It’s almost one in the morning by the time Connell rings the buzzer. Marianne goes downstairs with her purse and finds the taxi is idling outside the building. In the square opposite, a mist wreathes itself around the trees. Winter nights are so exquisite, she thinks of saying to Connell. He’s standing talking to the driver through the window, with his back turned. When he hears the door he turns around, and she sees his mouth cut and bloody, dark blood like dried ink. She steps back, clutching her collarbone, and Connell goes: I know, I saw myself in the mirror. But I’m okay actually, I just need to get cleaned up. In a state of confusion she pays the driver, almost dropping her change in the gutter. On the staircase inside she sees Connell’s upper lip is swollen into a hard shiny mass on the right side. His teeth are the colour of blood. Oh god, she says. What happened? He takes her hand kindly, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.
Some guy came up and asked me for my wallet, he says. And I told him no, for some reason, and then he hit me in the face. I mean, it was a bad idea, I should have just given him the money. Sorry for calling you, it’s the only number I knew off the top of my head.
Oh, Connell, how awful. I have friends round, but what suits you? Do you want to have a shower or something and you can stay here? Or do you want to just get some cash and go home?
They’re outside the door of her apartment now, and they pause there.
Whatever’s good for you, he says. I’m really drunk, by the way. Sorry.
Oh, how drunk?
Well, I haven’t been home since the exams. I don’t know, do I still have pupils?
She looks in his eyes, where his pupils are swollen to round black bullets.
Yes, she says. They’re huge.
He strokes her hand again and says more quietly: Oh well. They get like that when I see you anyway.
She laughs, shaking her head.
You’re definitely drunk if you’re flirting with me, she says. Jamie’s here, you know.
Connell breathes in through his nose and then glances over his own shoulder.
Maybe I’ll just go back out and get punched in the face again, he says. It wasn’t that bad.
She smiles, but he lets go of her hand. She opens the door.
In the living room her friends all gasp and make him retell the story, which he does, though without the desired drama. Marianne gets him a glass of water, which he swills in his mouth and then spits into the kitchen sink, pink like coral.
Fucking lowlife scum, says Jamie.
Who, me? Connell says. That’s not very nice. We can’t all go to private school, you know.
Joanna laughs. Connell isn’t usually hostile and Marianne wonders if getting punched in the face has put him in a hostile mood, or else he’s more drunk than she thought.
I was talking about the guy that robbed you, says Jamie. And he was probably stealing to buy drugs, by the way, that’s what most of them do.
Connell touches his teeth with his fingers as if to ascertain that they’re still in his mouth. Then he wipes his hands on a dishtowel.
Oh well, he says. It’s not an easy life out there for a drug addict.
No, indeed, says Joanna.
They could always try, I don’t know, giving up drugs? says Jamie.
Connell laughs and says: Yeah, I’m sure they’ve just never thought of that.
Everyone’s quiet and Connell gives a bashful smile. His teeth are less insane-looking now that he’s rinsed them with water. Sorry, everyone, he says. I’ll get out of your way. They all insist he’s not in their way, except Jamie, who says nothing. Marianne experiences a flash of maternalistic desire to run Connell a bath. Joanna asks him if he’s in pain, and he responds by rubbing his front teeth with a fingertip again and then saying: It’s not that bad. He’s wearing a black jacket over a stained white T-shirt, under which Marianne recognises the glimmer of an unadorned silver neckchain he’s had since school. Peggy once described the neckchain as ‘Argos chic’, which made Marianne cringe, though she couldn’t tell which friend she was cringing for.
How much cash do you think you’ll need? she says to Connell. The question is sensitive enough that her friends start to talk amongst themselves, so she feels she has him almost alone. He shrugs. You might not be able to make withdrawals without your bank card, she says. He squeezes his eyes shut and touches his forehead.
Fuck me, I’m so drunk, he says. I’m sorry, I feel like I’m hallucinating. What are you asking me?
Money. How much can I give you?
Oh, I don’t know, ten quid?
Let me give you a hundred, she says.
What? No.
They argue like this for a while, until Jamie comes up and touches Marianne’s arm. She is suddenly conscious of his ugliness, and wants to pull away from him. His hairline is receding and he has a weak, jawless face. Beside him, and even covered in blood, Connell radiates good health and charisma.
I’ll probably have to head off shortly, says Jamie.
Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, says Marianne.
