by Sally Rooney
One night he was waiting for Helen in college, just outside the Graduates Memorial Building. She was coming from the gym at the other end of campus and they were going to get the bus to her house together. He was standing on the steps looking at his phone when the door behind him opened and a group of people came out in formal dresses and suits, all laughing and talking together. The light in the hallway behind them cast them into silhouette, so it took him a second to recognise Marianne. She was wearing a long dark-coloured dress and had her hair piled up high on her head, making her neck look slender and exposed. She caught his eye with a familiar expression. Hello, she said. He didn’t know the people she was with; he guessed they were from the debating society or something. Hi, he said. How could his feeling for her ever be anything like his feeling for other people? But part of the feeling was knowing the terrible hold he’d had over her, and still had, and could not foresee ever losing.
Helen arrived then. He only noticed her when she called out to him. She was wearing her leggings and trainers, gym bag slung over one shoulder, a damp sheen on her forehead visible under the street light. He felt a vast rush of love for her, love and compassion, almost sympathy. He knew that he belonged with her. What they had together was normal, a good relationship. The life they were living was the right life. He took the bag off her shoulder and lifted a hand to wave Marianne goodbye. She didn’t wave back, she just nodded. Have fun! Helen said. Then they went to get the bus. He was sad for Marianne after that, sad that nothing in her life had ever truly seemed healthy, and sad that he’d had to turn away from her. He knew that it had caused her pain. In a way he was even sad for himself. Sitting on the bus he continued to picture her standing in the doorway with the light behind her: how exquisite she looked, and what a glamorous, formidable person she was, and that subtle expression that came over her face when she looked at him. But he couldn’t be what she wanted. After a time he realised Helen was speaking, and he stopped thinking about all that and started listening.
*
For dinner Peggy cooks pasta and they eat at the round garden table. The sky is a thrilling chlorine-blue, stretched taut and featureless like silk. Marianne brings a cold bottle of sparkling wine out from the house, with condensation running down the glass like sweat, and asks Niall to open it. Connell finds this decision judicious. Marianne is very smooth and sociable on these occasions, like a diplomat’s wife. Connell is seated between her and Peggy. The cork sails over the garden wall and lands somewhere no one can see it. A crest of white spills over the lip of the bottle and Niall pours the wine into Elaine’s glass. The glasses are broad and shallow like saucers. Jamie turns his empty one upside down and says: Do we not have proper champagne glasses?
These are champagne glasses, says Peggy.
No, I mean the tall ones, Jamie says.
You’re thinking of flutes, says Peggy. These are coupes.
Helen would laugh at this conversation, and thinking of how much she would laugh, Connell smiles. Marianne says: It’s not a matter of life and death, is it? Peggy fills her glass and passes the bottle to Connell.
I’m just saying, these aren’t for champagne, says Jamie.
You’re such a philistine, Peggy says.
I’m a philistine? he says. We’re drinking champagne out of gravy boats.
Niall and Elaine start laughing, and Jamie smiles under the mistaken impression that they are laughing at his witticism. Marianne touches a fingertip to her eyelid lightly, as if removing a piece of dust or grit. Connell hands her the bottle and she accepts it.
It’s an old style of champagne glass, says Marianne. They belonged to my dad. Go inside and get yourself a flute if you prefer, they’re in the press over the sink.
Jamie makes wide ironic eyes and says: I didn’t realise it was such an emotional issue for you. Marianne puts the bottle in the centre of the table and says nothing. Connell has never heard Marianne mention her father like that in casual conversation. Nobody else at the table seems aware of this; Elaine may not even know Marianne’s father is dead. Connell tries to catch Marianne’s eye, but he can’t.
The pasta is delicious, says Elaine.
Oh, says Peggy. It’s very al dente, isn’t it? Maybe too al dente.
I think it’s nice, Marianne says.
