Beautiful World, Where Are You

by Sally Rooney

  See, you’re used to getting treated differently, he went on. From people who know about you and think you’re really important and everything. And then when I treat you in a normal way it’s not good enough. I think if I’m honest, you’ll find someone who appreciates you better, and you’ll be happier.

  After a long pause, she said: I think I’d like to go inside now if that’s alright.

  He looked down at the ground, frowning. I can’t stop you, he said.

  She walked back up the grass toward the house. Before she reached the door, he cleared his throat and said aloud: You know, when I fucked my hand up earlier, the first thing I thought was, I bet Alice won’t be happy about this.

  She turned back to him before replying: And I wasn’t.

  Yeah, he said. And it’s nice to have someone who would care about something like that. I get sliced to bits every other week out in that place, and it’s not like I have a lot of people saying, oh, that must have hurt, what happened? And look, maybe there is certain things about you I can’t appreciate, and sometimes I don’t like the tone you put on with me, I’ve admitted that. But say you were above in your house on your own and you weren’t feeling well, or you hurt yourself or something, I would want to know about it. And if you wanted me to come up and look after you, I would. And I’m sure you’d do the same. Is that not enough to be going on with? Maybe for you it’s not, but it is for me.

  They looked at one another. Let me think about it, Alice said.

  Inside the house, a bumblebee had flown into the living room and two of Danielle’s friends were shrieking and laughing, trying to guide it back out the window. Simon was sitting at the kitchen table with Danielle’s cousin Gemma, who was holding in her lap the little girl who had been playing football earlier. And do you prefer school, Simon was saying, or do you prefer being on your holidays? Eileen was at the countertop splashing some vodka into a plastic cup, while the same man she had been talking with earlier said: It’s not that great, but it’s something to watch anyway. Felix and Alice came back in the patio door, Felix cutting himself a slice of the birthday cake, Alice putting on her cardigan, saying cheerfully: That’s a lovely big garden out there. She laid a hand absently, fondly, on Simon’s shoulder, and he looked up at her, curious, half-smiling, and neither of them spoke.

  At ten o’clock, Danielle tapped a spoon on a glass and said they would have a few songs. Gradually the room fell quiet, conversations tailing off, people entering from the living room to listen. A cousin of Danielle’s began by singing ‘She Moved Through the Fair’. Some who knew the lyrics sang along, while others hummed the melody. From the doorway Eileen was watching Simon where he leaned against the fridge next to Alice, holding a glass of wine. Danielle asked Felix to sing something next. Give us ‘Carrickfergus’, said Gavin. Felix gave a nonchalant yawn. I’ll do ‘The Lass of Aughrim’, he said. He put down the paper plate he had been holding, cleared his throat and began to sing. His voice was clear and tuneful, with a kind of tonal purity, rising to fill the quiet and then falling very low, so low it almost had the quality of silence. From across the room Alice watched him. He was standing against the counter, under the ceiling lamp, so that his hair and face and the slim slanting figure of his body were bathed in light, and his eyes were dark, and his mouth also. For some reason, because of the low rich quality of his voice, or because of the melancholy lyrics of the song, or perhaps because of some prior association the melody brought to her mind, Alice’s eyes filled with tears as she watched him. He caught sight of her for a moment and then looked away. His voice sounded strangely similar to his ordinary speaking voice, the pronunciations were the same, but with sudden resounding depths. Tears began to run from Alice’s eyes, and her nose was running also. She smiled as if at her own absurdity, but the tears went on streaming regardless, and she wiped her nose with her fingers. Her face was pink and gleaming wet. The song finished and into a single moment of silence spilled the sound of cheering and applause. Gavin put his fingers in his mouth to whistle approvingly. Felix leaned against the sink, looking at Alice, and she looked back at him, almost shrugging, embarrassed. She wiped her cheeks with her hands. He was smiling. You made her cry, said Gavin. People looked around at Alice then, and she laughed, awkwardly, and the laugh seemed to catch in her throat. She was wiping her face again. She’s alright, Felix said. Danielle asked for another song, but no one volunteered. A hard act to follow, someone said. Danielle’s cousin Gemma suggested ‘The Fields of Athenry’, and people began to talk amongst themselves. Felix had made his way around behind the table and was pouring wine into a plastic cup. Handing it to Alice he said: You’re okay, aren’t you? She nodded, and he rubbed her back consolingly. Don’t worry, he said. It’s usually the old ladies who cry at that one, but we’ll allow it. You didn’t know I could sing, did you? Well, I used to be a lot better before I wrecked myself with smoking. He was talking lightly, almost inattentively, and stroking her back with his hand, as if he was not listening to himself. Look, Simon’s not crying, Felix said. He must not be impressed with me. Smiling, Simon answered in a low voice: Multi-talented. Alice gave another little laugh, sipping from her cup. Cheeky, said Felix. From the living room doorway Eileen watched them, Felix with his hand on Alice’s back, Simon standing beside her, the three of them talking together. And out the windows the sky was still dimming, darkening, the vast earth turning slowly on its axis.

