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By ten o’clock the following night, Eileen was in the kitchen of a house in Pimlico, drinking whiskey from a plastic cup and talking to a woman named Leanne. The hours can be long, yeah, Leanne was saying. I’d be in there until nine a few times a week, anyway. Eileen was wearing a black silk blouse and had a thin gold chain around her neck, which glinted under the light from the ceiling fixture. Music was playing from the living room and beside them, at the sink, someone was trying to open a bottle of sparkling wine. Eileen said she left work before six o’clock most evenings. Leanne gave a high, almost horrified laugh. Jesus, she said. Six p.m.? Where do you work, sorry?
Eileen told her she worked for a literary magazine. Paula, who was hosting the party, came over and offered them some sparkling wine. Eileen held up her cup and said: I’m good, thanks. The doorbell rang and Paula put down the bottle and went away again.
Leanne started to tell Eileen about various late nights she had recently spent in the office, on one occasion getting a taxi home at half past six in the morning only to return to work in another taxi two hours later. I can’t imagine that’s good for your health, Eileen said. The door of the kitchen opened then, and Leanne turned around to see who had come in. It was Simon, wearing a white overshirt and carrying a canvas bag on his shoulder. At the sight of him, Leanne let out a cry of greeting. She threw her arms open
and he accepted her embrace, looking past her at Eileen with a smile. Hello, he said.
How are we?
God, it’s been ages, said Leanne. Here, do you know Paula’s friend Eileen?
Eileen stood against the kitchen table stroking her necklace absently with a fingertip, looking back at him.
Ah, he said, we know each other rather well, actually.
Eileen started to laugh then, touching her lip with her tongue.
Oh, said Leanne. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.
Taking a bottle of wine out of his bag, he said in a relaxed tone: No, that’s alright.
Eileen and I grew up together.
Yes, Simon was very fond of me when I was a baby, Eileen said. He used to carry me around my back garden and give me little kisses. So my mother says.
He was smiling to himself, unscrewing the cap from his bottle of wine. Even as a child of five I had beautiful taste, he said. Only the finest babies made the grade.
Glancing back and forth between them now, Leanne asked Simon if he was still working in Leinster House. For my sins, he said. Do you see a glass handy? Leanne said all the glasses were dirty, but there were plastic cups on the table. Let me find a dirty one, I’ll wash it, he said. Eileen informed Leanne that Simon would no longer use plastic cups, out of respect for Mother Earth. Simon, who was rinsing a wine glass under the cold tap, said: She does make me sound insufferable, doesn’t she? But
Leanne, tell me, how is work? Leanne started to tell him about her job, with specific reference to some colleagues of hers who were friends of his. A man in a denim jacket came inside from the back yard, pulling the door behind him, saying aloud to no one in particular: Getting cold out there. Through the kitchen doorway, Eileen caught the eye of their friend Peter, and waving her hand she went out to greet him. She glanced back once over her shoulder to see Simon and Leanne in conversation, Simon leaning against the kitchen countertop, Leanne standing in front of him, twisting a lock of her hair between her fingers.
The living room was small and cramped, with a staircase against one wall and potted plants on the bookcases, leaves trailing over the spines of books. Peter was at the fireplace taking his jacket off, talking to Paula about the same political controversy Eileen had discussed with her father the evening before. No, no one comes out of it looking good, Peter was saying. Well, except Sinn Féin, obviously. Someone had connected their phone to the speakers and an Angel Olsen song started playing, while from the hallway their friend Hannah came inside. Peter and Eileen allowed their conversation to taper off while Hannah made her way over to join them, holding a bottle of wine by the neck, bangles clinking on her wrists. Immediately she started to tell a story about a problem with the garage door at her house that afternoon, and how long they’d had to wait for the workman to arrive, and how she had been late to meet her mother for lunch in town. While Eileen listened, her eyes travelled back to the kitchen doorway, through which Simon’s figure was still partly visible, still leaning against the countertop, though several other people had joined him now. Following her gaze, Peter said: The big man. I didn’t know he was here. Hannah had found a clean plastic cup on the coffee table and was pouring herself a drink. She asked who they were talking about
and Peter said Simon. Oh, I hope he’s brought Caroline, Hannah replied. At this remark Eileen’s attention moved quickly from the kitchen doorway back to Hannah. No, Paula said, not tonight. Hannah was screwing the cap back on her bottle while Eileen watched.
That’s a shame, Hannah said. Leaving the bottle down on the coffee table, she caught Eileen’s eye, and asked: Have you met her yet, Eileen?
Caroline, Eileen repeated. Is that . . . ?
The girl Simon is seeing, Paula said.
Eileen was smiling now, with some perceptible effort. No, she answered. No, we haven’t met.
Hannah swallowed a mouthful of wine and went on: Oh, she’s great. You’ll love her.
You’ve met her, Peter, haven’t you?
Turning as if to address Eileen, he said: Yeah, she seemed nice. And she’s only about ten years younger than him, so that’s an improvement.
You are horrible, Hannah retorted.
Eileen gave a brittle laugh. I never get to meet them, she said. For some reason he doesn’t like to introduce me, I don’t know why.
How curious, said Peter.
I’m sure that’s not true, said Hannah.