For three years I learned everything I needed to learn and then some. I had my protocol on the tip of my tongue, I knew my ancestors like I had breakfast with them every day, piano lessons went along beautifully, I had graduated to classical singing and I had also taken the violin, like the little overachiever I was.

I followed my voice teacher, Frau Schreiber’s motto that mastery of the art was 80% hard work, 10% rehearsals and 10% talent. Even today, I still take whatever time I can muster to practice.

At the ripe age of 10, and after showing my Mami my violin progress, I told her, quite bluntly, that I wished to move in with my dad and my siblings.

- Very well – Mami said, from her yellow damask armchair – And, do you believe that you already know everything you must know?

- Perhaps not. But you cannot cook, and yet you manage the kitchen.

- You cheeky girl – Mami broke out laughing – And when can I expect your presence, Lady Eleanora? This is your house.

- Somerset Hall has been here for eleven centuries, Mami. According to my calculations, it will probably not disappear in the meantime and I will still manage to find it when I get back.

- Eleanora… - she admonished me. She enjoyed it when I came up with quick remarks, but this was a sensitive subject.

- I have learned my duty, Mami. I will not forget my responsibilities, I promise. I just want a little more time with them. Please…

She asked me for time to think and I gave her a week. It had been the time I had been granted and it would be the amount of time I would give her, in return.

- You may go – Margaret said, a week later, over breakfast – But only if you promise me that you will not abandon your music studies.

I almost tossed years of polite education out the window, at those words, but I knew what was expected of me and restrained my buzzing enthusiasm.

- And – she added – only if you also promise that you will master, and perform for me, Vivaldi’s Winter, over Christmas.

I promised her I would and my farewell gift from her was the score for the Four Seasons.

I was handed over to a flight attendant and off I went, not to Macao, but to Japan, as my father was now working at the embassy, in Tokyo.

Swapping the English countryside for Tokyo was nothing less than brutal. I knew London, I knew Paris and Berlin, but the whole scale of Tokyo just hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only that, but the whole paradigm had shifted and not even social rules seemed to stay put for me.

Luckily, Tommy was now used to it, after having been there for almost a year and he got to be the big brother, on the first day of school, holding my hand as we took the train to school, in Roppongi.

It’s a normal occurrence, in Japan, that children as young as him take themselves to school on public transportation. To me, the whole idea seemed wild, but Japan is, after all, one of the safest countries in the world.

Tommy was so sure of himself, his auburn loose curls glistening in the morning light, looking so smart in his school clothes.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

- You don’t speak on the train, unless you have to. And if you do, keep your voice down – he told me before the sharp sound of metal announced the arrival of our train.

We both stood out like sore thumbs and, as I learned the language, I could understand what people said about us, assuming we didn’t speak it. And people do tend to let their tongues wag when they think no one can understand them.

Besides the culture shock, I still had another shock waiting for me. It was, after all, the first time I was setting foot in a real school, with real children and real classes. Not that I was having fantasy classes before, but this was not even a different league, it was a different game altogether.

Despite being an international school, I’m guessing the new kid will always be the new kid, no matter what. And I happened to be the newest kid with a visible difference. I had never been overly conscious of my anisocoria until that moment.

It got so bad that all I wanted to do was curl myself into a fetal position, in a random secluded corner, and never be seen again.

The classes were not bad and I had been well prepared. It was the time in between, with all its cacophony of voices and sounds and weird social cues that left me grasping at straws.

I must admit that I thought, once or twice, to concede defeat and go back to England, but I really disliked the idea of going back and admitting my project had failed. What I disliked even more was that my failure would, once again, keep me away from the ones I loved, so I endured that target over my head.

And, while school was nothing less than miserable, the weekends were amazing. My father would take us out for breakfast and then let us loose in the bookshop, where we would meet him at the counter with piles of manga, letting him spoil us rotten. Then, we would go to the record store and that would be his domain.

My father was always a melomane and there was not a week that went by where he did not buy, at least, a new record. His genre of choice was always rock, but he was eclectic enough not to close his ears to other sounds.

I always went straight to the classical music section, but he rerouted me to Rock enough that I started paying attention. He bought me my first The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars and he introduced me to the giants of rock: The Doors, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Salem… When my feet were wet enough, he let me dive off the deep end, with Joy Division, Sisters of Mercy, Bauhaus, The Cure, whatever came by and I felt was dark enough for me. If it wasn’t for the gentle guiding hand of Mr João de Sousa, I might not be here today, so blame him all you want.

Halcyon days cannot, alas, last forever and it all came to an end with a simple phone call, in late November 1993.

- Ellie, darling – my father called from his office – Can you come here for a second?

I went in, closing the door behind me and opened a little box he had on his desk, where he kept his stash of chocolate, and took one, before sitting down on the armchair opposite him.

- Mami just called – he said and the chocolate lost all its sweetness. I knew this moment would come and, the moment those words were let loose into the ether, I felt my stomach turning… Not again.

- I don’t want to – I said, sharply – I’m not going back.

My father shook his head, while he fumbled with his pen – You cannot make decisions when you don’t know all the facts.

I took a deep breath and sat back, on the chair, awaiting those life-changing facts that I knew in my heart, would not sway me.

- Mami is ill.

- What do you mean, ill? - those words brought nothing good with them…

- She said she’s been feeling under the weather for some time and she went to the doctor, in September… It’s cancer, my dear…

That word… So heavy, so slimy, so oppressive…

- She’s been undergoing treatment. But she asked for you to go back home.

- Back home? But she’s going to be alright, isn’t she? Why would she need me?

I know I was selfish. I think all children are inherently selfish, it’s human nature. I regret having said those words then.

- Her body is, apparently, not responding as well as doctors would like to. - my father always tried to be as objective as possible, even if it was horrible news.

- What… What does that mean…?

He got up from his leather chair and circled the desk, kneeling by my side – So far, it means nothing. But these things can change very quickly. And she’d like you to be by her side.

- But… - I looked back at the door and my father knew exactly what that word entailed.

- They will always be here for you, Ellie. But, right now, the person who needs you the most, is Margaret.

Two days later, I was hopping on a plane headed for Britain. In my mind, a miracle would happen, the treatment would work, the cancer would be gone and I would be flying back in no time.

Of course, reality is always more disappointing than fiction.