by Sally Rooney
Let’s open a bottle of wine, said Nick.
Do you have a death wish? Bobbi said.
No, let’s, said Evelyn.
Nick went down to the garage and brought up some plastic cups and a bottle of Sancerre. Bobbi was lying face up on his bed, just the way I usually lay there after he made me come. Evelyn and I were sitting side by side on the floor. Nick poured the wine into cups and we listened to Derek and Melissa talking in the kitchen.
What’s Valerie like, actually? Bobbi said.
Evelyn coughed and then said nothing.
Oh, said Bobbi.
After we had all finished our first cup of wine, we heard Melissa calling Nick from the kitchen. He got up and handed me the bottle. Evelyn said: I’ll come with you. They went out together and shut the door. Bobbi and I sat in the room silently. Valerie had said she would be in town by seven. It was now half past six. I refilled Bobbi’s cup and my own, then sat down again with my back against the bed.
You know Nick has a thing for you, don’t you? Bobbi said. Everyone else has noticed. He’s always looking at you to check if you’re laughing at his jokes.
I chewed on the edge of my plastic cup until I could hear it crack. When I looked down, a vertical white line had formed from the rim. I thought of Bobbi’s performance in the game the night before.
We get along, I said eventually.
It could totally happen. He’s a failed actor and his marriage is dead, those are the perfect ingredients.
Isn’t he more like a moderately successful actor?
Well, apparently he was expected to get famous and then he didn’t, and now he’s too old or something. Having an affair with a younger woman would probably be good for his self-esteem.
He’s only thirty-two, I said.
I think his agent dropped him though. Anyway he seems like he’s embarrassed to be alive.
I felt a growing sense of dread, a thin and physical dread that began in my shoulders, as I listened. At first I couldn’t figure out what it was. It felt like dizziness, or the strange blurry sensation that precedes being violently ill. I tried to think of what might be causing it, things I had eaten, or the car journey earlier. It was only when I remembered the night before that I knew what it was. I felt guilty.
I’m pretty sure he’s still in love with Melissa, I said.
People can be in love and have affairs.
It would depress me to sleep with someone who loved someone else.
Bobbi sat up then, I could hear her. She swung her legs down off the bed, and I knew she was looking down at me, onto my scalp.
I get the sense you’ve given this some consideration, she said. Did he make a pass at you or something?
Not as such. I just don’t think I would enjoy being someone’s second choice.
Not as such?
I mean, he’s probably just trying to make her jealous, I said.
She slipped down off the bed, holding the wine bottle, which she passed to me. We were sitting on the floor together then, our upper arms pressed together. I splashed a little wine into the cracked plastic cup.
You can love more than one person, she said.
That’s arguable.
Why is it any different from having more than one friend? You’re friends with me and you also have other friends, does that mean you don’t really value me?
I don’t have other friends, I said.
She shrugged and took back the bottle of wine. I turned the cup around so nothing would spill from the crack and swallowed two warm mouthfuls.
Did he come on to you? she said.
No. I’m just saying I wouldn’t be interested if he did.
You know, I kissed Melissa once. I never told you about that, did I?
I turned around and stared at her, craning my neck to see her face. She laughed. She was wearing a funny, dreamy expression, which made her look even more attractive than usual.
What? I said. When?
I know, I know. It was at her birthday party, out in the garden. We were both drunk, you were in bed. It was stupid.
She was staring into the bottle of wine. I looked at her face in profile, the strange half-shape of it. She had one tiny cut beside her ear, maybe she’d scratched it, and it was the bright red colour of a flower.
What? she said. Are you judging me?
No, no.
I heard Valerie’s car pull into the driveway outside, and we stashed the bottle of wine under Nick’s pillow. Bobbi linked her arm under mine and gave my cheek a little kiss, which surprised me. Her skin was very soft and her hair smelled of vanilla. I was wrong about Melissa, she said. I swallowed and said: well. We’ve all been wrong about things.
