She doesn’t hear from the others much anymore: Peggy, Sophie, Teresa, that crowd. Jamie wasn’t happy about the break-up, and he told people he wasn’t happy, and people felt sorry for him. Things started to turn against Marianne, she could sense that before she left. At first it was unsettling, the way eyes turned away from her in a room, or conversation stopped short when she entered; the sense of having lost her footing in the social world, of being no longer admired and envied, how quickly it had all slipped away from her. But then she found it was easy to get used to. There’s always been something inside her that men have wanted to dominate, and their desire for domination can look so much like attraction, even love. In school the boys had tried to break her with cruelty and disregard, and in college men had tried to do it with sex and popularity, all with the same aim of subjugating some force in her personality. It depressed her to think people were so predictable. Whether she was respected or despised, it didn’t make much difference in the end. Would every stage of her life continue to reveal itself as the same thing, again and again, the same remorseless contest for dominance?
With Peggy it had been hard.
I’m your best friend, she said. What am I supposed to do?
I don’t really know what that question means.
I mean, what position does this put me in? Because honestly, I don’t really want to take sides.
Marianne frowned, zipping a hairbrush into the pocket of her suitcase.
You mean, you don’t want to take my side, she said.
Peggy looked at her, breathing hard now from her exertion around the coffee table. Marianne was kneeling down by her suitcase still.
I don’t know if you really understand how people are feeling, Peggy said. People are upset about this.
About me breaking up with Jamie?
About the whole drama. People are actually upset.
Peggy looked at her, awaiting a response, and Marianne replied eventually: Okay. Peggy rubbed a hand over her face and said: I’ll leave you to pack up. As she went out the door she added: You should consider seeing a therapist or something. Marianne didn’t understand the suggestion. I should see a therapist because I’m
Joanna is the only one who has kept in touch. In the evening they talk on Skype about their coursework, films they’ve seen, articles Joanna is working on for the student paper. On-screen her face always appears dimly lit against the same backdrop, her cream-coloured bedroom wall. She never wears make-up anymore, sometimes she doesn’t even brush her hair. She has a girlfriend now called Evelyn, a graduate student in International Peace Studies. Marianne asked once if Joanna saw Peggy often, and she made a quick wincing expression, only for a fraction of a second, but long enough for Marianne to see. No, said Joanna. I don’t see any of those people. They know I was on your side anyway.
I’m sorry, said Marianne. I didn’t want you to fall out with anyone because of me.
Joanna made a face again, this time a less legible expression, either because of the poor lighting, the pixelation on-screen, or the ambivalent feeling she was trying to express.
Well, I was never really friends with them anyway, said Joanna. They were more your friends.
I thought we were all friends.
You were the only one I got on with. Frankly I don’t think Jamie or Peggy are particularly good people. It’s not my business if you want to be friends with them, that’s just my opinion.
No, I agree with you, said Marianne. I guess I just got caught up in how much they seemed to like me.
Yeah. I think in your better judgement you did realise how obnoxious they were. But it was easier for me because they never really liked me that much.
