It’s not even dark yet and the party is in full swing. You were still getting ready but then Edelle’s butoh workshop got cancelled at the last minute so she came straight here and brought her whole class with her, still in their leotards. Already there are so many people in your house that for the first time it’s actually almost warm. Music thumps from the speakers, the beer you brought from the supermarket is almost gone from the fridge, a boy crouches on your coffee table in a surfer pose. Great party! That’s what everyone is saying. And it is a great party. You don’t know who 90 per cent of these people are. But no one could come here and call the atmosphere lugubrious.
Only Elaine doesn’t look like she’s enjoying it. She stands in a large ring of Players types, not even pretending to listen to what they’re saying; every time the doorbell goes, her head whips round to see who it is, only to turn back, crestfallen, as the wrong person crosses the threshold.
You know she is waiting for jj. And you, watching from across the room, are waiting too, experiencing the same feelings in reverse, like a mirror image. As hope flames up in her eyes, your heart plummets, as disappointment returns you breathe again, reprieved.
All of your wise resolutions – about just being honest with her, telling her how you feel, being ready to let go if that’s what she wants – have vanished. Who were you kidding? The idea of letting go of her is unbearable. So, consequently, is the idea of being honest. Instead you are back behind your mask, doing the best you can to make it look like you personally are having a fantastic (non-lugubrious, unobsessed) time, while getting yourself in position to comfort her once she accepts that jj’s not going to come. She’ll be drunk and vulnerable; maybe she’ll cry in your lap again.
But if jj does come, what then? Will you just stand here in this same corner, watching forlornly while Elaine ploughs through the bodies to greet them? Look on helplessly as she takes their coat, exclaiming laughingly, You made it! then, Come and have a drink and leading them away to the kitchen? And then will you follow them there, and moon around in the background, as your housemate plies the professor with questions, all sorts of complicated, considered enquiries she has about literature, and gender, and patriarchy, and then listens intently to their responses, glowing like a Chinese lantern, not even noticing you’re lurking by the door, spying like a creep, though maybe she does, because when you’re distracted momentarily by something in the other room, you turn back to find you can’t see them any more – they’re not in the kitchen, and they’re not in the living room, and they’re not in the yard with the smokers, and so you check the living room again, around and around, your own little circle of agony, though you know it is too late, too late …
And even if they don’t come: you think you’ll be off the hook? Think, Cass! If it’s not tonight, it’ll be some other night! If it’s not jj, it’ll be someone else! What is the world but a shadowy army of Elaine’s potential lovers? You need to DO something! You need to ACT! You need to stop being such a pathetic, unlovable coward, and make your move, TONIGHT! NOW!
The boy beside you is taking a can of beer from a bag and sees you looking. Want one? he asks. You nod. Crack it open and chug it back in one go. It bubbles through you like magic lemonade. Instantly you feel like you’ve filled up with superpowers. The boy laughs and hands you another. Bet you can’t do two in a row, he says.
Okay, you think. Okay, okay.
You find her in the living room with Kit. You insinuate your way into their conversation. In-sinew-ate, like a sinew, a slithery cable of flesh. Or in-sin-you-ate, like sinning, then eating. Eating with someone you’re not married to? Or eating the someone? Not marrying them and then killing and eating them?
They have stopped speaking and are looking at you.
Can I talk to you for a second? you say to Elaine.
You pull her away to huddle at the bottom of the stairwell. Great party, you say. You smile at her. It’s going really well.
Yeah, Elaine says, and then, What’s up?
What? you say.
You said you wanted to talk to me, she says.
Oh right! you laugh. It’s funny, on the one hand you can’t believe you’re actually finally doing this, and on the other you feel totally relaxed about it, because you know you’re going to say it this time and you know it will work out! You feel almost like you’ve already said it and Elaine’s like, OMG at last, I’ve been waiting so long—
So what is it? she says. Her eyes move distractedly to the door and then back.
Oh nothing, really, you say. Just checking in.
I was in the middle of a conversation, Elaine says.
Right, you say, me too. I mean, earlier.
Are you feeling all right? Elaine says.
Who, me?
You’re acting weird, she says. Then her eyes narrow. Are you drunk?
No, you say. Listen—
You are, she says, you’re fucking plastered.
I had a can, you admit.
You had more than one, she says.
It doesn’t matter, you say. Listen. I have to tell you something.
She presses her lips, looks at you with laser eyes. Your heart is beating so hard, like someone’s just stuck it brand new into your chest.
Well? she says.
I was just thinking how amazing it is that we’re actually here, in college together, throwing a cool party. When we used to be, like, little nerds together in school in this tiny town. We’ve come a long way, is what I mean.
Yeah. I’m going back to Kit now, okay?
