A headful of skye, p.28
A Headful of Skye, page 28
“You’ll get there.” Mayu knotted her fingers together in her lap, watched the way her own skin creased when she pulled at it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help.”
“That’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”
Well, it kind of was, since Mayu had instigated the whole investigation. “You’re not angry with me? I’ve basically sent your parents to jail.”
Skye took a big breath and looked down at her own hands. “I’m not angry. You did the right thing. And I told you, they don’t love me anyway.”
“No, I think they do, they just don’t know how to show you.”
Another shrug. “Can I live with you now?”
“I’m afraid not.” Although Mayu had considered asking to be her legal guardian. She’d told Momo, broken down in her friend’s arms at the joy Skye had given her. But Momo had made her see reason. Not only did Mayu lack a stable income at present, her home was potentially uninhabitable, she lived on the other side of the world and, also, she wasn’t in the right head space to be taking on a child. No one would consider her before Skye’s blood relatives.
It hurt to say goodbye. She’d worked so hard for a life with Yūta and lost it. Now, she had to let go of that glimpse of another life with Skye.
“I think you’ll be going to live with your mother’s sister and her family.”
“They’re okay, I suppose.” But Skye looked far from happy. “Why can’t I live with you?”
‘I want you to’ was on the tip of Mayu’s tongue, but she bit it back. What she wanted didn’t matter, she’d only be making the moment harder for Skye. “The law says you have to go to your aunt.”
One of the kids at the activity table shrieked with laughter, making them both jump. Skye took a deep, juddering breath and took Mayu’s hand.
“I’m sorry I upset you in the dreams,” Skye said.
“I’m sorry I upset you too.”
They smiled at each other.
“Skye, I have to go back to Japan today.”
The smile vanished. Skye fought into a sitting position. “No, you can’t go yet. You promised you’d stay until I got better. You can’t go. Please.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
Skye’s eyes glistened as she scrabbled to get a hold of both of Mayu’s arms, as if she could physically restrain her from leaving. “Please!”
“I will visit you. Here, keep this card, it has my number and email on it.”
The girl took the business card with both hands like she’d been given a piece of treasure. She chewed on her lips, distraught, but swallowing hard to hold it all inside. If only Mayu could take her home, give her the love she needed.
“Goodbye for now.” Mayu went to stroke Skye’s hair, but the girl let out an almost inaudible cry and fell apart. She cried, it rushed up on her so hard she could hardly breathe and her distressed sobbing sounded like a tired, bleating animal. Before the girl could see the regret in Mayu’s eyes, she broke the barrier between them and hugged Skye tight.
*
A different kind of family greeted Mayu and Momo at Matsumoto airport. Not their parents, although Momo’s only lived an hour away, but a few people who, in some ways, knew them better than family. The colleagues who had stayed up late with them at the office, when street lights had gone out and dinner had been an instant packet of ramen. Three friends who had devoted too many hours to work instead of being at home, forging something else, equally as precious.
Without saying hello, Momo rushed to Richard and wrapped him in her arms. He pulled her close, one hand stroking the back of her head as she buried into him. His laugh lines had deepened over the past few weeks, his youthful face looked haggard.
Averting her gaze, Mayu greeted Fukushima instead, overwhelmed with gratitude to see him there. It felt like coming home to a parent. Keiji hovered by his shoulder, a pillar of stone apart from the blithe tilt to his lips.
“Welcome home,” Keiji said.
Mayu inclined her head, turning to Fukushima again. “It’s good to be—”
Her Co-Director reached for her, arms outstretched, cutting her off with a gasp. Mayu couldn’t remember whether she had ever hugged Fukushima before, but certainly never like this. He locked her in his arms, his breathing harsh in her ear.
“What’s wrong?” Mayu peered at Keiji, hoping he’d give her a clue.
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Fukushima sounded strained.
“Well, of course… It was only a trial. They couldn’t put me in prison.”
“I know.”
