There but for The_ A Novel - Ali Smith [9]
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.
Tunnel? the child said.
Should you not be in school? Anna said.
Nope, the child said.