At nine o’clock they were eating breakfast together in the kitchen, with clouds of steam from the kettle, clattering of plates and cups, sunlight billowing through the back window. Footsteps up and down the staircase after that, and voices calling. Alice threw a straw basket full of beach towels into the boot of the car while Felix stood leaning against the bonnet. Her sunglasses on her head, pushing her damp hair back off her face. He came and put his arms around her from behind, kissed the back of her neck, said something in her ear, and she laughed. The four of them in the car then with the windows rolled down, the smell of hot plastic and stale cigarette smoke, Thin Lizzy on the radio, a crackle of static. Simon in the back seat, saying to Alice: God no, I haven’t heard from her in ages. Eileen’s face at the open window, the wind whipping hard through her hair. When they parked up, the beach ahead was white and glittering, dotted with bathers, people in wetsuits, families with sun umbrellas and coloured plastic buckets. Eleven o’clock on a Tuesday. Down by the dunes Alice and Eileen spread their towels out on the sand, one orange, the other with a pink-and-yellow pattern of seashells. Taking his shoes off, Simon said he would go and see what the water was like. Felix, toying with the drawstring on his swimming shorts, smiled to himself. I knew you’d say that, he said. Go on, I’ll go with you, why not. The tide was out and as they walked the sand was darker, firmer underfoot, crusted with coloured stones and fragments of shell, dried seaweed, the whitened remains of crabs. Ahead of them the sea. The sun beat down hot on their necks and shoulders. Beside Simon, Felix looked small and compact, dark-haired, nimble. Simon’s shadow longer over the flat wet sand. Felix started asking about his job again, asking what he actually did all day. He said he mostly attended meetings, sometimes with politicians, and sometimes with activists and community groups. Saltwater mild over their feet, and then cold on their ankles, colder still up at their knees. In the last few months Simon said they had been working a lot with an organisation for refugees. Helping them, said Felix. Trying to, said Simon. Is the water always this cold, by the way? Felix laughed, his teeth were chattering. Yeah, it’s always horrible, he answered. Don’t know why I came in, I usually never do. And you’re renting in Dublin, or you own a place? He was hugging his arms against his chest as he spoke, shivering his shoulders. Right, I have an apartment, Simon said. I mean, I have a mortgage. Felix splashed his hand idly through the surface of the water, kicking up a little white spray in Simon’s direction. Without raising his eyes, he said: Yeah, my mam died there last year and she left us the house. But that’s still got ten years on the mortgage as well. He rubbed the back of his neck with his wet fingertips. I don’t live there or anything, he added. My brother is actually in the middle of selling it now. Simon listened in silence, wading along to keep pace, the water waist-high now. He said gently that he was very sorry to hear that Felix had lost his mother. Felix looked at him, screwed one eye shut, and then looked back down at the water. Yep, he said. Simon asked how he felt about selling the house and he gave a strange, hard laugh. It’s funny, he replied. I’m avoiding my brother for the last six weeks trying to get out of signing it over. Isn’t that mad? I don’t know why I’m doing it. It’s not like I want to live there. And I really need the money. But that’s me, can’t do things the easy way. He splashed his hand through the water again aimlessly. It’s good you’re doing that stuff you were saying, about the asylum seekers, he said. God love them. Simon seemed to consider this a moment, and then said that he felt increasingly frustrated with his work, because all he really did was go to meetings and write reports that no one ever read. But at least you care, said Felix. A lot of people don’t. Simon said that while of course he did care, in theory, it didn’t seem to make much difference whether he did or not. Most of the time I’m going about my life like it’s not even happening, he added. I mean, I meet with these people who’ve gone through things I can’t even begin to understand. And as much as I’m on their side in principle, and I go to work every day and do my job, in reality I spend most of my time thinking about— I don’t know. Felix gestured back toward the shore, at the reclining forms of Alice and Eileen. The likes of them, he said. Smiling now, Simon turned his eyes away and said yes, the likes of them. Felix was observing him