June loved living by herself. Chiharu would come over or they went out with her friends, a circle of students and musicians. They drank at the Tropicana or the tiny bar that Satoshi, Chiharu’s boyfriend, opened some nights. Satoshi was older than Chiharu, in his mid-thirties, a reedy-voiced singer who played sets with a ska band.

There were a few foreigners in the circle, including Canadian Terence, an ESL teacher. He took it upon himself to teach June some colloquial Japanese.

‘Knowledge is never wasted,’ he insisted. ‘It’s a shame your parents didn’t teach you, but now that you’re living in Japan, you’re out of excuses,’ he told her. He started with his favourite, the expression tachi-shoben, ‘which basically refers to some old dude pissing in public.’

‘Got it,’ said June. ‘Great. That is good to know.’

It was from Terence that Chiharu had heard about the job at the Hit Parade. He did an Elvis act there on Thursday nights, and was a minor celebrity in his own right, having once appeared on national TV as a guest on the show Koko ga Hen da yo Nihonjin, or ‘Here Are These Weird Japanese People’. This was a panel discussion program in which foreigners discussed their grievances about living in Japan, and Terence had gone on in his leather jacket and argued loudly with everyone. For his standing gig at the Hit Parade, he wore a spangled jumpsuit and jumped about onstage.

June disliked the Tropicana because of her brush with the owner. She preferred Satoshi’s bar, which felt more like a private party. Once, heading out to buy mixers, he asked her to mind the bar. She felt inordinately pleased at this small gesture of trust – she was one of them! – then suppressed a shudder of guilt. These people were her friends but she was an imposter in their midst. She still hadn’t told anyone about the centre.

It wasn’t that she didn’t miss her family; she did. She missed her father and his placid manner, his calm face that looked so much like her grandmother’s photo. She missed her mother too, and tried to picture her narrow face, her close-set eyes and watchful gaze. She felt sad and sorry for herself. She worried about Naomi, who she knew would be getting a lot of heat.

That was the worst thing, the way she’d left Naomi.

One day in July, she came clean to Chiharu. The conversation had turned to Hawaii, and Chiharu asked why she’d left. June admitted she’d never been there. ‘I’ve never been anywhere,’ she said, and went on to tell her friend about the Family.

‘But what about your parents?’ Chiharu asked, taken aback.

‘The centre was their life. Still is.’

‘Weren’t you ever allowed out?’

‘For shopping, sure. Other than that, forget it.’