When they left Danielle’s house, it was pitch-dark, without streetlights, and Eileen lit the torch on her phone so they could find their way down the driveway. In the car, with the doors shut behind them, it was quiet and warm. Felix, you have a beautiful singing voice, Eileen said. He switched the headlights on and started to pull back out onto the road. Yeah, that was for you, he said. Well, for the pair of you, since you’re both from around there. Aughrim. Aren’t you? Not that I really know what the song is about, to be honest. I thought it was a man singing to a woman, but then in the chorus I think it’s a woman singing. Saying her babe lies cold in her arms. It’s probably one of those old songs that’s got a few different lyrics mixed up together. It’s a sad one anyway, whatever it’s about. Simon asked if he played music as well as singing, and Felix answered: A bit. Fiddle mainly. And I’d get by alright on guitar if I had to. Few friends of mine play together, like at weddings and that. I have done weddings before, but from the music side it’s not really my thing. You’re just doing Celine Dion all night or whatever. Alice said she’d had no idea he was so musical. Yeah, he said. Everyone around here would be like that, though. It’s only in Dublin you meet tone-deaf people. No offence. Glancing at Alice before returning his attention to the road, he went on: So you’re thinking of buying the house, are you? I didn’t know that. From the back seat Eileen looked up. Sorry, what? she asked. Alice was putting on lip balm, pleased, a little drunk. Thinking about it, she said. Haven’t decided yet. Eileen burst out laughing then, and Alice turned around in her seat to face her. No, great, said Eileen. I’m happy for you. You’re moving to the countryside. Alice was looking at her with a puzzled frown. Eileen, I already live in the countryside, Alice said. We’re talking about the house where I currently live. Eileen was smiling, shaking her head. No, totally, she replied. You came here on holiday and now you’re going to like, stay on holiday forever. Why not? Simon was watching Eileen, but Eileen was still smiling at Alice. Seriously, Eileen added. It’s great. The house is amazing. Such high ceilings, wow. Slowly, Alice was nodding her head. Right, she replied. Well, I haven’t made any decisions yet. She put the lip balm back in her bag. I don’t know why you’re saying I’m on holiday, she added. Whenever I do go to work, you send me a disapproving email telling me I should be at home. Eileen was laughing again, her face emptied of colour. I’m sorry, she said. I misunderstood the situation, I can see that now. Simon was still watching her, and she turned to him with a bright insincere smile, as if to say: what? Felix remarked that, before buying the house, Alice should get someone in to look at it properly, and Alice said it would need a lot of work anyway, no doubt. They were driving past the hotel then, the lit windows of the lobby, and along the coast road.
Back at the house, Eileen went straight upstairs to her room while the others were still in the hallway. Her lips were pale, her breath shallow and uneven as she turned on the bedside lamp. The darkened bedroom window reflected the faint grey ellipse of her face, and she jerked the curtain closed, the hooks rasping on the rail. From downstairs, the sound of voices, Alice saying: No, no, not me. Simon made some low indistinct reply, and then the others were laughing, high laughter carrying up the stairs. Eileen rubbed her fingers into her closed eyelids. The sound of the fridge door unsealing softly, and a clinking noise like glass. She started to unknot the waist tie of her dress, the linen creased and softened now after a day’s wear, smelling of sun cream and deodorant. Downstairs, the noise of a door opening. She pulled the dress down off her shoulders, taking deep hard breaths in through her nose and releasing them between her lips, and then put on a striped blue nightdress. The noises from downstairs were quieter now, the voices intermingled. Sitting on the side of the mattress, she began to unpin her hair. Downstairs, one of the others was walking along the hallway, whistling. She removed one long black hairpin and dropped it with a faint click on the bedside locker. Her jaw was held tight, her back teeth grinding together. From outside the house, the noise of the sea, low, repetitive, and the air moving soft through the full heavy leaves of the trees. When her hair was loose she combed it out roughly with her fingers and then lay down on the bed and shut her eyes. A crisp snapping sound came from downstairs like a cork popping. She filled her lungs with breath. Her hands clenched into fists and then opened out again, stretching her fingers wide on the duvet, twice, three times. Alice’s voice again. And the other two laughing, the men laughing, at whatever Alice had said. With a quick jerking movement Eileen got to her feet. She tugged a quilted yellow dressing gown from the back of a chair and pulled her arms into the sleeves. Making her way downstairs, she tied the sash of the gown loosely at her waist. At the end of the hallway the kitchen door was pulled shut, the light turned on, a sweet heavy fragrance of smoke in the air. She put her hand to the door handle. From inside, Alice’s voice saying: Oh, I don’t know, not for months. Eileen opened the door. Inside, the room was warm and dimly lit, Alice sitting at one end of the table, Felix and Simon seated together against the wall, sharing a joint. They all looked up at Eileen with surprise, with something like wariness, where she stood in the doorway in her dressing gown. Bravely she smiled at them. Can I join? she asked.
