Page 5 of Little Miss Fortune

He is so naked, and so am I. I try to hide my form from him. He turns around and covers his face, not as concerned about his privates, which is why it’s so unfortunate that I can report that the blond curtains match the drapes.

‘I am so sorry. I thought this was the men’s.’

He sounds British. Posh.

‘Fucking gaijin, there is a fucking sign,’ my voice screeches, as I’m huddling over my legs.

‘I am sorry. I must have misunderstood.’ He turns back to me, arms tense as they drop in a let-me-explain manner, shoulders covered in freckles.

‘Get out,’ I scream, seeing too much of him again.

‘Yes, you are so right. I am so sorry.’

He does a little bow, but then realises I am still naked, and covers his face. All of his stuff is swiftly collected and brought to cover his groin. It is not dark, so it can’t be tomorrow already and time for the baths to change. He probably misunderstood the woman.

Or maybe he did it on purpose. I shudder at the thought.

The hairdryer roars at me as I dry my hair; the clothes are still damp, but not as wet as they were earlier. The girls left a cotton yukata with a waist belt for me to wear instead. I collect my stuff, walk up the stairs in the provided slippers, and unlock my door.

A moment later, rushed shuffling sounds outside my room. The owner asks to come in, drops to her knees, and bows with her head touching the floor. ‘There is no forgiveness for me. This is not an excuse, but this has never happened before. One of my daughters was wiping the floor and rotated the male and female bath signs. I told the man that the men’s bath is where the blue arrow is pointing. My deepest apologies.’

Oh, not a pervert after all. That’s great news. I was just chotto unlucky. Sasuga Fuko. Classic me.

‘Please stand.’ I try to lift her during the explanation. ‘It wasn’t a big problem.’

‘Please accept dinner on us.’

Marinated mackerel, Fufufu rice, white shrimp tempura, and a slice of masu-no-sushi—how could anyone say no? The owner even brings me some Tateyama sake. I would let five more men walk in on me naked if it meant I could eat like that for the rest of the week.

The two girls knock on the door and bow. ‘Please forgive us.’

Their cheeks are rosy; the younger girl sniffles, probably from a telling-off by her mother earlier.

‘E-e-e,’ I sing out, ‘that was very troublesome for me.’

‘We are so sorry.’ Another sniffle.

‘Ja-a,’ I sigh with a mischievous smile, just like my late granddad used to, ‘I will only forgive you if you join me for dessert.’

Normally, I would just see them off, but the onsen made me sentimental, and there is something in them that reminds me of my sister and me. Plus, it might be good to practice my Japanese. After their mistake, they might also need to feel as if there is good out there. I pull out all the snacks I packed for the hike. Tough gummies, Kinoko biscuits, and special edition DARS chocolates are shared around. ‘Itadakimasu!’ they cheer and dig in, repeatedly saying ‘oishii’, tasty, to let me know that they are grateful for both the sweets and the forgiveness.

They leave my room, collecting the food tray and closing the door behind them. For a moment, I wonder whether this violates child labour laws.

Tired and overwhelmed, I search for my phone in the wet bag and, finding it, plug it into the wall. The amulet, now tied around the opening in my phone case, is soaked through. Luckily, it’s fabric, not paper, with a wood chip inside and a bell stitched on. For a moment, it jingles as if someone flicked it. I bend over it to see whether there is a draft, but my phone lights up with an e-mail icon, drawing my attention.

From SIMPO, one of London’s leading integrated marketing agencies. I applied four months ago but haven’t heard back from them. Here is my rejection...

We would like to invite you for an interview. Please confirm the slot by following the link.

My heart races out of my chest. An invitation to an interview. I scan the e-mail. An invitation to an interview that is next week.

If I can get into SIMPO, it’s a guaranteed career progression into anything I’d want. I would never have to send another CV if I didn’t desire to. I should be home by then, but knowing my luck, it’s better to book an earlier flight. It would mean cutting my stay by three days, but this is the first interview invitation I’ve had in months.

‘It’s all been paid for,’ the owner says when I check out of the ryokan. ‘The man from yesterday paid for your stay as an apology.’

The train arrives on time to take me up to base camp. I’m invited to join a walking group of grandmas. The steep walk turns into a full-on rock-climbing course, which I didn’t anticipate, making me the last one to the top by about half an hour.

‘Otsukare-sama, ganbatta!’ they congratulate me and rub my back when I finally catch up to them.