Beautiful World, Where Are You(37)
While I’m here, I may as well tell you that Felix and I slept together last night. I didn’t really want to tell you, if I’m honest, but I think it would have been weird not to. Not that I’m embarrassed – or maybe I am, but not by him. It’s more the idea of caring what somebody else thinks about me, when that’s exactly what I don’t do, and what I’m so good at not doing. It’s not easy for me, really. I think we’ve been having a nice time together – which is me saying that I’ve had a nice time, and that I never know how he feels. Although our lives have been different in basically every respect, I do feel in a strange way that we’ve taken different routes to reach similar points, and there’s a lot we recognise in one another. You wouldn’t believe how long it’s taken me to write this paragraph. I feel so frightened of being hurt – not of the suffering, which I know I can handle, but the indignity of suffering, the indignity of being open to it. I have a terrible crush on him and get very excited and idiotic when he shows me affection. So of course in the midst of everything, the state of the world being what it is, humanity on the cusp of extinction, here I am writing another email about sex and friendship. What else is there to live for? Love always, Alice.
15
On Monday evening at a quarter past eight, the main room of Simon’s apartment was empty and dim. Through the small window over the sink in the kitchenette, and the larger window in the living room opposite, the remaining daylight touched the various interior surfaces: the silver basin of the sink, with a single dirty plate and knife lying inside; the kitchen table, dotted here and there with crumbs; a fruit bowl containing one browning banana and two apples; a knitted throw sprawled over the sofa untidily; a thin grey layer of dust on the upper rim of the television; the bookcases, the table lamps, a chess set on the coffee table with what appeared to be an unfinished game on the board.
This way in silence the room lay as the light faded, as outside in the hallway people climbed and descended the staircase, and in the street traffic swept past in waves of white sound. At twenty to nine came the noise of a key slipped into the lock, and then the apartment door opened. Simon was talking on the phone as he entered, taking a satchel off his shoulder with his free hand, saying aloud: No, I don’t think they’re worried about it, really. It’s just an annoyance. He was dressed in a dark-grey suit, with a green tie secured by a gold pin. Quietly he used his foot to close the door behind him and hung his bag up on a hook. Aha, he said. Is he there with you? I’ll talk to him now if you like. He went into the living room and turned on a floor lamp, dropped his keys on the coffee table. Okay, what do you think is best, then? he asked. Alone in the yellowish light of the lamp, he looked tired. He went to the kitchen and picked the kettle up as if to test its weight. Yeah, he said. No, that’s fine, I’ll just tell him I’ve talked to you about it. Replacing the kettle in its cradle, he turned it on, and then sat down on a kitchen chair. Right, he said, but if I’m supposed to pretend you haven’t told me, what’s my pretext for calling him in the first place? He held the phone between his face and
shoulder and started to unlace his shoes. Then, prompted by a remark on the other end of the call, he sat up and put the phone back into his hand again. Clearly that’s not what I meant, he said. The conversation continued like this for some time, while Simon took his shoes off, removed his tie and made himself a cup of tea. When the phone buzzed in his hand, he lifted it away quickly and checked the screen, while the voice on the other end went on talking. An email notification had appeared, with the subject heading
‘Tuesday call’. Apparently uninterested, he brought the phone back to his ear and carried the cup of tea over to the sofa to sit down. Yeah, yeah, he was saying, I’m home now. I’m just about to put the news on. He closed his eyes while the voice on the phone was speaking. Sure, he said. I’ll let you know. Love you too. Bye. He repeated this last word several times before tapping an icon on-screen to end the call. Looking down at the screen, he opened a messaging app and tapped the name ‘Eileen Lydon’. The most recent message was displayed at the bottom of the screen, with the time stamp 20:14.
Simon: Hey, I had a really nice time with you at the weekend. Would you like to see each other again this week?
An icon showed that Eileen had seen the message, but no response had arrived. He closed the app and opened the ‘Tuesday call’ email, which was part of a longer thread.
A previous message read: Yes I am told they have phone records also. Simon or Lisa can you get across this please and get in touch with Anthony if needed. One of his colleagues had replied: If we spend any more time dealing with this non issue I am going to lose my mind. The newest message read: Simon I am attaching Anthony’s number and details below. Give him a ring tonight if possible or tomorrow morning ?
No one is happy about this but it’s where we are. Locking his phone, he allowed his
eyes to close and for a few moments he sat on the sofa not moving, his chest rising and falling with his breath. After a time he lifted a hand and passed it slowly down his face.
Finally he reached for the remote control and turned the television on. The nine o’clock news was just beginning. He sat watching the first few items roll past on the screen, his eyes half-closed, almost as if he was asleep, but sipping now and then from the cup of tea he kept on an arm of the couch beside him. During an item about road safety his phone buzzed, and he reached for it immediately. On-screen a new message displayed.