Please do, Alice replied.
Pulling a chair back and sitting down, Eileen asked: What are we talking about?
Felix passed her the joint over the tabletop. Alice was just telling us about her parents, he said.
Eileen took a quick drag and exhaled, nodding her head, everything in her face and bearing showing an effort to be cheerful.
Well, you already know, Alice said to Eileen. You’ve met them.
Mm, Eileen said. Long time ago. But go on.
Turning back to the others, Alice went on: With my mother it’s actually less complicated, because she and my brother are like, suffocatingly close. And then my mother never liked me much anyway.
Yeah? Felix said. That’s funny. My mother loved me. I was her golden boy. Sad, really, because I turned out to be such a fuck-up. But she doted on me, God knows why.
You’re not a fuck-up, said Alice.
To Simon, Felix said: What about you? Were you your mother’s pet?
Well, I was an only child, Simon answered. Certainly my mother was very fond of me, yes. Is very fond of me, I mean. He was turning the base of his wine glass around on the tabletop. It’s not the easiest relationship in my life, he added. I think she sometimes feels kind of confused and frustrated with me. Like in terms of my career, the decisions I’ve made. I suppose she has friends whose children are the same age I am, and they’re all doctors or lawyers now and they have children of their own. And I’m basically still a parliamentary assistant with no girlfriend. I mean, I don’t blame my mother for being confused. I don’t know what happened to my life either.
Felix gave a short cough, and asked: But you have a fairly important job, do you not?
Simon looked around at him, as if the question was surprising, and answered: Oh God, no. Not at all. Not that I think my mother is obsessed with status, by the way. I’m sure she would have liked to have had a son who was a doctor, but I don’t think she’s disappointed in me for not wanting that. Felix passed him the joint and he accepted it. We don’t really have serious conversations, he added. You know, she doesn’t like things to get serious, she just wants everyone to get along. I think in a way she finds me intimidating. Which makes me feel awful. He took a short drag and, after exhaling, added: Whenever I think about my parents I feel guilty. I was just the wrong son for them, it wasn’t their fault.
But it wasn’t your fault either, said Alice.
Intently Eileen was watching this exchange, her jaw held tight, still half-smiling.
What about you, Eileen? said Felix. You get along okay with your parents?
The question seemed to surprise her. Oh, she said. Then, after a pause: They’re not bad. I have an insane sister who they’re both afraid of. And she made my life hell when we were kids. But otherwise they’re okay.
The sister who got married, said Felix.
Yeah, that’s the one, she said. Lola. She’s not really evil, she’s just chaotic. And maybe a bit evil, sometimes. She was really popular in school and I was a loser. I mean, I literally had not one friend. Looking back, I think it’s lucky I didn’t kill myself, because I used to think about it constantly. Around the age of fourteen, fifteen. I tried talking to my mother, but she said there was nothing wrong with me and I was just being dramatic. Here she hesitated, looking down at the bare surface of the table. Then she went on: Really I think I would have done it, but when I was fifteen, I met someone who wanted to be friends with me. And he saved my life.
Quietly Simon said: If that’s true, I’m glad.
Felix sat up then, surprised. What? he said. Was it you?
Eileen was smiling more naturally now, still a little pale and drawn, but enjoying the rehearsal of a familiar story. You know we were neighbours growing up, she said. And when Simon was home from college one summer, he came to help my dad out on the farm. I don’t know why. I suppose your parents told you to.
In a low humorous voice, Simon said: No, I think at the time I’d just finished reading Anna Karenina. And I wanted to go and work on a farm so I could be like Levin. You know he has these profound experiences while he’s cutting grass with a sickle or something, and it makes him believe in God. I don’t really remember the details now, but that was my general idea.
