A few months after this, she turned eighteen. She didn’t tell anyone her plans. One cold night, she slipped away after dinner in the communal hall, took a bus, and then another, to get to the ferry terminal on the other side of Osaka, and bought a one-way ticket for eight thousand yen in cash. The ferry was cheaper than a flight and she didn’t need to book. That night, she stretched out to sleep in a large dormitory-style room with other women, all strangers. She hardly slept on the passage, tossing and turning on her mat. The ferry tossed and turned as well, making its way south through a choppy swell. In the morning, industrial-strength lights came on to rouse any passengers who were still asleep, prising eyelids open and forcing a reckoning with the day. Around her, everyone was gathering their possessions, getting ready, looking like they knew exactly what the coming hours would bring.

For June, who was uncertain about what lay ahead, there was something sickening in the sound of the engines churning. She pulled on her boots and rucksack and left the women’s dorm. Crossing the beer-stained carpet, she passed the chirping pachinko machines where several players still sat captive, bought a coffee at the vending machine and stirred in two sticks of sugar. Then she pushed forcefully through a door to meet the wind on the front deck.

So what if it was cold, if the sea was grey and rough? This was freedom, she decided, feeling a fierce, defiant joy. They had entered a wide bay and the rough swell had levelled out. She saw a small city with palm trees, a promenade, blockish mid-rise buildings, and a few snow-dusted peaks. The mountains threw her a little: she had no memory of them, and she certainly wasn’t expecting snow. It was an onsen town, and here and there the steam from the hot springs rose like drifts of smoke, making it look as if countless fires were burning out of sight.

When the ferry docked, she got off and strode past the waiting cars, casting a wary eye over the vehicles just to be sure, but she felt certain that no one was waiting for her. No one knew her here. No one knew where she was. Not her parents, who would never guess that she remembered the city’s name or how to get here. It was a good ten years since they’d brought her here, on a rare trip away from the centre. She had vivid memories of that summer visit – the old house with the paper sliding doors, and the alleyways where she played and bickered with her sister – but nothing near the seafront looked familiar.