We Own the Sky(6)

Anna looked bemused and touched the blue screen of her Nokia. “It sounds

interesting,” she said, “although I am something of a Luddite. Will I still be able

to send texts?”

“Yes,” I said, laughing a little. She was so dry, so straight-faced, I couldn’t tell if she was joking.

“Good. That’s a relief. So are you friends with Lola, as well?”

“Yes, a little bit,” I said. “I knew her in the first year. She lived on my floor.”

“Ah,” Anna said. “So you’re  that Rob.”

That Rob. I thought back. Had I done something when I was drunk? I

remembered talking to Lola one night at Fez a few semesters ago. She went on about her upbringing in Kensington as if it was a curse, a leper’s bell around her neck. I found her tiresome, a bit of a bore, but I didn’t think I had been rude.

“That Rob?” I asked, smiling nervously.

“Oh, no, just Lola mentioned you,” Anna said casually, trying once again to get the bartender’s attention. “She said you were some kind of computer genius, a whiz kid, and from public housing to boot.” She gasped as she said “public housing” and contorted her expression into one of mock outrage. “She said it was wonderful that you got a chance to come here like the rest of us,” Anna said with a little giggle.

“That’s good of her,” I said, smiling. “The boy done good.”

“Sorry?”

“The boy done good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s a football reference.”

“Ah, sorry, I don’t follow the sports,” she said, as if it was a category in Trivial Pursuit.

The pub was filling up, and we were pushed closer together, our bare arms occasionally touching. On the side of her neck, she had a small birthmark shaped like a heart. I was lost for a moment, looking at the gentle grain of her skin, when her eyes caught mine.

“So how do you know Lola?” I said, quickly looking away.

“We went to school together,” Anna said vaguely, as if she was thinking about something else.

“To Roedean?”

“Yes.”

I had figured Anna was posh, but not Roedean posh. “And what about you?” I said.

“What about me?” she said. She sounded terse, suddenly defensive.

“After we’re finished with this place I mean.”

“Oh, I see. Accountancy,” Anna said without pause. “I have five job offers in London, and I’ll decide by the end of the week which one to take.”

“Wow, cool.”

“Not exactly cool, but it’s what I do. Or rather what I will do.” She smiled weakly. “We’re never getting a drink, are we?”

“No. Especially not now.” I nodded to a group of men in rugby shirts. One of them was just wearing underpants and protective goggles.

“Quite,” Anna said, and looked away. She seemed suddenly uninterested, and I could imagine her weaving her way back to her friends and then never seeing her again.

“Would you like to go out sometime?” I said.

“Yes,” she said almost instantly, and her reply was so quick I didn’t think she had understood.

“I mean that...”

“Sorry,” she said, “maybe I’m confused. I thought you were asking me out.”

“I did. I was,” I said, leaning a little closer so I could hear her above the music.

“Very well,” she said, smiling again, and she smelled of soap and newly

washed hair.

“Sorry, it’s loud in here,” I said. “So can I have your phone number or email or something?”

Anna took a small step back, and I realized I was leaning into her. “Yes, although on one condition.”

“Okay,” I said, still thinking about her “that Rob” comment. “What is it?”

“You give me my phone back.”

I looked down and realized I was still holding her Nokia. “Oh, shit, sorry.”

She smiled and put her phone in her bag. “Okay,” she said. “It’s Anna

Mitchell-Rose at yahoo.co.uk. All one word. Two  l’s in Mitchell, no full stops or hyphenation.”

  *

A week later, the cinema. Watching the trailers, I could feel the warmth of her body and I wanted to reach out and touch her, to put my hand on her bare leg. I glanced at her a few times and hoped she might turn toward me and our eyes would meet, but she just stared at the screen, her back straight as if she was sitting in church, her thick-framed glasses perched on her nose. The only movement she made was to silently take sweets from her bag of pick ’n’ mix. I had watched her count them out when she bought them: five from the top row, five from the bottom.

I fidgeted through the movie, about an insufferable drifter who hitchhiked around North America and then died in Alaska. I couldn’t wait for it to end.

Anna, however, seemed to be enjoying it—judging by how still she sat, how her eyes never left the screen.

When the movie ended, I thought that she might be one of those people who sit in a reverential silence until the last of the credits rolled, but the moment the screen turned black, she stood up and picked up her coat.