Eileen was laughing, moving her hair around with her hands. Did you really come to work for Pat because you thought it would be like Anna Karenina? she said. I never knew that. I suppose if you were Levin, we were the muzhiks. Addressing the others again, she went on: Anyway, that’s how Simon and I became friends. I was one of the little peasant girls who lived near his family’s estate. Indulgently Simon murmured: I wouldn’t put it quite like that. Eileen dismissed this intervention with a flapping gesture of her hand. And our parents know each other, obviously, she said. My mother actually has an inferiority complex about Simon’s mother. Every year on Christmas Eve, Simon and his parents come over for a drink and we have to scrub the entire house from top to bottom before they arrive. And we put special towels in the bathroom. You know that kind of way.
Smoking again now, leaning back against the wall, Felix said: And what do they think of Alice?
Eileen looked at him. Who, my parents? she asked. He nodded. Yeah, she said. They’ve met a couple of times. They don’t know each other really well or anything.
With a smile Alice said: They disapprove of me.
Felix laughed. Do they really? he asked.
Eileen was shaking her head. No, she said. They don’t disapprove. They just don’t know you very well.
They never liked us living together in college, Alice went on. They wanted Eileen to make friends with nice middle-class girls.
Eileen let out a breath with a raw kind of laughing sound. To Felix, she said: I think they found Alice’s personality a bit challenging.
And now that I’m successful, they resent me, Alice added.
I don’t know where you get that from, said Eileen.
Well, they didn’t like you visiting me in hospital. Did they?
Eileen was shaking her head again, pulling at her earlobe distractedly. That had nothing to do with you being successful, she said.
What did it have to do with? Alice asked.
Felix seemed to have forgotten he was smoking, and let the joint go out between his fingers. Looking up at him, Eileen said: You see, when Alice moved back from New York, she didn’t tell me she was coming home. I was sending her all these emails and messages, hearing nothing back for weeks, and getting really worried and panicky that something had happened to her. And the whole time she was living five minutes away from my apartment. Pointing at Simon, she went on: He knew. I was the only one who didn’t know. And she told him not to tell me, so he had to put up with me complaining to him that I hadn’t heard from her, and all the time he knew she was living on fucking Clanbrassil Street.
In a restrained voice Alice said: Obviously it wasn’t a great time for me.
Eileen was nodding her head, with the same bright effortful smile. Yeah, she said. Not a great time for me either, because my partner of like three years was breaking up with me, and I had nowhere to live. And my best friend wasn’t speaking to me, and my other best friend was acting really weird because he wasn’t allowed to tell me anything.
Eileen, said Alice calmly, with all due respect, I was having a psychiatric breakdown.
Yes, I know. I remember, because when you were admitted to hospital, I was there pretty much every day.
Alice said nothing.
The reason my parents didn’t like me visiting you so much had nothing to do with you being successful, Eileen went on. They just don’t think you’re a very good friend. Remember when you got out of hospital, you told me you were leaving Dublin for a few weeks to get some rest? And now it turns out you weren’t leaving for a few weeks, you were leaving forever. Which everyone seemed to realise except me. But no need to keep me in the loop, obviously. I’m just the idiot who put my bank account into overdraft getting buses to see you in hospital every day. See, I suppose my parents would say you just don’t really care about me.
Simon had bowed his head while Eileen was speaking, but Felix went on watching them both. Alice stared across the table, patches of colour flaring on her cheeks.
You have no idea what I’ve been through, Alice said.
Eileen laughed, a high brittle laugh. Couldn’t I say exactly the same thing to you? she asked.
Alice closed her eyes and opened them again. Right, she said. You mean some guy you didn’t even really like broke up with you. Must have been rough.
From the other end of the table, Simon said: Alice.
No, Alice went on. None of you have any idea. Don’t lecture me. Not one of you understands anything about my life.
Eileen got to her feet and let her chair fall backward onto the floor, slamming the kitchen door shut behind her. Simon sat up, watching her go, and Alice glanced over at him impassively. Go on, she said. She needs you, I don’t.
Looking back at her, Simon answered in a gentle tone of voice: But that hasn’t always been true, has it?
