The Snapper

— You’re wha’? said Jimmy Rabbitte Sr.

He said it loudly.

— You heard me, said Sharon.

Jimmy Jr was upstairs in the boys’ room doing his DJ. practice. Darren was in the front room watching Police Academy II on the video. Les was out. Tracy and Linda, the twins, were in the front room annoying Darren. Veronica, Mrs Rabbitte, was sitting opposite Jimmy Sr at the kitchen table.

Sharon was pregnant and she’d just told her father that she thought she was. She’d told her mother earlier, before the dinner.

— Oh — my Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.

He looked at Veronica. She looked tired. He looked at Sharon again.

— That’s shockin’, he said.

Sharon said nothing.

— Are yeh sure? said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah. Sort of.

— Wha’?

— Yeah.

Jimmy Sr wasn’t angry. He probably wouldn’t be either, but it all seemed very unfair.

— You’re only nineteen, he said.

— I’m twenty.

— You’re only twenty.

— I know what age I am, Daddy.

— Now, there’s no need to be gettin’ snotty, said Jimmy Sr.

— Sorry, said Sharon.

She nearly meant it.

— I’m the one tha’ should be gettin’ snotty, said Jimmy Sr.

Sharon made herself smile. She was happy with the way things were going so far.

— It’s shockin’, said Jimmy Sr again, — so it is. Wha’ do you think o’ this?

He was talking to Veronica.

— I don’t know, said Veronica.

— Is tha’ the best yeh can do, Veronica?

— Well, what do YOU think?

Jimmy Sr creased his face and held it that way for a second.

— I don’t know, he said. — I should give ou’, I suppose. An’ throw a wobbler or somethin’. But — what’s the point?

Veronica nodded. She looked very tired now.

Jimmy Sr continued.

— If she was—

He turned to Sharon.

— You should’ve come to us earlier — before, yeh know — an’ said you were goin’ to get pregnant.

The three of them tried to laugh.

— Then we could’ve done somethin’ abou’ it. — My God, though.

No one said anything. Then Jimmy Sr spoke to Sharon again.

— You’re absolutely sure now? Positive?

— Yeah, I am. I done—

— Did, said Veronica.

— I did the test.

— The test? said Jimmy Sr. — Oh.—Did yeh go in by yourself?

— Yeah, said Sharon.

— Did yeh? Fair play to yeh, said Jimmy Sr. — I’d never’ve thought o’ tha’.

Sharon and Veronica looked at each other, and grinned quickly.

Jimmy Sr got down to business.

— Who was it?

— Wha’?—Oh. I don’t know.

— Ah now, Jaysis—!

— No, I do know.

— Well, then?

— I’m not tellin’.

Jimmy Sr could feel himself getting a bit angry now. That was better.

— Now, look—

They heard Jimmy Jr from up in the boys’ room.

— THIS IS JIMMY RABBITTE — ALL — OVER — IRELAND.

— Will yeh listen to tha’ fuckin’ eejit, said his father.

— Leave him alone, said Veronica.

Jimmy Sr stared at the ceiling.

— I don’t know.

Then he turned to Sharon again.

— Why won’t yeh tell us?

Sharon said nothing. Jimmy Sr saw her eyes filling with water.

— Don’t start tha’, he told her. — Just tell us.

— I can’t, Sharon told the table.

— Why not?

— I just can’t, righ’.

Jimmy Sr looked across at Veronica and shook his head. He’d never been able to cope with answers like that. If Sharon had been one of the boys he’d have walloped her.

Veronica looked worried now. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know the answer.

— Is he married? Jimmy Sr asked.

— Oh my God, said Veronica.

— No, he’s not! said Sharon.

— Well, that’s somethin’, I suppose, said Jimmy Sr. — Then why—

Veronica started crying.

— Ah Veronica, stop tha’.

Linda ran in.

— Daddy, Darren’s after hittin’ me.

She was getting ready to cry.

— Jesus! Another one, said Jimmy Sr.

Then he spoke to Linda.

— I’ll go in in a minute an’ I’ll hit Darren an’ you can watch me hittin’ him.

— Can I?

— Yeah, yeh can. Now get ou’ or I’ll practise on you first.

Linda squealed and ran away from him. She stopped at the safe side of the kitchen door.

— Can Tracy watch as well? she asked.

— She can o’ course. Now, your mammy an’ Sharon an’ me are havin’ a chat, so leave us alone.

Jimmy Sr looked at the two women. The crying had stopped.

— THIS IS JIMMY RABBITTE — ALL — OVER — IRELAND.

— Oh good Jesus, what a house! — Is he queer or wha’ is he? Jimmy Sr asked Sharon.

— No, he’s not. He’s alrigh’; leave him alone.

— I don’t know, said Jimmy Sr. — Tha’ gear he wears. He had his trous—

— That’s only the fashion.

— I suppose so. But, Jaysis.

He looked at Veronica. She just looked tired again.

— This is an awful shock, Sharon, he said. — Isn’t it, Veronica?

— Definitely.

— Make us a cup o’ tea there, love, will yeh.

— Make it yourself, said Veronica.

— I’ll make it, said Sharon.

— Good girl, said Jimmy Sr. — Mind yourself against the table there. Good girl. — You’re sure now he’s not married?

— Yeah, he’s not, said Sharon, at the sink.

— Then why won’t yeh tell us then?

— Look, said Sharon.

She turned to face him.

— I can’t, an’ I’m not goin’ to.

She turned back to plug in the kettle.

— Will he marry you? Jimmy Sr asked her.

— No. I don’t think so.

— The louser. That’s cheatin’, tha’ is.

— It’s not a game! said Veronica.

— I know, I know tha’, Veronica. But it’s his fault as much as Sharon’s. Whoever he is. — It was his flute tha’-

— Daddy!

— Well, it was.

— It’s no wonder they all talk the way they do, Veronica gave out to Jimmy Sr.

— Ah, lay off, Veronica, will yeh.

They heard a scream from the front room.

— Hang on till I sort this young fella ou’, said Jimmy Sr.

He marched out of the kitchen.

— He’s taking it well, said Veronica.

— Yeah, said Sharon. — So are you.

— Ah sure—

— I was afraid you’d throw me ou’.

— I never thought of that, mind you. — It’s not right though, said Veronica.

She looked straight at Sharon.

— I suppose it’s not, said Sharon.

Jimmy Sr came back, rubbing his hands and calling Darren a sneaky little bastard. He sat down and saw the tea waiting for him.

— Aah, lovely.

He sipped.

— Fuck! — Sorry, Veronica; excuse me. It’s very hot.

— He’s started saying Excuse me. After twenty-two years.

— Good luck, Jimmy Jr roared from the front door, and then he slammed it.

— He shuts the door like a normal man annyway. That’s somethin’, I suppose.

— He’s alrigh’, said Sharon.

Jimmy Sr now said something he’d heard a good few times on the telly.

— D’yeh want to keep it?

— Wha’ d’yeh mean?

— D’yeh — d’you want to keep it, like?

— He wants to know if you want to have an abortion, said Veronica. — The eejit.

— I do not! said Jimmy Sr.

This was true. He was sorry now he’d said it.

— There’s no way I’d have an abortion, said Sharon.

— Good. You’re right.

