Shoji said nothing. He didn’t understand her, but fine. It was her money. She should spend it the way she wanted, and there were many worse things to splurge on.

A bicycle horn squawked at them. Shoji reached for Yoko’s arm and pulled her aside. The bicycle raced by, too close to her.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

She nodded, using her free hand to massage the nape of her neck.

‘Tired?’

Again, she nodded. He tightened his grip. Despite working at the same place, Shoji hadn’t seen Yoko all day. She was always with clients, and the shop made sure everyone took their lunch break in turn, one by one. But he was pleased that now he had a better understanding of the nature of her work. It was also a relief to know that she wasn’t a hostess, though he still had the impression the company was not fully above board. Her job must be so emotionally draining — he could see why she was always tired. He wanted to be more supportive. Was there anything he could do for her?

‘Do you want to keep some fish at home?’ Shoji asked. ‘Since you love going to the aquarium so much, we could get a fish tank. It would brighten up the apartment, and you’ll be able to watch the fish whenever you’re at home. The other day, I saw some goldfish in the pet shop around the corner.’

‘No, I don’t want anything like that,’ Yoko said. ‘It’s cruel to confine fish in such a tiny container.’

‘Ah …’ How could he not have realised that? ‘You’re right.’

They walked in silence the rest of the way to their apartment. That night, he wanted her, but she turned him down.

‘I’m tired,’ she said, pushing his hand away when he tried to get under her shirt. ‘Maybe next time.’

Must be her clients. Shoji rolled over to the other side of the bed. The spring squeaked. The bed was old, like the other furniture that had come with the apartment. Closing his eyes, he thought about his day.

He’d waited in the room, but no client had asked for him. Around noon, Mr Sato, who seemed to be Madam’s right-hand man, finally called him. For a moment Shoji had got his hopes up, only to learn it was his turn to go for lunch.

Mr Sato handed him a store-bought boxed lunch and a bottle of iced green tea. Skewered meat, mixed vegetables, and rice. There was even a slice of watermelon and a small cup of milk pudding. Shoji ate alone in a small, windowless room, empty apart from a folding table, a plastic chair, and a clock on the wall. After exactly fifteen minutes — he knew because he checked the time — Mr Sato came and escorted him back to the waiting room.

‘I heard you’re Sasaki’s boyfriend,’ Mr Sato said on their way back.

‘Yes.’ He gave him a bow. ‘I’m Shoji Arai. Pleased to make your acquaintance.’