carefully. You’re religious, are you? he asked. Simon paused a moment before looking back up at him. Did Alice tell you that, he said, or did you just guess? Felix gave another cheerful laugh. The Catholic guilt was a giveaway, he answered. Nah, she told me. For a few seconds they were silent, walking on. Quietly, Simon said that at one time in his life he had thought about joining the priesthood. Felix was observing him, mild, interested. And why didn’t you, he said, if you don’t mind me asking? Simon was looking down into the cold cloudy water, the surface broken up here and there by fragments of reflected light. Then he answered: I was going to say that I thought politics would be more practical. But the truth is, I didn’t want to be alone. Felix was grinning to himself. That’s your problem, he said, you’re hard on yourself for not being more like Jesus. You should do what I do, just be a dickhead and enjoy your life. Simon looked up then, smiling. You don’t seem like a dickhead, he said. But I’m glad to know you enjoy your life. Felix waded a little further ahead into the water. Without turning back he said aloud: I’ve definitely done a lot of stuff I shouldn’t have done. But there’s no point crying over it, is there? I mean, maybe I do cry over it sometimes, but I try not to. Simon watched him for another second or two, the water lapping up around his small white body. Well, we’re all sinners, Simon said. Felix turned around and looked at him then. Oh yeah, he said. He started laughing again. I forgot you lot believed that, he added. Absolute freaks, no offence. Come on, we’re not going to get a swim in at all if you stay standing there. He walked in a few steps further and then dipped his whole body under the surface of the water, disappearing completely.
On the shore Eileen was sitting up, cross-legged, leafing through a collection of short stories. Alice was lying on a towel beside her, sunlight glistening on her damp eyelids. A breath of wind caught at a page of Eileen’s book and she smoothed it back down impatiently with her hand. Without opening her eyes Alice said: So what’s the situation? Eileen made no reply at first, did not even lift her head. Then she said: With Simon, you mean. I don’t know what the situation is. You know, I think we’re very different people. Alice’s eyes were open now, shielded by the flat of a hand, looking up at her. What does that mean? she asked. Eileen frowned down at a page of dense black type and then closed the book. He’s seeing someone else, she said. But I don’t know if it would have worked out between us anyway. You know, we’re just very different. Alice still had her hand up, shading her eyes. You said that before, but what does it mean? she asked. Eileen put the book down then and took a drink of water from her bottle. After swallowing she said: You’re being intrusive. Alice dropped her hand away and closed her eyes again. Sorry, she said. Eileen put the cap back on the bottle, saying: It’s a touchy subject. A small insect landed on Alice’s towel and zipped away again through the air. Understandably, said Alice. Eileen was looking out at the horizon, two figures dropping down now below the surface of the water, and now emerging again, changing places with one another. If it didn’t work out, it would be too depressing, she remarked. Alice sat up on her elbows, digging two little hollows in the soft sand. But if it did work out, said Alice. That’s gambling mentality, Eileen replied. Alice was nodding her head, her eyes travelling up and down the seated figure of her friend beside her. The slender black shoulder strap of her swimsuit. That’s risk aversion, said Alice. Eileen was half-smiling. Self-sabotage, then, Eileen answered. Alice was smiling too, cocking her head to one side. That’s arguable either way, she said. He does love you, though. Eileen glanced around at her then, saying: What, he said that to you? Alice shook her head. No, I just mean it’s obvious, she replied. Eileen bent forward over her crossed legs, planting her hands down on the rough pink-patterned towel in front of her, the little ridges of her spine showing through the thin synthetic cloth of her swimsuit. Right, in a way he loves me, she said. Because I’m a little idiot who can’t do anything for myself, that’s his big thing. She straightened up again and rubbed her eyes with her hands. Earlier in the year, around January or February, I started getting really bad headaches, she said. And one night I went down this rabbit hole online looking up my symptoms, and I convinced myself I had a brain tumour. This is a completely stupid story, by the way. Anyway, I called Simon at like one in the