17
We had duck for dinner, with roast baby potatoes and salad. The meat tasted sweet like cider and fell off the bone in dark, buttery shreds. I tried to eat slowly to be polite, but I was hungry and exhausted. The dining room was large, wood-panelled and had a window out onto the rainy street. Valerie spoke with a moneyed British accent, too rich to be comical. She and Derek talked about publishing, and the rest of us were quiet. Valerie thought a lot of people in publishing were charlatans and hacks, but she seemed to find it funny rather than depressing. At one point she removed a smudge from her wine glass with a corner of her napkin and we all watched Melissa’s face, which contracted and fell like a piece of wire spring.
Though Melissa had taken care to introduce us all at the beginning of dinner, Valerie asked which one of us was Bobbi during dessert. When Bobbi identified herself, Valerie replied: oh yes, of course. But a face like that won’t last, I’m afraid. I can tell you that because I’m an old woman now.
Fortunately Bobbi is blessed with more than just good looks, said Evelyn.
Well, marry young, that’s my advice, Valerie said. Men are very fickle.
Cool, said Bobbi. But actually I’m gay.
Melissa flushed and stared into her glass. I pressed my lips together wordlessly. Valerie raised an eyebrow and pointed her fork between Bobbi and myself.
I see, Valerie said. And are you two …?
Oh no, said Bobbi. Once, but no.
No, I suppose not, Valerie said.
Bobbi and I glanced at one another and looked away so as not to laugh or scream.
Frances is a writer, Evelyn said.
Well, kind of, I said.
Don’t say kind of, said Melissa. She’s a poet.
Is she any good? Valerie said.
She had not looked up at me during this exchange.
She is good, said Melissa.
Oh well, Valerie said. I’ve always thought poetry rather lacks a future.
As an amateur without a real opinion on the future of poetry, and because Valerie hadn’t appeared to notice my presence anyway, I said nothing. Bobbi stepped on my toe under the table and coughed. After dessert, Nick went to the kitchen to make coffee, and as soon as he left, Valerie put down her fork and peered at the closed door.
He doesn’t look very well, does he? she said. How has his health been?
I stared at her. She had not addressed a single comment or question to me directly, and I knew she would pretend not to notice I was looking.
Up and down, said Melissa. He was great for a while but I think he had a bit of an episode last month. Over in Edinburgh.
Well, he had pneumonia, Evelyn said.
It wasn’t just pneumonia, said Melissa.
It’s a shame, Valerie said. But he’s very passive really. He lets himself get overwhelmed by these things. You remember last year.
We don’t need to drag the girls through all this, do we? Evelyn said.
There’s no need to be secretive, said Valerie. We’re all friends here. Nick suffers from depression, I’m afraid.
Yes, I said. I know.
Melissa looked up at me and I ignored her. Valerie looked at the floral arrangement and distractedly moved one blossom slightly to the left.
You’re a friend of his, are you, Frances? Valerie sa
id.
I thought we were all friends here, I said.
Finally she looked at me. She was wearing some artistic brown resin jewellery and had handsome rings on her fingers.
Well, I know he wouldn’t mind me asking after his health, said Valerie.
Then maybe you can ask after it when he’s actually in the room, I said.
Frances, Melissa said. Valerie is a very old friend of ours.
Valerie laughed and said: please, Melissa, I’m not that old, am I? My jaw was trembling. I pushed my seat back from the table and excused myself from the room. Evelyn and Bobbi watched me go, like little nodding dogs in the back window of a disappearing car. Nick was in the hallway bringing in two cups of coffee. Hello, he said. Oh, what’s happened? I shook my head and shrugged, silly gestures that meant nothing. I walked past him, down the back staircase and into the garden. I didn’t hear him follow me, I supposed he had gone into the dining room with the others.