Fuck you, said Alice.
He went on looking at her. I know you’re angry, he said. But I think you also know that what you’re saying isn’t right.
You know nothing about me, she answered.
Gazing down at the surface of the table then, he seemed to smile. Okay, he said. He rose to his feet and left the room, closing the door quietly after him. Alice put her fingertips on her temples briefly, as if her head ached, and then she got to her feet and went to the sink, rinsing out her glass. You can’t trust people, she said. Any time you think you can, they just throw it back at you. Simon is the worst of all. You know what’s wrong with him? I’m serious, it’s called a martyr complex. He never needs anything from anyone, and he thinks that makes him a superior being. Whereas in reality he just leads a sad sterile life, sitting alone in his apartment telling himself what a good person he is. When I was really sick, I called him on the phone one night and he brought me to the hospital. That’s all. And now I have to hear about it whenever I see him. What has he done with his life? Nothing. At least I can say I’ve contributed something to the world. And he thinks he’s superior to me because he picked up the phone once. He goes around making friends with unstable people just so he can feel good about himself. Especially women, especially younger women. And if they have no money, that’s even better. You know he’s six years older than me. What has he done with his life?
Felix, who had not spoken in a long time now, was still sitting on the bench seat with his back against the wall, nursing his bottle of beer. Nothing, he replied. You said that already. I’ve done nothing either so I don’t know why you think I care. Alice stood at the kitchen counter with her back to him, watching him in the reflective surface of the kitchen window. Gradually he noticed her looking, their eyes met. What? he said. I’m not scared of you. She lowered her gaze then. Maybe that’s because you don’t know me very well, she said. He gave an offhanded laugh. She said nothing. He went on watching her back for a few seconds longer. Her face very white, she took an empty wine glass from the draining board and held it in her hand for a moment before dropping it hard down onto the tiles. The bowl part of the glass hit the floor with a crashing noise and shattered into fragments, while the stem remained largely intact, rolling away toward the fridge. In silence he observed her, not moving. If you’re thinking of doing something to hurt yourself, he said, don’t bother. You’ll only make a scene and you won’t feel better afterwards anyway. Her hands were braced against the kitchen counter, her eyes closed. Very quietly she answered: No, don’t worry. I won’t do anything while you’re all here. He raised his eyebrows and looked down at his drink. I’d better stick around so, he said. Her knuckles stood out white where she gripped the counter. I don’t honestly think you care whether I live or die, she said. Felix took a sip of his drink and swallowed. I should be pissed off with you talking to me like that, he remarked. But what’s the point? You’re not even really talking to me anyway. In your head you’re still talking to her. Alice bent down over the sink, her face buried in her hands, and he got up from his seat to go to her. Without turning around she said: Come near me and I’ll fucking hit you, Felix. I will. He stopped there at the table while she stood with her head in her arms. Time passed this way in silence. At length he came out from behind the 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. In a thick voice she answered: You don’t love me. She doesn’t love me. I have no one in my life. No one. I can’t believe I have to live like this. I don’t understand. He laid a broad square hand on her head. What are you talking about? he said. Of course I love you. Come here. For a moment she scrubbed at her face crossly with her hands, not speaking, and then, with the same tense irritated manner, she moved over and rested her head in his lap, her cheek against his knee. That’s better, he said. She was frowning, rubbing at her eyes with her fingers. I ruin everything good in my life, she said. Everything. He went on moving his hand over her hair, smoothing the stray damp strands back off her face. With Alice I’ve ruined everything, she went on. And with you. At that she let out another sob, covering her eyes. He moved his hand slowly back over her forehead, over her hair. You haven’t ruined anything, he said. Ignoring this remark, she paused for breath, and went on: When we were having drinks last night in town— She broke off again to take another heaving breath, and with some effort continued: I actually felt happy for once in my life. I even thought that to myself at the time, for once in my life I feel happy. Sometimes I think I’m being punished, like God is punishing me. Or I’m doing it to myself, I don’t know. Because any time I feel good for even five minutes something bad has to happen. Like in your apartment the other week when we were watching TV together. I should have known it would all get ruined after that, because I was sitting there on your couch thinking