Page 34 of Little Miss Fortune

‘Some visual artist tried to book out a venue for their trans poetry and art installation—the owner said that they are welcome to go ahead if they put up signs to say that the visitors can only use the bathrooms with the sex they were assigned at birth.’

‘No! That’s insane! Why is it always the bathrooms with these people?’

‘Yeah, we got a newsletter about it. I can send it over if you’re interested.’

‘Please do.’

‘Also, Fuko.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I worry that maybe Mr. Naked Man is right. I have a food blog and try new cuisines almost daily, but we order the same thing from the Chinese takeaway every time.’ He points at the same set-meal we—I —always order. ‘You’d think you’d be tired of it after working in one for so long.’

Beef in black bean sauce, chicken sweet and sour, prawn toast, and special fried rice. There are about fifty more items on the menu, but I stick to those only... Both times my phone got stolen, I repurchased the exact same phone with the exact same phone case. Even my mayo has to be Kewpie, which was very hard to source when we first moved here.

I am so boring that when I announced that I was going to Japan, Leon and Sashka asked whether I was all right and whether job hunting had finally broken me down. It had, but surely that’s a sad state of affairs if that was their first thought about me.

‘I think maybe I need to push you out of your comfort zone. That’s what friends are for.’

‘What is your suggestion?’ I drop my fork, defeated.

‘I will send the details, just show up.’

I have a bad feeling about it, but there is a weird fire in me that wants to prove Toby Lewis wrong.

CHAPTER 11

Adventure, Fuko

Several news channels are covering the recent cyberattacks that left most of Cardiff with no electricity for three hours, leaving people stranded in lifts; hospitals running on generators; and with Cardiff City playing at home, left thousands completely disgruntled and disappointed. I’m keeping my mouth shut though; if I allow the thought Better them than me, it will find a way to bite me in my arse.

Dad serves Hanako and me our usual Japanese breakfast—rice, fish, and miso soup—not the band that white boys seem to be fascinated by.

‘Itadakimasu.’ He enforces gratitude before food with chopsticks between his thumbs.

‘Itadakimasu,’ we hum back and dig in.

Dad keeps the Japanese culture alive in our British home in several ways (despite not having perfect Japanese). All of us have house slippers, and there is a pair of toilet slippers in the bathroom. Food is another big thing. On New Year’s Day he feeds us noppe mochi (Mum’s parents were from Niigata) with some stew. And we have a small altar for Mum—always dusted with a flower next to it.

Dad never recovered from losing her. He jokes he has enough on his plate with the two of us being rowdy teenagers.

Hanako would shake her head and say, ‘I am 18, Father. You have only one more year of this excuse. You need to go out more.’

There are grey hairs all over his head; his hairline has shifted up over the last few years.

‘You could do with leaving the house more.’ I join in.

‘Pot, kettle,’ Hanako mumbles under her breath.

‘Huh?’

‘You don’t leave the house either. Whenever I come home, you and Dad are on the sofa watching The-bloody-Chase, which is one of two things you watch on TV, weirdo.’

Both he and I get really defensive, letting Hanako know how close the contestants were to winning against the Beast, but she just shuts her ears and sings la-la-la to us.

Amid the chaos, a message from Leon comes through, with an address and instructions to wear something short but flowy.

‘And see, I have plans!’