  28.

  When they left Danielle’s house, it was pitch-dark, without streetlights, and Eileen lit the torch on her phone so they could find their way down the driveway. In the car, with the doors shut behind them, it was quiet and warm. Felix, you have a beautiful singing voice, Eileen said. He switched the headlights on and started to pull back out onto the road. Yeah, that was for you, he said. Well, for the pair of you, since you’re both from around there. Aughrim. Aren’t you? Not that I really know what the song is about, to be honest. I thought it was a man singing to a woman, but then in the chorus I think it’s a woman singing. Saying her babe lies cold in her arms. It’s probably one of those old songs that’s got a few different lyrics mixed up together. It’s a sad one anyway, whatever it’s about. Simon asked if he played music as well as singing, and Felix answered: A bit. Fiddle mainly. And I’d get by alright on guitar if I had to. Few friends of mine play together, like at weddings and that. I have done weddings before, but from the music side it’s not really my thing. You’re just doing Celine Dion all night or whatever. Alice said she’d had no idea he was so musical. Yeah, he said. Everyone around here would be like that, though. It’s only in Dublin you meet tone-deaf people. No offence. Glancing at Alice before returning his attention to the road, he went on: So you’re thinking of buying the house, are you? I didn’t know that. From the back seat Eileen looked up. Sorry, what? she asked. Alice was putting on lip balm, pleased, a little drunk. Thinking about it, she said. Haven’t decided yet. Eileen burst out laughing then, and Alice turned around in her seat to face her. No, great, said Eileen. I’m happy for you. You’re moving to the countryside. Alice was looking at her with a puzzled frown. Eileen, I already live in the countryside, Alice said. We’re talking about the house where I currently live. Eileen was smiling, shaking her head. No, totally, she replied. You came here on holiday and now you’re going to like, stay on holiday forever. Why not? Simon was watching Eileen, but Eileen was still smiling at Alice. Seriously, Eileen added. It’s great. The house is amazing. Such high ceilings, wow. Slowly, Alice was nodding her head. Right, she replied. Well, I haven’t made any decisions yet. She put the lip balm back in her bag. I don’t know why you’re saying I’m on holiday, she added. Whenever I do go to work, you send me a disapproving email telling me I should be at home. Eileen was laughing again, her face emptied of colour. I’m sorry, she said. I misunderstood the situation, I can see that now. Simon was still watching her, and she turned to him with a bright insincere smile, as if to say: what? Felix remarked that, before buying the house, Alice should get someon
e in to look at it properly, and Alice said it would need a lot of work anyway, no doubt. They were driving past the hotel then, the lit windows of the lobby, and along the coast road.