Connell takes a mouthful of wine, which foams cold in his mouth and then disappears like air. Jamie starts telling an anecdote about one of his friends, who is on a summer internship at Goldman Sachs. Connell finishes his wine and unobtrusively Marianne refills his glass. Thanks, he says quietly. Her hand hovers for a second as if she’s going to touch him, and then she doesn’t. She says nothing.
*
The morning after the scholarships were announced, he and Marianne went to the swearing-in ceremony together. She’d been out the night before and looked hungover, which pleased him, because the ceremony was so formal and they had to wear gowns and recite things in Latin. Afterwards they went for breakfast together in a cafe near college. They sat outside, at a table on the street, and people walked by carrying paper shopping bags and having loud conversations on the phone. Marianne drank a single cup of black coffee and ordered a croissant which she didn’t finish. Connell had a large ham-and-cheese omelette with two slices of buttered toast, and tea with milk in it.
Marianne said she was worried about Peggy, who was the only one of the three of them not to get the scholarship. She said it would be hard on her. Connell inhaled and said nothing. Peggy didn’t need subsidised tuition or free on-campus accommodation, because she lived at home in Blackrock and her parents were both doctors, but Marianne was intent on seeing the scholarships as a matter of personal feeling rather than economic fact.
Anyway, I’m happy for you, Marianne said.
I’m happy for you too.
But you deserve it more.
He looked up at her. He wiped his mouth with the napkin. You mean in terms of the financial stuff? he said.
Oh, she replied. Well, I meant that you’re a better student.
She looked down critically at her croissant. He watched her.
Though in terms of financial circumstances too, obviously, she said. I mean, it’s kind of ridiculous they don’t means-test these things.
I guess we’re from very different backgrounds, class-wise.
I don’t think about it much, she said. Quickly she added: Sorry, that’s an ignorant thing to say. Maybe I should think about it more.
You don’t consider me your working-class friend?
She gave a smile that was more like a grimace and said: I’m conscious of the fact that we got to know each other because your mother works for my family. I also don’t think my mother is a good employer, I don’t think she pays Lorraine very well.
No, she pays her fuck all.
He cut a thin slice of omelette with his knife. The egg was more rubbery than he would have liked.
I’m surprised this hasn’t come up before, she said. I think it’s totally fair if you resent me.
No, I don’t resent you. Why would I?
He put his knife and fork down and looked at her. She had an anxious little expression on her face.
I just feel weird about all this, he said. I feel weird wearing black tie and saying things in Latin. You know at the dinner last night, those people serving us, they were students. They’re working to put themselves through college while we sit there eating the free food they put in front of us. Is that not horrible?
Of course it is. The whole idea of ‘meritocracy’ or whatever, it’s evil, you know I think that. But what are we supposed to do, give back the scholarship money? I don’t see what that achieves.
Well, it’s always easy to think of reasons not to do something.
You know you’re not going to do it either, so don’t guilttrip me, she said.
They continued eating then, as if they were acting out an argument in which both sides were equally compelling, and they had chosen their positions more or less at random, only in
order to have the discussion out. A large seagull landed at the base of a nearby street light, its plumage magnificently clean and soft-looking.
You need to get it straight in your mind what you think a good society would look like, said Marianne. And if you think people should be able to go to college and get English degrees, you shouldn’t feel guilty for doing that yourself, because you have every right to.
That’s okay for you, you don’t feel guilty about anything.
She started rooting around in her handbag looking for something. Offhandedly she said: Is that how you see me?
No, he said. Then, uncertain of how guilty he thought Marianne felt about anything, he added: I don’t know. I should have known coming to Trinity that it would be like this. I’m just looking at all this scholarship stuff thinking, Jesus, what would people in school say?
For a second Marianne said nothing. He felt in some obscure sense that he had expressed himself incorrectly, but he didn’t know how. To be fair, she said, you were always very concerned with what people in school would say. He remembered then, about how people had treated her at that time, and how he himself had treated her, and he felt bad. It wasn’t the conclusion he was hoping the conversation would have, but he smiled and said: Ouch. She smiled back at him and then lifted her coffee cup. At that moment he thought: just as their relationship in school had been on his terms, their relationship now was on hers. But she’s more generous, he thought. She’s a better person.
