Ali Smith: There But For The

And kept in touch for years afterwards, Genevieve Lee said.

Well, no, Anna said. Not really, hardly at all. I kept in touch with six or seven people from the group for a year or two, then, you know. You lose touch.

But a beautiful memory, one that meant everything to him all those years ago, Genevieve Lee said.

Nope, Anna said.

A painful break-up, the first time his heart broke, and he’s never been able to forget, Genevieve Lee said.

No, Anna said. Honestly. I really don’t think so. I mean, we were vaguely friends. Nothing else. Nothing, you know, meaningful.

Which is why he’s carried your name and address with him all these years, for no meaningful reason at all, then, Genevieve Lee said.

Genevieve Lee was getting red in the face.

If there’s a reason, I don’t know what it is, Anna said. I mean, I can’t imagine where he got my email address from. We haven’t been in touch for, God, it must be well over twenty years. Way before email.

Something very special. On your trip thing. Happened.

Genevieve Lee was shouting now. But Anna’s job had trained her well when it came to other people’s anger.

Sit down, she said. Please. When you sit down, I’ll tell you exactly what I remember.

It worked. Genevieve Lee sat down. Anna spoke soothingly and kept her arms uncrossed.

The first thing I remember, she said, is that I got food poisoning at a medieval banquet they laid on for us in London right at the beginning of the fortnight. And I remember seeing Paris, the Eiffel Tower, Sacré Coeur, for the first time. I remember there was nothing to do in Brussels. We found an old closed fairground and wandered around it. I hated the food in the Heidelberg hotel. There was a wooden bridge in Lucerne. And all I remember about Venice is that we stayed in a very grand hotel that was very dark inside. And that a bomb went off in a railway station somewhere else in Italy, in the north, while we were in Venice and it killed a lot of people, and that there was a small mutiny among some of the boys in the group because the hotel staff were sharp with them after this happening, you know, told them to make less noise. I remember there was quite a row about a beer bottle or a beer can being thrown out of a hotel window. I can’t remember if that was Italy or not.

From France to Germany Genevieve Lee had been passing a pencil she’d picked up off the little table next to her from one hand to the other. By Italy she had started tapping the table with the pencil.

So, Anna said. I had a look through my photos after your message came, but I don’t have many, only twelve, I obviously only took one spool, and there’s only one photo with Miles Garth in it. I mean, I know it’s him, I can look at the photo and be sure it’s him, but you can’t see his face, he’s looking down in it so you can only see the top of his head. There’s a group photo, of all of us, they took one outside the bank before we left. It’s too far away to see anyone very clearly, but he’s there, at the back. He was tall.

I already know he’s tall, Genevieve Lee said. I already know what he looks like.

I remember he tied little bits of french bread on to bits of denim thread he pulled off the frayed ends of his jeans, Anna said, and we used these to try to catch the goldfish in a lake at Versailles. That’s what he’s looking down at in the photo. He’s tying a knot round the bread. And — that’s all.

That’s all? Genevieve Lee said.

Anna shrugged.

Genevieve Lee snapped the pencil she was holding in two. Then she looked down at the pieces of pencil she held in each hand in surprise. She laid the bits of pencil down neatly together on the table.

That’s when they’d gone upstairs.

That’s when Anna had stood with her fist up ready to — to what, exactly?

Miles. Are you there?

Silence.

Then — bang bang bang — the child, hammering on the door.

Tell him who you are, for God sake, Genevieve Lee hissed at Anna then.

Miles, it’s Anna Hardie, Anna said.

(Nothing.)

From Barclays Bank European Grand Tour 1980, she said.

(Silence.)

Tell him about when you fished for the goldfish with the bread and that, the child said.

Miles, I think the Lees would really like you to open the door and leave the room, Anna said.

(Silence.)

I think the Lees would like their house back, she said.

(Nothing.)

Tell him it’s you. Tell him it’s Anna K, Genevieve whispered.

Anna looked at her own fist still stupidly raised. She rested it against the wood of the door. She lowered it. She turned to Genevieve Lee.

Sorry, she said.

She shrugged.

Genevieve Lee nodded. She made a tiny precise gesture with her hand to indicate that Anna was now to go downstairs again.

At the foot of the stairs the two women stood, nothing left to say. Anna looked through the door at the lounge. It was like a contemporary chic lounge in a theatre performance would be. She looked at the geometric arrangement of logs next to the fireplace. She looked at the ceiling, at the huge beam of wood which ran all the way from the back of the lounge and above her head into the hall.

An amazing piece of, uh, wood, Anna said.

Genevieve Lee explained it was believed to be a piece of a ship which had fought at Trafalgar, and it was why the lounge had never been renovated and extended. As she explained all this, she visibly calmed. She opened the front door, held it open. The day’s heat came into the cold old hall.

Though we’ll be upgrading to Blackheath, she said, soon as the market picks up sufficiently. Eric will be home at three. I know he’d like to talk to you.

You mean, you want me to come back here again at three? Anna said on the doorstep.

If you would be so kind, Genevieve Lee said. Just after would be ideal. Ten past.

The thing is, Anna said, if I go now I can catch the less expensive train home, but if I stay it’ll cost me twice as much.

We appreciate it, Genevieve Lee said. It’s very kind. Thanks very much indeed.

She went to shut the door.

Just one thing, Anna said.

Genevieve Lee paused the half-closed door.

It’s the Anna K thing, Anna said.

I’m sorry? Genevieve Lee said.

In the email. Dear Anna K. And again, up there, Anna said. You called me Anna K. It’s not my name. My name’s Anna H. Hardie.

Genevieve held up her hand. She backed into the hall. She came back with a black jacket. She took a mobile phone out of its inside pocket and held it up.

It’s in the memory, she said.

Then she dropped the phone into the jacket pocket again and threw the jacket through the door straight at Anna so that Anna couldn’t not catch it. She spoke sweetly.

You are now responsible, she said. When this is all over I do not want, and will not accept, I’m making it clear right now, any accusations about usage of any bank or credit cards which happen to have been left in a jacket which happened to be left in my house.

Then she shut the door, click. Anna stood on the doorstep.

Eric and Gen. Gen and Eric. Jesus. She’d invite them to her own special annual dinner party, the one she annually gave for generics. Who knew what was going on between Genevieve Lee and Miles Garth, or Eric Lee and Miles Garth, or their daughter, or whoever, and Miles Garth? Who cared? Who cared whether Miles Garth had invented the perfect rent-free way in a recession to be regularly fed, at least for a while? Who cared why he’d chosen to shut himself in a hateful room in a hateful place? She was going home. Well, to what passed, for her, for home right now.

She turned on her heel on the pavement in the direction of the station.

The child was at her side, skipping.