Normal People

Morte
Darthur
, and while he spoke his hands were shaking and he couldn’t look
up from the printouts to see if anyone was actually listening to him. His
voice wavered several times and he had the sense that if he hadn’t been
seated, he would have fallen to the ground. Only later did he find out that
this presentation was considered very impressive. One of his classmates
actually called him ‘a genius’ to his face afterwards, in a dismissive tone of
voice, like geniuses were slightly despicable people. It is generally known
in their year group that Connell has received the highest grade in all but
one module, and he finds he likes to be thought of as intelligent, if only
because it makes his interactions with other people more legible. He likes

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when someone is struggling to remember the name of a book or an author,
and he can provide it for them readily, not showing off, just remembering
it. He likes when Marianne tells her friends – people whose fathers are
judges and government ministers, people who went to inordinately
expensive schools – that Connell is the smartest person they will ‘ever
meet’.
What about you, Connell? says Peggy.
He has not been listening, and all he can say in response is: What?
Tempted by the idea of multiple partners? she says.
He looks at her. She has an arch expression on her face.
Uh, he says. I don’t know. What do you mean?
Do you not fantasise about having your own harem? says Peggy. I
thought that was a universal thing for men.
Oh, right. No, not really.
Maybe just two, then, Peggy says.
Two what, two women?
Peggy looks at Marianne and makes a mischievous kind of giggling
noise. Marianne sips her water calmly.
We can if you want to, says Peggy.
Wait, sorry, Connell says. We can what?
Well, whatever you call it, she says. A threesome or whatever.
Oh, he says. And he laughs at his own stupidity. Right, he says. Right,
sorry. He folds the label over again, not knowing what else to say. I missed
that, he adds. He can’t do it. He’s not indecisive on the question of whether
he’d like to do it or not, he actually can’t do it. For some reason, and he
can’t explain it to himself, he thinks maybe he could fuck Peggy in front of
Marianne, although it would be awkward, and not necessarily enjoyable.
But he could not, he’s immediately certain, ever do anything to Marianne
with Peggy watching, or any of her friends watching, or anyone at all. He
feels shameful and confused even to think about it. It’s something he
doesn’t understand in himself. For the privacy between himself and
Marianne to be invaded by Peggy, or by another person, would destroy
something inside him, a part of his selfhood, which doesn’t seem to have a
name and which he has never tried to identify before. He folds the damp
beer label up one more time so it’s very small and tightly folded now. Hm,
he says.

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Oh no, says Marianne. I’m much too self-conscious. I’d die.
Peggy says: Really? She says this in a pleasant, interested tone of voice,
like she’s just as happy discussing Marianne’s self-consciousness as she
would be engaging in group sex. Connell tries not to display any outward
relief.
I have all kinds of hang-ups, says Marianne. Very neurotic.
Peggy compliments Marianne’s appearance in a routine, effeminate way
and asks what her hang-ups are about.
Marianne pinches her lower lip and then says: Well, I don’t feel lovable.
I think I have an unlovable sort of … I have a coldness about me, I’m
difficult to like. She gestures one of her long, thin hands in the air, like
she’s only approximating what she means rather than really nailing it.
I don’t believe that, says Peggy. Is she cold with you?
Connell coughs and says: No.
She and Marianne continue talking and he rolls the folded label between
his fingers, feeling anxious.
*
Marianne went home for a couple of days this week, and when she came
back to Dublin last night she seemed quiet. They watched