Beautiful World, Where Are You(17)

That sounds bad, she said. But at the same time, at least you were still having sex. You know? The relationship wasn’t completely dead. If Aidan were to text me when he was drunk, okay, maybe we would end up fighting. But I would at least feel like he remembers who I am. Paula said she was sure he did remember, seeing as they had lived together for several years. With a kind of grimacing smile, Eileen answered: That’s what kills me. I spent half my twenties with this person, and in the end he just got sick of me. I mean, that’s what happened. I bored him. I feel like that says something about me on some level. Right? It has to. Frowning, Paula replied: No, it

doesn’t. Eileen let out a strained selfconscious laugh then and squeezed Paula’s arm.

I’m sorry, she said. Let me get you another drink.

By eleven o’clock, Eileen was lying alone in bed, curled up on her side, her make-up smeared slightly under her eyes. Squinting at the screen of her phone, she tapped the icon of a social media app. The interface opened and displayed a loading symbol. Eileen moved her thumb over the screen, waiting for the page to load, and then suddenly, as if impulsively, closed the app. She navigated to her contacts, selected the contact listed as

‘Simon’, and hit the call button. After three rings, he picked up and said: Hello?

Hello, it’s me, she said. Are you alone?

On the other end of the line, Simon was sitting on the bed in a hotel room. To his right was a window covered by thick cream-coloured curtains, and opposite the bed was a large television set affixed to the wall. His back was propped against the headboard, his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, and his laptop was open in his lap. I’m alone, he said, yeah. You know I’m in London, right? Is everything okay?

Oh, I forgot. Is it a bad time to talk? I can hang up.

No, it’s not a bad time. Did you have your poetry thing on tonight?

Eileen told him about the event. She gave him the ‘moon in June’ joke and he laughed appreciatively. And we had a Trump poem, she told him. Simon said the idea made him earnestly wish for the embrace of death. She asked him about the conference he was attending in London and he described at length a ‘conversation session’ entitled

‘Beyond the EU: Britain’s International Future’. It was just four identical middle-aged guys in glasses, Simon said. I mean, they looked like photoshopped versions of each

other. It was surreal. Eileen asked him what he was doing now, and he said he was finishing something for work. She rolled over onto her back, looking up at the faint pinprick pattern of mould on the ceiling.

It’s not good for your health, working so late, she said. Where are you, in your hotel room?

Right, he replied. Sitting on the bed.

She pulled her knees up so her feet were flat on the mattress, her legs making a tent shape under the quilt. You know what you need, Simon? she said. You need a little wife for yourself. Don’t you? A little wife to come up to you at midnight and put her hand on your shoulder and say, okay, that’s enough now, you’re working too late. Let’s get some sleep.

Simon switched the phone to his other ear and said: You paint a compelling picture.

Can’t your girlfriend go on work trips with you?

She’s not my girlfriend, he said. She’s just someone I’ve been seeing.

I don’t get that distinction. What’s the difference between a girlfriend and someone you’re seeing?

We’re not in an exclusive relationship.

Eileen rubbed her eye with her free hand, smudging some dark make-up onto her hand and onto the side of her face over her cheekbone. So you’re having sex with someone else as well, are you? she said.

I’m not, no. But I believe she is.

Eileen dropped her hand then. She is? she said. Jesus. How attractive is the other guy?

Sounding amused, he replied: I have no idea. Why do you ask?

I just mean, if he’s less attractive than you, why bother? And if he’s as attractive as you are— Well, I think I’d like to meet this woman and shake her hand.

What if he’s more attractive than I am?

Please. Impossible.

He settled himself back a little against the headboard. You mean because I’m so handsome? he said.

Yes.

I know, but say it.

Laughing then, she said: Because you’re so handsome.

Eileen, thank you. How kind. You’re not so bad yourself.

She nestled her head down into the pillow. I got an email from Alice today, she said.

That’s nice. How is she?

She says it’s not such a big deal that Aidan broke up with me because we weren’t really that happy anyway.

Simon paused, as if waiting for her to continue, and then asked: Did she actually say that?

In so many words, yes.

And what do you think?

Eileen let out a sigh and answered: Never mind.

It doesn’t sound like a very sensitive thing to say.

With her eyes closed she said: You’re always defending her.

I just said she was being insensitive.

But you think she has a point.

He was frowning, toying with a hotel-branded pen on the bedside table. No, he said. I think he wasn’t good enough for you, but that’s different. Did she really say it wasn’t a big deal?

In so many words. And you know she’s going to Rome to promote her book next week, right?