Keiji didn’t mouth anything, but his frown showed empathy, his usually stoic features soft and vulnerable. It squeezed Mayu’s insides. Pushing Fukushima to arm’s length, she peered into his eyes, noting the dark circles beneath.
“What is it?”
Staring at her seemed to make it worse and Fukushima fractured. His whole face crumpled with the effort to control himself. “My sister, my niece…” Watching him choke and struggle was like a physical to blow. What else had the world taken from them? He covered his mouth with a hand. He didn’t need to say it out loud. Mayu pulled him back into her arms and held on with all her strength. “I’m just so glad you’re okay,” he repeated. “You’re like family to me. I hope you know that.”
They hired a car and Keiji drove them twenty-five minutes north to a small village nestled among dozens of rice fields. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white, his shoulders hunched stiffly the entire ride. Despite Richard and Momo’s attempts to start a conversation, Keiji didn’t say a word. Mayu watched him, worried that he was remembering the day of the tsunami, recalling him saying that he had wished he’d had a car.
When Keiji pulled up at his parent’s’ summer house, even Fukushima strained against his seatbelt to get an eyeful of the place. The house had a beautiful view of the rice paddies, colours dancing in the water as it mirrored a gorgeous sunset—purple, blue, yellow, and pink—darker clouds sitting on the western horizon.
The house had three small, sloping, black tiled rooftops, the eaves flicking upwards like the point of Arabian slippers. Its white walls had grown discoloured, but nothing could hide its charm. A maple bonsai stood watch by the front door, waving five-pointed red leaves at them.
“It’s nothing special really,” said Keiji, sliding open the front door, “but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.” They lined their shoes up in the foyer and tiptoed across the polished wooden floors in their socks.
“Have a look around.” Keiji shrugged at the sliding doors that led deeper into the house. “You can decide for yourself where you want to sleep, the bathroom is down that way.” And with that, he headed to the kitchen with four canvas bags of supplies.
“I’ll sleep wherever,” Fukushima murmured. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he headed for the dining area and settled in a chair on the floor. The low table had eight beautiful, legless chairs around it, pine backs and cushioned seats. As if already feeling at home, Fukushima pulled out his phone and Mayu saw him open a news feed.
“Wooow,” Momo whispered, “it’s so big. Where shall we sleep, Mayu?”
“Huh, you’re sharing with me?”
Richard pretended not to hear and crept off to the bathroom. Not missing a beat, Momo shoved Mayu’s arm.
“Of course I am. I mean, you give a much better cuddles.” Tittering at her own joke, she gripped Mayu’s arms and turned her to face the hallway leading to the stairs. “You pick a futon for us. I’ll help Keiji make dinner.”
The house let in plenty of natural light, some of its windows almost ceiling to floor. The frosted, sliding glass doors, framed in black wood, moved to reshape rooms. She found Richard upstairs pulling open one of the bedroom walls to reveal another sitting area looking out across the paddies.
“I haven’t been in a house like this in, well, years. not since I came as a tourist,” he said.
Mayu joined him at the windows, soaking in the serene view. “How is your place, by the way? Did you find out?”
“Yeah. It’s gone.”
She hugged herself against the chill still lingering in the walls, wondering how the rice managed to carry on growing. “It doesn’t seem real, does it? That the world can be so beautiful and so deadly at the same time. I wonder if we can save what’s left of the planet.” The colourful sky faded in the encroaching night and a few residential lights popped on across the fields. “Why did it have to end up like this?”
Richard huffed. “It’s probably down to money.”
Money made her think of work, made her think of being jobless, and lead to Tomoya, who she couldn’t save without that job. “This place makes me think of home. Tomoya and I lived in Fukuoka Prefecture, way down south. Our village grows rice.” Her mind’s eye filled with luscious green fields, so neatly kept that they formed patterns over the hills. “I’m glad my parents are safe.”
“We’ll help Matokai, too.” Richard squeezed her shoulder. “I promise.”
They negotiated who got what bedroom and joined Fukushima at the table. Dinner was served up in one bowl each: noodles in miso soup, topped with a poached egg, pak choi and spring onions; simple, salty and delicious. Each mouthful lightened the mood around the table.