morning to tell him I was scared I had brain cancer and he got a taxi over to my apartment and let me cry on him for like an hour. He didn’t even seem annoyed, he was just very chilled out. Not that I wanted him to be annoyed. But would I ever do that for him? If he called me in the middle of the night saying, oh hey Eileen, what’s up, I’ve irrationally convinced myself I have a rare form of cancer, do you want to come over and let me cry on you until I tire myself out and fall asleep? There’s no point even imagining how I would react, because it’s just something he would never do. In fact if he did that, I would assume there genuinely was something wrong with his brain. Alice was laughing. You have all these stories where you’re a hypochondriac, she said. But you never come across that way to me. Eileen had taken her sunglasses from her bag and was cleaning them on a corner of the sweater she had taken off. No, that’s what I’m saying, she said. Simon gets the absolute dregs of my personality. I don’t know why I’m criticising him, I should be criticising myself. What adult woman would behave like that? It’s awful. Alice was digging her elbows down into the towel contemplatively. After a moment she said aloud: You mean you don’t like who you are, when you’re with him. Eileen frowned to herself then, inspecting the sunglasses under the light. No, not that, she said. I just feel like our relationship is very one-way. Like he’s always fixing things for me and I never fix anything for him. I mean, it’s great that he’s so helpful. And I need that, in a way. But he doesn’t need anything back from me. After a pause she added: Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He has this twenty-three-year-old girlfriend who everyone says is great. Alice lay back down on the beach towel. The figures of Simon and Felix were no longer visible from where Eileen was sitting, just the vast haze of light and water, thin waves breaking like thread. Behind them the village glittered white along the coast, as far as the lighthouse, and to the left were the empty sand dunes. Alice rested the back of her hand against her forehead. Could you really live here, do you think? Eileen asked. Alice looked over at her with no surprise. I do live here, she said. A frown flickered over Eileen’s features and instantly receded. No, I know that, she said. But I mean in the long term. Mildly Alice replied: I don’t know. I’d like to. Behind them a young family made their way down from the caravan park, two children toddling ahead in matching dungarees. Why? asked Eileen. Alice gave a smile. Why not? she said. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? In a low tone Eileen answered: Sure, obviously. She was looking down at the towel then, smoothing out creases with her long fingers, while Alice watched her. You could always come and live with me, Alice replied. Eileen shut her eyes and opened them again. Unfortunately I have to work for a living, she said. Alice hesitated for a moment, and then answered lightly: Don’t we all. The men were coming out of the water then, glistening wet, reflecting the light of the sun, and they were speaking to one another, at first inaudibly, their shadows cast behind them on the sand, dappled blue, and the women fell silent and watched them.
/
At two o’clock, Felix went out to work and the other three walked around the village. It was a hot afternoon, black patches of tar softening on the roads, school exam students dawdling in their uniforms. In the charity shop beside the church Eileen bought a green silk blouse for six euro fifty. Felix meanwhile was wheeling a tall stillage trolley through the aisles of the warehouse, angling his body against the mechanism of the trolley in a certain precise manner in order to guide it around corners, placing his left foot just behind the back wheels while his hands loosed and then regripped the handles. He carried out this action identically again and again, never seeming to think about it except when he miscalculated and the weight of the trolley slipped briefly out of his control. In Alice’s kitchen, Simon was making dinner, and Alice was encouraging Eileen to write a book. For some reason Eileen was holding in her lap the silk blouse she had purchased earlier in the day. Occasionally while Alice spoke she petted the blouse absent-mindedly as if it were an animal. She seemed in one sense to be giving her conversation with Alice a very deep and sustained attention, but in another sense she hardly seemed to be listening at all. She looked down at the tiles, apparently thinking, her lips sometimes moving silently as if to form words, but saying nothing.
