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Chapter 62: Surf and Complications

Pia took his hand gently, and they walked back up the sand toward the others, Leo chattering on about what kind of house a kraken might want (“with no roof, 'cause they’re wet all the time”), and Pia nodding like she was mentally preparing a brief to an architect.

Kiri had opened a cooler and pulled out a carton of juice. “Thanks for looking after him,” she said softly to Pia, handing her a cold can of sparkling water. “He really likes you.” Pia smiled her thanks. Vic shifted over to make room for her on the towel. “I really like you,” he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. Then, to Leo: “That is easily the best moat I’ve ever seen. If there’s a kraken rating scale, you’re getting five tentacles out of five.”

Camille lifted her sunglasses and raised a tin of iced tea. “To kraken-proofing, sand engineering, and women who don’t flinch.” She clinked it against Pia’s can with a wink.

"I got some practice with my brother's daughter in Japan, Eimi,” Pia explained. “She's only two, chou beri kawaii, and mixes up English and Japanese, because they're raising her to be bilingual. Yancy's trying to teach her French, too.” Pia drank deep of her tinned water and looked around. "Tell you what, it's hot work building sandcastles. Did anyone go in the waves yet?

Dan stretched like a lizard in the sun, one arm flung over his head. “I dipped in before you came back. Wasn’t bad, bit brisk, but decent swell. I rate it.”

Kiri nodded toward the towels. “Leo went in up to his knees and declared it too splashy. Before you got here. We promised he could try again later, maybe with Pia.”

Vic sat up, brushing sand off his arm. His curls were sunlit and unruly, eyes sparkling under his sunglasses. “I’ve been waiting for you. Figured I’d make my dramatic entrance once you were watching.”

Camille rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Poseidon. You’ll barely make it past the breakers without striking a heroic pose and hoping that someone’s livestreaming.”

Vic smirked at Pia, rising to his feet and stretching languidly. “What do you reckon, TV Lego? Want to brave the wilds of Coogee and show me how a real kraken-fighter swims?” Then, with mock-seriousness: “Unless you need to rehydrate after the architectural strain. I understand. Those were some major load-bearing buttresses.”

"Vic's not a poseur, Camille. He’s good,” Pia defended her boyfriend. “Even I can tell and I'm just a kook. Come on, Bae, I'll race you to the break." Pia grabbed her board, snugged on the tether, and charged at the sea like it was an enemy shield wall she was going to smash by herself.

Vic’s grin was instant, feral, like a switch had been flipped.

“Hell yes!”

He seized his board, sleek, sun-bleached, with a scuffed sticker that said Don’t Panic in red faded to dark pink, and dashed after her, sand exploding around his feet. His laughter bubbled up, free and boyish, chasing Pia down the sloping shoreline like a wave of his own.

Camille, watching them go, shaded her eyes with a hand and muttered, “Mon dieu. They’re like two mythological creatures trying to flirt through battle.”

Dan cracked a grin. “Bet five bucks on Pia. She’s got war energy.”

Kiri just smiled quietly as she adjusted Leo’s sunhat. “I won't bite. Vic wants to lose.”

Out past the damp sand and the scatter of seaweed, Pia crashed through the first curl of whitewater with a gleeful shriek. Her board lifted, and found its glide. Vic was just behind her, slashing the foam, shouting “GO, LEGO, GO!” as if it would slow her down, or speed him up. They hit the break together, Pia half a board length ahead, both laughing so hard it made them gasp. For a perfect moment in the salt and spray, everything else fell away. They were just sun, sea, and the fierce joy of being alive and seen.

"Vic's past the flirting stage. He's seriously into her," Dan said, for once not joking. "Pia, she's a natural flirt. Flirted with me and Vic when we first met her. Flirted with Jules to get a discount off her board." He chuckled.

Camille lowered her sunglasses slowly, giving Dan a dry, appraising look over the rim. “Of course she did. Flirting is Pia’s first language. English is just the accent.” She sipped her drink, watching the boards bob and carve out past the break. “But you’re not wrong. Vic’s not just keen, he’s serious-serious. Look at the way he watches her. Like he’s trying to memorise her in case she disappears.”

Kiri smiled faintly, smearing more sunscreen on Leo’s shoulders. “She hasn’t had many people who looked at her that way, I think. Like she’s safe.”

Dan leant back on his elbows, squinting into the light. “Yeah. Poor bloke doesn’t stand a chance. She’s got him good. Hope she knows it.”

Camille smirked, crossing one leg over the other. “She does. But she’s scared. Which is why she’s out there racing him instead of kissing him. Pia’s brave in all the ways that don’t involve giving someone your heart.”

Kiri glanced back at her. “But she will. Eventually.”

Camille nodded, sunglasses sliding back into place like a shield. “Yes. And when she does, it’s going to level him.”

Out in the surf, Pia cut across a rising wave, slicing clean and fearless. Vic tried to match her angle, but she was faster, grinning, triumphant, radiant. The salt spray glittered around her like sunlight through broken glass. Even from the shore, it was clear that he wasn’t chasing the wave. He was chasing her.

Kiri looked at the elegant Camille with interest. "How did you meet Pia, Camille? I believe you both speak French." She dandled Leo on her lap.

Camille chuckled softly, her gaze following the shapes slicing through the bright surf. “Oui, we both speak French. We are French. And we both speak drama.” She shifted slightly to face Kiri, her tone of voice playful. “We met at Renée’s salon, one of those evenings where everyone brings a bottle and far too many opinions. Pia and I had an argument within five minutes. It was glorious. Very existential. We debated the difference between escaping and running away, and which requires better shoes.”

Dan snorted. Kiri raised a brow. “And you became friends after that?”

“Oh, no!” Camille grinned. “We argued about sports; rowing and fencing. I made light of surfing. She asked to come and watch me dance, and she invited me to the beach. I did not accept then. On another occasion she offered me a grapefruit tarte tatin. That was the olive branch. Or the citrus one, I suppose. Somehow, here I am.” She leant back on her elbows, elegant even in the sand. “Pia gets tired of fighting sometimes. When she does, she looks for the smart girls to sit next to.”

Kiri glanced out at the waves again. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Camille smiled, just a little. “We’re lucky to have each other. Pia’s a good person. Even when she forgets it. Now I shall swim.”

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 63: Hard Miles, Soft Landings

Camille rose languidly from her lounger and slowly, sensually stripped off her maxi dress to reveal her scoop back green one-piece. She moved with the deliberate grace of someone fully aware that all eyes might be on her, and entirely in control of the effect. The hem of her maxi dress fluttered around her ankles as she slipped it upward, exposing long, toned legs and smooth, sun-kissed skin.

The costume gleamed in the light like an emerald, high-cut at the hip and plunging just enough at the back to whisper glamour without shouting for attention. It hugged her in all the right places, tailored elegance in swimwear.

She tossed the dress casually onto the lounger, adjusted her sunglasses with one finger, and turned toward the water like she was about to step on board a yacht.

Dan blinked. “Jesus.”

Kiri, without looking up from tickling Leo’s belly, murmured, “Be cool, darling.”

Camille casted a glance over her shoulder, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “Don’t wait up. I’m going to go and remind the ocean who she answers to.” And with that, she strolled toward the surf, slow and unbothered, every step a masterclass in beachside regality.

Vic, paddling back out, caught sight of her approaching from the corner of his eye.

“Uh-oh,” he called to Pia. “Camille’s entering the water. Should we bow, or build a shrine out of kelp?”

"We should look out for her, Vic. I don't know how strong a swimmer she is and she may have been drinking." Pia kept an eye on her friend.

Vic’s smirk faded just slightly, a flash of seriousness behind his salt-speckled lashes. He nodded. “Got it. We stay close.”

They floated in the water beyond the break, our of the line up, their boards bobbing in slow rhythm, their eyes now tracking Camille’s steady progress into the shallows. She walked in with the same poise she had on land, pausing at thigh depth as a wave rolled past and splashed high up her torso. She gasped, more for drama than distress, but it was clear from her slight stiffening that the water was colder than she expected. She began to swim out.

Pia narrowed her eyes. Camille’s form was good; clean strokes, head rising to take air in a proper rhythm, but there was a hesitancy in the way she moved through the next swell. Not panicked, but not fully comfortable either.

Vic shifted on his board. “You go to her,” he said gently. “I’ll flank. If she’s not strong out here, I’ll cut a path back in.”

Pia paddled off smoothly, her strong shoulders powering her through the surf toward Camille, no drama, just arriving, the way she always did when someone might need her.

Camille spotted her, a little breathless now and treading water with a small, rueful smile. “Okay,” she called, her voice carrying over the hiss of the waves, “Maybe this was... slightly overconfident.”

She gave a huff of laughter and waved one elegant hand. “I didn’t think the current would be so strong. Can I hold onto your board for a second, ma sirène?”

Pia knew her recovery technique from capsize drills she had learnt as a rower. She rolled her board upside down and floated next to it. "Get an arm and a leg over the board if you can, Camille. I'll roll it so you're on top."

Camille followed instructions, her movements elegant even in these circumstances, like a ballerina trying to mount a mechanical bull. She slung an arm and a leg over the board, teeth gritted, swearing very softly in French.

“Merde, j’ai foutu, moi. This is not how Brigitte Bardot would have done it.”

Pia gave the board a decisive roll, water splashing high as Camille flopped up and over with a squeal, landing half-straddled and clinging on like a gloriously green seal.

Camille let out a breathless laugh once she was safely balanced, feeling warmer in the sun. “You’re magnificent,” she huffed. “Remind me to buy you lunch for the next year.”

It was a struggle but they managed. Pia paddling towards a landing, with Camille resting safe on top of her board. *Good thing I did those hard miles!* she thought.

Vic watched from nearby, ready to help but not intervening, his eyes full of admiration as Pia paddled steadily, towing Camille in like a lifeguard in Mondrian drag. He knew better than to interfere. Pia had it in the bag.

Pia powered through the water, arms clean, legs strong, every muscle working in trained rhythm. She barely noticed the strain. Her body remembered these drills from cold dawns on the Thames.

*Hard miles make soft landings,* she reminded herself, gritting through the last few strokes until the surfboard came gently into shallow water.

Camille slid off with as much dignity as possible and stumbled upright, windswept and damp, but alive and flashing Pia a grateful smile.

“Okay,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her heart, “Next time, I just do the sunbathing.”

They hugged, and Pia cradled Camille’s head for a moment to look into her eyes. “Go and warm up, ma cherie.”

Vic called, “Ten out of ten rescue. Gold stars for style, extra points for not yelling at her in public.”

Dan waved from the water’s edge. “You all good?”

Camille threw up a hand. “I have never been better. But I do require olives and possibly a towel carried like a royal robe.”

Vic waded up beside Pia, brushing wet sand from his legs. He leant in close. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, not for show. “She’s lucky. I’m lucky.”

"Luck is preparation meeting opportunity. You would have got her if I didn't, Vic. You were right there too. Thank you." Pia hugged him in for a kiss. Vic’s arms closed around her instantly, salt-slick and warm. He met her kiss without hesitation, no heat for show, no tension, just something real and steady and deep. The kind of kiss that didn’t need fireworks, because the ground beneath them had already shifted. His hand slid up to cup the back of her neck, his thumb brushing gently behind her ear, and when they parted he stayed close, his forehead against hers.

“Still,” he murmured, voice soft, barely audible against the wind and surf, “I love that you got there first.”

Camille flopped dramatically onto her lounger like a Regency widow recovering from a pearl-clutching scandal. “Oh good,” she calls dryly, fanning herself with a paperback, “Romantic bonding and a cardio workout. Someone bring me grapes.”

Kiri chuckled, towel already in hand, and Dan muttered, “If this is what your friends are like, Vic, I don’t know how you survive.”

Vic grinned, still inches from Pia. “Preparation meeting opportunity,” he says, echoing her words with a glint in his eye. “And one fast swimmer in a Mondrian catsuit.”

"I'm not fast, really. I train for endurance and pick my races accordingly. Come on, let's get warmed up. I want to check on Camille. She should be fine physically but might be mentally shaken up."

Pia and Vic toted their boards up to the beach camp, where the others were looking after Camill. She seemed fine, but it never hurt to be sure. Pia knelt next to her friend.

"An adventure to tell your grandchildren, perhaps, ma belle."

Camille lifted her sunglasses just enough to give Pia a sideways look, dry, glittering, and touched with real affection.

“Darling, if I ever have grandchildren, I will absolutely lie and say I was saving you.” She reached over and held Pia’s wrist, the contact light but meaningful. “I’m okay. A bit rattled, but you reached me before my panic could begin to find its teeth.” She sighed, letting herself sink back into the towel. “Still, next time I try to wade in like a Bond girl, remind me I’m built for rooftop bars and strategic charm offensives. Not riptides.”

Kiri passed over a thermos cup of hot ginger tea. “Drink this. Helps your circulation.”

Dan offered a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips with zero ceremony. “Replenish your electrolytes. Science.”

Leo was now digging a hole near Camille’s lounger with great concentration, and informed her, “You can go in my hole if you want.”

Camille patted his head. “That’s sweet, petit prince, but I think I’ll just lie here and pretend I’m in Capri.”

Vic dropped his board at the edge of the camp, then knelt beside Pia, and draped a towel around his neck. He glanced at Camille with a warm, respectful smile. “You handled it, Camille. Most people wouldn’t have made it past the first wave.”

Camille shrugged. “Most people haven’t been dragged out of existential despair by a woman dressed in neon lego. It does something to your sense of proportion.”

Pia felt her friend’s pulse beneath her fingertips, a little elevated but steady. Her colour was good, and the sharpness in her voice was returning. Camille was okay. She grinned broadly at Camille's sally. "No grandchildren for you unless I can be Goddessmother to your firstborn, Camille. At any rate, All's Well That Ends Well."

Camille raised her eyebrows with regal mock-offence. “Goddessmother? Darling, if I’m ever reckless enough to reproduce, you’re not just in the inner circle, you’ll probably be delivering the child, composing the lullabies, and arguing with the obstetrician.”

Vic leant close to Pia again, murmuring just for her: “You didn’t just save her. You anchored the whole day.”

"I'd rather have anchored it by Leo being sick on me from too much ice cream,” she whispered back. “Be our leader, Vic. Decide what we should do, either stay here longer, or move to a café. I'll back you up whatever you choose."

Leo looked up from his hole and announced, “I frowed up once when I eated cake and hot dogs.” Then he resumed digging, apparently satisfied with his contribution.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 64: Sand in Her Pocket

Vic chuckled, shaking his head as he rose to his feet and surveyed the scene. The sun was slanting westward. The surfboards were wet and sandy. Everyone’s towels were rumpled, with a good three hours of salt and chatter behind them. Camille seemed happy. Kiri was sipping tea with maternal precision. Dan was halfway through the chips. Leo was building what might become a sand-based national monument.

Vic shaded his eyes with one hand. “Okay, team,” he said, raising his voice just enough for them all to hear. “We’ve had sand, sun, sea, and a brush with maritime legend. I say we wrap the beach part and head to a café, somewhere with shade, decent coffee and iced drinks, and something sweet for Leo that won’t end in vomit.”

He glanced at Pia, catching her eye with a wink. “I’ll drive, unless someone else wants to handle the parking diplomacy.”

Dan groaned theatrically. “You’re gonna make me put on shoes, aren’t you?”

Camille propped herself up. “Only if the café has wine. And sorbet. And outdoor seating with parasols.”

Vic clapped his hands once. “That’s the spirit. Everyone, pack it up. Let’s get classy.” He turned back to Pia, voice dropping again. “Thanks for letting me lead. I don’t always feel like I deserve to.”

"Anyone who always feels so confident doesn't deserve to be a leader, Vic. You can trust me on that. I've got a degree in Psychology with Criminality." Pia tossed Vic the keys to Rosalie, and started to pick up the beach camp. He caught them mid-air with a smile, twirling them once around his finger before tucking them into his pocket.

“I will absolutely be quoting that back to you next time I panic about a spreadsheet.” He watched her begin to collapse the umbrella with her usual brisk efficiency, then looked toward Kiri, who was dusting sand off Leo with the practised air of a mum who could evacuate a beach day in ninety seconds flat if needed.

Kiri nodded thoughtfully. “There’s a spot just up from the surf club, Seabird & Co. Shaded courtyard, good kids’ menu, they don’t mind wet towels and chaos. Leo likes their banana muffins and they do cold brew in a carafe.”

Camille sat up straighter, intrigued. “Ooh. If they serve cold brew in a carafe, we’re talking civilised.”

Dan shrugged. “It’s perfect. Easy walk too, even for the little guy.”

Vic gave Pia a nudge with his hip as he stooped to help roll up a towel. “See? Delegated. Organised. Emotionally stable. I’m ticking so many boyfriend boxes today.”

Leo announced proudly, “I put sand in my pocket.”

Camille sighed. “And there goes the civilised.”

"That’s so wholesome!” Pia exclaimed. “Everyone should bring some sand home from the beach. And seashells."

She dropped to her knee, scooped up a palmful of sand and a shell, and slipped it into the pocket of her sundress. She adjusted her duotone shades, and grabbed her board and all the luggage she could carry.

Leo’s eyes went wide with awe. “You take sand too? Like me?” Pia became a legend in his mind at that moment. Possibly a mermaid. Definitely some kind of queen.

Vic watched her with open affection, then grinned as she shouldered half the beach camp like it was a spy mission.

"Shall we dump this in Rosalie, Vic, and just walk to the Seabird cafe?"

“Yeah,” he said, hoisting the cooler and stuffing the last towel into a tote bag. “Let’s load up Rosalie and take the scenic route. You’ve earned a muffin. Possibly a throne.” He nodded toward the car park. “Come on, gang. Operation Seabird is a go.”

As they walked together, bags rustling, boards clamped under arms, laughter floating behind them, Pia could feel the weight of the grains of sand settling in her pocket. Tiny, rough, warm. A piece of the day saved.

Camille, adjusting her maxi dress and sliding her sunglasses back on, strolled beside her. “You do realise we’re becoming that group, right?” she murmured, amused. “Sun-kissed, half-dressed, trailing children and secrets. All we need is a dog and a scandal.”

Vic turned back with a wink. “Let me guess, Pia has both in store.”

Pia smiled. "No dogs, but I might squeeze out one more scandal before I hang up my ethics for good. Such as they are."

The tired, happy group stashed the heavy clobber in their cars, and strolled on to the cafe for a very late lunch, or a very early supper, depending how you look at time. It was a laid back place, with shack-like walls just about supporting strings of LED fairy lights and some cheap speakers playing quiet acoustic guitar tracks. The menu was the usual Aussie beachside stuff; deep fried seafood, burgers, hot chips, salads, and a small fusion selection including ceviche and tacos.

Pia cuddled Leo while Camille pinched Vic's chips to feed them both and herself. Kiri reminisced with Vic about their childhoods in New Zealand. Dan pontificated about krakens and point breaks. The guys pretended to get angry with the girls' menu selections. Camille did Camille, salting the conversation with witty apercus, and ribbing Pia in French. It was the perfectly imperfect end to the day.

A quiet smile came over Pia's face, and she blinked back happy tears, hoping that no-one would notice. She leant her head on Vic's shoulder and thought, *Could I have found home at last?”

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 66: Improv Royale!

The lights dimmed over the murmuring crowd, the clink of glasses audible from the little bar at the back. A single spotlight hit the front of the stage. The compere, a wiry man in a plum velvet blazer and aggressively pink bowtie, strode into the light with a grin like a magician about to reveal a rabbit.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and all lovers of mischief and mystery… welcome back to Improv Royale! Tonight, we invite you to the decadent, depraved, and delightfully doomed halls of Greystone Manor, where cocktails flow, secrets smoulder, and no one is quite who they seem.”

He winked dramatically and raised a hand.

“Please welcome our next players, freshly summoned from the mists of memory and mayhem: the insatiable Fleur Delacourt and the inimitable Basil Featherstonehaugh! The setting, as chosen by you, the bloodthirsty mob, is a country house party in 1927. The mood: dangerously flirtatious. And the secret objective,” -- he spun a cardboard wheel of fortune with a clatter -- “To steal the most valuable object in the manor without getting caught. Good luck, darlings!”

He clapped his hands and scuttled offstage, leaving the lights to swell and spill across the drawing room set, half a dozen velvet chairs, a bar cart with rattling decanters, and the faint, scratchy strains of a Jazz Age gramophone tune drifting through the air.

Pia stepped into the spotlight wearing a sparkly black, square cut flapper minidress with fringed skirt, which hinted at her fashionably boyish figure. She was sporting an outrageous red feather boa, a black headband with a tall ostrich feather rising from it, and a cocktail ring like a brass knuckle made of gold and diamonds. Her silk gloved hands were occupied with a long cigarette holder and a small handbag.

"Where is that man?" Her accent was exaggerated cut-glass English. She peered at her tiny cocktail watch, realised it was too small to read, and broke the 4th wall. "Does anyone know what time it is?"

There was a ripple of laughter from the audience. Someone near the front called out, “Half past scandalous!”

Vic stumbled onto the stage from the wings as if someone had pushed him. He was wearing a loosely knotted paisley cravat, a cream linen suit that was just slightly too large, and a monocle he kept forgetting which eye to wear in, so he often dropped it and put it back on the other side. He carried a golf club as if it were a walking stick, and was gawping like a goldfish.

“Ah! There you are, Miss Delacourt, or may I call you Fleur? I say, frightfully sorry to be late. One of the dogs challenged me to a duel in the conservatory. Terribly territorial breed, corgis.” There were titters at his Aussie attempt to do a Pommy accent.

He noticed her properly and stopped in his tracks.

“Good heavens. You look like someone poured temptation into a martini glass and gave it legs.”

He tried to kiss her gloved hand, but forgot he was still holding the golf club and awkwardly poked himself in the face with it.

"A martini can be a weapon, Mr Fanshaw. Why don't you order one now? I think it would serve you better than your golf stick."

Vic blinked, as if her words had just slapped him across the monocle.

“Ah, yes, quite. I always say gin improves both one’s backhand and one’s chances with mysterious women.” He pivoted toward the bar cart, nearly tripping over a footstool disguised as a taxidermied badger.

“Barman! One martini, extra olive, no sense of consequence!” He fumbled around at the bar, clinking bottles and sniffing one suspiciously before wincing and pouring it anyway. “Are we here to celebrate something, Fleur, or to make a plot?”

Pia gestured off-stage. A cocktail waiter brought her a frosted glass while Basil was still messing around with his dusty collection of bottles. "A plot of course, Basil. There is an arcane artefact in this house which I mean to steal. Liberate. Restore to its rightful owners."

Vic froze mid-pour, staring down at a questionable green liquid now flooding the ice bucket. There were sniggers from the front row. He did some stage business with his golf club and monocle.

“Oh, I say! That sounds… jolly illegal.” He looked at her with wide-eyed innocence, his monocle now dangling uselessly from one ear. “You wouldn’t mean the, er, the Fabergé Ferret, would you? Lord Greystone keeps it under lock and key. Claims it’s possessed by Rasputin’s ghost. Made his third wife speak fluent Latvian for a week.” He set down the bottle with a nervous clink. “You’re not going to make me steal it, are you?”

“Yeah mate, you should totally rip off the Ferret!” someone shouted from the back.

"Don't be silly, Basil,” Fleur twitted him. “It's true that the Fabergé Ferret is in the vault. So is the Cursed Cow Creamer. What I want you to steal is Lord Yuzu's Fetish." Pia tucked her foot-long cigarette holder behind Vic's ear. She took an object from her handbag and brandished it so the audience and Basil could see it clearly. It looked suspiciously like a realistic dildo with two golf balls stuck to the base with gaffer tape. Basically a rude model cartoon penis and testicles. In both senses of rude.

There was a scandalised gasp from somewhere in the audience, followed instantly by giddy, shocked laughter.

Vic leant back instinctively, eyes locked on the object with the horrified fascination of a man watching a chandelier fall in slow motion.

“G-Good lord, Fleur! That’s, that’s not an artefact, it’s a cry for help!” He tried to step back and knocked over a lamp with his golf club. It landed with a thud. He winced. “Is it alive? Why does it look like it’s judging me?” He glanced out at the audience, helpless. “I’m not sure I’m qualified to handle Lord Yuzu’s… appendage. Surely there’s a valet or a bishop better suited to take it in hand?”

Pia put the dildo fetish on the bar cart and took her cigarette holder back from Basil's head to use as a pointer.

"Don’t bash bishops, Basil, they have their uses. This is a scale model I made from some old junk I got from the butler. The central pillar represents a fetish Lord Yuzu acquired in questionable circumstances during a tour of Melanesia." She tapped it on the tip. "The real thing is much larger. The balls would be the size of cricket balls. In fact, they are cricket balls. The fetish is an uncanny device for magically charging cricket balls with dark energy. You must know what it feels like to have energetic balls in your hand, Basil." Pia lashed the balls with her cigarette holder, then tipped her martini down her throat.

Vic flinched as the model wobbled ominously on the bar, then steadied it with both hands like it was a sacred relic on the brink of combustion.

“Have I had my hands on my balls? I captained Eton’s Third Eleven! But none of my balls ever hummed with malevolent Melanesian magic!”

He turned a little pink, the audience roaring now as he awkwardly adjusted his cravat and pretended to examine the ‘scale model’ with scientific interest. “Dark energy, you say? Sounds… charged. No wonder the pavilion burst into flames during last year’s Sunday League final.” He reached for the martini Pia had just drained, realised it was empty, then discreetly gulped at whatever was in the ice bucket.

“Right then, Fleur. Just so I’m clear, I’m to infiltrate the manor’s vault, retrieve the actual fetish, with cricket balls the size of destiny, and sneak it back here without being caught or cursed?” He paused to eye her sideways. “And what do I get if I succeed, Fleur? Besides spiritual contamination and possible extradition to Fiji?”

"What would you like for your reward, Basil?" Pia batted her eyes winsomely, drew close to him, and made some play with her cigarette holder, running it up and down his thigh.

Vic blinked, taken off-guard. He straightened up, then leaned in slightly, the golf club now slung rakishly over his shoulder.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to a pension. Or immunity from spectral prosecution. Perhaps a new monocle that doesn’t double as a magnifying glass for my shame, don’t you know.” A pause. He looked at her more intently now, and spoke with something playful in his voice. “But if I had to choose…” He reached out and gently plucked a feather from her boa. “...I’d like to see you smile like that again. Not because you’re planning a heist… just because you’re happy.”

A beat.

He began to look embarrassed, and stuttered, “Or, or, or a fruit basket. One of those posh ones with kiwis and passionfruit and no paperwork.” He tossed away the feather like it had burnt him.

Pia simpered, "Perhaps I could arrange a pie for you, Basil. What is your favourite type?"

Vic’s eyes widened. He shifted his weight, even more flustered, and tried to regain some suave footing by adjusting his monocle, only to drop it entirely. He went down on his knees to look for it, crawling around and between Pia’s legs as she stepped elegantly over him.

“A pie, you say? Well, I’ve always had a weakness for lemon meringue. That seductive froth, the lurking tangy filling, the crisp biscuity base… Oooh yes.” He straightened up, holding the monocle triumphantly before realising he had still got an upright dildo sculpture on the bar cart next to him. He turned away from it. “Although lately, I find myself drawn to more… experimental flavours.” He looked her over slowly, head to toe. “Perhaps something French. Dangerous. A touch unwholesome.” Then, loud enough for the crowd.
“By God, Fleur, I’ll steal your bloody fetish!” He slammed a hand dramatically on the bar, knocking over the cocktail shaker. The cap popped off like a starting pistol and flew into the wings.

Pia spoke to the house: "These modern young men are so disappointing... I really hoped he would ask for a creampie." Then to Vic: "Very well. I shall bring you a delightful grapefruit tarte tatin, experimental and oh so French." Then to the audience: "This message from our sponsor has been brought to you by 11 Miles Cafe, Crown Street, Surry Hills."

The crowd erupted, some with laughter, some with scandalised whoops, one poor soul choking on a pretzel.

Vic covered his mouth in mock outrage, staggering back like he’d been shot with innuendo. “Well! I never! Not even at Eton! Although there was one game of Twister at Lady Marston’s midsummer garden party that came suspiciously close.”

He gave Pia a sly glance. “But I shall take your tarte tatin, my dear, and raise you a full English cooked breakfast, because once I steal that fetish, I expect a proper meal.” He yanked the feather boa from her shoulders, twirled it like a bullwhip, and dashed off-stage with a cry of, “For King! For country! For citrus-based vengeance!”

Laughter and applause trailed him into the wings.

The spotlight lingered on Pia who, glittering, unbothered, was finishing someone else’s martini. She curtsied to the audience, swiped the dildo fetish up, and flounced off stage after Vic, her ostrich feather swaying to the rhythm of her steps.

Vic was leaning against the wall just off-stage, breathless and pink-cheeked from laughter. His cravat was undone, the golf club abandoned somewhere backstage, and he was still holding the monocle like he wasn’t sure what to do with it now that it had seen things which could not be unseen.

"You were great, Vic!” She clapped him softly, to not disturb the next set. “You've got hidden depths."

He looked up as Pia arrived. He held out the feather boa to her like a peace offering.

“Hidden depths? You just made me flirt with a possessed sculpture shaped like a rugby injury and then sell my soul for pie. If that’s depth, I dread to think what shallow looks like.” He reached for the dildo-fetish in her hand, inspecting it gravely.

“You’re going to keep this, aren’t you?” He lowered his voice. “You realise it’s going to end up on your mantelpiece like a cursed souvenir from a very exclusive cult. You were brilliant out there. Honestly. Every time I thought I knew where we were going, you did something wild and perfect and I just had to keep up.” A small smile. “It’s the most fun I’ve had all week.”

"You were more brilliant, Vic. I had a plan in mind, at least an outline, and you rolled with the punches I kept throwing at you." She wrapped her feather boa around Vic's neck. "We're a great team." She pulled the boa tighter, to gently draw Vic towards her.

Vic let himself be drawn in, a little laugh catching in his throat as the boa tugged at his collar.

“Well, if we’re a team, you’re the dangerously charismatic brains and I’m the guy who trips over the cursed umbrella stand and accidentally disarms the security system with his elbow.”

He leant in close, his hands finding the ends of the boa, looping them loosely in his fingers. “I like being on your team, Pia. I never know what’s coming next, but it always feels like something worth chasing.” He paused, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. “You gonna kiss me now, or are you planning to interrogate me with that thing first?” He nodded at the dildo fetish, deadpan.“Because I have to say… my safe word is ‘quiche’.”

"My safe word is Tokyo, but we don't need safe words, Vic." Pia pulled Vic in and kissed him with heat. She leant back against the wall, and lifted a leg to wrap around Vic's hip. "We need to go somewhere. Quickly."

Vic made a sound halfway between a groan and a chuckle against her mouth, one hand finding her waist, the other bracing against the wall behind her.

“Agreed. Strongly agreed. Somewhere without props. Or witnesses. Or props that double as witnesses.” He kissed her again, this time slower, more deliberately, like the rest of the world had dimmed with the stage lights. “Your place or mine? Yours has better coffee. Mine has fewer neighbours to file complaints.”

He paused, his forehead resting against hers. “I can be out on the fire exit in thirty seconds flat.” He grinned. “Basil Featherstonehaugh always packs light.”

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 67: Leaving on a Jetplane

"I want to go to yours, Vic. To stay the night." Pia's eyes watered, an unexpected emotional surge, perhaps enabled by the strong cocktail she had drunk, but it was real even so. "I want to wake up before dawn, with you keeping me warm, and that sea view to watch for the sunrise while I drink black instant coffee. I want to use your toothpaste, and miss my face cream, and put an album on your record player so we can listen to your favourite tunes while you cook me breakfast."

Vic’s smile faded, not in fear, but in that stunned, soul-struck way a man looks when someone says something he didn’t know he’d been waiting to hear. He brought a hand to her cheek, thumb brushing the corner of her eye where the first tear threatened to spill. His voice was hoarse and tender.

“God, Pia…” He gulped. “I want that too. All of it. Every stupid domestic detail. You wearing my T-shirt for a nightdress. My dodgy record collection making our eggs taste better. You yelling at me for only having cheap hair conditioner.” He kissed her again, softly this time, achingly. “I want you to stay.” Another kiss, then he stepped back just enough to take her hand and interlace their fingers like it sealed the deal. “Come on. The Audi’s parked illegally, the surf wax is melting, and there’s an ocean view with your name on it.”

"Your Audi should be illegal wherever it's parked." Pia quipped, and danced down the fire escape, her feather boa flying in her wake. She let Vic take her to the dubious car he insisted on maintaining beyond its natural life. She leant the passenger seat back as far as it would go and stretched out while Vic drove them to his small, shabby, yet very personal apartment in the Bronte district. "We can go to the beach early tomorrow. If you lend me a tee-shirt."

Vic glanced over at her, stretched out beside him, the boa trailing across the centre console like a dropped party favour. The Audi smelt faintly of salt, surf wax, and sandalwood. An expired air freshener swung from the rear-view mirror like a relic of better car-maintenance decisions.

“You can have your pick. There’s a drawer full of worn-out ones. Bonus points if you choose the terrible band tee I never wear but can’t throw out.” The engine shifted into 3rd gear, grumbling like it disapproved of romance. “Remember that morning. You, me and Camille on the balcony?”

A small smile, his fingers drumming the steering wheel in time with an imaginary bassline. “You said things that made me think about you differently. And I already thought about you a lot.” He looked over again, his gaze lingering dangerously. “Feels good having you in the car like this. Not as a mystery. Not as a guest. Just… as you.”

They turned into his familiar street, the low sound of ocean waves in the near distance. A soft breeze pushed through the open window. His thumb tapped the wheel again. “I’ll make coffee before dawn. You can sleep through it if you want. But I’d like it better if you didn’t.”

"You know I always get up early, Vic. I'll probably be making the coffee for you. And do callisthenics while it's brewing." Pia wriggled and stretched in her seat, her short skirt riding up her thighs. Vic parked up, and they gained the safety of his bachelor crib, a space he'd had a few girls in before. Like Emma, whose pink razor still lurked somewhere everyone had forgotten. Vic's place had seen some sad break-ups. The faded walls were spotted with broken or abandoned dreams.

Now it was different. Pia was different. They had spent some very hot nights in Pia's upscale apartment in Surry Hills. It was different here, his own space, where maybe Vic felt vulnerable to her criticism of his taste, and Pia was physically vulnerable, isolated from her own environment. She stepped out of her shoes and walked barefoot into the living room.

Vic closed the door behind him with a gentle click. The apartment smelt like salt, old books, and cheap coffee. He watched her step barefoot across the wooden floor, the feather boa trailing like a pet snake, and something in his chest tightened, like an overwound guitar string that would play a new note he hadn’t heard before. He cleared his throat, trying to make light of it.

“Sorry about the vibe. It’s sort of half surf shack, half furniture orphanage. I tried to clean up a bit. But if the kettle doesn’t scream like a banshee when it boils, assume I’ve been replaced by a pod person.” He toed off his shoes near the doorway, then trailed slowly after her.

The place was tidy in that way where tidying feels recent, slightly self-conscious. The teenage boy’s trick of squaring his messy stuff into right angles. Three surfboards leant against the wall; an ancient longboard, a fishtail shorty, and his fairly new funboard. There was a Polaroid of Dan and Vic with horrendous sunburn Blu-tacced to the fridge. An ancient sofa with a crocheted blanket thrown over the back and not enough cushions.

Vic watched her as she moved through his space. He was quiet for a moment.

“You know, no-one’s ever looked right in here. Not really. Not like you do.” His voice dipped, sounding bare, like he was offering something he didn’t know the name of yet. “If there’s anything you need; face cream, second thoughts, better music, just say.” He tried to skate over the depth of his emotions with a wry grin.

"I used to be a detective,” Pia reminded him. “I've still got the instincts. I clocked your vinyl and the record player. Let me choose an LP, Vic. We'll both learn something about each other." She slowly and reverently leafed through the 12-inch albums. They were physical evidence far more significant than a million Spotify playlists. When a single disc cost more than a month's streaming subscription, people chose their music carefully.

Pia chose Rumours, an album where just the cover photo suggested a kind of magic. The guy in a vaguely Shakespearian costume, with those weird dangling balls, and the girl who looked like a sprite, her arms spread like wings, her leg lightly arched over his. Was she commanded by the crystal orb he held? Or did he supplicate her, while she hovered, deciding whether to grant a wish or just flit away? The next moment was unknown. The onlooker could read whatever they liked into it.

"What does this mean to you, Vic?"

Vic watched her as she held the album up in the warm, low light of the room, her fingers touching the cover like she wasn’t just choosing music, but divining some truth from the artwork. Drawn in, he walked closer.

“My mum used to play that record when she was cleaning. Always barefoot. She’d sort of… float around the living room, singing to the cat. I was a kid, just sitting on the rug trying to copy the drum fills with chopsticks.” He smiled, but it was a layered smile, fond, a little bruised. “She and Dad split up when I was twelve. I didn’t understand anything much about marriage, but I remember thinking, this album knows. It sounds like love when it’s messy, and furious, and still hopeful.” He tapped the cover lightly. “‘You Can Go Your Own Way,’ but somehow they’re still singing it together. That always stuck with me.” His eyes drifted to hers, steady now. “Guess I’ve always wanted something like that. Not the heartbreak part. Just… the staying part. The choosing each other again, even when it’s hard.”

"Oh man. That was tough, Vic. This record must have meant something special to your mother. It came out when your parents and mine were just teenagers, poised at the edge of adult life and love, and you and I weren't even remotely yet the thought of a twinkle in our fathers' eyes."

She put the disc on carefully, remembering how her father would operate his record deck, an antique piece of equipment she had never owned. The warm tones of vinyl filtered into the room with a crackle and the slight wobble of the warped disc. It sounded as imperfect as life. The distant surf could be seen but not heard from the balcony. The winter air was cool. Pia shivered.

"This isn't a song to dance to, not tonight. It's to lie down and... Just listen." She threw her ostrich feather across the room like a spear. Reclined on Vic's ratty old sofa without a blench. "Have you got something to drink, Bae?"

Vic stood still for a moment, watching her stretch out in all her barefoot, fearless glory, her words and the music lingering in the air like incense from another life. Second Hand News filled the room with jangly guitars and raw prophecy, the kind of track that dared people to start something they might not be able to finish, or maybe begged them not to finish something they had already started.

“My mum used to say this album’s full of ghosts. Not the spooky kind. The memory kind. Songs that never leave you.” He went over to the kitchenette and rifled through his modest stash; a bottle of red he’d been saving for a lonely night, a half-full bottle of Japanese whisky from Dan, and two cans of passionfruit hard seltzer someone had left behind long ago after a failed Tinder date. He lifted the whisky bottle, waggled it toward her. “I’ve got Yamazaki and bad decisions… or Passion Pop in a can. Your call.”

“Whisky, please. With a drop of water.”

He poured into mismatched mugs, not glasses -- it wasn’t a glasses kind of place -- and returned to the sofa, sitting down beside her. He handed Pia the drink and nudged her thigh with his.
“You know you’ve just turned this busted old couch into a throne, right? Like the Queen of Nowhere.” He leant back, one arm resting behind her, half-touching her shoulder without pressure. “I’m glad you’re here, Pia. Not just tonight. Here. In this city. In this mess of a life. It’s better now. It’s… hell, it’s warmer.” He looked at her, at the golden flecks in her eyes catching the lamplight.

"I'll Google the Queen of Nowhere later." Pia reclined, folding her legs up on the sofa, and lowering her head sideways onto Vic's lap. Not in a seductive way, more 'Please stroke my hair?' Short though it was.

"I actually do like your flat, Vic. It's very you. I'm thinking about you with other girls here. I'm not jealous. I've got a lot of exes. Not all of them bad. You can't get to your late 20s and have really lived, without gathering some emotional... patina."

The famous songs of Rumours, truly an all-time great album, filled the soft air. Pia sipped at her mug of whisky in an awkward sideways manner. She sniggered. "To say a lot of exes sounds so wrong. It's only..." She counted silently on her fingers, pretending to reach a huge number.

Vic laughed, a low ripple from deep in his chest, and absent-mindedly threaded his fingers through her hair, slow and rhythmic, like the sea combing a beach at high tide.

“That’s not patina, Pia. It’s texture. You’ve lived a life worth singing about.” He watched her count, mock-dramatic, then playfully tapped her wrist. “Want me to fetch a whiteboard?” He shifted slightly to rest more comfortably, letting her weight settle into him. “I’ve had a few. No long lists. No great loves. Just… almosts. Some good, some weird.” He lifted his mug in salute to the past. “But I’ve never had someone lay their head on my lap during Dreams and make my whole place feel like home for the first time since I moved in.” He took a couple of slow sips. “So maybe this isn’t about exes. Maybe it’s about what comes next.”

"What comes next is we listen to the rest of the album and have a shower and I throw you down on your bed with its dubious stains and make love to you." She wriggled with pleasurable anticipation. "Then in the morning you cook me your best breakfast. Which will be amazing. You go to work and I go home in my flapper costume and surprise everyone on the bus." She sighed.

The music played on. Sad and wonderful songs. You might not believe in the ways of magic. It might be time to change your mind. Pia took a deep breath, as if nerving herself for a confession.

"Vic,” she sounded a bit blue. “I need to buy a plane ticket. My visa's almost run out. I have to go abroad to renew it. I’ll be away for at least a week. Unless you can take leave and come with me. But it's fine if you don't. I know you'll be here when I come back." Pia waited to feel any change of Vic’s hand on her head.

Vic’s fingers paused for just a heartbeat, mid-stroke, mid-song, as her words settled like dust motes in the light.

A week apart.

Not long, really. But long enough to teach him what missing her would feel like. Then his touch resumed, slower now, more intentional. He brushed her fringe back, the better to see her eyes.

