Page 92 of Little Miss Fortune

‘She is... fine. I wasn’t happy with her for getting you fired. That’s not what we do. We are stronger and kinder than the rest of the people out there. We have to be, or I have wasted my time with the wrong people.’

‘She was hurt. I also doubt that she knew it would cause them to fire me.’

‘It must have been really sucky when that happened. I am sorry I wasn’t there.’

‘You had the right to be mad. I ruined it slightly.’

I always ruin it slightly.

‘Fuko.’

‘Leon.’

‘I am proud of you for not calling John when things were bad.’

‘Does everyone know? How obvious could it possibly have been?’

‘Fuko.’ His tone is even more serious.

‘Leon,’ I repeat in fear.

‘I am not happy with you for sleeping with someone just because they were there, and you were down. You used to do that a lot. I really think you guys have something, but please try to...’

‘Not be a dick?’

‘Bingo.’

I recall saying the same thing to Toby in the lift when I started working at SIMPO. I knew what to say, because I was also that person. The kind that likes attention, the one that falls for someone because they are there. It was part of the reason I panicked the morning after we had sex, because I saw myself attaching to anything warm bodied like a leech in murky waters. But the leech was actually lying to herself; it wasn’t just any warm body it wanted, but being a leech, it thought it couldn’t have anything else.

‘I think this is different,’ I say, more for my sake than Leon’s.

‘I know it is. I haven’t seen you be this alive... Maybe ever. You are quicker to smile, you are less stubborn, less grumpy than normal. We even ordered Caribbean food for a change. I have a good feeling about this. Do try to make magic. You two deserve it.’

‘Magic, you say...’

I confirm, in a sly series of messages, that Toby is going to be home tomorrow and has no major plans. I made sure to not make it sound as if I will be turning up to his apartment to cook dinner for him, even though that’s exactly what I am going to do.

The shops by his house have different stock. Upper-class stock. I was planning to cook him puttanesca, when I saw some Japanese ingredients in the international store. It could be fun to make him some food that high school girls make for their boyfriends in Japan when their feelings first bloom. The supermarket has some halal cocktail sausages. I could kill two birds with one stone and make some for Fawzia. Like Japanese schoolgirls do for their close friends. Wow, what a day of possibilities it’s turning out to be.

Rufus the concierge is sitting by the entrance. I look a lot more put together this time than I did the last time I was here, so I do not expect him to recognise me, but he does. A slight surprise shimmers on his face.

‘Are you here for the Lewises, madam?’

‘Yes, thank you Rufus.’

‘I will send you right up.’ He glances quizzically at my bags of produce but does not voice his question.

The lift drags as it hums a deep note. The same deep note that you hear when you enter Tateyama’s hell museum. The doors open, and I step out. Feet shuffle from the living room, and a familiar voice calls out, ‘Fuko? What are you doing here?’

‘Surprise.’ I turn around, awkwardly displaying the bags to him. ‘I thought since you said you’re at home, I could finally close off my dinner debt.’

‘Oh, that’s...’ he starts, looking fearfully behind him.

I take my shoes off and see the reason for this slightly strange welcome from my host—five pairs of shoes sit by the door. Mine, Toby’s, one man’s pair, two women’s.

Oh fuck.

‘My parents and sister are here.’ He rubs his eyebrows in a tired, stressed-out manner.