Chapter Eleven #2
“There’s a 7-Eleven about a five minutes’ walk from the Village gates.
Incredible shop. Easily the best shop I’ve ever been in, and I include Selfridges in that ranking.
Thing is, though, Selfridges has never sold me a sweet potato compressed into a stick and coated in white chocolate, which is a genuine item that exists in the 7-Elevens here and costs about ninety yen. Go on, then. How’d you rate it, Barns?”
Barnaby considered this with the gravity of a man being asked to assess a Bordeaux. “Four out of five lip smacks. Excellent texture. Lost a point for the white chocolate, which was overly sweet.”
Lex nodded solemnly in solidarity. “Every night, I go down there and buy anything that looks mental. Anything I can’t read the label of.
I bring it all back in a big bowl, we sit on the sofa upstairs, and we take turns pulling things out and eating them.
You don’t know what you’re getting. Could be sakura flavour, which is cherry blossom, and is beautiful.
Could be squid ink, which tastes like you licked a biro.
Could be a FIRE TASTE EXPLOSION RICE SNACK, which is capitalised on the packet for a reason. ”
“And who’s ‘we’?” the interviewer asked, already charmed.
“Me and Barns.” Lex jerked his thumb at Barnaby. “The Marquess here, who, full disclosure, had never been inside a convenience store before this Olympics.”
“That isn’t true,” Barnaby said.
“It is absolutely true. I asked him what he’d bought at 7-Eleven and he told me he’d had the lobster bisque.”
Lee snorted and the interviewer pressed her lips together, visibly fighting a grin.
“They do sell very good onigiri,” Barnaby said, with dignity.
“He Googled that,” Lex said. “He Googled it after I caught him out. But fair play, he’s converted now.
He’ll eat anything. He’s got a palate like a hazmat disposal unit.
He loves these chilli crackers that made me cry actual tears, and he just sits there eating them like they’re Rich Tea biscuits.
No reaction. Nothing. Face like a statue. ”
Lex dug into the pocket of his blazer and pulled out a rumpled packet of sweets.
The wrapper was crinkled and slightly warm from being pressed against his body, and a few of the sweets had fused together in the heat.
He picked through them and found one still intact, a pale yellow sphere dusted in something powdery. He held it out to Barnaby first.
Barnaby took it. He examined it briefly, turning it between his thumb and forefinger, and put it in his mouth.
Lex distributed the rest of the packet along the sofa. Lee took one with a grin. Obi took two. Lex held the packet out to the interviewer.
“Go on,” Lex said. “In the spirit of journalistic integrity.”
The interviewer laughed, took one, and popped it into her mouth. Her expression shifted almost immediately. Her jaw slowed. Her eyes widened. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and made a noise that was equal parts surprise and betrayal.
“What is that?” she managed.
“No idea,” Lex said. “That’s the game.”
“It looks like lemon. It tastes like—” She paused, clearly searching for the word. “Salt? And… fish?”
“Could be. Could be bonito. Could be yuzu and anchovy. The Japanese don’t follow the same rules as us when it comes to confectionery. They’re operating on a level we can’t comprehend.”
Lee was chewing hers with a grimace. Obi had quietly deposited his into the sleeve of his tracksuit top when he thought nobody was looking.
Barnaby had swallowed his without any visible change in expression, because Barnaby treated unexpected flavour profiles the way he treated unexpected social situations: with absolute, immovable composure and a refusal to let his face betray him.
The interviewer took a long sip of water and pointed at Barnaby. “How are you not reacting to that? That tasted like the sea died in my mouth.”
“He’s broken,” Lex said. “I’ve been trying to find his limit for two weeks. It doesn’t exist.”
“Four out of five lip smacks,” Barnaby said.
The interviewer laughed properly. She set her cards down on her knee. “Right. Last question for all of you. What’s the best thing you’re taking away from this Olympics?”
Lee said the medal. Obi said the experience. Both reasonable, expected, true.
Lex said, “Second gold, yeah? Nothing tops that. Standing up there with the anthem going and that weight round your neck. Best feeling in the world.”
Then the interviewer turned to Barnaby, sitting at his end of the sofa with his hands folded and his spine ruler-straight.
“And you, Barnaby? What’s the best thing to come out of Tokyo for you?”
He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t glance at Lex. He looked directly at the camera, and said, “The friendships I’m coming away with.”
The interviewer smiled and thanked them. The crew started adjusting for the next group.
Lex stayed on the sofa for a beat longer than he needed to, looking at the side of Barnaby’s face. Barnaby was straightening his cuffs, one then the other, his jaw set in that particular line that meant he knew exactly what he’d said and was not going to acknowledge it further.
Lex bumped his knee against Barnaby’s thigh, stood up, and walked away before his face could do anything stupid.