It is now three weeks since Takao was born, ten days since being back from hospital. I can hardly remember the last days of confinement, feeling so tired and unwell that all I wished for was the misery to end.

When I finally went into labour, I remember wondering whether I would have the strength to endure the birth. But Dr Ruben managed to nudge me along, and with the help of forceps, the baby came sliding out, only after three hours.

Takao – born on 19 August.

The moment he was placed in my arms, I felt the same incredible rush of joy and relief and surge of love as when Kazu was born. But whereas Kazu was a beautiful, handsome baby from the moment he was born, this one came out with a scrunched up face, looking like a monkey, with mischievous slanted eyes.

He's never still, always wriggling. Perhaps he was using up all my energy, making me so tired while he was inside me. Now that he's out, I feel perfectly fine again, and much amused by this new creature. Before his arrival, I couldn't imagine being able to love another child as I love Kazu. But here is Taka, as precious to me as Kazu. It seems that God gives us infinite capacity for love.

Hiro suggested the name ‘Takao’, the kanji character meaning the one to rise and prosper, perfect for a boy coming into a challenging world. Now, at three weeks, Taka focuses his determined gaze, already looking as if he is up to something naughty – a true fighter.

Friday, 10 September

‘Italians sink the Conte Verde!’ was today's headline, with a blurry photo of the vessel tilted and half sunk in the water. ‘Can't believe they sunk their own boat,’ Hiro said, head stuck in the paper.

‘The crew switched sides right after Italy's surrender. They obviously didn't want Japan to take over the boat.’ Hiro shook his head in disbelief as he munched on his marmalade toast.

Straight after breakfast, I phoned Tamiko. ‘We must go and take a look,’ I said.