After dinner, they walked down to meet Felix for a drink. A cool light was fading over the sea, blue and faintly yellow. Felix was standing outside The Sailor’s Friend when they arrived, talking on the phone. He waved to them with his free hand, saying into his phone: We’ll see, I’ll ask. Listen, I’ll let you go, alright? They went inside together then. If it isn’t the bold Felix Brady, said the barman. My best customer. To the others, Felix said: That’s his idea of a joke. The four of them sat down together in a booth near the empty fireplace, drinking, and talking about different cities they had lived in. Felix asked Alice about New York, and she said she had found it stressful and confusing. She said everybody there lived in very strange buildings, with hallways and staircases that led nowhere, and none of the doors ever closed properly, even bathroom doors, even in expensive places. Felix said he had moved to London after he finished school and spent some time there working as a barman, including a short stint at a strip club, which he told them was the most depressing job he’d ever had. Addressing Simon, he asked: Have you ever been to a strip club? Politely, Simon said no. Awful places, said Felix. You should have a look sometime, if you ever feel like things are going okay in the world. Simon said he had never lived in London but had spent a bit of time there when he was at university, and after that he had lived in Paris for several years. Felix asked whether he spoke any French, and Simon said yes, adding that his partner at the time had been Parisian and they had spoken French at home. You lived together? said Felix. Simon was taking a drink from his glass. He nodded. How long for? said Felix. Sorry, I’m like interviewing you now. I’m just curious. Simon said about four or five years. Raising his eyebrows, Felix said: Oh right. And you’re single now, are you? Simon gave a wry smile at that, and Felix laughed. Eileen was plaiting a lock of her hair idly with her fingers, watching them. Yes, I’m single, Simon said. Dropping the half-finished braid, Eileen interjected: Well, you’re seeing someone. This remark seemed to interest Felix, and he glanced back at Simon quickly. No, not at the moment, Simon replied. You mean Caroline, we’re not seeing each other anymore. Eileen affected a surprised face, opening her mouth up in the shape of an ‘o’, and then, perhaps to mask some real surprise, returned to plaiting her hair. So secretive, she said. You weren’t going to tell me? To Felix, she added: He never tells me anything. Simon sat watching her, amused. I was going to tell you, he said. I was just waiting for the opportune moment. She let out a little laugh, her face turning pink. Opportune in what sense? she asked. Cheerfully Felix put his glass down on the table. Now we’re having fun, he said.
After another drink, another, and one more, they left the bar and went to get ice cream. Eileen and Alice were laughing, talking about someone they had hated in college, who had recently married someone else they had also hated in college. Have they always been so mean? Felix said to Simon. In a humorous tone, Simon answered that Eileen had actually been a nice girl before she met Alice, and Alice called back: I knew you were going to say that. The shop on the corner with its sliding automatic doors, buzzing white light fixtures, glossy floor tiles. By the fruit and vegetable crates, a display of fresh flowers. Gravy granules, rolls of baking paper, identical bottles of vegetable oil. Alice slid open the freezer door and they each selected a pre-packaged ice cream. Then she remembered they would need milk and soda bread for breakfast, and kitchen roll, and Eileen wanted toothpaste. As they approached the till with these items, Alice took her purse from her bag, and Simon said: No, no, let me. Eileen watched him fish his wallet from his pocket, a slim leather wallet, which he unfolded with one hand to take out his card. Glancing up, he caught her looking, and sheepishly she smiled, touching her ear, and he smiled back at her. Quietly Felix looked on, while Alice packed the items into a cloth bag. Walking back up the coast road, they ate their ice creams and talked about whether they had gotten any sunburn at the beach earlier. Alice and Eileen falling behind together, arm in arm, talking about Henry James. I never know what to think until I talk to you, Alice said. Simon and Felix striding up the hill ahead, Felix asking about Simon’s family, about where he grew up, about his previous relationships. Politely and pleasantly Simon answered his questions, or else smiled and said only: No comment. Felix nodding his head, amused, hands in his pockets. Just girls, is it, he said. Simon looked around at him then. Sorry? he asked. With a serene expression Felix looked back at him. Is it just girls you like, he said. For a moment Simon said nothing, and then in a low easy tone of voice answered: So far. Felix’s high laughter then echoing off the facades of houses. Past the street entrance to the caravan park, the golf links silent and blue, the hotel with its bright glass lobby, they walked.
