Beautiful World, Where Are You(54)
She was covering her face, her hands scrubbing at her eyes, and her voice when she spoke was muffled and indistinct. Oh God, she was murmuring. I just thought— No, I don’t even know what I thought.
Eileen, what do you want? Because if you seriously want us to be together, I can end things with Caroline any time. I’d be happy to, more than happy. But if you don’t want that, and we’re just playing around and having fun, then, you know. I can’t be single for the rest of my life because it suits you better. I have to, at some point, I have to get over that. Do you see what I’m saying? I’m just trying to figure out what you want.
Closing her eyes, she said nothing for several seconds. Then she said in a low even voice: I want to go home.
Right, he said. You mean now?
She was nodding her head, her eyes shut.
The fastest thing is probably just to keep walking, he said. Is that okay? I’ll see you to your door.
She answered yes. In silence they made their way to Thomas Street and turned left, walking over toward St Catherine’s. At the traffic lights a few cars were idling, and a taxi with its light turned on. Without speaking they walked down Bridgefoot Street and crossed the bridge at Usher’s Island. Streetlights fragmented and dissolved on the black surface of the river. Finally they reached the entrance of Eileen’s apartment building and stood together under the projecting arch of the external doorway. He looked at her, and with her head held straight she looked back at him. After taking a deep breath in, she said effortfully: Let’s just forget about it, can we? He waited a moment as if to let her continue, but she didn’t. I’m sorry to sound stupid, he answered, but about what, do you mean? She went on looking at him, her face thin and pale. I suppose about the whole thing, she said. And we can just be friends again. He started to nod his head while she watched him. Sure, he said. That’s alright. I’m glad we’ve talked about it. He paused briefly and then added: I’m sorry if you thought I was ignoring you at Paula’s house. I had been looking forward to seeing you, very much. I didn’t mean to make you feel ignored. But that’s all. I’m going to head home now, okay? I may not see you during the week, but in any case we’ll see each other at the wedding. She seemed to swallow, and then asked haltingly: Is Caroline going to be there? I know you said you were thinking about bringing her. He looked up at Eileen then, and started to smile. Ah no, he said. I never invited her in the end. But if that was all you wanted, you could
have just told me. No need for such advanced tactics. She turned her face away, shaking her head. No, it wasn’t that, she said. He went on observing her a moment longer, and then said in a friendly voice: Not to worry. See you soon. He walked away, the wheels of his bicycle padded and quiet on the paved street surface.
Eileen took her keys from her pocket and let herself into the building, making her way directly up the stairs and through the front door of her apartment. Pushing her bedroom door open blindly and banging it shut, she lay down on the bed and started crying. Her face was red, a vein in her temple was visible. She hugged her knees to her chest and sobbed with a painful catching sound in her throat. Taking off one of her flat leather shoes, she threw it hard at the opposite wall and it fell limply on the carpet. She let out a noise almost like a scream then and put her face in her hands, shaking her head. A minute went by. Two minutes. She sat up and wiped her face, leaving black make-up smudged under her eyes and on her hand. Three, four minutes. She got to her feet, went to the window and looked out between the curtains. The headlights of a car swept past.
Her eyes were pink and swollen. She scrubbed them once more with her hand and then took her phone from her pocket. The time was 00:41. She opened a messaging app and tapped Simon’s name. An exchange from earlier that day appeared on-screen. Into the reply field Eileen slowly typed the words: Jesus Christ Simon I fucking hate you.
Calmly she surveyed this message, and then, with apparent deliberation, added the lines: Like in your mind we were really just “having fun” all week and you were seeing someone else the whole time? When you were crying all over me the other night telling me how lonely you are, was that your idea of a joke? What the fuck is wrong with you?
Her eyes moved once again over the text, slowly, thoughtfully. Then, holding her thumb to the backspace key, she deleted the draft. Taking deep hard breaths now, she began to
type again. Simon I’m sorry. I feel awful. I don’t know what I’m doing. Sometimes I hate myself so much I wish something heavy would fall on my head and kill me. You are the only person who is ever nice to me and now you probably don’t even want to speak to me anymore. I don’t know why I ruin everything good in my life. I’m sorry. By the time she had finished typing, the clock on-screen read 00:54. She scrolled back to reach the top of the message, and down again to read over the final line. Then she held the pad of her thumb down once more on the backspace key. Again the reply field was blank, the cursor blinking rhythmically over greyed-out text that read: Type a message. She locked her phone and lay back down on the bed.
20
Alice, I am feeling a bit mystified that you’re on another work trip already. When we talked back in February, I got the impression you were leaving Dublin because you didn’t want to see people, and you needed time to rest and recover. When I expressed my concerns about you being on your own all the time, you actually told me that was what you needed. I find it a little bit strange that you’re now sending me these chatty emails about the award ceremonies you’re attending in Paris. If you’re feeling better and you’re happy to be back at work, that’s great, obviously. But presumably you’re flying from Dublin airport for all these trips? Could you not have let any of your friends know you were going to be in town? You obviously didn’t tell Simon or myself, and Roisin has just told me she texted you two weeks ago and got no reply. I completely understand if you’re not feeling up to being sociable, but then maybe you’re pushing yourself to get back to work too quickly. Do you see what I mean?