— Abortion’s murder.

— It is o’ course.

Then he thought of something and he had to squirt his tea back into the cup. He could hear his heart. And feel it.

He looked at Sharon.

— He isn’t a black, is he?

— No!

He believed her. The three of them started laughing.

— One o’ them students, yeh know, Jimmy Sr explained. — With a clatter o’ wives back in Africa.

— Stop that.

Jimmy Sr’s tea was finished.

— That was grand, Sharon, thanks, he said. — An’ you’re def’ny not goin’ to tell us who it is?

— No. — Sorry.

— Never mind the Sorry. — I think you should tell us. I’m not goin’ to kill him or annythin’.

Sharon said nothing.

Jimmy Sr pushed his chair back from the table.

— There’s no point in anny more talkin’ then, I suppose. Your mind’s obviously made up, Sharon.

He stood up.

— A man needs a pint after all tha’, he said.

— Is that all? said Veronica, shocked.

— Wha’ d’yeh mean, Veronica?

— It’s a terrible — Veronica started.

But she couldn’t really go on. She thought that Sharon’s news deserved a lot more attention, and some sort of punishment. As far as Veronica was concerned this was the worst thing that had ever happened the family. But she couldn’t really explain why, not really. And she knew that, anyway, nothing could be done about it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad once she got used to it.

Then she thought of something.

— The neighbours, she said.

— Wha’ abou’ them? said Jimmy Sr.

Veronica thought for a bit.

— What’ll they say? she then said.

— You don’t care wha’ tha’ lot says, do yeh? said Jimmy Sr.

— Yes. I do.

— Ah now, Veronica.

He sat down.

Sharon spoke.

— They’ll have a laugh when they find ou’ an’ they’ll try an’ guess who I’m havin’ it for. An’ that’s all. — An’ anyway, I don’t care.

— An’ that’s the important thing, Jimmy Sr told Veronica.

Veronica didn’t look convinced.

— Sure look, said Jimmy Sr. — The O’Neill young ones have had kids, the both o’ them. An’—an’ the Bells would be the same ’cept they don’t have anny daughters, but yeh know wha’ I mean.

— Dawn O’Neill had her baby for Paddy Bell, Sharon reminded him.

— She did o’ course, said Jimmy Sr.

He stood up.

— So there now, Veronica, he said. — Fuck the neighbours.

Veronica tried to look as if she’d been won over. She wanted to go up to bed. She nodded.

Jimmy Sr had a nice idea.

— Are yeh comin’ for a drink, Sharon?

— No thanks, Daddy. I’ll stay in tonigh’.

— Ah, go on.

— Alrigh’, Sharon smiled.

— Good girl. Yeh may as well — Veronica?

–’M? — Ah no, no thanks.

— Go on.

— No. I’m goin’ up to bed.

— I’d go up with yeh only I’ve a throat on me.

Veronica smiled.

— You’re sure now? said Jimmy Sr.

— Yep, said Veronica.

Sharon went for her jacket.

— Will I bring yeh home a few chips? Jimmy Sr asked Veronica.

— I’ll be asleep.

— Fair enough.

Jimmy Sr stopped at the front door and roared back to Veronica.

— Cheerio now, Granny.

Then he laughed, and slammed the door harder than Jimmy Jr had.

* * *

Jimmy Sr came back with the drinks and sat in beside Sharon. He hated the tables up here, in the lounge. You couldn’t get your legs in under them. Sharon couldn’t either. She sat side-saddle.

— Thanks a lot, Daddy, said Sharon when she’d poured the Coke in with the vodka.

— Ah, no problem, said Jimmy Sr.

He’d never had a drink with Sharon before. He watched his pint settling, something he never did when he was downstairs in the bar. He only came up here on Sundays, and now.

He turned to Sharon and spoke softly.

— When’s it due an’ annyway?

— November.

Jimmy Sr did a few quick sums in his head.

— You’re three months gone.

— No. Nearly.

— Yeh should’ve told us earlier.

— I know. — I was scared to.

— Ah, Sharon, — I still think you should tell us who the da is.

— You can think away then.

Jimmy Sr couldn’t help grinning. She’d always been like that.

— I thought your mammy took it very well, he said.

— Yeah, Sharon agreed. — She was great.

— Cos she’s a bit ol’ fashioned like tha’. Set in her ways.

— Yeah. No, she was great. So were you.

— Ah, now.

They said nothing after that for a bit. Jimmy Sr could think of nothing else to say. He looked around him: kids and yuppies. He sat there, feeling far from home. The lads would all be downstairs by now. Jimmy Sr had a good one he’d heard in work for them, about a harelip in a sperm-bank. He loved Sharon but, if the last five minutes were anything to go by, she was shocking drinking company.

He noticed Jimmy Jr up at the stools with his pals.

— There’s Jimmy, he said.

— Yeah, said Sharon.

— That’s an awful lookin’ shower he hangs around with.

— They’re alrigh’.

— The haircuts on them, look.

— That’s only the fashion these days. Leave them alone.

— I s’pose so, said Jimmy Sr.

And they stopped again.

There was only an hour to closing time but Jimmy Sr wasn’t sure he’d be able to stick it.

— Wha’ does Jimmy be doin’ up there when he’s shoutin’, yeh know, abou’ bein’ all over Ireland? he asked Sharon.

— He wants to be a D.J.

— A wha’?

— A D.J. A disc jockey.

— Wha’; like Larry Gogan?

— Yeah. Sort of.

— Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.

He’d had enough.

He’d spotted a gang of Sharon’s friends over past Jimmy Jr and his pals.

— There’s those friends o’ yours, Sharon, he said.

Sharon knew what he was at.

— Oh yeah, she said.

— D’yeh want to go over to them?

— I don’t mind.

— They’d be better company than your oul’ fella annyway, wha’.

— Ah no.

— Go on. Yeh may as well go over. I don’t mind.

— I can’t leave you on your own.

— Ah sure, said Jimmy Sr. — I can go down an’ see if there’s annyone downstairs.

Sharon grinned. So did Jimmy Sr. He still felt guilty though, so he got a fiver out and handed it to Sharon.

— Ah, there’s no need, Daddy.

— There is o’ course, said Jimmy Sr.

He moved in closer to her.

— It’s not every day yeh find ou’ you’re goin’ to be a granda.

He’d just thought of that now and he had to stop himself from letting his eyes water. He often did things like that, gave away pounds and fivers or said nice things; little things that made him like himself.

He patted Sharon’s shoulder. He was standing up, but he stopped.

— Hang on a sec, he said. — I’ll wait till your man passes.

Sharon looked.

— Who?

— Burgess there, the bollix. Excuse me, Sharon. I can’t stand him.

— I’ve seen yeh talkin’ to him loads o’ times.

— He traps me. An’ Darren’s his goalie this year. He’d drop him if I got snotty with him.

— Oh. Yeah.

— It’s alrigh’ now, said Jimmy Sr, and he stood up again. — The coast’s clear. See yeh later.

Jimmy Sr trotted out, and down to the lads in the bar.

Sharon took her vodka and her jacket and her bag and went across to Jackie O’Keefe, Mary Curran and Yvonne Burgess, her friends; the gang.

— Hiyis, she said when she got there.

— Oh, howyeh, Sharon.