I walked down to the bottom of the garden and opened the gate onto the back lane. It was raining and I was wearing a short-sleeved blouse but I didn’t feel the cold. I slammed the gate shut and went on walking away from the house, toward the beach. My feet were getting wet and I rubbed my face hard with the back of my hand. The headlights of cars passed by in blazes of white but there were no other pedestrians. The path to the beach wasn’t lit by streetlights and I did begin to feel cold then. I couldn’t go back to the house. I stood there shivering with my arms crossed, feeling the rain soak through my blouse, the cotton sticking to my skin.
It seemed unlikely that Nick would be distressed by what Valerie had said. He’d probably just shrug it off, even if he did find out. My anguish on his behalf seemed to be unrelated to anything he might personally feel, a phenomenon I had experienced before. In our final year of school Bobbi had run for president of the student council, and one of the boys had beaten her by thirty-four votes to twelve. Bobbi had been disappointed, I could see that, but not upset. She’d smiled and congratulated the winner and then the bell had gone and we’d collected our books. Instead of going to class I had locked myself in a cubicle in the upstairs bathrooms and cried until I heard the lunchtime bell, cried until my lungs hurt and my face was rubbed raw. I couldn’t explain what made me feel that furious, consuming misery, but sometimes even still when I thought about that election my eyes filled up stupidly with tears.
Eventually I heard the back gate open again and the clap of sandals, and Bobbi’s voice saying: you complete goose. What are you like? Come inside and have coffee. I couldn’t see her in the darkness at first and then I felt her arm slip under mine, the crackle of her raincoat. That was a nice little performance, she said. I haven’t seen you lose your temper like that in some time.
Fuck this, I said.
Don’t be upset.
She nestled her small warm head into my neck. I thought of her taking all her clothes off at the lake.
I hate that woman, I said.
I could feel Bobbi’s breath on my face, the bitter aftertaste of unsweetened coffee, and then she kissed my lips. I gripped her wrist when she pulled away, trying to stare at her, but it was too dark. She slipped out of my grasp like a thought.
We shouldn’t, she said. Obviously. But you are very lovable when you’re self-righteous.
I dropped my arm uselessly by my side and she started walking back to the house. Illuminated by passing headlights I saw she had her hands down in the pockets of her raincoat and was splashing along through the puddles. I followed, with nothing at all to say.
Inside the house, the party had broken up into the living room and kitchen, and there was music playing. I was dripping wet and in the mirror my face was a livid, unnatural pink. I went through with Bobbi to the kitchen, where Evelyn and Derek and Nick were standing around drinking their coffees. Oh, Frances, Evelyn said. You’re drenched. Nick was standing against the sink and he filled a coffee cup from the pot and handed it to me. Our eyes seemed to be having a conversation of their own. Sorry, I said. Evelyn touched my arm. I swallowed the coffee and Bobbi said: I’ll get her a towel, shall I? You people, really. She shut the door behind her.
I’m sorry, I said again. I just lost my temper.
Yeah, I’m sorry I missed it, said Nick. I didn’t know you had a temper to lose.
We kept looking at one another. Bobbi came back in the room and handed me a towel. I thought of her mouth, the strange familiar taste of it, and shivered. I seemed to have no power any longer over what was happening, or what was going to happen. It felt as if a long fever had broken and I simply had to lie there and wait for the illness to pass.
Once my hair was dry we rejoined Melissa and Valerie in the other room. Valerie acted exaggeratedly pleased to see me and expressed interest in reading my work. I gave a sickly smile and cast around for something to say or do. Sure, I said. I’ll send you some of my stuff, sure. Nick brought out some brandy, and when he poured a measure for Valerie she clasped his wrist maternally and said, ah Nick, if only my sons were as handsome as you are. He handed her the glass and said: is anyone?
After Valerie went to bed we fell into a kind of tense, resentful silence. Evelyn and Bobbi tried to talk about a film they had both seen, but it transpired they were thinking of two different films, which put a halt to the discussion. Melissa got up to bring the empty glasses to the kitchen and said: Frances, maybe you could give me a hand. I stood up. I could feel Nick watching me, like a schoolchild watching his mother step into the principal’s office.
