Beautiful World, Where Are You(51)

Okay, pet, she said. I won’t keep you any longer. You have a nice evening now. I love you.

After hanging up the phone, Eileen opened a messaging app and selected Simon’s name. Their most recent exchange displayed on-screen, from the day before, and she scrolled back up to reread the messages in sequence.

Eileen: send me a photo of your room

The next message was a photograph of a hotel room interior, with a double bed taking up most of the floor space. On the bed was a purple duvet and a folded quilt in a different shade of purple.

Eileen: and now one with you in it......

Simon: Haha

Simon: ‘Senior political adviser caught sending explicit images from War of Independence commemoration ceremony’

Eileen: what did the IRA fight for if not our freedoms, Simon?

Simon: ‘It’s what the boys would have wanted,’ insists disgraced former aide Eileen: oh before I forget

Eileen: did you know Alice is in Paris this week ?

Simon: You’re not serious

Simon: Where did she fly from?

Eileen: didn’t say but it has to be Dublin

Simon: International woman of mystery

Eileen: oh god do NOT say that

Eileen: that’s exactly what she wants people to be saying Simon: No, I just hope she’s alright

Simon: If I’m back here early tonight I’ll give you a ring, ok?

After that Eileen had posted the thumbs-up emoji. No further messages had been exchanged. She exited the thread now and returned to the home screen of the messaging app. For a moment her finger hovered over the button to close the app, and then, instead, as if on impulse, she tapped Lola’s name. Lola’s most recent message, from earlier that day, displayed on-screen: Why not?? With her thumbs Eileen began typing out a reply.

Eileen: because he’s going to be there anyway

She hit send, and almost instantly an icon showed that Lola had ‘seen’ the message. The animated ellipsis appeared, and within a few seconds a reply arrived.

Lola: Oh my god

Lola: Speaking of serial killers

Lola: Please tell me it’s not Simon Costigan

Eileen settled herself back against the headboard, typing.

Eileen: wow

Eileen: all these years and you’re still mad that he likes me better than you Lola: Eileen

Lola: You’re not seriously going out with that freak are you Eileen: if I am it’s none of your business

Lola: You realise he goes to confession right

Lola: Like he literally tells his bad thoughts to a priest Eileen: ok

Eileen: firstly, I don’t think that’s really what happens at confession Lola: Money down he turns out to be sexually deviant Lola: He definitely fancied you when you were 15

Lola: And he was at least 20

Lola: Wonder if he told any priests about that Eileen: lmao

Eileen: in our entire lives, literally one man has ever liked me better than you Eileen: and you still can’t get over it

Lola: Alright kiddo

Lola: Just don’t come crying to me when you’re married and pregnant Lola: And some schoolgirls from your neighbourhood start to mysteriously go missing......

For a few seconds Eileen stared down at the screen of her phone, her head swaying absently from side to side, before she began typing again.

Eileen: do you know why you hate him Lola?

Eileen: it’s because he’s the only person who has ever taken my side against you Lola saw this message, but no ellipsis appeared, and no reply arrived. Eileen locked her phone and pushed it away from her, down the bed. Stretching her legs out, she opened up her laptop and started to draft an email to Alice. Twenty minutes later her phone buzzed again and she retrieved it.

Lola: Actual lol

Reading this message, Eileen took a deep breath in and then allowed her eyes to close.

Slowly the breath left her body and re-entered the room, the breath mingling now with the air of the room, moving through the air of the room and dispersing, droplets and microscopic aerosol particles diffusing through the air of the room and dropping slowly, slowly, toward the floor.

/

By ten o’clock the following night, Eileen was in the kitchen of a house in Pimlico, drinking whiskey from a plastic cup and talking to a woman named Leanne. The hours can be long, yeah, Leanne was saying. I’d be in there until nine a few times a week, anyway. Eileen was wearing a black silk blouse and had a thin gold chain around her neck, which glinted under the light from the ceiling fixture. Music was playing from the living room and beside them, at the sink, someone was trying to open a bottle of sparkling wine. Eileen said she left work before six o’clock most evenings. Leanne gave a high, almost horrified laugh. Jesus, she said. Six p.m.? Where do you work, sorry?

Eileen told her she worked for a literary magazine. Paula, who was hosting the party, came over and offered them some sparkling wine. Eileen held up her cup and said: I’m good, thanks. The doorbell rang and Paula put down the bottle and went away again.

Leanne started to tell Eileen about various late nights she had recently spent in the office, on one occasion getting a taxi home at half past six in the morning only to return to work in another taxi two hours later. I can’t imagine that’s good for your health, Eileen said. The door of the kitchen opened then, and Leanne turned around to see who had come in. It was Simon, wearing a white overshirt and carrying a canvas bag on his shoulder. At the sight of him, Leanne let out a cry of greeting. She threw her arms open