“I’ll be here.” He said it like a promise he already believed in. “Of course I want to come with you. But if I can’t get the time off, if I’m stuck here in bloody spreadsheets and conference room nonsense… I’ll still be here. Cleaning the flat, cooking practice breakfasts, playing Rumours on repeat like a teenager with a hot crush.” He smiled down at her, a crooked, open smile that held no fear now. “You go, do what you need to do. But know I’m counting down the days until you walk back in, toss your suitcase somewhere inconvenient, and say something wildly inappropriate before taking your shoes off.” He leant down, kissed the top of her head. “And if anyone on the bus asks about the feather boa, just tell them you survived Greystone Manor and lived to steal again.”

Pia smiled a lazy smile.

At dawn a few days later Vic stood with his surfboard on an empty beach, with mist hanging over the land behind him. He stared out to sea longer than usual before paddling out into the waves.

That evening he came back from the office. Threw his laptop bag onto the sofa. Opened the fridge. He had forgotten to buy milk again. He took down Rumours, but instead of playing it, he stared at the cover, tracing Stevie Nicks’ foot with his thumb.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 68: Arrivals and Adjustments

Pia took the JAL overnight flight, Sydney to Haneda, and landed just before 8am local time. She cleared immigration on her French passport, because her British one had less than six months validity. She went into Tully’s Coffee, bought a short drip, and used the WiFi to download a JetPac eSim for mobile data. She caught the next coach to Shin-Yurigaoka, where her family in Japan lived. At 11:11 she was pressing the interphone button set into the pillar at their front gate, next to a metal plaque in the shape of a squirrel, with the name Reese in Roman and Katakana symbols embossed into it.

"Hai." Her sister-in-law Hikaru answered.

"Ataa~shi de~su," Pia trilled, deliberately exaggerating a British accent, knowing that Hikaru could see her on the camera.

“Eeeeh? Pia-chan!” Hikaru’s voice burst with laughter, delighted and half-disbelieving. After a few seconds the front door opened. Hikaru was there in a tee shirt, workout leggings and pastel-coloured house socks, her arms open and face glowing with warmth. Her dark blue hair was pinned back in a looped bun that said, I’m doing things, but I still look like a ballerina. “Come in, come in. You’re early!”

Pia entered the genkan, and bent down to unzip her boots. Stepping up into the house, she went to hug her dear sister-in-law.

“Did you sleep on the plane at all?” Hikaru asked as they hugged, noting Pia’s smudged eyeliner and rumpled clothes. “Or are you just going for that cool detective-off-duty look?”

A squeaky toddler voice called out something between Mama and Macaron, and the faint, high-pitched tones of children’s TV echoed in Japanese.

Hikaru grinned. “Eimi’s already been telling her friends you’re coming. She calls you Pian.”

"Pian? That’s new. I like it. Here," she held up a carrier bag from the Ducky Duck counter, "I bought some cakes. Let's have elevenses and I'll tell you about the flight. Where's my big brother?"

“Cake?” Hikaru gasped, eyes widening with comic reverence as she accepted the bag. “Ducky Duck? You are a queen. Come in, come, come, sit! I’ll make coffee.”

She welcomed Pia upstairs to the airy living-dining space with its dark wood flooring, high ceiling, a large TV in one corner, and little groups of toddler toys in pastel tones.

“Yancy’s on a work call,” Hikaru said, opening the bag eagerly. “He’s wrangling bureaucrats. I told him you’d probably come straight from the airport wearing sunglasses and trauma.”

Eimi, sitting cross-legged in a tot-sized chair with a half-eaten onigiri, looked up just in time to squeal, “Pian!” She bounced up, nearly tripped, and bolted toward Pia with tiny arms flung wide.

“Careful!” Hikaru warned, but she was laughing as she set the cakes on the table.

“Did I hear the sound of my sister bringing bribes?” Yancy Reese appeared in the doorway barefoot, in jeans and a pale blue short sleeve shirt. His hair was longer than the last time Pia had seen him, but his dry grin was exactly the same.

“You’re early,” he said, then broke into a real smile. “And already being called ‘Pian’? That took less time than you did.”

Pian hoisted up Eimi and kissed her. "I've a present for you later, Eimi-chan. Hey, big brother, you're looking very well. Is it a Teams call? Do you have to go back to it?"

Eimi wrapped her arms around Pia’s neck like a limpet, squealing a breathy little “Prezzie” into her ear before wriggling happily down as if she wanted to scamper back to her chair.

She put Eimi down to give Yancy la bise and a proper sisterly kiss on the cheek.

Yancy leant in for la bise with a chuckle, ruffling Pia’s hair as she kissed his cheek. “It was a Teams call. And no, thankfully I told them I had a French hurricane inbound and we wrapped it up on time, for once.”

“Do French hurricanes travel light and bring pastries?” Hikaru asked, carrying over a jug of coffee and clinking mugs. “I’d like one every month, please.”

“Don’t tempt her,” Yancy murmured, settling into a chair with a creak and stretching his arms behind his head. “You’ll wake up one day and find she’s claimed squatter’s rights.”

He gestured to the dining table, set with a vase of flowers and a bowl of fragrant peaches. “Sit down and tell us about the flight. Did they let you bring your ridiculous jewellery collection through security or did you have to charm your way out of it again?”

"You're just jealous," Pia retorted. Yancy was stylish though a bit conservative. His only jewellery was a wedding ring and a nice wristwatch. Maybe cufflinks. A tieclip if he was really going to push the boat out.

Yancy smirked, glancing at his watch like it might offer rebuttal. “Jealous? Of your walking pawnshop chic? Never. Though I will admit you make chaos look coordinated.”

"Je m’en fiche. I brought a well-chosen selection. The flight was great. It's only 10 hours from Sydney to Tokyo. I slept through most of the night. Thanks to red wine and Nytol. A one hour time difference so no jetlag. The weather, though! It's the middle of winter in Australia, nice, often sunny but about 10 to 15 degrees most days and here I am suddenly in 35 Celsius and it’s so humid!" Pia nommed some cake and washed it down with black coffee.

Yancy took a bite of cake. “Red wine and Nytol, a classic Pia travel method. Glad it worked.”

“Oh, the humidity’s just warming up to greet you,” Hikaru said wryly. “You’re lucky the rainy season is over. We’re still pretending summer isn’t here.”

“I’d forgotten what it’s like. Anyway, how are you guys?”

Hikaru took a sip of coffee, and smiled softly. “We’re very well. Eimi’s been obsessed with trains recently, densha, densha, densha all day long. And Yancy’s team got their funding renewed, so he’s not pacing the floor anymore.”

Yancy nodded. “Thank goodness! No all-nighters for a while. We even managed a date night last week,” he added, as if it was a small miracle.

Hikaru grinned, nudging Pia. “We went to a place in Daikanyama, with horrible jazz and amazing soba. Eimi stayed with her daycare teacher’s sister. She came back after learning how to say ‘unicorn’ in French and spent the whole next day neighing.”

Eimi, as if on cue, reared up from her chair and snorted. “Korn!”

"Good news all around!” Pia said, and smiled at everyone. “Obviously you passed your intelligent machine-minded genes on to your daughter, Hikaru-san. Shall we switch to Japanese? I could use the practice and it would benefit Eimi's language development.”

Hikaru gave Pia a grateful look. “Honestly? Yes, please. She gets plenty of English from Yancy and too much from YouTube Kids.” She shot a suspicious glance at Eimi, who was now trying to feed a segment of mikan to a Pikachu cuddly toy. “But adult conversation in Japanese might balance things out. She’ll eavesdrop whether we like it or not.”

Yancy chuckled. “Go for it. It worked for you and me, growing up with English and French. She’ll probably be correcting your pronunciation within two days.”

Eimi nodded solemnly.

They settled into an easy rhythm, the soft clink of fork and china, the summer sun pressing on the blinds, the low hum of air-conditioning. The Kawasaki skyline was hazy and bright. It felt like a pause, a quiet chapter in a life that was sometimes too exciting.

“So,” Yancy said, nibbling his cake. “What’s on the Pia agenda this week? Visa stuff, obviously. But how about after that. Are you here to unwind, or are you hunting trouble again?” His tone was light and teasing, but the look he shared with his wife had a hint of big brother protectiveness.

At that moment the interphone pinged for attention. It was Pia's large suitcase, arriving by courier service.

"Good timing. Now I can give you the souvenirs." Pia quickly unzipped the case and dug out the gifts. "Just boring things, really..." She said, according to polite Japanese custom. Pia had brought several nice bottles of Australian red wine for her brother, a catering pack of Tim Tams and as much frozen smoked salmon as she could carry for Hikaru, and for Eimi, an illustrated children's early reader of Aborigine folk tales.

Yancy’s eyes lit up at the sight of the wine. “Boring? This is diplomatic capital. I can forgive you for forgetting my birthday last year now.”

“I didn’t forget,” Pia tossed over her shoulder, fishing deeper into the suitcase. “I just reallocated it.”

Hikaru lifted the vacuum-sealed salmon like a treasure from a sunken galleon. “Eeh! Proper cold-smoked. This with rice and shiso… Oishii! You know me too well.”

“If you freeze it quickly it will last for months,” Pia told her. “And don’t waste it on me. I can get as much as I like back in Sydney. The seafood is amazing.”

Eimi took the book from Pia’s hands and plopped down on the tatami mat, flipping pages solemnly with a finger on each picture.

“Look at that,” Yancy murmurs, peering over her shoulder. “She loves it already.”

“It’s from a series,” Pia said, brushing hair from her eyes. “The stories are from the Dream Time, retold for children with modern illustrations. I thought it would give her a different view of Australia to Bluey. The author and artist are both Aboriginals.”

Hikaru knelt beside Eimi, translating a phrase or two into Japanese when her daughter pointed and asked. It became a quiet, warm moment, laced with the soft scent of tea and a distant cicada’s whine from the balcony.

Yancy leant back in his chair, nodding to Pia. “Thanks, little sister. Seriously. It’s lovely to have you here.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Would you like a nap, a shower, or something proper to eat? Or are you going to hit the town straight off the runway?”

"Fucc no! Excuse my language. I mustn't parade my Aussie habits around Eimi-chan. I haven't washed for nearly 24 hours and I'm not Jean Harlow." She sniffed at her armpit and wrinkled her nose. "I need a shower and a change of clothes, then I'd take you all out for a late lunch, if you’re available. I might look around the shops afterwards.”

Yancy laughed, and clapped a hand over his mouth in mock horror. “Eimi-chan, cover your ears, your aunt is shedding her British elegance.”

“Don’t worry,” Hikaru said, scooping Eimi into her lap. “She hears worse from her daycare friends. But yes, shower is step one. Towels are in the linen cupboard, right-hand side. You remember?”

Pia was already rolling her suitcase toward the tatami room. “Thank you. I can smell myself from here. I'll probably flake out pretty early this evening, because travelling is tiring and I need to get an early start tomorrow. I have appointments at the British and Australian embassies. Are the trains still hellish during rush hour?”

Yancy called after her, “The trains are still hellish during rush hour, yes. Even more so if you try to use the Inokashira Line. But you can go in the Women Only carriage so it won’t be too bad. You’re heading for Minato-ku, yeah?”

“UK first, opposite the Imperial Palace.”

“I’ll give you an iced coffee for the morning,” Hikaru added. “Unless you’re back in your noir phase and planning to stride in with a cigarette and fedora?”

“You joke, but I could see it,” Yancy muttered.

Eimi followed Pia down to the bathroom and knocked on the door with authority. “Pian, hurry! I wanna lunch!” Inside, the water hissed on. Pia’s laughter echoed faintly through the door.

All according to keikaku.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 69: Ice Cream Directive

The house seemed to change a little as Pia emerged from the tatami room, as if a breeze had swept through it.

An oversize Breton tee-shirt skimmed her shoulders, tucked into her khaki culottes, a look that said unbothered, but observant. Her bare legs and short white socks gave her the energy of a stylish language student who might also moonlight as an art thief. Her Launer crossbody bag gleamed discreetly at her hip, its clean lines balancing her rangy stride.

On her right wrist, a set of five thin gold bangles caught the light with each movement; on the left, her Hamilton watch gleamed, sharp, restrained, elegant. Small gold hoop earrings completed her armoury.

Yancy, leaning in the kitchen doorway, gave a low whistle. “You’re going to make the entire Odakyu Line rethink their life choices.”

Hikaru simply smiled. “Very Tokyo-ready.”

Eimi pointed at the Marita sunnies perched on Pia’s head. “Pian wa spy!” she declared.

"Where did that come from, Eimi-chan?” Pia knelt to get to eye level with the little girl.

Eimi looked solemn, and proudly held up her picture book, the one that Pia had brought. She pointed to an illustration of a wedge-tailed eagle in sunglasses, standing beside a campfire and speaking to a kangaroo in a police vest.

“Spy!” she insisted, then tapped Pia’s sunglasses for emphasis. “Same!”

Yancy squinted at the page. “Is he a good guy or a bad guy?”

“He’s a good guy, a guardian spirit,” Hikaru said, grinning. “But to Eimi, anyone cool in sunglasses is clearly in espionage.”

Eimi nodded seriously. “Spy Pian. Zoom.” She mimed taking off in a helicopter by waving her two chubby fists.

Pia couldn’t help but laugh. “I accept this promotion,” she said, putting on her hat. “But I want a better expense account and a helicopter with cake launchers.” She checked her make-up, light, subtle, with good sun protection. "Right, where are we going? It's my treat, so pick whatever you like. As long as they have ice cream."

Yancy raised an eyebrow. “Ice cream as a necessity? That narrows it down to about ninety percent of Tokyo.”

Hikaru finished tying Eimi’s sandals with a quick double-knot. “Let’s head to Shimokitazawa. It’s only a few stops and has everything; good lunch places, cute cafés, vintage shops. We can find a spot with shade and aircon.”

“Ice cream too?” Pia asked. She stepped into a pair of black loafers and was ready for the road.

“There’s a craft gelato place right near the station,” Yancy confirmed. “The owner wears a bowtie and talks about texture like it’s a religion. You’ll love him.”

“I’m already intrigued,” Pia murmured, adjusting her bag.

Eimi swung her tiny backpack over one shoulder like she was off to a stakeout. “Spy Pian and me go!”

The family spilled out into the street, where cicadas were buzzing in the midday heat. Pia snapped down the brim of her Panama as the sun hit her face, and slipped her sunglasses into place with practiced flair. The Greater Tokyo conurbation hummed, hot, humid, and electric with the nerves of 37 million people. It was time to play tourist and auntie in one of the most exciting cities on Earth.

Though Pia had lived in Tokyo for almost a year, she was still surprised at how crowded it was compared to nearly anywhere else except London or Paris. Even in suburban Shin-Yurigaoka there were hundreds of people going around the main shopping and transport hub. Over 20,000 passengers used the train station each day. The concourse held a dozen ticket vending machines, and queues were common. She topped up her Pasmo transit card.

The journey to Shimokitazawa was just over 30 minutes. Yancy and Pia got Hikaru and Eimi safely into a priority seat. It was rude to talk on trains in Japan. Foreigners who did were normally ignored, as long as they weren’t too loud, but the Reese siblings had spent enough time in Tokyo to have gone native. Straphanging, Pia used the time to daydream, people-watch, and rediscover the suburban scenery rushing past outside. At Shimokitazawa Station... "Which exit?"

Yancy scanned the signage with an old commuter’s eye, already angling them toward the correct turn. “South exit. It’s the one near the theatre and all the cafés. Easier with Eimi’s stroller too.”

Shimokitazawa Station, even post-renovation, still had that maze-like feeling, with signs in slightly clashing fonts, staircases that didn’t feel quite sequential, and tiled floors that rang with the footfall. Outside, the humid air hit again, thicker here, mingling with the scent of food from bijou cafés. The sun-warmed pavement shimmered.

Hikaru shaded her eyes with one hand. “Let’s find somewhere with a fan or at least cold drinks. Eimi’s already melting.”

Eimi, flopped dramatically in the stroller, gave a weak “Aisu...” and fanned herself with her picture book.

Around them, Shimokita buzzed with its off-beat vibe: young couples in breezy coordinates, musicians lugging instrument cases, shopgirls in sneakers and summer dresses, aunties with parasols. It was Tokyo cool with a lived-in edge.

Yancy gestured toward a narrow lane. “There’s a soba place just up here. Aircon, handmade noodles, and that gelato joint’s right across the street. How does that sound?”

"Ideal! I haven't had proper soba in an age. Though there are a lot of good Japanese restaurants in Sydney. There's a cool little izakaya a few minutes from my flat. I sometimes go round there just to chat to the Master. He's Japanese. Well, maybe that sounds like I’m chatting him up. I just mean I have a meal and a chat. I mean I might have wanted him to chat me up. A bit."

There was a nine-minute wait for a table in the soba shop. Pia moved to stand between Eimi and the sun. "This is a good chance to talk.” She switched to English, for the sake of privacy. “What's going on in life other than work for you? Had any good trips away?

Hikaru fanned herself with a paper menu, grateful for the sliver of shade Pia was providing.

“We went to Izu for a weekend. Just us and the sea. Eimi threw sand at a crab and then apologised to it for half an hour.”

Yancy leant against the bamboo-screened wall, arms folded loosely. “We’ve mostly been homebodies. Summer’s so hot now, and between Eimi and work, we’ve been trying to enjoy the quiet.”

He gave Hikaru a glance, not quite loaded, but deliberate. Hikaru met his eyes, then turned back to Pia with a soft smile. “We’ve been talking about another baby.” She watched Pia’s face, gauging her reaction, voice casual but edged with something quieter. “I’ve missed one period, but that’s not unusual for me,” she said lightly. “So it’s not a big announcement or anything. Just a maybe.”

"Wow!" Pia smiled broadly, "It sounds like you've been doing more than just talking. I won't tempt fate by saying congratulations yet, Hikarin, only that I'm going to have to work hard to catch up.” She gave her sister-in-law a bow. “Yancy, have you ever told Hikaru that story Daddy likes to tell about how you were conceived?"

Yancy groaned immediately, putting a hand to his forehead like he’d just been issued a fine by the universe.

“Oh no. You’re not dragging that story across international borders.”

But Hikaru is already grinning, eyes sparkling. “What story?”

“It’s actually kind of romantic,” Pia added sweetly.

Yancy narrowed his eyes at her. “Only if your idea of romance involves parental oversharing and stopwatch timing.”

Hikaru leant forward, her anticipation delight mounting. “Tell me.”

He sighed. “Fine. Daddy always says, and I quote, they decided they wanted a baby, so they read up about the process, did all the tracking, circled the crucial dates on the calendar and,”

“Timed everything perfectly,” Pia cut in. “A few weeks later, Mummy weed on the stick, it came up positive, they went to the GP, and the doctor said, ‘Congratulations! Have you been trying long?’”

Yancy lifted his hand like a referee. “And Daddy goes, ‘About a week.’”

Hikaru burst out laughing. Eimi blinked up at the adults, then started laughing too, just to be part of the group.

“That’s so your parents,” Hikaru manages. “Efficient and terrifying.”

Yancy shrugged. “British-French alliance. What can I say.”

Just then, the restaurant host popped out and bowed. “Table for five?”

Pia was already reaching for Eimi’s hand, still laughing softly. The heat, the promised noodles and ice cream, and the maybe-baby, all swirled into a bright summer memory.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 70: Tokyo Calling

"@Bae: Hey, Vic?"

Victor’s reply came within a minute, so quick, he must have had his phone in his hand, maybe scrolling, waiting for her message.

“@Pia: Hey beautiful. You ok? You just finished lunch, right?” There was a little typing pause, then another message followed: “Is it weird I miss you already?”

"It's only a 1 hour time difference. You're ahead. But [i]fucc it's hot here! It's the middle of summer. We had a late lunch, then I split off to do some shopping. And to message you.[/i]"

“Yeah, you’re right, it’s 6 here. Just finished work.” Another pause. “I like that you messaged. Been thinking about you all afternoon. How’s Tokyo been so far? Family behaving? Anyone tried to recruit you into a spy ring yet?”

"Yeah, my niece Eimi. She says I'm a spy because of my sunglasses. It's from a story in the book I gave her. The pics are really cool. She's only two and a bit. Cuter than, something very cute. Many buttons. I remember when Yancy got engaged to Hikaru, my aunt said their children would look like Keanu Reeves. That might have been inappropriate. She meant well, though. Keanu Reeves is smoking hot even still. How are you doing, Bae? Eating well? I'm stupid, it's been less than, how long?”

“Pia, it’s been about 36 hours since I last saw you and yes, I’m acting like you’ve gone to Mars. Sue me.” He laughed at himself. She couldn’t know. “Eimi sounds like a legend already. Spy Pian. I hope you leaned into it and whispered classified secrets to her over lunch. Also, your aunt wasn’t wrong. Keanu is timeless. If I met toddler Keanu Eimi on the street I’d probably hand her my wallet and a tiny motorcycle. As for my diet, I’m doing okay. Ate leftovers. They were… edible. I miss your cooking. And your wine.”

Another pause. Then: “I miss your face. Like, a lot.”

“Wait a minute.” Pia activated her camera and changed the chat to a video call. "Tada! I'm in a jazz café called 'Last Night Music Saved My Life.' In Shimokitazawa. I think it’s a really cool name."

Vic’s face lit up instantly. His hoodie was off, and hair a little messy from an after-work shower. His expression went soft in that very specific Pia-only way.

“God, look at you,” he said, voice low and warm. “You’re glowing. Is it the jazz, the food, or seeing the family?”

She panned the camera around. The space was all polished, honey-blonde wood, mostly shelves full of vinyl records and high quality loudspeakers. There were a few patrons at the tables, and a bar where the middle-aged master smiled and waved at the smartphone. Obviously Pia had already made a friend of him. The slow pan ended on Pia's face, half-smiling.

"I miss you, Vic. I want to bring you here. You’d love it. And there's good surfing in Japan. The Olympics beach is only an hour away by train."

He watched the slow sweep of the camera with genuine interest, brows lifting slightly at the wall of vinyl, the blond wood, the older man’s friendly wave. “That place is so you. I’d already be halfway to buying a new turntable just to fit in.”

When the camera came to rest on Pia again his tone changed, edging slightly quieter. "I miss you too. You know, I’ve never even been to Japan. If I came, I’d want it to be with you. I think I’d love seeing it through your eyes.”

He scratched the back of his neck and added, “Also, I’m incredibly down for Japanese surfing. I mean, pot noodles, waves, you in a wetsuit, how could I say no?”

"We'll make it happen, Vic. Some day soon. Also there are onsen, that's hot springs, and temples and such great food! Listen. What do you want for a present?"

Vic grinned, tipping his head like he was considering this with genuine gravity.

“Hmm. What do I want from Tokyo?” He tapped his chin theatrically. “Well… I already have one beautiful, mysterious thing from Japan who left me a bottle of Creed and socks in the bathroom.”

He leant in a little closer to the screen.

“But if I had to choose… surprise me. Something you saw and thought, this is a Pia gift. Doesn’t have to be expensive. Just, y’know. Something you touched.”

He paused, then added with a slow smile, “Unless you want to bring back a vintage jazz LP and explain to the customs officer why it smells faintly of whisky and heartbreak.”

Pia grinned. "Maybe a litre of cheap vodka and 200 cigarettes? Listen, I've got to go now, Bae. I've got a full day tomorrow. UK embassy in the morning to start my passport renewal. It's a 4 hour emergency turnaround. Then I'm off to the Australian embassy to hand it in for my visa renewal. I'm not going to have the chance to go surfing for a while, so go and catch some waves for me?"

Vic laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Classic Pia: romantic gestures wrapped in duty-free chaos.”

He straightened slightly at her mention of the embassies, like he wanted to make everything smooth for her, and could only worry from 8,000 kilometres away.

“Got it. Diplomatic dash in the morning. Good luck. I’ll hit the waves in the afternoon, surf for both of us.” He lingered a moment, like he didn't want the call to end. “Text me when you’re done, yeah? Even if it’s just ‘survived bureaucracy, need cake.’ I like knowing where you are.”

"I should probably find that creepy and intrusive but somehow I'd like to give you my Google Location Services info." Pia pinged over a .cf packet which enabled Vic to track the location of her smartphone more or less in real time. She was currently inside a café called ‘Last Night Music Saved My Life’ a few hundred metres north-east of Shimokitazawa Station. He could even look up the café menu with a click. It was actually scary.

"I'll text you again once I've completed the formalities. 'Aishiteru yo'." Pia signed off in Japanese, waved, and cut the call. *I could sit here for hours,*she thought. *But, I'll see him next week.*

Victor stared at the little location packet for a moment, then tapped to open it, and just... smiled. Quietly. The little pin blinking over Shimokitazawa felt surreal and intimate all at once. He zoomed in, found the café name, even skimmed the menu. Hot drinks. Cold brews. A set toast plate. A whisky list.

“Of course she’d find a place like that,” he murmured to himself, still smiling.

“Aishiteru yo.” He repeated it softly, savouring the weight of it. Pia didn’t think he knew what it meant, but he’d remembered it in some song lyrics on a Pizzicato Five LP. Not “see you later” or “miss you,” -- “love you.” Even though she had said it in Japanese.

He leant back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, feeling suddenly more cheerful.

“Okay,” he said out loud to no-one. “One week. 10 days at the most.” He brought up tomorrow’s surf forecast.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 71: Place of Issue

The Embassy of the United Kingdom was at one of the most prestigious addresses in Tokyo, opposite the Imperial Palace. It had a flag out front, discreet security, and a reception desk staffed by a crisp young woman in a navy sheath dress and a lanyard.

The waiting area was cool and bland: metal framed chairs with dark brown upholstery, and a stack of old Tokyo Weekender magazines. A large portrait of the King hung opposite faded tourist posters for London and the Cotswolds. The carpet was aggressively low-pile.

Pia checked in at 9:20 for her 9:30 appointment. She sat in the lobby wearing a smart, pale blue linen midi dress with short sleeves, suitable for a Tokyo summer day. Her face was lightly made up, with simple gold stud earrings in preparation for the official photo session.

*I miss the Queen,* she thought. *She was there before Daddy was born. What a day when she suddenly died! Of course we all knew she would but she had seemed eternal. Covid took a lot out of her, and losing Philip. But now we should bin off Charles and the lot of them. Should have done it when Lizzie was gone, or at least had a national conversation about the monarchy. Instead the whole fuccing Establishment railroaded the nation into going on like before. However Charles may not last for long. I don't wish him ill personally, of course...*

She rambled on in her republican brown study until she was called for interview.

“Miss Reese?”

The voice was northern English, Cumbrian, perhaps. The woman calling her was in her late thirties, with sandy hair put up in a smart French twist, and a soft-blue embassy badge on a silver lanyard.

“If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you sorted for your emergency renewal.”

She led Pia down a hallway that smelt faintly of printer ink and disinfectant. The interview room was modest, a desk with a computer, a camera setup, fingerprint scanner, and a faint hum of air conditioning. There was a tiny Union Jack next to a monitor tilted a few degrees off-centre.

“Right,” the official said as she sat, folding her hands in front of her keyboard. Her name tag read Amy Weston – Consular Section.

“So. You’re applying for a ten-year adult passport, emergency issue, on grounds of travel requirements?” She eyed the form, then looked up at Pia properly for the first time. “It says here you were issued your first adult passport at eighteen. That’s this one here?” She slid the slim burgundy booklet across the desk.

The photo stared up at them, barely Pia, a straight fringe, sullen eyes, skin smooth and unconcerned. That young woman was just a girl. Still a virgin in all the important senses. She hadn’t pulled a trigger. Hadn’t loved anyone. Hadn’t got her heart broken. Amy glanced at the photo, then at present-day Pia, and offered a practiced smile.

“You’ve kept it in good condition. Have you been anywhere exciting?” Her tone was lightly conversational, but there was a glint of habitual scrutiny behind the question.

"My little niece is called Eimi. She's so cute!” Pia blurted out nervously. (It was the Japanese transliteration of Amy.) “Sorry, I should stick to the official process. Well, I've been to the USA, France, several other EU countries, and Australia and Japan, obviously, ha ha, or I would not be here." Pia left out her Interpol missions in Lebanon, Dubai and Australia. They had all been done on a French cover passport. She knew better than to complicate matters.

Amy noted the black leather cover with a brief flicker of understanding, maybe she, too, missed the quiet authority of the burgundy red and the EU gold. She smiled politely at Pia’s comment about her niece. “Cute name,” she offered, fingers tapping softly at the keys.

As Pia listed her travel, Amy’s gaze paused for just a flicker on the visa pages. She scrolled through the digital file linked to the passport number. Then, “I see no EU visa stamps in here, and no current Japanese visa,” she said in her even, professional voice.

"I used my French passport," Pia presented the EU document. "It's got over two years left on it. The British one has less than six months. All the different regulations around the time you need on your passport to get a visa are so complicated that I thought it best to use my French passport this time. I've used my British passport before. The visa stamps are in it.” She pointed out the entry and exit stamps from her visit back in May. “But now I need to renew my UK passport so I can reapply for my Australian visa, because that's in it and technically I'm renewing the visa, not applying for a new one. Maybe I should have applied for a new Australian visa in my French passport. But I wanted to do everything by the book. Because there's a guy waiting for me in Sydney. I don't know what we'd do if I got refused entry. I'm sorry to go on so much, Ms Weston."

Pia smiled ingratiatingly. Her pose in the chair was upright and slightly nervous. Anyone thrust into the maw of the immigration beast has to be careful these days, however legally and morally valid their status may be.

Amy softened, not exactly warmly, but with the practiced kindness of someone who’d seen too many stressed travellers trying to explain tangled logic to an indifferent system. “I understand completely,” she said. “It’s a grey area. Dual nationals often have to do more work to follow the rules than people with just one passport. It sounds like you’ve been navigating it responsibly.” She flipped through Pia’s French passport, cross-checking entry dates with the Japanese system on screen. “I’ll make a note here that you’re providing both documents voluntarily. That tends to head off any confusion when you present your new UK passport for your Australian visa transfer.”

Her fingers tapped again.

“Now, a few standard questions, just for record purposes. You’re not currently under any legal restriction in the UK or abroad? No pending investigations, warrants, or applications for asylum or nationality?” She glanced up, then added with just a trace of dry humour, “You’d be surprised what people put on record.”

"I was completely cleared by the Honolulu police," Pia said, slightly nervously. "I don't know how I would prove it except I'm here now and you can look at the US visa stamps. And the Australian ones. I can give you the contact details for my attorney in Hawaii. She'll have the legal details of the case.”

Amy’s brows lifted very slightly, not in suspicion, but as someone trained to notice when an answer left a shadow. “I see,” she said neutrally, her eyes flicking once more over the US and Australian stamps. “Well. There’s nothing flagged in your UK record, so there’s no cause for concern from our side.” She clicked into a different form field and typed in a short note. The clatter of the keyboard was suddenly very loud. “I won’t ask for details,” she added, her tone more human now, “but it’s good you were cleared. Most people wouldn’t bring it up unless they wanted it on the record.” She looked back to Pia. “Would you like to change your place of birth in this renewal? I could make it London.”

The quiet implication was, This is the moment to draw a line between past and future. Or not.

"Do you mind if I ask where you were born, Ms Weston?"

Amy hesitated, just a beat, surprised, but not offended. Then she gave a small, almost conspiratorial smile, as if recognising a fellow traveller in unexpected places. “Carlisle,” she said. “Near the Scottish border. I used to think it was the middle of nowhere. Now I miss how quiet it was.” Her fingers hovered above the keys. “Why do you ask?” she added, not sharply, just curious.

"I was going to say that I was born in Hounslow, which I've never thought sounded good, and if you had been born there it would have caused offence. Or perhaps we might have bonded over it. Anyway, I was born in the West Middlesex University Hospital, which actually is on the Isleworth bank, but it's within the Hounslow district. I don't know why I care about such a stupid little thing. But that's where my maman brought me into the world, and I want it to stay like that."

Pia actually welled up a little, thinking of her mother's 36 hours of labour, her father trying to awake the whole time to support her, until the new baby girl began her life. A story told many times at family gatherings.

"Excuse me. I'm being stupid." Pia dabbed at her eyes with a tenugui cloth. "It will be cool to have Tokyo as the place of issue in the new passport. Is there time for me to check my face before the photos? I'd hate to travel for another 10 years looking a hot mess. Though traditionally everyone's passport photos are dreadful."

Amy listened, really listened, as Pia spoke. She didn’t interrupt, just quietly let the moment unfold. When Pia dabbed her eyes, Amy didn't look away or down. She just offered the smallest nod.

“You’re not being stupid,” she said gently. “We all hold onto things that matter, even if they don’t sound important to anyone else.” Then, with a faint smile, she added, “And for what it’s worth, I’ve seen far worse than Hounslow on passports. One lad last week was born in ‘Dorking’. Said it with such shame I thought he’d emigrated to escape it.”

She stood, gesturing toward the door.

“You’ve got five minutes to check your face. There’s a mirror in the toilet just down the corridor, next to the water cooler. Once you’re ready, come back and we’ll take the photo. I’ll even let you do a retake, if you ask nicely.”

"But Dorking is lovely! Box Hill has amazing views, and there's a winery you can visit and have afternoon tea or a meal. We went several times when I was little. Thank you for your advice about the photo. I'll be quick."

Pia shut up to take advantage of the time to repair her face. There was no major damage. She was very good at emergency cosmetics, and easily restored things to an acceptable standard. When she returned, refreshed and composed, Amy gave her a discreet approving glance, not quite a compliment, but an acknowledgement of an effort well made.

“All right,” she said, gesturing toward the photo setup. “Stand on the mark, look straight ahead. No glasses, no hair over the eyes, neutral expression, though I suspect you know all this.” She made a few camera adjustments, then nodded.

“On three. One... two...”

Click.

Amy checked the preview. “Actually, that’s not dreadful,” she said, slightly surprised. “Do you want to see it before we lock it in?”

Pia appeared calm, clear-eyed, and somehow both composed and irreverent. A tiny flexion of just the corner of her eyebrow. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was very her. Ten years of lived experience in a single glance.

"That's great, but let's do a couple more for luck," Pia suggested, warming to the sympathetic official. "How many people do you shoot a week, Ms Weston? I bet you've got really good at it!"

Amy chuckled, adjusting the lens slightly. “I shoot anywhere from thirty to fifty people a week, sometimes more during school holidays or visa surges. It’s funny… My work’s in thousands of drawers around the world by now, stuck between boarding passes and expired rail cards.” She gestured for Pia to settle again. “But yes, I’ve developed a knack. Check the lighting, watch for the blinkers, and never let anyone smile too early. Shall we?”

Click.

“Still great,” she murmured, checking the result. “You’ve got presence. Even on a beige background.”

Click.

Then straightened, pleased. “The middle one is probably the best. Photos somehow tend to get worse if you take lots of them. I’ll finalise the paperwork and send it through for processing. The new passport will be issued by 14:00, on the four-hour turnaround. And the place of issue will read Tokyo. That’s a good line for a memoir, if you ever write one.” She gave a smile.

"Thank you very much, Amy. I was really nervous about all this and you've made it easy and straightforward. Will you be here when I come back?" A slightly odd question, really. Pia's flirt power asserting itself.

Amy’s brows lifted just slightly at the question, but there was amusement in her eyes. She knew flirtation when she heard it. “I’ll be here until five,” she said with a small smile. “Unless I get posted to Manila or Edinburgh in the next three hours. The Foreign and Colonial Office works in mysterious ways.”

She began to stack the completed forms neatly, clipping them with a blue plastic tab. “But if I’m not at the window when you collect it, just tell them Amy Weston said everything’s in order.” A final glance, maybe a touch warmer than strictly professional. “You’re a memorable applicant, Miss Reese. I think you’ll do just fine, wherever you land.”

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 72: The Next Chapter

It was nearly 10:00. The first administrative hurdle had been cleared. Now there was a good four hour wait until the second barrier, the application for her Australian visa renewal. The prospect of so much slack time made Pia restless. She went for a walk. She took photos of the Imperial Palace to send to Vic. But it was too hot, too humid. She began to wilt. Needing air conditioning, she dropped into a hair-and-make place on a whim.

"Ohayōgozaimasu. Yoyaku o gak nai desu ga, ii desu ka?" (I don’t have an appointment, is it okay?)

The air inside the salon was cool, fragrant with citrus and hinoki wood. Soft jazz filtered through invisible speakers, and the receptionist, mid-twenties, with an immaculate bob and black silk blouse, smiled with perfect composure as she bowed a welcome.

“Irasshaimase. Good morning,” she said in English, instantly deciding Pia’s native language from her blonde hair. Many Japanese assume any westerner must be American. “We can take you. Do you prefer cut, styling, or treatment?”

She gestured to a sleek touchscreen menu on the counter and tapped it into English. The prices were high but not outrageous. It clearly was a place that catered to businesswomen, diplomats, and the occasional visiting celebrity.

Behind her, two stylists waited discreetly. One, a tall woman with silver-dyed hair in a low knot, watched Pia with curiosity and interest. The other, a younger man with soft features and rectangular glasses, seemed gently excited to practise his English.

The receptionist smiled again. “You have beautiful face shape. Would you like recommendation?”

"Yes, please. I know it's getting a bit long." Pia's usual pixie cut had grown out over the past couple of months. "But that gives you more to play with." She switched back to Japanese in case her British idiom wasn't clear. "I mean I would like a short cut, a pixie cut. I can show you photos. It doesn’t have to match. I value your expertise in creating my style. I would also like a new face and my nails done. And my feet, please. I have two hours. Will it be enough time?"

The receptionist nodded brightly, clearly delighted by Pia’s easy switch to Japanese.

“Hai, ni-jikan ga daijoubu desu. That’s perfect,” she replied. “We will refresh your hairstyle, nails, and pedicure. A new face may take too long,” she added playfully, “but we can do beautiful makeup instead.”

The silver-haired stylist stepped forward with a quiet grace. “I’m Airi. May I take care of your cut?” Her voice was low, confident. “I would suggest reshaping your pixie, keep the length at the top, taper the nape. A mixture of Paris and Tokyo.”

Meanwhile, the male stylist gestured to a station already being prepared. “We can begin with scalp massage and shampoo, then nails during the cut, if that’s okay? We’ll finish with light summer makeup.”

A chilled glass of yuzu flavoured water appeared on the counter as if by magic. Another assistant came out from a back room. The whole team operated like a cloud, cool, efficient, enveloping.

Pia studied herself in the mirror: linen dress, gold studs, a faint shine of sweat on her neck and collarbones. The same bones, the same face as yesterday. But something in her eyes seemed more centred. She let herself relax completely, chit-chatting in Japanese and English about the heat, the worry of typhoons, the best places to visit, shop and eat. How delicious Japanese shaved ice is during summer.

Two hours later Pia left the chair looking as if she had been tuned, polished, and photographed in higher definition. She felt renewed and energised by her new look. It said, Don’t ask what she does. Just assume it’s something dangerous and poetic. She immediately took a selfie and sent it to Vic without any caption.

The message was marked Delivered. Then Read. And then, too fast to be cool, Vic replied.

“@Pia: Jesus. Hi.”
“Are you trying to cause a diplomatic incident?”
“You look like you just walked out of a Bond film where you’re the one doing the chasing. I’m going to have to go and lie down. Or go for a run. Or both.”
Then, after a pause, clearly rewritten twice: “You look incredible, Pia. I don’t even have words. Just that dumb little emoji with the heart eyes, but, like… real.”

Pia sent another selfie in which she was wearing a goofy wide smile. "My new UK passport is being processed. I can pick it up after lunch."

“Look at you, grinning like a criminal who just got legally bailed out of the country. Seriously though, congrats, babe. One step closer to coming home to me.”
“Should I be worried about how good you look in Tokyo? Because you are glowing. Like summer and secrets and expensive moisturiser."

"It's too hot and humid here, Vic. I'll videocall you later, when we have some time."

“Deal. I’ll be ready, showered, shirted, possibly even upright. And if you melt in the meantime, I’ll fly over with a bucket of ice and stand dramatically outside the jazz café you’ve retreated into. Talk soon, Pian. <emoji: kissy face>”

It was time for lunch. Pia found a place called Restaurant Patio inside the nearby Hanzomon Hotel. It offered all-day dining with western style food, and huge picture windows facing the Imperial Palace. It was an upscale venue. The customers were a mixture of businesspeople, higher ranking civil servants, and power couples on probably illicit dates.

The seasonal lunch set arrived on a pale melamine tray: chilled corn soup, grilled fish with yuzu butter, a salad drizzled with sesame dressing, and a mini baguette hot enough to steam when split. Her glass of white wine was dry and mineral crisp on the tongue. She didn’t rush. There was nothing to rush for.

Pia’s phone buzzed with a message from the embassy: Your passport is ready for collection at Window 3. She finished the last drop of wine, her eyes drawn to the Imperial Palace gates below. The thick walls of the moat used to support a huge castle. Now they hid the secrets of the Imperial Household.

She paid, thanked the staff, and made her way back through the sun-baked streets of Hanzomon. The British Embassy loomed pale and official in the dense humidity.

Window 3 received her without ceremony. The clerk passed over a sealed envelope containing:
One brand-new navy blue British passport, issued in Tokyo, crisp and untouched.
One deactivated burgundy EU passport with her teenage photo, and the visa stamps of a decade.

The old passport felt heavy. Nearly 10 years. Her whole adult life, full of learning and growth though experiences interesting, dull, joyful or dreadful.

A chapter was over. Now she could begin to write the next one.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 73: The Best of Both Worlds

The Commonwealth of Australia Embassy in Tokyo rose like a slab of modern pragmatism, glass, steel, and red sandstone touches to keep the expats sentimental. It was tucked behind a high security gate in Mita, surrounded by leafy trees and guarded by polite surveillance. The Commonwealth flag fluttered outside and there was a discreet, stylised kangaroo on a brass plaque beside the main entrance.

The visa and consular section had a distinctly Aussie flavour overlaid on Japanese efficiency. A QR check-in system with bilingual instructions, air con set slightly too cold, and the distant clatter of a printer that sounded like it had been around since the Howard government.

