Out Read online

  'Can I come in a minute?' Masako said. As she stepped into the cramped entrance hall and closed the door behind her, her eyes were drawn involuntarily to the spot where Kenji had sat that night. Realising what the look meant, Yayoi glanced away.

  'It's early to be leaving for work,' she said.

  'I know, but I needed to talk to you.' Yayoi's face hardened as she remembered the fight they'd had at the factory.

  'What about?'

  Masako peered beyond her toward the living room. 'What time does Morisaki-san come?' The children had apparently gone to bed. The sound of a news programme could be heard on the TV.

  'I've been meaning to tell you,' Yayoi said, her face clouding over. 'She doesn't come here any more.'

  'Why?' said Masako, feeling inexplicably apprehensive.

  'About a week ago she suddenly announced she had to go back to the country. I tried to get her to change her mind, but she said she had no choice. The kids were heartbroken, and Yoko was almost crying, too.'

  'Where was she from?'

  'She never said exactly.' Yayoi was unable to hide the wounded look on her face. 'She just said she'd get in touch later. And I thought we were such good friends.'

  'Look, you need to tell me exactly how you got to know her.' Yayoi gulped and then launched into the details of how she'd met Morisaki and how their friendship had developed. As she spoke, Masako became more convinced than ever that the woman had come to snoop around. Yayoi noticed the worried look on her face.

  'Why are you so worked up about her?' she said. 'I think you're reading too much into it.'

  'Maybe,' said Masako, 'but I think somebody's poking about trying to find out about us. I just want you to be careful.' She'd finally put her suspicions into words.

  'Are you sure? . . . Who? Why?' Yayoi cried, as if at last she'd understood. Drops of water fell from her hair. 'Is it the police?'

  'I don't think so.'

  'Then who?'

  Masako shook her head. 'I don't know. Which is why I'm worried.'

  'Then you think Yoko was in on this?'

  'Probably.' The odds were that the woman had already cleared out of her apartment, so there was little point in trying to trace her that way. But one thing was certain: whoever it was, they'd spent a good deal of money on renting an apartment just to be near Yayoi. It made her flesh creep to think that someone was willing to go to such lengths to spy on them.

  'Maybe it was somebody from the insurance company,' Yayoi suggested.

  'But haven't they already agreed to pay on the policy?'

  'Yes. I should be getting the money next week.'

  'Maybe that's what they're after,' Masako said. Yayoi rubbed her arms, as if warding off the cold.

  'You think they're after me? What should I do?'

  'They know you because you went on that TV programme. I think it might be better if you stopped coming to work. You need to lie low for a while.'

  'You really think so?' she said, looking at her. 'But if I quit, those two will know I came into some money.' Masako returned her look, realising that a lot of what Yayoi had done up to this point had been prompted by uneasiness about Yoshie and Kuniko. She was struck by how calculating Yayoi had become since she'd got rid of Kenji.

  'You don't have to worry about them,' she said.

  'I suppose you're right.' She nodded, but there was still doubt in her eyes - doubt as to whether she could trust Masako herself, perhaps.

  'I won't say anything,' Masako said, anticipating her concern.

  'I know. Besides, you've already got the two million.' The words were like a slap, and Masako realised their argument at the factory was still in the air.

  'A fair enough fee for carving up your husband,' she said. She held up her hand. 'I'll be going then.'

  'Thanks for coming by,' Yayoi said.

  As she was closing the car door, Yayoi came running out of the house. Masako opened the door on the passenger side.

  'I almost forgot,' Yayoi said, slipping inside. Her hands reached up to smooth her damp hair, and a girlish smell of conditioner filled the car.

  'What?'

  'What did you mean the other night at the factory? What kind of "work" were you going to do? Another body?'

  'I'm not telling you,' Masako said, starting the engine. The sound echoed through the quiet neighbourhood.

  'Why not?' Yayoi said, biting her pretty lips. Masako stared at the windshield without looking at her, counting the dried leaves pinned under the wipers.

  'I don't want to.'

  'But why?'

  'You don't need to know,' Masako said. 'Not an innocent lamb like you.'

  Yayoi got out without another word. As Masako put the car in reverse and backed out of the alley, she could hear the sound of a door slamming.

  2

  It was late afternoon. As soon as she got out of bed, Kuniko turned on the TV. Then she had a boxed lunch - one of theirs, naturally which she'd bought at the convenience store on the corner. It was a grilled beef lunch, probably made on the line next to hers, and she could immediately detect the hand of a novice in the way the meat was arranged on the rice. So much the better! New girls could never keep up with the pace of the conveyor belt, and the container was always getting away from them before they'd really finished smoothing the meat - which meant that the lunch contained a mound of twisted beef that was far bigger than the usual portion.

  It was a sign, getting a lunch like this: it was going to be her lucky day. She spread out the pieces of meat, carefully counting each one. Eleven! It's amazing that Nakayama didn't blow a fuse, she chuckled to herself. The Skipper could completely cover the rice with just six pieces. The Skipper. . . . She seemed rather flush lately. She'd suddenly announced that she was sending her daughter to college, and then said they were looking for a new apartment. How could she afford all that on the ¥500,000 from Yayoi? It would cost nearly that just to move.

  Maybe she'd had something stashed away? No, that was ridiculous. Kuniko knew how hard up she'd been before all this in fact, she'd often thought she would rather die than have to live the way Yoshie did. There was something fishy about the whole thing. She sat puzzling over this mystery, being more than usually keen when it came to money matters.

  Her speculations developed into a theory: maybe Yayoi had secretly decided to pay Yoshie more than ¥500,000. Once she'd hit on this idea, there was no way to control her jealousy. She had always found the thought of anyone else's happiness almost unbearable, and she was easily convinced that she was getting a raw deal. Now these feelings fuelled her theory. Deciding that she would have to corner Yoshie - no, Yayoi - at the factory and grill her, she picked up her chopsticks and started wolfing down the meat.

  In mid-mouthful, she stopped chewing for a moment and grinned, remembering that she still had ¥180,00 0 left of the money she'd received. After paying off the interest on various loans, she'd had plenty left over for the red leather jacket, a black skirt and a purple sweater. A pair of boots had caught her eye as well, but she'd decided to forgo them in favour of some new cosmetics. And she still had ¥180,000. Was there anything better than cash in your pocket? Wiping out Jumonji's loan had been a real stroke of luck.

  She had absolutely no interest in knowing why Jumonji had wanted to find out their secret or how he had used the information. As long as it didn't come back to haunt her, what did it matter? It had crossed her mind that she'd go to jail if the whole thing ever came out, but now that the police seemed to have lost interest, that hardly seemed likely. Her part in it all, the whole mess - it all seemed like ancient history now. Except if she could still make it pay. . . . Threats, blackmail, anything for the bottom line!

  She tossed the empty lunch container in the trash and went to wash her face, then sat down at her dressing table to apply her make-up for work. She pulled the wrapper off a new lipstick and tried it on. The new brown for autumn. The clerk at the make-up counter had persuaded her to buy it, but now she realised it made her pale, flesh