He stands at the side of the bed while his mother goes to find one of the nurses. Is that all you have on you? his grandmother says.
Hm? says Connell.
Is that jumper all you have on you? Oh, he says. Yeah.
You’ll freeze. You’ll be in here yourself.
His grandmother slipped in the Aldi car park this morning and fell on her hip. She’s not old like some of the other patients, she’s only fifty- eight. The same age as Marianne’s mother, Connell thinks. Anyway, it looks like his grandmother’s hip is kind of messed up now and possibly broken, and Connell had to drive Lorraine into Sligo town to visit the hospital. In the bed across the ward someone is coughing.
I’m alright, he says. It’s warm out.
His grandmother sighs, like his commentary on the weather is painful to her. It probably is, because everything he does is painful to her, because she hates him for being alive. She looks him up and down with a critical expression.
Well, you certainly don’t take after your mother, do you? she says. Yeah, he says. No.
Physically Lorraine and Connell are different types. Lorraine is blonde and has a soft face without edges. The guys in school think she’s attractive, which they tell Connell often. She probably is attractive, so what, it doesn’t offend him. Connell has darker hair and a hard-looking face, like an artist’s impression of a criminal. He knows, however, that his grandmother’s point is unrelated to his physical appearance and is meant as a remark on his paternity. So, okay, he has nothing to say on that.
No one except Lorraine knows who Connell’s father is. She says he can ask any time he wants to know, but he really doesn’t care to. On nights out his friends sometimes raise the subject of his father, like it’s
something deep and meaningful they can only talk about when they’re drunk. Connell finds this depressing. He never thinks about the man who got Lorraine pregnant, why would he? His friends seem so obsessed with their own fathers, obsessed with emulating them or being different from them in specific ways. When they fight with their fathers, the fights always seem to mean one thing on the surface but conceal another secret meaning beneath. When Connell fights with Lorraine, it’s usually about something like leaving a wet towel on the couch, and that’s it, it’s really about the towel, or at most it’s about whether Connell is fundamentally careless in his tendencies, because he wants Lorraine to see him as a responsible person despite his habit of leaving towels everywhere, and Lorraine says if it was so important to him to be seen as responsible, he would show it in his actions, that kind of thing.
He drove Lorraine to the polling station to vote at the end of February, and on the way she asked who he was going to vote for. One of the independent candidates, he said vaguely. She laughed. Don’t tell me, she said. The communist Declan Bree. Connell, unprovoked, continued watching the road. We could do with a bit more communism in this country if you ask me, he said. From the corner of his eye he could see Lorraine smiling. Come on now, comrade, she said. I was the one who raised you with your good socialist values, remember? It’s true Lorraine has values. She’s interested in Cuba, and the cause of Palestinian liberation. In the end Connell did vote for Declan Bree, who went on to be eliminated in the fifth count. Two of the seats went to Fine Gael and the other to Sinn Féin. Lorraine said it was a disgrace. Swapping one crowd of criminals for another, she said. He texted Marianne: fg in government, fucks sake. She texted back: The party of Franco. He had to look up what that meant.
The other night Marianne told him that she thought he’d turned out well as a person. She said he was nice, and that everyone liked him. He found himself thinking about that a lot. It was a pleasant thing to have in his thoughts. You’re a nice person and everyone likes you. To test himself he would try not thinking about it for a bit, and then go back and think about it again to see if it still made him feel good, and it did. For some reason he wished he could tell Lorraine what she’d said. He felt it would reassure her somehow, but about what? That her only son was not a worthless person after all? That she hadn’t wasted her life?
And I hear you’re off to Trinity College, his grandmother says. Yeah, if I get the points.
What put Trinity into your head?
He shrugs. She laughs, but it’s like a scoffing laugh. Oh, good enough for you, she says. What are you going to study?