— Hiyeh, Sharon.

— Howyeh, Sharon.

— Hiyis, said Sharon.

— Put your bag over here, Sharon, look, said Yvonne.

— Thanks, said Sharon. — Hiyeh, Jackie. Haven’t seen yeh in ages.

— She’s been busy, said Mary.

Yvonne sniggered.

— How’s Greg? Sharon asked Jackie.

Yvonne sniggered again.

— Fuck off, you, said Jackie. — He’s grand, Sharon.

— They’re goin’ on their holliers together, Mary told Sharon.

— Dirty bitch, said Yvonne.

They laughed.

— Fuck off, will yeh, said Jackie. — We’re not goin’ for definite.

She explained.

— He mightn’t be able to take the time off.

— Yeh see, Sharon, said Yvonne. — You’ve got to understand, Greg’s a very important person.

— Fuck off, Burgess, said Jackie, but she was grinning.

— Where’re yeh goin’? Sharon asked Jackie.

— Rimini. In Italy.

— Lovely.

— Yeah.

— Yeh can go for a swim with the Pope, said Yvonne.

They laughed.

— Cos there’ll be fuck all else to do there, Yvonne finished.

— She’s just jealous, said Mary.

— Of wha’? said Yvonne—

Mary changed the subject.

— Anny news, Sharon? she asked.

— No, said Sharon. — Not really.

* * *

Sharon told no one else yet.

She bought a book in Easons and read about the first fourteen weeks of pregnancy and waited for the changes to happen; the breasts swelling, the urinating, the nausea and that. She looked at herself in her parents’ wardrobe mirror. She looked the same. And from the side; the same as well. She was ten weeks and two days pregnant. She didn’t bother including the hours and minutes, but she nearly could have. The book said that the real changes started after the tenth week. And that was now.

Her nipples were going to get darker. She didn’t mind that too much. The veins in her breasts would become more prominent. Sharon didn’t like the sound of that. That worried her. She wondered would they be horrible and knobbly like her Auntie Mona’s varicose veins. The joints between her pelvic bones would be widening. She hoped they wouldn’t pinch a sciatic nerve, which ran from her arse down through the back of her legs, because she had to stand a lot of the time in work and a pinched sciatic nerve would be a killer. She read about her hormones and what they were doing to her. She could picture them; little roundy balls with arms and legs. She hoped her bowel movements stayed fairly regular. Her uterus would soon be pressing into her bladder. What worried her most was the bit about vaginal secretions. They’d make her itchy, it said. That would be really terrible in work, fuckin’ murder. Or when she was out. She’d have preferred a pinched sciatic nerve.

She hoped these changes came one at a time.

She read about eating. Nearly everything she normally ate was wrong. She decided she’d follow the instructions in the book. She wasn’t getting sick in the mornings but she started having dry toast for her breakfast, just to be on the safe side. It was good for morning sickness. She ate raw carrots. She took celery home from work and chewed that. Jimmy Sr banned the carrots and the celery when the telly was on, except during the ads. If she didn’t go easy on the carrots, he said, she’d give birth to a fuckin’ rabbit. And there were enough bunnies in the house already.

She ploughed through her book, about three pages a night. It was hard going, and frightening. There was a lot more to being pregnant than she’d thought. And there was so much that could go wrong.

She didn’t feel pregnant yet, not really.

She read about the feelings she might have at this stage. She might, she read, feel increased sensuality. She looked that up in Darren’s dictionary and that wasn’t how she felt at all. She might feel like she was in love: no way. She might feel great excitement — no.

She was sitting between Jimmy Sr and Veronica a few days after she’d told them the news. Blankety Blank was over. The panel were waving out at them. Jimmy Sr stuck his fingers up at them. Darren laughed.

— Your man, Rolf Harris, is an awful gobshite, said Jimmy Sr. — I’ve always said it.

— He’s a great painter, said Veronica.

— He is in his hole a great painter, said Jimmy Sr. — He slaps a bit o’ paint around an’ if it looks like somethin’ he says it an’ if it doesn’t he starts singin’ Two Little Boys Had Two Little Toys. To distract us.

— He’s good for the kids, said Veronica.

— He’s good for the bowels, said Jimmy Sr. — You don’t like him, do yeh, Darren?

— No way.

— I don’t like him either, said Tracy.

— I don’t like him either, said Linda.

— There now, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr.

— What’s perception? Sharon asked.

— Wha?

— What’s perception?

— Sweat, Jimmy Sr told her. — Why?

Sharon whispered to Jimmy Sr.

— It says my perception might be heightened when I’m pregnant.

— Yeh smell alrigh’ from here, love, said Jimmy Sr.

He leaned over.

— What’s the buke abou’?

— Pregnancy.

— Jaysis, d’yeh need a buke to be pregnant these days?

— I didn’t have a book, said Veronica.

— Shhh! went Jimmy Sr.

— You wouldn’t’ve been able to read it, Ma, said Darren.

The remote control hit his shoulder and bounced off his head.

— Wha’ was tha’ for!? he cried.

His hand tried to cover both sore spots.

— Mind your own business, you, said Jimmy Sr. — Don’t look at me like tha’, son, or I’ll — Say you’re sorry to your mother.

— I was on’y—

— SAY YOU’RE SORRY.

— Sorry.

— PROPERLY.

— I’m sorry, Ma.

— You don’t look it, said Veronica.

— I can’t help it.

— You get that from your father.

— It’s not all he’ll get from his father, said Jimmy Sr.

— Turn on Sky there, he barked at Darren, — for the wrestlin’.

— His master’s voice, said Veronica.

— No chips for you tonigh’, Jimmy Sr told her.

— Aw.

Jimmy Sr pointed at a diagram in Sharon’s book.

— What’s tha’ supposed to be? he asked her.

— The inside of a woman, said Sharon, softly.

— Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr. — Sky, I said. That’s RTE 2. Look at the wavy lines, look. That’s RTE 2. It’s one o’ their farmin’ programmes.

Linda and Tracy giggled.

Jimmy Sr studied the diagram.

— Where’s it all fit? he wanted to know. — Is this an Irish buke, Sharon?

— No. English.

— Ah, said Jimmy Sr.

— Is Sharon havin’ a baby? Linda asked.

— No! said Jimmy Sr.

— Are yeh, Sharon?

— Are yeh havin’ a baby, Sharon? said Tracy.

— NO, i SAID.

— Sharon, are yeh?

— Aaah! said Jimmy Sr.

— No, I’m not, Sharon told them. — A friend o’ mine is, that’s all.

— Ah, said Tracy, very disappointed.

— Ma? said Linda.

— Mammy, said Veronica.

— Mammy. Will you be havin’ more babies?

— Oh my Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr. — Here. Here. Come here.

He dug into his pockets. He’d no change, so he gave Linda a pound note.

— Go ou’ an’ buy sweets. — Say Thank—

But they were gone. Jimmy Sr saw Darren looking at him.

— What’re you lookin’ at? — Here.

It was a pound.

— Thanks, Da. Rapid.

— Get ou’.—I think yeh’d better read tha’ buke up in your room, Sharon. I can’t afford to do tha’ every nigh’.

— D’yeh think they know? Sharon asked him.