At the house they wished one another goodnight and went upstairs. In the en suite Alice brushed her teeth while Felix sat up in bed scrolling through the notifications on his phone. You know my friend Dani, he said, she’s having people over for her birthday tomorrow. Nothing wild, her nieces and nephews will be there and all that. I might just show the face, is that alright? Alice appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, drying her hands on a towel. Of course, she said. He was nodding his head, looking her up and down. You can come if you want, he added. And the other two. She hung the towel up then and came to sit down on the bed, taking her necklace off. That might be fun, she said. Would Dani mind? He sat up and reached to help her with the clasp. No, not at all, he said. She told me to say it to you. Alice let the necklace spool out into her hand and then dropped it on the bedside cabinet. Attractive, isn’t he? Felix added. Your friend. Simon. Alice gave a feline little smile then and got onto the bed. I told you he was, she said. Felix put his hand behind his head, looking up at her. He reminds me of you, he replied. Keeps his cards close. She picked up her pillow and batted him with it. Sadly, I suspect he might be heterosexual, she said. Tucking the pillow behind his head, Felix answered mildly: Yeah? We’ll see. She laughed, climbing on top of him. You’re not going to leave me for him, are you? she asked. Smoothing his hands down from her hips, down her thighs, he said: Leave you? No, not at all. You don’t think the three of us could have a bit of fun together, no? She was shaking her head. And where would Eileen be in this scenario? she asked. Downstairs knitting? Felix pouted his bottom lip thoughtfully, and then remarked: I wouldn’t rule her out. Alice ran a finger over one of his dark eyebrows. This is what I get for having such good-looking friends, she said. He was smiling. You’re not so bad yourself, you know, he said. Come here.
Eileen meanwhile was sitting on her bed scrolling on her phone through a series of wedding photographs her mother had sent her. On the floor, a discarded cardigan, her swimsuit with its straps tangled, sandals with the buckles hanging open. On the bedside table a lamp with a pleated pink shade. When a knock sounded softly on her door she looked up and said aloud: Hello? Simon opened the door a crack. His face in the shadow, his hand on the handle. I’ll just leave your toothpaste in the bathroom, he said. Sleep well. With her arm she gestured for him to come inside. I’m looking at wedding photos, she said. He closed the door behind him and sat down on the side of the bed. The photograph on her screen showed Lola and Matthew standing together outside the church, Lola holding a bouquet of pink and white flowers. That’s nice, said Simon. She scrolled on to the next image then, the bridal party standing together, Eileen in her pale-green dress, half-smiling. Ah, you look beautiful, Simon said. She moved over on the bed and patted the mattress to invite him. He sat beside her, their backs against the headboard, and she scrolled on. Photographs from the drinks reception. Lola laughing with her mouth open, a flute of champagne in her hand. Yawning now, Eileen nestled her head against Simon’s shoulder, and he settled his arm around her, warm and heavy. After a minute or two she put the phone down on her lap and let her eyes drift closed. Today was fun, she said. His fingers moved idly over the back of her neck, up into her hair, and she gave a soft pleasurable sigh. Mm, he said. She rested her hand on his chest, her eyes half-open. So what happened with Caroline? she asked. Looking down at her hand, he answered: I told her there was someone else. Eileen paused, as if waiting for him to continue. Then she said: Anyone I know? His fingers behind her ear, through her hair. Oh, just the same girl I’ve been in love with all along, he said. Now and then she likes to toy with my feelings to make sure I’m still interested. She sucked on her lower lip and released it. Heartless woman, she said. He was smiling to himself. Well, it’s my fault for spoiling her, he said. I’m a terrible fool about her, really. She moved her hand down over his shirt buttons, down to the buckle of his belt. Simon, she said. You know the night I came over to your apartment, when you were sleeping. He said yes. When we got into bed that night, she went on, you just turned over on your side, away from me. Do you remember that? With a self-conscious smile he said he remembered. She was tracing the buckle of his belt with her fingers. You didn’t want to touch me? she asked. He let out a kind of laugh, looking down at her small white hand. No, of course I did, he replied. But when you came upstairs I thought you seemed upset about something. She was thoughtful for a moment. I was, kind of, she said. I suppose I thought it would make me feel better if we slept together. I’m sorry if you think that’s bad. But when you turned away from me, I felt like, maybe you didn’t really want me after all. He was smoothing his hand down over the back of her neck. Oh, he said. That didn’t occur to me. I mean, I had no idea you wanted to sleep with me to cheer yourself up. I was doing it purely because I wanted to, and you let me. I