I didn’t want to believe it. My memories resounded to the strains of their piano. I didn’t even want to think about which one might have stopped playing, but I knew which one I most wanted to go on.

A huge and jagged stone seemed to drop into the pit of my stomach.

Kazune. I loved her playing. I wanted Kazune to go on playing the piano. But for that to happen, it had to be Yuni who had stopped. I was filled with guilt for even wishing it.

The office suddenly felt cold. I shook my head vigorously to dispel all these notions.

It’s the same when you’re willing someone on to win a piano competition – it means you’re hoping another person is the loser. It’s hard to condemn a wish, though – it doesn’t mean it’s going to come true. And if it does, the wish-maker can’t be held responsible. Fruit falls from a tree whether I’m there to witness it or not. Somebody laughs, somebody cries.

I hoped Kazune would keep playing. As I wished this, I tried hard not to picture Yuni’s cheerful, smiling face.

The next day I paid a visit to a new client. It was perfect timing since it kept me from brooding over the twins.

The piano was a very old upright. The client was still playing it but it was not known when it had last been tuned. All this I’d heard from Miss Kitagawa, who took the call.

‘Tomura-kun, would you handle it?’ she asked, and of course I nodded. I wanted to build up my client list and welcomed the opportunity. The more experience the better.

‘There may be a few issues with this client,’ she added.

Better that the client had issues than the piano. When the client had issues, that didn’t necessarily mean the instrument did. But when the instrument had problems, that meant the client did too.

When pianos have not been maintained, it’s very difficult to revive the original tone. In the worst cases they’re rendered quite useless as musical instruments. When I’ve told clients their piano needed repairs, they’ve sometimes turned me down flat, which has felt wretched.

‘But I’m sure it’ll be – OK. From his voice I’d guess the man’s in his twenties.’ Miss Kitagawa beamed. If she said he seemed decent, then he probably was. I decided not to speculate about his ‘issues’ and wait until I met him.

I put the address into the satnav and headed off. The square, brown bungalow, typical of the area, stood on the shady side of the street, on a corner.

There was no nameplate outside but when I rang the bell a man of about my age opened the door.

‘Very nice to meet you. My name is Tomura.’

He gave no response to my greeting.