— Not at all, said Jimmy Sr. — They’ll have forgotten all abou’ it once they have their faces stuffed with — with Trigger Bars an’ Cadbury’s fuckin’ Cream Eggs.

— Stop that.

— Sorry, Veronica. — Annyway sure, we’ll have to tell them some time annyway, won’t we?

— Yeah. I suppose so. — Yeah. I hadn’t thought o’ tha’, said Sharon.

— I have, Veronica told her.

Sharon brought the book upstairs.

She read on. She might feel shock: no, not now. She might feel a loss of individuality. She might feel she didn’t matter: no. Like a vessel: no. Loveless: yeah — not really.

Scared: a bit. Sick: not yet. Not ready for pregnancy: sort of, but not really.

What she really felt, she decided later in bed, was confused. There was so much. And she wouldn’t have really known that if she hadn’t bought the bleedin’ book.

But she wanted to know. She wanted to know exactly what was going to happen, what was happening even now. She put her hand on her stomach: nothing.

* * *

She felt a bit impatient too. Sometimes she didn’t think anything was going to happen. She hoped the changes came soon. She was ready for it; getting bigger, backache, and the rest of it. In a way she wanted it. She didn’t mind people knowing she was pregnant — as long as no one knew who’d helped her — but she couldn’t go around telling everyone. She could never have done that. Once she started getting bigger, then they’d know. Then they could laugh and talk about it and try and guess who she’d done it with, and then leave her alone. Though she’d have to tell her friends, Jackie and them.

* * *

Jimmy Sr woke up. His neck was killing him. He hated falling asleep sitting on the couch, but he’d had a few pints with the lads after the pitch and putt, so he didn’t know he was falling asleep till now, after he’d woken up. He tried to stretch, and lift his head up.

— Ah—!—fuck—

He shook himself. His chin was wet, and a bit of his shirt.

— Ah Jaysis, he gave out to himself. — Yeh fuckin’ baby, yeh.

He looked at the telly. Cricket.

— Ah, fuckin’ hell.

He always got angry the minute he saw cricket. It really annoyed him, everything about it; the umpires, the white gear, the commentators, the whole fuckin’ lot.

He couldn’t find the remote control, so he had to stand up. When he got to the telly he didn’t bother looking to see if there was anything else on. He just turned it off.

His mouth and throat were dry. He needed Coke, or anything fizzy and cold.

Veronica was in the kitchen, at the table, cutting material.

— Is it still Saturday? said Jimmy Sr.

— The dead arose, said Veronica.

Jimmy Sr went to the fridge. He bent down and took out a large yellow-pack bottle, empty.

— Fuck it annyway!

— Now now.

— There was loads in it this mornin’. I only had a few slugs.

— Jimmy had the rest of it before he went to work, Veronica told him. — He didn’t look very well.

— Fuck’m, said Jimmy Sr. — Why can’t he buy his own?

— Why can’t YOU buy your own?

— I bought this one!

— Excuse ME. I bought it.

— With my fuckin’ money.

Veronica said nothing. Jimmy Sr sat down. He shouldn’t have shouted at her. He felt guilty now. He’d send one of the kids to get her a choc-ice when one of them came in.

— What’s tha’ you’re makin’, Veronica? he asked.

Veronica glanced at him over her glasses.

— A skirt. For Linda, she said.

— No one’ll run her over in the dark annyway, wha’, said Jimmy Sr.

The material was very bright, shiny red.

— Ha ha, said Veronica. — It’s for their majorettes.

— Their wha’?

— Majorettes. You know. Marching to music.

— Wha’? Like in American football?

— That’s right.

This worried Jimmy Sr.

— They’re a bit young for tha’, aren’t they?

— Don’t be stupid, said Veronica. — They’re doing it in school.

— Oh, fair enough so, said Jimmy Sr. — What’s for the dinner?

— You had your dinner, Veronica reminded him.

She put the scissors down on the table. That was that for one day. Her eyes were sore.

— For the tea, said Jimmy Sr.

— A fry, said Veronica.

— Lovely, said Jimmy Sr. — An’ some fried bread maybe?

Veronica looked across. There was one full sliced pan and most of another one.

— Right, she said. — Okay.

— Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. — I love yeh.

— Umf, said Veronica.

The back door opened and Les charged through the kitchen. They heard him walloping the stairs as he ran up to the boys’ room.

— Don’t say hello or ann’thin’! Jimmy Sr roared.

There wasn’t an answer. The door slammed.

— No one just closes doors annymore, said Jimmy Sr. — Did yeh ever notice tha’, Veronica?

Veronica had her head in the fridge. She was wiping some dried milk off the inside of the door.

— They either slam them or they leave the fuckin’ things open, said Jimmy Sr. — I went into the jacks there this mornin’ an’ Linda was sittin’ in there readin’ a comic. Or it might’ve been Tracy.

— You should have knocked, said Veronica.

— The door was open, said Jimmy Sr. — An open jacks door means the jacks is empty. Everywhere in the world except in this house. Walk into the jacks in this house an’ you’ll find a twin, or Jimmy pukin’, or Leslie wankin’—

— Stop that!

— Sorry. — That’s the sort o’ stuff they should be teachin’ them in school. Not Irish or — or German. Shuttin’ jacks doors an’ sayin’ Hello an’ tha’ sort o’ thing. Manners.

— Will you look who’s talking about manners, said Veronica, and she stabbed a sausage a couple of times and turned it, and stabbed it again.

Jimmy Jr came in, from work.

— Howyis, he said.

— Get stuffed, you, said Jimmy Sr.

— Manners! said Veronica.

— Listen here, you, said Jimmy Sr. — You’re not to be drinkin’ all the Coke in the mornin’, righ’. Buy your own.

— I put me money into the house, said Jimmy Jr.

— Is tha’ wha’ yeh call it? Yeh couldn’t wipe your arse with the amount you give your mother.

He pointed at the sausages.

— D’you know how much they cost, do yeh?

— Do YOU know? Veronica asked him.

Darren came in the back door, and saved Jimmy Sr.

— Did yeh win, Darren? he asked.

— Yeah, said Darren. — I saved a penno.

— Did yeh? Ah, good man. Good man yourself. Wha’ score?

— Two-one.

— Yeh let one in.

— It wasn’t my fault.

— Course it wasn’t.

— Muggah McCarthy let it through his legs an’—

Veronica looked at Darren.

— Get up, you, and wash some of that muck off you.

The twins came in as Darren went out.

— Ma, Da, said Linda. — Can we keep this?

It was a pup, a tiny black wad of fluff with four skinny legs and a tail that would have looked long on a fully grown dog. It was shaking in Linda’s hands, terrified.

— No, said Veronica, and — Yeah, said Jimmy Sr at the same time. — Yeh can o’ course.

— Not after the last one, said Veronica. — They never stopped crying after Bonzo got run over. And Darren and Sharon.

— And you, said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah, Mammy. We won’t cry this time. Sure we won’t, Tracy?

— Yeah, said Tracy. — We’ll tie the gate so he can’t get ou’.

— No, I said.

— Ah, Ma-mmy! Let’s.

— Who’ll feed it? Veronica wanted to know.

— Wha’ is it? said Jimmy Sr.

— A dog, said Linda. — It’ll grow bigger.