wasn’t even really sure why you were letting me, to be honest. I suppose I thought, maybe it was good for your self-esteem to get in bed with someone who wanted you so badly. I’ve had that feeling before, like it’s flattering to be the object of desire, and maybe it’s so flattering that it’s even kind of sexy in a way. But it never went through my mind that you would think I didn’t want you. I suppose the way I think about these things— I mean, even when we do make love, I sometimes feel like it’s something that I’m doing to you, for my own reasons. And maybe you get some kind of innocent physical pleasure out of it, I hope you do, but for me it’s different. I know you’re going to say that’s sexist. She was laughing, her mouth was open. It is sexist, she said. Not that I mind. It’s flattering, like you were saying. You have this primal desire to subjugate and possess me. It’s very masculine, I think it’s sexy. Lifting his hand, he touched his thumb to her lower lip. I do feel that, he said. But at the same time, you have to want it. She looked up at him, her eyes were wide and dark. I do, she said. He turned over then and kissed her mouth. For a time they lay like that with their arms around one another, his hand caressing the small hard bone of her hip, her breath hot and damp on his neck. When he put his hand under her dress, she shut her eyes and let out a low breath. Ah, you’re being very good, he murmured. She gave a kind of animal cry, she was shaking her head. Oh God, she said. Please. Laughing again now, he asked: What does that mean, ‘please’? She went on shaking her head against the pillow. You know what it means, she replied. He smoothed a strand of her hair behind her ear. I don’t have a condom, he said. She told him it was okay. Then she added: As long as you’re not having unprotected sex with anyone else. His ears were red, he was smiling. No, no, he said. Just you. Can I take this off? She sat up and he lifted her dress off over her head. Underneath she was wearing a soft white bra and he reached behind her to unhook it. Watching him while he slipped the straps off her shoulders, she gave a little shiver. She lay down on her back then and took off her underwear. Simon, she said. He was unbuttoning his shirt, looking over at her attentively. Do you do this with all your girlfriends? she asked. I mean, the way you talk to me, telling me that I’m being good. Do you do it a lot? Not that it’s my business, I’m just curious. He gave a kind of shy smile. No, never, really, he said. I’m improvising. Is it okay? She laughed then and so did he, embarrassed. Oh, I love it, she said. I was just wondering, after the last time. You know, maybe this is his thing, maybe he’s like this with all the other women. He was leaving his clothes down on the floorboards. There hav-en’t really been that many women anyway, he said. Not that I want to spoil the fantasy for you. She shaded her eyes, and she was smiling. How many, she said. He lay down on top of her then. Let’s not, he answered. With her arms around his neck she asked: Less than twenty? He gave a funny frown. Fewer, he said. Yes. Is that what you think, twenty? She was grinning, she licked her teeth. Fewer than ten? she asked. He took in a patient breath and then answered: I thought you were going to be good. She bit her lip. I am, she said. When he moved inside her she made a hard little gasping sound and said nothing. He closed his eyes. Oh, I love you, he murmured. In a small childish voice she said: And am I the only one you love? He kissed the side of her face then, saying: Jesus, God, yes.
Afterwards, she turned over on her belly, her arms folded on the pillow, her head turned to look at him. He pulled a corner of the quilt up over himself and lay down on his back with his hand behind his head. His eyes were closed, he was sweating. Sometimes I wish I was your wife, she said. Catching his breath still, he smiled to himself. Go on, he answered. She settled her chin down on her arms. But when I think about being married to you, she went on, I picture it too much like this. Like we get to spend the whole day with our friends, and then at night we lie in bed together making love. In real life you’d probably be away all the time at conferences. Having affairs with people’s secretaries. Without opening his eyes he replied that he had never had an affair in his life. But you’ve never been married, she pointed out. See, your girlfriends are always the same age. A wife gets older. He laughed then. Such a brat, he said. If you were my wife I’d put manners on you. She watched him for a moment in silence. Then she remarked: But if I was your wife we wouldn’t be friends. Languidly he opened an eye to look at her. What do you mean? he asked. She gazed down at her arms, thin, and freckled from the sun. I’ve just been thinking about these situations, she said, where people who are friends get into relationships. And usually it ends badly. I mean, of course that’s true in any case when people get together. But in most cases you can just block the person’s number and move on. Whereas I don’t really want to block your number, personally speaking. She propped herself upright on her elbows, looking down at him. Do you remember when I was like, fourteen or fifteen, you told me we were