Normal People (Page 33)

Okay, he says. Right.

And what we’re seeing here is a score of forty-three.

Yeah. Okay.

So that would put us in the territory of a very serious depression, she says. Do you think that matches up with your experience?

He rubs at his eye again. Quietly he manages to say: Yeah.

I’m seeing that you’re feeling very negatively towards yourself, you’re having some suicidal thoughts, things like that. So those are things we’d have to take very seriously.

Right.

At this point she starts talking about treatment options. She says she’s going to recommend that he should see a GP in college to talk about the option of medication. You understand I’m not in a position to make any prescriptions here, she says. He nods, restless now. Yeah, I know that, he says. He keeps rubbing at his eyes, they’re itchy. She offers him a glass of water but he declines. She starts to ask questions about his family, about his mother and where she lives and whether he has brothers and sisters.

Any girlfriend or boyfriend on the scene at the moment? Yvonne says.

No, says Connell. No one like that.

*

Helen came back to Carricklea with him for the funeral. The morning of the ceremony they dressed in his room together in silence, with the noise of Lorraine’s hairdryer humming through the wall. Connell was wearing the only suit he owned, which he had bought for a cousin’s communion when he was sixteen. The jacket was tight around his shoulders, he could feel it when he lifted his arms. The sensation that he looked bad preoccupied him. Helen was sitting at the mirror putting on her make-up, and Connell stood behind her to knot his tie. She reached up to touch his face. You look handsome, she said. For some reason that made him angry, like it was the most insensitive, vulgar thing she possibly could have said, and he didn’t respond. She dropped her hand then and went to put her shoes on.

They stopped in the vestibule of the church to speak to someone Lorraine knew. Connell’s hair was wet from the rain and he kept smoothing it, not looking at Helen, not speaking. Then, through the opened church doors, he saw Marianne. He’d known she was coming back from Sweden for the funeral. In the doorway she looked very slim and pale, wearing a black coat, carrying a wet umbrella. He hadn’t seen her since Italy. She looked, he thought, almost frail. She started putting her umbrella in the stand inside the door.

Marianne, he said.

He said this aloud without thinking about it. She looked up and saw him then. Her face was like a small white flower. She put her arms around his neck, and he held her tightly. He could smell the inside of her house on her clothes. The last time he’d seen her, everything had been normal. Rob was still alive then, Connell could have sent him a message or even called him and talked to him on the phone, it was possible then, it had been possible. Marianne touched the back of Connell’s head with her hand. Everyone stood there watching them, he felt that. When they knew it couldn’t go on any longer, they let go of one another. Helen patted his arm quickly. People were moving in and out of the vestibule, coats and umbrellas dripping silently onto the tiles.

We’d better go and pay our respects, Lorraine said.

They lined up with everyone else to shake hands with the family. Rob’s mother Eileen was just crying and crying, they could hear her the whole way down the church. By the time they got halfway up the queue Connell’s legs were shaking. He wished Lorraine were standing with him and not Helen. He felt like he was going to be sick. When it was finally his turn, Rob’s father Val gripped his hand and said: Connell, good man. I hear you’re doing great things above in Trinity. Connell’s hands were wringing wet. I’m sorry, he said in a thin voice. I’m so sorry. Val kept gripping his hand and looking in his eyes. Good lad, he said. Thanks for coming. Then it was over. Connell sat down in the first available pew, shivering all over. Helen sat down beside him, looking self-conscious, pulling at the hem of her skirt. Lorraine came over and gave him a tissue from her handbag, with which he wiped his forehead and his upper lip. She squeezed his shoulder. You’re alright, she said. You’ve done your bit, just relax now. And Helen turned her face away, as if embarrassed.

After Mass they went to the burial, and then back to the Tavern to eat sandwiches and drink tea in the ballroom. Behind the bar a girl from the year below in school was dressed in a white shirt and waistcoat, serving pints. Connell poured Helen a cup of tea and then one for himself. They stood by the wall near the tea trays, drinking and not talking. Connell’s cup rattled in its saucer. Eric came over and stood with them when he arrived. He was wearing a shiny blue tie.

How are things? Eric said. Long time no see.