“I’m sorry it’s not much,” said Keiji.
“I put my heart and soul into this,” interrupted Momo, “don’t you dare apologise for it!”
Mayu chortled, dropping a load of noodles and splashing herself with soup. “Oh, come on. I saw you use miso paste from a jar, Momo. You’re ridiculous.”
“It’s the thought that counts.”
Speaking for the first time since dinner was served, Fukushima raised his sake cup. “I’m happy to be here with all of you.” Everyone lowered their chopsticks, almost hesitant. “It will take time, but if we work together, we’ll rebuild what we lost. We’ve got support again, and so long as there are people who need us, it’s our responsibility to help them. I’m proud of you.” But his gaze fell on Mayu. “I’m especially proud of you, Mayu. Without you, Skye Mansfield would be suffering in more ways than one. We know it’s been hard for you. Thank you.”
Tears stood out in his eyes for a second before he blinked them away. He now understood her grief better than anyone at the table.
“Besides,” he said, raising his cup higher, “if nothing else, Kuramochi has enough energy for all of us.” With that, he grinned and downed his drink to cheers of agreement.
Mayu looked around the table, her joy turning sour as she took in the three empty chairs. Reality flickered and the empty seats filled with Tomoya, Yūta, and Skye. Snow fell into her soup and a jellyfish tentacle brushed her shoulder.
“I’m too hungry to dance,” she heard Momo say.
“You’re always hungry,” replied Keiji.
“Are you alright?”
Mayu jumped, focused on Momo beside her. Her friend looked as if she half-expected Mayu to start sobbing. The Snow kept falling but the chairs were empty once more.
“I’m fine. I tuned out for a moment. Sorry.”
If she hadn’t been so self-pitying, embracing fatal sleep, Tomoya never would have tried his three-way dream connection; he’d still be here. But Momo had pointed out how deep Mayu had gone in distorting her own grasp on reality, just to keep Skye on track. Still, her lapse in judgement had been disastrous, she eyed the chair where a young man should be sitting and mulled over his lost dreams. She closed her eyes and thought of Skye—of the mixed dread and joy she represented. The fake snow soothed Mayu’s hot face and she opened her eyes again. A new clarity settled in her chest as she studied each of her colleagues.
Keiji was still very quiet, but Mayu sensed that seeing his friends around the dinner table satisfied him. Of all of them, Keiji probably needed a break the most. The earthquake’s destruction hadn’t wreaked havoc here, unlike many other places, and the look in his eyes spoke endless gratitude for that. His cheeks had flushed pink, perhaps from the sake or the warmth of the room, but he seemed proud to be able to provide them with shelter.
Momo had plenty to be optimistic about, Mayu was comforted by that. She could still decide to work for Halcyon if she chose and Mayu noticed how her fingers often brushed Richard’s hand or leg. From the buoyancy in her voice and the carefree way she talked with her hands, she felt Momo wanted to pass that optimism on to the rest of them. Despite catastrophe and heartbreak, Momo still saw goals worth working toward.
Richard had mellowed somewhat. He hadn’t thrown his head back in laughter all evening, his blond hair had not been gelled into place and he hadn’t sought attention. Usually, he was first to break any pause in conversation, but tonight Richard let the silences hang, his face pensive.
Finally, Mayu looked at Fukushima. Whenever the conversation turned to the future, Fukushima stared into his noodles looking lost. Mayu saw herself in lonely twist of Fukushima’s shoulders, the sombre curve of his lips. If she carried on burying herself in work or ignoring her feelings, she’d be left with nothing in her life.
She needed to embrace a new future, even if it wasn’t the one she had planned. A new space had to open up and Yūta had to move aside a little to make room. She had to let him go and accept that, in some way, he’d still be there.
It was okay to stop blaming herself.
35
Three months later
Keiji slapped a letter on Mayu’s desk, pulling her attention away from her monitor. Their new logo, a cherry tree growing from a boulder, stood out at the top of the page. “I hope you wanted one hundred million yen, because we sure have it.”
