Alan Glynn - The Dark Fields aka Limitless

I felt a quickening in my chest.

She pecked her father on the cheek. Then Hank Atwood raised his arms, ‘ Ginny .’

She came towards him and they embraced.

‘So, you had a good time?’

She nodded, and smiled broadly.

‘I had a blast.’

Where had she been?

‘Did you try that osteria I told you about?’

Italy.

‘Yeah, it was great . That stuff, what was it called, baccalà ? – I loved it.’

The north-east.

They went on chatting for the next minute or so, Ginny focusing all her attention on Atwood. As I waited for her to disengage and – I suppose – notice me, I watched her closely, and realized something that should have been obvious to me before.

I was in love with her.

‘… and it’s really cool how they name streets after dates …’

She was wearing a short grey skirt, a dusty blue cardigan, matching top and black leather pumps, all stuff she’d probably bought in Milan on her way back from Vicenza or Venice, or wherever she’d been. Her hair was different, too – not spiky any more, but straight, and with a bit at the front that kept falling into her eyes, and that she kept having to flick back.

‘… Twentieth of September Street, Fourth of November Street, it resonates …’

She looked over and saw me, and smiled – surprised and not surprised.

Van Loon said, ‘I guess history is pretty important to them over there.’

‘Oh, and what are we,’ Ginny said, turning suddenly to her father, ‘one of those happy nations that hasn’t got any history?’

‘That’s not what-’

‘We just do stuff and hope no one notices.’

‘What I-’

‘Or we make it up to suit what people did notice.’

‘And in Europe that’s not what happens?’ said Hank Atwood. ‘Is that what you’re telling us?’

‘No, but… well, I don’t know, take this Mexico shit that’s going on at the moment? People over there can’t believe we’re even talking about invading.’

‘Look, Ginny,’ Van Loon said, ‘it’s a complicated situation. I mean, this is a narco -state we’re dealing with here…’ He went on to paint what had been in a dozen newspaper editorials and op-ed pieces recently: a vast fevered mural depicting instability, disorder and impending catastrophe…

Jim Heche, who had drifted back up the room, and had been listening closely, said, ‘It’s not only in our interests, Ginny, you know, it’s in theirs , too.’

‘Oh, invade the country to save it?’ she said, in exasperation, ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’

‘Sometimes that’s-’

‘What about the nineteen-seventy UN injunction,’ she said, her voice accelerating rapidly, ‘that no state has the right to intervene, directly or indirectly, for any reason whatever, in the internal affairs of any other state?’

She was standing in the centre of the room now, ready to fend off attacks from any quarter.

‘Ginny, listen to me,’ Van Loon said patiently. ‘Trade with Central and South America has always been crucial to-’

‘Oh, Jesus , Daddy, that’s all spin .’

Looking like his daughter had just kick-boxed him, Van Loon threw his hands up.

‘You want to know what I think it’s about?’ she went on, ‘I mean really about?’

Van Loon looked dubious, but Hank Atwood and Jim Heche were obviously interested, and waiting to hear what she had to say. For my part, I had retreated to the oak-panelled wall behind me and was watching the scene with mixed feelings – amusement, desire, confusion .

‘There’s no grand plan here,’ she said, ‘no economic strategy, no conspiracy. It wasn’t thought out in any way. In fact, I think it’s just another manifestation of irrational… something – not exuberance exactly, but…’

Losing patience a little now, Van Loon said, ‘What does that mean?’

‘I think Caleb Hale had a couple of drinks too many that night, or was maybe mixing booze with his Triburbazine pills, or whatever, and he just lost the run of himself. And now they’re trying to gloss over what he said, cover their tracks, make out as if this is a real policy. But what they’re doing is entirely irrational…’

‘That’s ridiculous, Ginny.’

‘We were talking about history a minute ago – I think that’s how most history works , Daddy. People in power, they make it up as they go along. It’s sloppy and accidental and human…’

The reason I was confused during those few moments, as I stared over at Ginny, was because in spite of everything – in spite of how different they looked and how different they sounded – I could so easily have been staring over at Melissa.

‘Ginny’s starting college in the fall,’ Van Loon said to the others. ‘International studies – or is that irrational studies? – so don’t mind her, she’s just limbering up.’

Tapping out a quick timestep in her new shoes, Ginny said, ‘Up yours, Mr Van Loon.’

Then she turned and walked over in my direction. Hank Atwood and Jim Heche converged, and one of them started speaking to Van Loon, who was back sitting at his desk.

As Ginny approached where I was standing, she threw her eyes up, dismissing everything – and every one – behind her. She arrived over and poked me gently in the stomach, ‘Look at you .’

‘What?’

‘Where’s all the weight gone?’

‘I told you it fluctuates.’

She looked at me dubiously, ‘Are you bulimic?’

‘No, like I said…’

I paused.

‘Or maybe schizophrenic then?’

‘What is this?’ I laughed, and made a face. ‘Sure it’s not medical school you’re going to? I’m fine. That was just a bad day you caught me on.’

‘A bad day?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Hhmm.’

‘It was .’

‘And today?’

‘Today’s a good day.’

I felt the impulse to add some sappy comment like and it’s even better now that you’re here , but I managed to keep my mouth shut.

A brief silence followed, during which we just looked at each other.

Then, from across the room, ‘Eddie?’

‘Yeah?’

It was Van Loon.

‘What was that thing we were talking about earlier? Copper loops and… AD-something?’

I bent slightly to the left and looked around Ginny, over at Van Loon.

‘ADSL,’ I said. ‘Asynchronous Digital Subscriber Loop.’

‘And…?’

‘It permits transmission of a single compressed, high-quality video signal, at a rate of 1.5 Mbits per second. In addition to an ordinary voice phone conversation.’

‘Right.’

Van Loon turned back to Hank Atwood and Jim Heche and continued what he was saying.

Ginny looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

‘Ex cuse me.’

‘Let’s get out of here and go somewhere for a drink,’ I said, all at a rush. ‘Come on, don’t say no.’

She paused, and that flicker of uncertainty passed over her face again. Before she could answer, Van Loon clapped his hands together and said, ‘OK, Eddie, let’s go.’

Ginny immediately turned around and moved off, saying to her father, ‘So where are you lot going?’

I slumped back against the oak-panelled wall.

‘The Orpheus Room. We’ve got more business to discuss. If that’s OK with you.’

She made a dismissive puffing sound and said, ‘Knock yourselves out.’

‘And what are you doing?’

As she looked at her watch, I looked at her back, at the soft dusty blue of her cashmere cardigan.