going to be friends for the rest of our lives? she asked. I know you probably don’t remember, but I do. He was lying very still and listening to her. Sure, he said. Of course I remember. She nodded her head several times in quick succession, sitting up now on the mattress, gathering the quilt around her body. And what about that? she asked. If we get together and then break up— Even saying that is so painful, I just, I don’t even want to think about it. With everything the way it is— I mean, Alice living out here in the middle of nowhere, and all our friends like, emigrating constantly, and I have to buy illegal antibiotics on the internet when I get a urinary tract infection because I’m too poor to go to the doctor, and every election everywhere on earth makes me feel like I’m physically getting kicked in the face. And then not to have you in my life? Jesus, I don’t know. It’s hard for me to imagine going on in those circumstances. Whereas, if we just stay friends, okay we can’t sleep together, but what’s the likelihood we’ll ever fall out of each other’s lives? I can’t imagine it, can you? Quietly he answered: No. I see what you mean. She rubbed her hands down her face, shaking her head. In some ways, maybe our friendship is actually more important, she said. I don’t know. When I was living with Aidan, I sometimes thought, it’s a little bit sad that I’ll never find out what might have happened with Simon. But maybe, in a way, it’s better not to know. We’ll always be in each other’s lives and we’ll always have this feeling between us, and it’s better. Sometimes when I get really sad and depressed, you know, I lie in bed and think about you. I don’t mean in a sexual way. I just think about the goodness of you as a person. And since you like me, or you love me, I must be okay. I can feel that feeling inside myself even now while I’m describing it to you. It’s like, when everything is really bad, it’s this one small feeling the size of an acorn, and it’s inside me, here. She gestured to the base of her breastbone, between her ribs. It’s like the way, when I’m upset, I know I can call you, and you’ll say soothing things to me, she said. And when I think about that, most of the time I don’t even need to call you, because I can feel it, the way I’m describing. I can feel that you’re with me. I know that probably sounds stupid. But if we got together and then broke up, would I not be able to feel that anymore? And what would I have inside here instead? She tapped the base of her breastbone again with anxious fingers. Nothing? she asked. He lay there on the bed watching her, and for a few moments was silent. Then he said: I don’t know. It’s very difficult. I understand what you’re saying. With a desperate, almost disbelieving look, she stared at him. But you’re not saying anything back to me, she said. He gave a kind of self-deprecating smile, looking up at the ceiling. Well, it’s complicated, he replied. Maybe you’re right, it’s better to draw a line under it, and not put ourselves through all this anymore. I do find it very difficult, hearing you say these things. You know, I felt terrible about the situation with Caroline, and I really wanted to fix it. But from what you’re saying now, I suppose it wasn’t really about that, it was something else. I do understand your reasons, but from what you’re saying, it sounds like you don’t actually want to be with me. She stayed there staring at him, her hand still pressed to her chest. He rubbed his jaw and sat up from the bed with his feet on the floorboards. His back was turned to her. I’ll let you get some sleep, he said. He picked his clothes up off the floor and put them back on again. She sat on the mattress, the quilt wound around her body, saying nothing. Finally he finished buttoning his shirt and turned to look at her. When you came over that night, he said, after I got back from London, I felt very excited to see you. I don’t know if I said that, or maybe I did. To be honest, I was nervous, because I was so happy. She was silent, wiping her nose with her fingers, and he nodded to himself, acknowledging her silence. I hope you don’t regret it, he said. Softly she answered: No. He smiled then. That’s something, he said. I’m glad. After a pause he added: I’m sorry that I couldn’t be what you wanted. She sat staring a few seconds longer. Then she said: But you are. He laughed at that, his eyes on the floor. The feeling is mutual, he replied. But no, I understand. I do, really. I won’t keep you up any later. Sleep well, alright? He left the room then. Eileen sat still on the bed, her shoulders drawn up, her arms folded. She picked up her phone and dropped it again without looking, pushed her hair off her forehead, closed her eyes. Remembering absently a line of poetry: Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over. Her underarms prickling wet, her back aching, shoulders hot and sore from the sun. Across the landing Simon enters his own room and closes the door behind him. And if in the silence and solitude of his room he kneels down on the floorboards, is he praying? And for what? To be free of selfish desires – maybe. Or maybe with his elbows on the mattress, his hands clasped before him, he is only thinking: What do you want from me? Please God show me what you want.
