Eileen: let me know about the ‘cake tasting’
Lola: Do you want to bring him to the wedding?
Eileen: that won’t be necessary
Lola: Why not??
Eileen put her phone away and opened a new browser window on her work computer.
For a moment she paused, staring at the search engine on the home page, and then quickly and lightly she tapped out the words ‘eileen lydon’ and hit the return key. A
page of results showed on-screen, with a set of images displayed at the top. One was a photograph of Eileen herself, sandwiched between two black-and-white historical images. The other results were chiefly social media profiles belonging to other people, along with some obituaries and professional listings. At the bottom of the page, a link to the magazine’s website read: Eileen Lydon | Editorial Assistant. She clicked the link and a new page opened. No photograph was included, and the text simply read: Eileen Lydon is an editorial assistant and contributor at the Harcourt Review. Her essay on the novels of Natalia Ginzburg appeared in Issue 43, Winter 2015. The final part of the sentence was hyperlinked and Eileen clicked it, leading to a page on which the magazine issue could be purchased online. She closed the tab then and opened up her work email account.
At home that evening, Eileen called her parents’ landline number, and her father Pat picked up the phone. They talked for a few minutes about a minor political controversy that had been in the news that day, both with similar or even identical tones of disapproval. Please God it won’t be long before the next election, Pat said. Eileen told him she would keep her fingers crossed. He asked her how she was getting on at work and she said: Nothing to report. She was sitting on the bed in her room, one arm holding her phone to her ear, the other resting on her knees. I’ll put you on to your mother, he said. A rasping noise then, and what sounded like clicking, before Mary’s voice said into the receiver: Hello? Eileen gave a strained smile. Hello, she said. How are you? For a little while they talked about work. Mary told an anecdote involving a new member of staff at the school who had mixed up two female teachers who were both named Ms Walsh. That’s funny, Eileen said. After that they talked about the wedding, a dress Eileen had seen in a shop window, two different pairs of shoes Mary was deciding
between, and finally they moved on to the subjects of Lola’s behaviour, Mary’s responses to Lola’s behaviour, and the underlying attitudes revealed by Mary’s responses to Lola’s behaviour. When she loses her temper with you, you expect me to take your side, said Eileen. But when she loses her temper with me, you say it’s none of your business. Mary sighed loudly into the receiver. Okay, okay, she said, I’m a failure, I’ve let you both down, what more do you want me to say? Sternly, Eileen answered: No, I never said any of that. After a pause, Mary asked if she had any plans for the weekend. In a guarded tone of voice she said she was going to see Simon on Saturday night. Is he still with the new girlfriend? Mary asked. Eileen closed her eyes and said she didn’t know. You were very fond of him at one time, Mary said. Eileen said nothing for a few seconds. Weren’t you? Mary prompted. Eileen opened her eyes then. Yes, Mother, she answered. With a smile in her voice Mary went on: He’s a handsome boy alright. Although he must be well into his thirties now, is he? I’m sure Andrew and Geraldine wouldn’t mind seeing him settled. Eileen was rubbing her fingertip over a piece of embroidery on the quilt. Maybe he’ll marry me, she said. Mary gave a shocked hoot of laughter. Oh, you’re wicked, she said. And you know, the way you have him wrapped around your finger, I wouldn’t be surprised. Is that your new scheme? Eileen replied that it was not ‘a scheme’。 Well, you’d be a lucky woman, said Mary. Eileen nodded her head in silence for a moment. And would he not be a lucky man? she asked then. Mary laughed again at that. Now Eileen, she said, you know I think the world of you. But I have to say that, because you’re my daughter. Eileen went on tracing over the rough stubbled lines of the embroidery with her index finger. If you have to say it, why have I literally never heard you say it before? she asked. Mary was no longer laughing.
Okay, pet, she said. I won’t keep you any longer. You have a nice evening now. I love you.
After hanging up the phone, Eileen opened a messaging app and selected Simon’s name. Their most recent exchange displayed on-screen, from the day before, and she scrolled back up to reread the messages in sequence.
Eileen: send me a photo of your room
The next message was a photograph of a hotel room interior, with a double bed taking up most of the floor space. On the bed was a purple duvet and a folded quilt in a different shade of purple.