Beautiful World, Where Are You(50)
matter write about them. All my filial duties are nothing but a series of rituals on my part designed to shield myself from criticism while giving nothing of myself away. It was touching what you said in your last message about our civilisation collapsing and life going on afterwards. And yet I can’t imagine my life that way – I mean whatever goes on, it won’t be my life anymore, not really. Because in my deepest essence I am just an artefact of our culture, just a little bubble winking at the brim of our civilisation.
And when it’s gone, I’ll be gone. Not that I think I mind.
PS – I hate to ask, but since Simon says he’s coming along with you – should I make up two bedrooms or one?
19
On Friday morning it rained and Eileen took the bus to work. She had finished The Karamazov Brothers by then and was reading The Golden Bowl, standing up on the bus with one hand gripping the yellow upright rail and the other holding a copy of the novel in paperback. After alighting she put her scarf over her head and walked a couple of minutes to the office on Kildare Street in the rain. Inside, her colleagues were laughing at a satirical video about the Brexit negotiations. Eileen stood at the computer where they were gathered to watch it, looking over their shoulders at the screen, as the rain slid softly and noiselessly down the outer panes of the office windows. Oh, I’ve seen this one, she said. It’s funny. After that she made a pot of coffee and sat down at her desk.
She checked her phone and saw a message from Lola about a ‘cake tasting’ later that week. I’m busy tomorrow evening but otherwise free, Eileen wrote back. Let me know what works. Lola replied within a couple of minutes.
Lola: What are you doing tomorrow
Eileen: I have plans
Lola: Heh heh
Lola: Are you seeing someone??
Eileen glanced around the office, as if to check that no one was watching, and then, returning her attention to her phone, she began typing again.
Eileen: no comment
Lola: Is he tall
Eileen: none of your business
Eileen: but yes he’s 6’3”
Lola: !!
Lola: Did you meet him on the internet?
Lola: Is he a serial killer?
Lola: Still if he’s 6’3 I suppose it’s swings and roundabouts Eileen: this interview is terminated
Eileen: let me know about the ‘cake tasting’
Lola: Do you want to bring him to the wedding?
Eileen: that won’t be necessary
Lola: Why not??
Eileen put her phone away and opened a new browser window on her work computer.
For a moment she paused, staring at the search engine on the home page, and then quickly and lightly she tapped out the words ‘eileen lydon’ and hit the return key. A
page of results showed on-screen, with a set of images displayed at the top. One was a photograph of Eileen herself, sandwiched between two black-and-white historical images. The other results were chiefly social media profiles belonging to other people, along with some obituaries and professional listings. At the bottom of the page, a link to the magazine’s website read: Eileen Lydon | Editorial Assistant. She clicked the link and a new page opened. No photograph was included, and the text simply read: Eileen Lydon is an editorial assistant and contributor at the Harcourt Review. Her essay on the novels of Natalia Ginzburg appeared in Issue 43, Winter 2015. The final part of the sentence was hyperlinked and Eileen clicked it, leading to a page on which the magazine issue could be purchased online. She closed the tab then and opened up her work email account.
At home that evening, Eileen called her parents’ landline number, and her father Pat picked up the phone. They talked for a few minutes about a minor political controversy that had been in the news that day, both with similar or even identical tones of disapproval. Please God it won’t be long before the next election, Pat said. Eileen told him she would keep her fingers crossed. He asked her how she was getting on at work and she said: Nothing to report. She was sitting on the bed in her room, one arm holding her phone to her ear, the other resting on her knees. I’ll put you on to your mother, he said. A rasping noise then, and what sounded like clicking, before Mary’s voice said into the receiver: Hello? Eileen gave a strained smile. Hello, she said. How are you? For a little while they talked about work. Mary told an anecdote involving a new member of staff at the school who had mixed up two female teachers who were both named Ms Walsh. That’s funny, Eileen said. After that they talked about the wedding, a dress Eileen had seen in a shop window, two different pairs of shoes Mary was deciding
between, and finally they moved on to the subjects of Lola’s behaviour, Mary’s responses to Lola’s behaviour, and the underlying attitudes revealed by Mary’s responses to Lola’s behaviour. When she loses her temper with you, you expect me to take your side, said Eileen. But when she loses her temper with me, you say it’s none of your business. Mary sighed loudly into the receiver. Okay, okay, she said, I’m a failure, I’ve let you both down, what more do you want me to say? Sternly, Eileen answered: No, I never said any of that. After a pause, Mary asked if she had any plans for the weekend. In a guarded tone of voice she said she was going to see Simon on Saturday night. Is he still with the new girlfriend? Mary asked. Eileen closed her eyes and said she didn’t know. You were very fond of him at one time, Mary said. Eileen said nothing for a few seconds. Weren’t you? Mary prompted. Eileen opened her eyes then. Yes, Mother, she answered. With a smile in her voice Mary went on: He’s a handsome boy alright. Although he must be well into his thirties now, is he? I’m sure Andrew and Geraldine wouldn’t mind seeing him settled. Eileen was rubbing her fingertip over a piece of embroidery on the quilt. Maybe he’ll marry me, she said. Mary gave a shocked hoot of laughter. Oh, you’re wicked, she said. And you know, the way you have him wrapped around your finger, I wouldn’t be surprised. Is that your new scheme? Eileen replied that it was not ‘a scheme’. Well, you’d be a lucky woman, said Mary. Eileen nodded her head in silence for a moment. And would he not be a lucky man? she asked then. Mary laughed again at that. Now Eileen, she said, you know I think the world of you. But I have to say that, because you’re my daughter. Eileen went on tracing over the rough stubbled lines of the embroidery with her index finger. If you have to say it, why have I literally never heard you say it before? she asked. Mary was no longer laughing.