— Will it? said Jimmy Sr. — That’s very clever.

Veronica laughed. She couldn’t help it.

Tracy pounced.

— Can we keep it, Mammy? Can we?

— Alright, said Veronica.

Jimmy Sr beamed at her.

— When was the last time you brushed your teeth? she asked him.

— This mornin’!

— With Guinness, was it?

She looked at the twins.

— You’re to feed it, the two of you. — An’ it’s not to come into the house.

— The ’Malley’s dog had it, Linda told them. — He had loads o’ them.

— Can we get another one, Ma? One each.

— No!

— Aah.

— No.

— One’ll do yis, said Jimmy Sr. — Show us it here.

Linda handed the pup to Jimmy Sr.

Jimmy Jr walked back in.

— What’s tha’? A rat?

— It is not a rat, Jimmy Rabbitte, said Tracy. — It’s a dog.

— It’s a dog, righ’, said Linda.

It was warm and quivering. Jimmy Sr could feel its bones.

— Wha’ sort of a dog is it but? he asked.

— Black, said Tracy.

— Go ’way! said Jimmy Jr.

— I’m your new da, Jimmy Sr told it.

They all laughed.

— An’, look it. There’s your mammy makin’ the tea.

He made its paw wave at Veronica. Linda and Tracy were delighted. They couldn’t wait to do that.

— Give us it, said Linda, and she pulled at it.

— Easy! — for Jaysis sake, said Jimmy Sr. — You’ll break the poor little bastard.

He lifted it up by the skin at the back of its neck and looked under it.

— It’s a young fella, he told Veronica.

— Thank God, said Veronica.

— How do yeh know tha’? Tracy wanted to know.

— It’s written there. Look.

— It isn’t. — Where is it?

Then the pup puked on Jimmy Sr’s shoulder.

— Oh, look it, said Linda.

She tried to rub it off before her mammy saw it and changed her mind.

— Leave it, leave it, said Jimmy Sr. — What’re you laughin’ at?

— Nothin’ much, said Jimmy Jr.

— Put it in the back, said Veronica.

Jimmy Sr put the pup on the table so he could get to the sink and clean his shoulder. It stood there, rattling, its paws slipping on the formica, and pissed on it.

Tracy grabbed it and ran for the door and Jimmy Sr had the piss in a J-cloth and under the tap before Veronica had time to turn from the cooker to see what had happened.

Jimmy Sr studied his shoulder.

— That’s grand.

— Change it, said Veronica.

— Not at all, said Jimmy Sr. — It’s grand.

Tracy came back in with the pup clinging to the front of her jumper.

— Look it. He’s hangin’ on by himself.

— What’re yis goin’ to call him? Jimmy Sr asked.

— Don’t know.

— Wha’ abou’ Larry Gogan? said Jimmy Sr.

He looked across at Jimmy Jr, but Jimmy Jr didn’t know he was being slagged.

— That’s stupid, said Linda.

— It’s thick, said Tracy.

— No, it’s not, said Jimmy Sr. — Listen. How many—?

— Call him Anthrax, said Jimmy Jr.

— They will not, said Veronica.

— Look it, said Jimmy Sr when he’d stopped laughing. — If yis call him King or Sultan or somethin’ like tha’ an’ yis shout ou’ his name half the dogs in Barrytown’ll come runnin’ at yis; d’yeh see? But if yis call him Larry Gogan he’s the only one that’ll come to yis cos there’s not all tha’ many dogs called Larry Gogan as far as I know.

— It’s an excellent name, said Jimmy Jr.

The girls looked at each other.

— Okay, said Linda. — We were goin’ to call it Whitney.

— It’s a boy, said Jimmy Sr, laughing.

— Yeah.

— Your name’s Larrygogan, Tracy told the pup.

Larrygogan didn’t look all that impressed.

— Howyeh, Larrygogan.

— Will yis do a message for me, girls?

— Yeah, said Linda.

Jimmy Sr always paid them for messages.

— Get a choc-ice for your mammy—

— I want a Toblerone as well, said Veronica.

— Certainly, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. — A choc-ice an’ a small Toblerone, an’ you can have choc-ices as well.

— Can we just have the money?

— No way. Choc-ices. An’, come here, I want to see yis eatin’ them.

— Not till they’ve had their tea, said Veronica.

— Did yis hear tha’? said Jimmy Sr. — An’ get one for Darren an’ as well.

— Wha’ abou’ me? said Jimmy Jr.

— Buy your own.

— Aaah! He’s gorgeous!

Sharon had just walked in and seen Larrygogan.

— There’s Sharon, said Jimmy Sr. — D’yeh want a choc-ice, Sharon?

— Yeah thanks, Daddy.

— A celery one, is it?

— Very funny, I don’t think.

Sharon patted Larrygogan.

— God, he’s only a skeleton.

— He’s from Ethiopia, said Jimmy Jr.

Jimmy Sr, Linda, Tracy and Sharon laughed but Veronica didn’t. They heard a bang from above them. The bunk beds in the boys’ room had hopped. Les and Darren were fighting.

— STOP THA’, Jimmy roared at the ceiling. — There.

He gave three pound notes to Linda.

— We’ll bring Larrygogan, said Tracy.

Sharon laughed.

— Is tha’ wha’ yis’re callin’ him?

— That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr.

He winked at her.

— Don’t bring him, he told the twins. — He’ll have to have his shots. If yis bring him ou’ before he has his shots he’ll catch diseases.

— What’s shots?

— Injections.

— Ah no!

— They’re nice injections. They don’t hurt. They’ll tickle him. An’ annyway, if he doesn’t have them he’ll catch all sorts o’ diseases. An’ then Jimmy here’ll catch them off o’ him an’ give them to all his pals.

— I’ll wear a johnny, Jimmy Jr whispered to Sharon.

— Oh Jesus! Sharon laughed.

— Take it easy, said Jimmy Sr.

— Right, said Veronica. — Ready. Sharon, give me a hand here.

— Dash, girls, Jimmy Sr told the twins.

And they did.

And Larrygogan fell into the sink.

* * *

On the Tuesday morning after Larrygogan joined the family, in the middle of week eleven, Sharon got an awful fright when she was climbing out of bed, just waking up. Her period had started.

— Oh no! — Oh God—

She’d been robbed.

But then she remembered: she’d read in the book that this could happen. It wasn’t a real period. It probably wasn’t a real period.

She stayed at home in bed and waited. She lay there, afraid to move too much. She tried to remember the Hail Mary but she couldn’t get past Hello Be Thy Name, and anyway, she didn’t believe in it, not really; so she stopped trying to remember the rest of it. It was just something to do. She wanted to turn on her side but she was afraid to. She just lay there and she started saying Please please please please all the time to herself. She kept everything else out of her mind. She concentrated on that.

— Please please please please.

The book was right. It didn’t last long. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t a real period at all. She was still pregnant.

* * *

— Aah! Jaysis!!

Veronica put the skirt on the table and got up to see what was wrong in the hall. But before she got to the door Jimmy Sr came hopping into the kitchen with one of his leather slippers in his hand.

— What happened? said Veronica.

— The dog’s after shitein’ in the fuckin’ hall an’ I fuckin’ stood in it, that’s wha’ happened.

— On the floor?

