Normal People (Page 18)

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.

I do.

Connell nods and adds: He always liked you. Marianne stares out the windshield at the car ahead. It’s true, Jamie always liked her. He sent her a text once implying that Connell wasn’t serious about her. She showed Connell the text and they laughed about it. They were in bed together at the time, Connell’s face illuminated by the lit display on her phone screen. You should be with someone who takes you seriously, the message read.

What about you, are you seeing anyone? she says.

Not really. Nothing serious.

Embracing the single lifestyle.

You know me, he says.

I did once.

He frowns. That’s a bit philosophical, he says. I haven’t changed much in the last few months.

Neither have I. Actually, yeah. I haven’t changed at all.

*

One night in May, Marianne’s friend Sophie threw a house party to celebrate the end of the exams. Her parents were in Sicily or somewhere like that. Connell still had an exam left at the time, but he wasn’t worried about it, so he came along too. All their friends were there, partly because Sophie had a heated swimming pool in her basement. They spent most of the night in their swimsuits, dipping in and out of the water, drinking and talking. Marianne sat at the side with a plastic cup of wine, while some of the others played a game in the pool. It seemed to involve people sitting on other people’s shoulders and trying to knock each other into the water. Sophie got up onto Connell’s shoulders for the second match, and said appreciatively: That’s a nice solid torso you have. Marianne looked on, slightly drunk, admiring the way Sophie and Connell looked together, his hands on her smooth brown shins, and feeling a strange sense of nostalgia for a moment that was already in the process of happening. Sophie looked over at her then.

No need to worry, Marianne, she called. I’m not going to steal him away.

Marianne thought Connell would gaze off into the water, pretending not to hear, but instead he looked around at her and smiled.

She’s not worried, he said.

She didn’t know what that meant, really, but she smiled, and then the game began. She felt happy to be surrounded by people she liked, who liked her. She knew that if she wanted to speak, everyone would probably turn around and listen out of sincere interest, and that made her happy too, although she had nothing at all to say.

After the game was finished Connell came over to her, standing in the water where her legs were dangling. She looked down at him benignly. I was admiring you, she said. He pushed his wet hair back from his forehead. You’re always admiring me, he said. She kicked her leg at him gently and he put his hand around her ankle and stroked it with his fingers. You and Sophie make an athletic team, she said. He kept stroking her leg under the water. It felt very nice. The others were calling him back to the deeper end then, they wanted to have another game. You’re alright, he said. I’m having a break for this round. Then he hopped up onto the side of the pool, beside her. His body was glistening wet. He put his hand flat on the tiles behind her to steady himself.

Come here, he said.

He put his arm around her waist. He had never, ever touched her in front of anyone else before. Their friends had never seen them together like this, no one had. In the pool the others were still splashing and yelling.

That’s nice, she said.

He turned his head and kissed her bare shoulder. She laughed again, shocked and gratified. He glanced back out at the water and then looked at her.

You’re happy now, he said. You’re smiling.

You’re right, I am happy.

He nodded towards the pool, where Peggy had just fallen into the water, and people were laughing.

Is this what life is like? Connell said.

She looked at his face, but she couldn’t tell from his expression if he was pleased or miserable. What do you mean? she said. But he only shrugged. A few days later he told her he was leaving Dublin for the summer.

*

You didn’t tell me you were in town, he says now.

She nods slowly, like she’s thinking about it, like it just now occurs to her that in fact she did not tell Connell she was in town, and it’s an interesting thought.

So what, are we not friends anymore? he says.

Of course we are.

You don’t reply to my messages very much.

Admittedly she has been ignoring him. She had to tell people what had happened between them, that he had broken up with her and moved away, and it mortified her. She was the one who had introduced Connell to everyone, who had told them all what great company he was, how sensitive and intelligent, and he had repaid her by staying in her apartment almost every night for three months, drinking the beer she bought for him, and then abruptly dumping her. It made her look like such a fool. Peggy laughed it off, of course, saying men were all the same. Joanna didn’t seem to think the situation was funny at all, but puzzling, and sad. She kept asking what each of them had specifically said during the break-up, and then she would go quiet, as if she was re-enacting the scene in her mind to try and make sense of it.

Joanna wanted to know if Connell knew about Marianne’s family. Everyone in Carricklea knows each other, Marianne said. Joanna shook her head and said: But I mean, does he know what they’re like? Marianne couldn’t answer that. She feels that even she doesn’t know what her family are like, that she’s never adequate in her attempts to describe them, that she oscillates between exaggerating their behaviour, which makes her feel guilty, or downplaying it, which also makes her feel guilty, but a different guilt, more inwardly directed. Joanna believes that she knows what Marianne’s family are like, but how can she, how can anyone, when Marianne herself doesn’t? Of course Connell can’t. He’s a well-adjusted person raised in a loving home. He just assumes the best of everyone and knows nothing.

I thought you would at least text me if you were coming home, he says. It’s kind of weird running into you when I didn’t know you were around.

At this moment she remembers leaving a flask in Connell’s car the day they drove to Howth in April, and she never got the flask back. It might still be in his glovebox. She eyes the glovebox but doesn’t feel she can open it, because he would ask what she was doing and she would have to bring up the trip to Howth. They went swimming in the sea that day and then parked his car somewhere out of sight and had sex in the back seat. It would be shameless to remind him of that day now that they’re once again in the car together, even though she would really like her flask back, or maybe it’s not about the flask, maybe she just wants to remind him he once fucked her in the back seat of the car they’re now sitting in, she knows it would make him blush, and maybe she wants to force him to blush as a sadistic display of power, but that wouldn’t be like her, so she says nothing.