We picked up the rest of the glasses and went to the kitchen, which was dark. Melissa didn’t switch the light on. She deposited the glasses in the sink and then stood there, holding her hands over her face. I left what I was carrying down on a countertop and asked if she was all right. She paused for so long that I thought she was about to scream or throw something. Then in one quick motion she switched the tap on and began to fill the basin.
You know I don’t like her either, said Melissa.
I just watched her. In the almost-darkness her skin looked silver and ghostly.
I don’t want you to think that I like her, Melissa said, or that I appreciate the way she talks about Nick, or that I think her behaviour is appropriate. I don’t feel that way. I’m sorry you were upset at dinner.
No, I’m sorry, I said. I’m sorry I made a scene like that. I don’t know why I did it.
Don’t apologise. It’s what I would have done if I had a spine.
I swallowed. Melissa turned off the tap and started to rinse the glasses in the basin, sloppily, with no particular care for whether they were smudged any more.
I don’t think I could have this next book published without her, Melissa said. It’s kind of mortifying to tell you that.
No, it shouldn’t be.
And I’m sorry for being so unreasonable this afternoon. I know what you must think of me. I just felt so anxious after everything that happened last year. But I want to tell you, I don’t usually speak to Nick that way. Obviously things aren’t perfect between us, but I do love him, you know. I really do.
Of course, I said.
She kept rinsing the glasses. I stood there by the fridge not knowing what to say. She lifted one wet hand and dabbed at something under her eye and then went back to the basin.
You’re not sleeping with him, are you, Frances? she said.
Oh Jesus, I said. No.
Okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.
He’s your husband.
Yes, I’m aware.
I kept standing there by the fridge. I had broken out in a sweat. I could feel it trickling from the back of my neck between my shoulders. I said nothing, I bit on my tongue.
You can go back and sit with the others if you’d like, she said.
I don’t know what to say, Melissa.
Go on, it’s all right.
I went back into the living room. They all turned their faces up to look at me. I think I’ll get some sleep, I said. Everyone agree
d it was a good idea.
*
That night when I knocked on Nick’s door he had his bedroom light off. I heard him say come in, and as I closed the door behind me, I whispered: it’s Frances. Well, I should hope it is, he said. He sat up and put the lamp on, and I stood beside his bed. I told him what Melissa had asked me and he said she had asked him the same thing, but earlier, while I was outside being rained on.
I said no, Nick said. Did you say no?
Of course I said no.
The bottle of Sancerre was on his bedside cabinet. I lifted it up and worked the cork out. Nick watched me while I drank and then accepted the bottle when I offered it. He drained what was left of it and then placed it back on the cabinet top. He looked at his fingernails, and then at the ceiling.
I’m not very good at these conversations, he said.
We don’t have to talk, I said.
Okay.
I got into bed, and he lifted my nightdress off. I put my arms around his neck and held him very closely against me. He kissed the firm upturned bowl of my stomach, he kissed the inside of my thigh. When he went down on me I bit on my hand to keep quiet. His mouth felt hard. My teeth started to draw blood from my thumb and my face was wet. When he looked up, he said, is it okay? I nodded and felt the headboard nudge the wall. He knelt upright and I let my mouth form a kind of long, murmured syllable, like an animal would make. Nick touched me and I snapped my legs shut and said no, I’m too close now. Oh, that’s good, he said.
He took the box out of the bedside drawer and I closed my eyes. I felt his body then, his heat and complex weight. I held his hand tightly between my finger and thumb, like I was trying to press it down into some absorbable size. Yes, I said. I tried not to make it end too quickly. He was so deep inside me it felt like I might die. I wrapped my legs around his back, and he said, God, I love that, I love it when you do that. We whispered one another’s names over and over. Then it was finished.