  Back at the house, Eileen went straight upstairs to her room while the others were still in the hallway. Her lips were pale, her breath shallow and uneven as she turned on the bedside lamp. The darkened bedroom window reflected the faint grey ellipse of her face, and she jerked the curtain closed, the hooks rasping on the rail. From downstairs, the sound of voices, Alice saying: No, no, not me. Simon made some low indistinct reply, and then the others were laughing, high laughter carrying up the stairs. Eileen rubbed her fingers into her closed eyelids. The sound of the fridge door unsealing softly, and a clinking noise like glass. She started to unknot the waist tie of her dress, the linen creased and softened now after a day’s wear, smelling of sun cream and deodorant. Downstairs, the noise of a door opening. She pulled the dress down off her shoulders, taking deep hard breaths in through her nose and releasing them between her lips, and then put on a striped blue nightdress. The noises from downstairs were quieter now, the voices intermingled. Sitting on the side of the mattress, she began to unpin her hair. Downstairs, one of the others was walking along the hallway, whistling. She removed one long black hairpin and dropped it with a faint click on the bedside locker. Her jaw was held tight, her back teeth grinding together. From outside the house, the noise of the sea, low, repetitive, and the air moving soft through the full heavy leaves of the trees. When her hair was loose she combed it out roughly with her fingers and then lay down on the bed and shut her eyes. A crisp snapping sound came from downstairs like a cork popping. She filled her lungs with breath. Her hands clenched into fists and then opened out again, stretching her fingers wide on the duvet, twice, three times. Alice’s voice again. And the other two laughing, the men laughing, at whatever Alice had said. With a quick jerking movement Eileen got to her feet. She tugged a quilted yellow dressing gown from the back of a chair and pulled her arms into the sleeves. Making her way downstairs, she tied the sash of the gown loosely at her waist. At the end of the hallway the kitchen door was pulled shut, the light turned on, a sweet heavy fragrance of smoke in the air. She put her hand to the door handle. From inside, Alice’s voice saying: Oh, I don’t know, not for months. Eileen opened the door. Inside, the room was warm and dimly lit, Alice sitting at one end of the table, Felix and Simon seated together against the wall, sharing a joint. They all looked up at Eileen with surprise, with something like wariness, where she stood in the doorway in her dressing gown. Bravely she smiled at them. Can I join? she asked.

  Please do, Alice replied.

  Pulling a chair back and sitting down, Eileen asked: What are we talking about?

  Felix passed her the joint over the tabletop. Alice was just telling us about her parents, he said.

  Eileen took a quick drag and exhaled, nodding her head, everything in her face and bearing showing an effort to be cheerful.

  Well, you already know, Alice said to Eileen. You’ve met them.

  Mm, Eileen said. Long time ago. But go on.

  Turning back to the others, Alice went on: With my mother it’s actually less complicated, because she and my brother are like, suffocatingly close. And then my mother never liked me much anyway.

  Yeah? Felix said. That’s funny. My mother loved me. I was her golden boy. Sad, really, because I turned out to be such a fuck-up. But she doted on me, God knows why.

  You’re not a fuck-up, said Alice.

  To Simon, Felix said: What about you? Were you your mother’s pet?

  Well, I was an only child, Simon answered. Certainly my mother was very fond of me, yes. Is very fond of me, I mean. He was turning the base of his wine glass around on the tabletop. It’s not the easiest relationship in my life, he added. I think she sometimes feels kind of confused and frustrated with me. Like in terms of my career, the decisions I’ve made. I suppose she has friends whose children are the same age I am, and they’re all doctors or lawyers now and they have children of their own. And I’m basically still a parliamentary assistant with no girlfriend. I mean, I don’t blame my mother for being confused. I don’t know what happened to my life either.

  Felix gave a short cough, and asked: But you have a fairly important job, do you not?

  Simon looked around at him, as if the question was surprising, and answered: Oh God, no. Not at all. Not that I think my mother is obsessed with status, by the way. I’m sure she would have liked to have had a son who was a doctor, but I don’t think she’s disappointed in me for not wanting that. Felix passed him the joint and he accepted it. We don’t really have serious conversations, he added. You know, she doesn’t like things to get serious, she just wants everyone to get along. I think in a way she finds me intimidating. Which makes me feel awful. He took a short drag and, after exhaling, added: Whenever I think about my parents I feel guilty. I was just the wrong son for them, it wasn’t their fault.

  But it wasn’t your fault either, said Alice.

  Intently Eileen was watching this exchange, her jaw held tight, still half-smiling.

  What about you, Eileen? said Felix. You get along okay with your parents?