to myself, I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy. Any time something really good happens, my life has to fall apart. Maybe it’s me, maybe I’m the one doing it. I don’t know. Aidan couldn’t put up with me. And now Alice can’t either, and neither can you. In a low voice Simon murmured peaceably: Yes I can. Impatiently Eileen wiped away the tears that were still streaming from her eyes. I don’t know, maybe I’m not that great of a person, she said. Maybe I don’t really think about other people, the way I think about myself. Like with you. For all I know you’re more miserable than I am, but you just never say it. And you’re always nice to me. Always. Even right now I’m crying on your lap. When have you ever cried on my lap? Never, you never have. Tenderly he looked down at her, the freckles along her cheekbone, her hot pink ear. No, he agreed. But we’re different people. And I’m not miserable, don’t worry. Sometimes I’m sad, but that’s okay. She gave her head a little shake without lifting it from his lap. But I don’t take care of you the way you take care of me, she said. He was smoothing his thumb slowly over her cheekbone. Well, maybe I’m not very good at being taken care of, he answered. Her tears had subsided, and she lay there on his lap for a moment without speaking. Then she asked: Why not? He gave an awkward smile. I don’t know, he said. Anyway, we were talking about you, I think. She turned her head to look up at him. I wish we could talk about you for once, she said. Looking back down at her, he was quiet a moment. I’m sorry that you feel like God is punishing you, he said. It’s not something I believe he would do. She looked at him a few seconds longer, and then said: When we were on the train the other day I wrote Alice a message saying, I wish Simon had asked me to marry him ten years ago. For a moment he said nothing, apparently in thought. When you were nineteen, he remarked. Would you have accepted such a proposal? She gave a feeble laugh and shrugged her shoulders. Her eyes were hot and swollen. If I had any sense I would have, she answered. But I can’t remember now if I had any sense at that age or not. I think I would have found it extremely romantic, so maybe yes. It would have been a better life, you know. Than whatever I’ve had instead. He was nodding his head, smiling wryly, a little sadly. For me too, he said. I’m sorry. She took hold of his hand then, and they were quiet for a time. I know Alice upset you, he said. She was tracing her thumb over his knuckles. In the kitchen this morning, Felix asked me why I didn’t come to see her sooner, she said. And I started saying, well, what was stopping Alice from coming to see me? Where has she been? It’s not like she has a lot on. Any time she felt like it, she could have hopped on a train and come to visit me. If she loves me so much, why did she move here in the first place? No one made her do it. It’s like she went out of her way to make it difficult for us to see each other, and now she’s nursing her hurt feelings, telling herself I don’t care about her. When actually, she was the one who left. I didn’t want her to go. With this last remark, Eileen started crying again, her face in her hands. I didn’t want her to go, she repeated. Simon was touching her hair, saying nothing. Without looking up she said in a painful voice: Please don’t leave me. Smoothing a lock of her hair back behind her ear, he murmured: No, never. Of course not. For a minute longer, two minutes, she went on crying, and he sat quietly cradling her head in his lap. Finally she sat upright beside him on the mattress, drying her face with her sleeve. I never have been very good at it, he remarked. Being looked after. With a frail little laugh she said: Watch and learn. I’m an expert. Absently he smiled, looking down at his lap. I suppose I’m afraid of imposing myself, he went on. I mean, I don’t like to feel someone is doing something just because they think I want them to, or they feel obliged. Maybe I’m not explaining that properly. It’s not that I never want anything for myself. There are obviously some things I do want, very much. He broke off, shaking his head. Ah, I’m not expressing myself well, he said. Her eyes moved over his face. But Simon, she said, you don’t really let me get near you. Do you know what I mean? And whenever I do get near, you just push me away. He cleared his throat, looking down at his hands. We can talk about it another time, he said. I know you’re upset about Alice, we don’t need to discuss all this now. With a faint crease between her brows she was frowning. But that’s just pushing me away again, she said. He gave a kind of pained smile. I had just got used to the idea that nothing would ever happen between us again, he said. Not that it was easy. But it was easier than wondering, in a way. He was massaging the palm of his hand, under his thumb joint. If I’ve ever done anything for you, it was really for myself, because I’ve wanted to be close to you, he went on. And, if I’m honest, I’ve wanted to feel that you needed me, that you couldn’t do without me. Do you understand what I’m saying? I don’t think I’m being very clear at all. I