A young Japanese staffer in a neat navy blue suit greeted Pia at the reception desk with a polite bow. “Riisu-sama? Thank you for coming. Please take a seat. One of our team will be with you shortly.”

The seating area was full of faded brochures: “Study in Australia,” “Visa Guidance for Japanese Travellers,” and a battered flyer for “Life in Regional Queensland.” There was a mural of Bondi Beach across one wall, featuring three bronzed, hunky lifeguards and a pelican.

Pia could hear a cheerful Aussie woman chatting with a Japanese colleague behind the counter. The Aussie voice had a rich Sydney drawl and the kind of informal warmth that immediately put nervous applicants at ease.

“Right, reckon she’s our 14:30. UK passport, tourist visa renewal. Should be straightforward.”

The younger Japanese colleague murmured, “Hai. I checked the immigration notes already. Nothing irregular, but her travel pattern is very full.”

The Aussie woman chuckled. “A keen tourist... Alright, better not keep her waiting. Let’s see what the story is.”

Pia arched an eyebrow, pondering a jokey comment like, ‘You know I can hear you,’ but she knew it was best to say nothing. Instead, she took out her tenugui and coughed into it theatrically.

The cough did the trick.

A moment later, the partition door opened and the Australian consular officer stepped out, a woman in her late thirties with sun-bleached brown hair in a bun, sleeves rolled up, and a lanyard covered in enamel pins. She scanned the room, caught Pia’s eye, and smiled in that unmistakable Australian way, informal, mildly cheeky, fundamentally disarming and friendly.

“Miss Reese? G’day. I’m Claire. Sorry for the wait, you’re right on time.”

She gestured toward the corridor. “Come on through. We’ll get you sorted. I’ve got all your paperwork prepped, just need to verify a couple of things before we process the visa transfer.”

As Pia stood, Claire lowered her voice just enough to be conspiratorial. “And thanks for the cough. My colleague is lovely but he doesn’t have an indoor voice.” She winked, then added, “We’ll make this quick and painless, promise.”

Pia immediately warmed to Claire, which could be dangerous, she thought. "Please call me Olympe, Claire. Are you from Sydney? That’s where I’ve been living."

Claire grinned as she led Pia down the corridor and into a modest office, neat desk, a small vase of artificial eucalyptus, and a laminated chart about visa types stuck to the wall with Blu-Tack. A computer, of course.

“Cheers, Olympe. I like it. Elegant, but a bit fierce-sounding too.” She settled in behind the desk and flipped open Pia’s file on her tablet device. “Yeah, I’m Sydney born and bred. Inner west originally, but now I’m in the Blue Mountains when I’m not stationed overseas. Bit of air, bit of space. Hard to beat.” She glanced up with an amused squint. “And you? You based in Sydney full-time now, or still dancing between hemispheres?” Her tone was friendly, but there was a quiet precision behind it. Not suspicion, just the trained interest of someone who has an official duty and has heard every kind of story.

"I have a Jimny XL. Where in the Blue Mountains would you recommend for a camping trip with some off-road?"

Claire’s eyebrows lift, impressed. “A Jimmy XL? You’ve got taste. That’s a great little beast.” She leant back in her chair, clearly warming to the question. “Well, if you’re after proper off-road with a few days’ camping, you can’t go wrong with the Wolgan Valley. There’s an old track that cuts around Newnes Plateau, bit rough, bit stunning, and if you go mid-week, you’ll have it nearly to yourself. Good mix of gum forest and rocky outcrops.” She tapped something on her screen, then chuckled. “You’re definitely not the average backpacker tourist, are you? What’s the plan, escape the city with your bloke and vanish for a bit?” She glanced at Pia, eyes twinkling. “Or are you the kind who needs a bit of dirt under your tyres to feel at peace?”

"The Wolgan Valley, I'll remember that. Thanks for the advice. I'm a city girl really, but it's nice to get out into real nature sometimes. Especially with the right guy."

Claire smiled knowingly, her fingers still tapping through fields on the screen. “Aren’t we all, deep down? Bit of noise, bit of concrete, then a few days under the stars to remember we’re not just built for spreadsheets.” She glanced up again, this time with a warm professionalism. “Alright, Olympe. Visa details look straightforward, you entered Australia on your UK passport, and we’ve confirmed that document has now been renewed. I need to see the new one.” Pia handed it over, the ink barely dry. Claire did a double-take at the photo. “Woah! You had a make-over since this morning?” Pia nodded. “Blimey, you don’t mess around. Looks good though. Now let’s see, you’re applying to continue your current ETA, same status, same length, transferred to the new passport, correct?”

She paused just long enough for Pia to nod, then added, “And you’ve got valid UK and French citizenship. Nothing pending or disputed in either system. You’re not changing your Australian address or contact number?” Another tap on the tablet. “We’ve got you listed as residing in Surry Hills. Still accurate?”

"Unit 5, 10 Bloomfield Street. Actually, is there any chance to make the renewal for six months? Or even a year?"

Claire’s eyebrows arch just a little, thoughtful. “Hmm. Normally, the ETA stays fixed, three months at a time, renewable, but not extendable in one go.” She typed a few items, frowned slightly, then glanced at Pia with a little tilt of her head. “That said… we can lodge a Visitor Visa Subclass 600 application at the same time. That gives you the option for up to 12 months. Slightly different conditions, no work rights obviously, but if your finances are stable and you’ve got a solid travel history.” Claire’s eyes scanned the impressive list of entry stamps. “You’d probably get it. It’s a bit more paperwork, takes a week or so to process, but it’d mean you could stay longer without worrying about rolling over your ETA every three months. Want me to walk you through the form?” She smiled again. “And I’ll flag it as a dual-national returning applicant with strong ties. That usually helps.”

"Does it mean I couldn't go back yet? I have an open return, but I don't want to impose on my brother too long and, well, I miss my boyfriend already." Pia suspected her charms wouldn't work, but if girl sympathy could do anything, it was worth a gentle try.

Claire let out a low, sympathetic mmm, nodding slowly as she scrolled.

“Yeah, I get that,” she said softly. “Open returns are good for flexibility, but Tokyo’s not exactly known for its low cost of living, or private space. And if you’ve got someone back in Sydney…” She didn’t finish the sentence, just gave a small, conspiratorial smile. She tapped the screen decisively. “Here’s what we can do. I’ll submit your ETA transfer now, you’ll get confirmation within the day, and you can fly back on that without issue. Once you’re home, if you decide you want a longer stay down the track, you’ll be able to lodge the Subclass 600 from Australia.” She leant forward slightly. “That way you’re not stuck here waiting, and we don’t trigger any weird visa overlaps. Best of both worlds. Besides, I reckon your bloke will thank me.” As if she was giving a wink without moving her face.

"Oh, that's marvellous! Thank you very much, Claire. I feel like I don't need time away from Vic to make him want me more. If that makes any sense? If there's any concerns about financial stability, I can show you my bank statements." They bulged with steady monthly cash flow and substantial savings.

Claire laughed gently, pleased by Pia’s warmth. “Makes perfect sense. If you’ve got someone who already wants you properly, space is just… space. Not strategy.” She clicked through the final screens with practiced ease. “And don’t worry about the finances. You’ve already passed the vibe check, and the travel history one. We don’t need the statements until we’re processing the longer-stay visa. And that will be back home. In Australia, I mean.” A final tap, and she sat back, satisfied. “Alright. Your ETA’s now linked to your new UK passport. You’ll get a confirmation email by close of business. Welcome back to Australia, whenever you’re ready.” She smiled at Pia “And give that Vic a kiss from me. For putting up with the visa dance.”

Pia smiled and nodded her thanks. "I'll peck his cheek for you, Claire. Thank you again for your help. Now I can plan properly. It's a huge relief."

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 74: Bond Girl Energy

Pia quit the embassy with a spring in her step. The rest of the afternoon stretched out, the humid air somehow less oppressive now. A swim would be nice, though; the heated water actually cooler than the air. Real exercise without streaming sweat. The public pools would be rammed, but perhaps a good hotel? She rang the Imperial.

The Imperial Hotel’s switchboard answered with smooth efficiency, a woman with the gentlest of accents and a voice like starched linen.

“Imperiaru Hoteru de gozaimasu. How may I assist you?”

When Pia asked about pool access, the operator switched to crisp English without missing a beat.

“Yes, our Garden Pool is open to hotel guests and visitors with day access. We have a limited number of non-guest passes available this afternoon. Would you like me to reserve one for you now?” She added, almost conspiratorially, “It’s very popular on hot days like this. Especially with embassy staff.”

"Yes, please!" Pia replied, eagerly. "I have to fetch my swimming costume first, though. I can't get to the hotel for an hour. Would that be okay?" She gave her details.

“Of course, Ms Reese,” the receptionist replied with flawless calm, tapping the keys gently. “I’ve reserved a guest pool access pass under your name. It will be held until 3:30pm.”

There was a soft pause, then the woman added warmly, “Please check in at the Garden Building concierge desk when you arrive. Towels, changing rooms, and refreshments are included. We recommend the cucumber mint water, it’s surprisingly refreshing.”

A tiny chime sounded in the background, perhaps another call, but the receptionist didn't rush.

“We look forward to welcoming you, and hope you enjoy your swim.”

"Thank you very much indeed." Pia rang off and searched up the nearest sporting goods store. *I don't have a lot of time, but I can probably get an hour in the pool,* she told herself. A quick Google turned up a place called Slappy Surf, only eight minutes walk away. She rang them.

Slappy Surf answered with the relaxed, slightly chaotic energy of a small shop run by people who live for boardshorts and sunburns.

“Yah, Slappy Surf, Ken speaking!” The voice is male, Aussie-accented, with unmistakable Tokyo retail survival energy behind it.

When Pia asked if they had swimsuits for women, there was a shuffle of background noise, flip-flops against a wood floor, someone opening a fridge, faint surf rock playing too loud.

“Yeah, for sure. Got a fresh drop of Seafolly and a few local brands. One-pieces, sporty stuff, rashies too. Some bikinis but they’re more for show.” She could practically hear the grin. “We’re just behind the Sunkus on Gaien-Higashi Dori. Easy to find. C’mon over, we’ll sort you out.”

"Excellent! I'm a few minutes walk away." Pia strode out, her long legs eating up the hot pavement, glad of her breathable linen dress, which allowed the air to circulate.She had found that Google Maps always overestimated the walking time. Pia made the shop in five minutes. It was compact but well-organised, with surfboards racked along one wall, racks of swimwear and sunhats along the other. The ceiling fan wobbled heroically overhead, doing its best to stir some coolness into the humid air.

"Hello, you're Ken?"

Ken turned from folding rash vests at the counter. He was mid-thirties, with bleached hair, tanned arms, and a gold chain that caught the light. “That’s me, legend arrives early, just like the swell.”

“Hi Ken, I'm Olympe.”

He offered a fist bump instinctively, then reconsidered and gave a nod instead. “You the one wanting a new cozzie? Recognise your accent.” He gestured toward a rack of swimsuits already prepped. “Picked a few based on your voice, don’t ask how, I’ve got a gift. What’s the mission today? Classic? Bold? Or don’t-mess-with-me Bond girl?”

"I plan to rip up the pool, serious lengths, so I want something practical which isn't going to cause any wardrobe malfunctions. At the same time, I don't want boring. A one-piece with good coverage and a modern edge to it. And while I'm here, you can show me some surf stuff because I left it all in Sydney, and now I want to go out in Japan. Here's my sizes."

Pia showed Ken her phone, where she kept meticulous sizing information for UK, US, European, Japanese and Australian systems. She didn't care that this revealed her bust size and so on. She was on a mission for clothes, and it was no use being bashful about her anatomy.

Ken gave a low whistle, not at the measurements, but at the preparedness. “Mate, I wish half the guys who came in here knew their board length as well as you know your bust size. Respect. Okay, no bikinis, but I’ve got some other good choices.” He flipped through the rack with practised motions and pulled out three options.

A streamlined black racerback with a metallic bronze panel under the bust, just enough gleam to catch the light. High leg, but solid coverage. “Sporty but slick. Think Tokyo triathlete meets nightclub bouncer.”

A midnight blue one-piece with contrasting mesh panelled sizes. It had a subtle V at the front that was more sculptural than revealing. “Elegant, sharp, non-slip, no way you’re losing a strap doing laps.”

The Seafolly. It had the most classic cut, but was in high-tech charcoal fabric with a compression feel, and white piping. “No nonsense. This one’ll make you glide. And survive a cannonball.”

He hung all three side by side on a rail so she could compare them. “As for surf stuff, we’ve got Roxy rashies, a couple of killer Japanese brands, and I think I’ve still got a shortie wetsuit in your size. Water’s warm, but reef rash is no joke.”

"This one, the Seafolly. May I try it on, Ken?”

Ken nodded with instant approval. “Good choice. That one’s sleek as hell and tough as nails, you’ll move like a barracuda in it. You change, I’ll build your kit. Welcome to the Tokyo surf mafia, Olympe.” He hooked it neatly on a hanger inside the change room. “Give a shout if you need sizes up or down. And if it fits right, I’ve got a matching zip-up UV rashie in stock that’ll round it out nicely for beach days. Don’t forget to do a ninja kick in front of the mirror. That’s shop policy,” he said with a wink.

"WTF!" Pia thought, but she suddenly realised the good sense of trying some athletic moves to make sure coverage was total. She slipped out of her dress and bra, and into the swimsuit. It looked good, felt good, and offered reliable coverage without being boring. She stepped out of the changing room.

Ken, mid-way through folding a stack of logo towels, glanced up, and grinned like a man who knew when something was a hit.

“Well, damn,” he said appreciatively, not sleazily, just honest surf-shop awe. “That suit was made for you. Hits the line between functional and don’t-mess-with-me mermaid. He gestured toward the mirror. “Go on, give it the spin. You’ll feel it, no pinch, no slip, no drag.”

She did a couple of dance moves and Krav Maga strikes. The cozzie was as good as advertised.

“Do you want the matching rashie too? You’ll thank me if you hit Chiba later this week.”

"I'll take the Seafolly, the rash vest and anything else you recommend for a day out on the local coast, Ken. Ring it up and take all the tags off. I'll change back."

Ken gave a mock salute. “You got it, boss. Let me build your starter pack.”

Ken was already moving with purpose, clearly enjoying the assignment. She handed out the Seafolly to him and finished dressing. By the time she re-emerged in her linen dress, he’d assembled everything neatly at the counter:

The Seafolly suit, folded into a mesh carry pouch, the matching charcoal rashie, a pair of lightweight neoprene reef booties, low profile, good grip, a compact microfibre towel, blue with a stylised white wave print, a Slappy Surf branded dry bag in matte black, small enough to sling cross-body, and a bottle of water-proof sunscreen, SPF 50+.

“Not gonna lie,” Ken said as he scanned the tags, “You’ll look like you belong out there. Most locals just slip on a T-shirt and hope for the best. You? You’re giving well-dressed storm goddess.”

The till pinged up the total.

“Alright, Olympe. With the summer sale on rashies and the loyalty discount I’m pretending you’ve earned, you’re looking at ¥37,800 even, plus sales tax is ¥41,580.” He slid the card reader forward. “And that, my friend, is a solid investment in form, function and drama.”

"I'm a wahine, though I'm still a kook," Pia gave in her mixture of Hawaiian and Aussie surfer slang. “But I left everything in Sydney. Didn't think of a day out until I got here." She slapped her card on the reader.

Ken grinned wide, visibly delighted by the dialect drop. “Wahine with vocab, love it. You’re already kilometres ahead of the surf bros who come in asking what size board ‘goes with their energy.’”

The machine chimed, payment approved.

“Right, you’re officially kitted for Japanese surf. You’ll blend right in until you paddle out, and then they’ll assume you’re a sponsored athlete slumming it.” He bagged the gear into the dry sack like it was a sacred ritual, handing it over with both hands. “Go smash those lengths, wahine. And if you do hit the coast, send me a pic of your first local wave. Always good luck for the shop. Enjoy the water. And your trip. You’ve got good energy.”

Pia took a pic of the front of the shop, and summoned a taxi with the Tokyo city official app. Amusingly, the cab looked like the familiar London black taxi, but subtly different. An indefinable trace of Japanese design aesthetic in the contours.

30 minutes later she was standing at the end of the hotel’s pool, looking down at her reflection in the gently ripping water. The new costume looked svelte and chic, a modern take on a classic design, with understated white detailing of high-tech fabric. She dived in and began to treat the water to a serious thrashing. Sun-lounging guests and social swimmers gave her a wide berth.

After 2,000 metres of non-stop endurance swimming in various strokes, Pia was pleasantly tired. She climbed out dripping, and took a minute to compose herself and check out the other guests.

The Garden Pool terrace at the Imperial was a study in curated relaxation; businessmen nursing iced teas under parasols, elegantly dressed women dipping polished toes, and the occasional wealthy teenager sprawled across a sun-lounger in designer sunglasses.

But it was Pia they’d been side-eyeing.

Her crawl was too clean, her backstroke too sharp, her flip turns too snappy. She didn’t swim to cool off, she swam like she was clearing her mind for a duel.

A hotel attendant offered a soft towel with both hands and a respectful bow. “Otsukaresama deshita,” he said, the phrase usually reserved for someone who’s just clocked off a long shift.

Pia wrapped the towel around her shoulders and strolled barefoot to the edge of the deck, scanning the pool crowd. Mostly Japanese guests, a few international types. A middle-aged man in a linen shirt glanced up from his Kindle to watch her cross the tiles, but dropped his gaze when she noticed. In the corner, two women whispered, not rudely, just curious. Probably wondering who swam 2k in a designer hotel pool like it was a qualifying heat.

A waiter passed by with a tray of citrus drinks.

A nap was tempting. So was a cocktail. But there was still that glow of I’ve done something hard and real in Pia’s bones. A warm ache in her shoulders. Satisfaction in motion.

Vic was probably dreaming about her exactly like this.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 75: Everything’s Right in the World

It was rude to take pictures at the pool, so Pia waited until she was back in the changing room to send a snap to Vic. "Swimming at the Imperial Hotel. How do you like my new costume?”

Vic’s replies came quickly, a string of them, as if he’d been half-expecting something like this.

“@Pia: Are you trying to end me?”
“You look unreal. Like Olympic athlete meets Bond girl on a sabbatical. You look happy. Properly. Like you’re glowing from the inside.”
“That makes me feel like everything’s right in the world. Even if I’m just standing in my kitchen, barefoot, staring at my phone like a total simp.”

Pia's phone pinged for an arriving email. It was notification from the Australian embassy that her visa had been granted.

"@Bae: Bad news, Vic! They're going to let me back in for up to 12 months."

He replied within seconds: “Oh noooo… Guess I’ll have to put up with you for a whole year. Stealing chips. Sharing your Marmite. Hogging the duvet. Being insanely sexy for no reason.”
“You sure you can handle it? 365 days of me making you tea in weird mugs and trying to seduce you with my playlists? Come home soon, Olympe. Sydney’s boring when you’re not raising the temperature.”

"@Bae: I want to stay about a week. Go on a trip with the family. Visit someone's grave. Do some shopping. A day at the beach. Dinner with an old friend... I have to check the flights back. I’ll send you the timings when I’ve worked it all out.”

“@Pia: A week’s perfect. Do everything. Say what you need to say. Shop like you’re dressing for a second life.”
“I’ll be here. Picking you up at the airport. Probably holding flowers like a tragic romcom extra.”
“Text me your flight when you know. I’ll count the hours. Quietly. Manfully. And maybe rearrange my unit again. Just in case you hate the last feng shui attempt.”

"@Bae: Vic, just go out and surf! Get the boys round for some beers. You'll feel a lot better. I don’t mind if you mess up your flat."

“@Pia: Bossy and brilliant. I love this side of you.” The typing indicator kept running and running as Vic pinged off a series of messages as fast as a teenager.
“Alright. I’ll paddle out in the morning, Dan’s been bugging me to hit Maroubra anyway. I’ll make him bring the beers, though. That’s what mates are for.”
“Thanks, Pia. For caring like that. For bossing me gently.”
“I’ll surf, I’ll chill, and I’ll count the days till you’re back on your scooter yelling at traffic and looking like trouble I absolutely deserve.”

“@Bae: Mwah Mwah” <Emoji: Kissy face>"

“@Pia: Caught every one of those.”
“Filed under urgent. Archived under Olympe’s Greatest Hits.”
“And Mwah right back at you. Now go and enjoy being fabulous in Tokyo. Don't forget to eat something weird and wonderful for me.”

Pia smiled and put her phone away. She showered and changed back into her linen dress. Her make-up needed to be redone, which was a bit of a waste of the money she had spent at the salon, but she felt she had got some good selfies out of it, wowed the staff at lunch and at the Australian Embassy, plus Vic, and Ken at Slappy Surf. Overall it was a great morale boost. Money well spent.

Now she left the frighteningly expensive Imperial Hotel without a post-swim snack. Pia wanted to go home to Shin-Yurigaoka. But not empty handed.

"@Hikarin... Passport. Get!! Visa. Get!! I'm heading back to Shinyuri now. What should I pick up on the way? Ice cream... Chocolates... Or something sensible? I can cook dinner if you allow me in your kitchen."

Hikaru replied almost instantly, clearly on her phone during a lull in toddler management.

“@Pian: Omedetou, Pian!! You’re a proper citizen of the world now.”
“<Emojis: Globe showing Americas. Globe showing Europe-Africa. Globe showing Asia-Australia.> "

“@Hikarin: Ha ha! What do we need, really?”
“@Pian: We have vegetables and tofu, but we lack chocolate. Also Eimi says you promised ice cream. She is chanting ‘aisuuuu’ like a cult member. You have made a monster. I hope you’re happy.”
“Come home, cook for us, and I will surrender the kitchen. You may wear the sacred apron. Yancy will do the washing up. <Emoji: Saluting Face>”
“Also, how was the embassy? Did they test you for spy behaviour? Did anyone faint from your passport photo?”

"@Hikarin: The Australians have granted me a visa which can be extended to 12 months. I've already told Vic the bad news. Here's my new passport photo." She sent the selfie she had taken just after her hair-and-make salon session.

Hikaru sent a lightning stream of emojis: “@Pian: <Fire Fire Fire> SPY LEVEL: MAXIMUM <Fire Fire Fire> This woman does not just pass security checks, she interrogates the border.”

“@Hikarin: I wish. You can see the real one when I get back.”

“@Pian: Twelve months in Australia, huh? Is Vic panicking or building you a shrine?”

“@Hikarin: He seems to be pleased, somehow.”

“@Pian: Good. Then get the chocolate and ice cream. I’ll find a spare apron. Tonight, you are the housewife. We’ll all pretend to be normal. It will be glorious.”

Pia walked over to DelRey near the Ginza and bought a large box of handmade chocolates. The staff put it in a cool box with an icepack. She arrived at Shin-Yurigaoka Station at 18:00, dropped into the Baskin Robbins for a 12-pack of assorted flavours of ice cream boules, and reached the house by 18:20.

*This feels like a real home,” she thought.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 76: Love in Transition

Hikaru greeted her at the door with her hair in a high twist and Eimi balanced expertly on her hip, who immediately squealed, “Aisuuuu!!” upon spotting the Baskin Robbins bag.

"I have the choko and the ice cream, Hikarin. There's too much to eat all at one go.” She handed the bags of food to Hikaru, and began to unbuckle her sandals. “May I put my swimsuit into the laundry? Listen, you must let me take on my fair share of housework. Just tell me what you want me to do."

“You may put your swimsuit in the laundry,” Hikaru replied with mock formality, stepping aside to let Pia in. “And yes, you may take on housework, on two conditions. One: you must not fold towels incorrectly. And two: you must accept compliments with dignity when you outcook me.” She flashed Pia a grin. “Seriously though, thank you. Eimi will be eating ice cream on a rotation system. Toss it in the delicates basket. I’ll put a cool wash on after dinner. And once you’re done being responsible, come claim your sacred apron. You are now officially sous-maman.”

"I'm sure you're a better cook than me, Hikarin. I only pretend to be good by doing a few dishes well and varying them. I want to learn from you, especially some real Japanese home cooking." Pia put on the traditional happougi apron and joined Hikaru in the small kitchen. As they clattered the pans, naturally they had the chance for girl talk.

“You’re already better than half the husbands I know,” Hikaru said, laughing softly. “But I’ll teach you my version of nasu no nimono, and if you can master miso soup without measuring, you get your honorary Japanese auntie badge.” Hikaru handed Pia a knife and gestured toward the aubergines. “Slice them on a bias. Not too thin, you want them to keep their shape when they soak up flavour.” She moved carefully around the kitchen, clearly used to cooking with a toddler in the way, though Eimi was now entranced in front of an Anpanman video. Delicious aromas begin to bloom, soy sauce, sesame oil, a splash of sake, thinly sliced ginger. The rhythm of the kitchen settled into something very companionable. Hikaru gave Pia a sly look from under her blue fringe.

“So. About Vic. Tell me everything. The real version. How did you know?” She tossed something in the pan and added, “You don’t have to answer. But I always wonder what makes a woman like you stop running and start planning her groceries around someone.”

Pia paused her knife while she thought about her answer.

"I don’t know it’s gone that far. We're deeply into each other. But we haven't admitted it. The most important thing is that he makes me feel safe and loved. And he's accepted my faults, even the worst thing I ever did. And some other bad things I've done. He understands and accepts me and loves me despite all my bad flaws."

Hikaru didn’t say anything immediately, just gave a slow, thoughtful nod and went back to stirring the miso. “That’s rare,” she says at last. “Love is easy when it’s just flirting and kissing and looking nice. But when someone sees the worst of you and stays? That’s weight-bearing love. Foundation love.” She smiled sideways at Pia. “I think that’s what made Yancy real for me. He saw me through my thesis breakdown, my first proper failure at work, and once when I cried so hard I hiccupped for ten minutes. And he just held still. Didn’t try to fix it. Just stayed.” She tasted the broth and nodded to Pia’s sliced aubergines. “Those are perfect, by the way. And so is that man of yours. Stay open, Pian. Even the parts you’re scared to show him, especially those. If he’s still standing, he’s the real deal.”

"I'm going back for 12 months. If Vic doesn't step up to the mark, I'll figure out a way to manipulate him into it. Or maybe I'll just propose to him. Blam! He'll regret underestimating the power of a woman!” Pia chuckled briefly.

Hikaru laughed too, an actual snort of delight, and flicked a bit of water from her fingertips toward Pia like a blessing. “That’s the spirit. Blam! indeed. Just be sure your proposal doesn’t involve actual fireworks, or surveillance footage.”

“Noted. What's the next kitchen duty?"

Hikaru slid a small cutting board, a block of silken tofu, and a bunch of spring onions toward Pia. “Chop-chop. Thin slices for the onions. Fat cubes for the tofu. You want the green bits crisp, not limp.”

Pia made a complete mess of the tofu, which was as easy to cut neatly as soft gelato. Hikaru lifted the lid on the pot of miso, letting fragrant steam curl upward, and gently slid the mangled white curds into the soup.

“Let me show you my special technique for slicing spring onions.” Hikaru made diagonal cuts halfway through one of them, turned it over and made opposite diagonal cuts on the other side. “If you do propose to him, you could make it dramatic. Skywriting. Flash mob. Or maybe just whisper it while handing him a waxed surfboard with ‘Marry Me’ in lipstick on the deck.” Now Hikaru sliced the onion straight across, quickly chopping it into tiny pieces. Pia watched in awe.

"I don’t know, Hikarin,” Pia said. “I was thinking of taking him to an open mic night, and doing such a steamy set he would be overwhelmed and fall upon me like a wolf. I need to think of the right songs. But no-one wants to be publicly manipulated. Look at those Jumbotron disasters Americans specialise in where the hopeful guy offers his ring and the girl turns him down in front of a stadium full of spectators. No, probably a bad idea."

She began to wash up.

"Hikaru-san, you said nothing earlier when I mentioned the worst thing I ever did. You know what that was, because I hurt you as well in the doing of it. And even though I've been absolved and forgiven, I still am so very, very sorry about Hisashi." She began to cry. "I want to visit his grave. To say sorry in person. Please will you come with me? I don't know how to do proper honours at a Japanese graveside."

Hikaru moved gently, turning off the heat, setting down the ladle, and stepping over beside Pia. She placed a hand softly on Pia’s shoulder, not to shush the crying, but to anchor her. “You don’t have to cry alone,” she said in a calm, low voice. “Not here. Not with me.” A long moment passed, filled with the quiet ticking of the stove as it cooled.

Hikaru continued, her hand still gently rubbing Pia’s back.

“You did hurt me. You broke a lot of things back then. But you also loved him. And you didn’t lie about that.” She exhaled, a soft release. “I forgave you a long time ago, Pia-san. Truly. And Hisashi, he would never want to see you suffering like this. He knew who you were. He chose to love you. That was real, too.”

Pia sniffled and gave a small slow nod, a very Japanese bow of thanks.

“We’ll go. I’ll help you bring flowers and incense. I’ll show you how to bow, how to clean the stone, how to pour the water. I’ll stand with you, and we’ll say sorry together.”

A pause. Then a faint smile.

“And afterwards, maybe we’ll get shaved ice. Because grief is sacred, but so is sweetness.”

Pia smiled a grateful weak smile. She had no words.

Yancy came home from his business trip, noted Pia's red eyes and nodded. He was going to say something when Eimi grabbed his legs and clamoured to be hugged, so the moment was lost.

Everyone sat down to dinner. The windows were closed against the dense humidity of summer. The air conditioning hummed quietly. The food looked splendid, presented in a variety of Japanese flatware.

"Itadakimasu."

Eimi needed a lot of help with eating. She was barely at the spoon and pusher stage. Japanese children don't start to practice with chopsticks until about five years old. Pian took delight in serving her the nicest morsels, and wiping her hands frequently.

"How was your trip?" she asked her brother.

“It was alright,” he said in his dry, understated way. “The usual stuff. Long meetings, small talk, too much green tea.” He glanced at Pia with the ghost of a smile, quiet acknowledgment, not pressing, just seeing her. “Odawara’s hotter than here, if you can believe it. I spent half the time regretting every dark shirt I own. But I came home to this,” he picked up his bowl and inspected the miso appreciatively, “So I’m a winner.”

Eimi let out a babble of approval as Pia placed delicate slivers of simmered aubergine on her toddler plate. She slapped her tray table softly with both palms. “Umai!” she declared, her contribution to grown-up conversation.

Yancy chuckled, lifting his chopsticks. “My tomboy daughter’s got good taste. Who cooked?”

Hikaru raised an eyebrow and tilts her head toward Pia. Yancy paused dramatically, then bowed his head slightly in mock reverence. “Olympe Reese. Master of espionage, chef of delicate aubergines.”

"Uso jan!" Pia exclaimed. "I only followed the instructions of the head chef. But I did bring ice cream and chocolates for later. I'm glad you had a successful day, Yancy. I also was successful. I renewed my UK passport, and got a 12 month visa for Australia. And I went swimming, did a 2K."

Yancy raised an impressed eyebrow as he lifted his rice bowl. “Not bad for one day. Bureaucracy, immigration, and pool domination. Very on-brand.”

Hikaru chimed in, amused. “She even bought her swimsuit from a shop with a name that sounds like a prank.”

“Slappy Surf,” Pia deadpanned.

Yancy chuckled. “That sounds like something from an Australian children’s cartoon. Next episode: Slappy Surf takes on the customs agent.”

Eimi, understanding none of this but sensing the joy, clapped her hands again. “Aisuuu!”

Hikaru nodded at her daughter solemnly. “Yes, Eimi-chan. After the vegetables.” She turned to Pia. “I told her you brought twelve ice cream balls. She is extremely aware.”

“That was a tactical error, Hikarin. General Franco said we are the prisoners of the words we say and the masters of those we do not speak. Or something like that.”

The air in the room was warm with food and laughter, the kind of dinner where everything felt not perfect, but steady. Solid.

Yancy glanced at Pia again between bites. “Twelve months, huh?” It wasn’t a warning, and not quite a question, just a gentle invitation to let that truth sink in.

Pia changed the subject. "Slappy Surf is a real thing. A technical term. A difficult kind of wave breaking over a reef. I wouldn't try for them because I'm still a kook. But enough of that. I have to book my flight back and I can't do that until I've taken everyone for a proper onsen break at Hakone. My treat. So clear all your plans for the weekend."

Yancy let out a short laugh and held up his hands, equal parts admiration and surrender. “You come in like a summer typhoon and suddenly we’re all rearranging our calendars.”

Hikaru didn't look up from gently coaxing tofu into Eimi’s bowl. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she murmured. Then she glanced at Pia and added brightly, “Hakone sounds perfect. We’ll go by train, of course. I know a lakeside hotel with ryokan style rooms and a private family bath. Traditional, quiet. Kaiseki cuisine.”

Eimi, having heard nothing beyond the word onsen, dropped her spoon dramatically and shouted: “O-furo! O-furo!”

Yancy wiped his mouth and raised his glass of cold barley tea. “Alright. Hot springs, and mountain air to build up an appetite.”

"Excellent!” Pia said. “Let's plan it tonight. I understand that the washing up has been delegated to the male contingent so that we women can feast on chocolates. May I take Eimi to the bath first? She seems tired."

Hikaru nodded gratefully, stretching her arms out with a soft sigh. “Yes, please. You have won auntie of the year by a landslide. She didn’t even drop anything during dinner.”

Eimi blinked slowly, carb-heavy and floppy-limbed in a post-feast toddler way. She lifted her arms sleepily toward Pia, already murmuring “Tia Pian… o-furo…” like it was a magic spell.

Yancy started to gather the dishes with casual efficiency. “We’ll make tea. You two go and splash.”

Pia lifted Eimi gently and carried her to the bathroom, Eimi’s head resting against her shoulder, thumb tucked securely in her mouth. The house felt like a perfect little world. A kind of peace Pia had never quite expected. She showered with Eimi, rinsed off, and they got into the deep, Japanese style bathtub, heated to 41 degrees C. Before long, Eimi was getting red like a lobster, so Pia took her out, dried her off, and helped her dress in her nightwear. She sent the toddler to clamber up the stairs to the LDK, and finished her own ablutions. Pia scrutinised her reflection, winked and pulled a face or two.

"Maybe I can hack the mother thing. If I can hack the giving birth thing first. But before that, I need to hack the getting pregnant thing. And that depends on hacking the marriage thing. At least I know I can do the sex thing. That’s a start."

There was the quiet knock of a soft toddler fist, and Eimi’s voice came muffled through the door: “Tia Pian… chokorēto!” Pia chuckled, patted her face dry, and opened the door.

“Coming, little wolf. Let me just put on some pyjamas.”

She rejoined the evening with bright eyes and damp hair. Ready for chocolates, holiday plans, and another step toward hacking the family thing. The TV was on -- one of those typical Japanese magazine shows full of celebrity guests giving exaggerated reactions to food and minor surprises -- just a background to the family gathered around the low coffee table to concentrate on treats.

"These are such lovely chocolates!" Pia exclaimed, reclining on the floor in a shortie pyjama set. "They remind of this time I ended up ruining my bra with chocolates. I tried to get it replaced on expenses."

Hikaru nearly choked on her barley tea. “What?! You tried to claim a bra on expenses?!”

Yancy raised an eyebrow from behind his laptop, shaking his head. “I don’t want to know.” But he did.

"Two bras, actually, because I wanted a spare. To be fair, I got denied. The accounts department flatly refused the claim when they heard my explanation. But it was worth a try.”

“I know I’m going to regret this, but what actually happened?” Yancy asked, his eyebrows dancing.

“What happened was that I was at a party intime a deux, with a French friend, at his flat. We were drinking coffee and eating chocolates from The Highland Chocolatier. My friend went to make more coffee, and I had the idea of hiding some chocolates in my bra, which was a fairly expensive stick-on number because I was wearing a very deep scoop back dress. So I did that, and later on the results were everything I had hoped for. Except that the sticky of the bra was spoilt by something in the melted chocolate, and I had to throw it away."

Yancy groaned softly, dropping his forehead onto the table with a theatrical thunk. “Oh God. Why did I ever imagine this story would have a wholesome ending? I didn't even know a stick-on bra was an actual thing. What is it? How does it work? I should Google it.” He picked up his phone, then put it down. "No, I shouldn't."

Hikaru, unfazed, popped a chocolate into her mouth and chewed with slow appreciation. “Honestly,” she said, once she had finished, “That’s one of the most French things I’ve ever heard that didn’t involve cigarettes and a motor scooter.” She pointed at Pia. “You still remember the brand of chocolate, the cut of the dress, and the forensic cause of bra failure. That’s elite memory retention. You should have been a spy.”

Yancy, lifting his head just enough to look unimpressed, added, “Or a very expensive cautionary tale.”

Eimi murmured from her croissant curl on the sofa. “Pian chokorēto…”

The night deepened gently around them, wrapping laughter and warmth and treats into something soft and joyful.

While Yancy was putting Eimi to bed and reading her a story, Hikaru and Pia clustered round Hikaru's computer to make the bookings for the onsen visit. Romance Car tickets from Shinyuri to Hakone Yūmoto. Onward transfers to the hotel. Traditional ryokan style rooms with a view over Lake Ashinoko towards Fuji-san. A session in a private family bath.

"Remember when I visited when we were both still students, Hikarin? I was in my final year and you were just starting year two."

Hikaru smiled without looking up from the screen, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she input dates. “Of course I do. You arrived with two suitcases and a trench coat like you were fleeing a glamorous crime scene.”

She clicked on a link, then grinned sideways. “You insisted on wearing heels to Meiji Jingu and had blisters by noon. We had to stop at the FamilyMart in Harajuku to buy plasters and we ended up buying Matcha KitKats and false eyelashes too.” She paused, turning to Pia with mock sternness. “You flirted with the guy at the cash desk so hard he forgot how to work the till.”

Pia smirked, unrepentant.

Hikaru leant her elbow on the desk, suddenly softer. “You changed my life, you know. That visit was when I realised Yancy wasn’t just an accidental housemate with good shoulders.”

“You knew it before then, Hikaru. Yancy was the slow-coach. That’s why I came over.”

Hikaru looked back at the screen. “This one has the best view of Fuji-san. Want it?”

"Without a doubt."

Hikaru confirmed the reservations. Pia put in the payment details from her card.

"I won't say the whole purpose of my visit that time was to kick my brother's arse into gear, but something had to be done, Hikarin. The whole family and probably all your friends were tired of him dawdling along when it was obvious you both were crazy about each other. And it worked. Thus proving the value of my degree in Psychology with Criminality. Although I hadn't yet graduated."

Hikaru laughed as she clicked through the confirmation screen. “Well, I thought I was being subtle.” She swivelled in her chair. “Was that why you kept getting lost and leaving us alone together in cafés?”

Pia shrugged innocently. “It’s called strategic abandonment. I was field testing attachment styles.”

Hikaru groaned. “You weaponised academia.” She stretched her arms. The booking confirmation pinged up on screen; two nights, three guests, one toddler, family bath, and full board with seasonal kaiseki dinners. The perfect escape. She eyed Pia playfully. “If you decide to propose to Vic in a hotspring, I will not stop you. But I will expect to be in charge of photography.”

"There actually are hot springs in Australia but everyone wears a bathing costume. Can you imagine! No. I'm not going to do that."

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 76: Round About Midnight

The evening wound down. Eimi was put to bed, and the adults ate more chocolates while they watched a late night variety show, chuckling and snorting at the antics of the so-called 'talents'.

Eventually, Pia retired to her futon in the tatami room, and phoned Vic. An actual old-fashioned voice call. "Baby, baby, baby..." she crooned tunefully as she waited for the line to connect, then stopped because she had forgotten the rest of the song.

Vic’s voice came through, warm, low, with a soft grin creeping between syllables.

“Hey, hey, hey… What’s this, a call from my international woman of mystery?” She could hear the faint sound of waves in the background. He’d clearly stepped out onto the balcony. “I was just thinking about you. What’s up, babe? You sound relaxed and happy, like you’ve been eating chocolate, or made a plan.”

"I'm taking everyone to a hot spring resort at the weekend. That was the plan. I also ate chocolate. Tomorrow I'm going shopping and have dinner with an old flame,” she rattled on, “The day after I’m going to visit a grave. Surfing the next day, and more shopping the day after that. Then the onsen weekend."

“Okay, hold up,” Vic said, mock-dazzled. “That was a lot of content in one sentence.” He shifted the phone slightly. Pia could hear him sitting down on the creaky folding chair he used outside. “So, in summary: shopping, ex-boyfriend dinner, emotional reckoning at a grave, surfing, shopping again, and then soaking naked with your family.”

He exhaled like he was checking a mental list.

“Yeah. That tracks. You’re a tornado, Pia. You alright with all that? The grave thing especially,” he asked gently. “You don’t sound rattled, just that, it’s full on. A lot of emotion.”

"Yes. I want to do it. To say goodbye and I'm sorry once and for all to Hisashi. The worst thing I ever did. Put behind me at last. In every detail."

There was a pause on Vic’s end, sound-tracked by distant waves, the quiet kind of listening that meant everything. “Alright,” he said softly. “Then I’m proud of you. And I know he’d want that too. For you to go forward, not drag chains.” He cleared his throat lightly. “And if you feel shaky afterward, or weird, or angry or just… used up, then call me. Doesn’t matter what time.”

Another pause.

“I wasn’t there back then. But I’m here now. For all of it.” A beat. Then, lighter: “And I hope this ex of yours is extremely impressed by how hot you’ve become.”

"He’s not really an ex, Vic. Not an ex-boyfriend. More of an ex-colleague. I will dress up though, because I always do, for just about anything, and I'll send you a selfie.”

The ether was quiet for a couple of seconds, apart from the faint, not-really-real-sound of those odd digital ghosts who inhabit cyberspace, the place where phone conversations actually happen.

“Vic...?"

“Yeah?” His voice softened instantly. Pia heard him lean forward a little, as if he was reaching through the phone. “I’m here.”

"How's the sea looking?"

