Beautiful World, Where Are You(84)

table and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, dislodging some of the larger shards of glass on the tiles. For a few seconds she just continued standing against the sink, as if she had not even heard him approaching, and then without looking at him, she sat down.

She was shivering, her teeth were chattering. In a low kind of groan she said: Oh God. I feel like I’m going to kill myself. He was leaning against the kitchen table, watching her. Yeah, I’ve felt that way before, he answered. But I haven’t done it. And neither will you. She looked up at him, the expression on her face frightened, penitent, ashamed.

No, she said. I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry. Faintly he smiled and lowered his eyes.

You’re alright, he answered. And I do care whether you live or die, by the way. You know well I do. She went on looking at him for a few long seconds, her eyes moving absently over his figure, his hands, his face. I’m sorry, she said. I’m ashamed of myself.

I thought— I don’t know, I thought I was starting to get better. I’m sorry. He sat up on the surface of the kitchen table then. Yeah, you are getting better, he said. This is just a small little— whatever they call it, a little episode. Are you taking something?

Antidepressants or something. She nodded her head. Yeah, she said. Prozac. He looked down at her sympathetically where she sat on the chair. Oh yeah? he said. You’re doing pretty well on it, then. When I was on that stuff I had no sex drive at all. She laughed, and her hands were trembling, as if in relief after some averted disaster. Felix, she said, I can’t believe I told you I was going to hit you. I feel like a monster. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. Calmly he met her eye. You didn’t want me coming near you, that’s all, he said. You didn’t really know what you were saying. And you’re a psychiatric case, remember. Confused, she looked down at her shaking hands. But I thought I wasn’t anymore, she said. He shrugged his shoulders, taking his lighter from his pocket. Well, you still are, he said. It’s okay, it takes time. She touched her lips,

watching him. When were you on Prozac? she asked. Without looking up he answered: Last year, I went on it for a month or two and then came off again. And I was doing a lot worse stuff than dropping a few wine glasses, believe me. Getting into fights all the time. Stupid things. He rasped his thumb over the sparkwheel of the lighter. You and your friend will be alright, he said. Alice stared down at her lap and said: I don’t know.

I think it’s one of those friendships where one person cares a lot more than the other. He clicked the button down to light the flame and then released it again. You think she doesn’t care about you? he said. Alice was still looking down into her lap, smoothing her hands over her skirt. She does, she said. But it’s not the same. He got down from the table and crossed over to the back door, avoiding the larger fragments of glass. Opening the door out wide, he leaned on the frame and looked out at the damp garden, breathing in the cool night air. For a while neither of them said anything. Alice got up and took a dustpan and brush from under the sink to sweep up the glass. The very smallest shards had scattered the furthest, under the radiator, between the fridge and the countertop, glittering silver with reflected light. When she was finished sweeping up, she dumped the contents of the pan onto a sheet of newspaper and then wrapped that up and put it into the dustbin. Felix was leaning on the door jamb, looking outside. It’s the same thing you think about me, he remarked. Just interesting, that it’s the same. Inside, she straightened up and looked at him. What? she asked. He took a deep breath and exhaled before answering. You think Eileen doesn’t care as much as you do, he said. And you think the same about me, that you care more. Maybe that’s why you got to like me in the first place, I don’t know. Part of me thinks you just hate yourself. Everything you’re doing, moving out here on your own with no car or anything, getting your feelings involved with some randomer you met online, it’s like you’re trying to make yourself

miserable. And maybe you want someone to fuck you over and hurt you. At least that would make sense why you would pick me out, because you think I’m the type of person who could do that. Or would want to. She was standing at the sink, saying nothing. Slowly he nodded his head. Well, I’m not going to, he said. If that’s what you want, I’m sorry. He cleared his throat and added: And I don’t think you like me more. I think we like each other the same. I know I don’t show it in my actions all the time, but I can try to be better on that. And I will try. I love you, alright? She had a strange, dazed look on her face as she listened, holding her hand to her cheek. Even though I’m a psychiatric case, she said. He laughed, standing upright and closing the door behind him. Yeah, he answered. Even though we both are.

After leaving the room, Simon had gone upstairs to the landing and stood for a moment at the door of Eileen’s room. From inside came a high ragged sobbing sound, punctuated by gasps of breath. Gently he knocked on the door with the back of his hand and a sudden silence fell. Hey, he said aloud, it’s just me. Can I come in? The noise of crying started again. He opened the door and went inside. Eileen was lying on her side with her knees pulled up to her chest, one hand in her hair, the other hiding her eyes.

Simon closed the door behind him and went to sit down on the side of the bed, near the pillows. I can’t believe this is my life, she said. He sat looking down at her with a friendly expression. Come here, he said. She sobbed again and clutched hard at her hair.