This Isn't the Sort of Thing That Happens to Someone Like You by Jon McGregor Page B

That was something else that was new.
    So, the guide had said then; please now to the Oi-ke-ni-wa Garden. And everyone had turned and followed her across the gravel, except that by some silent agreement Wade and Elizabeth had waited and lagged a short way behind.
    Wade and Elizabeth. It had a ring to it, but what was she thinking.
     
    She’d asked him if he liked living in Minnesota, and he’d said, sure it was fine, it was home, and he’d mentioned again that it was good to be near to his kids. He’d asked her if she enjoyed being a school secretary, and she’d said she supposed there were worse jobs she could be doing. He’d laughed, and said that was true enough, and she’d asked about his children. You mentioned your children were nearby, she’d said: are they at university or something? Surprising herself even as she said it, because she didn’t always find small talk easy but this time she had. Which had made her think.
    He’d looked at her, and she’d realised straight away that she’d missed the point. No, he’d said, they’re too young for that just yet. They’re living with their mother.
    She could have died. Right there. Really.
    Oh, she’d said. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.
    No, it’s okay, he’d said. It was a while ago now. These things happen, you know how it is. He’d made a face, a sort of knowing frown, as if to say I’d rather not go into details but I’m sure you can guess. She wasn’t sure that she could. The thing kind of got out of hand in the end, he’d said. The moment had kind of passed. She nodded slowly, in a way which she hoped looked like sympathetic recognition. You got children? he asked.
    No, she said, no I haven’t.
    He looked like he was waiting for her to add something, but she didn’t. Because what would she have said. Because what else was there to say.
     
    The other people on the tour had all been younger than her and Wade, and she’d wondered how it was that young people these days seemed able to travel anywhere in the world that took their fancy. This was just one holiday among many for them, and the ones who didn’t know each other already were asking about it; none of them saying where you from? , she noticed, but rather where you been? and where you headed? One of them, a tall American girl in a sleeveless top and a pair of sensible walking shorts, all long brown limbs and neat blonde hair, had turned to Wade and said hey how’s it going , as the tour guide led them through the garden to the next talking point, and Wade had said hey, good, thanks in reply. Leaving Elizabeth a bit stranded as they started a conversation of their own.
    It was a beautiful garden. There was a lake, a large pond really, with a low arched bridge at one end, and a pebbled shore, and a stream winding down towards it from a stand of bamboo. There were the usual clipped and twisted trees, and carefully placed rocks, and mossy seating areas. The whole garden felt natural and artificial at the same time, and she wondered if there were hidden meanings to the arrangement which you were meant to decode. She’d wanted to say something to Wade about it, but he’d still been talking to that girl, asking her where the best temples in Cambodia were – the girl had been to Cambodia, of course – and she couldn’t catch his eye. She’d waited for them to finish their conversation, and when she’d realised she’d been standing there too long she’d moved away a little, looking at the bridge on the far side of the lake, looking at the tour guide, looking at the palace buildings and the other people in the group. Because it didn’t matter if he wanted to talk to someone else. Because why would that matter to her. She stood off to one side, holding his camera, waiting. Like some sort of she didn’t know what. Spear-carrier. Spare part.
    That girl though. It must be sunny all the time where she was from, judging by how tanned those long slim limbs were, the carefree freckles on her