Vic chuckled quietly, like she’d caught him out. “Bit rough, actually. Wind’s up. Messy lines. It’s much too late to go out, but it smells amazing. Like salt and something electric. Ozone. You’d love it.”

He shifted again. Pia could hear his board bag rustling in the background.

“I was gonna go out earlier, but then I thought I’d wait. Let the tide change. Maybe tomorrow morning will be cleaner. Or maybe I was just hoping you’d call and distract me.”

Another beat.

“I miss seeing you in the water. I miss your terrible duck-dives and your smug little grins when you get one wave right out of ten.”

"You know I’m better than that, Vic!” Pia said with a bit of heat in her voice, “I don’t duck dive, I turtle.” She took a breath. “I’ll show you when I get back. But anyway, don't worry. I'm coming back on the. … … Oh what?! Oh gak!”... The audio volume went all in and out, as though she was waving her phone around in… Panic?! … “No way!! I can't believe I forgot... Hang on, I can... Just... I'll call you tomorrow, Vic. Good night."

Vic immediately sat up straighter.

“Wait, what happened? Pia…?”

But she was already gone. The line went dead.

He stared at the phone for a second, thumb hovering over Call Back, torn between instinct and trust. He finally lowered the phone to his lap, muttering, “Okay. She said she’d call tomorrow. She will.” Still, he didn’t move for a long time. Just sat there, listening to the sea and wondering what the hell she had forgotten and suddenly remembered.

Rapt in the familial bliss of the evening, and her contemplation of exciting plans for the rest of her stay, Pia had forgotten that she now had a valid passport and visa and could book her return flight.

"I wasn't even drunk," she moaned, rolling around on her futon in a physical manifestation of her mental turmoil. "How did I forget? Oh well. I'll do it now."

Pia tapped away like a mad thing, navigating the JAL app, and managed to book a first class ticket to Sydney on Tuesday night a week later. She sent the flight details to Vic and put down her phone. She relaxed fully, her arms and legs spread like a starfish.

The warm, humid air of the Tokyo summer suffused the small house. There were cicadas in the nearby park, making their 'miin miin' stridulations. Pia's various dates, bookings and appointments seemed all to be set. Most importantly, her return to Sydney and the arms of her lover. She sent him a late night selfie, her soft focus face in the edge of a pool of low power light, with a peaceful smile.

Vic’s phone pinged at 1:42am. He was still half-awake, lying sideways in bed with the central heating still burbling its winter song. The moment he saw her name, he forgot about the cold, the hour, the knot of worry still coiled up from her earlier abrupt goodbye.

He opened the photo.

She was bathed in warm light, quiet shadows, eyes soft, lips barely smiling, the chaos of the world smoothed into something simple. Homeward plans complete.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, thumbed a reply: “@Pia: There you are. My girl. The storm, the stillness, the light between.”
“Got your flight. I’ll be there. Early. With a sign. And snacks. And possibly a mariachi band if I get carried away.”
“Sleep well, Pia. You’re coming home.”

Pia read Vic’s words, smiled, and closed the app.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 78: Croque Madame Confidential

The alarm went off at 6am as always. Pia dragged her eyes open. The air was already warm and humid. She rolled out of her futon, crawled across the tatami floor and as quietly as possible went downstairs to set up the washing machine. She was thinking, *Yancy's a good husband. He helps Hikaru a lot. But it's tough being a mother and doing housework on top of raising a toddler and designing robots. Which is important work! And Eimi wants to be a Shinkansen driver. Good for her! The least I can do is take on some chores while I'm sponging off their hospitality.*

However, the machine had a computerised interface full of Japanese writing. Pia could speak fluently, but she couldn't read or write properly. She fiddled with the settings, trying to recall important smatterings of complicated kanji for hot and cold and soap. Finally her finger was hovering over the On button. She almost pushed it, but a vision of disaster flashed into her head; some tsunami of soap suds which made extra work to clean up as well as possibly ruining the clothes. She unplugged the machine at the wall, hoping to erase whatever she had programmed into it.

"Oh well,” she sighed. “I know I can make breakfast, though, so I'll do that." Soon the LDK was filled with the low clatter of dishes and pans. Pia prepared a light salad, fresh fruit and yoghurt, and got three of her signature Croque Madame sandwiches ready to cook, because Yancy would eat a whole one but she and Hikaru would share with Eimi. She made and drank a drip coffee, and put a pot of strong English Breakfast tea on the table.

Yancy appeared, yawning as he ambled into the kitchen in medium blue pyjamas.

“Did the breakfast fairy visit early today?” he grinned. “It smells like we’re being spoiled.” He settled at the table and poured himself a cup of tea, taking in the spread with an approving nod.

"This is the chance for you to give me some big brother advice, Yancy. Or something. You drongo."

“I see your vocabulary’s been infected again. Who taught you ‘drongo’? Your boyfriend? Alright. Advice, is it?” He took a sip of tea, clearly stalling for time to think. “Don’t fall in love with someone who makes you feel small, or safe in the wrong ways. You’re not meant to shrink yourself for someone just to fit into their story. Even if they say it’s for love.” He glanced sideways. “You’ve got a good one now, I think. But if he ever starts to forget that you’re built for big things, you’ll know what to do. Also, don’t microwave nattō. Not ever again. That was a war crime.”

"Oh Goddess, Yancy." Pia's eyes began to water. She hugged him tight. "You're such a good big brother! What great advice!" She held him, her tears dampening his chest, until Yancy gently detached her and hugged her back, unable to speak his love for her out loud, though it was genuine and strong.

"How about sushi tonight, Pia? At Tama Plaza. You know, the place where you order on a tablet and the plates are delivered by model train?" Yancy suggested. “Eimi loves it.”

"It sounds great, but I can't. I've got an, er... a business engagement. In Shinjuku.”

Yancy lifted an eyebrow at her verbal stumble. “Oh yeah?” he said, too casually. “You’ll be wearing a trench coat and sunglasses, I assume. Carrying a briefcase full of o-sembei printed with classified microdots.” He didn’t push, just let it hang in the air with that quiet big brother wisdom that said I know more than I say, and I’m choosing not to ruin your day with it. Instead, he reached over and flicked her forehead gently. She grinned like a child again.

“Well then, miss espionage, you’re not leaving the house today until you’ve been fed and reminded that you’re loved.”

"Oh, Yancy." Pia sat down, suddenly looking kind of blue. "Everyone keeps calling me a spy, from Eimi up, because of my sunglasses. I was never a spy. I was a detective. I don't want to be a spy. I tried to serve justice, not some government or ideology. I never did it to be cool and edgy. I wanted to help people who were in trouble. It's not cool and edgy to fight and kill people. I carried a gun because it was a requirement. I hated myself for the things I did. I had nightmares. Except for Kevin. I’m glad I killed him because he deserved it.”

She bumped her forehead on the table, making the teacups rattle in their saucers. "I really, really, want to leave all of that behind. I want to be fit and strong, physically and mentally, as a woman, as a citizen, as a wife and a mother. Like you. I mean like your Hikaru. She's such a good person! All the work she does to create new technology to improve people's lives. You're a good guy too. Everything about education to help people. You’re a good father. I can't be a father."

Pia sat up again, looking at her brother with a blank expression. "I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this."

Yancy didn’t speak for a minute, then he sat down opposite Pia, the sunlight streaking gold across his forearm as he reached out and touched her hand.

“You’re going forward.” He folded his arms loosely on the table, just as their father always did when speaking gently about serious things. “Pia… You never let the work make you cruel. And if you carried a gun, you also carried everyone who needed you.” His voice tightened a bit. “You tried to protect people when you barely had anything left to protect yourself. And that,” he hesitated, and smiled a little wry grin, full of love, “Is the most Reese thing about you.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand. “You’re not like Hikaru. You’re not like me. But that’s not the goal. You’re you. You want to be a mother and a wife? Great. You’ll be one who teaches her child to run towards injustice and say, ‘Not today.’ You’ll be the kind of woman who dismantles bad systems to build better ones. That’s not soft. That’s not scary. That’s love.” He squeezed again. “You’re allowed to want peace, and love, and happiness. And to have it. You’re allowed to be done with survival mode.”

He let her hand go. “But I still think your sunglasses make you look like a spy.”

Pia’s eyes watered. She sniffled and smiled at the same time, as she poured herself a cup of tea.

A minute later Hikaru stepped into the room in soft pyjamas and a loose wrap cardigan, her phone in one hand. She walked over to the table with the careful elegance of someone used to balancing a toddler and a laptop at the same time. “You’ve raised the household standard, Pia. Now I’ll have to make soufflé just to keep up.” She leant over to give Pia a kiss on the cheek, then sat across from Yancy, scrolling briefly before setting her phone aside.

“You had better check the things I’ve done to the washing machine before you thank me, Hikarin.”

From the stairs, a scramble of feet, followed by a triumphant voice.

“I am a Shinkansen!”

Eimi burst into the room wearing a lemon-yellow tee-shirt and one sock, dragging a toy train carriage by a ribbon. She made a beeline for the table and Yancy hoisted her into her high chair.

“Good morning, my little express. Got room in the carriage for Daddy?”

“If you bring snacks,” Eimi said seriously.

He shared a look with Hikaru, equal parts pride and quiet awe at their daughter’s budding comic timing.

As the family dug into breakfast, Yancy looked at his watch. “Okay, today’s the usual. I’ll take Eimi to playgroup and go on to the office. Hikaru, you’re home today, right?”

“Yep, a full work-from-home day. I’ll pick her up this afternoon.” She glanced over at Pia, her tone light and playful. “Unless someone wants to steal the glamorous childcare duties.”

Yancy arched a brow, amused. “Could be fun. The other mums will be dazzled. Or worried.” He sips his tea, watching Pia’s face. “No pressure, though. Just say if you’re up for it.”

"I have to go out for most of the day. In fact I won't be back until late. After dinner. So let me take Eimi -- if you'll come with Auntie Pian, little locomotive? Just ping me the deets. Also, I'm going up to Mitsukoshi in Nihombashi. If there's something I can bring back, message me."

Eimi threw both hands in the air, knocking over her spill-proof cup. “YES! Auntie Pian! Can I wear the strawberry big shirt? The fast one!”

Yancy chuckled into his tea. “That shirt is scientifically proven to increase toddler velocity.”

“Red ones go faster,” Pia agreed.

He stood and headed toward the stairs, already opening the family calendar on his phone. “I’ll send you the address, name of the teacher, pick-up password, emergency contact card. There’s about seventeen layers of bureaucracy.”

Hikaru smiled. “She’s not smuggling her into a government lab, love.” She looked to Pia, a little more seriously now. “If you’ve got time, see if you can find that bergamot hand cream I like. The one in the black tube? No pressure. Only if you pass through the cosmetics floor.”

“And if you see a navy tie with tiny robots or sea creatures, I’ll owe you a life debt,” Yancy said.

Eimi started chanting, “Fast shirt! Fast shirt! Shinkansen goooo!”

"I do not simply pass through cosmetic floors, Hikarin. I thresh them like a combine harvester. The handcream shall be yours. And if the world contains such a weird thing as a tie with a robot pattern, I will find it at Mitsukoshi."

“That’s the spirit. Lay waste to skincare.”

“Honestly, Pia,” Yancy said. “I’m not even joking about the tie. Sea creatures or robots. Or both. I’ll wear it to graduation ceremonies.” He tapped several things into his phone and sent a ping Pia’s way. “Okay, you’ve got the playgroup address, teacher’s name is Ms Tanaka, pickup is at four if something weird happens, but Hikaru should be able to do it. You’ll need to sign her in. The password is ‘pengin.’ Don’t ask.”

“Pengins are fast,” Eimi stated with enthusiasm.

Yancy gathered Eimi's toddler essentials into a tiny rucksack while Pia quickly dressed for casual elegance in the heat: A belted sleeveless midi length shirt dress in pale taupe linen, strappy sandals with a 3cm heel, gold hoop earrings, a pointer finger ring in filigree white and yellow gold, her Panthère de Cartier double band gold watch on her left wrist. She accessorised with her Launer cross-body bag and Bailey Nelson sunglasses. A spritz of Creed Erolfa. When Pia took Eimi's hand, Hikaru was hovering to wave them off.

Yancy zipped up the hedgehog-print rucksack with the practiced hands of a veteran dad and gave it a gentle pat. “All right, one bottle of barley tea, spare socks, sunscreen, and emergency stickers. Locked and loaded.” He crouched to look Eimi in the eye. “You be good for Auntie Pia, okay?” He lifted her for a hug and planted a kiss on her temple, then stood to loop the tiny bag over Pia’s shoulder like he was handing off a baton in a very fashionable relay. “She’s yours. Good luck, train conductor.”

Hikaru was already waiting, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes swept theatrically over Pia’s outfit. “Oh, hello. Is this your playgroup fit or are you planning to seduce half of Shinjuku?” She leant in, picked a piece of stray fluff from Pia’s collar, and grinned. “Eimi’s in good hands. Just remember to put her hat on once you’re out. She keeps taking it off and yelling ‘free dome!’ like it’s a battle cry.”

“FREEDOM!”

"She'll take good care of me I'm sure. See you this evening, Hikarin. Come on, Eimi, or we'll be late and we can't have that, can we?" She put the dome-like yellow sunhat on the toddler’s head.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 79: Serenity With Edge

Eimi’s playgroup was in a local primary school only five minutes walk up the hill. The white walls of the building were decorated with cheerful cartoons; childhood favourites such as Anpanman, and anthropomorphised animals.

There was a small crowd of young mothers waiting outside, with their toddlers swarming at their heels. A few of the women glanced up as Pia approached.

Pia bowed her greetings. There was a flicker of curiosity as the crowd took in the tall, elegant foreigner holding hands with the little girl in a shirt emblazoned with a huge strawberry. Eimi, with her light brown curls and wide eyes, was unmistakably haafu, and with Pia’s hand in hers, the picture they made was very natural, like mother and daughter on a gentle morning errand.

One woman in a sunhat leant toward another, murmuring something with a small grin. Nothing unfriendly. Just interest, maybe a little admiration. The strawberry shirt was winning hearts.

A young teacher with a clipboard and a wide-brimmed sun visor waved brightly from the entrance gate. “Ohayou gozaimasu! Ah, chou beri kawaii minna-chan!” (Everyone is so cute.) She began to take the register as the mothers formed their children into a crocodile. She switched to English with a practised lilt. “You must be Reese-san. Yancy-sensei rang and told us you would come.” She crouched to Eimi’s level with a warm smile. “Shinkansen-chan, are you ready for today’s adventure?”

Eimi looked up at Pia, her expression suddenly serious, as if boarding a bullet train required last-minute clearance.

Pia said the conventional polite Japanese phrases to thank Ms Tanaka for her care of the children. She crouched to Eimi's level, hugged her briefly and whispered, "Tanoshinde ne, kyou wa, Eimi-chan,” (Have fun today,) not ‘be a good girl’ because she didn’t think girls should always be told to be good. “Mummy will come and collect you later." Eimi linked hands with a little boy, and the children began to file into the school.

"Tanaka-sensei has a wonderful job. I doubt I could manage it. My brother said Eimi-chan is very happy here.” Pia bowed. “Thank you."

Ms Tanaka bowed, clearly touched. “Eimi-chan is always cheerful and full of imagination. We’re very happy to have her.” She gestured for Eimi to join the line forming under a banner of paper sunflowers. Eimi gave Pia one last grin — a Shinkansen about to leave the station? — then trotted off with her little rucksack bouncing against her back.

One of the mothers edged slightly closer and spoke in softly accented English, “She is your relative?”

“Eimi is my niece, the first of..." Pia snapped her mouth shut, remembering that Hikaru's hopeful second pregnancy was still a strict secret. "I don't have children yet. Actually, I’m not married."

The woman patted her forehead with a handkerchief, then nodded. “Well, enjoy your freedom while it lasts.”

A few of the other mothers now turned subtly toward the conversation, all gentle curiosity and polite smiles.

Another mother said, “I wish I’d worn heels more often before I had children. Now it’s only sneakers and backache.” There was a chorus of sympathetic chuckles. “She's very friendly. My daughter said Eimi-chan knows how to sing the train jingles.”

"Noborito desu. Sugi wa Noborito desu," Pia intoned in an approximation of a middle-aged male train driver's sonorous, almost bored voice. Everyone who lived in Shin-Yurigaoka would remember the station announcements the express train drivers used to make on the Odakyu line. Most trains had switched to automatic announcements in bright, high-pitched female voices in accents ranging from British to Australian. Back in London things were going the other way. The near constant taped warnings of ‘Mind the gap’, and ‘#sayitseeitsorted’, were often supplemented by jokey staff interventions like ‘No hetero on the metro,’ if there was a couple getting too frisky.

There was a ripple of laughter. Ms Tanaka ushered the last child through the gate, then gave the assembled mothers a bow, and followed the group inside. Another mother pulled a fan from her bag. “It’s already so hot and humid, isn’t it. Are you visiting from overseas?” she asked in Japanese.

"Yes, I am visiting from Australia. It's winter there, much cooler and fresher.

“Winter in Australia? Lucky. We’d trade this humidity for a cool breeze anytime.”

Everyone laughed again, and the group began gently to dissolve with farewell bows as they peeled off home, or toward the nearby shopping district.

Pia bowed polite farewells to the young mothers. She might never see them again, or Ms Tanaka, but it had been a few moments of human connection, another window into a potential future of motherhood.

She turned her steps up the slope, to the Kobonomatsu Park, a wooded hilltop offering a splendid view south-westwards across the Kawasaki suburbs, past Mount Tanzawa to Mount Fuji, 80 kilometres away. The prospect would disprove flat earth theory in a glance, but today, the humid haze made Fuji-san invisible. Pia took a selfie anyway.

Tokyo beckoned, summoned her like a magic spell. The city's manic energy couldn't be suppressed by even the worst of summer's heat. *Why did I come here now?* she asked herself. *Because I'm stupid. I could have flown to New Zealand. But it's so nice to see Yancy and Hikaru and Eimi again.*

Pia trip-trapped down the hill to Shin-Yurigaoka Station.

It was only 48 minutes by train to Nihombashi, one of the premier business and shopping districts of the vast metropolis. Pia had no human interactions on the journey. She reviewed her shopping list on her phone, read the news headlines, and swiped them away as too depressing. She thought about the young mothers. Whether she would become one herself in the future. She messaged Vic.

"@Bae: Hiya. I'm on the train. Women's only carriage. I'm going shopping. If there's anything you'd really like me to bring home for you, now is your chance to request it. Don’t hold back. I’m feeling generous." She attached the pic from Kobonomatsu Park.

Vic's phone buzzed where it lay on the kitchen counter beside a half-made sandwich. He was barefoot, still in board shorts and a Salt Gypsy tee-shirt, waiting for the kettle to boil. When he saw Pia’s message, his whole face softened into something helpless and-smitten.
He grinned, thumbing out a reply.

“If you see anything that screams ‘ridiculously handsome himbo with a thing for the ocean and a secret romantic streak’… get that. Also snacks. I miss you.” He deleted ‘I miss you,’ then typed it again, slower, and sent it.

Sydney glinted beyond the windows; gulls wheeling over rooftops, neighbours dragging their wheely bins around, late morning traffic of people going to the shops. His phone lay warm in his hand.

In Tokyo, the train pulled into Nihombashi Station. Cool air rushed out as the doors slid open. The spotless platform was instantly crowded with disembarking passengers. Above ground, the district was so steeped in money it almost smelt of cash. The equivalent of Sydney’s Central Business District. Sararimen in white shirts and navy-blue suits. Women in flowing layers and low heels, cutting through the heat with curated elegance. A Chanel flag stirred slightly over Mitsukoshi’s ornate 19th century façade.

Inside the store was the hush of climate control and soft classical music. Everything gleamed; counters lit like art galleries, lipsticks displayed like samples of rare minerals, mannequins with silent hauteur. The sales staff were polished and watchful, their polite formal greeting, “Irasshaimase,” repeating like the ripple of an opera chorus as customer after customer passed by their ranks. The shoppers floated past in a stream of silk, leather, jewellery, and perfume.

Pia’s arrival turned a few heads, not for anything loud or garish, but for the subtle, tailored assurance she carried. The way her slightly informal, yet undeniably chic dress moved. The Cartier jewellery watch gleaming on her wrist. She had the confidence of someone who knew her taste, and had the resources to satisfy it.

Two young shop assistants behind a perfume counter exchanged a glance and straightened their jackets slightly. One of them, who had a discreet French flag on her name badge, quietly stepped forward.

"Irrashaimase."

“Bonjour mademoiselle,” Pia greeted the young staff member. "Furansu-go wa wakarimasu ka? J'ai besoin d'un assistant personnel pour le shopping." She smiled. (I need a personal shopping assistant.)

The young woman blinked, then recovered with a graceful bow.

“Oui, un peu, madame. Je vais faire de ma mieux. Cherchez vous des parfums, des vêtements, ou autres choses ?” (I will do my best. Do you look for perfume, clothes, or something else?) She gestured toward the fragrance counters with a gentle flourish, already sensing she was in for an enjoyable challenge.

"Le tout," Pia replied.

A more senior-looking woman in a navy blazer glided over, drawn by the interplay of languages and Pia’s commanding presence. She whispered to her colleague quickly in Japanese, “Stay close. She might need VIP assistance.” The younger assistant bowed and turned back to Pia with wide eyes, now clearly enjoying herself.

“We have a private counter for Creed, madame. Would you like to test something new? Or restock a favourite?”

A European couple glanced at Pia as they passed by. She was magnetic yet indefinable, like someone who belonged to every city and no single place at the same time.

Vic, now parked on his balcony, coffee in hand, saw Pia’s photo come through, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses, the city below and behind, mountains in the misty distance. He saved the photo without thinking.

“@Pia: You’re not even trying to be subtle, are you. Bloody gorgeous. Careful—if you come back with more of those dresses I might marry you by accident.” He sat for a moment after sending it, expression drifting somewhere between amusement and something quieter. Then he finished his coffee and headed back inside to dress for the office.

Pia blitzed through the gilded halls of Mitsukoshi. Her purchases piled high, all to be sent by express, same day delivery to Hikaru and Yancy's house, because among them was the formal black outfit she needed to visit Hisashi's grave. She paused for a late lunch, then hit the hair-and-make salon. Her Paris-meets-Tokyo cut was fresh and sharp, but she wanted her nails in perfect style for the meeting with Komai, and a subtle face.

She consulted with her stylist in fluent Japanese. "Here is the thing. I am meeting an old colleague who once had a crush on me. I led him on but never satisfied him. Now he has invited me to have dinner and drinks. It will not be the start of an affair. I have moved on, and I hope he has too. I want to project myself calmly and with personal strength. I want to be warm and collaborative, without suggesting any amorous intentions. I know this is a difficult request. Please do your best for me."

The stylist, a poised woman in her late forties with rose-gold shears clipped to her belt and flawless grey-lavender nails, regarded Pia in the mirror with an assessing gaze. There was no flattery in her look, only respect, and a glimmer of curiosity.
“I understand. We want... serenity with edge. Confidence that welcomes, but does not invite.”

She gestured lightly to Pia’s face. “Your hair is perfect. Your bone structure is already strong. We’ll soften the eyes a little—no shimmer, just depth. A natural lip, slightly cooler in tone. The kind that says, ‘I listen carefully, but I don’t linger.’” She took Pia’s hands gently, turning them palm up.

“Your nails... let’s go for pearl grey on the hands. Short, sculpted, beautiful in candlelight. For the feet, a deep crimson. It’s modern yet timeless.” She glanced at Pia’s sandals, then back at her face in the mirror. “Do you mind if I thread your brows? Just a touch. It lifts without changing.”

Junko was already planning: brow lift, soft cheek contour, moisturiser patted in with jade rollers chilled just beneath the counter. Everything about her was quiet competence. She leant in slightly, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial murmur. “Old crushes are like small fires. They flicker out quickly if deprived of oxygen.” She smiled. “So I will help you look very composed.”

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 80: Akachōchin-bake (Red Lantern Spirits)

Kabukicho, early evening.

Detective Inspector Takayuki Komai of the National Police Agency checked his fit in the reflection of a darkened window, the unbuttoned collar of his short-sleeve summer shirt crisp against his neck. Nothing formal. He had chosen a linen suit, rather than wool. The izakaya he had picked wasn’t fancy, but it was clean, discreet, had a private booth, and served good sake. A place where you could talk. Or not.

He checked his watch, unnecessarily. Pia Reese was always punctual.

*Or maybe she isn’t Pia anymore,* he thought. *Olympe Viola Reese Tremblay. Interpol changes people.*

It was over a year since they had last met in Chicago. She was fearless then. Not reckless. Not naïve. Just unwilling to be owned by anyone. He liked that.

The rumour was that something went wrong during a case in Australia. Some said she had cracked under the strain. He didn’t believe that. She was too stubborn to break. But she had popped up on the inactive list, stayed there for months, then gone off grid.

And now she’s back in Tokyo, texting like nothing’s changed. Drinks? Catch-up?

Komai had questions. Not just for curiosity’s sake. The counterfeiting ring he was tracking was bigger than expected. He had checked her immigration information. She had flown in from Sydney, not London or Paris. It could be connected. Could be a coincidence.

Still. He wanted to see her.

He exhaled, and stepped out through the humid dusk, making his way toward the izakaya. The lanterns glowed soft red. Grill smoke drifted gently through the air. If she was still Pia, if anything of that spark remained, this would not be a quiet night.

But Pia had gone to the wrong izakaya, because she had made a mistake reading the Japanese characters in the name. She was sitting at the counter and bantering with the master while she waited for Takayuki to arrive.

"Biiru mou ippai to edamame onegaishimasu, Master. I'm beginning to think I may have been stood up." She checked her phone for messages. Perhaps there might be something from Vic.

The master, a wiry man with short greying hair and a knife scar across his cheek, gave her a sympathetic look as he plucked the frosted glass from under the tap.

“Tōkyō no otoko ga shinrai dekinai,” (You can't trust Tokyo men.) He set the drink down with a thud and a wink. “You like shiso chicken? On the house. For a beautiful lady left waiting.”

Around the counter, a few lone diners glanced over with mild interest. One of them, a salaryman with his tie off-centre, smiled into his highball.

Outside, the street glowed with red lanterns and handmade neon signs, the kind of Shinjuku back lane that always smelt faintly of soy sauce, cigarette smoke, and secrets.

Pia checked her phone. No missed calls. No Vic messages, so far. But then, as if summoned by thought alone:

“@Pia: Hope you’re turning heads wherever you are. Try not to break too many hearts. I’ve got Victoria Bitter here, if you get tired of Asahi Superdry.”

At the same moment, another message pinged in.

KOMAI: “You have gone to a wrong izakaya, Pia-san. Sit still. Unless you’ve made an enemy in the kitchen. I’m three minutes away.”

Just outside, Komai had turned the corner. He saw her through the small windows, her sunglasses perched on her head, a gold watch catching the light, beer raised like a challenge. He slowed for a hot second. Smiled, almost involuntarily.

*Still electric.*

He surveilled Pia through the dingy glass. Her watch was worth a lot more than his car. But she wore it without arrogance, just a way to elegantly carry the time and a chunk of easily cash-convertible property with her. She joshed with the master, his knife scarred face a counterfoil to her perfect makeup.

Now Pia used her old trick of checking her face with the mirror in her powder compact, which enabled her to scan discreetly behind her. She spotted Komai's face as he ducked under the noren to enter the intimate space of the izakaya.

"You're late," she challenged him in English. "But it's good to see you, Taka-kun."

Komai straightened up with a wry expression, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. His shirt clung slightly at the small of his back; the heat was merciless even after sunset.

“I’m exactly on time. You’re the one who chose the wrong battlefield, Pia-chan.”

He stepped fully inside, bowing politely to the master, who grunted with recognition and gestured toward the narrow seat beside Pia. Komai slid into it, casting a quick glance at her edamame pile and half-drained beer.

“You’ve interrogated the menu, I see.” His eyes lingered for just a second longer on her face; subtle makeup, precise brows, that indefinable glow only the best stylists can conjure.

“Sumimasen, nama bīru o hitotsu to... shiso no yakitori o futatsu, onegaishimasu.”

The master nodded and disappeared into his tiny kitchen muttering, “Hai hai.”

Komai leant in a little, lowering his voice again, English now casual, intimate.

“A whole year and you haven’t changed at all. Still causing confusion and making it look like a cunning plan.” He smiled, dry, but not unfriendly. “I didn’t expect the jewellery. But the beer and edamame feel like you.”

"Are you a wizard now?" Pia smiled back at Komai. “That you’re always exactly on time?” They were an odd couple, Pia in her classy summer outfit, a low key fashion shoot vibe. Komai giving sarariman with his dark blue Cool Biz linen suit and short sleeve white shirt. "Your cuts, short or long, don't go wrong," she added with a smile. It was possible that these classic film references would go over Komai's head, especially as his grasp of English slang was not strong. "Anyway, you're here now, and it's good to see you!" Pia leant in to give Komai la bise, French style, which he probably didn't understand.

Komai stiffened slightly as Pia leant in, but recovered fast. Her scent was light, familiar and completely disarming, salt and citrus and hot wild herbs. Something expensive. She had worn it almost every day in Chicago. He allowed the double cheek brush without flinching, though the second touch of her skin left a faint flush rising behind his ears. He cleared his throat lightly and straightened in his seat, adjusting the angle of his sacoche like it was a grounding ritual.

“I’m no wizard. Just a civil servant with good instincts.” He gave her a sideways glance, one eyebrow arched. “And I only got half of that film reference. Something black-and-white with guns and fedoras?”

“Ha ha!" she chuckled. "No, something with Hobbits.”

The beers arrived. Komai raised his glass toward hers, lightly touching rims. “But yes. It’s good to see you too. You look well. Different, maybe. But very much yourself.” His eyes slid over her left arm, noting the faint scars. He left it to her to talk about them if she wanted. “Interpol didn’t turn you into a full-time ghost, then.” His tone was casual but with a flicker of something else behind it. Not interrogation. Just curiosity, carefully checked.

The master set down their yakitori skewers, and the sizzle and scent of shiso chicken rose between them.

“Shall we eat first, then talk? Or are you planning to disarm me before the food arrives?” He was watching her closely now, trying to detect how much of the old Pia she had brought with her. She replied in Japanese.

"Yoku tabesasete, Taka-kun. Nomimono-o harau, atashi, dokoka ikeba korekara." (Feed me well. I’ll buy the drinks if we go somewhere after this.) Pia sipped her beer and chomped yakitori, nodding a tiny bow of appreciation to the master. She switched into English. "Shall I tell you my life, or we could trade confidences. I'll say at least, I'm not with Interpol anymore."

“I didn’t think you were. I saw your name on the inactive list, then you stopped writing like a spook.” He chewed thoughtfully, then set his skewer down and wiped his fingers precisely with a napkin. “Let’s trade. Old-fashioned method. You go first.” He paused, then added, less formal now, his voice softening around the edges: “But not everything. Only the parts that are still important.”

The master moved silently behind the counter, pretending not to listen while polishing teacups with the intensity of a man tuning a violin.

“I want to know what you’ve been doing, Pia-san, not just where you’ve been.” His gaze flicked to her watch for a second. It was showy if you didn’t know it was 18K gold rather than plated, practical as a timepiece and a store of value, but it was Pia’s eyes he returned to, curious now. “And I want to know what made you come back.” There was no edge in his voice. Just that even, patient timbre she remembered. Like he was laying out points of evidence, waiting for the story to form in its own time.

Outside, the izakaya's paper lantern swayed faintly in the warm breeze, casting rippling shadows across the table.

"Things happened, Taka-kun.” She toyed with her food, pushing empty bean pods around with a fingertip. “I left the service and more things happened. They have been resolved. Now I'm on a long holiday in Sydney, Australia. There's a man there who has become important to me. Yet my visa allowed me only three months, and the time is up. It had to be renewed overseas. Most people would go to New Zealand. I made the trip to Tokyo to visit my brother. It would have been silly not to catch up with you also. There’s a British expression which means Isseki nichou. So I’ve been very economical and killed three birds with one stone. Actually, four, in a way.”

Komai looked curious but he just waited for her to go on. Pia smiled and drank a mouthful of cold beer.

“There was another thing. The help I gave you in Kabukicho led to a disaster in my private life. You remember the details. Just know that everyone has been forgiven. Everyone, Taka-kun. Even me." She snaffled another chicken skewer, discreetly observing the master, wondering how much English he understood. “That's the end of the beginning, depending on how you view this particular point in time. Your turn now. What have you been doing since Chicago?"

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 81: Cards on the Table

Komai listened without interrupting, his fingers laced loosely around his beer glass. He tilted his head slightly at the word forgiven, his gaze flicking just once to the corner of her mouth as she spoke, as if to catch the nuance of her muscles more than the words. He nodded thoughtfully when she finished, letting a pause settle gently between them.

“That man must be worth something, to pull you halfway across the world.” He didn’t mean it as a challenge. It was closer to wonder. Then he shifted, sipping beer before replying in Japanese, low enough not to carry beyond the table. “Chicago kara kaette kita. Keibu-ho ni shoushin moratta." (Came home. Got a promotion to inspector.) "I stayed on field cases. Vice. Fraud. Three months in Saitama that nearly drove me mad. Now I’m with the International Organised Financial Crime squad. I deal with Interpol when the need arises.”

His voice took on a clinical clarity, the rhythm of a man who’s had to give this briefing before.

“I’m chasing money laundering through digital platforms. Fake game cards, mostly. Rare character drops, holographic collectibles. You probably know nothing about it. It’s a stupid hobby but harmless, until big cash starts bouncing between countries.” He picked up a skewer, and gestured with it lightly. “Someone’s printing cards who shouldn’t be. Sending them abroad, selling through some loose network and laundering profits into crypto they pump through social networks. A real mess. I can’t get any handle on it.”

He met her eyes again. Calm, but not detached. “It’s strange. I was thinking of you two weeks ago. Wondering where you were now. Wondering if you’d ever show up again, and which side of the file you’d be on.” He didn’t smile, but there was a spark. A test, maybe. A touch of the honesty she had admired so much in the old days. “Forgiveness is good. But curiosity still gets me into trouble.” He nudged the last skewer toward her. “Your turn again. What do you need from me, Pia-san?”

Pia smiled at Komai, and minutely adjusted her short hair to emphasise that she couldn't possibly be wearing a digital wire, as she had done during her hostess days, when long wigs were part of the costume.

"I want a good meal and a good talk. I've exorcised the demons of Tokyo. I have other demons now. Maybe I'll tell you a story and shock you."

She ordered two rounds of gyoza, the garlic-spicy dumplings which you would never eat if you were about to get together with your lover, or perhaps you might, if he ate them too. "What's the deal with these cards, then?"

Komai watched her gesture with a flicker of amusement, the hair, the wire joke, the theatrical undertone. She still knew how to stage a moment. But he was no longer the young officer half-dazzled by her charm. These days, he listened deeper.

“If you tell me a shocking story, I’ll act surprised. But you know it’s hard to shock someone who’s spent six months interviewing pachinko money mules.” He leant back as the master slid over two plates of crackling hot gyoza, the sizzling aroma rising like a warning flare. He picked one up with his chopsticks but didn't bite yet. In English: “Okay. The cards. There’s a workshop somewhere. Probably more than one. They're printing limited-run game cards. High-end replicas of real, valuable ones. Pokémon, One Piece, Yu-Gi-Oh… you name it. Some are good enough to fool collectors. Most just go online, sold to fake buyers through layers of sock puppet accounts.”

He dipped the gyoza, and continued. “The buyers are laundering syndicates, usually Chinese or Vietnamese in origin. They buy from Japan, resell abroad, and convert the proceeds to crypto. Cards get shipped. Crypto gets cleaned. And Tokyo looks like it just sold some rare Pikachu to a fan in Kuala Lumpur, or Hong Kong, or Brisbane.” He paused, his eyes narrowing a little. “There’s chatter about Australia. An uptick in volume. Too smooth to be one seller. We haven’t traced it yet.” He finally bit the gyoza, chewed thoughtfully, then lifted his beer. “Should I be asking whether any of your new demons know what a holographic Charizard is worth?” His tone was teasing, but the edge of enquiry remained, subtle, like a fishing lure just beneath the surface of a lake.

Pia made a slightly flirtatious moue. "Do I look like a card game nerd?" Yet she'd always nurtured a broad though shallow pool of general knowledge. As a detective, you want to be able to pick up on the basics of almost any clue. You can deep dive later if it becomes important. "Charizard is from Pokemon. He's a kind of lizard thing, like a dragon. I know a guy in Sydney who's into that kind of stuff. Surprise me, Taka-kun. How much is one worth?"

Komai smirked slightly. “You look like someone who’s successfully infiltrated every subculture except Magic: The Gathering.” He swirled his beer gently, watching her over the rim of the glass before replying. “A pristine, first-edition holographic Charizard? Japanese print, shadowless? Around four million yen on the open market. More if it’s graded a perfect ten.”

Pia did rapid mental arithmetic to calculate that the example Charizard was worth £20,000 GBP or $40,000 AUD at current exchange rates. Not bad for something you could slip a dozen of into your breast pocket and no-one would notice them. Practically invisible to x-ray, metal detectors, body-scanning radar and sniffer dogs. And not even obviously criminal if security found them. She wasn’t actually surprised, though. Alex had clued her up on collectible card values during their session at FBI Gaming City. But she gave a little gasp for Komai’s benefit.

Komai popped the last gyoza into his mouth, munched, and wiped his fingers again with that same precise economy of motion. “Of course, most of what’s moving isn’t that rare. But it doesn’t have to be. Low-end cards, moved in good numbers, look like legitimate hobby sales. Customs agents rarely check them. Credit card companies don’t flag a ¥6,000 Yu-Gi-Oh transfer. The really expensive stuff gets paid for in cash.” He paused, and his eyes settled on her more intently. “You said you’re not with Interpol anymore. But you didn’t say you had stopped, let’s say, noticing things.” Another pause. “Your friend in Sydney. What’s he into? Collecting? Or selling?”

The master refilled their beers without comment. The gyoza plates sat empty between them like evidence already reviewed.

"My friend is into playing games. Video games, mostly, like role-playing, or dating simulations. But he hangs out in clubs and cafés where all kinds of weirdo game spods gather and do their thing. He likes board games too, which actually is nice because it's sociable. You can get a few friends around a table and throw down for an evening of Carcassone or Settlers of Catan. I’ve got a few games myself." Pia pronounced it as Settlers of Satan. She pushed the empty dishes a little as a nudge towards another course. "I did a lot of hard shopping today," she mentioned, to explain her hunger.

Komai let out a soft laugh. “Settlers of Satan. Hah! I’d play that. Probably less negotiation, more fire.”

He raised a hand slightly, catching the master’s eye. “Sumimasen, yakitori o mō ikkai onegaishimasu. Negima to tsukune. Sore to tsukemono mo.” (Grilled chicken skewers, and pickles, please.) The master nodded without comment, already reaching for the skewers.
Komai turned back to Pia, his posture relaxed now, but the detective’s gears were still gently turning behind his eyes. “You did a lot of hard shopping,” he repeated, deadpan. “And now you’re keeping company with a mid-level Tokyo cop in an izakaya that smells like burnt cabbage. I hope Sydney’s treating you better than I am.”

He reached for the beer, then paused, his voice softening. “I don’t know this man of yours. But if he plays board games, and still wants to be near you even after you’ve exhausted yourself in a department store… He might be worth the visa paperwork.”
He didn’t make it a joke. Just offered it plainly, like a small truth placed gently on the table. Outside, a motorbike rumbled past. The glow of the lanterns flickered against the windowpane. “Do you want to keep talking here? Or move somewhere more private?” His tone was even. The subtext was there, confidentiality, not intimacy. He was inviting her to shift gears. Share the next layer.

"I have something you might find useful, Taka-kun. It's on my computer in Sydney. Let's eat up and move on somewhere to discuss things further." Pia didn’t feel it important to correct Komai’s incorrect assumption about Victor and Alex being the same man.

Komai nodded. “All right. I know a place where no one listens too closely.” There was no change in his tone, but his eyes sharpened, alert now, aware that the conversation had just stepped out of the personal and into something adjacent to operational. He didn’t press her yet. Just let it sit.

The master returned with the new skewers, grilled negima and tsukune, the sweet-savoury scent of tare sauce curling up from the plate. A small dish of tsukemono sat beside them, thick, crunchy slices of glossy cucumber and bright yellow takuan. Komai thanked him and split the skewers between their plates, then offered Pia a new pair of chopsticks. “Eat now. You’re going to want something in your stomach for where we’re going next.” He didn’t elaborate, but the corners of his mouth twisted enough to hint it wouldn’t be a sterile conference room.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 82: To Better Exits

Outside, the night deepened. Shinjuku’s alleys began to shift from after-work fatigue to laser-beam hedonism; hostess girls clicking in heels down alleys, their hair lacquered high, laughter bouncing off concrete walls.

When the food was all gone, Komai stood, dropped a quiet word to the master about settling the bill, and gestured toward the door. “There’s a place nearby. Quiet. Familiar faces. And I can promise you one thing…” His eyes caught the light from the red lantern. “No one there plays Settlers of Satan.”

Pia watched the hostesses, remembering when she was one of them, a mad year in her life. She learnt many things; polite and street Japanese, Hanafuda card games, dangerous secrets. And heartbreak.

"Gochisosama. Oishikatta desu," she thanked the master and Komai. The evening air was still warm and humid. The narrow streets were filled with food and drink smells, laughter, and in one corner, someone being sick. Pia paused, in case they needed her help, but the vomiting girl had a friend, another girl who looked sympathetic and reliable.

"Where are we going next, Taka-kun?"

Komai followed her gaze for a moment; the girl bent over in the alley, her friend crouched beside her, holding her hair back with quiet efficiency. He seemed to register Pia’s instinctive pause, her weight shifting almost toward the scene, the subtle tilt of her shoulders. But when the friend wrapped an arm around the sick girl and murmured something low and firm, Komai simply said, “They’ll be all right. You can always tell by the shoes. If the one holding her wears flats, she’ll get her home.”

