Normal People(49)

What did he say that for? he says.

I don’t know. He said no one would miss me if I was dead because I have no friends.

Would you not tell your mother if he talked to you like that?

She was there, says Marianne.

Connell moves his jaw around. The pulse in his neck is throbbing. He’s trying to visualise this scene, the Sheridans at home, Alan for some reason telling Marianne to commit suicide, but it’s hard to picture any family behaving the way that she has described.

What did she say? he asks. As in, how did she react?

I think she said something like, oh, don’t encourage her.

Slowly Connell breathes in through his nose and exhales the breath between his lips.

And what provoked this? he says. Like, how did the argument start?

He senses that something in Marianne’s face changes now, or hardens, but he can’t name what it is exactly.

You think I did something to deserve it, she says.

No, obviously I’m not saying that.

Sometimes I think I must deserve it. Otherwise I don’t know why it would happen. But if he’s in a bad mood he’ll just follow me around the house. There’s nothing I can do. He’ll just come into my room, he doesn’t care if I’m sleeping or anything.

Connell rubs his palms on the sheet.

Would he ever hit you? he says.

Sometimes. Less so since I moved away. To be honest I don’t even mind it that much. The psychological stuff is more demoralising. I don’t know how to explain it, really. I know it must sound …

He touches his hand to his forehead. His skin feels wet. She doesn’t finish the sentence to explain how it must sound.

Why didn’t you ever tell me about it before? he says. She says nothing. The light is dim but he can see her open eyes. Marianne, he says. The whole time we were together, why didn’t you tell me any of this?

I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t want you to think I was damaged or something. I was probably afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore.

Finally he puts his face in his hands. His fingers feel cold and clammy on his eyelids and there are tears in his eyes. The harder he presses with his fingers, the faster the tears seep out, wet, onto his skin. Jesus, he says. His voice sounds thick and he clears his throat. Come here, he says. And she comes to him. He feels terribly ashamed and confused. They lie face-to-face and he puts his arms around her body. In her ear he says: I’m sorry, okay? She holds onto him tightly, her arms winding around him, and he kisses her forehead. But he always thought she was damaged, he thought it anyway. He screws his eyes shut with guilt. Their faces feel hot and damp now. He thinks of her saying: I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore. Her mouth is so close that her breath is wet on his lips. They start to kiss, and her mouth tastes dark like wine. Her body shifts against him, he touches her breast with his hand, and in a few seconds he could be inside her again, and then she says: No, we shouldn’t. She draws away, just like that. He can hear himself breathing in the silence, the pathetic heaving of his breath. He waits until it slows down again, not wanting to have his voice break when he tries to speak. I’m really sorry, he says. She squeezes his hand. It’s a very sad gesture. He can’t believe the stupidity of what he’s just done. Sorry, he says again. But Marianne has already turned away.





Five Months Later


(DECEMBER 2013)



In the lobby of the Languages and Literature building she sits down to check her email. She doesn’t remove her overcoat because she’ll be getting up in a minute. Beside her on the desk is her breakfast, which she just purchased from the supermarket across the street: one black coffee with brown sugar, one lemon pastry roll. She eats this exact breakfast regularly. Lately she has started to eat it slowly, in lavish sugary mouthfuls that congeal around her teeth. The more slowly she eats, and the more consideration she gives to the composition of her food, the less hungry she feels. She won’t eat again until eight or nine in the evening.

She has two new emails, one from Connell and one from Joanna. She dabs her mouse back and forth between them, and then selects Joanna’s.

no real news from here, as usual. I’ve recently taken to staying home at night and watching my way through a nine part documentary series about the american civil war. I have a lot of new information about various civil war generals to share with you next time we’re on Skype. how are you? how is Lukas? did he take those photos yet or is that today? and the big question … can I see them when they’re done?? or is that prurient. I await your word. xx



Marianne lifts the lemon pastry, takes a large, slow bite, and lets it dissolve in layers on her tongue. She chews, swallows, then lifts the coffee cup. One mouthful of coffee. She replaces the cup and opens Connell’s message.

I don’t know what you mean by your last sentence there exactly. Do you mean just because we’re far away from each other or because we’ve actually changed as people? I do feel like a pretty different person now than I was then but maybe I don’t seem that different, I don’t know. By the way I looked your friend Lukas up on Facebook, he’s what you would call ‘Scandinavian looking’. Sadly Sweden did not qualify for the World Cup this time so if you end up with a Swedish boyfriend I’ll have to think of another way to bond with him. Not that I’m saying this guy Lukas is going to be your boyfriend or would want to talk to me about football if he was, although it’s something I am putting out as a possibility. I know you like the tall handsome guys as you say, so why not Lukas, who looks tall and is also handsome (Helen has seen his photo and agrees). But whatever, I’m not pushing the boyfriend thing, I just hope you have confirmed he’s not a psychopath. You don’t always have a good radar on that.