I know, yeah, said Connell. It’s been a fair while alright.

Who’s this? Eric said, nodding at Helen.

Helen, said Connell. Helen, this is Eric.

Eric held out his hand and Helen shook it, balancing her teacup politely in her left hand, her face tensed in effort.

The girlfriend, is it? Eric said.

With a glance at Connell she nodded and replied: Yes.

Eric released her, grinning. You’re a Dub anyway, he said.

She smiled nervously and said: That’s right.

Must be your fault this lad never comes home anymore, Eric said.

It’s not her fault, it’s my fault, said Connell.

I’m only messing with you, Eric said.

For a few seconds they stood looking out at the room in silence. Helen cleared her throat and said delicately: I’m very sorry for your loss, Eric. Eric turned and gave her a kind of gallant nod. He looked back at the room again. Yeah, hard to believe, he said. Then he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot behind them. Good of Marianne to come, he remarked. I thought she was off in Sweden or someplace.

She was, said Connell. She’s home for the funeral.

She’s gone very thin, isn’t she?

Eric took a large mouthful of tea and swallowed it, smacking his lips. Marianne, detaching herself from another conversation, made her way towards the tea tray.

Here’s herself, said Eric. You’re very good to come all the way back from Sweden, Marianne.

She thanked him and started to pour a cup of tea, saying it was nice to see him.

Have you met Helen here? Eric asked.

Marianne put her teacup down in her saucer. Of course I have, she said. We’re in college together.

All friendly, I hope, said Eric. No rivalry, I mean.

Behave yourself now, said Marianne.

Connell watched Marianne pouring the tea, her smiling manner, ‘behave yourself’, and he felt in awe of her naturalness, her easy way of moving through the world. It hadn’t been like that in school, quite the opposite. Back then Connell had been the one who understood how to behave, while Marianne had just aggravated everyone.

After the funeral he cried, but the crying felt like nothing. Back in fifth year when Connell had scored a goal for the school football team, Rob had leapt onto the pitch to embrace him. He screamed Connell’s name, and began to kiss his head with wild exuberant kisses. It was only one-all, and there were still twenty minutes left on the clock. But that was their world then. Their feelings were suppressed so carefully in everyday life, forced into smaller and smaller spaces, until seemingly minor events took on insane and frightening significance. It was permissible to touch each other and cry during football matches. Connell still remembers the too-hard grip of his arms. And on Debs night, Rob showing them those photographs of Lisa’s naked body. Nothing had meant more to Rob than the approval of others; to be thought well of, to be a person of status. He would have betrayed any confidence, any kindness, for the promise of social acceptance. Connell couldn’t judge him for that. He’d been the same way himself, or worse. He had just wanted to be normal, to conceal the parts of himself that he found shameful and confusing. It was Marianne who had shown him other things were possible. Life was different after that; maybe he had never understood how different it was.

The night of the funeral he and Helen lay in his room in the dark, not sleeping. Helen asked him why he hadn’t introduced her to any of his friends. She was whispering so as not to wake Lorraine.

I introduced you to Eric, didn’t I? Connell said.

Only after he asked. To be honest, you didn’t seem like you really wanted him to meet me.

Connell closed his eyes. It was a funeral, he said. You know, someone just died. I don’t think it’s really a good occasion for meeting people.

Well, if you didn’t want me to come you shouldn’t have asked me, she said.

He breathed in and out slowly. Okay, he said. I’m sorry I asked you, then.

She sat upright in bed beside him. What does that mean? she said. You’re sorry I was there?

No, I’m saying if I gave you the wrong impression about what it was going to be like, then I’m sorry.

You didn’t want me there at all, did you?

I didn’t want to be there myself, to be honest, he said. I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time, but like, it was a funeral. I don’t know what you expected.

She breathed in quickly through her nose, he could hear it.

You weren’t ignoring Marianne, she said.

I wasn’t ignoring anyone.

But you seemed particularly happy to see her, wouldn’t you say?

For fuck’s sake, Helen, he said quietly.

What?

How does every argument come back to this? Our friend just killed himself and you want to start in with me about Marianne, seriously? Like, yeah, I was glad to see her, does that make me a monster?