Normal People(30)

Hello, says Marianne.

Oh, hey. I didn’t know you were in town.

He glances at his mother, and then scans the crisps and puts them in the bagging area. His surprise at seeing Marianne seems genuine, or at least his reluctance to look at or speak to her does.

I hear you’re very popular up there in Dublin, Lorraine says. See, I get all the gossip from Trinity now.

Connell doesn’t look up. He’s scanning the other items from the trolley: a box of teabags, a loaf of sliced pan.

Your son’s just being kind, I’m sure, says Marianne.

She takes her purse out and pays for her items, which cost three euro eighty-nine. Lorraine and Connell are packing their groceries into reusable plastic bags.

Can we offer you a lift home? Lorraine says.

Oh, no, says Marianne. I’ll walk. But thank you.

Walk! says Lorraine. Out to Blackfort Road? Do not. We’ll give you a lift.

Connell takes both the plastic bags in his arms and cocks his head towards the door.

Come on, he says.

Marianne hasn’t seen him since May. He moved home after the exams and she stayed in Dublin. He said he wanted to see other people and she said: Okay. Now, because she was never really his girlfriend, she’s not even his ex-girlfriend. She’s nothing. They all get in the car together, Marianne sitting in the back seat, while Connell and Lorraine have a conversation about someone they know who has died, but an elderly person so it’s not that sad. Marianne stares out the window.

Well, I’m delighted we bumped into you, says Lorraine. It’s great to see you looking so well.

Oh, thank you.

How long are you in town for?

Just the weekend, says Marianne.

Eventually Connell indicates at the entrance to the Foxfield estate and pulls in outside his house. Lorraine gets out. Connell glances at Marianne in the rear-view mirror and says: Here, get in the front, will you? I’m not a taxi driver. Wordlessly Marianne complies. Lorraine opens the boot and Connell twists around in his seat. Leave the bags, he says. I’ll bring them in when I’m back. She puts up her hands in surrender, shuts the boot and then waves them off.

It’s a short drive from Connell’s house to Marianne’s. He takes a left out of the estate, towards the roundabout. Only a few months ago he and Marianne used to stay up all night together talking and having sex. He used to pull the blankets off her in the morning and get on top of her with this little smiling expression like: Oh hey, hello. They were best friends. He told her that, when she asked him who his best friend was. You, he said. Then at the end of May he told her he was moving home for the summer.

How are things, anyway? he says.

Fine, thanks. How are you?

I’m alright, yeah.

He changes gears with a domineering gesture of his hand.

Are you still working in the garage? she asks.

No, no. You mean where I used to work? That place is closed now.

Is it?

Yeah, he says. No, I’ve been working in the Bistro. Actually your mam was in the other night with her, uh. Her boyfriend or whatever it is.

Marianne nods. They are driving past the football grounds now. A thin veil of rain begins to fall on the windshield, and Connell turns the wipers on, so they scrape out a mechanical rhythm on their voyage from side to side.

*



When Connell went home for Reading Week in the spring, he asked Marianne if she would send him naked pictures of herself. I’ll delete them whenever you want obviously, he said. You can supervise. This suggested to Marianne a whole erotic ritual she had never heard of. Why would I want you to delete them? she said. They were talking on the phone, Connell at home in Foxfield and Marianne lying on her bed in Merrion Square. He explained briefly the politics of naked pictures, not showing them to people, deleting them on request, and so on.

Do you get these photos from a lot of girls? she asked him.

Well, I don’t have any now. And I’ve never actually asked for any before, but sometimes you do get sent them.

She asked if he would send her back photographs of himself in return, and he made a ‘hm’ noise.

I don’t know, he said. Would you really want a picture of my dick?

Comically, she felt the inside of her mouth get wet.

Yes, she said. But if you sent one I would honestly never delete it, so you probably shouldn’t.

He laughed then. No, I don’t care whether you delete it, he said.

She uncrossed her ankles. I mean I’ll take it to my grave, she said. Like I will look at it probably every day until I die.

He was really laughing then. Marianne, he said, I’m not a religious person but I do sometimes think God made you for me.

*



The sports centre flashes past the driver’s-side window through the blur of rainfall. Connell looks at Marianne again, then back at the road.

And you’re with this guy Jamie now, aren’t you? he says. So I hear.

Yeah.

He’s not a bad-looking guy.

Oh, she says. Well, okay. Thanks.

She and Jamie have been together for a few weeks now. He has certain proclivities. They have certain shared proclivities. Sometimes in the middle of the day she remembers something Jamie has said or done to her, and all her energy leaves her completely, so her body feels like a carcass, something immensely heavy and awful that she has to carry around.

Yeah, says Connell. I actually beat him in a game of pool once. You probably don’t remember.