He gestured up the street, toward a glowing red sign half-obscured by ivy and the steel skeleton of a fire escape. “This way. It’s quiet. Sensibly priced. Not seedy. The mama-san’s ex-police. She owes me a favour or three.” They walked together past neon signs and hosts with sculpted hair smoking discreetly between appointments.

He led her to a black-lacquered door behind a flower shop, unmarked except for a brushed steel plate that read simply: Sakura-nami. The club was dim and cool, lit by LED lamps mounted in traditional-style Andon paper shades and a wall of backlit sake bottles. The air smelt faintly of iris and fresh yuzu. Three hostesses sat along a velvet bench, all in elegant dresses, their laughter feather-light. They appraised Pia and Komai as potential clients with quick sweeps of their eyes. A jazz instrumental floated from hidden speakers.

The mama-san — a woman in her sixties wearing a dark mauve kimono and a platinum bob — raised her eyebrows when she saw Pia, but said nothing except: “Davide-san. Booth two. Private.” Komai nodded a quiet thanks, and gestured for Pia to follow. “You’ll like it here. No small talk required. And the surveillance is strictly analogue. The mark 1 human eyeball.” He slid into the low booth, resting his sacoche beside him.

“So. You said you had something for me, Pia-chan. Let’s begin with why.”

"Okay, this is a bit of a story, so bear with me."

She sipped water and collected her thoughts.

"A couple of weeks after I arrived in Sydney I met a guy. It was a chance encounter on the beach, very casual, and we somehow managed not to get each other's contact details even though we found each other attractive. I tracked down some companies where I thought he might work, and email bombed them. Not deliberately, but it became a ‘bad thing’ although it was really just an accident. So this all started from me trying to find a new boyfriend."

Komai blinked once, very slowly. His hands rest loosely on the table, fingers slightly apart, as if bracing for a case file that was about to turn strange. “I see.” He didn't quite smile, but there was a visible twitch at the corner of his mouth, like a man trying to keep a straight face during a briefing titled Personal Romance as Entry Point to International Crime. “Please continue. I’m reserving judgement until at least the second felony.”

The low murmur of the club continued, glasses clinking, soft laughter in another booth, an expert girl mixologist juggling bottles and shakers skillfully, and pouring something golden into a tumbler. The mama-san glided over just long enough to place a tray with hot oshi-bori, a bottle of umeshu plum liqueur, and a pair of chilled glasses. She didn’t interrupt. Komai gestured toward the bottle, a silent offer, then met Pia’s eyes again.

“I assume the boyfriend still exists. Or this would be a different kind of confession.”

"I know a number of men in Sydney. Only one is very special to me. But I won't put any of them in danger. Anyway…"

She paused to pour the plum liqueur in politest hostess style, the bottle cradled in her left hand, with the label facing up, steadied by her right hand on the base. "I did my 'bad thing' from a cyber-café, because I'm not totally stupid. So I had to go back there later to clean up. I got a hard drive which has been gaussed, crushed, and incinerated. I also got an SD card full of CCTV footage."

Komai watched the pour with a subtle flicker of recognition. Old memory from watching her in her hostess days, or maybe just respect for the ritual. He accepted the glass with quiet thanks. “Suman.” He took a sip, letting the sweetness settle before responding. “Gaussed, crushed, and incinerated? That’s not cleanup, Pia-chan. That’s erasure.” He leant forward slightly, his voice low now, almost clinical. “But the SD card survived. Which means we’re not dealing with bad impulse control. You kept something.”

A pause.

“Tell me about the café.” He didn’t ask if she had broken the law. He assumed she did. Pia-chan had always had a higher regard for the spirit of natural justice than the letter of the statute book. It was one of the things he admired about her. He didn't look disappointed, though, just focused. “Where is the footage now? And why are you telling me, Pia-chan?”

There was no threat in his voice. But his eyes were sharp. Not like the man she knew once had a crush on her, like a cop who had just caught the scent of something live.

"Yes, the footage. Old habits die hard, so I spent some time reviewing it. I've got the raw clips and a bunch of analysis. Transcripts. Face recognition data. Timecodes for crucial scenes. I’m sure it shows illicit game card trading. I did nothing with it, and it's a couple of months old now, but there might be something useful to you. Also I made notes on ways I could have taken things forward if I wanted to do an inside investigation. A sting, if you will. The café is in central Sydney. GeekStar. I don't remember the address but I could find it easily." Pia sat back, and coolly sipped her umeshu. "So. What do you want, Taka-kun?"

Komai watched her carefully now, sitting stiller than before. He didn’t write anything down, but a subtle shift in his breathing betrayed that he had moved from curiosity to strategic interest. “You have footage. Face IDs. Notes. An outline for infiltration. But you didn’t act.” He leant back slightly, letting the implication settle in the soft light of the booth. “You’re still running on instincts like a field agent. But your trigger discipline’s got better.” He raised his glass, studied the liqueur against the light. “What do I want?” He sipped, then set the glass down with care. “Names. Faces. Any link between that Sydney café and counterfeit shipments through Japan. If you saw the kind of packaging, buyer accounts, language, I need that.”

Another pause.

“I don’t want you to run a sting. You’re not authorised. You’re not protected.” He met her gaze directly. “And I don’t want you getting drawn in again just because you miss the work. Or because you’re trying to prove something to your new man.” Another, softer, pause. “But if you’ve got real data? I want it. I’ll cross-match it with what we’ve got already.” A faint smile touched his lips, more human now, more like the Komai she remembered from the late nights at the end of the Kabukicho case. “And I want to help you clean up properly this time. Not disappear. Just… draw a better line.”

He lifted his glass again, tilting it gently in her direction. “To better exits.”

"Tell me this matters, Takayuki-san. If it's just to save a bunch of crypto bros from their stupid greed I don't care. It's been obvious since the beginning that crypto was a scam. I care about real people. Game geeks who've saved their part time job money to buy a special card. Single mothers wanting to give their child an amazing present. Then it turns to ash in their mouths. That's the kind of people I care about."

Komai didn’t answer right away. He studied her, really studied her, with the quiet, measured stillness of keen perception that had made him such a devastating investigator in Kabukicho. No flash, no flourish. Just insight. Then he set his glass down and spoke, not as a cop, as someone who’d also had his heart broken by the wicked things people do to one other.

“It matters.” His voice is low. “There was a boy in Kōenji. Ten years old. Saved up his pocket money for a month. Bought a ‘rare’ card online. When he showed up at the shop to trade it, they laughed in his face. He cried. Not because it was fake, but because he thought it meant he was.”

A beat.

“A woman in Nagoya got arrested trying to resell fakes at a flea market. She didn’t know they were fake. Bought them from her cousin’s online store. She was just trying to cover rent.” He picked up his glass again, but didn't drink. “You’re right. I don’t give a damn about the crypto bros either. But this? This is about trust. About people who still believe the world has magic in it, even if it’s just on cardboard.” He meets her gaze, unwavering. “If your data helps me stop even one more person getting burned, then yes, Pia-chan, it matters.” There was no performance in his tone. Just quiet fire.

“So… are you in?”

Pia uncrossed her long, elegant legs and recrossed them the other way, while she considered Komai's proposal.

"The world should have magic in it, Taka-kun. I'll give you my data. The original stuff and all my analysis and notes for a possible op. It'll take a couple of days. I have to anonymise it to protect people. If I gak my futon in Sydney... I don't know what I'd do. Perhaps we should meet again in person. I could slip you a data chip. Or maybe a secure online drop would be safer." Pia upended her glass. "I've never really liked umeshu. How about a proper drink, like a Sazerac?"

Komai’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile, but something warm with respect. He watched her calmly, then gave a single, sharp nod. “Understood. Anonymise it. Protect your people. But don’t sit on it too long. These guys move fast when they sense heat.” He took her empty glass gently and set it aside, signalling to a passing hostess with a subtle head movement. She glided over, red dress rustling faintly. Komai ordered in Japanese, “A Sazerac for the lady. I’ll take a beer.”

“Kashikomarimashita.” The hostess bowed, cleared the unwanted utensils, and wove her way to the bar.

“If timing matters, it may help that nothing untoward has occurred since the theft of the hard drive and the CCTV footage. I never went back to the cyber-café. My geek pal probably has, but he was a regular there anyway. And it’s not the only cyber-café in the area. You can use my info to investigate the others too.”

The cocktail and beer arrived. The Sazerac was dark gold, perfectly stirred, served with a sliver of lemon peel curling like a ribbon over the rim. Komai turned back to Pia, easing his posture. He leant back in the booth, arms resting along the velvet bench.

“You always did like complicated drinks, Pia-chan. In Chicago, it was French 75s or White Rabbits.” He chuckled softly. “The way you flirted with the bartenders for new ideas.”

“There’s no point going to a fancy bar and ordering a drink you can easily make at home, Taka-kun. Though I always say people should drink whatever they like. I sometimes order Negronis or Old-Fashioneds when I’m out. If I’m in the mood. You can’t beat a classic.”

Komai raised his beer in quiet salute. Pia returned the gesture, subtly shifting her body on the banquette into a more open posture.

“Back in those days, Takayuki-san. Not Kabukicho, that was too raw. Too operational. But when you followed me to Chicago. It was a shock when you appeared unannounced at the morning briefing, bleary with jet-lag. I easily realised you had a crush on me.” She sipped her cocktail. “I used you as a foil against Jason. That was very wrong and unfair of me. I had got into the habit of manipulating people, particularly men. I didn’t think about your feelings.” She put her glass down, sat up straight, unwound her legs, planted her feet on the ground and her palms on her knees. She bowed deeply from the waist, holding it long enough for a semi-formal Japanese apology. “I’m very sorry.”

Komai didn’t respond right away.

The beer, half-lifted, hovered briefly in his hand before he set it down untouched. His posture was still relaxed, but there was a subtle shift in the lines of his face, an old muscle clenching somewhere beneath the composure. He exhaled softly through his nose. Not a sigh. The breath of a long-held memory.

“I knew.” His voice was low, but steady. No accusation, no defensiveness. Just a man quietly peeling back the bandage on an old bruise. “In Chicago, I mean. I knew I wasn’t the reason you turned up at half those briefings. Or the reason you stayed late when you didn’t have to.” He glanced sideways, off to some middle distance, where Chicago floated like a ghost.

“I told myself it didn’t matter. That being near you was enough. That watching you do the impossible, with that look in your eye like the city couldn’t touch you, was worth it.” He picked up his beer again. This time he drank. He looked straight at her again. “But it did matter. Not because I wanted something from you. Just because you never thought what it might be costing me.” He rolled the glass slowly between his palms, condensation trailing along his fingers.

“I got over the crush eventually. I had to. I met someone. An American girl. It didn’t work out. Too many ghosts, too many nights where I disappeared into my own head. But I don’t regret helping you. And I’m not angry. Just…” His gaze softened, his mouth curving slightly. “That I’m glad to hear you say it.” The beer was half-gone now. “Besides, if I were truly broken up about it, I wouldn’t have brought you here. Would’ve just filed a report and pretended you never texted.”

He drank again.

“You haven’t asked what I want tonight, Pia-chan.” He let that sit. Not a challenge, an invitation. To honesty. To closure. Or maybe, to something more primal.

Her choice.

Pia sat silently watching Komai's face. She was riding the wave of her cocktail induced state of mind. Wondering whether they could find closure of their story arc by going to a love hotel. There were many in the area, ranging from the cheap shitholes where prostitutes took their clients, to polished, sophisticated palaces where politicians carried out clandestine affairs with media stars. Wondering whether Komai would benefit. If it would exorcise his remaining desire for her. Wondering what Vic would think if he ever found out she was even considering fething an old flame. *I think I could make Vic forgive me, but that doesn't make it right to do,* she told herself. *It's a gakky idea. I could just end up hurting all three of us.*

She sighed.

"Taka-kun, there was a time maybe we could have got together. And it might have been very good. But the time is past. We've both moved on. I could go somewhere with you now. We'd join our bodies together and have some satisfaction, but it would be purely physical. I can't commit emotionally to you because I've given my heart to someone else. You don't need me any more. You'll find a girl. Someone who’ll love you the way I can't. I know you’ll make each other happy. Because you’re a very good man."

Komai listened, his eyes holding hers the whole time. No blink. No shift. Stillness, until he let go a long, quiet breath.

He leant back slightly, letting her words settle around them like the smoke from an incense burner. The jazz in the background slipped into a slower tempo. A brushed snare drum. A distant clarinet, half-mourning, half-blessing.

“I thought you’d say that,” he said at last, and his words were strangely peaceful. “I think I was hoping you would.” He swirled the last of his beer in the glass, and finished it without bitterness. Just done. “I wanted to know if there was still something unsaid between us. Some itch I hadn’t scratched, some ghost in the room.” He set the glass down. “But you’re right. It would’ve been closure by violence on myself. Not clarity.”

He turned to face her fully now, folding his arms lightly on the edge of the table.

“You’ve changed, Pia. Not completely, you’re still sharp as broken glass, but the fragments are smaller. You don’t use people to test yourself anymore. That means something.” He nodded toward her cocktail. “And I think your man, whoever he is, must be one hell of a guy. Because you’re not even pretending he doesn’t matter.” A small, almost shy smile touches his mouth. “I’m glad you found him.” Then, more quietly, with a humility that landed deep, “Thank you for not taking me somewhere just to say goodbye.”

The moment held.

Komai reached into his sacoche and pulled out a government-issue business card. It bore his name and rank, contact details, and the impressive gold-blocked Imperial chrysanthemum of the National Police Agency at the top. He laid it on the table. This card would unlock doors at any Japanese embassy in the world.

“When you’re ready to send the data, use this email address. And if you ever find yourself on this side of the world again, whether or not there’s intel, text me. We don’t need to organise a sting to have a friendly drink.”

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 83: Rituals of Trust

Pia managed to catch the last train from Shinjuku station. She spent the journey composing a message to Vic.

"@Bae: Hey, Bae, I need you to do me a favour... <kiss and heart emojis> Go round to my place and ask Renée to let you in. She's got a key. My laptop is in the safe. There's a folder on it I need you to zip up and send me. I’ll send you the combination and password separately.”

Pia paused her furious tapping to set up an operationally secure temporary email address, which she used to create an eBay account, where she listed a designer handbag for sale at a very good price, illustrating it with an image from the original catalogue and a sassy description. She ‘bought’ the bag with a transfer of $123.17 from a US-based bank account she rarely used. Logging on to Dropbox, Pia activated a pro account using the funds from eBay, laundered through PayPal.

"The folder is called Top Secret Surprise Melbourne Birthday Road Trip. Don't read inside because it's a secret surprise! Zip it up with a password and upload it to Dropbox here. Then message me the password separately. Pleeeasseee!" <Winking eyes emojis.> She followed up with several images of things she had bought during the day, including a beautifully refurbished vintage leather biker jacket, something Vic had lusted after for a long while. It was after midnight in Sydney, so there wouldn't be an answer until tomorrow.

Pia reached home, finding everyone asleep except Yancy, and a neat stack of cartons from Mitsukoshi waiting for her to unpack. She took out a small packet wrapped like a work of art.

"Here big brother. You ask. I deliver."

Yancy looked up from his tablet, blinking wearily behind his glasses. He was wearing a Uniqlo sake brewery logo tee-shirt over loose, pale green suteteko shorts with a pattern of masks from traditional Noh drama. He had clearly been up too late toggling between academic papers and soft jazz. Or maybe waiting for his little sister to come home safely. He unwrapped the present to find a navy blue tie with a motif of little red robots, by Paul Smith of London. His eyes flicked to Pia’s face.

“Paul Smith and robots? I never would have believed it. You’re either a sorceress or you threatened someone.” He picked up the tie with a kind of reverence, running his fingers over the silky weave, a grin forming. “Oh dear. I may actually have to wear a suit now, Pia.”

“You should be careful what you wish for, in case it comes true.”

Yancy gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. “There’s mugicha in the fridge. Hikaru left a note to remind you to lay out your black outfit for the temple visit tomorrow. Also, Eimi asked if you’d braid her hair. I said yes on your behalf.” He gave his little sister’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then gestured toward the closed sliding doors of the tatami mat floored guest room. “Go and have a shower and then sleep. It’s a big day tomorrow.” He glanced at the clock. “Today. Bring plenty of tissues. I cried at the last grave I visited, and I was sober.”

Vic’s phone was set to Do Not Disturb mode, so it was after 07:30 in Sydney when it vibrated into life, seething with Pia’s flurry of overnight messages; kiss emojis, a suspiciously named folder request, several images -- including the jacket -- and the usual charm offensive that somehow smelt faintly of potential mischief.

He stared at the screen, groggy, amused, and already a little worried. He tapped a reply, “@Pia: You scare me and turn me on in equal measure. Going to Renée ’s after brekkie. Hope this isn’t you blackmailing yourself.” Then added, after a pause, Love you. He didn’t send that part yet. Instead, he looked at the photo of the jacket again, and muttered, “She bloody found it!”

He smiled, then rolled out of bed into the early morning light.

Vic's message arrived while Pia was kneeling on the floor to plait Eimi's soft hair. Her mother Camille had often plaited Pia’s hair when she was a child. It was an intimate form of connection between mother and daughter, a practical demonstration of love and care. Unfortunately, Pia hadn't ever plaited a girl's hair. She had kept her own hair too short for plaits since she was at university. Now she was making a total pig's ear of the job.

"Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear, quelle gâchis," she muttered, and tried to disguise the results with a big black bow. "I’ll have to practice on Vic."

Eimi turned her head this way and that in front of the mirror, frowning at the uneven strands sprouting rebelliously from under the bow.

“It feels... wonky?” she said suspiciously. She prodded the bow, then shrugged. “But it’s black. So it’s okay.”

She plopped onto her bottom with the air of someone who had successfully cleared a diplomatic crisis, grabbed a penguin soft toy from nearby, and began to narrate an elaborate shopping trip during which the penguin bought ice cream for all his penguin friends.

Pia’s phone buzzed beside her. A message alert glowed on the lock screen. She tapped her thumb to open it.

“You scare me and turn me on in equal measure. Going to Renée ’s after brekkie. Hope this isn’t you blackmailing yourself.”

The typing alert for another message was pulsing away, but… the blinking cursor disappeared. Pia sighed and put the phone down.

Eimi draped the penguin dramatically across Pia’s knee.

“Can Mr Pengin have a hair bow too? He’s going to a party.”

"Pengins don't wear bows in their hair, darling, because they wear bow ties around their necks. Bow ties are cool. I'll give him one now." She had learnt how to tie a proper bow tie as a way to get close to a special boy at university. Now she took another piece of black ribbon and knotted a very creditable bow around Mr Pengin's neck. His new look reminded her of a man’s formal dinner suit. "I have to dress now, Eimi-chan. You can play with Mr Pengin if you like, or come and watch me put on my make-up."

Eimi clasped Mr Pengin with both arms, inspecting him with the critical eye of someone who had watched many costume changes on NHK kids’ programming. “He looks like James Pengin.” She followed Pia into the bathroom, padding barefoot, holding the penguin aloft by one flipper like he was her bodyguard. “Are you going to wear face magic again? The one with shiny stuff?”

She rested her chin in her hands, utterly entranced, as Pia started her routine. The morning light slanted in through the misted window, casting soft bright bars across the mirror, the brushes, the palette of subtle golds, smoky greys and subdued browns.

Pia’s phone, resting quietly on the windowsill, glowed once more.

"Love you." No emojis. No flourish. Just that. Simple.

"One day you can wear make-up if you want to, Eimi-chan. Mummy will teach you."

Pia did a simple, formal face, suitable for a visit to a grave. A very light spritz of Erolfa, such a versatile fragrance. She slipped into a silk camisole, then her new, knee length, A-line black dress from Mitsukoshi, with half sleeves and a square neckline. Low denier black stockings, uncomfortable to pull up her unshaven legs. A simple pillbox hat with a fishnet veil, fastened to her short hair with clips. Black diamond stud earrings, and an understated Frederique Constant Classic Carée 23mm steel bracelet watch. A black clutch bag. Black, block heel court shoes waited in the genkan.

"Run and tell mummy and daddy that I'm ready." But Pia wasn't. Not really. She quickly added a little emergency make-up kit to her bag, and chose a tenugui cloth with a dark pattern. Eimi nodded solemnly and scampered off, Mr Pengin bobbing against her hip, already calling out down the hallway.

“Mummy! Daddy! Tía Pian is beautiful now!” Her voice echoed lightly, a bright little bell in the quiet house.

"@Vic. I love you and I don't want to lose you. I'm going to visit a grave. Think of me."

The mirror reflected a version of Pia who was elegant and composed, and shadowed by something quiet. There was a stillness beneath the silk. Half-concealed eyes. The stockings itched faintly at her calves, a tiny grounding discomfort. She slid the absorbent tenugui into her clutch, beside the emergency make-up, and breathed in the faint ozone-and-citrus of Erolfa again. The veil sat gently across her cheekbones like memory made visible.

Her phone buzzed softly.

Always thinking of you. Especially today. I’ve got your back wherever you are, whatever comes next. You won’t lose me. Just make sure you come home.

She drew on a pair of short black gloves.

The Sydney morning was warming up, relatively speaking, towards an expected high of 19 degrees. Vic pulled open the door of a café with his hair still damp and his car keys in his pocket. He was intent on a double-strength flat white to kick start his day.

In Tokyo, unshod feet moved in the hallway. Yancy cleared his throat. Eimi giggled again. Hikaru’s voice murmured low, calming her. Pia cleared her mind of distractions.

It was a day for remembrance. A day for duty. A day to endure and survive.

Tokyo -- all of Japan -- is full of religious sites from tiny roadside booths for a single statue to sprawling complexes like the Meiji shrine. In general, Shinto and Buddhism are equally honoured, but graveyards are the special province of the Buddhist faith. Hisashi's family grave was at a small temple with one resident monk and his family. Pia didn't know the rituals, so she held Eimi's hand and copied what Hikaru and Yancy did.

The temple was a quiet corner of ancient Japan tucked into an eclectic mix of shops, restaurants and residential buildings a few hundred metres from a high-rise district with a large train station.

The traditional wooden buildings were enclosed behind a wall and a gate. The graves stretched out like a village of tiny stone skyscrapers arranged neatly along a grid of paths. Yancy, coached by Hikaru, greeted the monk as the head of the family should, handing him a basket of fresh fruits. He cheerfully welcomed the Reeses into his house, where his wife provided tea and sweets before the short prayer ceremony.

They sat in the formal seiza kneeling position, even Yancy, while sonorous chanting filled the air with ancient phrases that barely sounded like Japanese. When it was over, the monk said goodbye, and the family went to pay their respects at the grave.

Vic arrived at 10 Bloomfield Street in the late morning, with the sun bouncing off the windscreens of the cars parked along the kerbs. It was quiet on this stretch of Surry Hills, except for a pair of cockatoos making a fuss somewhere up the street, and a small dog yapping into the wind like it had unresolved trauma.

He found Renée already waiting by the front door, holding a takeaway flat white and wearing oversized sunglasses that looked both glamorous and vaguely accusatory.

“You’re late, Victor. I was about to call Interpol,” she said drily. Renée fished the key from her handbag and unlocked the door with the sort of flourish that implied long-standing, unofficial jurisdiction. “I haven’t been in since she went. Let’s see what chaos she left behind.”

Inside, the flat smelt very faintly of Creed Erolfa and dust. Three pairs of Pia’s shoes were in an organised line-up at the entrance. The curtains were half closed, allowing light to stream across the designer-specified furnishings, gilding the Persian rugs, striping the tasteful art prints. A postcard from Leo was pinned to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a British red pillar post box.

While Renée drifted toward the kitchen, to peer into cupboards and tins of biscuits and mutter about Pia’s ‘aesthetic clutter,’ Vic unlocked the safe and found the laptop. He gave a low whistle at the assortment of expensive looking jewellery boxes underneath it, and a neat stack of 10 gram gold bars in plastic sleeves, easily swipeable, untraceable, and readily converted to cash.

*Wow! She really does trust me.*

The screen woke instantly. He keyed in the password Pia had given him, opened the finder and searched. The folder was there, exactly as described:

Top Secret Surprise Melbourne Birthday Road Trip

He chuckled. Then hesitated. Mouse hovering. Breath held. He selected the folder. Right-clicked. “Compress to ZIP.” The progress bar began to stretch across the screen, and the filelist flickered as individual documents were added to the archive. And that’s when he saw it.

Cam01_20250519.mp4
Transcript_42.txt
Suspect01_Image05.png
Sting Op Outline_v3.docx

The names flowed past like silent alarms; dry, professional, quietly damning. His smile faded. Vic stepped back slightly, arms folded, eyes narrowed at the screen like it had just told him she’d robbed a casino for fun. From behind him, Renée said, “Vic? You’re doing that thing with your jaw. Is something wrong?”

Hikaru pointed out Hisashi's family's wooden pail, the ancient Japanese design made of wooden staves, with a fixed handle, and the name painted on the side in kanji. Yancy filled it with clean water and collected dippers and brushes. He and Hikaru led Pia and Eimi to the grave Pia had never seen before. When Yancy and Hikaru attended Hisashi’s funeral, she had been on a flight from Seoul to Paris, with an emergency travel document and a carry-on case full of hastily bought clothes and toiletries. Eimi had been an idea, a hope, a dream of a possible child. Pia, slumped in grief and despair, hadn’t been looking at any kind of future.

Now again Pia’s eyes felt hot and full. Racked behind the grave were the long, thin wooden banners from the mourners at the funeral. She could read 'Reese' in katakana, and 'Takeda' in kanji, but the rest were unknown to her. The timber had faded from gold to grey so quickly in Tokyo’s sun and rain and pollution.

Yancy began to clean the grave. Pia joined in, helping to remove the dead flowers, and scrub the dead leaves, moss and traffic stains from the stone. Her tears welled up, overflowing her eyes and dripping quietly down her cheeks. She sniffled, then sobbed, but she carried on cleaning, finally closing that part of her life, absolving herself of the grief and guilt she still felt over the way she treated Hisashi.

Yancy didn’t say anything. He didn’t stop her, either. Just shifted slightly to the side, letting her scrub at the stone beside him while the cicadas sang their summer song of longing for life.

Hikaru moved with quiet reverence, dipping water and gently brushing the carved kanji with steady, practised strokes. She glanced at Pia only once, her eyes soft, full of understanding, and said nothing. Some things were too important for words.

Eimi, sensing the heaviness in the air, pressed herself against her mother’s legs, small arms winding around her thigh like a silent tether. She didn’t ask what was wrong. She just hummed a little tune under her breath, one of her Shinkansen jingles, too young to name grief, but not untouched by it.

The grave was clean now. Shining with fresh water. Dark granite warmed by the sun.

There was a gap among the banners, an invisible one, that belonged to Pia. Not as a mourner, but as someone who had once loved a man she couldn’t keep and didn’t save. And now, she let go of it, not with grand declarations, but with her bare hands on the stone, with tears drying on her cheeks, with the low ache of dignity returning to her shoulders.

Vic exhaled slowly and lowered himself onto one of Pia’s bar stools, his elbows on the peninsula, his gaze still locked on the zipped folder. He said quietly, “She’s been planning a job.”

Renée stopped in mid-rearrangement of Pia’s fruit bowl. Turned. “What kind of job? I don’t think her visa allows her to work.”

“Not a barista gig,” he said sarcastically. He pointed at the file names. Renée slid over and peered at the list. Her eyebrows inched up.

“Oh, putain. That’s not a birthday surprise. That’s professional surveillance.” She leant one hip against the counter and crossed her arms, watching Vic. “What is she doing? Are you going to take a look?”

He didn’t answer.

“What did you tell her, Vic? Did you promise not to?”

Vic ran a hand through his long hair, his jaw still tense. “She did tell me not to. And it’s Pia. This is her way of telling me to, to, find out, something. If I want to.”

“She’s scared,” Renée said in a soft voice. “Scared that you’ll walk away. So she’s trying to let you choose.”

“By sending me evidence she might’ve gone back to being a vigilante lunatic?”

Renée shrugged. “It’s romantic, in a deeply dysfunctional way.”

They stood there in the kitchen, listening to the faint hum of Pia’s digital secrets compressing and encrypting.

“She’s trying to come clean,” Vic said. “The most Pia way possible.”

“Et bien? What now?”

Vic looked out the window for a long moment. “I tell her I zipped it and sent it. Then I wait. And when she’s ready, she can tell me the rest. But I won’t lie, I hate that she didn’t just tell me about this face to face.”

He logged into the temporary Dropbox Pia had linked him to. Some cryptic username with just enough of her snark baked into it to make him smile despite himself, and dragged the zipped file into the upload window. Watched the progress bar: Uploading... 38%... 72%... Complete.

Then, as instructed, he picked up his phone.

“@Pia: File uploaded. Zip password incoming.
Hope Melbourne's surprise involves less surveillance next time.”

A moment later, he sent a second message:

“Password: Big*Surprise_2025”

He put the phone down. Didn’t open the folder. Just rested his arms on the countertop and exhaled.

“You did well, mon brave.” Renée rubbed his shoulder.

“Not sure I want to be the kind of man who has to check his girlfriend’s secret files.”

“Then don’t be. Be the kind of man she can give them to, and trust you not to look.”

He nodded slowly. Folded the laptop shut. He paused for a moment, “Want to help me eat her emergency chocolate biscuits?”

“Mon dieu. Yes!”

They disappeared into the pantry.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 84: The Long Way Home

The grave cleaning finished, Hikaru and Pia arranged the flowers they had brought. Yancy offered a disposable cigarette lighter to ignite their sheaves of incense sticks. The fragrant smoke drifted in the humid air.

Pia's tide of tears turned to the ebb. She took out her tenugui and mopped her face, but didn't blow her nose because that was very rude in Japan. Instead she did some deep sniffles. Everyone prayed quietly in the way they felt best. Hikaru with that curious, on-off religious devotion of the Japanese, who often hold two or three faiths and flex them as required for the holy needs of the day. Yancy's true thoughts were private. Pia, when she felt a spiritual impulse, prayed to Goddess. Eimi just stood quietly, holding her parent’s hands.

"Okay, that's done. I've said I'm sorry properly at last." Pia gave one last good sniff. "Let's go for lunch. I need to mend my face."

Yancy gave her a gentle smile and a small nod; no words, just the kind of glance between siblings that carried the weight of things shared and unspoken. He set the lighter on the grave for the use of the next visitor. The little girl began to hum to herself again, perhaps not fully understanding what had just happened, but sensing that the solemnity had lifted. Hikaru adjusted her hat. “Hisashi would have liked you coming, Pia-san. Even late. He liked stubborn people who took the long way round.” She linked her spare arm with Pia’s.

The temple bell chimed faintly as the wind shifted.

Lunch was at a narrow, two-storey tempura restaurant tucked in between an estate agent and a stationery shop. The inside smelt of sesame oil and old wood polish. The waitresses move silently in soft slippers, their uniforms crisp, their smiles efficient in that Japanese way which may seem performative, but is a genuine performance. The family were seated in a private tatami room upstairs.

Eimi got a special children’s set with fried tofu wafers cut into animal shapes. Pia ordered a standard lunch set with ebi, renkon, shiso leaf, and shredded vegetables on rice. Miso soup. Pickles. Cold soba as a side dish. She excused herself before the food arrived, ducking into the tiny washroom where a single magnolia floated in a ceramic dish. She retouched her makeup quickly; powder, blush, eyeliner, a fresh dab of lip gloss, and exhaled. She couldn’t cure the puffy raw red of her eyes, but she had a veil, and anyone seeing her funeral ready outfit would understand.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch. Vic’s messages appeared.

"File uploading. Zip password incoming. Hope Melbourne’s surprise involves less surveillance next time."
Password: Big*Surprise_2025"

She read them. Re-read them. Stared at her reflection in the mirror.

*gak!* Pia thought. *He found out. He must be so pissed off! What am I going to do now?* She dampened her tenugui and used it to cool the back of her neck. *I have to get rid of the evidence. I need to visit a cyber café, anonymise the data, and re-encrypt it with a better password. No!* She took deep breaths of cool, magnolia scented air. *The whole mess began in a cyber café. Maybe I should buy a laptop. Also I have to figure out what I should do about Vic. And there's probably a countdown on that.*

She returned to the tatami room. The food arrived. Everyone said itadakimasu, and they began to eat. Pia's mind raced. Then she turned to Yancy and spoke rapidly in flowery French, slathering her words with a British accent, in the hope that Hikaru wouldn't understand.

"Mon frère, tu te souviens quand ta femme était étudiante ? Elle était plutôt déchaînée. Comme moi. Certaines de tes histoires, ha ha !" (You remember when your wife was a student? She was pretty wild. Like me. Some of your stories!)

Yancy raised an eyebrow over his tempura but didn't miss a beat. He switched to French effortlessly, his accent flatter, more neutral, touched with Tokyo smoothness from years of bilingual life.

“Yes, I remember. A whisky-fuelled karaoke night in Yokohama. The scooter incident in Odawara. The ramen-eating competition with the philosophy club.”

He glanced at Hikaru, who was delicately dipping a slice of lotus root into her soy sauce dish and very much pretending not to understand a word. “She’s still wild, just in quieter ways. Like agreeing to marry me.” He crunched up a shrimp and added casually, “What are you trying to distract me from?” He was smiling, but his eyes were sharp, Reese eyes, tuned for signs of turbulence.

Eimi was pretending to feed a deep fried shiso leaf to Mr Pengin, oblivious to the adult drama.

Pia’s chopsticks hesitated over a slice of sweet potato. Her heart was tapping out code she didn’t want to compile just yet.

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone, Pia. But don’t let it rot under your ribs. That’s not you anymore.” He lifted his tea cup and clinked it lightly against hers. “To closing chapters,” he said in Japanese.

“To fresh oil and no more burnt onions,” Hikaru replied.

Everyone laughed except Pia, whose smile was real, but rationed. "Well," Pia continued in her oddly accented French, "Did she ever do something rather ill-considered, which she wanted to keep a secret from you, but you found out anyway and it made you angry?"

Yancy gave her a look, with narrowed eyes and one raised brow that asked, Are we still speaking in hypotheticals, or have we entered confessional territory? He set his cup down with exaggerated care. “Let me see. There was the time she joined an all-female biker gang for a week. She told me it was a sociology project. It was not a sociology project.”

Hikaru cleared her throat pointedly and gave him a warning nudge with her knee under the table.

“She did it to protect a friend who had got into trouble. Nearly got expelled. She came clean eventually, but I only found out because she accidentally forwarded me an email thread about a group ride that ended at a hot spring.” He plucked up a slice of green pepper with more force than necessary. “I was furious. But more than that, I was scared. That she’d get hurt. That she didn’t trust me enough to tell me sooner.” He paused, and lifted his eyes to meet Pia’s. “Does that sound like anyone you know?”

Hikaru murmured just loud enough to cut through the tension, “Baiku jaketto o mada motteru.” (I’ve still got the jacket.)

Eimi gasped. “Mummy’s a motorcycle princess!?”

“Hikaru! Itsu Furansugo o oboeta no? Atashi ga itta koto zenbu wakatteru? (You can speak French?! Did you understand everything?) Oh no!” Pia covered her face with her hands. Her phone buzzed once in her bag, quietly demanding attention.

"I may have done another bad thing," Pia confessed in English. "Not really bad, but bad enough. I hid some stuff from Vic and he found out and he’s angry. So I have to deal with it.” She beat a rapid tattoo on the tabletop with her fingers. “I know. I'll buy him a motorbike."

Yancy stared at her, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth with a prawn pincered between them. “A motorbike? That’s your idea of reconciliation? You really think that’s going to work?” He sounded extremely dubious.

“Maybe? I don't know. That’s why I need your advice, Yancy.”

“Is Vic going to wear a princess jacket too?” Eimi asked, her eyes agog.

“I’ve already bought him one,” Pia said, “And he’s got the boots, so perhaps it’s fate that I complete the set.”

“I don’t think even a big bribe like a bike is going to work, Pia,” Yancy told her, “Seriously. This is about you breaking his trust, not denting his car or something.” Hikaru nodded.

There was a chime from Pia’s handbag. She took out her phone to read the message, which most certainly must have come from Vic. The screen lit up. Vic’s message was short, and it hit harder for its restraint.

“@Pia: Got it uploaded. Didn’t open it. I trust you, Pia. But you’ve got to trust me too. We’re in this together. Or not at all.”

There was no anger in it. Just quiet steel. The kind that flexes, but doesn’t break.

*Oh putain. Un bordel énorme. La reine des cons, moi.* (gak. A huge mess. I’m such a fool.) Pia began to look a bit weepy. She tapped out a reply.

"@Bae: I'm really sorry, Vic. I didn't want to get you involved, so I hid it from you. It's an old habit. Can we talk later? I mean a video call. I can't now because we're all in a restaurant after visiting Hisashi's grave. It was very beautiful. I cried and cried. Afterwards I felt I was forgiven. And then I ruined it by keeping secrets from you."

She snapped a selfie of herself in her veiled hat, trying to express remorse in her expression, her damp eyes, her trembling lips. Uploaded it to the chat.

Vic saw the message come through while he’s crouched in Pia’s apartment, restocking her fridge the brand of ginger beer she liked. The photo hit him first, Pia in her pillbox hat, eyes raw but proud, like a war widow in a perfume ad. He sat back on the lino floor, breath catching for a second. Then read the message. He didn’t reply immediately. He just looked at the image. Her words. Her face.

Then he typed: “Thank you for telling me. I know it’s hard. I know you didn’t mean harm. Talk later. I want to see your face when you’re not wearing a veil. I’ll be here. Always.” He stared at the screen a moment longer, before typing, “P.S. I forgive you. But I’m still not letting you name our future folders.”

He slipped the phone into his pocket, stood, and wiped down the peninsula. Because love, he was learning, is not about avoiding heartbreak. It’s about showing up even when you’ve got reasons not to.

When lunch was over, Yancy and Pia began to argue in English about which of them should have the honour of paying the bill. Hikaru watched in admiration as they deployed their reasoning.

“I’ll pay. I'm the eldest.” Yancy took the bill.

“I invited you.” Pia took it back.

“I'm the man of the family.” He slid it back to his side of the table and started to get out his wallet.

“You're the sexist of the family,” Pia snorted. She pinched the slip back while Yancy’s hands were occupied.

“I'm the highest paid.” He reached for the bill again.

“Only in a technical sense.” She pulled it away from him.

“Fine.” Yancy sighed in resignation. “You pay, then.”

“Don't want to now.” She shoved the slip back across the table petulantly.

“Oh no!”

“It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind,” Pia smiled.

“La donna e mobile.” Yancy reached for the bill, but Pia swiped it away.

“I'll pay.” She smiled triumphantly.

Hikaru leant back in her seat, her face glowing with smug amusement, like she was in the front row at a particularly operatic tennis match. “This is better than kabuki. All that’s missing is someone yelling ‘mattemashita!’ and throwing a fan.”

Eimi, entirely unconcerned, was busy crayoning a very long Shinkansen around the back of her placemat, adding sparkles to the wheels.

Yancy made one last half-hearted feint for the bill. “Are you absolutely sure, Pia? I’ll pout all afternoon.”

“Yes, yes. Let the record show that I, Olympe Viola Reese, paid for this magnificent meal as a gesture of family love, goodwill, and sheer tactical brilliance.”

“I’ll get you back at the next one,” Yancy grumbled. “With interest.”

“You can try.”

They all laughed, and the day was lifted into something sunlit and ordinary. The kind of family moment Pia always longed for.

A hot breeze ruffled the noren hanging over the restaurant door. Outside, the street hummed with cicada song.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 85: Full Disclosure

The Reeses quit the restaurant for the insane heat and humidity of the mid-afternoon Tokyo summer. "Hikaru, may I borrow your computer when we get back?" Pia asked her sister-in-law nonchalantly as they walked towards the train station.

Hikaru pulled a face like she had just walked into a sauna wearing a wool suit. “Of course. As long as you don’t install anything that might get me flagged by a government agency.” She popped open a folding parasol, elegant and precise, and passed Eimi a tiny matching one with cartoon clouds on the inside of it. “But if I get audited and they find something called anything remotely concerning, I’m blaming you.”

“Pia’s definitely on at least two watchlists already,” Yancy said.

Eimi started trotting ahead, swinging her parasol like a conductor’s baton.

“Is everything okay, Pian?” Hikaru whispered. She didn’t press. Just asked like a sister. Her gaze was steady behind her sunglasses, expression open but attentive.

"It's all above board, Hikarin. Mostly. It's some data I said I would hand over to a contact at the National Police Agency. Someone from the old days. All I want to do is download the packet, unzip it and check the contents. When I'm happy, I'll rezip it with a new password, send it to my contact, and delete it. I'll do everything on an external hard disk in a coffee shop so there's no traces left on your PC or home network. Dean and Deluca near the station has good WiFi. You can sit with me and watch the whole thing as long as you keep your eyes closed all the time.”

Pia lifted her sunglasses to be able to look Hikaru properly in the eyes. "I completely understand if you'd rather not get involved, Hikarin. Just tell me, and I’ll figure out a different way to do it."

Hikaru stopped walking, her parasol tilting ever so slightly as she regarded Pia in full. She didn’t blink.

“You’re family. You’ve been to hell and come out stronger. And I trust your morals more than I trust most people's, even when they defy conventional ethics. But if you get me arrested, I’ll make you explain it to Eimi. In French.” She linked her arm through Pia’s with casual affection and began walking again, her parasol bobbing above them like a silk jellyfish.

“Of course you can borrow the laptop. Just promise me one thing.” She tilted her head. “If this isn’t over after you hit send, if the thing starts breathing again, you’ll tell me, Or Yancy. Or Vic. No more secrets that make you eat tempura with a haunted look.”