Connell resists the impulse to take his phone from his pocket and check the time. English, he says. His aunts and uncles are all very impressed with his decision to put Trinity as his first choice, which embarrasses him. He’ll qualify for the full maintenance grant if he does get in, but even at that he’ll have to work full-time over the summer and at least part-time during term. Lorraine says she doesn’t want him having to work too much through college, she wants him to focus on his degree. That makes him feel bad, because it’s not like English is a real degree you can get a job out of, it’s just a joke, and then he thinks he probably should have applied for Law after all.
Lorraine comes back into the ward now. Her shoes make a flat, clapping noise on the tiles. She starts to talk to his grandmother about the consultant who’s on leave and about Dr O’Malley and the X-ray. She relays all this information very carefully, writing down the most important things on a piece of notepaper. Finally, after his grandmother kisses his face, they leave the ward. He disinfects his hands in the corridor while Lorraine waits. Then they go down the stairs and out of the hospital, into the bright, clammy sunshine.
*
After the fundraiser the other night, Marianne told him this thing about her family. He didn’t know what to say. He started telling her that he loved her. It just happened, like drawing your hand back when you touch something hot. She was crying and everything, and he just said it without thinking. Was it true? He didn’t know enough to know that. At first he thought it must have been true, since he said it, and why would he lie? But then he remembered he does lie sometimes, without planning to or knowing why. It wasn’t the first time he’d had the urge to tell Marianne that he loved her, whether or not it was true, but it was the first time he’d given in and said it. He noticed how long it took her to say anything in response, and how her pause had bothered him, as if she might not say it
back, and when she did say it he felt better, but maybe that meant nothing. Connell wished he knew how other people conducted their private lives, so that he could copy from example.
The next morning they woke up to the sound of Lorraine’s keys in the door. It was bright outside, his mouth was dry, and Marianne was sitting up and pulling her clothes on. All she said was: Sorry, I’m sorry. They must have fallen asleep without meaning to. He had been planning to drop her home the night before. She put her shoes on and he got dressed too. Lorraine was standing in the hallway with two plastic bags of groceries when they reached the stairs. Marianne was wearing her dress from the night before, the black one with the straps.
Hello, sweetheart, said Lorraine.
Marianne’s face looked bright like a light bulb. Sorry to intrude, she said.
Connell didn’t touch her or speak to her. His chest hurt. She walked out the front door saying: Bye, sorry, thanks, sorry again. She shut the door behind her before he was even down the stairs.
Lorraine pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh. You can help me with the groceries, she said. She handed him one of the bags. He followed her into the kitchen and put the bag down on the table without looking at it. Rubbing his neck, he watched her unwrapping and putting away the items.
What’s so funny? he said.
There’s no need for her to run off like that just because I’m home, said Lorraine. I’m only delighted to see her, you know I’m very fond of Marianne.
He watched his mother fold away the reusable plastic bag. Did you think I didn’t know? she said.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds and then opened them again. He shrugged.
Well, I knew someone was coming over here in the afternoons, said Lorraine. And I do work in her house, you know.
He nodded, unable to speak.
You must really like her, said Lorraine. Why do you say that?
Isn’t that why you’re going to Trinity?
He put his face in his hands. Lorraine was laughing then, he could hear her. You’re making me not want to go there now, he said.
Oh, stop that.
He looked in the grocery bag he had left on the table and removed a packet of dried spaghetti. Self-consciously he brought it over to the press beside the fridge and put it with the other pasta.
So is Marianne your girlfriend, then? said Lorraine. No.
What does that mean? You’re having sex with her but she’s not your girlfriend?
You’re prying into my life now, he said. I don’t like that, it’s not your business.
He returned to the bag and removed a carton of eggs, which he placed on the countertop beside the sunflower oil.
Is it because of her mother? said Lorraine. You think she’d frown on you?
What?
Because she might, you know.
Frown on me? said Connell. That’s insane, what have I ever done? I think she might consider us a little bit beneath her station.
He stared at his mother across the kitchen while she put a box of own- brand cornflakes into the press. The idea that Marianne’s family considered themselves superior to himself and Lorraine, too good to be associated with them, had never occurred to him before. He found, to his surprise, that the idea made him furious.