No, wait, you say. There’s something I need to tell you—
You can tell me later! You can tell me any time! We literally live together!
She turns to go. Impulsively you reach out and grab her dress. She wheels around with a frosty expression. The dress is new. The fabric is thin in your hand.
Sorry, you say. It’s important.
Elaine waits. The air is wavering. The boy with the beer had a friend with a joint and the joint has just hit you. You try to focus. Maybe if you had another drink? That makes you think of something, suddenly you crease up laughing. Remember that barman in the Drain that fancied you and he’d always give us these insane shots?
Is that what you brought me over here to tell me? Elaine says.
No – no. You calm your giggles, gather yourself. How to begin. Well, remember at home when we met that weird Russian guy—
Elaine rolls her eyes. Cass, I’m at a party!
So?
So stop asking me to remember things from, like, the past!
No, but—
Ever since we got here you’ve been going on and on about home! The shitty pubs! The teachers! The haybarns! I came here to get away from that stuff! She breaks off as the doorbell goes behind her. It’s not jj, you say, as she turns to look.
What? she snaps. Who said anything about jj?
No one, you say.
She narrows her eyes. You’re not sure how this has gone quite as wrong as it has. Maybe we should talk about it another time, you say.
Elaine sighs. I’m really starting to wonder if we’re good for each other, she says.
You gape at her. Your heart is thumping anew. What do you mean?
I mean, I wonder if we’re holding each other back. If this relationship belongs to an earlier part of our lives.
You start to speak, but you don’t know what to say. Your eyes are prickling, you search for words but everything keeps slipping away from you. I’m sorry. I won’t talk about home – I didn’t realize –
Elaine gazes impassively back at you. All the alcohol you have drunk, which you have been drinking all day, swims up to your head, and pitches about like a lurching black sea, you think you might cry, no, you think you might throw up, but through the chaos a desperate imperative voice rises telling you, Fix this! Fix this! So although now is the exact wrong time to tell her, you begin to say it anyway: The thing is, I … I …
But the expression on her face has changed. Her eyes widen, her nostrils flare. At the same time, you become aware of a commotion in the living room. Near the front door, which is open, you see people laughing – some jeering, some bemused – and now, through the crowd emerges—
What the actual fuck, Elaine says.
It’s your brother. It’s PJ. You stare, wondering if you’re dreaming. He sees you, and he waves, then checks himself, peers at you uncertainly, at your smeared face, and you feel a thunderhead of shame break in your chest.
Elaine turns to you, hands on her hips, incandescent. I don’t know what he’s doing here! you hear yourself quail. This wasn’t my idea!
She throws up her hands, turns away in disgust. Fuck! Fuck! Launching yourself across the room, an arrow at last, you grab PJ by the shoulders. What are you doing here? you shriek. You can’t be here!
He begins to squeak an explanation, but you don’t wait for it: you spin him round and propel him back out onto the street. You close the door behind you. What are you doing here? you repeat. You can’t just burst in on people!
I tried to call, he insists. You never answer!
Because I don’t want to talk!
It’s an emergency! he squeaks, and he starts gabbling about Dad and guns and squirrels and bunkers, on and on and on in an incomprehensible torrent till you raise your voice and shout out, Stop!
He flinches, looks up at you. He seems smaller, here in the city. Your anger has merged with your nausea, and between your legs a queasy pain throbs.
What are you doing here? Does Mam know you’re here?
The torrent starts up again, Dad, bank, car, fall – you shake him. You’re not listening to me! You can’t be here! You can’t just come here! Don’t you get that?
I’m really worried about him!
What do you expect me to do about it?
He bows his head. I thought you could talk to him, he mumbles.
To Dad?
He listens to you.
Ha! You can’t help laughing at this, as into your head comes the image of Dad’s horrified face looking down at you as you lie on the floor of the ballroom of Burke’s hotel, weirdness seeping out of you for all the guests to see. Behind you the door opens. Is this a joke? Elaine says. Do you think this is funny?
It’s fine, you say. I’m dealing with it.
He can’t stay, she says.
He’s not staying, you assure her. Just give me a minute, okay?
It’s not a kids’ party, she says. People are already putting this on Twitter.
He’s going! you repeat.
Elaine looks down the street. No one is in sight. You and your fucking family, she says, and closes the door.
You look at PJ, standing there obliviously like he’s waiting to be picked up from football practice, and you feel a fresh burn of rage. Didn’t you hear her? you say. You have to go!
He looks up at you uncomprehending. He’s supposed to be smart but he’s so fucking gormless! Look! you say. I don’t care about Dad’s midlife crisis, or whatever it is! Do you understand that? I don’t care about the garage! That’s not my life any more! Now please, would you please just fucking go!