Behind them, Yancy squinted into the sun. “Did someone say haunted tempura? Sounds like a niche izakaya concept.”

“I’m lending her my computer.”

“Oh God. What are we going to get arrested for this time?”

They reached home. Pia went straight out with Hikaru's laptop, not even pausing to change clothes, which was most unlike her. She was back an hour later.

"Hikarin, thank you very much for the borrow of your machine. Job done. You can check it and see there's nothing on it. Now I must videocall Vic and save the idea of a potential marriage he hasn't really proposed to me."

Hikaru closed her book and looked up, taking in Pia’s tone, the brisk energy behind the words, the very un-Pia urgency still clinging to her. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry. I trust you more than I trust most software updates.” She stood, stretched, and added with a faint smile, “if he’s not already planning the proposal, he’s an idiot. But call him before you lose your nerve.”

Eimi peered in from the doorway, holding Mr Pengin like he was a phone. “I’m calling Vic too. Mr Pengin says you should kiss.”

“Your audience is assembled, Pia.”

"Now isn't the right time to do a spoony engagement hint type of thing, Hikarin. I have to seriously apologise without interruptions. Because I think I may have hurt Vic badly. I don't mind if you listen in. It might do me good. Make me honest. Just don't say anything about engagements."

Pia got her phone out, but she didn't connect the call yet.

"Vic's got his pride,” she explained. “He'll propose to me when he's ready. If he’s ever ready. There's no use my trying to force it. I must be patient. For up to a year.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m ready.” She took another breath. “I'm going to call."

Hikaru nodded once, quiet and steady. “I won’t say a word. I’ll just sit here and sip my tea like I’m a silent monk in a romance drama.” She folded herself neatly onto a floor cushion, picked up her cup, and softened her expression into sisterly support.

“You’ve got this, Pia. Tell the truth. You’re often bad at that, but you’re good when it really matters.”

Eimi, thankfully, had gone back to the other room, where she was narrating a train crash with great dramatic flair. Mr Pengin was apparently unharmed.

Pia’s phone felt warm in her hand. The screen reflected her own face back at her; done up for a funeral, worn down by the truth, and maybe, ready to let someone see everything. For the first time in years.

She tapped Video Call @Bae.

It rang: Once. Twice. Click.

Vic appeared on screen, long hair slightly messy, sleeves rolled up, a look of guarded gentleness settling into his eyes the moment he saw her. He was sitting at his table, with his Billy bookcase behind him, his face illuminated by the warm evening light through the balcony’s French windows.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You look beautiful. And tired. Like you’ve been carrying too much all day.”

Then he waited. Not smiling, not scowling. Just open and ready to listen.

Gilded by Sydney’s warm evening light, Vic looked like a young god. His sheer physical beauty tugged at Pia's heart, and some other places.

"Hello, Vic. I owe you an explanation and an apology. I don't know where to start but apparently the beginning is a good place. Oh, by the way, Hikaru is here to keep my conscience in line."

Pia turned the camera towards her sister-in-law. Vic saw a sharply attractive Japanese face framed by a very long bob of dark blue hair.

He nodded once at Hikaru, respectful, his expression flicking into a polite half-smile.

“Hi, Hikaru-san. Thanks for making sure she doesn’t try to bribe me with perfume and vintage jackets again.”

Hikaru bowed her head and lifted her tea cup in greeting. “Someone had to supervise. She’s not used to emotionally mature conversations.”

Pia’s off-screen voice said, “I’m still here, you know. I can hear you.” She turned the camera back to herself.

“Start wherever you want,” he said. “You’ve got the floor. I’m here.”

He leant back slightly, folding his arms, not defensively, just grounding himself. His eyes never leave the screen. Not stern, not accusing. But very clearly hurt. Holding it together. And giving Pia the space to make it right.

"You remember a few months ago I did the 'bad thing'? When I got you into trouble at work with my email bombing campaign which went off the rails. I gave you the hard drive I stole, I mean I recovered. Abstracted. Perhaps relocated is the best word, from the cybercafé. I also took their CCTV footage, because I was on it as well as my accomplice, I mean assistant. Colleague, whom I want to protect."

Pia blinked as she decided how to explain the next bit.

"Luckily you worked everything out at the office, and no real harm was done. But the thing is, I never got rid of the footage. You remember the SD card? You kept asking if I wanted help with it and I kept telling you not to worry about it. Anyway, when I had some time, I analysed it, and I found some clues to possible criminal activity. I got in touch with my cyberpunk sidekick and they gave me a lot of good info concerning criminal frauds involving counterfeit and stolen game cards. Like for Pokémon or Cardcaptor Sakura. Or Magic: The Gooning. You simply would not believe how much some of the rares go for!"

Vic blinked slowly. He didn't interrupt. He didn't raise an eyebrow. He just exhales through his nose, very softly, and pinches the bridge of it like he was bracing for turbulence on a small plane.

“Pia.”

One word. Definitely threaded with you are so impossibly you. In all the good and bad ways.

“So you didn’t just go undercover at a cybercafé. You started building a case file on an international crime ring.”

A pause.

“By accident.”

He glanced off-screen for a second, muttered something inaudible, then looked back at her, rubbing his jaw. “Okay. Keep going. I’m assuming we haven’t reached the actual bad part yet.”

His voice was dry now, just a shade from affectionate, but that tension was still there behind his eyes, the effort of trying not to feel excluded. Or used. Or played.

“Because so far, this sounds like a very Pia situation that’s somehow only medium illegal.”

Pia hung her head.

"It wasn't that bad. I gathered a lot of intel and made some initial plans, just bullet points. More like speculation, really, about what sort of undercover sting op I could do. More or less out of old habit. And then sanity reared its ugly head. Things got really intense between me and you. I started to get more friends around me, like Dan and Kiri and Renée…” She looked suddenly worried. “Wait. Does Renée know about this?”

Vic nodded.

“I'll just have to be clever and careful around Renée. Thank you for not reading the files, Vic.” She smiled weakly. “Your name was in there, actually. You'll laugh at this -- well, maybe you won't -- but I mooted the idea of wiring you up, and sending you in with a little digital recorder hidden under your long hair. That was a silly idea. I would never actually have done it. I think. But I want to confess about that bit particularly." She looked very, very sorry.

Vic blinked as if he was emerging from a mad dream. Slowly, slowly he leant forward until his forehead dropped into his hands, the classic facepalm pose that said: this is too ridiculous to be real and yet, here we are.

He held the position for a few hot seconds, then lifted his head and looked straight into the camera.

“You were going to wire me up.”

A pause.

“Me. Victor Davern. The man who once forgot he was wearing a live mic and accidentally broadcast an entire monologue about mango gelato to a client meeting.”

He blinked again. Then—finally—he started laughing. Not a huge laugh, just relieved and kind.

“Jesus, Pia.” He wiped his hand across his face. “Look, I’m not angry. Or maybe I was angry. But now I’m just…” he paused, “...weirdly proud? That your big confession is ‘I almost turned you into James Bond with a podcast.’”

He shook his head. “I love you. You’re mental, but I love you.”

A longer beat.

“Just… Please. Next time you’re tempted to go full noir detective, can you at least loop me in before you write my name into your heist files?” He softened further, his smile warm now, and his eyes steady on hers through the screens and thousands of kilometres that separated them.

“I’m not here to stop you being who you are, Pia. I just want to be in it with you.”

Pia looked incredibly relieved. She actually kissed the screen of the phone, leaving a mark from her lipstick.

"Oh thank you, thank you, Vic! I've been such a naughty girl. However will you punish me when I get home?" She wriggled her bottom a bit.

Vic smiled as she kissed the screen, small, boyish, entirely undone.

“What will I do when you get home? Hmm. I might have to do a thorough search for hidden microphones. It could take hours.”

Pia smirked, and her eyebrows danced, anticipating that intimate body search.

"Let me just give you the ending. Because it really is the end, Vic. I had dinner with Komai, the Tokyo detective who… Well, let’s just say there's a lot of history. I expect you remember his name. It came up that he's working on a case involving money laundering through fake game cards.”

She looked serious again. “It might sound funny but people get hurt, like you might be a kid who's saved from your part-time job for months, and you discover that the rare card you longed for is a worthless fake. Or you're a single mum who finds some cards going cheap, sells them on at a flea market, and you get done for passing stolen goods. It's not the worst crime in the world but I thought I could do something about it. So I asked you to send me my packet, and I've passed it on to Komai. You can delete it off my computer. And that's the end of it. I promise."

His grin tugged lopsided, then softened again as she continued. He listened without jealousy as she spoke about Komai. A flicker of protective instinct when she mentioned people getting hurt. A nod of recognition at the kind of injustice that would wake up Pia’s inner paladin, even when she swore she was retired.

By the end of it, he was leaning on his elbows, his gaze steady on her.

“Okay.” He exhaled, like he was settling down. “That’s a good reason. You saw something wrong, and you wanted to help. You were reckless, yeah. And secretive, definitely. But you weren’t selfish.”

He hesitated, then added, more gently, “I still wish you’d told me. But I’m proud of you. And I believe you. And now that it’s done — really done — I’m not going to make you promise to never do anything crazy again.”

He leant closer, lowering his voice slightly, a slow grin curling at the corners of his mouth.

“But next time, let’s do the crazy thing together.”

Pia’s face lit up, and she looked like she might cry or laugh, or both.

“You free tonight?” Vic asked. “I could order something indecent to eat and video call you from bed. No crimes. No crying. Just us.”

Pia looked excited. In fact she looked downright randy. Her face wobbled in the frame as she rubbed her thighs together. "Are you thinking sexy video chat, Vic? You know Hikaru is still here?" Pia looked to see if Hikaru was taking notice.

Hikaru, still perched neatly on her cushion with her tea, lifted one eyebrow with precision and sipped slowly like a woman absolutely not listening but categorically absorbing everything. “Don’t worry. I’ll mute myself. And if I hear the words Bluetooth-enabled recording device, I’m calling your mother.”

Pia’s phone jerked as she stifled a laugh.

Vic leant back in his chair, absolutely grinning now. “I was going to suggest ice cream and flirty glances, but now I’m picturing Bluetooth-enabled gelato and I can’t focus.” He lowered his voice. “Yes, Pia. Sexy video chat. Because I love you. Because you scare me. Because I miss your skin more than any sane man should.”

“Ooooh!”

“Tonight, Pia. When you’re alone. Bring your phone. And that look you just gave me. Also maybe warn Hikaru not to borrow your earbuds,” he winked.

Pia looked again at Hikaru for her views on the topic. Sexy videos chats were a great idea but as a guest of the family? "Maybe I should get a room. There's the hotel down at the station."

Hikaru put down her empty tea cup and gave Pia the kind of look that comes from older sisters, conspirators, and women who have been there. Even though she was actually the younger of them.
“You’re a grown woman, Pia. You’ve already taken out a cybercrime ring and reconciled with your hot boyfriend. If you want to have a sexy video call with him, I’ll run the bath and put on noise-cancelling headphones.”

She paused, considering.

“But if you’d be more comfortable, get a hotel room. Treat yourself. Make it a date. Order a weird dessert. Drink champagne and wear some impractical lingerie you brought ‘just in case’.” She stood and adjusted the hem of her loose top, heading toward the hallway. “Just text me your room number at the hotel. In case I need to lie to Yancy.”

Eimi’s voice drifted faintly from the other room. “Viiiiiiic wants to kiiiiiiiss youuuuuuuuu!”

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 86: Night Mode

An hour later, Pia checked into the recently remodelled boutique Hotel Molino, which occupied the upper stories of a high-rise department store beside Shin-Yurigaoka Station. The receptionist bowed deeply, unfazed by Pia’s dramatic eyeliner, or the determined gleam in her eye. Japan respects a woman on a mission, even if they suspect the mission involves wine, wi-fi, and lingerie.

The room was compact but chic; cream and walnut earth tones, a little velvet bench by the window, indirect lighting that made everyone look like a movie star. The air-conditioning was a godsend.

She stepped out of her shoes at the genkan-style threshold, dropped her overnight bag on the low table, removed her hat with a sigh, and texted Hikaru:

“@Hikarin: Checked in. Room 906. If the building catches fire, Vic probably caused it.”

A beat later, her phone pinged.

“@Pian: Noted. I’ll bring marshmallows.”

The sheets were crisp. The lighting was flattering. The wall mirror had possibilities. In the tiny bathroom, Pia found a complimentary eye-mask and rose-scented body oil. She thought about using the oil, to make her naked skin shine. Vic must be waiting. With a takeout pizza. Probably shirtless, probably smiling like he was remembering every ridiculous sexy thing she’d ever done, and wanted more.

Pia slipped on a kitsune mask she had picked up at a costume shop in the department store below the hotel. She video called Vic. He answered almost instantly. At first, there was just his familiar lopsided grin, hair tousled, sprawled against too many pillows with the kind of lighting that suggests he tried just hard enough.

Then he saw the kitsune mask.

He blinked.

“Okay. Either I’ve finally lost my mind, or I’m about to be seduced by a mythological fox spirit.”

He sat up a little straighter, his eyes narrowing in amused suspicion. “Should I be worried? Is this going to end in a curse, or just an emotionally confusing evening?” His smile widened. “You’re ridiculous. And you look super hot.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “I wore a linen shirt. Does that count as effort?”

"Vic…” Pia hesitated. “You probably won’t believe me but I've never done this before. How do we do it? Your picture is so small."

Vic’s eyes softened instantly, the teasing edge melting into something warm and steady. “Hey. That’s okay. You’re not supposed to know how. It’s not a thing people train for. You just… talk. And listen. And maybe imagine I’m right there next to you.” He shifted, bringing the phone a little closer, the picture framing his face more clearly, laugh lines, the freckles she loved, dotted across his cheekbones, that little curve at the corner of his mouth when he was trying to be reassuring and was slightly turned on.

“I’ll talk you through it, if you want. We don’t even have to do the whole… thing. We can just start with you telling me what you're wearing under that very suspicious mask.”

A beat. He lifted an eyebrow, slow and suggestive.

“Or we can just breathe together for a bit. Pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. You choose, Pia. I’m here either way.”

Pia slid the mask up on top of her head like an ancient Greek warrior’s helmet. "How about this? Shall I do a striptease for you? Let me put on some music." The phone cam view wobbled around for a moment, and settled on the featureless ceiling. Faint music could be heard, riffling through various genres as Pia searched for a sexy track.

Vic watched the spinning view with bemused awe, catching glimpses of mood lighting and curtain fabric like he was in a very sensual hostage video.

“Not that one, unless we’re slow-dancing in a lift.”

“Okay definitely not that one, I’m not trying to seduce an IKEA catalogue.”

Then, finally, something slinky filtered through, a slow, bass-heavy groove with a hint of 80s synth and Pia’s attitude written all over it.

“Yeah. That’s it. That’s you.”

The phone angle was still chaotic, but it didn't matter. It was Pia’s voice. Her silhouette in movement. The rhythm of anticipation.

“I’m ready. Hit me with the full Reese Confidential experience.”

He shifted onto his back, free hand lacing behind his head, eyes locked on the tiny screen like it was a window to another universe.

“And Pia… take your time.”

The feed from Pia's phone steadied as she propped it on the desk, showing a view in portrait mode. The resolution had dropped because it was in selfie mode, so she could judge her own performance. She reappeared in centre stage, the kitsune mask pulled back down over her face. She began to dance to the rhythm of the music, slowly and sensually.

"What do I do next, Vic? I've never done a striptease before. I haven't even watched one. I mean I’ve watched pole dancers but that’s different. Don't stripper girls usually have like big fans of ostrich feathers?"

Vic was mesmerised. Absolutely mesmerised.

His mouth parted slightly as she reappeared in frame, kitsune mask down, her hips swaying with that slow, deliberate tease of someone dancing more from instinct than rehearsal. The slightly-too-late catch of the beat, the unselfconscious shifts in weight. It was sexy because it was Pia. Because she meant it, and because she was going to style it out.

“They do sometimes have fans. But frankly, you’ve got better legs than most birds.” He grinned, but not too much. He was being careful with her vulnerability, keeping it playful but grounded.

“Forget the feathers. Just use what you’ve got. That smirk. That sway. That look in your eyes…” He paused, laughed gently. “Well, I assume it’s a look. Could be fox-rage. Hard to say with the mask.” He sat up slightly, eyes still locked on her. “Start simple. Show me one thing. One shoulder. One strap. Make it slow. Make it Pia.” His voice dips, just slightly rougher now. “And I’ll tell you what I want next.”

"Hoowee!" Pia exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air like she just didn't care. She was feeling it. Some sexy notion conjured in her head, her imagination of what Vic was feeling watching her display. She was starting to get hot down there, between her legs. She reached behind herself to unzip her dress, her flexibility on display. Vic knew from delightful experience that Pia would ask him to unzip her as a sexy prompt. She spun to give him the rear view. One shoulder slid out of the dress, revealing her muscled back and a black silk slip over... What underwear?

Vic let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Oh, hell yes! That’s it, Pia. That’s you.” He leant closer to the screen, lips parted in a kind of half-worshipful, half lecherous grin, his voice dipping into something rougher, lazy with desire and edged in warmth. “God, I love your back. It’s like looking at a sculpture that might kick your arse.” He was trying to be smooth, but his pupils were dilated and he was already sitting forward, like his body was unconsciously trying to close the distance the phone couldn't.

As the dress slipped lower, his gaze caught on the line of her slip, and whatever was beneath it. “Okay, you’ve got me. Now I need to know. What’s under the silk? Something wicked? Something soft?” He grinned wider. “Or did you go full femme fatale and wear nothing at all?”

Pia slipped her other shoulder out of the dress, and slowly lowered it down her torso. Black silk rippled over her back as she shook her ass. Her feet got tangled up in the dragging skirts and she fell out of view, waving her phone madly. "Ow! Ow! Ha ha ha! Lucky I fell on the bed." Some rustling noises, and the camera refocussed on Pia lying on the bed wearing her slip and the kitsune mask. She kicked the dress out of shot.

Vic guffawed a deep, delighted laugh, his head thrown back like this was the best damn show he’d ever seen. “Oh my God, I love you.” He wiped his eyes, then leant forward again, completely transfixed as she reappeared on the bed like a hot girl fox spirit who had just crash-landed from a burlesque sky.

“That was the sexiest pratfall in recorded history.” He drew in a breath as the camera steadied on her, masked, laughing, limbs sprawled across the bed in that black silk slip like chaos incarnate dressed for seduction. “Look at you. I’ve never wanted anyone more.”

Cyberspace hummed for many milliseconds.

“And I mean that both carnally and in the I want to frame this moment and hang it in a gallery way.” He adjusted the angle of his phone subtly, to show less of his chest now, more of his face, eyes steady and intense. “You ready to make this a night we both remember, Pia Reese?”

Back at the Reese house, Yancy wandered into the kitchen, a towel slung over one shoulder, absently fluffing his hair with his hand. He opened the fridge, peered in, then closed it without taking anything, as if that was just part of his thinking process.

“Where’s Pia?” He sounded more curious than concerned, just clocking the absence, the silence where usually there’d be a jazz playlist and some kind of reckless snack experiment.

Hikaru, seated at the table with her laptop and a quietly steaming cup of genmaicha, didn’t look up. “She went to a hotel.”

“What, already? Was it something I said? Is this about the bill for lunch?”

“She needed privacy.”

“Privacy for what?”

She looked up now, very deliberately, and just said: “Vic.”

“Oh.”

A pause. He opened the fridge again and took out a tin of Sapporo Black Label.

“I hope they use solid encryption.”

“She’s a Reese. Of course they’re encrypting it.” Hikaru went back to typing. Somewhere in the background, Eimi’s tablet started to play a Shinkansen-themed lullaby. “I just don’t want to be the one who has to explain it to Eimi if Pia accidentally AirPlays something to the living room TV.”

They sipped their drinks in silence.

Hikaru said, “Should we check in on progress?”

“Absolutely not!”

In room 906 Pia wriggled on the bed, getting comfortable. Apparently she had abandoned the striptease idea.

"Shall I tell you about my first time, Vic? How would you feel about that?"

Vic settled deeper into his pillows, his expression softening, aroused, yes, but also completely present, his attention hooked on Pia not just with lust, with love too. Her shift from seduction to sharing didn’t throw him. It grounded him.

“I’d feel, er, honoured.” His voice was low, sincere. “Tell me anything you want. All of it. Or just the parts you want me to know.”

He adjusted the phone so she could see more of calm, his face, open, the way he looked when he was bracing for real emotion, rather than bracing for impact.

“Tell me the story, Pia. I want to know what made you you.”

"So it was when I was an undergrad at UCL. He was too. Edmund. That's not his real name. We were both 19. I'd fooled around before, of course. Snogging and so on, heavy petting, but I’d never gone all the way. It's a big thing for a girl, you know, Vic. We have so many vulnerabilities."

A sigh. The camera swung around and there was Pia's top half, sitting up, the strap of her slip falling off one shoulder, as she took a pull from a tumbler of some cold, amber coloured drink. Her eyes popped at the strong taste. The view swung again and her head appeared in centre frame, lying on the pillows, the sideways lighting bringing planes of light and dark from her features.

"It was a student party, naturally. We both got a bit drunk and we were dancing. Because we liked each other and this was a chance to let loose. I mean, we hadn't been dating but we'd talked. We liked each other a lot. And suddenly the impulse took me. I started to kiss Edmund, hotly, and he responded. I could feel his body, his thing, you know? It was a bit scary. That penis, growing bigger and harder. It’s got to go inside you, somehow. I'm trying to keep this description under 18+ viewing levels."

Vic chuckled softly, slightly nervously, not mocking, moved by how Pia was telling it, honest, a little breathless, raw-edged with feeling even years later. “You don’t have to censor yourself for me, Pia. But I love that you think you should.” His face glowed in the screen-light, beard shadow deepening as he propped his chin on his knuckles. “I can picture it. The young you, deciding the moment. Brave. Wild. In control, even when you were nervous. Was he kind to you? That’s what I want to know.”

He didn’t look jealous, just retrospectively protective, maybe a little heartbroken at the thought of her first experience being anything less than safe and warm. A stupid feeling, without access to a time machine, but real nonetheless. “You deserved a first time that didn’t take anything from you you didn’t want to give. What happened next? I’m listening.”

Pia looked around and focussed off-screen, into her young student past.

"It was a share house. I think eight bedrooms arranged over four floors, an old Victorian townhouse converted into undergraduate accommodation. Shared kitchen and bathroom and common room. London is so crowded! I took Edmund's hand and led him up to someone's bedroom. I wanted to feel that I was in control. I thought it was something I had to do to become a full adult. Despite the worries about everything a woman can suffer from sex. Pain, indignity, the danger of disease or pregnancy. Or just having a gak time. It may look like I chose Edmund on a whim, but I'd talked to him a lot, scoped him out as basically a good guy. Actually when it came to it, he was as nervous as me. I think he was probably a virgin too. We never talked about that." She paused and dipped out of the frame. Vic could hear drinking sounds from off camera. She came back into view.

"So there we were, both trying to bring it the way we thought we had to. Edmund began telling me he wanted to worship me, to bring pleasure to every inch of my body. Such a poet! He was really trying his best.” She smiled at the memory. “And I was like, ‘Shut up, I just want to get fucced!’ I don’t think I was a good lover. I learned that later. But anyway, I got him on the bed, half naked, and, like, I got him really lively. Kissing him and so on, and I put a condom on him. He was lying there in a daze, watching me. It was actually fuccing hot, you know? That feeling of power to grant or deny pleasure."

Vic exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving the screen. He was completely still now, listening with a tenderness that lived just below the surface of his arousal.

“God, Pia.”

Not shocked, not possessive. Just moved by her vividness, her control, the wild, young power she had held in that moment. And how clearly she remembered it, not just the action, but the emotion, the calculation, the risk.

“You were so brave. Scared, but you still did it. On your terms.” He smiled faintly. “And very efficient. That poor guy probably thought you descended from the ceiling like a beautiful MI6 agent with a condom in one hand and a PhD in anatomy in the other.” He shook his head, half laughing, half awed. “You didn’t want romance,” he said softly. “You wanted agency. And you made sure you had it. Did you feel what you hoped you’d feel?” He watched her closely now. Not for the titillation, but for the answer that mattered.

"I climbed on top so I could control the action. It hurt a bit to start with. I went 'Ow, ow! This actually hurts!' and Edmund was frightened, poor guy, he wanted to stop, he was so sweet and protective, but I pushed on and it got more fun. In the end we both enjoyed ourselves." She sighed. "No-one can teach you how to do sex. Well, maybe they can. I don’t know. You can probably TikTok it now. Everyone's body and mind are different and you put two people together and it takes time to find out what works. And there’s got to be some chemistry. Or some magic.”

Vic nodded slowly, absorbing every word like scripture. “Yeah. That makes sense.” His voice was low, reverential, with no trace of laddish bravado. Just the softness of someone who knew now how much trust lived in those early, clumsy moments. “You saying ow, ow and pushing through… that’s so you. Brave as hell, even when it stings.” He smiled the kind of smile that doesn’t need to show teeth. “And you’re right. No one teaches you. It’s not just about moves, it’s about being seen. Heard. Letting someone in while still being… you.”

He shifted onto his side, resting his cheek on his bicep. “I’m glad he was gentle. I’m glad it was your decision.” A longer pause. “I hope with me… it’s not about pushing through anything. I want it to be discovery, not endurance.” Then he smirked. “Also, for the record, if nineteen-year-old you had pulled me into bed like that, I’d have fainted. Or caught fire and blown up.”

Silence for a hot second.

“Want to tell me the next part? Or should I tell you mine?”

"I would love to hear about the young Victor and his discovery of girls. Tell me at a high level, Vic. I don't want to go and get jealous. I know I’m stupid."

Vic gave a gentle, understanding nod, no defensiveness, no smirk, just that same grounded look he would give her when she was curled in bed and not quite ready to talk. “Okay. High level.” He shifted back a little, resting against the headboard. “There were a few people. A couple of casual flings. One semi-serious one.”

He paused.

“I think I spent a lot of time chasing connection, but settling for chemistry. You know?” He tapped his chest lightly. “Things that felt good at the time. But never really stuck. Not because they weren’t good people. Just, they didn’t see me. Not properly. And maybe I didn’t let them.” A smile, small and tired but real. “You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to tell the whole truth to. Even the messy parts. Even the bits I still don’t have figured out.” He tilted his head, tone playful but warm. “You jealous yet, Pia? Because you’ve already made me forget everyone else.”

“I hope so! How about when you were really young? I can imagine you at one of those parties teenagers have. Just an overgrown kid, wobbling on the edge of real sexual experience. A bunch of slightly older, more mature girls practicing their snogging technique safely with boys who aren't going to try and take control away from them. I know, because that's how I did it at school discos."

Vic grinned, busted dead to rights, and not angry about it. “God, yeah. That’s exactly what it was like. You’ve nailed it.” He ran a hand through his hair, amused and slightly sheepish. “There was this one time, the middle of winter, someone’s beach shack, everyone crammed together on a pile of beanbags and someone put on Grease, like that was sexy inspiration instead of a cautionary tale.”

He chuckled.

“I was sitting there, kind of excited but pretending to be casual. And the girls started dancing, and they pulled us boys into it. Then one of the girls just turned to me and said, ‘We’re gonna do close dancing and kissing now, don’t mess it up.’” A pause, his eyes warmed with pleasant memory. “I practically blacked out from nerves. But apparently I did okay, because they let me stay. One girl said I had a nice jawline for a fourteen-year-old.”

“You’ve got an amazing jawline now, Vic. And you’re a great kisser. All that practice paid off.”

He leant closer to the camera as if he wanted to kiss her now and could do it through the screen. She traced her finger along that jaw, even though he couldn’t see or feel the movement. The picture wobbled as Pia sipped more of whatever cocktail she was drinking. Her voice was sultry when she spoke again.

"How randy are you feeling, Vic?" She leant towards the camera so he could get a glimpse down the front of her camisole.

His gaze dipped, slowly, intentionally, as he watched the screen flicker with Pia’s movement, that little camera wobble only making the moment feel more real, more there. Her breath a little looser, her voice a little thicker.

“Randy? You’re asking me now, after the striptease, the mask, the confessions, and the ‘I want to get fethed’ backstory?” He bit his bottom lip, then grinned. “Pia, if I were any more turned on, I’d get arrested for public indecency in my own home.” He shifted his body subtly. “But you call the shots tonight. You tell me where this goes. Or doesn’t. I’m yours either way.”

"I want to make you happy, Vic. Let’s do it while we talk and watch each other’s faces."

Fade to black.

The soft flicker of phone screens.
Giggles.
Voices low and warm, whispering pleasure and love.
The rustle of heavy breathing overloading a mic.
Moans.
A fox mask forgotten on the floor.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 87: Romance Car, Thunder Sky

The volcanic hot-spring town of Hakone-Yumoto is the best jump-off point for exploration of the Hakone mountain region if you’re coming by train from the east. The Reese family disembarked from the Odakyu Line Romance Car special express just after 11:30.

Eimi was hugely impressed with the red locomotive, its driver cabin like a jet fighter cockpit bubble on top of the sleek nose. “Wai wai! So fast! Byuuun!!!” She would have run up and down the platform only Hikaru kept her hand held tight until they got out of the station.

Pia was rolling one of two small suitcases containing everyone’s clothes. Yancy had the other. “I told you red ones go faster, Eimi-chan,” she said to encourage the little girl. “You’ll see it again when we go home.”

They walked into the little town, its streets filled with tourist friendly signs and plumes of steam from volcanic water.

"Hey Yancy, I heard from Hikaru that you brought her here for a dirty weekend when she was an undergrad,” Pia sniggered, “Then you chickened out and didn't do anything, and she was so annoyed she jumped your bones in the middle of the night. That sounds about your style."

Yancy shot Pia a sidelong look. “Did she tell you that exactly? Because I remember a perfectly respectable walk by the lake. With good quality sandwiches.”

Hikaru, walking a few paces ahead with Eimi’s tiny hand in hers, didn’t even turn around. “I had shaved my legs. Three trains and a bus. You were lucky I didn’t leave you in Gora.”

Yancy sighed like a man accustomed to this particular ambush. “I was trying to be a gentleman.”

“You were being scared,” Hikaru said sweetly. “Luckily, I liked that about you.”

Eimi piped up: “Mama likes Dada because he’s scared!”

Hikaru laughed, then swooped Eimi up into her arms and kissed her cheek. “Only a little scared. And only sometimes.”

Yancy glanced back at Pia. “You see what my life is like?”

The scent of cedar trees and mineral steam wrapped around them as they made their way down the narrow lane toward the hotel shuttle bus stop. Mount Fuji was wearing a hat of cloud. A faint rumble echoed somewhere in the mountains.

Yancy exhaled. “Welcome to Hakone.”

"Do you know what?” Pia said, “I'm hungry. How about some noodles before we catch the shuttle bus? I researched a great restaurant near here. There's also a toy museum nearby. They have robots. If anyone's interested." Pia had in fact made timing and location plans for a number of attractions. However, she tried not to push it hard. "Or we can just go on and relax at the hotel?"

Yancy looked genuinely tempted. “Noodles and robots? You’ve got my number.”

Hikaru’s eyes lit up. “Is it the place with the retro wind-up exhibits? I think I saw a video, one of them plays a drum and falls over.”

Eimi tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Wobot?”

“You’d love the wobot,” Hikaru said, kissing the top of her head.

Yancy raised an eyebrow at Pia. “You researched? For fun?” He was teasing, but there was a flicker of surprise under it. He knew her well enough to tell when she was trying especially hard, and hiding it.

Pia shrugged. “It’s nothing serious. I just thought if the weather turned bad or we didn’t feel like poaching ourselves in the bath straight away, it might be good to have options.”
Yancy studied her for a second. Then, “Sounds perfect.” He glanced at Hikaru. “Noodles and robots?”

“Noodles and robots,” Hikaru smiled.

Eimi, bouncing slightly in her boots, “NOO-DOOOLS AND WOBOTS!”

Yancy laughed. “Unanimous.”

As they headed off down the lane, a gentle drizzle began to fall, fine as breath, barely enough to open an umbrella for. Pia’s phone buzzed quietly in her pocket with a travel alert, just a note about platform closures. She glanced and then forgot it.

Somewhere to the west, the mountains rumbled again.

Yancy murmured beside her, almost as if to himself, “Have you planned this whole trip to the minute, Pia?” His tone was warm, almost proud.

"As if! You know how much I hate spreadsheets, Yancy. My expenses claims always used to be a total mess." She chuckled. "I simply may have made the odd mental note, if I happened to come across something interesting on TripAdvisor. Ah! Here's the noodle place."

The restaurant was built in a traditional Japanese architectural style, finely planed wooden beams, intersecting in interesting ways to support the roof. It was pretty busy already. The kitchen was turning out bowls of steaming ramen, big jokki glasses of cold lager, and side dishes like gyoza. It looked and smelt great.

"We've landed on our feet here," Yancy said.

They got a table without a wait, and ordered drinks straight away, cold beers for the adults and a melon soda for Eimi, who was already paying close attention to the photos in the menu. Steam billowed from the open kitchen, rich with the scent of pork broth, soy sauce, and shredded spring onions. Chuckles came from the next table, where an elderly couple were both looking hungrily at the last gyoza.

Yancy raised his glass toward Pia. “Well. Whether you planned it or stumbled into it, you’ve done a bloody good job.” He clinked his beer gently against Hikaru’s glass. “This place is legit. I might not move on to the hotel at all. Just live here now. Eat until I expire.” He glanced across at Pia with a small, private smile. There was no need to say anything aloud. Not after the year they’ve had. Just being here, all four of them crowded into a ramen joint smelling like garlic and old timber, was enough.
Hikaru poured Eimi’s melon soda into her non-spill cup and gave it to her. “Sip slowly, sweetheart. You’ll get a sugar headache.” Eimi nodded with grave solemnity, then sipped as if drinking from the Holy Grail.

The waitress appeared to take their order, rattling off the day’s specials. Yancy leant in with a conspiratorial air. “If they’ve got tonkotsu with extra garlic oil, I won’t pretend I’m above it.”

Outside, the drizzle intensified, soft against the steam-fogged windows.

"The rain is picking up," Pia remarked, "Was that a peal of thunder I heard earlier?"

The food arrived. Pia whipped out her phone.

"I'll send Vic a pic. In fact, let's ask the waitress to take a shot of all of us. Something for our memories."

She asked the waitress, who happily obliged. Pia got ready to post the photos, then noticed the outstanding alert from earlier. It blinked red at the top of her screen, one of those transit notices she normally swiped away without a thought. But something about the timestamp caught her attention. She tapped the auto-translate button.

Odakyu Hakone Tozan Line Delay – Hakone-Yumoto to Gora

Due to heavy rain causing a small landslide near Tonosawa Station, trains from Hakone-Yumoto to Gora are currently suspended. Rail replacement buses are operating. Delays are expected. Please be mindful of appropriate clothing for rainy weather.

A low rumble sounded again outside, definitely thunder this time. Somewhere beyond the warm ramen-scented cocoon, the mountains were shifting.

Yancy slurped his ramen, oblivious. Hikaru was patiently coaching Eimi on gyoza technique.

But Pia stared at the screen, her thumb hovering, unease trickling down her spine like a cold drip from a leak in the roof. It didn't seem worth upsetting the happy atmosphere now, however. She decided to wait for more information about the transport situation.

"How's your ramen, Eimi-chan? I'm sending a pic to Uncle Vic." She zapped it into the network. "Wait, did I just say Uncle!?

Yancy paused, chopsticks raised almost to his mouth, the dangling noodles making him look like a weird Cthulhu. “Did you just call him Uncle Vic?”

“I did not say Uncle Vic!" Pia glugged beer to hide her confusion.

Hikaru tilted her head, a knowing smile creeping in. “Ooooh.”

Eimi clapped her hands. “Uncle Bikku! Uncle Bikku!”

Yancy gave a low whistle. “Wow. You don’t just hand out the ‘uncle’ title lightly. That’s practically royal assent in this family.” He leant across the table. “So. Is this official now? Have I missed an announcement?”

Eimi beamed. “Uncle Bikku eat ramen too!”

Hikaru raised an eyebrow. “We should bring him here someday. Let him earn his title.”

Another, closer rumble of thunder rattled the windows. The waitress reappeared briefly to refill their water glasses, utterly unfazed.

Yancy settled back with a grin. “Well. He’s got your niece’s approval. That’s the hard part done.”

Pia stopped sucking up ramen and looked out of the window. "The storm's getting worse. Maybe we should cancel the afternoon's plans and head straight for the hotel. I never knew the weather in Hakone could be so changeable!"

Yancy chuckled. "It’s like what happened in January. We decided to hire a card for a trip to Hakone, and we invited Hikaru's aunt, Ms Takeda. We asked the car hire staff if they had put winter tyres on it, because we were going to Hakone. They said no, you'll be fine, there's no chance of snow. You can guess what happened. The next morning there was 5cm of fresh snow on the ground, and it was still falling. I couldn't even get the car out of the car park. We had to spend the day eating pastries and drinking coffee while we waited for a recovery truck to reach us.” He ruffled Eimi's hair affectionately.

“Eimi-chan was made up, of course." I played with her all morning and we built dozens of little snowmen. The best holiday ever. When we returned the car, Ms Takeda just about killed the poor boy on duty. 15 minutes. 15 minutes of haranguing him! She barely even took a breath. He kept bowing and apologising. It wasn't even his fault. He hadn't been there the day before. Your aunt's a formidable woman, Hikaru. And you've got a lot of her genes. That's why I make sure never to get on your wrong side."

He laughed at himself, and drank the rest of his beer.

Eimi chimed in with a cheerful “Yuki-daruma!” and spread her arms wide as if remembering the snowmen from six months ago. “So many tiny big.”

Yancy nodded sagely. “You’ve never seen anything so stylish in snow sculpture. Leaves for hats and one of them had a coffee stirrer for a katana.”

Hikaru sipped her beer. “That was my idea.”

The rain was drumming a little harder against the windows now, and the flashes of lightning are faint but regular in the shrouded distance. Yancy glanced toward the window and then back at Pia. His voice lowered slightly. “Good call, by the way. About going to the hotel early. Up here, the weather changes fast. Better to watch it from inside with a towel on your head and a beer in your hand.”

At that moment, Pia’s phone buzzed, a message from Vic, replying to the ramen photos.

“@Pia: Okay but HOW does Japan make even noodles look like art? Also is that a marinated egg? That egg is having a better day than me.”
“You look good though. Relaxed. Like you’re exactly where you need to be. Miss you a little. Or a lot. I’ll figure it out after my own very sad lunch.”

Three seconds later, another ping:

“Tell Eimi that colour-coordinating her soda with her outfit is elite fashion energy.”

"Vic says you look like a princess, Eimi-chan. Wouldn't it be great if he could visit Japan?"

Eimi beamed, her plump cheeks puffed out with pride. “I’m a rainbow princess! Uncle Bikku can be the prince!”

Hikaru gave Pia a little smile, mouthing, She’s obsessed with princes this week.

Thunder rumbled again. "Yancy, I think we should go to the hotel as soon as we've finished lunch," Pia suggested. "We can get a taxi. There's no use waiting for the shuttle bus in this weather. What do you think?

Yancy wiped his mouth with a napkin, already nodding. “I was thinking the same. The shuttle’s probably packed with drenched tourists by now anyway.” He glanced at the windows, where the drizzle had thickened into sheets of grey rain. “I’ll take care of the bill and sort out a taxi. Good call.” As if on cue, another low peal of thunder echoed across the valley. The waitress reappeared with a tray of mochi ice cream, courtesy of the house, Eimi’s eyes went wide. Yancy chuckled. “We’ll make a run for it right after pudding, storm or not.”

Pia’s phone buzzed again, another message from Vic.

“@Pia: Just realised what time it is over there. Shouldn’t you be wandering through a bamboo grove or riding a cable car or something very Miyazaki?”


"@Bae, it's pissing rain and thunder here right now. We've just finished lunch and we're going straight to the hotel. I'm sure things will be better tomorrow, though."

“@Pia: If you’re inside because of the weather, stay warm. If you're outside, go inside. Now. I need you back in one piece.”

Once Eimi had finished her ice cream, Pia helped Hikaru mobilise her for travel. "Did you get a cab on Didi, Yancy? It's probably a busy time right now, with the weather."

Yancy, phone in hand, tapped the screen with the grim focus of a man trying to outwit an overworked algorithm. “Working on it,” he muttered. “Didi says eight minutes, but I think that’s optimistic.” He held the phone up so they can all see the little cartoon car stuck at a light just outside Yumoto Station. “Driver’s name is Satoshi. Five stars. Likes jazz and yakitori.”

Hikaru had already zipped Eimi into her waterproof jacket and was tucking Mr Pengin into the side pocket of Pia’s jacket. “Thank you,” she murmured with a warm glance. “She gets squirrelly if she’s wet and tired.”

Outside, the rain had thickened to a curtain, and distant flashes pulsed through the grey misty atmosphere. The thunder was closer now. The air felt metallic, charged.

Yancy glanced at the door, then at Pia. “Reckon we can make a dash for it when Satoshi pings?”

*It's really scary,* Pia thought, as the storm raged. Her outdoor survival training told her to keep away from trees and lakes when lightning threatened, and here she was in a mountainside forest next to a lake. "I hope Satoshi gets here soon. Let's wait just outside. We don't want him to miss us. Or I'll wait outside and you can stay just inside the door until I spot him." Pia and Yancy went out into the serious weather and sheltered as much as possible under the eaves of the restaurant.

The rain was properly drumming now, sheets of it slashing off the eaves as gusts swirled down the narrow street. Water snaked along the gutters and into storm drains that were already gurgling with effort. Yancy hunched his shoulders slightly as he peered down the road. “I don’t love the way that mountain’s disappearing,” he muttered, squinting at the grey veil creeping up from the treetops. “Wasn’t like this 20 minutes ago.”