  The question seemed to surprise her. Oh, she said. Then, after a pause: They’re not bad. I have an insane sister who they’re both afraid of. And she made my life hell when we were kids. But otherwise they’re okay.

  The sister who got married, said Felix.

  Yeah, that’s the one, she said. Lola. She’s not really evil, she’s just chaotic. And maybe a bit evil, sometimes. She was really popular in school and I was a loser. I mean, I literally had not one friend. Looking back, I think it’s lucky I didn’t kill myself, because I used to think about it constantly. Around the age of fourteen, fifteen. I tried talking to my mother, but she said there was nothing wrong with me and I was just being dramatic. Here she hesitated, looking down at the bare surface of the table. Then she went on: Really I think I would have done it, but when I was fifteen, I met someone who wanted to be friends with me. And he saved my life.

  Quietly Simon said: If that’s true, I’m glad.

  Felix sat up then, surprised. What? he said. Was it you?

  Eileen was smiling more naturally now, still a little pale and drawn, but enjoying the rehearsal of a familiar story. You know we were neighbours growing up, she said. And when Simon was home from college one summer, he came to help my dad out on the farm. I don’t know why. I suppose your parents told you to.

  In a low humorous voice, Simon said: No, I think at the time I’d just finished reading Anna Karenina. And I wanted to go and work on a farm so I could be like Levin. You know he has these profound experiences while he’s cutting grass with a sickle or something, and it makes him believe in God. I don’t really remember the details now, but that was my general idea.

  Eileen was laughing, moving her hair around with her hands. Did you really come to work for Pat because you thought it would be like Anna Karenina? she said. I never knew that. I suppose if you were Levin, we were the muzhiks. Addressing the others again, she went on: Anyway, that’s how Simon and I became friends. I was one of the little peasant girls who lived near his family’s estate. Indulgently Simon murmured: I wouldn’t put it quite like that. Eileen dismissed this intervention with a flapping gesture of her hand. And our parents know each other, obviously, she said. My mother actually has an inferiority complex about Simon’s mother. Every year on Christmas Eve, Simon and his parents come over for a drink and we have to scrub the entire house from top to bottom before they arrive. And we put special towels in the bathroom. You know that kind of way.

  Smoking again now, leaning back against the wall, Felix said: And what do they think of Alice?

  Eileen looked at him. Who, my parents? she asked. He nodded. Yeah, she said. They’ve met a couple of times. They don’t know each other really well or anything.

  With a smile Alice said: They disapprove of me.

  Felix laughed.
Do they really? he asked.

  Eileen was shaking her head. No, she said. They don’t disapprove. They just don’t know you very well.

  They never liked us living together in college, Alice went on. They wanted Eileen to make friends with nice middle-class girls.

  Eileen let out a breath with a raw kind of laughing sound. To Felix, she said: I think they found Alice’s personality a bit challenging.

  And now that I’m successful, they resent me, Alice added.

  I don’t know where you get that from, said Eileen.

  Well, they didn’t like you visiting me in hospital. Did they?

  Eileen was shaking her head again, pulling at her earlobe distractedly. That had nothing to do with you being successful, she said.

  What did it have to do with? Alice asked.

  Felix seemed to have forgotten he was smoking, and let the joint go out between his fingers. Looking up at him, Eileen said: You see, when Alice moved back from New York, she didn’t tell me she was coming home. I was sending her all these emails and messages, hearing nothing back for weeks, and getting really worried and panicky that something had happened to her. And the whole time she was living five minutes away from my apartment. Pointing at Simon, she went on: He knew. I was the only one who didn’t know. And she told him not to tell me, so he had to put up with me complaining to him that I hadn’t heard from her, and all the time he knew she was living on fucking Clanbrassil Street.

  In a restrained voice Alice said: Obviously it wasn’t a great time for me.

  Eileen was nodding her head, with the same bright effortful smile. Yeah, she said. Not a great time for me either, because my partner of like three years was breaking up with me, and I had nowhere to live. And my best friend wasn’t speaking to me, and my other best friend was acting really weird because he wasn’t allowed to tell me anything.