Beautiful World, Where Are You(66)

distractedly. Yeah, he said. Eileen, I’ve heard about you. Glancing at him she said: Good things, I hope. She told him Alice was cooking dinner, and he followed her down the hallway, watching the back of her head and her neat narrow shoulders proceeding ahead of him to the kitchen door. Inside, a man was seated at the table and Alice was at the stove, wearing a dirty white apron tied around her waist. Hello, she said. I was just draining the pasta. You’ve met Eileen, this is Simon. Felix nodded, fingering the strap of his backpack as Simon greeted him. The kitchen was a little dim, with just the worktop lights switched on, and candles on the table. The back window was fogged with steam, the glass velvety and blue. Can I give you a hand with anything? Felix asked. Alice was patting her forehead with the back of her wrist, as if to cool herself. I think it’s all under control, she said. But thank you. Eileen was just telling us about her sister’s wedding. Felix hesitated for a moment, and then sat down at the table. At the weekend, was it? he asked. Turning her attention on him with a delighted expression, Eileen began talking again about the wedding. She was funny and moved her hands a lot. Occasionally she invited input from Simon, who spoke in a relaxed voice and seemed to find everything amusing. He too paid a good deal of attention to Felix, catching his eye now and then and smiling in a vague conspiratorial way, as if pleased by the presence of another man, or pleased by the presence of the women but wanting to share or acknowledge this pleasure with Felix. He was handsome, wearing a linen shirt, thanking Alice in a low easy way when she refilled his glass of wine. The table was set with small patterned side plates, silver cutlery, white cloth napkins. A large yellow salad bowl, the leaves inside oiled and glistening. Alice brought a plate of pasta to the table and laid it down in front of Eileen. Felix, I’m serving you last, she said, because the other two are my guests of honour. Their eyes met. He smiled at her, a little

nervously, and said aloud: That’s alright, I know my place. She made a sarcastic face and went back to the cooker. He watched.

/

When they had finished eating, Alice got up to clear the plates from the table. The rattling and scraping of cutlery, the noise of the tap. Simon was asking Felix about work. Tired now and contented, Eileen sat quietly with her eyes half-closed. A fruit crumble warming in the oven. On the table the detritus of the meal, a soiled napkin, sodden leaves in the salad bowl, soft drops of blue-white candle wax on the tablecloth.

Alice asked whether anyone wanted coffee. For me, please, said Simon. A carton of ice cream melting slowly on the countertop, wet rivulets running down the sides. Alice unscrewed the base of a silver coffee pot. And what do you do for a job? Felix was saying. Alice told me you work in politics or something. In the sink a dirty saucepan, a wooden chopping board. Then the hiss and spark of the gas burner, and Alice saying: Do you still take it black? Eileen opening her eyes simply to see Simon half-turn toward Alice where she stood at the burner and say over his shoulder: Yes, thank you. No need for sugar, thanks. His attention returning to Felix then, resettling, and Eileen’s eyes fluttering almost closed once more. The white of his throat. When he trembled over her, blushing, murmuring, is that okay, I’m sorry. The clanking noise of the oven door, the fragrance of butter and apples. Alice’s white apron discarded over the back of a chair, strings trailing. Right, we worked with him on something last year, Simon was saying. I don’t know him well, but his staff speak very highly of him. And the house around them quiet and solid with its nailed-down floorboards, with its bright burnished tiles in the candlelight. And the gardens dim and silent. The sea breathing peacefully outside, breathing its salt air through the windows. To think of Alice living here. Alone, or not

alone. She was standing at the countertop then, serving the crumble out into bowls with a spoon. Everything in one place. All of life knotted into this house for the night, like a necklace knotted at the bottom of a drawer.

/

After dinner Felix went outside to smoke, and Eileen went upstairs to make a phone call. In the kitchen Simon and Alice washed the dishes together. Through the window over the sink Felix’s slim small figure was now and then visible as he wandered around the darkening garden. The lit tip of his cigarette. Alice watched for the sight of him while she dried the dishes with a chequered tea towel and stacked them away in the cupboards. When Simon asked her how her work was going, she shook her head. Oh, I can’t talk about that, she said. It’s secret. No, I’m retired. I don’t write books anymore.

He handed her the damp dripping salad bowl and she patted at it with her tea towel. I find that hard to believe, he said. Felix was no longer visible out the window then, he had gone around the other side of the house, or further back among the trees. You’ll have to believe it, she said. I’m burned out. I only had two good ideas. No, it was too painful anyway. And I’m rich now, you know. I think I’m richer than you are. Leaving the salad tongs down on the wire rack beside the sink, Simon said: I’ll bet. Alice put the bowl away and closed the cupboard door again. I paid off my mother’s mortgage last year, she said. Did I tell you that? I have so much money I just do things kind of randomly. I will do other things, I have plans, but I’m very disorganised. Simon looked at her but she looked away, taking the salad tongs off the rack, wrapping them up in the tea towel to dry them. That was generous of you, he said. She was embarrassed. Yes, well, I’m only telling you so you’ll think I’m a good person, she said. You know I long for your approval. She dropped the tongs into the cutlery drawer. I approve of you