What, she thinks we’re not good enough for them? he said. I don’t know. We might find out.
She doesn’t mind you cleaning their house but she doesn’t want your son hanging around with her daughter? What an absolute joke. That’s like something from nineteenth-century times, I’m actually laughing at that.
You don’t sound like you’re laughing, said Lorraine. Believe me, I am. It’s hilarious to me.
Lorraine closed the press and turned to look at him curiously.
What’s all the secrecy about, then? she said. If not for Denise Sheridan’s sake. Does Marianne have a boyfriend or something, and you don’t want him to find out?
You’re getting so intrusive with these questions. So she does have a boyfriend, then.
No, he said. But that’s the last question I’m answering from you.
Lorraine’s eyebrows moved around but she said nothing. He crumpled up the empty plastic bag on the table and then paused there with the bag screwed up in his hand.
You’re hardly going to tell anyone, are you? he said.
This is starting to sound very shady. Why shouldn’t I tell anyone?
Feeling quite hard-hearted, he replied: Because there would be no benefit to you, and a lot of annoyance for me. He thought for a moment and added shrewdly: And Marianne.
Oh god, said Lorraine. I don’t even think I want to know.
He continued waiting, feeling that she hadn’t quite unambiguously promised not to tell anyone, and she threw her hands up in exasperation and said: I have more interesting things to gossip about than your sex life, okay? Don’t worry.
He went upstairs then and sat on his bed. He didn’t know how much time passed while he sat there like that. He was thinking about Marianne’s family, about the idea that she was too good for him, and also about what she had told him the night before. He’d heard from guys in school that sometimes girls made up stories about themselves for attention, saying bad things had happened to them and stuff like that. And it was a pretty attention-grabbing story Marianne had told him, about her dad beating her up when she was a small child. Also, the dad was dead now, so he wasn’t around to defend himself. Connell could see it was possible that Marianne had just lied to get his sympathy, but he also knew, as clearly as he knew anything, that she hadn’t. If anything he felt like she’d been holding back on telling him how bad it really was. It gave him a queasy feeling, to have this information about her, to be tied to her in this way.
That was yesterday. This morning he was early to school, as usual, and Rob and Eric started fake-cheering when he came to put his books in his locker. He dumped his bag on the floor, ignoring them. Eric slung an arm around his shoulder and said: Go on, tell us. Did you get the ride the other night? Connell felt in his pocket for his locker key and shrugged off Eric’s arm. Funny, he said.
I heard you looked very cosy heading off together, said Rob.
Did anything happen? Eric said. Be honest. No, obviously, said Connell.
Why is that obvious? Rachel said. Everyone knows she fancies you.
Rachel was sitting up on the windowsill with her legs swinging slowly back and forth, long and inky-black in opaque tights. Connell didn’t meet her eye. Lisa was sitting on the floor against the lockers, finishing homework. Karen wasn’t in yet. He wished Karen would come in.
I bet he did get a cheeky ride, said Rob. He’d never tell us anyway.
I wouldn’t hold it against you, Eric said, she’s not a bad-looking girl when she makes an effort.
Yeah, she’s just mentally deranged, said Rachel.
Connell pretended to look for something in his locker. A thin white sweat had broken out on his hands and under his collar.
You’re all being nasty, said Lisa. What has she ever done to any of you?
The question is what she’s done to Waldron, said Eric. Look at him hiding in his locker there. Come on, spit it out. Did you shift her?
No, he said.
Well, I feel sorry for her, said Lisa.
Me too, said Eric. I think you should make it up to her, Connell. I think you should ask her to the Debs.
They all erupted in laughter. Connell closed his locker and walked out of the room carrying his schoolbag limply in his right hand. He heard the others calling after him, but he didn’t turn around. When he got to the bathroom he locked himself in a cubicle. The yellow walls bore down on him and his face was slick with sweat. He kept thinking of himself saying to Marianne in bed: I love you. It was terrifying, like watching himself committing a terrible crime on CCTV. And soon she would be in school, putting her books in her bag, smiling to herself, never knowing anything. You’re a nice person and everyone likes you. He took one deep uncomfortable breath and then threw up.