Finally he rises to his feet, cheeks pinkening. He’s about to make another speech, but you cut him off. That way, you tell him, taking him by the shoulders and spinning him round. Follow the tram tracks. That takes you to the bus station. Goodbye.
You don’t wait to see him start walking. Instead you leave him there, like a dog that won’t shoo, and you march back inside and slam the door behind you. In the kitchen you take somebody’s can from the fridge and you open it and you drink it. When the doorbell goes you’re terrified he’s come back, but it’s a bunch of new people so you go out into the living room.
What was that all about? Darl says.
Hmm? you say.
Was that your brother?
Oh yeah, you laugh.
What was he doing here? Darl says. I thought you lived down the country.
Yeah, he’s such a freak, you say.
Darl frowns.
It’s fine, you say. You drink from your can and smile. The conversation moves on. In another minute or two it’s as if PJ was never there at all.
Checking your phone you see that he did in fact message you that he was coming. You just didn’t get that he meant now. You thought it was just a general intention to visit at some point. It doesn’t matter anyway.
Elaine waves at you from across the room. She’s smiling, she wants you to come over. She doesn’t seem angry about what happened. Probably she’s impressed that you dealt with it so quickly. Maybe it was a good thing, even, because it distracted her from what happened earlier.
She is talking to a boy with black hair and blue eyes. You recognize him from college, you think he does History. This is my friend that I was telling you about, she says to him. The boy smiles at you, he starts telling you about this guy who does parodies of famous rappers. You laugh. But you are not actually hearing him. Something is buzzing around in your head. Squirrels: you feel like he told you Dad was shooting squirrels. You don’t remember him saying it, and yet there it is, in your mind. Dozens of squirrels – that’s the image you have – their bodies lying around the forest.
It seems impossible. Dad won’t even put down mousetraps unless they’re the humane kind. You must have imagined it, you tell yourself sternly, and redirect your attention to the boy and his memes. But the squirrels keep appearing – scurrying through the undergrowth of your mind in their stop–start staccato way, pausing on their haunches to survey you; and with them come thoughts of PJ, stumbling away down the street with his backpack, and for an instant a clammy hand seems to grasp your heart.
He’ll be fine, you tell yourself, the Luas goes straight to the bus station. What did he expect you to do, anyway? Organize an intervention? Wave a magic wand and make Mam and Dad love each other again? Did he think you’d just drop everything and rush home and make it all better?
Is that what he thought?
Is that why he wanted to see you? Because he thought he could persuade you?
Is that why he came all the way up here, to the city, on his own?
Check this out, the boy is saying, and he takes out his phone and splays his finger and thumb across the screen. Let me see too, Elaine says, huddling against the boy’s shoulder.
Turning slightly away you take out your phone and send a message, Did u get to bus?
On the boy’s phone a man in a white T-shirt in his car is going ehhhh ehhhh ehhhh Mom’s spaghetti.
That’s so funny! Elaine says. The boy smiles at Elaine, and then at you. You smile back at him. The message remains unread. Still smiling, you turn away slightly, call PJ, lift the phone to your ear. It goes straight to voicemail, is it off, has he switched his phone off? Or is he ignoring you? Or? Give me a ring back when you get this, you murmur. Elaine shoots you a look, but the boy hasn’t noticed. You’ve got to see his Lil Wayne, he says. As he hunts around on his phone, he says, So are you guys from Dublin? Elaine answers and he nods. All the sound people are from somewhere else, he says. You take a deep breath but nothing happens, nothing’s going in. So you know each other well? he says. Elaine looks at you the way she does when someone else is looking at her looking at you. You could say that, she says. We did almost get in a three-way once, didn’t we, Cass? Her hand closes around yours.
Don’t touch me, you say.
She starts. The boy with the videos looks confused. You are confused too. The words just came out, you don’t know where from. But suddenly you’re overcome by revulsion, like you’re looking in a mirror and your reflection is rotting. You okay, babe? Elaine asks. You don’t know what to say back. Except you do. I hate you, you say. I fucking hate you, you say. By you of course you mean yourself, in the mirror, but there’s no time to explain that. Your hand is still in hers, you tug it free, then you turn and you run.
Next thing you know you’re outside, looking down the street as if he might still be there, as if all this time he has been walking on the spot, trusting that you would reappear. But he’s not. No one is there, only the blank faces of the houses arranged in a line, a hundred houses on one side, another hundred on the other, and beyond this street another street, and beyond that another and another and another, streets and streets and streets of houses and houses and houses, with people in each of them you know nothing about, have never laid eyes on. You’re in the city now. If you wanted to find someone, even someone you loved, you wouldn’t know where to begin. And when you start running you have no idea where you’re running to.