— No. On the fuckin’ ceilin’. Jesus!

He hopped over to the sink and put the slipper under the tap. Veronica came back from the hall.

— It’s comin’ off alrigh’, Jimmy Sr told her.

— What about the carpet?

— The twins’ll be cleanin’ tha’, don’t worry. An’ the sink here.

— It’s disgusting, said Veronica.

Jimmy Sr inspected the slipper. It was grand and clean again. He threw it on the floor and stepped into it.

— Ah, he’s only a pup, he said.

— He’ll have to go. They’re not training him properly.

— Give him a chance, Veronica. You’ll be expectin’ the poor little bollix to eat with a knife an’ fork next.

Veronica gave up and got back to the skirt. She was just finishing Linda’s and then she had Tracy’s to do.

Jimmy Sr saw the twins out in the back. They were trying to get Larrygogan to catch a burst plastic football but Larrygogan was having problems staying upright. If the ball landed on him Jimmy Sr thought it would kill him. The grass needed cutting. Larrygogan kept disappearing in it.

Jimmy Sr opened the back door.

— Get in here, you-is!

* * *

Sharon woke up and she knew she was going to be sick.

She was hunched down at the toilet bowl. There was sweat, getting cold, on her face. She shivered. More puke, not much now — hardly any — rushed into her mouth.

— Yu-hh—!

It dropped into the water and she groaned. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wiped them, then her nose, and her eyes again. She stood up carefully. She was cold.

— Are yeh alrigh’ in there, Sharon?

It was Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah, she said. — Ou’ in a minute.

— No hurry, Jimmy Sr assured her. — I was in already.

Sharon rubbed her arms. A wave of horribleness ran through her.

She gagged. She really felt terrible, and weak. She leaned against the wall. It was cool; nice. She knew she wasn’t going to be sick again. This morning.

She thought about nothing.

— Are yeh stayin’ in there, or wha’?

It was the other Jimmy.

Sharon unlocked the door.

— What’s your fuckin’ hurry? she said.

Jimmy Jr looked at her face.

— Wha’ were you drinkin’ last nigh’? he asked.

Sharon passed him. She was going back to bed. That was where she wanted to be.

The twins looked at her.

— Are yeh not well, Sharon? Linda asked her.

— No, said Sharon.

— That’ll be the flu, said Linda.

Tracy agreed with her.

— There’s a bug goin’ around, she said. — Cover yourself up properly.

They went downstairs to get a cup of tea and a bit of dry toast for Sharon. Sharon rubbed her legs. Only her forehead was cold now.

Well, she was pregnant now alright. She pressed her stomach gently: still nothing, but she was on her way. She smiled, but she hoped to God it wasn’t going to be like this every morning.

When she took her hand away from her stomach — probably because she didn’t feel sick any more — she noticed that her skin there was kind of sore, a bit like sunburn but not nearly as bad. She pressed again: yeah, the same. She tried her tits.

— Ouw!—

She’d been half-aware of that soreness for a few days but it was only now, because she’d just been sick, that she paid proper attention and linked it to being pregnant. They used to get a bit sore before her periods, but now — God, it was all starting to happen.

She’d have to tell her friends now; no, soon.

Jesus.

Tracy ran in.

— Ma said to say if yeh keep not goin’ to work you’ll be sacked an’ jobs don’t grow on trees.

— Tell her I’ll be down in a little while.

Linda came in. She had Larrygogan with her.

— Larrygogan wants to say Howyeh.

She brought him over to Sharon’s bed so he could lick Sharon’s face. Sharon lifted her head for him.

— Hiyeh, Larry.

He stared at her. Linda put him right up to Sharon’s nose.

— Kiss her, she said.

Nothing happened.

— Kiss her, will yeh.

— Give us a kiss, Larry, said Sharon.

— Daddy said we’re to call him his whole name so he’ll know who he is, said Tracy.

— He kisses us, Linda told Sharon. — Tracy, doesn’t he?

— Yeah.

— He doesn’t really know me yet, that’s all, said Sharon. — Bring him back down now, will yeh.

— Okay. Come on, Larrygogan.

Linda ran out.

— Tracy, will yeh tell Mammy I’m gettin’ up now, said Sharon.

She sat up.

— Ah, said Tracy. — Do yeh not have the flu?

— No.

— Ah janey.

She sounded very disappointed.

— Wha’? said Sharon.

— I wanted to catch it off yeh, an’ so did Linda.

Sharon laughed.

— Why?

— Don’t want to do the majorettes annymore, said Tracy. — It’s stupid.

— I thought yis liked it.

— No. We used to. But it’s stupid.

— Why is it? Sharon asked.

— It’s just stupid, said Tracy. — She won’t let us be in the front.

— Why won’t she?

— Don’t know. — She hates us. It’s prob’ly cos Daddy called her a wagon at tha’ meetin’.

Sharon laughed. She got out of bed.

— He didn’t really call Miss O’Keefe a wagon, she told Tracy. — He was only messin’ with yeh.

Tracy continued.

— Nicola ’Malley’s in the front an’ she’s nearly always droppin’ her stick an’ me an’ Linda only drop ours sometimes.

— It’s not fair, sure it’s not, said Sharon.

Tracy followed her into the bathroom.

— No, she agreed. — The last time Nicola ’Malley threw her stick through the fuckin’ window.

Sharon nearly bit the top off her toothbrush.

— Tracy!

— It just came ou’.—She did though, Sharon.

— An’ is she still in the front row?

— Yeah. It’s not fair. — An’ the music’s stupid.

They were back in the bedroom.

— What is it? Sharon asked.

— Don’t know. A woman singin’ Moll-ee My Irish Moll-ee, or somethin’. Miss O’Keefe thinks it’s brilliant but it’s thick.

Jimmy Sr shouted from downstairs.

— Are yeh ready for a lift, Sharon?

— Nearly.

— Make it snappy, will yeh.

He strolled back into the kitchen. Veronica was the only one still in there.

— Cummins is comin’ ou’ to have a look at the plasterin’ this mornin’ an’ we’ve still got one o’ the rooms to do, Jimmy Sr told her.

— Did you mention about a job for Leslie to him? Veronica asked him.

— Not yet. I will but. Today.

— Mm, said Veronica.

— I will now, Jimmy Sr assured her. — Scout’s honour. Is he up yet?

— Not at all.

— We’ll have to put a stop to tha’.

He picked up his sandwiches.

— Wha’ are they? he asked.

— It’s a surprise.

— It’s not Easy Slices, is it?

Veronica turned to the sink.

— Is it? It is. Ah Jaysis, Veronica! How many times—!?

Linda came in from the back.

— Does the dog like sandwiches, does he? Jimmy Sr asked her.

And he lobbed the tinfoil pack out the door into the back garden.

* * *

It was the thirteenth week of Sharon’s pregnancy and the middle of May, but it was cold.

— It’s fuckin’ freezin’, said Jimmy Sr, and he was right.

Any time now, Sharon knew, and the real swelling would start. But she kept putting off telling the girls. Twice in the last week she’d gone down to the Hikers and she was definitely going to tell them. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

She could’ve told them she was pregnant. That wouldn’t have been too bad, not all that embarrassing really. But it was the big question that would come after that — WHO? — that was what she couldn’t face.

