Normal People(38)

She has only spare change in her purse, but in a drawer in her bedside cabinet she has three hundred euro in cash. She goes in there now, without switching the light on, and she can hear the voices of her friends murmur through the wall. The cash is there, six fifties. She takes three and folds them into her purse quietly. Then she sits on the side of the bed, not wanting to go back out right away.

*



Things at home were tense over Christmas. Alan gets anxious and highly strung whenever they have guests in the house. One night, after their aunt and uncle left, Alan followed Marianne down to the kitchen, where she had taken their empty cups of tea.

State of you, he said. Bragging about your exam results.

Marianne turned on the hot tap and measured the temperature with her fingers. Alan stood inside the doorway, arms folded.

I didn’t bring it up, she said. They did.

If that’s all you have to brag about in your life I feel sorry for you, said Alan.

The water from the tap got warmer and Marianne put the plug in the sink and squeezed a little dish soap onto a sponge.

Are you listening to me? said Alan.

Yes, you feel sorry for me, I’m listening.

You’re fucking pathetic, so you are.

Message received, she said.

She placed one of the cups on the draining board to dry and dipped another into the hot water.

Do you think you’re smarter than me? he said.

She ran the wet sponge around the inside of the teacup. That’s a strange question, she said. I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it.

Well, you’re not, he said.

Okay, fair enough.

Okay, fair enough, he repeated in a cringing, girlish voice. No wonder you have no friends, you can’t even have a normal conversation.

Right.

You should hear what people in town say about you.

Involuntarily, because this idea was so ridiculous to her, she laughed. Enraged now, Alan wrenched her back from the sink by her upper arm and, seemingly spontaneously, spat at her. Then he released her arm. A visible drop of spit had landed on the cloth of her skirt. Wow, she said, that’s disgusting. Alan turned and left the room, and Marianne went back to rinsing the dishes. Lifting the fourth teacup onto the draining board she noticed a mild but perceptible tremor in her right hand.

On Christmas Day her mother gave her an envelope with five hundred euro in it. There was no card; it was one of the small brown-paper envelopes she used for Lorraine’s wages. Marianne thanked her, and Denise said airily: I’m a bit concerned about you. Marianne fingered the envelope and tried to arrange her face into a suitable expression. What about me? she said.

Well, said Denise, what are you going to do with your life?

I don’t know. I think I still have a lot of options open. I’m just focusing on college at the moment.

And then what?

Marianne pressed her thumb on the envelope and smudged it until a faint dark smear appeared on the paper. As I said, she repeated, I don’t know.

I’m worried the real world will come as a bit of a shock to you, said Denise.

In what way?

I don’t know if you realise that university is a very protective environment. It’s not like a workplace.

Well, I doubt anyone in the workplace will spit at me over a disagreement, said Marianne. It would be pretty frowned upon, as I understand.

Denise gave a tight-lipped smile. If you can’t handle a little sibling rivalry, I don’t know how you’re going to manage adult life, darling, she said.

Let’s see how it goes.

At this, Denise struck the kitchen table with her open palm. Marianne flinched, but didn’t look up, didn’t let go of the envelope.

You think you’re special, do you? said Denise.

Marianne let her eyes close. No, she said. I don’t.

*



It’s almost one in the morning by the time Connell rings the buzzer. Marianne goes downstairs with her purse and finds the taxi is idling outside the building. In the square opposite, a mist wreathes itself around the trees. Winter nights are so exquisite, she thinks of saying to Connell. He’s standing talking to the driver through the window, with his back turned. When he hears the door he turns around, and she sees his mouth cut and bloody, dark blood like dried ink. She steps back, clutching her collarbone, and Connell goes: I know, I saw myself in the mirror. But I’m okay actually, I just need to get cleaned up. In a state of confusion she pays the driver, almost dropping her change in the gutter. On the staircase inside she sees Connell’s upper lip is swollen into a hard shiny mass on the right side. His teeth are the colour of blood. Oh god, she says. What happened? He takes her hand kindly, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.

Some guy came up and asked me for my wallet, he says. And I told him no, for some reason, and then he hit me in the face. I mean, it was a bad idea, I should have just given him the money. Sorry for calling you, it’s the only number I knew off the top of my head.

Oh, Connell, how awful. I have friends round, but what suits you? Do you want to have a shower or something and you can stay here? Or do you want to just get some cash and go home?

They’re outside the door of her apartment now, and they pause there.

Whatever’s good for you, he says. I’m really drunk, by the way. Sorry.

Oh, how drunk?

Well, I haven’t been home since the exams. I don’t know, do I still have pupils?