. I hope you realise that.’
I look at both of them intently. That’s why all these people do anything. It’s out of something I guess we can call love. A crowd of mums with pushchairs suddenly turn the corner and we realise we are supposed to be absconding from the scene of a crime so we turn and keep walking. Maybe a bit faster than we normally would. I hope Linh’s heart can take it.
12
Fucking hell, Grace. I’m in Japan. Like Japan Japan. It is mental. There’s a shop down the road from me where everything is a hundred yen. It’s a pound shop. They have pound shops in Japan but they’re the best pound shops I’ve ever seen. You can buy outfits for your cats. I might buy a cat just so I can dress it up. And I’m spoiled for food. Sushi anywhere else is now ruined for me. And I don’t understand anything at all. People talk to me and I look at all these menus and I just smile and take it all in and point to something that looks like katsu curry hoping I haven’t offended them. We passed through Osaka on the way here and it was everything I dreamt of, drenched in neon. I really wish you were here to see it all. I really do. T x
Tom’s post-university world tour, as he put it, was legendary. It involved moments of work but also stuff like jumping on a train and ending up in Bangkok on the back of a party invitation. One of the more structured elements of his travel was when he went to Japan for six months to teach English. It was at the very start of his travels and he ended up in a small town to the west of Japan, near Hiroshima, called Shunan. Was it the Japanese experience that Tom had sought out? Possibly not. I think he envisioned big neon urban landscapes that were super futuristic, and Ghibli-inspired wonder but, instead, the company he worked for placed him in an industrial town where the most exciting thing was a McDonald’s.The McDonald’s is different here, Gracie. You can have a Filet-O-Fish for breakfast!Of course, Tom was so determined to prove he was enjoying himself that he explored every inch of this new land. He loved an onsen, which was mainly an excuse to post pictures of himself in steaming pools of water, with tiny square towels over his bits, and he befriended all the teachers who had come from elsewhere such as Canada, the United States and Australia.
By the time I arrived there, all those teachers had since moved on to other places in Japan or simply gone home, so it was a bizarre stop, and one Tom should have thought through in more detail. In fact the only person who remembered Tom was Naoko.
‘Are you part of that group or…?’ says the receptionist at a youth hostel on the Bristol docks.
‘I arranged the booking but I’m not staying. There should be ten people altogether from lots of different places…’
‘Oh, yes. They’ve all arrived except…’
‘Me.’
I turn around and Naoko is standing there, a rucksack on her shoulders and a suitcase by her feet. I squeal at seeing her and bundle her into my arms.
‘You made it. I’m so glad.’
She pulls out the instruction sheet I gave to everyone. I even provided map co-ordinates, which Meg said was overkill but I thought added an extra layer of accuracy so no one could blame me if they got lost.
‘These are perfect. I get the coach from the airport and I am here.’ Naoko’s English is slightly Americanised and broken but the girl is always full of charm. I remember standing at Shunan station the first night I arrived. I’d sat on a bullet train and was just continually bowing back to people while I tried to decipher the code-like nature of their language.What am I doing here? This is a mistake. I don’t know what I’m doing. I should have worn in these brand new-boots. I shouldn’t be alone.But as soon as Naoko saw me, she welcomed me into her home like I was a sister. She and her father cooked for me every day and showed me the sights of their small town, including the street corners where Tom had rung his girlfriend back home and told her how much he loved her. And in those first nights when jet lag played with my mind and looked to smother me, she’d sit up with me and we would watch Japanese television and game shows that boggled the mind with their premise and the volume of their excitement. It seems people falling into water wearing dayglo unitards is funny in any language.
‘Everyone, apparently, is here so just check in and I’ll come in with you.’
She nods excitedly. This is her first trip outside of Japan and I am sad I can’t show her more than a youth hostel by the docks, but the excitement simmers off her. I’m reminded of myself when I first left the UK as a teenager. It was a European exchange trip during which I snogged an actual German boy called Matthias who wore a neckerchief.
‘NAOKO!’ An American voice suddenly booms through reception and I turn to see a gentleman dressed in what looks like a shell suit. He has a shaved head and walks with what I think the young people call ‘swag’. ‘No way, come here, honey!’ He embraces her tightly.
I know the man; he’s called Pablo and worked and lived with Tom back in Shunan.You liked to sing Guns N’ Roses at karaoke and would annoy everyone by washing your pants in the kitchen sink.In fact the group standing behind them are all people I know through photos and Tom’s regaling of his many stories. There are ten of them from every corner of the globe, students and teachers, like a mini United Nations except with a bit more personal drama. There were love triangles, rumoured rifts and huge drunken endeavours, but they were all bonded by the experience. Poor Naoko was tasked as their co-ordinator, their woman on the ground who welcomed them in. They loved and adored her for it. I allow her a brief moment to reunite with everyone before she steps aside.
‘This is Grace.’
I’ve never met the majority of the people here. When Tom died, their messages of condolence poured in from around the world in letters, cards and charity donations, but, until this day, they just lived as characters in a story. They all stand there for a moment watching me, giving themselves a moment to know what to say. I think that girl is crying. Pablo is the first to break the silence and comes over to embrace me.
‘It’s so good to finally meet you, Grace.’
‘You too, Pablo. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘All good?’ Not really. Tom mocked his penchant for tube socks and the need to get his rocks off at any given moment (I think he’s shagged two of the other teachers here) but he went home to San Francisco and is now father to three boys, one of whom carries Tom as his middle name in tribute.
‘I feel like I know all of you, this is too weird,’ I say, laughing.
‘You think that’s weird,’ one teacher interrupts. ‘Tom used to keep a picture of you on our fridge.’
