She worried he’d rat her out. She also worried he might die just from being so thin and old, and then she would have to report his death and deal with officialdom. The risk that he might perish of extreme skinniness motivated her to cook dinner for him one night, a simple pasta and green salad, an effort that scored no points with Koji. He complained about the chilli in the arrabiata sauce and was angered by the uncut iceberg lettuce in the salad. He had trouble with the bowl-shaped leaves, which with their coating of oily dressing slipped between his chopsticks. He disliked Western food, he told her petulantly, and she was sorry she’d bothered.

After dinner that evening, Chiharu came around. She brought a bag of vegetables and some pastries, and her kindness was again almost overwhelming. June was struck by her thoughtfulness. For so many years, June had had it drummed into her that society was harsh, people were out for themselves, not to be trusted. And yet here was Chiharu, a near stranger, bringing gifts.

Chiharu, she learned, was studying to be a teacher. With a Peruvian mother and a Japanese father, she was fluent in Japanese, Spanish and English.

‘And you,’ she prompted June, ‘you’ve lived in America?’

June thought about telling the truth. She could have described the centre and the way she’d been raised, living close to Osaka and yet entirely apart. Instead she tried to think of someplace appealing. She thought of saying California but this made her think of Father David, the founder of the Family, who had started his activities in Huntington Beach.

‘Hawaii,’ she said, picturing palm trees and white beaches.

‘Sugoi ne. I’d love to go.’ Chiharu looked around the kitchen. ‘So this is your family’s house?’

‘It belonged to my grandmother until she passed away. My great-uncle is staying here too. I don’t think he likes me much.’

‘And your parents, are they here?’

June shook her head no. ‘They haven’t been back to this house in years.’

June put the vegetables in the fridge, eggplants, radishes, cucumbers and cabbage. At the dining table, Koji glowered and drank his beer. Chiharu greeted him politely, which appeased him a little. He looked more interested when the pastries came out, and his face lit up with happiness when he was offered one. But after they joined him at the table he started to lecture them. Conscripting Chiharu as his translator, he spoke quickly and jabbed the air.

‘He’s talking about the war, the time after the war. He’s saying, “We had no food. I had to walk across Kyushu, looking for work, for food.”’