Inside, Hikaru crouched beside Eimi, adjusting her boots with quiet precision, her body language calm and efficient, ready to move the moment Pia signalled.

Lightning flashed white behind the clouds, close enough that Pia could feel it in the air, a pressure almost, pressing against her bones. Yancy glanced sideways at her, his voice low. “This feels like your kind of bad feeling, doesn’t it?” Before Pia could answer, his phone buzzed again, a notification from Didi: “Satoshi-san has arrived.” A little cartoon car icon glowed almost next to their map location. Yancy spotted hazard lights blinking through the rain. “That must be him.” He lifted a hand and jogged forward, waving. “Let’s move.”

Pia fetched Hikaru and Eimi, helping to shelter the little girl as much as possible as they crossed the street. "I thought the rainy season was over, Hikaru."

"This isn't the rainy season. This is just... rain," Hikaru replied, deadpan. Once everyone was inside the cab she said, "Well, we all got wet but soon we can dry off at the hotel. At least it's not cold rain."

Eimi wriggled in Pia’s lap, damp but giggling as the cab’s heater hummed to life and fogged the windows. “My socks are making squishy sounds,” she announced proudly. Pia folded her in her arms, ignoring the extra wet from Eimi’s clothes. Hikaru twisted around in the front seat to smile at her. “That means you’re officially a weather warrior.”

Satoshi-san, calm and unbothered up front, checked the rear-view and pulled away slowly from the kerb, the wipers smearing the storm into rhythmic streaks. The narrow road wound upward into the foothills.

Yancy exhaled. “That was a bit more dramatic than I had hoped for the day.”

The road banked slightly, curling through the rain-washed forest like a scene from a Studio Ghibli film, lush, brooding, and beautiful. The rain hammered on. Pia felt the tension begin to ease in her shoulders now that they were moving, headed somewhere dry and safe. For a moment, everything else, Vic, Sydney, secrets and songs, was far away. She looked out of the window, almost expecting to see a Totoro with a huge leaf for an umbrella.

The hotel was literally a calm, safe haven in the storm crouched over the Hakone mountains. There was no view across the lake now, only lashing rain. Fuji-san, normally a majestic presence in the distance, was veiled by the deluge. But the hotel’s lights were bright, the traditional ryokan style rooms were beautiful, and the onsen beckoned. But Eimi was yawning mightily.

"Hikarin, you and Yancy go. I'll stay here with Eimi while she has a nap. We can all go together after dinner. I want to message Vic anyway."

Hikaru looks at Pia with a soft expression, gratitude mixed with understanding. “Are you sure? You’ve been rallying us all day.”

“She’ll be out like a light,” Yancy said, “And we’re not going far.”

Eimi let out a heroic yawn and curled like a kitten into a futon already laid out by the ryokan staff. Her socks were drying on the towel rail. Mr Pengin was safely tucked beneath one small arm.

“I’ll bring you back a yuzu soda,” Hikaru promised as she closed the door behind her.

Outside, the storm continued to lash against the hotel walls, but it feels distant now. Contained. The room was full of warm wood, tatami hush, and the faint scent of hinoki. Pia’s phone buzzed gently on the low table. The world had narrowed, for a while, to a child’s breathing, the storm’s drumming, and the light of her screen.

Pia checked her phone. Is it a message or a request for a voice call?

“@Pia: Made it through my meeting with minimal swearing. Thought you should be told so you can be proud of me.”
“Storm sounds wild from your last update. You alright? Are you safe at the hotel now? No squishy socks?”
“I’ve got a quiet evening. Call me if you feel like it. No pressure, just miss your voice.”

"Squishy socks?" Pia snorted. She reclined on the tatami next to the sleeping child. Gentle breaths, and a small hand clutching a soft toy.

"@Bae, it's the worst storm I've been in for a long while but we’re safe at the hotel. Yancy and Hikaru have gone to the onsen. I'm here with a sleepy little monkey." She inserted a pic of Eimi.
"She's so cute! Well done for clearing your meeting. It's almost the weekend, so keep it all together, Vic, Bae. Tomorrow you'll be out there, catching a big wave. Say hi to everyone from me." Pia sent a pic of herself, lying on the tatami mat.
"@Bae: I'll message you when I can. We're having dinner in the room tonight, then probably go to the onsen again. I should have time afterwards. It would be great if you could visit Japan. I'll be home on Wednesday, though. Focus on that."

The response came quickly, almost like Vic had been holding his phone, waiting. “@Pia: She’s adorable. That little hand on the penguin? My heart’s gone, completely. And you on the tatami like some tragic-romantic storm survivor? I am not okay.” Three pulsing dots… Pause. Then: “Thanks, Pia. For the message, the pictures, the you-ness. I needed it more than I realised.”
“I’ll keep my head down and get through the next few days. Knowing you’re coming back helps more than anything. Then a final one, just before the typing bubble disappeared:
“I miss you. But I don’t want to rush you. Be present, soak it all in. I’ll be right here. Until Wednesday. <emoji: red heart>"

The storm grumbled beyond the wood and glass wall panels that gave a view out to the veranda. Eimi shifted in her sleep, murmuring something about “noodles for Mr Pengin.” The room glowed gold with lamplight. Pia changed into a hotel yukata, to be ready for the onsen later. She sat down next to Eimi, and yawned deeply.

The door opened with a quiet click, as Yancy came in, now wearing the hotel’s yukata, which was a bit small on him. His hair was slightly damp and sticking up in peaks as though he hadn't combed it. He was carrying a basket of clothes, and three tins of cold beer. Hikaru followed, also in a yukata, her cheeks pink from the bath, her face softening as she saw the scene. Pia was out cold, sprawled on her side on a makeshift pad of zabuton cushions. Her phone had slipped onto the tatami beside her, the screen dark now. Eimi was snuggled up tight next to her, thumb in mouth, Mr Pengin still firmly clutched.

Yancy paused mid-step, grinning faintly. “And here I thought I was the one who needed a nap.”

Hikaru just exhaled gently. She stepped quietly around, picking up a folded blanket to drape over Pia’s hips, careful not to wake her.

Yancy lowered his voice. “We’ll wake her for dinner?”

“Only if she doesn’t wake by herself,” Hikaru murmured. “She’s safe. Let her rest.”

The storm had lost its menace. In the room it was all warm light, soft mats, and peace.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 88: Mist Where Fuji Hides

In the adjoining room, with just a pair of half-closed shoji screens between them and the softly breathing forms of Pia and Eimi, Yancy and Hikaru sat on zabuton cushions with a tray of green tea, the storm still grumbling around the edges of the ryokan.

Yancy kept his voice low. “You know, I think this is the first time in a long while I’ve seen her really let go. Not in a dramatic way. Just trust the space around her.”

Hikaru nodded slowly, fingers curled around her teacup. “She’s always scanning the exits, even when she’s smiling.”

A minute passed.

“I used to wonder,” Hikaru added softly, “if she’d ever be able to stop looking over her shoulder.”

Yancy stared into his cup. “She’s never told me everything that happened. Some of her work was secret. Especially the parts that went wrong. But I heard enough to know it rewired her. She doesn’t rest easy.”

Hikaru reached out, rested her hand briefly on his. “She trusts him, though.”

Yancy nods. “Vic. Yes, it looks like it.” He chuckled under his breath. “The first time she mentioned him in passing, I thought, oh no, another hurricane. For a while I’ve worried she was going from meh to bad to worse in her choice of men. But now? He’s obviously got that, that anchoring quality. Makes her feel like she can stand still.”

“We’ll know it’s serious if she lets him in her kitchen,” Hikaru murmured.

Yancy grinned. “Or lends him her car keys.”

Hikaru leant her head against his shoulder, quiet for a while. “Do you think she’ll come back here? Once things settle?”

“Without a doubt. She loves Japan. I hope she’ll bring Vic. That team-up needs to get finalised so she can.”

“And the new baby?” she whispered, a hand drifting unconsciously to her belly.

“She’ll love them. She’ll help us with the nappies, and get it wrong at first, but she’ll love them to bits even with all the mess. The world’s best aunt. Look at how good she is with Eimi. One day she’ll have her own, and she’ll get good at being a mother.”

They sat like that, warm and still, as the rain danced on the roof.

Pia stirred, yawned, stretched, and looked around at the warm earth tones of the room. Amber wood, pale cream walls, straw tatami mats with green edges. She listened to the storm, still lashing the mountains with rain, but the thunder had gone. There was a steady rain now, cooling the air with moisture, providing a calm, white noise background track to the world. A soft light from the windows. Sunset was two hours off. The slanting light of late afternoon filtered through cloud and rain.

Pia looked sideways, saw Eimi still asleep and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. She checked the time, realised how long she had been asleep. "Oh no. I'd better get up. Where're the others?"

A quiet voice drifted through the paper screen.

“We’re just next door,” Yancy called gently. “Didn’t want to wake you. You and the little monkey were out cold.”

Hikaru peeked around the screen with a smile. “You looked so peaceful. We’ve got tea, if you want some. It’s only luke-warm, though.” She slid the screen open a little more, letting in a soft glow from the other room. The storm was less rage now and more rhythm, tapping on the windows like a lullaby with a reggae beat.

“Eimi’s still zonked out,” Yancy added. He crouched slightly to get a better look at Pia. “You alright?” he said gently, “Ma petite soeur?”

The air purifier hummed softly. There was a scent of citrus peel and green tea. Hikaru offered a cup. “Dinner’s not for an hour, Pian. Plenty of time to wake up slowly.”

Pia stretched, then crawled on hands and knees over to the table where the cool but refreshing tea awaited. She folded her legs elegantly into seiza kneeling position. "How was the bath?"

Yancy flopped bonelessly onto the floor with the deep exhalation of a man who was back from a cleansing pilgrimage. “As marvellous as ever,” he sighed. “I’m 50 percent hot noodle now. Someone should just scoop me into a bowl.”

Hikaru lowered herself more gracefully beside Pia, smoothing her sleeves. There was a dewiness to her skin, and a looseness in her posture that wasn’t there earlier, like a cluster of hidden knots had been disentangled. “It was good,” she said simply. “Quiet. Clean. That kind of silence you don’t get in the city. No, not silence. Peace.” She poured more tea for Pia. “They had put slices of yuzu to float in the water. The scent stayed on my skin after I got out. I think I could breathe better than for days.”

Yancy hummed in agreement, eyes half-closed. “And the view’s misted over, which somehow makes it better. You don’t see Fuji, but you feel it.”

The room was dimming as the clouds thickened with twilight. A staff member glided past in the corridor, pattering toward another suite, the hush of their movement as much a part of the place as the sound of the rain.

Hikaru glanced toward the futon where Eimi was still snoozing, now curled in the classic toddler comma. “You’ve got an hour,” she said to Pia. “Just the right amount of time to wake up gently. And later, you and I will soak and gossip. But only after dinner. Because I want to see how many dishes this ryokan thinks a person can eat without exploding.”

“Like Mr Creosote?” Pia asked, but the UK cultural reference was lost on Hikaru, though Yancy snorted. "I don’t seem to have good luck with Mount Fuji and the weather. Hisashi and I once took a trip to Yamanashi, the other side of Fuji-san. We hired a car. It was a Prius. He drove because I didn't have a valid licence. So I was able to see a lot of scenery.”

Pia looked out at the waning storm as if she could see the past in the gathering dusk.

“The hotel we stayed at was next to a lake in the mountains, like here. I don't remember the name. Actually I do,” she chuckled, “It was called Fuji View Hotel. Durr… The point of the place was, Fuji-san was so close, and so large, that whichever way you turned, even if you were facing the opposite direction, you would still see it at least in the corner of your eye. Only the whole time we were there, there was a strong mist, and we never saw Fuji-san once, until we were on the road back to Tokyo. The food was excellent, though." Pia sighed, remembering the good times she had that year. "I'm glad it's dinner in the room tonight. I don't have to change. I'll just have a quick wash."

Hikaru listened quietly, hands resting around her teacup, the steam rising between them. She didn’t flinch at the mention of Hisashi, just lowered her gaze briefly in respect. Yancy, too, sat still, letting Pia’s memory stand unchallenged in the quiet.

“That sounds like Fuji-san,” Hikaru said softly. “Too big to ignore. Too proud to perform.” She glanced out toward the soft haze beyond the rain-slicked windows. “You know, I think sometimes you see things more clearly when they’re hidden. Mist shows you where your gaze lands, what you’re searching for.”

Yancy raised a brow. “Poetic, for someone who just melted in a bath.” Hikaru flicked his knee with her toe. Pia’s sigh lingered in the room like steam above an open air onsen. Then the moment shifted.

Yancy perked up. “Top notch kaiseki tonight! I saw a menu card in the corridor. The trout sashimi looked aggressively beautiful.” Hikaru nodded approvingly. “And I saw staff carrying crab legs the size of a toddler,” he continued. He slapped his thigh. “I’ll get Eimi up and dressed.”

Hikaru rose with an easy, fluid stretch. “No rush. The staff will come and set up everything. You’ve got time to enjoy the change.”

Yancy checked that his yukata was still aligned for full coverage. He was a lot taller and wider than the average Japanese man. “I’m going full tatami lounge mode. You’ll find me somewhere horizontal once I’ve wrangled the child.” He moved toward Eimi’s futon, already beginning to gently coax her back to wakefulness with murmurs of ban-gohan da yo and big crabs incoming.

Hikaru smiled at Pia. “There are amenity kits in the bathroom. Take your time.”

The rain hissed softly beyond the shoji. Somewhere along the corridor another guest slid open a door. But here, in this golden pocket of the ryokan, it was all warmth and the slow breath of ancient comforts.

Pia unpacked and hung her clothes. She stripped to her panties, washed, and did a basic face. She wrapped the hotel yukata around her again, tied an elegant knot, and paced barefoot back into the room. "It's like a uniform. The hotel yukata, I mean. So many guests going around, to the baths and so on, wearing them. I like the design. Simple and classic." It was medium blue with a pattern of what almost looked like white hashtags.

"What happened to your kimono, Pian?" Hikaru asked. "That gorgeous one you bought during your year in Japan? Wasn’t it furisode style?"

"Yes, absolutely beautiful! I've still got it. I never completed the certificate in wearing it properly. But it's too lovely just to hang as a wall decoration. I sometimes use it as a dressing gown. Sorry."

Hikaru laughed, delighted. “That is so you. Turning formal wear into something practical and vaguely rebellious.” She gestured toward Pia’s knot. “But that’s a good tie. Neat. And not too tight. You paid attention in one class at least.”

Yancy entered just then with a groggy but compliant Eimi hoisted in one arm, now in her own child-size yukata with the same hashtag pattern. He set her gently on a zabuton and gave Pia an approving nod.

“We look like we’re ready for a magazine shoot. ‘Stormy Evening Elegance: the Family Edition.’”

Eimi yawned extravagantly, blinking at Pia. “Pian changed clothes!”

“I told her she looks very grown-up,” Yancy said, settling beside Eimi. “But she still thinks the hashtag pattern means you’re a ninja.”

“Some of the patterns do have a meaning, don’t they, Hikarin?” Pia asked. Hikaru nodded, and was about to answer when there was a soft kon-kon at the door, two knocks, followed by a quiet female voice. “Shitsurei shimasu, go-yu-shoku de gozaimasu.” (Sorry to intrude. Dinner is here.)

Two attendants slipped into the room with practiced grace, bringing lacquerwood trays with many small dishes arranged in a precise pattern. The scent of pickled daikon, grilled fish, and simmered mountain vegetables filled the room. They laid the trays on the low table, and filled the centre with drinks -- beer, sake, melon soda and plain water -- and a large insulated container of hot rice.

There was much bowing by everyone, even Eimi, as the head maid explained all the dishes. Finally they slipped out, muttering their ritual phrases.

Yancy inhaled, visibly uplifted. “Right. Uniforms or not, nobody’s leaving this room until we’re full enough to sink like stones.”

Kaiseki ryori is delicate, a feast for the eyes as much as for the stomach. Yet the multiple tiny dishes somehow end up very satisfying, perhaps because you are compelled into slow eating, lifting a morsel from one plate, then from a bowl, then a piece of pickled daikon or radish.

Pia served the beer, using elaborate hostess club etiquette as a little joke. "This will only last until I get a second pint down me, so enjoy it, Yancy."

Yancy gave her a theatrical bow from his seat, holding his glass at just the right angle. “I’m honoured, Onesan. I feel like I should tip you in champagne tickets.”

Hikaru snorted softly, dabbing Eimi’s chin with a napkin. “Please don’t encourage her. You’ll wake up tomorrow with ten empty bottles and a smoking credit card.”

Eimi frowned at her pickled carrot slice. “Is this orange cucumber?” It had been cut into the shape of a cherry blossom.

“Yes,” Yancy said without hesitation, plucking up a piece of his own. “It’s ninja cucumber. Very rare.”

Pia’s pouring was precise, graceful, her little flourish with the wrist exaggerated just enough for the effect to be noticed. Yancy lifted his glass to study it. “Seriously, though, this is excellent. You could work in Ginza.”

Their laughter floated gently around the room, mixing with the sound of rain and the occasional clink of porcelain. Each tiny dish was a work of art: simmered taro with yuzu zest, sashimi arranged like flower petals, a river fish skewered on a twig of pine grilling over a tiny hibachi.

Eimi, thoroughly impressed with her mountain-shaped rice, declared it a castle and began fortifying it with natto beans.

Hikaru looked across the low table at Pia, her eyes warm in the lamplight. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For today. For this.”

It wasn’t just about the storm, or the food, or the quiet shift of the trip. It was something deeper, gentler. A moment that feels, if not like home, then like something on the way.

Sometimes silence speaks louder than words. Pia smiled and bowed deeply from the waist, using Japanese body language to convey her feeling of gratitude and obligation to her sister-in-law. Then offered a drink. "Have another glass of beer, Hikaru-chan."

They talked about inconsequentialities; tomorrow's weather, the best new TV shows on Netflix, Pia's surf trip to Hebara Beach, the flavours and textures of the food, preferences for the strengths of sulphur in onsen water. Eimi chirped up her sweet, childish questions and opinions. The adults engaged sincerely with her. Yancy gobbled the leftovers Emi couldn’t manage, and a third bowl of rice. When everything had been laid waste, Pia leant away from the table and lay flat on the tatami, a most unlady-like pose.

"I feel like I can't eat for a week. Does my stomach bulge? I need to rest a bit before the onsen."

Hikaru reached over and poked Pia’s side gently. “You look fine. You just have ‘feast belly.’ It’s an honourable condition.”

Yancy let out a long sigh of satisfaction, finally putting his chopsticks down neatly. He poured himself some saké. “You’re both amateurs. I’ve left exactly enough room for a post-bath vending machine ice cream.”

Eimi gasped. “Choco banana?”

“If destiny allows it.”

The servants returned to clear away the devastation with bows, soft voices and graceful efficiency. The tatami was once again bare but for the cushions, the low table, and the sleepy, satisfied the family.

Hikaru pulled her yukata looser at the waist and rose, stretching her arms overhead. “Okay. Ten-minute digestion window, then women’s bath.” She looked down at Pia with a mock-serious expression. “Don’t make me haul you. You said we’d soak and gossip, and I’m holding you to it.”

Yancy, now reclining on his side like a retired emperor, raised one hand in lazy farewell. “Have a nice wallow. I'll take Eimi and then seek vending machines and ice cream adventures.”

Eimi pumped a tiny fist in the air. “Choco banana!”

The rain continued its quiet percussion on the roof.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 89: Onsen Confessional

The whole family went to the onsen together.

It was the typical setup. A lobby where attendants handed out towels. Men turned right and women left, into separate changing rooms with racks of baskets and shelves to hold clothes, and accessories. Yancy took Eimi with him; this was socially acceptable while she was a child.

The bathers proceeded naked to the main chamber, using their wash cloths to screen their private parts. A dozen or more individual shower stations lined the walls, each with its stool, wide pail, and bottles of soap, shampoo and conditioner. Women often helped each other, unlike the men, who washed in solitary silence and only talked when they were relaxing in the main pools.

Hikaru and Pia sat in adjoining stalls, soaped themselves up and began to clean their bodies thoroughly. Pia checked down below and decided she needed a bit of a tidy up. She liked to maintain a French style landing strip. She fetched a razor and carefully did the necessary work. Meanwhile Hikaru washed, rinsed and conditioned her long bob of dark blue hair.

"Would you like me to scrub your back, Hikaru-chan?"

Hikaru turned at Pia’s offer, eyes soft. “I’d love that,” she said, passing Pia her washcloth and a soap bottle. “But only if I can return the favour. That’s the rule.”

Pia knelt behind her on the hard stone. Hikaru leant forward slightly, giving her room to work. Her back was strong, lightly muscled beneath delicate shoulder blades. Faint stretch marks striped her hips, and the gentle curve of her waist told a story of pregnancy, of Eimi, and maybe more to come.

“I missed this,” Hikaru said after a minute. “Not just the bath. But being together. Quietly. With time to talk.” She turned her head, looking back at Pia with a small smile. “You used to dislike this, remember? Sitting still and letting someone else take care of you.” Hot water poured gently into the wooden pail, rhythmic and soft. “I think Vic has changed that. Or helped you see you don’t always have to be on watch.”

"I've always had this drive to self-reliance.” Pia spoke in English, to hide her words from any neighbouring bathers. “It's false, of course. A silly dream. Every detective needs their partner. The classic set-up. You’ve got to have each other’s back." She lathered Hikaru’s cloth and gently scrubbed her back. "I've never wanted to be alone, though. I've had a string of boyfriends, and some girlfriends. You've got Yancy. He's a slow-coach but he got there, he found you. I feel as though you don't have crazy love, you have a deep love like the roots of a powerful tree."

Hikaru closed her eyes as Pia’s touch moved across her back, gentle but deliberate, like someone cleaning not just skin but the residue of old grief. Her voice, when it came, was quiet, and honest. “That’s a beautiful way to put it,” she said. “And you’re right. It’s not wild anymore. Not like when we were first sneaking out to love hotels, pretending we weren’t head over heels.”

She paused.

“But I’ve never needed wild. I was wild enough in my own way. I needed safe. Yancy gave me that. Even when we fought. Even when I wanted to throw a shoe at him.” She chuckled under her breath. “You deserve that too, Pian,” she said softly. “Something to hold you steady when the wind picks up.”

Pia poured several buckets of water over Hikaru’s head and back to rinse her thoroughly, then tapped her arm. “Okay, time to swap.” She sat on her own stool, and Hikaru began to wash her back in return. Pia’s body was lithe, muscular, with small scars visible now under the warm light, evidence of things not shared easily. The pattern of cuts down her left forearm, the faint bullet mark on her shoulder. Hikaru didn’t ask. She knew enough of the history.

“I think Vic is that for you,” she said simply, working up a lather with calm, practised hands. “Maybe it took you both a while to find your pace. But the way you talk about him, it’s like your shoulders finally relax when you say his name.”

The warm sweep of the soapy towel across Pia's back was like a massage, relaxing as well as cleaning her. Pia had two sets of scars; the obvious physical marks of violence received, and the invisible emotional wounds. Her mental wounds included those she had inflicted on herself by rage and searing regret. Sometimes those are the most difficult to heal.

"I could stay in Sydney. I love Vic, and he loves me. We just have to jump over that final hurdle, say it out loud and clinch the deal. I don't know why I want Vic to make the play. Actually I do know. I'll tell you in the main bath. Thank you for scrubbing me clean, dear Hikarin. Let's rinse off and have a proper soak."

“I’m glad you let me,” Hikaru said simply. “You don’t always have to be strong to be whole.” She poured more warm water gently down Pia’s back in a long, smooth arc, like a blessing. She rinsed Pia carefully, then leant in, her voice nearly lost under the sound of running water. “When you go home next week, if you know, even a little, that it’s where you want to stay… tell him.” She put the pail aside. “Let your roots grow.”

They both rose, bodies pink with heat, clean skin glowing in the humid light. Washcloths neatly rinsed and wrung, they moved to the main bath chamber, where steam hovered like mist over three large pools, hot, medium and cool.

The women’s baths were quiet this evening; the trickling of water from stone spouts, the faint hum of the storm still whispering beyond the wooden walls, and only a few other bathers, keeping themselves to themselves. The last evening light filtered through slatted windows in horizontal strokes, casting long ripples on the tiled floor.

They stepped into the hot bath side by side. The water welcomed them instantly, silky with minerals, and faintly scented with hinoki and slices of yuzu fruit. Pia’s limbs sank like stones into the water, her muscles already beginning to relax.

Hikaru rested her head back against the stone edge, eyes closing briefly. “Alright. We’re here. You said you’d tell me… why you want him to make the move.” She opened one eye, turned her face slightly toward Pia. “Tell me now. No one’s listening but the mountain.”

"I've always been a girl who picks her target” Oia said. “I've been the sexual predator. That sounds bad. I don't mean I've assaulted people in any way. I just mean I'm usually the one who chooses and seduces a partner. I've been sly and manipulative. Clever at finding people's weaknesses and desires, and exploiting them. Those are good skills for a hostess or an undercover detective. They're not good techniques for building a proper, full, genuine life with a loved one." Pia relaxed into the heat, the steam of the bath melting her cares and mental fences. "It wasn’t like that with Hisashi. It was genuine, what we had together. We were young, I was wild, he was enthusiastic, but I didn't pick him and manipulate him. The love between us grew freely. It was genuine. I believe I would have married Hisashi if the very bad thing hadn't happened."

Hikaru didn’t speak right away. She watched the shifting water as if it held a reflection of the past Pia had just named, genuine, fierce, broken. “I know,” she said at last, softly. “We all believed that too. You and Hisashi… it was different. Not perfect, but real. Everyone could see.” She exhaled slowly, steam rising in ribbons around her face. “And I think he loved that you never played games with him. That you were just Pia, outspoken, impulsive, impossibly brave. I think it scared him a little. But in the best way.”

The water lapped gently against their shoulders. A bubble of silence passes, but it’s not empty. It’s warm, settled. Like the space left behind by a deep breath.

Hikaru turned her head, meeting Pia’s eyes. “You’re not a predator, Pia. You’re a survivor. And maybe sometimes you’ve used sharp tools to get what you needed, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use gentler ones now.” She shifted slightly, water rippling out from her knees. “Wanting Vic to make the move doesn’t make you weak. It means you’re choosing trust. You’re letting him see your need, not just your power. That’s real love.” She smiled faintly. “And it terrifies you, doesn’t it?”

A soft splash from the other end of the bath. Another woman entered quietly, nodded, and disappeared into the sauna room. The space still felt private.

Hikaru’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If he does make the move… do you know what you’ll say?”

"Ha! I've already chosen a style of ring. Though maybe Vic has something his grandmother left to him. That might be good, actually. It could be an amazing art deco piece. I sound so superficial." Pia chuckled. She wet her small towel and used it to swab her face. She changed the weighty subject. "Is it okay to be in the hot bath for a long time, Hikaru-chan? In your condition, I mean." She glanced significantly at Hikaru's hopefully pregnant belly.

Hikaru laughed softly, a hand drifting instinctively to her lower abdomen as if to smooth something invisible. “It’s fine for now,” she said. “I asked my doctor last week. In the early stages, ten minutes at a time is safe as long as I stay hydrated and don’t faint like a dramatic shōjo manga heroine.” She leant her head against the wet stone again, gazing up at the soft-lit ceiling. “And no, it’s not superficial to imagine the ring. You’re an aesthete, Pia. Beauty matters to you. Details matter. You think through how things feel, what they mean. It’s not just sparkle. It’s a story.” She looked sideways at Pia, her eyes glinting through the drifting steam.

“If Vic has an heirloom, and you want to wear it, that’s not superficial. That’s you saying you’re ready to hold part of his past as part of your future.”

Ripples lapped at the edge of the bath. The scent of yuzu rose again, faint but bright.

Hikaru reached for her cloth, pressed it to the back of her neck. “Also, if it’s art deco, I’ll be so jealous. Let's go to the cooler pool. We can come back later if we want." They rise from the steaming water, dripping like naiads, and moved to the medium temperature bath.

"You're right, Hikarin, I am in my way an aesthete. I like to look good, and I choose my outfits and jewellery accordingly. When I think about an engagement ring... I'll wear it on all formal occasions for the rest of my life. It's got to be something I like." She chuckled. "You know the kind of cheesy romcom where the male love interest suddenly proposes, and the female lead says yes, and he puts a Coke can ring on her finger? Or a piece of toy jewellery, something like that. To be honest, that’s romantic but ridiculous. Good for a laugh and a cry but not for real life. Imagine if I turned up to Eimi-chan's wedding with a brass grommet on my finger!"

She held up her left hand to envisage how it would look.

Hikaru laughed, a proper musical ripple that bounced gently off the tiled walls. “Oh, I can see it now. Eimi in some dreamy forest wedding in a designer gown, and you, Matron of Honour of course, with a bloody washer nut like it’s vintage Tiffany.” She sighed happily as they lowered themselves into the medium hot pool, the cooler temperature tingling pleasantly after the deep heat of the main bath. “But seriously,” she added, letting down her hair, “there’s no shame in wanting something that fits who you are. People forget that elegance is a form of truth. You’ve never worn someone else’s story just to make them comfortable.” She glanced sideways. “I’m sure Vic knows that. If he does go with something heirloom, I bet he’ll make it something you can love, not just what he inherited.” She let her hand drift in the water. “And he’ll only propose if he means forever. He’s not rushing. He’s not flinching, either. He’s just waiting to be sure the ground is solid.”

A long moment, filled with the gentle rippling noise of the pool endlessly draining and refilling from the geothermal waters deep below ground. “You’ve had chaos, Pia. And passion. And heartbreak. But this time, you’re building something else. If you’re both ready, it’ll be the kind of marriage that lasts and sparkles.”

“It’s funny, Hikarin, you talk like an older sister or a cool young aunt, though you’re a year my junior. But I don’t have the experience of real love and marriage you do.

Hikaru smiled. “You need to start catching up, then, Pian.”

Some other guests entered the pool, nodding politely to Pia and Hikaru. Pia went on talking in English. "My return flight is on Tuesday night. I know Vic is yearning to see me. It's not long to wait, but I wish he was here now. Stupid of me, I know. But he'd love the surf."

Hikaru nodded her greetings to the other women. “That’s not stupid at all. Wanting to share a good moment with someone you love? That’s completely normal. If he were here, he’d be surfing from dawn to dusk. But for now, you’re the one soaking this in alone. And… I think that’s important too. “Missing him just means there’s more to look forward to.” She slid a little deeper into the water, until only her eyes and her nose were above the surface. “And I absolutely want to see that ring pic later. I’ll give it my full ‘cool aunt’ endorsement.”

"How's Yancy getting on with Eimi-chan? I still find it hard to picture him as a husband and father. He's just my stupid big brother."

Hikaru grinned, eyes twinkling above the waterline. “That’s because you knew him before he had depth. Before marination in fatherhood.” She eased back a little, letting her arms float. “But honestly? He’s a brilliant dad. Eimi adores him. He listens to her. He takes her seriously. Even when she’s asking if birds have birthdays or why noodles are long.” A small laugh. “And he changes nappies like a pro.” She turned her head, looking directly at Pia now. “He’s still your stupid brother. But you should know, he’s something solid. He’s patient with her. And kind. And he’s better with 3 a.m. tantrums than I ever imagined.” She thought for a moment, then said, “He never stopped being your brother, Pia. He just became someone’s safe place, too.”

The steam curled again as other guests quietly shifted into the far side of the pool. Hikaru leant close and nudged Pia lightly with her shoulder. “He’s got the same thing as you. That fierce protectiveness. The ability to show up, even when it’s messy. He just doesn’t wear it with eyeliner.”

"He's from the same parents and upbringing as me, more or less, so we're the same in different ways. I mean I went to an all-girls school, which is different.” She washed the water across her chest and shoulders with slow arm movements. “Do you think we should go back now? It must be very late for Eimi-chan."

Hikaru tilted her head, considering it with a small smile. “Same roots, different branches. I like that.” She glanced toward the steamed-up windows, where the deep blue-black sky of evening pressed through the mist. “Mm. You’re right. She’ll be sleepy again soon, and Yancy might be halfway through a long, rambling bedtime story about red trains and ninja carrots.” She stretched her arms above her head one last time, then rose gracefully from the water, rivulets glistening down her skin. “Let’s dry off before we turn into prunes.”

They moved back to the dressing room, where a bath attendant nodded politely, offering amenity kits and more towels. The hush of the onsen turned into everyday sounds of murmured conversation, hair driers and the clatter of combs and make-up brushes. Hikaru wrapped a towel around her hair. “You’ve done a good thing coming here, Pian. I hope you feel it. Also, don’t forget. I want to see that ring before I say goodnight.”

"I made my peace with Hisashi, and with my guilt about what I did. I feel ready to move on. I love Japan so much, Hikarin. It was very painful to be separated from you. I'm so happy to be back with you now. I wish Vic was here. He'd love it. Bathing with Yancy and Eimi-chan would be a great introduction to the family. They have hot springs in Australia, but everyone wears a swimming costume."

Hikaru was slipping into her yukata as Pia spoke, smoothing the fabric around her waist and hips. She paused to look over, her face open and warm. “I’m glad you feel that way,” she said softly. “About Hisashi. About, everything. You’ve carried so much for so long, and we couldn’t carry it for you. That hurt too.” She moved to the mirror, tied her sash, and met Pia’s eyes in the reflection.

“I missed you so much. When you disappeared after everything that happened… Of course I was angry with you. I tried to understand, but I still felt like I had lost a sister because she had done a really bad thing. It means everything that you’re here again. Not just in Japan, but really here.”

The women who were there earlier shuffled past with quiet bows. Hikaru waited until the room was their own again before stepping over and giving Pia’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I think Vic would love it. Being with family in a place like this. And yeah, he’d look worried about being naked with Yancy for five minutes, and then he’d be fine.” She grinned. “Eimi would adopt him immediately. You’d have to share.” Then, nudging Pia gently with her shoulder: “Next time. Next time, you bring him here. To this very place. We’ll book the family bath for two nights.”

"I've still got to get him to propose to me. I don't care if it's a big romantic scene, or a quiet place, or, I don't know, almost by accident. He's kind of mentioned marriage a couple of times. I never picked him up on it."

“Well, that’s classic Pia, isn’t it? Brave enough to chase criminals through foreign cities, but when the man you love hints at forever, you act like it’s a passing breeze.” She towelled her hair briskly, her eyes dancing. “But I get it. Saying it out loud makes it real. Final. There’s no un-jumping that fence.” She folded her towel, slipped it into the used basket, and straightened up. “If it helps… Yancy didn’t plan his proposal. Not really. We were walking back to the station late at night, and he said something like, ‘I keep thinking about growing old with you. Should we make that official?’ I laughed so hard we nearly missed the train.”

A pause.

“But it was perfect. Because it was true.” She glanced at Pia and began to do her skincare. “Maybe Vic’s just waiting for that moment when you meet him halfway. When you say something like, ‘I want to grow old with you too.’ Or, you know… just hand him the ring box and say, ‘Get on with it.’ That would be very you.” She winked. “Let’s go check in on the bedtime squad. Maybe he’s halfway through a PowerPoint on black holes.”

Yancy was relaxing with a beer, watching a variety show. "Eimi's asleep, darling. I put her in with Pia because she wanted to. I hope that's alright?"

Pia said, "Yeah! That'll be lovely. Better give me some of her pull-ups in case of any midnight expeditions. I can handle it. Give us beers, Yancy. We're dehydrated. Hikaru, this is the pic I wanted to show you."

It was a yellow gold ring, a classic clean design, something art deco but modernised, with heavy bezel clips for the solitaire princess cut diamond. Seeing the ring, Hikaru understood how far Pia had gone.

*I have to push this along,* she thought to herself. *Kickstart Vic into action.* She borrowed Pia's phone 'for a close look' at the image, and memorised Vic's number while Pia was pouring everyone more beer. "It's a lovely ring, Pia. But do you really think he'll get it for you?"

"I don't care as long as I have Vic.”

Yancy raised his glass in salute. “Now that’s the right answer. The ring’s just decoration. The guy’s the actual prize. Like me.” He tossed one of Eimi’s pull-ups over like a rugby pass and settled back on his cushions, the variety show flashing absurd outfits and exaggerated reactions across the screen.

Hikaru, still holding Pia’s phone casually in one hand, glanced at the screen once more before laying it down with care. “It’s very you, Pian” she said. “Strong. Elegant. A little sharp around the edges.”

Pia poured the beers with less formality this time, no hostess club flourishes, just sisterly instinct and affection. Hikaru took a long sip and watched Pia over the rim of the glass. Pia was glowing in that post-bath, post-beer way. Comfortable, vulnerable, ready. Hikaru tucked her thought away like a carefully packed suitcase. She had Vic’s number now, and the seed of an idea. A gentle nudge. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to get things moving. She raised her glass again. “To warm baths, cool nights, and people who bring us home.”

Yancy raised his glass too. “And to Pia, who still scares me slightly, but in a productive way.”

Laughter.

The rain had finally stopped. The mist was still entwined in the pine forests. Somewhere beyond the window, the moon was shining, granting a silver light to the scenery.

"Sore dewa, I'm off to bed." Pia joined Eimi's tiny body in the widespread futon laid on the tatami floor. She stayed awake a few minutes to message Vic with a pic. "Hey Bae... How's your Friday been? I’m snuggling with Eimi. She’s like a living hot water bottle. "

Vic replied almost instantly, like he was already holding the phone. Maybe he was.

"Hey, beautiful. I survived Friday. Couple more meetings, a bad sandwich, and Dan tried to convince me to buy a fishtail board. Again."
"Now I’m horizontal, full of leftover curry, and wishing I was next to you."
"How was yours? Did you conquer the mountain, bathe in mist, seduce the spirits?"
Three dots appeared again.
“Also, tiny Eimi cuddles sound like heaven. Is she a furnace in human form when she sleeps?”

"@Bae: She's quiet now but I'm prepared for midnight squalls. Yancy gave me a spare pullup in case of any issues. She's still very young. We didn't really manage to do anything today because the storm was so intense. We just came to the hotel and ate tons of Japanese food. Then I had a bath with Hikaru. It's a great place to talk. I don’t call it a wasted day, it was very relaxing."

“@Pia: You with Eimi, armed with a pull-up and prepared for squalls, is honestly the most responsible and adorable image I’ve had all day.”

“Stormy days at a ryokan sound kind of magical though. Like the universe telling you to stop moving and just relax. What did you talk about in the bath? Deep stuff or mostly gossip? Did Hikaru interrogate you about me? I feel like she’d be surgical with it. <emojis: magnifying glass, bath>"
A moment later.
"I love hearing about your days, even the quiet ones. Makes me feel close to you. I’m counting the hours till Wednesday. But no pressure. Just missing my girl."

"@Bae: I'm missing you such a lot, Vic. I thought it's only a long week but it's different when I can't see you or touch you every day if I want. I only told Hikaru the good things about you. GTG now. It's late here. <emojis: kiss, kiss>
"
"I’m missing you too, Pia. More than I expected, honestly. It’s like, I knew I’d miss you, but not that I’d feel it in my chest like this. All the little things."
"The beach isn’t the same. My bed’s too big. And no one’s making fun of my breakfast routine. I’m glad you only told Hikaru the good stuff… though I kinda wish I’d earned the naughty stories too."
Another bubble popped up, slower this time.
"Sleep tight, wave girl. Dream of home, and know I’m dreaming of you. Kiss you soon. <emojis: kiss, kiss>"

<To be continued...>>

Chapter 90: Monkey Morning

Friday's storm had blown out, leaving the air cool and fresh for a Saturday of fun around the Hakone region. Pia was awoken by her little niece, Eimi, wanting to go to the loo.

The light was pale and golden, filtering gently through the shoji screens, when tiny fingers wrapped around Pia’s thumb and tugged.

“Tia Pian,” came the whisper, urgent, breathy. “Tia Pian, please. I need to go.”

Eimi was crouched beside the futon, Mr Pengin clutched under one arm, a serious expression on her little face. The soft rustle of linen and the slight give of the tatami beneath Pia’s elbow were the only other sounds in the quiet room. Yancy and Hikaru were still bundled in their futons nearby, unmoving except for their slow breathing.

Beyond the paper windows, morning birds chirped in the cedars. The storm had passed. A fresh breeze stirred the corners of the room, scented faintly with wet earth and woodsmoke.

Eimi shifted from foot to foot, clearly trying her best to wait. “Please,” she whispered again.

"Yes, sorry Eimi-chan, I was still asleep." Pia grabbed the spare pull-ups and crawled with Eimi towards the bathroom, trying to move quietly and not disturb the others. "You're a clever girl. What do I have to do, Eimi-chan? Here's your pull-ups."

Eimi took them solemnly, clutching the soft fabric like it was part of some sacred morning ritual. She tottered toward the en suite with her usual determination, Mr Pengin still tucked under one arm. Pia eased the sliding door open, and the two of them slipped inside, the lino floor cool against their feet. Pia had to help the little girl climb on to the adult size toilet.

“I pull down,” Eimi whispered seriously, already halfway through the motions. “I do wee wee, then I wipe. Then you wipe me. Then new pants. Like Mummy showed me. I know.” She looked up at Pia once with wide, proud eyes, then down again with laser focus.

In the quiet of the little bathroom, the sounds of soft rustling cloth and trickling water echoed gently off the polished wood. Outside, somewhere deeper in the hills, a train whistle sounded, distant, haunting, and brief. Eimi stepped into the pull-ups and straightened her yukata with the gravity of a much older child.

“Do I wash Mr Pengin?” she asked suddenly, pointing toward the little sink.

From the main room came a muffled yawn and the rustle of someone turning over heavily, Yancy, probably. But the inn remained mostly still.

Eimi blinked up at Pia. “He got rained on.”

"I'll give Mr Pengin a wash, Eimi-chan. You go back to bed." Pia rinsed the cuddly penguin doll, wondering if this was what parenthood was about. Meanwhile Eimi had forgotten her bed, and was wandering around to see what the new day might hold for her.

