We Own the Sky(10)

She had become a little agitated in recent weeks, suddenly concerned about my career plans. Anna had a job lined up, with an accountancy firm in London, and had started asking questions. What would I do next? Would I join her in London and look for a job?

My heart wasn’t really in the job search, because all I could think about was maps—maps that were alive and dripping with data, maps that could be created by a teenager with a Myspace account and a laptop.

“I’m still hoping my maps idea will pan out, to be honest,” I said, pouring more wine into my cup and stretching out my legs.

Anna’s face tightened. “So what is the maps thing again?” she asked, pulling her sunglasses off her face. “You never really explained it.”

“I thought I did.”

“Well, maybe you did. But I still don’t understand it,” she said, and she seemed angry and I couldn’t figure out why.

“Well,” I said, sitting up and turning to face her. “It’s still early days, but the software basically allows the user to customize their own maps. So, for example, you could map out your cycle route or where you went for a jog. Or you could upload your photos on a tourist map for other people to see.”

“You’d put the photos on the map?”

“Yes.”

Anna pouted. “That seems rather strange, doesn’t it. Why would anyone want to do that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, beginning to feel a little annoyed. “Because they can.”

We sat in silence for a little while, and Anna started to pack away the picnic things into her backpack.

“Anyway, you don’t know the first thing about maps, do you?” Anna said. “I mean, people study for years to be cartographers. A cousin of my father was a cartographer. It’s an incredibly skilled profession.”

“Why are you being so weird about this?”

“I’m not, Rob. I’m just asking.”

“Nothing’s changed, Anna.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m still coming to London, if that’s what this is really about.”

She snorted a little. “It’s not about that. It’s nothing to do with that.”

“So why does it bother you so much?”

She didn’t answer, continued packing away the picnic things. I knew why it bothered her. It was my plan to go it alone. She saw it as a risk, a deviation from the proper course. To her mind, I should be applying for a job, with benefits and a pension plan. That, after all, was why we had gone to Cambridge, why we had studied so hard.

“You’re exasperating sometimes,” she said, staring out across the river.

“You’re always so absolutely certain you’ll get what you want.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Because it doesn’t always work like that.”

“It has so far.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, everything I’ve worked for, I’ve got so far.”

I knew I sounded arrogant, but I felt under attack. Anna turned away angrily and smoothed down her skirt. “Well, as long as you know what you’re doing.”

“Why does it bother you so much?” I asked.

“It doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does. You’re pissed off now.”

She reached across me and poured herself some wine. “It just seems

impulsive, as if you haven’t thought it through. You’ve just graduated at the top of your class, Rob, companies would be begging to employ you, but you want to do this thing with maps.”

“Right, because I think I can make it work. And besides, I don’t want to work for a company.”

Anna exhaled deeply. “Yes, you’ve made that quite clear,” she said.

We had reached an impasse, and we both sat and watched the punters on the Cam. Apart from a few minor squabbles, it was the first argument we had ever had.

“It is about that,” Anna said after a while, her voice barely audible.

“About what?”

“What I said earlier. I said it wasn’t about London, but it is. I just want to know you’re coming.”

I looked at her. She was so beautiful, her knees chastely tucked up to her chest, her hair peppered with tiny dandelion seeds.

“Of course I’m coming to London,” I said, moving close to her. “But there is one thing.”

“What?”

“I want us to live together. I know it’s not been long, but I want to live with you.”





2

“Anna, can you talk, you’re not gonna fucking believe this.” I was standing outside a meeting room in an office on Old Street.

“Is everything all right?” she said.

I was trying to keep my voice down as the corridor walls were thin. “They want it. The software. They want to buy the fucking software.”

A pause, a faint crackle on the line.

“This isn’t one of your jokes, is it, Rob?” Anna said.

“No, not at all. I can’t talk for long, but they’re in the room now, looking at the papers. I didn’t even have to pitch it. They just want it. They get it.”

The company, Simtech, had been recommended by a programmer friend. A