*
When Jamie’s story is finished, Marianne goes inside and comes back out again with another bottle of sparkling wine, and one bottle of red. Niall starts unwrapping the wire on the first bottle and Marianne hands Connell a corkscrew. Peggy starts clearing away people’s plates. Connell unpeels the foil from the top of the bottle as Jamie leans over and says something to Marianne. He sinks the screw into the cork and twists it downwards. Peggy takes his plate away and stacks it with the others. He folds down the arms of the corkscrew and lifts the cork from the neck of the bottle with the sound of lips smacking.
The sky has dimmed into a cooler blue now, with silver clouds on the rim of the horizon. Connell’s face feels flushed and he wonders if he’s sunburned. He likes imagining Marianne older sometimes, with children. He imagines they’re all here in Italy together and she’s making a salad or something and complaining to Connell about her husband, who is older, probably an intellectual, and Marianne finds him dull. Why didn’t I marry you? she would say. He can see Marianne very clearly in this dream, he sees her face, and he feels that she has spent years as a journalist, maybe living in Lebanon. He doesn’t see himself so well or know what he’s been doing. But he knows what he would say to her. Money, he would say. And she would laugh without looking up from the salad.
At the table they’re talking about their day trip to Venice: which trains they should take, which galleries are worth seeing. Marianne tells Connell he would like the Guggenheim, and Connell is pleased that she has spoken to him, pleased to be singled out as an appreciator of modern art.
I don’t know why we’re bothering with Venice, says Jamie. It’s just full of Asians taking pictures of everything.
God forbid you might have to encounter an Asian person, Niall says.
There’s a stillness at the table. Jamie says: What? It’s clear from his voice and from the delayed pace of his response that he’s now drunk.
It’s kind of racist, what you just said about Asian people, Niall says. I’m not making a big thing of it.
Oh, because all the Asians at the table are going to get offended, are they? says Jamie.
Marianne stands up abruptly and says: I’ll go get dessert. Connell is disappointed by this display of spinelessness, but he says nothing either. Peggy follows Marianne into the house and everyone at the table is silent. A huge moth circles in the dark air and Jamie bats at it with his napkin. After a minute or two Peggy and Marianne bring dessert out from the kitchen: a gigantic glass bowl of halved strawberries with a stack of white china dishes and silver spoons. Two more bottles of wine. The dishes are passed around and people fill them with fruit.
She spent all afternoon halving these little bastards, Peggy says.
I feel so spoilt, says Elaine.
Where’s the cream? Jamie says.
It’s inside, says Marianne.
Why didn’t you bring it out? he says.
Marianne pulls her chair back from the table coldly and stands up to go inside. It’s almost dark out now. Jamie ranges his eyes around the table, trying to find someone who will look back at him and agree that he was right to ask for the cream, or that Marianne was overreacting to an innocent query. Instead people seem to avoid looking at him, and with a loud sigh he knocks his chair back and follows her. The chair tips over noiselessly onto the grass. He goes in the side door to the kitchen and slams it behind him. There’s a back door too, which leads down into the other part of the garden, where the trees are. It’s walled off from here, so only the tops of the trees are visible.
By the time Connell turns his attention back to the table Niall is staring at him. He doesn’t know what Niall’s stare means. He tries squinting his eyes to show Niall he’s confused. Niall casts a significant look at the house and then back at him. Connell looks over his right shoulder. The light is on in the kitchen, leaking a yellowish glow through the garden doors. He only has a sidelong view so he can’t see what’s going on inside. Elaine and Peggy are complimenting the strawberries. When they stop, Connell hears a raised voice coming from the house, almost a shriek. Everyone freezes. He stands up from the table to go to the house, and feels his blood pressure drop. He’s had a bottle of wine to drink by now, or more.
