Beautiful World, Where Are You(39)

He was taking a spoon out of the cutlery drawer, amused. Think about it again, he said.

She frowned at the board a little longer, while he made the tea and brought it over to the coffee table. Well, I won’t mess with it, she said. He sat down at the other end of the sofa and turned off the television. Work away, he said. It’s white to move. She picked up the white bishop and checked the black king. Leaning forward, he moved a black pawn to block the attack and threaten her bishop, and she used the bishop to take the pawn. He brought the black knight forward to take the bishop then and fork the white queen and rook. She made a face and said: I’m an idiot. He said it was his fault anyway for leaving himself in such a weak position. She picked up her cup of tea and sat back against the armrest of the sofa. Did I tell you my family are at war with each other about Lola’s wedding invites? she said. I really don’t know why I got involved, she’s just such a nightmare. Do you want to see the texts she’s been sending me? He said yes, and she took her phone out and showed him the message Lola had sent her on Saturday night.

Lola: Hmmm do I really want to hear about how immature I am from someone who’s stuck in a shitty job making no money and living in a kip at age 30......

His eyes moved over the screen and then he took the device from her hand to read it again, frowning. Jesus, the hostility, he murmured.

Eileen took her phone back from his hand and looked down at it. I only brought up the wedding thing because Mary asked me to, she said. But then when I complained to her about these horrible text messages, she was like, well, that’s between the two of you, that’s nothing to do with me.

But if you had sent a message like that to Lola—

Right? Exactly. Mammy would be on the phone to me saying, how dare you speak to your sister like that?

I suppose there’s no point talking to your dad, he said.

She locked the phone and left it down on the floorboards. No, she answered. He’s the only one who’s not crazy, obviously. But he knows that we’re all crazy, so he’s too scared to get involved.

He lifted her feet into his lap. You’re not crazy, he said. The other two, yes, but not you.

Smiling, she settled back against the armrest. Thank God there is one person in the world who can see that, she said.

Happy to help.

For a moment she watched him while he rubbed the arch of her foot with his thumb.

Then in a different voice she asked: How was your day?

He glanced up at her, and then back down again. Fine, he said. And yours?

You look a little bit tired.

Lightly, without looking up, he replied: Do I?

She went on watching him, while he avoided her eyes. Simon, she said, are you sad today?

He gave a kind of embarrassed laugh. Hm, he said. I don’t know. I don’t think so.

Would you tell me if you were?

Am I that bad?

Playfully she prodded at him with her foot. I’m asking you about your day right now and you won’t tell me anything, she said.

Catching her ankle in his hand, he answered: Hm. Let me see. I had a phone call with my mother this evening.

Oh? How is she?

She’s okay. She’s worried about my dad, but that’s nothing unusual. He has— He’s fine, but he has high blood pressure, and she thinks he’s not taking his medication properly. It’s more psychological than anything else, you know the way families are.

And he’s pissed off with me because— But that’s boring, it’s all to do with work.

But your dad isn’t working anymore, is he? she said.

Absently he went on circling his hand around her ankle. Right, I mean my work, he answered. You know, we don’t see eye to eye politically. It’s fine, it’s the normal generational thing. He thinks my political views are like, an outgrowth of my stunted personality.

Quietly Eileen said: That’s not very nice.

No. I know. Although I think it hurts my mother’s feelings more than mine. It’s actually— If you heard him, it’s quite a detailed theory he’s developed. Something to do with a Messiah complex. I’m not going to be able to do it justice, because honestly, I kind of tune out when he starts talking about it. But he seems to think I want to go around saving people because it makes me feel powerful and virile or whatever. The funny thing is that my job has absolutely nothing to do with helping people. Maybe if I was a social worker or a doctor or something, but I actually just sit in an office all day. I don’t know. Last time I was home we got into this truly bizarre conflict because I woke up with a headache one morning. He didn’t talk to me all day, and then in the evening he gave me this big long speech about how much my mother had been looking forward to seeing me and how I had ruined her whole weekend by having this headache. He can never say he’s angry with me himself, he always has to project his feelings onto Geraldine, like it was a personal insult to her that I had a migraine. He has a thing about migraines, because she gets them as well, and he’s convinced they’re psychosomatic.

Anyway, she wants me to call him tomorrow about this medication thing, for his blood pressure. Not that it’s going to make any difference what I say. I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve been talking out loud for about a year now, I’m going to stop.

While he spoke, he had been touching the back of Eileen’s calf, the back of her knee, with his fingers, and with his last remark he drew his hand away and sat up.