“What?” She picked up the letter, scanned it, and half-screamed, half-whooped for joy. Without pausing, she leapt out of her chair and hugged him.
“I don’t like you that much,” he muttered.
Mayu laughed and shouted the news to Shiori across the room.
“Awesome!” the woman cried, clapping her hands above her head, her long black hair swinging. No longer an intern, Shiori was Tomoya’s partial replacement, but seeing her fresh face still hadn’t become easy. Personal feelings aside, Mayu liked her work ethic and energy.
“What’s going on?” asked a voice from Mayu’s computer.
Rain hit the window beside her desk, the light casting odd reflections over Skye Mansfield’s face. When Mayu explained that they now had enough money to rebuild almost all of their lost equipment, Skye cheered too.
Their new offices were, in some ways, much nicer. They’d added more plants, the desks were curvy and spacious and the testing lab was a beauty. In the lobby was a memorial to the three colleagues who had lost their lives in the tsunami, a simple but glossy golden plaque.
“Oh, Auntie Vera says it’s dinner time.” Skye rolled her eyes and pretended to puke.
“Alright kid, I’ll talk to you again soon.”
“If the casserole doesn’t kill me.”
Even Keiji laughed.
As Skye ended the call, her face was replaced with the image of a fluffy, white kitten, its dew-drop blue eyes fixed on a bubble. Skye had insisted that Mayu chose a profile picture too, because she ‘couldn’t stand to look at a hideous grey silhouette any longer.’ To deliberately nettle her, Mayu had chosen a close-up photo of a pug with fries poking out of its mouth.
A line of text from Skye appeared in their private chatroom. That dog is still ugly.
Mayu’s fingers flew across the keyboard. He’s modern art. Go and eat your dinner.
Patting Shiori’s shoulder as she left the office for the labs, Mayu heard someone jog to catch up with her. She turned and beamed at Fukushima. His hair looked greyer around the edges these days.
“Going to check, in light of the good news?”
“You got the message quick,” she teased.
With a chuckle, he gestured for Mayu to go first. She entered the lab down the hallway, a sterile place but not a cold one. Shiny metal tables lined the walls. Above were glass-fronted cabinets filled with drugs, solutions, vials, empty beakers—some cupboards completely empty. But her eye was always drawn to the great glass screen dividing the room, partitioning off an occupied bed.
A holographic monitor by Tomoya’s bed displayed his heart rate and electrochemical impulses at six cycles a second. Tomoya, that bright spark, was still awake in there. Mayu approached his bedside, studying the breathing mask on his face and his hollow cheeks. She felt comforted by the sound of the rain against the window and of the machinery surrounding them.
“I’ve just heard—I’m so excited!”
They turned to see Momo rush into the lab, her white coat fanning around her. The pink in her hair had faded to blonde over the past few months and grown closer to her collarbones. Refusing Halcyon’s salary to stay with the Parallel Dream Project meant everyone’s budgets were tight, hair salons were a luxury she said could live without for now. Plus, Mayu was sure that Richard had somehow helped make the choice to stay a little sweeter.
“We’ll be upgrading our lab to a penthouse within the year,” Momo laughed, clutching onto Mayu’s arm. Not even a dream could be this good. Mayu leant into her best friend’s touch, glad their levity brought out a youthful grin on Fukushima’s face.
“Matokai will be awake in no time,” he said. As he pushed his glasses up his nose, the rain caught his attention. “At least we’ve got something to be happy about on such a miserable day.”
“It’s not miserable.” Mayu’s whole body felt like it could fly, head already tumbling with Parallel Dream ideas. As a ray of light pierced the clouds, illuminating the rain and warming her cheek, Mayu took a deep, refreshing breath, “It’s liquid sunshine.”
AUTHOR NOTE
I wrote the first draft of this novel in 2013 in a span of thirty days for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I had not long graduated from university and I felt utterly lost, all I knew was that I had to write this book while I still had plenty of free time, and no novel since has poured from me quite like this one did.
