Shoji cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable. ‘I understand.’

But what were they worried about? Mizuki hadn’t told him anything sensitive. Their conversations were not much different from those he would have had with his friends back in Tokyo. Relationships, first job, insignificant stories from the past. Who would want to know mundane things like that?

He started to wonder, could Mizuki be a celebrity? Perhaps they were worried he was going to sell her stories to the media? No, if she were someone famous, he would have recognised her. He was sure he’d never seen her face before. He would have remembered someone as elegant as her. Mizuki’s husband, however, looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place him.

‘The less you know, the better,’ Madam said, seemingly reading his mind. ‘Anyway, enough of me talking. Your client will come tomorrow, and I’ve been told to let you know that certain things need to be —’ She lifted her pen and held the ends with her fingertips. ‘—overlooked.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ll understand tomorrow.’ She swirled her pen around. ‘Just remember what I told you during our first conversation. The client is not your friend. Don’t try to offer your opinion or solve their problems.’

After the conversation with Madam, Shoji left the work. No point in staying for the rest of the day, since he wasn’t allowed to meet other clients. But Yoko still had to finish her shift and Shoji wanted to go home with her, so he bought a newspaper and waited at a nearby café. He returned five minutes before closing time.

Yoko looked surprised to see him already outside. He didn’t say anything and, in return, she asked nothing.

•

Shoji felt a sharp pain in his chest. He was at a loss for words. Mizuki was wearing the black top hat with the veil again, but he could see the dark, bluish mark on her pale face. There was a cut near her temple where the blood had dried.

Mizuki was the one who spoke first. ‘I’m all right.’

He felt awful for making her say those words. She was in denial, as much as he was. He was supposed to overlook her injuries, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see anything.

‘What happened?’ he asked in a small voice.

‘I fell,’ she said, her voice equally soft.

Her words pierced him. ‘You need to be more careful,’ he said. He tried to sound natural, but his voice cracked.

Mizuki reached for her teacup. That day she wore a long-sleeved turtleneck sweater. She had taken great pains to hide her wounds. He wondered how bad they were.

Yet here he was, getting paid to turn a blind eye. Shoji felt sick thinking about it. Mizuki said something, but he couldn’t hear her voice clearly. Fragments of the childhood memory he’d tried so hard to suppress came flooding in.

•

The storage shed was dark, illuminated only by the moonlight that streamed through the ventilation window. A broken light bulb hung from the ceiling. Animal sounds seeped in through the gaps in the damp, wooden walls.