*
He indicates left coming out of the hospital to get back on the N16. A pain has settled behind his eyes. They drive along the Mall with banks of
dark trees flanking them on either side.
Are you alright? says Lorraine. Yeah.
You’ve got a look on you.
He breathes in, so his seatbelt digs into his ribs a little bit, and then exhales.
I asked Rachel to the Debs, he says. What?
I asked Rachel Moran to go to the Debs with me.
They’re about to pass a garage and Lorraine taps the window quickly and says: Pull in here. Connell looks over, confused. What? he says. She taps the window again, harder, and her nails click on the glass. Pull in, she says again. He hits the indicator quickly, checks the mirror, and then pulls in and stops the car. By the side of the garage someone is hosing down a van, water running off in dark rivers.
Do you want something from the shop? he says. Who is Marianne going to the Debs with?
Connell squeezes the steering wheel absently. I don’t know, he says.
You hardly made me park here just to have a discussion, did you?
So maybe no one will ask her, says Lorraine. And she just won’t go. Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.
On the walk back from lunch today he hung back behind the others. He knew Rachel would see him and wait with him, he knew that. And when she did, he screwed his eyes almost shut so the world was a whitish-grey colour and said: Here, do you have a date to the Debs yet? She said no. He asked if she wanted to go with him. Alright then, she said. I have to say, I was hoping for something a bit more romantic. He didn’t reply to that, because he felt as if he had just jumped off a high precipice and fallen to his death, and he was glad he was dead, he never wanted to be alive again.
Does Marianne know you’re taking someone else? says Lorraine. Not as of yet. I will tell her.
Lorraine covers her mouth with her hand, so he can’t make out her expression: she might be surprised, or concerned, or she might be about to get sick.
And you don’t think maybe you should have asked her? she says.
Seeing as how you fuck her every day after school.
That is vile language to use.
Lorraine’s nostrils flare white when she inhales. How would you like me to put it? she says. I suppose I should say you’ve been using her for sex, is that more accurate?
Would you relax for a second? No one is using anyone.
How did you get her to keep quiet about it? Did you tell her something bad would happen if she told on you?
Jesus, he says. Obviously not. It was agreed, okay? You’re getting it way out of proportion now.
Lorraine nods to herself, staring out the windshield. Nervously he waits for her to say something.
People in school don’t like her, do they? says Lorraine. So I suppose you were afraid of what they would say about you, if they found out.
He doesn’t respond.
Well, I’ll tell what I have to say about you, Lorraine says. I think you’re a disgrace. I’m ashamed of you.
He wipes his forehead with his sleeve. Lorraine, he says. She opens the passenger door.
Where are you going? he says. I’ll get the bus home.
What are you talking about? Act normal, will you?
If I stay in the car, I’m only going to say things I’ll regret.
What is this? he says. Why do you care if I go with someone or I don’t, anyway? It’s nothing to do with you.
She pushes the door wide and climbs out of the car. You’re being so weird, he says. In response she slams the door shut, hard. He tightens his hands painfully on the steering wheel but stays quiet. It’s my fucking car! he could say. Did I say you could slam the door, did I? Lorraine is walking away already, her handbag knocking against her hip with the pace of her stride. He watches her until she turns the corner. Two and a half years he worked in the garage after school to buy this car, and all he uses it for is driving his mother around because she doesn’t have a licence. He could go after her now, roll the window down, shout at her to get back in. He almost feels like doing it, though she’d only ignore him. Instead he sits in the driver’s seat, head tipped back against the headrest, listening to his own idiotic breathing. A crow on the forecourt picks at a discarded crisp packet. A family comes out of the shop holding ice
creams. The smell of petrol infiltrates the car interior, heavy like a headache. He starts the engine.
