Normal People(24)

Anyway, I’m sorry, says Marianne again. I wasn’t trying to make things weird with Teresa.

She’s not my girlfriend.

Okay. But it was disrespectful of our friendship.

I didn’t realise you were even close with her, he says.

I meant my friendship with you.

He looks around at her. She tightens her arms around her knees and tucks her chin into her shoulder. Lately she and Connell have been seeing a lot of each other. In Dublin they can walk down long stately streets together for the first time, confident that nobody they pass knows or cares who they are. Marianne lives alone in a one-bedroom apartment belonging to her grandmother, and in the evenings she and Connell sit in her living room drinking wine together. He complains to her, seemingly without reservation, about how hard it is to make friends in Trinity. The other day he lay on her couch and rolled the dregs of wine around in his glass and said: People here are such snobs. Even if they liked me I honestly wouldn’t want to be friends with them. He put his glass down and looked at Marianne. That’s why it’s easy for you, by the way, he said. Because you’re from a rich family, that’s why people like you. She frowned and nodded, and then Connell started laughing. I’m messing with you, he said. Their eyes met. She wanted to laugh, but she didn’t know if the joke was on her.

He always comes to her parties, though he says he doesn’t really understand her friendship group. Her female friends like him a lot, and for some reason feel very comfortable sitting on his lap during conversations and tousling his hair fondly. The men have not warmed to him in the same way. He is tolerated through his association with Marianne, but he’s not considered in his own right particularly interesting. He’s not even smart! one of her male friends exclaimed the other night when Connell wasn’t there. He’s smarter than I am, said Marianne. No one knew what to say then. It’s true that Connell is quiet at parties, stubbornly quiet even, and not interested in showing off how many books he has read or how many wars he knows about. But Marianne is aware, deep down, that that’s not why people think he’s stupid.

How was it disrespectful to our friendship? he says.

I think it would be difficult to stay friends if we started sleeping together.

He makes a devilish grinning expression. Confused, she hides her face in her arm.

Would it? he says.

I don’t know.

Well, alright.

*



One night in the basement of Bruxelles, two of Marianne’s friends were playing a clumsy game of pool while the others sat around drinking and watching. After Jamie won he said: Who wants to play the winner? And Connell put his pint down quietly and said: Alright, yeah. Jamie broke but didn’t pot anything. Without engaging in any conversation at all, Connell then potted four of the yellow balls in a row. Marianne started laughing, but Connell was expressionless, just focused-looking. In the short time after his turn he drank silently and watched Jamie send a red ball spinning off the cushion. Then Connell chalked his cue briskly and resumed pocketing the final three yellows. There was something so satisfying about the way he studied the table and lined the shots up, and the quiet kiss of the chalk against the smooth surface of the cue ball. The girls all sat around watching him take shots, watching him lean over the table with his hard, silent face lit by the overhead lamp. It’s like a Diet Coke ad, said Marianne. Everyone laughed then, even Connell did. When it was just the black ball left he pointed at the top right-hand pocket and, gratifyingly, said: Alright, Marianne, are you watching? Then he potted it. Everyone applauded.

Instead of walking home that night, Connell came back to stay at hers. They lay in her bed looking up at the ceiling and talking. Until then they had always avoided discussing what had happened between them the year before, but that night Connell said: Do your friends know about us?

Marianne paused. What about us? she said eventually.

What happened in school and all that.

No, I don’t think so. Maybe they’ve picked up on something but I never told them.

For a few seconds Connell said nothing. She was attuned to his silence in the darkness.

Would you be embarrassed if they found out? he said.

In some ways, yeah.

He turned over then, so he wasn’t looking up at the ceiling anymore but facing her. Why? he said.

Because it was humiliating.

You mean like, the way I treated you.

Well, yeah, she said. And just the fact that I put up with it.

Carefully he felt for her hand under the quilt and she let him hold it. A shiver ran along her jaw and she tried to make her voice sound light and humorous.

Did you ever think about asking me to the Debs? she said. It’s such a stupid thing but I’m curious whether you thought about it.

To be honest, no. I wish I did.

She nodded. She continued looking up at the black ceiling, swallowing, worried that he could make out her expression.

Would you have said yes? he asked.

She nodded again. She tried to roll her eyes at herself but it felt ugly and self-pitying rather than funny.

I’m really sorry, he said. I did the wrong thing there. And you know, apparently people in school kind of knew about us anyway. I don’t know if you heard that.

She sat up on her elbow and stared down at him in the darkness.

Knew what? she said.

That we were seeing each other and all that.

I didn’t tell anyone, Connell, I swear to god.