The water ran warm over Pia’s fingers as she gently dabbed at Mr Pengin’s fur with a washcloth, being careful not to soak him completely. The little doll had definitely seen better days, one button eye needed to be sewn on properly, but he was precious to Eimi. She wrung out the cloth, patted the toy dry as best she could, and set him on the low towel rail to air out, propping him up carefully so he wouldn’t face-plant.

Meanwhile the soft pat-pat of Eimi’s feet and the whisper of her tiny yukata brushing her legs came through the doorway. She was already nose-deep in curiosity, peeking beyond the screens across the garden view. Filtered beams of sunlight caught the edge of her hair, casting faint, sky blue halos as she leant into the view.

Outside, the pines were dripping from the night’s storm, and steam rose slowly from behind the wall screening the onsen. Somewhere in the ryokan's kitchen, early staff clattered gently in the preparation of breakfast. Eimi turned with a curious frown. “Is that a monkey?” she asked, pointing toward the trees.

The sky was a calm blue. The day was beginning to stir. Pia, kneeling barefoot in a warm bathroom, patting a penguin doll dry while supervising a two-year-old’s monkey surveillance, felt the strangest sense of peace.

Eimi beamed. “I’m gonna find a monkey now!”

"Eimi-chan! Don't go outside by yourself. Wait for me." Pia called, worried the little girl would wander off and get lost. She went after her. Eimi paused mid-scamper, her bare toes curling on the tatami as she turned back with a slightly guilty look. Her hand had been on the sliding door that led to the small veranda, beyond which morning light glinted through raindrop sparkling pine branches.

“I wait,” she said, her voice small, looking at Pia with wide, innocent eyes, though her body was still inching toward the veranda.

Pia reached her in two strides and gently scooped her up, hugging her close. Eimi tucked her head under Pia’s chin with a soft sigh, as if this too was part of the morning ritual. “Monkey’s not here yet,” she whispered confidentially. “I smell breakfast.”

Behind them, there was a deep groan from the futon pile; Yancy, emerging like a hungry bear from hibernation.

“Did someone say breakfast?” he muttered hoarsely. “Tell me I didn’t dream that.”

Eimi looked over Pia’s shoulder. “Daddy! I’m not outside!”

Hikaru’s voice drifted from her futon. “No one’s having breakfast until someone boils the kettle.”

The room was alive now, warm and soft with morning light, the storm forgotten. Eimi wriggled in Pia’s arms, ready to start the day properly, preferably with pancakes, and monkeys, and someone to carry her around like royalty. She squirmed slightly, but didn’t try to get down. Her little hands tugged absently at the neckline of Pia’s yukata as she kept her eyes on the garden.

Yancy yawned again and rolled onto his back, one arm flung across his forehead. “If there’s even a crumb of food in this place, I’ll eat it now,” he mumbled.

Hikaru, still curled in her futon with only the top of her navy-blue head showing, replied dryly, “You could boil an egg and call it gourmet.”

From outside came the sharp squee of a wheel on a stone path, some ryokan staff busy setting up for the morning. The scent of grilled fish and miso soup was drifting in faintly now, promising that breakfast was on its way. A monkey barked once from somewhere up in the hillside trees. Eimi gasped and clutched Pia’s shoulder.

"Yes, there are monkeys around. Be quiet or you may scare them away,” Pia warned her. “Would you like to go to the onsen before breakfast, Eimi?"

Eimi's eyes lit up like tiny lanterns. She nodded solemnly, then whispered with theatrical care, “Yes. Onsen. But shhh.” She held one finger to her lips and mimed tiptoeing with her fingers.

From the futon, Yancy cracked one eye open and mumbled, “She’s gonna start demanding spa treatments soon. Cucumber slices. Tiny hot towels.”

Hikaru gave a sleepy chuckle. “As if that’s a bad thing.”

Eimi wriggled down from Pia’s arms, patting her yukata to make sure it was in order, with all the self-importance of a diplomat en route to a peace summit. Her little feet tapped softly on the tatami as she toddled toward the entrance, where the indoor slippers were lined up.

Behind them, Yancy groaned again and pulled the blanket over his head. “I feel like I’m living with a pair of feudal lords,” he muttered.

“Shhh,” Eimi hissed dramatically, finger to lips, eyes wide.

Hikaru grinned without opening her eyes. “They’re just going to the bath, dear. You’ll survive another half hour without breakfast.”

The room settled into soft rustling and morning air as Eimi jiggled impatiently by the door, ready for her onsen adventure. Pia took her make-up bag, and fresh underwear. They had slept in their hotel uniform yukata, so they didn't have to change clothes to go out.

"Back in 30 minutes," She told Hikaru. “Well, maybe 45.”

There were already a few women in the bath. They nodded good morning to the newcomers, smiling at the tiny naked Eimi with the tall foreigner they assumed to be her mother. Eimi was clearly haafu by the shape of her eyes. Pia's husband must be Japanese, so they thought, which was unusual.

Pia bowed good morning back, and sat Eimi on a stool for washing, squatting behind her on the hard stone. She carefully lathered up the little girl, chatting quietly in English, then rinsed her thoroughly. "Now you can help wash me, Eimi-chan." Pia sat on the stool and with a little help from her friend, cleaned herself thoroughly, Eimi's little hands scrubbing away at Pia’s back.

Pia rinsed herself very thoroughly, knowing that the honour of all gaijin depended on showing the Japanese ladies she knew how to bathe properly. Finally, Pia took Eimi's hand and they went to the hot pool.

"Ohayou gozaimasu," she said as she stepped in, holding her small towel in front of her crotch. Very proper behaviour.

The older women already in the pool, a trio of obaa-chan (Grandma) types and one middle-aged woman with an elaborate bun pinned up high, smiled again as Pia and Eimi entered the bath, steam rising in soft curls around their shoulders.

“Ohayou gozaimasu,” one of the grandmothers echoed, her voice warm and gravelly. “Kawaii ne,” she added, nodding toward Eimi, who was already kicking her legs gently under the water.

“Jouzu ne,” said another, impressed. “Your daughter helped with the washing.”

The woman with the bun leaned a little toward Pia, studying her face with kind interest.

“First time in Hakone?” she asked in clear, slow Japanese, the sort used for people one isn’t quite sure are fluent. Her tone was friendly, curious but respectful. “It’s unusual to see foreigners at this hour.”

One of the grandmothers added, “So early! Good for the skin.”

Eimi splashed gently, then settled in beside Pia with a blissful sigh that caused another round of amused smiles.

“Do you live in Japan?” the woman with the bun asked, tilting her head slightly. “Or holiday?” Her eyes flicked briefly toward Eimi again. “She looks so comfortable.”

The bath was hot but not scalding, and the mountains were visible above the wooden outside walls, a soft grey silhouette rising through the steam. A breeze rustled the pine needles. One of the obaa-chans closed her eyes. “Best time of day. Before husbands and loud people wake up.”

The middle-aged woman chuckled. “Before the Instagram girls arrive.”

"Onsen ga daisuki desu yo," (I love onsen so much) Pia replied in fluent Japanese. "I'm on holiday from Australia. There are hot springs there but not many. I would have to drive 300km to reach the nearest one. So I must soak here as much as I can."

The women lit up with delight at Pia’s Japanese, fluent, confident, with the right touch of polite humility. Their expressions shifted instantly from amusement to genuine warmth.

“Eeh? Jouzu!” the grandmother closest to her exclaimed, visibly impressed. “I thought maybe you had just memorised a greeting. But you speak beautifully!”

The one with the bun leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the stone edge of the bath. “Australia, huh? So far!”

“Three hundred kilometres?” the other obaa-chan repeated, her eyes wide. “Taihen! That’s like going from here to Osaka!”

The lady with the bun chuckled. “Well, you chose right. This one,” she gestured lazily around the steamy onsen, “is very good for circulation. And women’s health. Magnesium in the water, they say.”

Eimi gave a theatrical sigh and floated herself against Pia’s side, cheeks pink and eyes half-closed in bliss.

“She knows what’s good!” one of them chuckled. “What’s your name, little one?”

Eimi blinked at her. “Eimi-chan,” she said in clearly accented Japanese.

The women murmured in approval, one even clapping softly in the water.

“Kawaii ne. And so clever! It’s the onsen effect.”

“You said you’re here for a holiday?” The woman with the bun returned to Pia. “Will you visit other places? Kyoto? Tokyo?” She paused. “Do you have family here?”

"I don't have time for a long tour, unfortunately. I must fly home on Tuesday. My boyfriend is missing me. My brother lives in Kawasaki City, though, so I'm sure I will come back."

Eyebrows might have been raised at the fact that Pia apparently was an unmarried mother.

"Tia Pian, why is your 'beard down below' different to Mummy's?" Eimi chimed up; one of those typical toddler questions which lack any sense of time and place and social propriety.

There was a second of pure, shimmering silence, as if the bath itself had paused and frozen in mid-steam. Then the middle-aged woman with the bun let out a laugh that bubbled up from her chest. She covered her mouth too late. One of the obaa-chans gave an audible snort before dissolving into a wheezy cackle, her hand on her chest for support.

“Ara, ara, children,” she managed, wiping at her eyes.

Another of them leant toward Pia conspiratorially and said with great solemnity, “You will absolutely have to come back. For more onsen questions and answers.”

Even the more reserved of the group had softened into a giggle, exchanging glances that carried the silent, universal agreement: this is a story I’m going to tell my cousin over lunch.

“Bright girl,” one added with a wink. “Observant.”

The woman with the bun, recovering, offered Pia a gentle, sympathetic bow of the head. “That’s the thing about children,” she said with a smile. “Always asking questions. Motherhood is hard.”

Another chimed in, “But also how lucky. A foreigner and a child who speaks both languages! She’ll grow up with such strength.”

They returned to their soaking with renewed interest in Pia, chatting now more familiarly, asking where in Australia she lived, if she’d tried tofu ice cream yet, what she thought of the Hakone Ropeway. Eimi, meanwhile, was lazily paddling with her arms across the shallow end, oblivious to the diplomatic incident she had just caused.

"This little one is my niece," Pia explained. "I'm here with my brother and his wife, who is Japanese. Eimi-chan,” she called, “You can't swim in the pool. It's bad manners.” She turned again to the ladies. My niece only asked that odd question because, well, obviously I'm blonde and her mother’s hair is blue."

A chorus of “Aaahhh!” and nods rippled like gentle waves. “Sou desu ka! That makes sense,” the woman with the bun said, her smile softening into something maternal. “Still, she’s very attached to you. Like a little koala bear.”

Eimi, oblivious to the stir she’d caused, looked up at Pia with wide, serious eyes. “No swimming?” she asked, kicking once more under the water but settling her legs down.

“No swimming,” echoed the oldest woman in a firm but kindly voice, wagging a finger. “This is not the splashy pool.”

The woman with the bun shifted again to face Pia, her voice a touch more curious now. “Your brother lives in Kawasaki? That’s very close to here. You’re lucky, you can come here easily. And your Japanese is very natural. Were you studying before?”

One of the others added, “And your manners, too. I wish more tourists were like you.”

Steam drifted lazily between them. Somewhere nearby, a raven called once from a cedar branch, then fell quiet. The hot water wrapped the group in a haze of warmth and shared stories, all awkwardness dissolved. The quiet banter continued in the onsen.

Back in the room, Hikaru thought about what to do with Vic's phone number.

Eimi leant gently against Pia now, her curiosity momentarily satisfied, her little fingers kneading Pia's shoulder and chest.

The woman with the bun smiled at the two of them. “She’s lucky to have you as her auntie. You’ll make a wonderful mother someday, I think.”

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 91: Push Notification

Hikaru sat in the quiet room, watching the morning light gild the edges of her phone. Eimi and Pia were still at the onsen. Yancy stirred faintly behind her. She opened her chat with Vic, hesitated for just a second, then began typing, not too fast, because she needed to be careful. Every word had to count.

“@Victor: Vic. Listen. I’m writing this because Pia won’t. She misses you so much it hurts to look at her sometimes.”
“She won’t say it, she’s proud. But I see it in how she watches her phone, or gets quiet at night. She loves you. She’s totally, completely in love with you.”
Hikaru paused, biting her thumb.
“She doesn’t need you to be perfect. She needs you to show up. If you got on a plane and came here, even just for a couple of days, it would mean the world to her. Not for a holiday. For love.”
She stared at the screen. Then added:
“Vic, she’s ready to marry you. If you asked her now, she’d say yes. You don’t have to be afraid. She’s not. Not anymore.”
“This is your moment. Fly to Japan now. This weekend. Surprise her. <emoji: red heart>”

She hit send, heart pounding at what she had done. Then turned the phone off and tucked it under her thigh, just as the hallway door began to creak open.

Pia brought a thoroughly scrubbed and hot pink Eimi back to the room. "I just love onsen, Hikarin. Isn't my lazy brother up yet? He probably needs coffee. I'll make some. Did you know there are monkeys in the forest? I think one may have invaded the hotel."

Hikaru turned from the window, schooling her face into something neutral and composed, though the tiniest flicker of mischief still lingered.

“Oh, you think one may have invaded?” she said lightly, rising to take Eimi’s warm little hand. “I’m sure I heard a big one snoring under the futon.”

Yancy let out a muffled grunt from the pile of blankets. “I’m saving my energy for extreme sightseeing.”

Hikaru grinned and leaned down to press a kiss to Eimi’s freshly scrubbed head. “Mmm, citrus soap. You two smell like the best part of the day.” She gave Pia a sidelong glance, casually brushing her phone further under the blanket as she moved toward the kitchenette. “Coffee sounds perfect. There’s a tin of biscuits on the shelf too, if you want to tempt the monkey out.”

As Pia crossed the room toward the tiny kitchen alcove, Eimi crawled under the low table like a sleepy fox cub, curling up with Mr Pengin. Hikaru watched her go with fondness, then glanced quickly at Pia again. “By the way,” she said, tone light and breezy, “what would you say if a certain someone just showed up out of nowhere?”

"What? Who, Komai? I don't want to see him here. If he's got any professional matters to discuss he should make an appointment. I’m on holiday."

Hikaru blinked, then burst out laughing, one hand over her mouth.

“Oh my God, no! Komai? Nooo, not Komai!” she said, still giggling as she walked over to help Pia with the cups. “That man would bow six times and ask permission to breathe in a ryokan.” She poured water into the kettle, still shaking her head. “No, I meant... someone else. Someone who wears ugly board shorts and looks at you like you’re the sun breaking over Bondi beach.”

Yancy groaned from under the covers. “If it’s the so-called talento who sings country music on his surfboard again, I vote no.”

Hikaru ignored him. Her eyes were gently locked on Pia now. “Just imagine it, though, Pian. You’re at the station. Or soaking in the onsen. And then you look up, and Vic’s just there. No warning. Just him, because he couldn’t stay away.” She opened the biscuit tin with a pop, offered it to Pia. “Would that be… okay?” she asked softly.

Pia crunched a biscuit. She began to pour boiled water over drip coffee bags for three cups. "Vic's too sensible to pull such a trick. He knows I'm going back on Tuesday night. Why would he suddenly come over here on a whim?"

Hikaru watched the steam curl up from the cups, her fingers lightly drumming the table. “Because sometimes grounded men need a push,” she said gently. “Because maybe, just maybe, he misses you more than he lets on. And he thinks you’re the one who’s always leaving.” She picked up her cup, blew across the top, then added with quiet certainty, “And because love does strange things to people, Pian. Even practical ones.” She sipped, then glanced sideways, a hint of teasing returning to her voice. “Also, I would absolutely bully him into it if I had the chance.”

From the futon pile, Yancy’s voice floated up, groggy. “That’s hypothetical, isn’t it?”

Hikaru ignored him again and leaned one elbow on the table, meeting Pia’s eyes. “If you saw him,” she asked softly, “before Tuesday... what would you say?”

"It's not going to happen. I'm not calling Vic up to make him come over here, no way. And he wouldn't just drop everything suddenly like that on his own account. Though I have to admit it would be very romantic." Pia cradled her hot coffee in both hands, inhaled the aroma, and looked at the shining lake through the trees. "Is that a real monkey?"

Hikaru followed her gaze. Outside the shoji, beyond the porch railing and over the mossy garden rocks, the hunched, grey-brown shape of a snow macaque darted across a low branch, all stubby body and quick limbs. It paused, just for a second, long enough to reveal a pink face and a suspiciously human-like stare.

“Yes,” Hikaru said flatly. “And he looks like he’s planning a hostile takeover.”

Eimi popped her head up from under the table like a prairie dog. “Monkey?”

Yancy groaned into his pillow. “Ask him to bring me a muffin.”

Hikaru stood to watch as the macaque scampered down the tree and began investigating a shishi odoshi water feature with polite criminal intent. It stopped the rocker arm to drink the clean water from the spout. She turned back to Pia, her voice casual but precise. “You’re right, of course. Vic wouldn’t do it on his own.” She gave a pointed little shrug. “But he might, if someone gave him a reason.”

Pia gave Hikaru a level stare. Her detective instincts were tickling her subconscious. *Is something going on?* she puzzled.

"I don't know what you mean, Hikaru."

At this moment, the ryokan maids began with complicated, precise old-world Japanese manners to bring the breakfast setup into the room. The futons had to be cleared, and the low table set with the luscious traditional breakfast food on wooden trays, each bearing half a dozen or more dishes, bowls and cups. Pia knelt next to the veranda window, sipping coffee and mulling over Hikaru's strange questions.

Hikaru caught that stare, sharp as a scalpel, and immediately softened her whole posture, raising both hands in surrender like a poker player folding early. “Nothing,” she said breezily. “Just talking nonsense. Must be the coffee. Or the monkey.”

She stepped back to make room as the ryokan attendants slid in gracefully, murmuring “o-jama shimasu” and beginning the choreographed ballet of transforming the room: folding futons, arranging cushions and the table, placing lacquerwood trays filled with tiny steaming dishes, grilled and raw fish, tamagoyaki, miso soup, pickled vegetables, bowls of glistening white rice.

“Ah, look,” Hikaru said lightly, “pickled daikon with yuzu again. My favourite.”

She slipped into the rhythm of the morning, helping clear a corner for Eimi and chatting with one of the maids about tea preferences. No more mysterious comments. No more meaningful glances. Just a quiet holiday morning in Hakone. Steam rising from miso soup, lake light flickering through the trees, and Pia at the window, sipping her coffee.

Outside, the monkey vanished into the forest.

“What does everyone want to do today?" Pia asked over breakfast. She and Eimi were freshly scrubbed and only needed to put on the right outfit to be ready for anything. Yancy was still lolling around like he needed more coffee to get going.

"Tu as beaucoup bu hier soir, mon frère ?" (How much did you drink last night?) Pia asked him. “You piss-head.”

Yancy, sprawled at the low table with his rice half-eaten and a pickled plum pincered by his chopsticks, gave Pia a withering side-eye.

“Pas autant que toi avec le saké, sorcière hypocrite,” (No more than you, hypocrite witch) he grumbled, then popped the umeboshi into his mouth with a theatrical wince. He chewed off the flesh and spat the stone into a tiny saucer.

Eimi was now very invested in her little grilled fish. She cheerfully picked it apart with fingers and spoon, humming tunelessly under her breath.

Hikaru, who had swapped her yukata for wide-leg cream trousers and a lightweight navy blouse, was unfolding the map provided by the hotel’s front desk. She reached for her second cup of green tea. “I was thinking of the ropeway first, before it gets busy,” she offered. “Then the lake cruise, if the queue isn’t long. We could do the art museum or the open-air sculptures after lunch?”

Yancy slouched further. “Museums are for people with blood sugar. I need konbini snacks before you start dragging me up volcanoes.”

“I can get you onsen eggs and natto,” Hikaru replied without looking up.

“I’m being punished,” Yancy muttered.

Eimi squinted at the adults. “Mr Pengin wants a pirate ship.”

Hikaru raised a brow. “Lake Ashi it is, then.” She looked at Pia. “What about you? You want to skip the cable car?” Her tone was gentle. “We can meet you at the bottom if you'd rather walk or take the bus. No pressure.”

"I will go on the cable car, Hikaru. I might have to crouch in the middle and not look at the view. I won't know until it happens. That's the problem with an irrational fear of heights. You don’t know how it will manifest. For instance, when I went to the Westfield Mall in Sydney, I found I couldn’t look up at the tower above." Pia finished her breakfast and sipped more tea. "I like your outfit. I was thinking of culottes and a simple blouse. What will Eimi wear?”

Hikaru gave a warm smile, the kind that carried both admiration and solidarity. “That’s brave, Pia. And if you end up crouching like a trembling goat in the middle of the cabin, I’ll crouch with you.”

Yancy grunted. “Great, I’ll just dangle my head out the window like a bloodhound. Gotta keep the family image intact.”

Eimi perked up. “I want a dress! The blue one. With apples.”

“You means strawberries,” Hikaru said, chuckling. “But yes. The blue one. It’s soft and stretchy, so you can do backflips if you feel moved.”

Eimi beamed. “Sandals. I like the squeaky ones.”

“No squeaky shoes in the art museum,” Hikaru warned, raising a mock-stern brow. She turned back to Pia. “Culottes and a blouse would be perfect. You’ll want layers, up on the ridge it can get breezy. I have a scarf you can borrow if you didn’t pack one.”

Pia put on a mock expression of shock. “Me not pack a scarf, Hikarin? I brought two. Thanks for the thought, though.”

Outside the window, the sunlight was angling down through the trees now, sparkling off leaves still dotted with tiny droplets from yesterday’s rain. It was going to be a good day, so long as no one fell off a cable car. Breakfast cleared away, the family were able to finish their preparations. Pia put on tan culottes, a white linen blouse, her favourite camel cardigan, and knotted an Hérmes silk scarf around her neck. Her Launer bag dangled from one hand, her black loafers from the other. She began to play with Eimi while slowcoach Yancy finished dressing.

Hikaru's phone pinged for attention.

The soft bong echoed from the side table where Hikaru had left her phone charging. She gave it a glance, then froze mid-fold of Eimi’s spare cardigan.

Vic.

She picked up the phone and flicked up the notification, her thumb hesitating for half a breath before she tapped to get the message.

Victor Davern: “Hey. I’ve read your messages three times now. Can I really do this? I mean… is she really ready?”
A second message followed almost immediately.
“I miss her so much it aches. But flying across the world just to tell her that? It feels huge. What if she laughs in my face?”

Hikaru inhaled slowly through her nose. Her heart twisted, *Poor man,* she thought. *He still doesn't know he's already well over halfway there.* She turned her body slightly so Pia wouldn’t catch sight of her face and began to type with flying fingers.

“@Victor: She won’t laugh. She’ll cry. Not because it’s too much, because it’s exactly what she needs. You don’t have to be poetic. Just be there. That will say everything. Say yes, Vic. Get on the plane.”
She paused, then added, “And bring some decent jewellery. No sardine can rings. I’ll send you her size. <emoji: ring> Get it done.” Hikaru slipped her phone into her bag and rose smoothly to her feet, her voice light.

“Shall we go and conquer the ropeway before the monkeys get there?”

So the Reese family went out to explore Hakone and Lake Ashi. They'd all been there before. It was a good weekend trip from Tokyo. The area was so large, however, with so much to explore, that no-one ever felt they'd done it all. And once you had, it was time to start again.

"One day I want to do some serious hiking in Japan.” Pia told them. “I always say I'm a city girl at heart, but I did Duke of Edinburgh Gold, and I know how to handle myself in the wild. Except for snakes. They would be a worry, actually. And bears, and monkeys. And wild boars. Also tanuki and kitsune." She looked up at the trees. “Are flying squirrels dangerous? Surely not as bad as drop bears.”

Yancy, now finally dressed in a warm gilet over a tee-shirt from the Frankfurt Buchmesse and green cargo trousers, raised an eyebrow as he adjusted Eimi’s sunhat. “Right, so you're a wilderness expert, as long as nature politely stays out of your way.”

“You’re basically a DofE picnic technician,” Hikaru said cheerfully, smoothing her scarf around her neck. “But I believe in you, Pian. You’d outsmart a monkey if it came to it.”

“I’d bribe a monkey,” Yancy said. “The same way Pia handles you and Eimi with cakes and smoked salmon.”

Eimi, striding ahead in her blue dress and squeaky sandals, turned and declared with authority, “I can beat a bear.”

The road curved gently uphill as they left the ryokan and made their way toward the ropeway station, the trees arching above them in a whispering tunnel of light and damp pine. Steam from hidden vents puffed now and then from the undergrowth, and the sharp scent of sulfur hung in the morning air. Signs promised panoramic views of Mt. Fuji, if the clouds stayed kind. Other tourists were heading the same way, cameras swinging, hiking poles clicking, their voices a mix of Japanese, Mandarin, French, and English.

Hikaru matched pace with Pia, slipping on her sunglasses. “If you ever do decide to hike Hakone properly,” she said, “I’ll come with you. And I’ll bring anti-monkey spray.”

“Is that a real thing?” Yancy asked behind them.

“No,” Hikaru said serenely. “But I’m very persuasive.”

"More people are killed by cows in England than by lightning," Pia said out of nowhere, as she gazed at the cable car lines which threaded up and down the mountainside. "I can do this. I will do this," she muttered, and took Eimi's hand for support as they all waited in the queue to board the next car. Eimi squeezed Pia’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. “We will go very slow,” she whispered reassuringly, as if she were the adult now. “Like a cloud.”

Hikaru shot Pia a subtle thumbs-up over Eimi’s head, falling into step behind them. “Besides,” she said gently, “there’s only ever been one monkey hijacking. And that was in 1987.”

Yancy frowned. “Are you serious?”

“No.”

Two cable cars slid into the station with a soft whirr, one upward bound, the other heading down, their tinted windows flashing briefly in the morning light. Inside, neat benches lined the sides and overhead handles swung gently from the ceiling.

A family ahead of them piled in, all puffer jackets and selfie sticks. Then it was their turn.

Hikaru gestured grandly. “Your cloud awaits.”

Eimi tugged Pia toward the door. “Come on, Captain Pian! We’re flying!”

The moment was here. The cabin beckoned, bright and humming. And far, far below, the lake shimmered like a dropped coin.

Something triggered Pia badly, possibly the long thin line of the cable snaking its way between the tall pylons which marched down the slope. The Fear rushed into her mind, and she suddenly knew she absolutely would not enter that cable car. It was like the first time, at the Whispering Gallery of the dome of St Pauls Cathedral in London. Pia had stepped inside, looked at the yawning void, and frozen, cowering against the wall until she managed to edge her way back out of the door she had just entered by.

"I'm sorry. I can't go. You go. Eimi wants to go flying. Take her up and we'll meet later."

Hikaru caught the shift in Pia’s voice instantly, the tightness, the way it snagged mid-sentence. She turned just in time to see Pia's whole body lock up, her hand frozen in Eimi’s.

“Oh,” Hikaru murmured. “Okay. Okay.”

Eimi blinked up at Pia, confused but calm. “No flying?” she asked, soft as clouds. Her little fingers wriggled gently in Pia’s grip.

Yancy, who had been laughing at a dad in front of them trying to fold a pram, looked back and saw Pia’s face. The colour had drained from it. He stepped forward without a word and gently reached for Eimi’s other hand. “Let’s go flying, little monkey,” he said quietly.

Hikaru nodded once. “We’ll meet you at the foot of the slope. There’s a teahouse by the lower ropeway station. The one with the famous cat who has their own Instagram account.”

The doors slid open behind them with a soft chime. Tourists shifted. The staff gestured politely. Hikaru touched Pia’s arm once, light as a feather. “You’re brave,” she said softly in Japanese. “For knowing when to say no.” Then she turned and followed Yancy and Eimi into the cabin. The doors hissed shut behind them.

The cable car rose, smoothly and almost silently gliding into the sky.

<<To be continued...>>

Chapter 92 : Flight Mode

Pia turned her steps towards the teahouse with the notorious cat. She fumbled out her phone to message Vic. "Hey Bae... How's your weekend shaping up? It's good weather here. Relatively cool in the mountains but a bit humid. Everyone else has gone on the cable car, up to the top for the view, then all the way down again. I'm going to have a snack in a café with a view of Mount Fuji."

Pia’s hands were steadier than she expected, just a faint tremble from the earlier wash of fear. The message went off with a soft whoosh, leaving her standing by the path while the gentle hum of the departing cable car faded behind her. A few other tourists were waiting for the next car, but no-one looked twice at her.

The trail to the teahouse was narrow and well-kept, with mossy stones edging the way. Steam curled from vents in the rocks as though the land itself was exhaling. Somewhere to her right, a bush rustled. The notorious cat was already on the prowl. It emerged like a tiny, shaggy emperor, black and white with one torn ear and the haughty limp of a well-fed local legend. It spotted Pia, paused dramatically, then trotted ahead, its tail held up like a flag. The café was clearly his.

Inside, the teahouse was all warm wood and clean glass, perched on a ridge with a postcard-perfect view of Mount Fuji rising pale and ghostly above the lake. The scent of roasted tea and sweet red-bean buns drifted from the counter.

Pia’s phone buzzed in her hand.

“@Pia: Hey baby. That sounds amazing. It’s weirdly cold here. I was gonna surf but I’ve mostly been thinking about you instead. Cable car, huh? Bet Eimi was thrilled. Wish I could have been there too.” A few seconds later, “Miss you.”

“@Bae: I miss you so much. But I'll be home on Wednesday. Not long to go. I hope you get to surf this weekend, and meet the boys. It will do you so much good. Kiss <emojis: lips, red heart>”
The phone buzzed again almost immediately.
“@Pia: I miss you more. Wednesday feels far away. I’ll try to surf. Dan’s nagging me to get back in the water. But honestly? The only place I want to be is next to you. Kiss back. <emoji: lips>”
A moment later, another ping.
“Have a snack for me, yeah? Something ridiculous and sweet. And send me a photo of the view. Only if you’re in it too.”

As the café staff brought over a little tray, yuzu tea, a sakura mochi, and a fluffy cheesecake that practically glowed. Pia’s seat by the window gave her a near-cinematic view of Fuji’s snow-dusted crown against the pale, hazy blue.

The cat jumped onto a stool nearby and stared at her like a critic.

Somewhere behind the clouds, her future was changing course.

Pia gazed at Mount Fuji at the end of the lake. The peak didn't fully dominate the view, but its massive perfection of blue and white in the late morning light exerted a serene authority which could not be denied. She asked the waitress to take a photo of her against the magnificent scenery.

The waitress bowed with a gentle smile, carefully angling Pia just so against the window, so the lake glimmered beneath her, and Mount Fuji loomed pale and perfect in the distance, part-veiled by drifting cloud. She had probably framed the same shot a thousand times before, with other visitors from all over the globe. Pia’s cardigan defined her silhouette softly. Her honey-blonde hair caught the light enough to gleam like gold.

Click.

The result was carefully effortless: Pia calm, radiant, composed, but with a glint in her eye that Vic would know wasn’t entirely posed.

She attached the photo and typed, “@Bae: Go and catch a big wave for me. <emoji: surfer> Then tell it all about your amazing girlfriend in Japan who’s about to eat the best cheesecake of her life.”

A moment later, the cat hopped onto the windowsill beside her and curled into a loaf, facing the mountain. Her phone vibrated again.

“@Pia: You look like you own the place. That view’s good, but honestly? It doesn’t stand a chance next to you.”
“Okay. One monster wave, just for you. And I’m sending it your love.” Another pause. “God, I miss you.”

"@Bae: You'll see me sooner than you know, Vic," Pia signed off. She sipped her tea, and suddenly decided to research how she could bring her return flight forward.

*There's last minute shopping, souvenirs, yes, I can get it all in Shinyurigaoka, or maybe delivered. Packing. Catch the evening flight on Monday instead of the late flight on Tuesday. I’ll arrive in the morning. Vic will be at the office. I'll text him to go round my flat in the afternoon, I can think of an excuse later. Renée will lend him the key. I’ll be ready. Set up some kind of a breadcrumb trail to the bedroom. Pieces of lacy underwear -- stockings, camisole, bra, panties -- Oh yes!*

She smirked at her spicy thoughts, and began to lay out a detailed timing plan. The cat stretched out to lick her cheesecake. The tiny simulated clicking of Pia’s phone keyboard echoed softly in the teahouse as she navigated flight options, her heart hammering with a thrilling mix of mischief and desire.

*JAL, ANA, Qantas… hmm… Monday evening, direct to Sydney.*

She tapped and scrolled, absently sipping lukewarm yuzu tea, not noticing as the teahouse cat gradually demolished a chunk of her cheesecake with the attitude of a judge on Great British Bake-Off.

Her fingers paused.

The cat meowed loudly.

“Oh my Goddess,” Pia gasped, finally noticing the damage. “That’s mine!”

The cat blinked once, then resumed licking. Remorselessly.

Pia shoved her phone into her bag and stood up, grinning like she’d just cracked a case wide open. “Alright, Fuji-san,” she said, slinging her Launer bag from her shoulder. “It’s time to turn this love story around.”

In Sydney, Vic’s usually mellow flat was in chaos.

His suitcase lay gaping on the bed, half-full of crumpled tee-shirts and mismatched socks. A button-up shirt dangled from a hanger hooked over the doorframe. The kitchen counter was plastered with scribbled Post-it notes: passport, laptop, toothbrush, ring, phone, passport, credit card, passport.

Vic paced between rooms in boardshorts and a hoodie, phone wedged between ear and shoulder.

“Yeah, Olivia, I know it’s nuts. I just need the leave signed off. It’s personal.”

Pause.

“No, I’m not dying! I’m going to Japan. To propose. Just give me this and I’ll accept the promotion. Then we’re all happy.”

He hung up before Olivia could squawk, grabbed a packing cube and started ruthlessly sorting socks. The ring box, small, navy blue, discreet, sat on the windowsill next to a photo of him and Pia, blurry from a beach day. He grabbed it and shoved it deep into a side pocket.

The Saturday light outside was already slanting toward late afternoon. His flight was confirmed. Make sure the flat was clean, what if she beat him back? No, no, not possible… right? Grab a couple of gifts at the airport, a koala doll for Eimi, chocolates, something.

Vic paused in the middle of the room, breath caught somewhere between panic and joy.

“She’s gonna say yes,” he muttered. “She’s gonna say yes.” Then, with a wild grin, he dived back into packing.

Pia locked in her new plans shortly before Yancy, Hikaru and Eimi returned from their cable car expedition.

"Hello!" she said brightly. "Was it fun, Eimi-chan? Like flying through the clouds? I'm sorry I had to miss it, but I had a great time feeding the cat cheesecake. Would you like to rest here before we go to the next thing?"

Pia looked suspiciously chipper, buoyant, as if she had had a piece of good news she wanted to keep secret for a surprise.

Eimi came pelting toward Pia like a tiny steam train, arms outstretched. “We went up so high! Like whoosh!” She wrapped herself around Pia’s legs with a tackle hug. “There was fog! And a sign with volcano danger!”

Yancy strolled up behind, sunglasses askew and hair windblown. “Your niece now believes she is immune to lava,” he reported, breathless. “Also, I may have vertigo. Or low blood sugar. Or both.”

Hikaru looked far too composed for someone who’d just shepherded a toddler and a semi-functioning husband across a mountain ridge. She raised one brow as she scanned Pia’s radiant face. “Someone’s in a suspiciously good mood,” she said, taking her scarf off her hair. “Either that cat left you at least half the cheesecake, or you booked a spa treatment.”

Pia’s grin only widened.

“You know,” Hikaru went on, squinting, “there’s this particular smug smile you get when you’ve just done something secret and fun.”

Yancy groaned theatrically. “Oh God, did you buy another piano?”

Eimi climbed into Pia’s lap and whispered, “Tell me your secret.”

Hikaru watched them both, tipping back the last of her water bottle. Then her phone pinged in her pocket. She didn’t look at it straight away. Instead, she smiled to herself and said, “Let’s give Eimi a rest. Then pirate ships, ice cream, and art. In that order.”

Pia dandled Eimi on her knee and offered her the menu. It had photos for her to choose a cake without needing to be able to read. "I can recommend the morning cake set. I'll just have some coffee. The view is amazing! Look, Eimi-chan, can you see Fuji-san? Can you see the little ship on the lake?"

Eimi squinted at the menu like a tiny critic. “This one,” she said with gravity, jabbing a finger at a slice of strawberry shortcake with a glossy whole berry on top. “It has cream and red.”

Hikaru peered over her shoulder. “Cream and red. Excellent choice, my little cake shogun.”

Pia’s lap was the command centre now, Eimi settled in with one arm slung across Pia’s blouse, the other hand still vaguely sticky from something probably best left unknown. Outside the big window, the clouds had thinned, leaving Fuji’s peak glowing softly against the early afternoon sky.

Eimi turned her head and gasped. “There it is! The mountain!”

“And the ship?” Pia prompted gently, pointing. “See the ship?”

Eimi squinted again, then clapped her hands. “Pirate ship! I see the flags!”

Yancy, now flopped sideways on a cushion, lifted his head to squint too. “I see overpriced tickets and sea sickness.”

Hikaru chuckled, brushing a crumb off her trousers. She glanced sideways at Pia, who was glowing. Absolutely glowing. But she said nothing. Instead, she flagged down a waitress. “Cake for the pirate, coffee for the captain, and… one smug secret, lightly toasted.”

Pia just sipped her coffee and gave Lake Ashi a sly little smile.

"You'll be fine, Yancy,” she assured him. “We're both old hands on the water, even if it was mostly in smaller boats. And it's calm today. The storm took all the wind away."

Some of the cruise ships on the lake were modelled after old-time sailing galleons, with fake masts and quarterdecks, and cannons poking out of the sides. It was kind of hokey but fun. The passengers would be treated to some great views of various sights along the shoreline; an ancient shrine of Hachiman, a traditional Edo period customs house, and Mount Fuji always visible at the head of the lake, if the weather was clear, like on the morning after a storm. "Come on, eat up, and we'll go out as soon as we can," Pia cajoled them. "The pirate port is 15 minutes by taxi."

Yancy groaned but sat up straighter, as if the promise of a pirate ship had somehow shamed him into action. “Alright, alright. But if someone in costume calls me a scurvy dog, I’m throwing myself overboard.”

Eimi, now carefully spooning frosting off her cake, perked up. “You have to say Arrr, Daddy!”

“I have to say what?”

“Arrr! Like a pirate!”

Hikaru handed him a napkin with the serene expression of someone who had already accepted her fate. “You’re going to be excellent at this. You have natural sea-borne energy.”

The mock galleon slowly drifted past on the lake below, its red hull and brassy cannons glinting in the sun, its flags fluttering against the backdrop of distant Fuji-san.

Pia’s phone buzzed again in her bag.

Hikaru didn’t react.

Pia reached into her Launer bag with one hand, keeping Eimi balanced on her knee with the other. Her phone screen lit up: one new notification.

Not Vic.

It was the confirmation email from JAL.

Subject: Flight Change – Tokyo Haneda to Sydney NSW. Monday, 18:44 dep. Seat: First Class -- 3A. Lounge access confirmed.

Underneath that, another email buzzed in, a receipt from the fancy patisserie she had ordered from. Confirmation of the delivery on Monday. Many tins of expensive biscuits and Japanese sweets for her friends in Sydney, and a major haul for Vic, a large castella cake. Maybe to distract him if her surprise return went sideways.

Eimi gave her a frosting-smeared nudge. “Tia Pian. You’re happy.”

Pia tapped the screen to dark. “Just little bits of good news, darling.” She took a final sip of coffee and rose smoothly to her feet. “Alright, my hearties. Let’s go find our pirate ship.”

“Fun fact,” Yancy said. “In Swallows and Amazons, which is a classic book I’ve always loved, the two pirate sisters were called Nancy and Ruth. But Nancy told Ruth she would have to change her name when they became pirates.”

“Why?” Hikaru asked, suspecting she might not like the answer.

“Because pirates are ruthless.” Yancy dissolved in laughter, and was cheerful until he found out the price of the lunchboxes to take on the cruise. Even though Pia was paying. But he forgot his bad mood as he watched her serene mood. Pia was weirdly chill all afternoon. She didn't tease him, didn’t goad him into arguing about directions, didn’t even mock his choice of lunchbox. That alone was suspicious.

During the boat cruise, she just sat with Eimi tucked into her side, watching the shore drift by with a faint smile and occasionally humming what sounded like a Norah Jones cover. Every now and then, she'd rest her chin on her hand like someone in a French love film, her eyes glassy with faraway thoughts.

*She’s up to something,* Yancy thought. *Planning another assault on Mitsukoshi?* Still, it was nice seeing her like this. Relaxed. Dreamy. Not his usual battle-scarred, caffeinated little sister with emotional armour welded on.

Hikaru noticed everything. Pia’s mood had lifted like the clouds after a storm. The usual edge in her body language was gone, her shoulders were soft, her expression was actually, serene? She’d caught her once, gazing at nothing in particular with a tiny smile playing at the corner of her lips, mouthing words to some long-forgotten tune.

*What’s happened?* Hikaru wondered, watching from across the deck. And Vic hadn’t replied since morning. Which meant… *Is he on his way?* She busied herself with snack logistics and sunscreen, not bothering to hide her smile.

As the pirate ship tour wound down, and the light began to turn golden across Lake Ashi, the Reese family meandered back past souvenir stalls ranked along the misty cedar paths of the Hachiman shrine. Pia was still humming quietly like she’d been kissed by the muse of music. She let Eimi pose plastic samurai helmets on both their heads for photos. She didn’t argue when Yancy spent too long debating between two nearly identical postcards.

Even back at the ryokan, when Eimi staged a full-scale rebellion over which dress to wear to dinner, Pia knelt beside her like a soft breeze and gently negotiated an armistice involving rabbit slippers and a flower hairclip.

Yancy leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching his sister with a suspicious tilt of his head.

“You’re very zen today,” he muttered. “Did you drink too much of the onsen water? You’re acting like someone who’s joined a cult.”

<To be continued...>>