But she’d have to tell them sooner or later and, judging by what she’d been reading, it would have to be sooner.

She struggled through her book. She read forward into the weeks ahead. Parts of it terrified her. She learned that the veins in her rectum might become painful. She was sure she felt a jab just after she’d read that.

She might get varicose veins. Or nosebleeds. Better than iffy rectum veins, she thought. Oedema sounded shocking. She could see herself filling up with water and bouncing around. Larrygogan would claw her and she’d have a puncture.

All these things were bad but when she read about eclampsia she went to the toilet and got sick. She shook and shivered for ages after it. She read it again: protein in the urine — blurred vision — severe headaches — hospital — swelling of face and fingers — she read it very slowly this time — eclampsia — convulsions — coma — death. She was going to catch it, she knew it. She always got the flu and colds when they were going around. She didn’t mind the protein in her urine, or even the blurred vision so much. It was the word Convulsions that got to her.

So much could go wrong. Even when it was okay there seemed to be nothing but secretions and backache and constipation. And she’d thought there was no more to it than getting bigger and then having it and maybe puking a few times along the way.

Still, nothing was going wrong so far. The book said there might be vomiting in the mornings, and there was — not every morning though. The book said her breasts would be tender. She’d always thought that that was another word for Good when you were talking about meat but she looked for it in Darren’s dictionary and that was what her tits were alright. They were still the same colour though. Her nipples were the same colour as well, although it was hard to tell for sure. They changed colour every day in the bathroom mirror.

She started doing sit-up exercises and touching her toes when she got home from work. They’d make carrying the extra weight easier. As well as that the exercises helped to squeeze water from the pore spaces in her blood vessels.

But the book didn’t say what happened to the water after that. Sometimes she forgot about the exercises though, and sometimes she just didn’t feel like it; she was too knackered. Anyway, she was tall and quite strong and she always walked straight, so she didn’t think the exercises mattered that much. She really did them because she wanted to do everything right, and the book said she should do them.

She was drinking a lot of milk. She was eating oranges. She kept reminding herself to go to a chemist’s and get vitamin pills. She was eating All-Bran four times a week.

— What’s tha’ stuff like, Sharon? Jimmy Sr asked her one morning she’d the time to eat her breakfast sitting down.

— Horrible, said Sharon.

— Does it work?

— Sort of, yeah.

— Ah well, that’s the main thing, isn’t it? — You don’t need it, sure yeh don’t?

He was talking under the table to Larrygogan.

She kept eating the celery and the carrots. The right food was hard and boring and it took ages to eat but Sharon thought she was doing things the right way, and that pleased her. And excited her. She felt as if she was getting ready, packing to go somewhere — for good. And that frightened her a bit.

She felt her stomach. It was harder and curved, becoming like a shell or a wall.

She’d definitely have to tell the girls.

* * *

It was Tuesday morning. It was raining. There was war going on downstairs in the kitchen.

Linda and Tracy put the table between themselves and their mother.

— What’s wrong now? Jimmy Sr wanted to know. — Can a man not eat his bit o’ breakfast in peace?

— It’s stupid, Ma, said Linda.

— Yeah, said Tracy.

— Mammy! said Veronica.

— Mammy, said Linda. — It’s stupid.

— I don’t care, said Veronica. — I spent hours making those skirts for you two little rips—

— They’re stupid, said Linda.

She hadn’t meant to say that. She knew she’d made a mistake but she hated those skirts, especially her own one.

Veronica roared.

— Aaah!

The hours she’d wasted; cutting, clipping, sewing, making mistakes, starting again.

Jimmy Sr threw his knife and fork onto the plate.

— Wha’ kind of a fuckin’ house is this at all? he asked the table.

He looked at Veronica. She was deciding if she’d throw the marmalade at the twins.

— A man gets up in the mornin’, said Jimmy Sr. — an’—an’—

— Oh shut up, said Veronica.

— I will not shut up, said Jimmy Sr. — A man gets up—

— Hi-dee-hi, campers, Jimmy Jr greeted them all when he came into the kitchen.

— Fuck off, Jimmy Sr shouted.

Jimmy Jr looked down at Jimmy Sr.

— Do yeh not love me annymore, Daddy?

— Yeh sarcastic little prick, yeh, said Jimmy Sr. — If—

— Stop that language, said Veronica.

— I’m only startin’, said Jimmy Sr.

— Miss O’Keefe said yeh should be ashamed of yourself, Linda told Jimmy Sr.

This interested Jimmy Sr.

— What? said Veronica.

Darren came in and sat down and started eating Sugar-Puffs.

— They’re ours, said Tracy.

— So? said Darren.

— When did, eh, Miss O’Keefe say tha’ to yis? Jimmy Sr asked.

— Last week.

— Yeah, said Tracy.

— WHY did she say it? Veronica asked.

— Yeh took the words righ’ ou’ of me mouth, said Jimmy Sr.

— When Tracy said wha’ you said, Linda told him.

— You said it as well! said Tracy.

— I did not!

— Girls, girls, said Jimmy Sr. — Wha’ happened? Exactly.

He looked at Veronica. She looked away.

— She told everyone to say wha’ our mammies an’ our daddies said to each other tha’ mornin’.

— Oh my God! said Veronica.

Jimmy Jr started laughing. Darren was listening now as well.

— An’ it was real borin’ cos they were all sayin’ things like Good mornin’ dear an’ Give us the milk. — An’ Tracy said wha’ you said to Mammy.

She looked at Tracy. Tracy was going to kill her.

Veronica sat down.

— An’ would yeh by any chance remember wha’ I said to your mammy? Jimmy Sr asked.

— Yeah.

— Well? What was it?

— Yeh pointed ou’ the window — at the rainin’—

She pointed at the window.

— An’ then yeh said—

Jimmy Jr laughed. He remembered.

— Go on, said Jimmy Sr.

— You said It looks like another fuck of a day.

Jimmy Jr howled. So did Darren. Jimmy Sr tried not to.

Veronica put her hands to her face and slowly dragged her fingers down over her cheeks. Her mouth was open.

— Oh sweet Jesus, she said then, to no one.

Sharon came in.

— Hiyis, said Sharon. — What’re yis laughin’ at?

— There’s Sharon, said Jimmy Sr. — How are yeh, Sharon?

— Grand.

— Good. — Good.

He started laughing.

— Serves her righ’, the nosey brasser.

Jimmy Jr, Darren and the twins laughed. Jimmy Sr grinned at Veronica.

— Listen, he said to the twins. — If she asks yis again today tell her—

— No!

That was Veronica.

The Rabbittes laughed.

— What’re yis laughin’ at? Sharon still wanted to know.

— You, said Jimmy Jr.

Sharon gave him a dig.

— Mammy, you can give the skirts to the poor people, said Linda.

This tickled Jimmy Sr.

— What’s this? said Jimmy Jr.

— None o’ your business, said Jimmy Sr.

— What poor people? said Veronica.

— The Ethiopians, said Jimmy Jr.

Linda and Tracy giggled.

— I think that’s a lovely idea, Linda, said Jimmy Sr. — Fair play to yeh.

— Stop encouraging them, said Veronica.

