Yes, but I’m still alive at work, says Joanna. It’s still me, I’m still having experiences. You’re not working, okay, but the time is passing for you too. You’ll never get it back either.
But I can decide what I do with it.
To that I would venture that your decision-making is also a social construct.
Marianne laughs. She wanders out of the freezer aisle and towards the snacks.
I don’t buy into the morality of work, she says. Some work maybe, but you’re just moving paper around an office, you’re not contributing to the human effort.
I didn’t say anything about morality.
Marianne lifts a packet of dried fruit and examines it, but it contains raisins so she puts it back down and picks up another.
Do you think I judge you for being so idle? says Joanna.
Deep down I think you do. You judge Peggy.
Peggy has an idle mind, which is different.
Marianne clicks her tongue as if to scold Joanna for her cruelty, but not with any great investment. She’s reading the back of a dried apple packet.
I wouldn’t want you to turn into Peggy, says Joanna. I like you the way you are.
Oh, Peggy’s not that bad. I’m going to the supermarket checkout now so I’m going to hang up.
Okay. You can call tomorrow after the thing if you feel like talking.
Thanks, says Marianne. You’re a good friend. Bye.
Marianne makes her way to the self-service checkout, picking up a bottle of iced tea on the way and carrying the dried apples. When she reaches the row of self-service machines, she sees Lorraine unloading a basket of various groceries. Lorraine stops when she sees Marianne and says: Hello there! Marianne clutches the dried fruit against her ribcage and says hi.
How are you getting on? says Lorraine.
Good, thanks. And you?
Connell tells me you’re top of your class. Winning prizes and all kinds of things. Doesn’t surprise me, of course.
Marianne smiles. Her smile feels gummy and childish. She squeezes the package of dried fruit, feels it crackle under her damp grip, and scans it on the machine. The supermarket lights are chlorine-white and she’s not wearing any make-up.
Oh, she says. Nothing major.
Connell comes around the corner, of course he does. He’s carrying a six-pack of crisps, salt and vinegar flavour. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and those sweatpants with the stripes down the side. His shoulders seem bigger now. And he looks at her. He’s been in the supermarket the whole time; maybe he even saw her in the freezer aisle and walked past quickly to avoid making eye contact. Maybe he heard her talking on the phone.
Hello, says Marianne.
Oh, hey. I didn’t know you were in town.
He glances at his mother, and then scans the crisps and puts them in the bagging area. His surprise at seeing Marianne seems genuine, or at least his reluctance to look at or speak to her does.
I hear you’re very popular up there in Dublin, Lorraine says. See, I get all the gossip from Trinity now.
Connell doesn’t look up. He’s scanning the other items from the trolley: a box of teabags, a loaf of sliced pan.
Your son’s just being kind, I’m sure, says Marianne.
She takes her purse out and pays for her items, which cost three euro eighty-nine. Lorraine and Connell are packing their groceries into reusable plastic bags.
Can we offer you a lift home? Lorraine says.
Oh, no, says Marianne. I’ll walk. But thank you.
Walk! says Lorraine. Out to Blackfort Road? Do not. We’ll give you a lift.
Connell takes both the plastic bags in his arms and cocks his head towards the door.
Come on, he says.
Marianne hasn’t seen him since May. He moved home after the exams and she stayed in Dublin. He said he wanted to see other people and she said: Okay. Now, because she was never really his girlfriend, she’s not even his ex-girlfriend. She’s nothing. They all get in the car together, Marianne sitting in the back seat, while Connell and Lorraine have a conversation about someone they know who has died, but an elderly person so it’s not that sad. Marianne stares out the window.
Well, I’m delighted we bumped into you, says Lorraine. It’s great to see you looking so well.
Oh, thank you.
How long are you in town for?
Just the weekend, says Marianne.
Eventually Connell indicates at the entrance to the Foxfield estate and pulls in outside his house. Lorraine gets out. Connell glances at Marianne in the rear-view mirror and says: Here, get in the front, will you? I’m not a taxi driver. Wordlessly Marianne complies. Lorraine opens the boot and Connell twists around in his seat. Leave the bags, he says. I’ll bring them in when I’m back. She puts up her hands in surrender, shuts the boot and then waves them off.
