She pointed to a man in a white hat behind the service counter. Keiko watched him through the shimmer for a moment. He was Italian, like Rosa and Kenny, and she could not drag her eyes from his black hair. When he was turned away she could almost believe he was someone from home with that hair, she thought, surprised that she cared, surprised how odd it was to be where no one looked like her. Even Rosa with her olive skin had springy black curls, and Kenny was bald.
“Of course, we’re lucky in a way,” Rosa was saying. “Cod was never a favourite here. It’s more of a southern taste, really. And the haddock is fine, touch wood. So that’s lucky.”
“Touch wood?”
“Anyway,” Rosa went on, quite loud, “it really doesn’t matter. It could be anything. As long as it’s fresh and handled properly. It’s the batter that counts. And the fat. What’s inside is neither here nor there.”
At the next table, Mrs. Sangster-who had been unable to help overhearing-turned round and cleared her throat at Rosa.
“Anne,” said Rosa. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Is this on the schedule?” said Mrs. Sangster quietly, and then in a louder voice, “Hello, Keiko pet.”
Keiko nodded, smiled and tried not to listen.
“The schedule’s the baseline,” said Rosa. “The schedule’s to make sure Keiko doesn’t starve to death all on her own up there. It wasn’t supposed to set a limit.”
“I don’t want to cause any-” Keiko said. “I’ve been taking care of myself for-”
“And don’t you listen to Mrs. Imperiolo, getting carried away!” said Mrs. Sangster in the same bright, loud voice. “Batter and fat and who cares what’s in it! What must you think of us, eh?” She dropped her voice again. “The Japanese are a very fastidious people. Very precise people. Easy scunnered, I’ll wager.”
“Not at all,” said Keiko. “I know what scunnered means and I’m not. Extremely robust appetite, I assure you.”
The waitress returned with two plates and put them down. Mrs. Sangster, after a hard look at Rosa, turned back to her own party.
“Haddock and chips and peas,” Rosa said. “How good does that look, Keiko?”
Keiko stared at her plate. It was oval, like a serving platter, and almost half of it was taken up by a glistening golden object, sinuous and slightly twisted, still fizzing and popping with heat, both of its tapered ends flexed up in the air. A stack of thick yellow chips was heaped up against one of its sides and a mound of greenish sludge sat in a small dish balanced on the far edge of the plate along with a slice of lemon.
“How lovely,” she said. She broke open the golden package with her knife and sat back as a wave of steam rolled up into her face. Rosa chuckled and blew on a forkful of chips.
“Joe’s an artist,” she said. “Famed far and wide. Tuck in and let’s get some roses in those cheeks, eh?”
The roses reached from her scalp to her collar by the time they left; she was gasping, shiny-lipped and slack-eyed, her mouth pricking with salt and her teeth rough from the cups of tea, each one stronger than the last, that she’d used to wash the salt away.
“We own the ice cream parlour too,” Rosa said. “Kenny’s grandad opened it when he came from Naples. I bet you’ve never had a knickerbocker glory, eh?”
“Sounds big,” said Keiko, feeling bubbles rise in her gullet and uneasy about saying more.
“You won’t believe how big,” Rosa said, chuckling.
So no wonder she needed miso and rice this morning. Keiko left the flat, walked down to the bottom road, and was standing on the corner of the Green looking both ways when she heard her name and felt a little swoop, up and down again, thinking she recognised the voice. She turned and sure enough it was Murray Poole, striding across the grass towards her with his coat flapping.
“Another day off?” he said, coming up beside her.
“Just getting some air before I start,” she said.
“Me too,” said Murray. “At least, Malc’s busy and there ain’t no fresh air in the shop, that’s for sure. You been to the glen yet?”
“I don’t think so,” Keiko said. “I haven’t been anywhere yet.”
“Want to see it?”
“I want to see everything,” Keiko said.
Murray smiled. “This way,” he said, turning her with a hand on her shoulder and propelling her gently.
They passed the ice cream parlour, and Keiko waved in at the girls who had served her the evening before.
“Mrs. Imperiolo took me out for tea last night,” she told Murray. “Moby Dick and chips.”
Murray gave a shout of laughter that rang out in the air like a bell. “Brilliant,” he said. “Still, could have been worse. They own the curry house and the Chinese too.”
“I like curry,” Keiko said. “And anyway, I didn’t mean to imply… it was delicious.”
“Yeah, but did she give you the bit about how it doesn’t matter what’s inside the batter as long there’s enough grease?”
“Well,” said Keiko. This wasn’t strictly accurate but close enough.
“Yeah, you want to hear her on how it doesn’t matter what’s in the curry if the sauce is hot enough and how you whisk the sauce to suspend the fat and keep it thickened, and if you serve free chapatti people don’t eat them, but if you charge through the nose for stuffed naan they want to get their money’s worth and mop up the sauce with it.”
“Stop!” said Keiko.
“And her home cooking’s worse,” Murray said. They had passed the last of the buildings now and he led them over the road and across a footbridge above the river.
“She’s Italian, yes?” said Keiko. “Mediterranean?”
“See, the thing about battered haddock or curry-or sweet and sour pork-is that even Rosa Imperiolo wouldn’t finish the whole thing off with a shovelful of grated Parmesan, but you show her a plate of pasta and all she can think of is cheese.”
“Please, stop!”
He turned now and looked at her, pulling back to get a clear view. “You’re not joking, are you?” he said. “You’ve gone green.”
“Sorry,” Keiko said, but he was smiling at her.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Have you ever come to the wrong place!” Then he dipped his head very close to hers, as he had done before. “But I’ll take care of you.”
Keiko put her head down to hide her smile and noticed that the ground beneath her feet was not pavement now but chipped bark. She raised her head again and looked around. They had passed through a small opening and were on a path under a close canopy of trees.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Into the woods,” said Murray. “To the glen, like I told you. Now here’s something to take your mind off… all that. Tell me about the tea ceremony.”
Keiko groaned. “I knew this would happen,” she said. “My mother warned me. She told me to take some classes before I left so that I would be a better guest when I got here. I don’t know anything about the tea ceremony.”
“How can you not know about your own…?”
“Because I’m not a proper girl,” she said. “I’m determined to grow hunched and grey sitting over a computer and I might as well be a brain in a jar.”
“And there’s your mum again!” This time they both laughed and when they stopped, Keiko could hear running water, just faintly, somewhere in front of them.
“A waterfall?” she said, looking up at Murray.
He waggled his eyebrows. “Come and see.”
The ground had been falling away on one side and now the path rounded a corner to show a deep gully, thickly wooded, opening below them. There was a little bulge, a viewing place, built out over the drop with a wooden rail for safety. Keiko stepped forward and looked down. It was a waterfall, flashing thinly over the black rocks before dropping the last few metres into a pool.