by Sally Rooney
* * *
Slowly the breath of the sea drew the tide out away from the shore, leaving the sand flat and glimmering under the stars. The seaweed wet, bedraggled, crawling with insects. The dunes massed and quiet, dune grass smoothed by the cool wind. The paved walkway up from the beach in silence now under a film of white sand, the curved roofs of the caravans glowing dimly, parked cars huddled dark on the grass. Then the amusements, the ice cream kiosk with its shutter pulled down, and up the street and into town, the post office, the hotel, the restaurant. The Sailor’s Friend with its doors closed, stickers on the windows illegible. The sweeping headlights of a single car passing. Rear lights red like coals. Further up the street, a row of houses, windows reflecting the streetlights blankly, bins lined up outside, and then the coast road out of town, silent, empty, trees rising through the darkness. The sea to the west, a length of dark cloth. And to the east, up through the gates, the old rectory, blue as milk. Inside, four bodies sleeping, waking, sleeping again. On their sides, or lying on their backs, with the quilts kicked down, through dreams they passed in silence. And already now behind the house the sun was rising. On the back walls of the house and through the branches of the trees, through the coloured leaves of the trees and through the damp green grasses, the light of dawn was sifting. Summer morning. Cold clear water cupped in the palm of a hand.
26.
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 v
ery 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 put the back of her hand to her forehead as if to cool it. 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 seein
g 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.
