Beautiful World, Where Are You

by Sally Rooney

  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, smelling of perfume and sun lotion, 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. Yes, 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 ar
ms 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 haven’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.

  27.

  At six forty-five in the morning, Felix’s alarm rang out, a flat repetitive beeping noise. The room was dim, the west-facing windows letting in only a little cool white light through the blinds. What time is it, Alice murmured. He turned the alarm off and got out of bed. Time for work, he said. Go back to sleep. He showered in the en suite bathroom and came out again with a towel around his shoulders, pulling on his underwear. When he was dressed he went to the bedside and bent to kiss Alice’s forehead, warm and damp. I’ll see you later on, he said. With her eyes closed she answered: I love you. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand as if taking her temperature. You do, yeah, he said. He went downstairs then and into the kitchen. Eileen was leaning against the countertop, unscrewing the base of the coffee pot. Her eyes were swollen and red. Good morning, she said. From the doorway Felix looked at her. What are you doing up? he asked. She gave a tired smile and said she couldn’t sleep. Studying her face, Felix replied: You look a bit wrecked alright. He opened the fridge and took out a pot of yoghurt, while she dumped yesterday’s coffee grounds into the sink. Sitting down at the table, he asked: So what do you do for a job? Alice told me you’re a journalist or something. Eileen shook her head, filling the pot with water from the tap. No, no, she said. I just work for a magazine. I’m an editor, kind of. Felix was stirring the yoghurt with his spoon. What kind of magazine? he asked. She said it was a literary journal. Ah right, he said. I don’t really know what that is. She was lighting the burner then. Yeah, we don’t have a wide readership, she said. We publish poetry and essays and things like that. He asked how the magazine made money in that case. Oh, it doesn’t, she said. It’s just funded with grants. Felix looked interested then. You mean like from the taxpayer? he asked. She sat down at the other end of the table, smiling faintly. Yes, she said. Do you object? After swallowing he answered: Not at all. And you get paid from the taxpayer as well, do you? She said yes. Although not a lot, she added. He was licking the back of the spoon. What’s not a lot to you? he asked. She took a tangerine from the fruit bowl and started to unpeel it. About twenty thousand a year, she said. His eyebrows shot up, and he put the yoghurt down. You’re not serious, he said. After tax? She said no, before. He was shaking his head. I make more than that, he said. She left a long spiralling piece of orange peel down on the table. And why shouldn’t you? she asked. He was staring at her. How do you even live? he said. She broke the tangerine in half with her fingers. I often wonder, she replied. He went back to his yoghurt, murmuring in a friendly tone of voice: Fuck’s sake. After swallowing another mouthful, he added: And you went to college for that? She was chewing. No, I went to college to learn, she said. He laughed. Fair enough, he answered. Anyway, you probably like your job, do you? She moved her head from side to side uncertainly, and then said: I don’t hate it. He was nodding, looking down into the yoghurt pot. That’s where we’re different, so, he said. She asked him how long he had been at the warehouse and he told her eight or ten months. The coffee pot started sputtering and she got up to look inside. Pulling her sleeve down over her hand, she poured two cups and carried them to the table. He watched her, and then said: Here, can I ask you something? Sitting back down at the table, she replied: Sure. He was frowning to himself. How come you’re only visiting her now? he said. I mean, you live in Dublin, it’s not that far away. And she’s been here for ages. Eileen’s posture stiffened while he spoke, but she said nothing, made no particular expression with her face. She added a spoonful of sugar to her coffee without speaking. The way she talks about you, he added, she makes it sound like you’re best friends. Quickly and coolly Eileen answered: We are best friends. Behind her a little rain speckled the kitchen window. Right, so how come it took you all this time to come and see her? he asked. I’m just curious. If she’s your best friend I would have thought you’d want to visit her before. Eileen’s face was white, her nostrils were white when she took in a deep breath and released it. You know I have a job, she said. He was screwing one eye closed then, frowning. Yeah, so do I, he said. But you hardly work weekends, do you? Eileen’s arms were folded now, her hands gripping her upper arms through the sleeves of her dressing gown. And why didn’t she come and visit me? she asked. If she’s so keen on seeing me. She doesn’t work weekends, does she? Felix seemed to find this remark peculiar, and he turned it over a moment before answering. I didn’t say she was so keen on seeing you, he asked. Maybe neither of you were that keen on seeing each other, I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. Gripping her arms very tightly now Eileen said: Well, maybe we weren’t. He was nodding his head then. Did you have a falling-out or something? he asked. Irritably she moved a strand of hair out of her face. You don’t actually know anything about me, she said. He took this in, and after a moment answered: You don’t know anything about me either. She folded her arms again. That’s why I’m not interrogating you, she said. He smiled at that. Fair enough, he replied. He swallowed the last of his coffee and got to his feet, taking his jacket from the back of a chair where he’d left it the night before. My theory would be, people like them two are different from you and me, he said. You’ll only drive yourself crazy trying to make them act the way you want. Eileen watched him for a few seconds and then replied: I’m not trying to make either of them do anything. Felix had unzipped his backpack and was stuffing his jacket down inside. You have to ask yourself, he said, if they wreck your head so much, why bother? He put his bag over his shoulder then. There must be some reason on your side, he went on. Why you care. Staring down into her coffee cup then, she said very quietly: Fuck off. He gave a surprised little laugh. Eileen, he said, I’m not attacking you. I like you, alright? She was silent. Maybe you should go back to bed, he added. You look tired. I’m off anyway, see you later on. Outside the front door, a mist of morning rain. He got into the car, turned the CD player on and pulled out of the driveway. Watching the road, he whistled along with the music, adding little riffs and variations to the melody now and then, as he drove past the turn-off for the village, along the coast road to the industrial estate.