When he reaches the garden doors he sees Jamie and Marianne are standing at the counter, having some kind of argument. They don’t see Connell through the glass right away. He pauses with his hand on the door handle. Marianne is all flushed, maybe from too much sun, or maybe she’s angry. Jamie is unsteadily refilling his champagne glass with red wine. Connell turns the handle and comes inside. Alright? he says. They both look at him, they both stop talking. He notices Marianne is shivering as if she’s cold. Jamie lifts his glass sarcastically in Connell’s direction, sloshing wine over the rim and onto the floor.
Put that down, says Marianne quietly.
I’m sorry, what? says Jamie.
Put that glass down, please, says Marianne.
Jamie smiles and nods to himself. You want me to put it down? he says. Okay. Okay, look, I’m putting it down.
He drops the glass on the floor and it shatters. Marianne screams, a real scream from her throat, and launches her body at Jamie, drawing her right arm behind her as if to strike him. Connell steps in between them, glass crunches under his shoe, and he grabs Marianne by her upper arms. Behind him Jamie is laughing. Marianne tries to push Connell aside, her whole body shudders, and her face is blotchy and discoloured like she’s been crying. Come here, he says. Marianne. She looks at him. He remembers her in school, so bitter and stubborn with everyone. He knew things about her then. They look at each other and the rigidity leaves her and she goes slack like she’s been shot.
You’re a fucking mental case, you are, says Jamie. You need help.
Connell turns Marianne’s body around and steers her towards the back door. She offers no resistance.
Where are you going? says Jamie.
Connell doesn’t answer. He opens the door and Marianne goes through it without speaking. He closes it behind them. It’s dark now in this part of the garden, with only the mottled window providing any light. The cherries glow dimly on the trees. Over the wall they can hear Peggy’s voice. Together he and Marianne walk down the steps and say nothing. The kitchen light goes out behind them. They can hear Jamie on the other side of the wall then, rejoining the others. Marianne is wiping her nose on the back of her hand. The cherries hang around them gleaming like so many spectral planets. The air is light with scent, green like chlorophyll. They sell chlor
ophyll chewing gum in Europe, Connell has noticed. Overhead the sky is velvet-blue. Stars flicker and cast no light. They walk down a line of trees together, away from the house, and then stop.
Marianne leans against a slim silver tree trunk and Connell puts his arms around her. She feels thin, he thinks. Was she so thin before. She presses her face into his one remaining clean T-shirt. She’s still wearing the white dress from earlier, with a gold embroidered shawl now. He holds her tightly, his body adjusting itself to hers like the kind of mattress that’s supposedly good for you. She softens into his arms. She starts to seem calmer. Their breathing slows into one rhythm. The kitchen light goes on for a time and then off again, voices rise and recede. Connell feels certain about what he’s doing, but it’s a blank certainty, as if he’s blankly performing a memorised task. He finds that his fingers are in Marianne’s hair and he’s stroking the back of her neck calmly. He doesn’t know how long he has been doing this. She rubs at her eyes with her wrist.
Connell releases her. She feels in her pocket for a packet of cigarettes and a crushed box of matches. She offers him a cigarette and he accepts. She strikes a match and the flare of light illuminates her features in the darkness. Her skin looks dry and inflamed, her eyes are swollen. She breathes in and the cigarette paper hisses in the flame. He lights his own, then drops the match in the grass and compresses it under his foot. They smoke quietly. He walks away from the tree, surveying the bottom of the garden, but it’s too dark to make much out. He returns to Marianne under the branches and absently pulls at a broad, waxy leaf. She hangs the cigarette on her lower lip and lifts her hair into her hands, twisting it into a knot that she secures with an elastic tie from her wrist. Eventually they finish their cigarettes and stub them out in the grass.
Can I stay in your room tonight? she says. I’ll sleep on the floor.
