Made In Japan. S. Parks J.

      She woke involuntarily a couple of hours later and Jess still had not returned. Emiko, she reassured herself, had said this was typical.

      Ignoring the cheap club dress, she grabbed her smock and ran to Miho’s hoping to find her.

      Ziggy’s was full with post-school-run mothers. No Jess.

      She joined a table just finishing their coffees.

      Miho greeted her with her customary politeness while she cleared lipsticked cups and quietly drew the crumbs away from Hana’s side of the table. It was an act of servitude: the wrong moment to interrupt. Miho left to raise the mothers’ bill.

      ‘Itterasshai.’ Miho followed the women to the door lingering after they had gone.

      Hana had to stop her as she passed.

      ‘Have you seen Jess?’

      Miho seemed to read her face, as if she were searching to see what she understood. It was unnerving and she waited too long for a response.

      ‘Yes.’ Miho folded her arms and Hana’s tension release was instant and prompted her further. ‘Today, no.’

      Hana’s concern racked back up a notch. ‘She left the club with some Australians. In working hours.’

      ‘Jess missing again?’ Miho’s response was unexpectedly flat. So this happens with Jess.

      Hana was still concerned for her missing friend and Miho reassured her.‘She does this,’ Miho told her. Emiko would only tolerate this behaviour from a gaijin, and would never let non-foreigners get away with it. ‘More than once she has been in trouble on this. She’ll be walking in here before lunch, is my guess.’ Miho shoved her hands conclusively in the wide apron pocket that fell below her thickened waist. Perhaps Miho had been as careless herself once. It didn’t seem to trouble her. She had once told Jess that at her age it took time to work out which kite, among a bright sky of flying ribbon tails, to follow; it took time to grow in consideration and master the strings.

      ‘So, what is it to be?’ Miho said peremptorily.

      Hana found that today Miho was rather impatient to serve other people. Her obvious lack of concern was some comfort, however, and Hana relaxed and ordered a green tea.

      ‘Sencha.’ Miho repeated, as if to no one in particular, as if thinking out loud to better tether her thoughts.

      When Miho returned with her tea, Hana still felt like she was delaying her from another purpose. She would catch her quickly.

      ‘I wanted to ask …’ Hana began.

      Miho turned back towards her slowly as if she were about to ask her something she could not countenance.

      ‘I came to Shimokitazawa because my mother lived here.’

      Miho’s faced dropped to what might have been mistaken as an unfriendly jowl.

      Hana persisted.

      ‘If I wanted …’

      Whatever it was she wanted to raise, Miho didn’t want the half of it, her reticence to hear her out was palpable. Hana stopped short of giving more detail.

      ‘If I was looking … to find the records of someone living here …’ Hana took it slowly.

      Miho waited, caught in the thin skein of Hana’s need.

      ‘… where would you start?’ My mother lived in Shimo in the late eighties?’

      Hana thought Miho looked wounded; it might be concern.

      ‘That’s a long time ago. If you are looking for family you should go to the Municipal Record Offices. I have a relative there. I’ll give you his name.’ And she hurried off, calling ‘chotto matte’ to an unidentified customer at the back of the café, but glancing back at Hana as if in afterthought she said, ‘You want me to give you an address? It’s in Shinjuku ku.’

      Hana did not want to delay her further.

      ‘I’ll find it. Thanks. And who should I ask for?’

      Miho looked as though she were plucking a name from a long roster of relatives who worked at the Municipal offices. ‘Tachi. Ask for Tachi.’