mean that you’ve done much more for me, really, than I’ve ever done for you. And I’ve needed you more. I do need you more, a lot more, than you need me. He let out a breath. She was watching him in silence. He went on distractedly, almost as if talking to himself: But maybe I’m saying all the wrong things. I find it very hard to talk like this. Again he exhaled, almost like a sigh, and touched his hand to his brow. She went on watching him, only listening, not speaking. Finally he looked up at her and said: I know you’re scared. And maybe you really meant all those things you said about our friendship, just wanting to be friends, and if you did, I’ll accept that. But I feel maybe it’s possible you said those things, at least in some way, because you wanted me to make the other case. As if I would come out and say, please, Eileen, don’t do this to me, I’ve been in love with you all along, I don’t know how to live without you. Or whatever, whatever you wanted me to say. Not that it’s not true, of course it’s true. And maybe even when you’re getting angry at Alice, saying that she doesn’t care about you – I don’t know, maybe it’s the same idea. At some level you want her to say, oh but Eileen, I love you very much, you’re my best friend. But the problem is that you seem to be drawn to people who aren’t very good at giving you those responses. I mean, anyone could have told you – certainly Felix and myself both knew – that Alice was never going to react that way just now. And maybe it’s the same with me, in a way. If you tell me you don’t want to be with me, I might feel very hurt and humiliated, but I’m not going to start begging and pleading with you. At some level, I actually think you know I won’t. But then you get left with the impression that I don’t love you, or I don’t want you, because you’re not getting this response from me – this response that you basically know you won’t get, because I’m not the type of person who can give it to you. I don’t know. I’m not excusing myself, and I’m not excusing Alice. I know you think I’m always defending her, and I suppose when I do that I’m really defending myself, to be honest. Because I see myself in her, and I feel sorry for her. I can see her pushing you away, even though she doesn’t want to, and it hurts her. And I know how that feels. Look, if you meant what you said about just wanting to be friends, I understand, really. I’m not an easy person to be with, I know that. But if you think there’s any chance that I could make you happy, I wish you would let me try. Because it’s the only thing I really want to do with my life. She put her arms around his neck then, turning toward him where they sat on the side of the bed, pressing her face to his throat, and she whispered something only he could hear.
When Alice reached the bottom of the staircase a few minutes later, Eileen was coming out onto the landing. By the low light of a lamp in the hallway they saw one another and paused, Eileen at the top of the stairs looking down, Alice looking up, their faces anxious, wary, aggrieved, each like a dim mirror of the other, hanging there pale and suspended as the seconds passed. Then they went to each other, meeting halfway down the stairs, and they embraced, holding one another tightly, their arms clasped hard around each other’s bodies, and then Alice was saying: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and Eileen was saying: Don’t apologise, I’m sorry, I don’t know why we’re fighting. Both of them laughing then, with strange hiccuping laughter, and wiping their faces with their hands, saying: I don’t even know what we’re fighting about. I’m sorry. They sat down then on the staircase, exhausted, Alice one step below Eileen, their backs against the wall. Do you remember in college we had a fight and you wrote me a mean letter, said Eileen. On refill paper. I don’t remember what it said, but I know it wasn’t nice. Alice gave the hiccuping laugh again weakly. You were my only friend, she said. You had other friends, but I only had you. Eileen took her hand, lacing their fingers together. For a time they sat there on the stairs, not speaking, or speaking absently about things that had happened a long time ago, silly arguments they’d had, people they used to know, things they had laughed about together. Old conversations, repeated many times before. Then quiet again for a little while. I just want everything to be like it was, Eileen said. And for us to be young again and live near each other, and nothing to be different. Alice was smiling sadly. But if things are different, can we still be friends? she asked. Eileen put her arm around Alice’s shoulders. If you weren’t my friend I wouldn’t know who I was, she said. Alice rested her face in Eileen’s arm, closing her eyes. No, she agreed. I wouldn’t know who I was either. And actually for a while I didn’t. Eileen looked down at Alice’s small blonde head, nestled on the sleeve of her dressing gown. Neither did I, she said. Half past two in the morning. Outside, astronomical twilight. Crescent moon hanging low over the dark water. Tide returning now with a faint repeating rush over the sand. Another place, another time.
