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we all assumed he’d just gone home, just left, you know, slipped out the front door without saying goodnight, although why he’d be that rude. And why he’d leave his jacket behind, which we realized when we were all saying our goodbyes and there it was just lying there on the couch.
    Genevieve Lee gesticulated towards the couch. Anna looked at the couch. So did Genevieve Lee.
    They both looked at the couch.
    Then Genevieve Lee continued.
    And Mark, who’s gay, she said, he’s an older man, was most upset. They can be hysterical, in a good way and a bad way. Anyway, after coffee, and a very nice orange muscat that Eric dug up in an Asda, which nobody could believe, everybody went home happy, except for Mark of course who was clearly a bit perturbed. And Eric and I went off to bed. And it wasn’t until the morning that we saw that his car was still in the Resident’s space and had actually already been ticketed—which I’m not paying for—and Josie, that’s our daughter, came downstairs and asked us why the spare room door was locked and what the note she’d found on the floor meant.
    What did the note say? Anna asked.
    Fine for water but will need food soon. Vegetarian, as you know. Thank you for your patience.
    It was the child’s voice. It came from behind the armchair. She hadn’t left at all. She’d crept back into the room without them hearing or noticing her.
    I thought you said in your email you’d been feeding him ham? Anna said.
    Beggars can’t be choosers, Genevieve Lee said.
    They don’t want him to get too at home in there, the Robin Day chair said.
    Genevieve Lee ignored this.
    Clearly he’s not all there, she said.
    He is all there, the child behind the chair said. Where else could he be?
    Genevieve Lee ignored this too, as if the child simply wasn’t there. She leaned forward, confidential.
    We’re only glad to have been able to find a contact, she said. Mark hardly knows him at all, certainly not well enough to persuade him to open the door. He’s a bit of a loner, your Miles.
    Anna told her again about how she hardly knew Miles Garth, that the only reason she knew him at all was fluke, in that they’d both won a place nearly thirty years ago on a European holiday for teenagers from all over the country, a competition organized through secondary schools and sponsored by a bank. She and Miles had spent two weeks in July of 1980 on the same tour bus, along with forty-eight other seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds.
    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