— Stop? said Jimmy Sr, shocked. — Well now, I hope Miss O’Keefe doesn’t hear abou’ this. My God, wha’. The twins’s mother won’t let them show a bit o’ charity to those less fortunate than—

— Stop that!

Darren was in stitches. He loved it when his da talked like that.

— I’m sure there’s a couple o’ piccaninnies—

— Daddy!

The boys laughed, cheering on Jimmy Sr. The twins were still giggling, and looking at their mammy.

— in a refugee camp somewhere that’d love a couple o’ red lurex majorette’s dresses. An’ the sticks as well.

— You’re not fit to be a father, said Veronica.

— Not now maybe, Jimmy Sr admitted.

He patted his gut.

— I used to be though, wha’.

He winked at Veronica. She growled at him. Jimmy Sr looked at the boys and raised his eyes to heaven.

— Women, wha’.

He lowered the last of his tea. Then he heard something, a scraping noise.

— What’s tha’?

— Larrygogan, said Tracy. — He wants to come in.

Linda opened the door. Larrygogan, even smaller than usual because his hair was stuck down by the rain, was standing on the step.

— Come on, Larrygogan, said Linda.

Larrygogan couldn’t make it. He fell back twice. They laughed.

— The poor little sappo, said Jimmy Sr.

Linda picked him up and carried him in and put him down on the floor. He skidded a bit on the lino, then shook himself and fell over.

Then he barked.

The Rabbittes roared laughing. Jimmy Sr copied Larrygogan.

— Yip! Yip!

He looked at his watch.

— Oh good shite!

He was up, and grabbed his sandwiches.

— Are yeh righ’, Sharon? — Wha’ are they, he asked

Veronica.

— Corned beef.

— Yippee. — Good luck now. See yeh tonigh’.

He wondered if he should kiss Veronica on the cheek or something because they were both in a good mood at the same time. But no, he decided, not with the boys there. They’d slag him.

— Da, can I’ve a bike for me birth’y? Darren asked him.

— Yeh can in your hole, said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah, Da!

— Forget it, Sunshine.

Jimmy Sr waited for Sharon to go out into the hall first.

— Good girl.

He followed her.

— Hang on a sec, he said, at the front door.

He gave Sharon the keys of the van.

— Let yourself in.

Les thought it was a heart attack. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t.

Jimmy Sr’s hand was clamped tight over Les’s face. He waited till Les was awake and knew what was happening.

— That’s the front o’ me hand, Jimmy Sr told Les.

He pushed Les’s head deeper into the pillow.

— If yeh don’t get up for your breakfast tomorrow like I told yeh you’ll get the back of it. D’yeh follow?

Jimmy Sr took his hand off Les’s face.

— Now get up, yeh lazy get, an’ don’t be upsettin’ your mother.

He stopped at the door.

— I want to talk to you tonigh’, righ’.

Downstairs, Jimmy Jr and Darren heard a snort. They looked and saw their mother crying. It was terrible. She was wiping tears from her eyes before they could get to her cheeks.

But she wasn’t crying. She was laughing. She tried to explain why.

— They’re not—

She started laughing again.

— They’re not corned beef at all.

A giggle ran through her, and out.

— They’re Easy Slices.

They didn’t know what she was on about but they laughed with her anyway.

* * *

Sharon was in bed. She’d decided: tomorrow. She’d been half-thinking of doing it tonight but then Jackie had come in with the big news: she’d broken it off with Greg. So they’d had to spend the rest of the night slagging Jackie and tearing Greg apart. It’d been brilliant crack.

So Jackie would be there when she told them all tomorrow. That was good because the two of them always defended one another when the slagging got a bit serious. She was going to tell the rest of the family first, after the tea — that would be easy — and then the girls, later in the Hikers.

That was it, decided. But she wasn’t a bit sleepy now. She had been when she got into bed but once she’d made up her mind she was wide awake again.

What was she going to tell them; how much? Only that she was pregnant. But what was going to happen after that, and what they were going to ask and say, and think; that’s what was worrying her.

— Go on, Sharon, tell us. Who was it?

There was no way she was going to tell them that. If they ever found out — God, she’d kill herself if that happened, she really would. She couldn’t think of a good enough lie to tell them, one that would stop them from asking more questions. She could say she didn’t know who he was but they wouldn’t believe her. Or if they did, if Sharon told them she’d been so pissed she couldn’t remember, they’d help her remember and they wouldn’t give up till they’d found someone. — Was it him, Sharon, was it? And if Sharon said, No, it wasn’t him, they’d say, — How d’yeh know if yeh can’t remember? It must’ve been him then.

She’d just have to tell them that she wasn’t going to tell them.

But they’d still try and find out.

She didn’t blame them. She’d have been the same. It was going to be terrible though. She wouldn’t be able to really relax with them any more.

— There’s Keith Farrelly.

— Yeah.

— He’s a ride, isn’t he?

— He’s alrigh’.

— D’yeh not like him?

— He’s alrigh’.

— I thought that yeh liked him.

— Fuck off, will yeh. It wasn’t him.

It was going to be fuckin’ terrible.

She felt a bit lonely now. She’d have loved someone to talk to, to talk to nonstop for about an hour, to tell everything to. But — and she was realizing this now really — there was no one like that. She’d loads of friends but she only really knew them in a gang.

It hadn’t been like that in school. Jackie had been her best friend for years but now that was only because she saw her more often than the others, not because she knew her better. She’d never have been able to tell Jackie all about what had happened. They’d often talked about fellas; what he did and how he did it and that sort of thing, but that had only been for a laugh; messing. They hadn’t spoken seriously about anything to do with sex since — since Sharon had her first period. Or they’d pretended it wasn’t serious. It was always for a laugh. Giggling, roaring, saying things like, — I swear, Jackie, I was scarleh. — She really had something to be scarlet about now and it wasn’t even a little bit funny. And she couldn’t tell it to Jackie. And anyway, Jackie had been going with Greg until last weekend so she hadn’t seen her that much since — she knew the date — the twentieth of February.

That was always the way when one of the gang was going with someone. She’d disappear for a while, usually a couple of months, and come back when one of them broke it off. She’d come back to the pub and they’d all be delighted to see her and she’d have to slag the fella — it always happened — about how he was always farting, or how he kept trying to tear the tits off her, or how his tongue always missed her mouth in the dark and he slobbered all over her make-up (Sharon giggled as she thought of that one. Yvonne Burgess had said that about a fella in the army who’d gone off to the Lebanon without telling her. — I hope he’s fuckin’ kilt, said Yvonne. — By an Arab or somethin’. D’yeh know wha’ his ma said when I phoned? He’s gone to the Leb. The Leb! I thought it was the name of a pub or somethin’ so I said to her, D’yeh know wha’ time he’ll be back at? I’m tellin’ yis now, I swear, I was never so mortified in — my — life. I wasn’t. And they’d screamed laughing), and after that it was like she’d never been gone. It was back to normal till the next time they went to Saints or Tamangos or one of the places in town and one of them got off with a fella she liked and disappeared again for another couple of months. She’d often read in magazines and she’d seen it on television where it said that women friends were closer than men, but Sharon didn’t think they were. Not the girls she knew. — Anyway, if she couldn’t tell Jackie the whole lot — and she couldn’t — then she couldn’t tell anyone.

She’d have to be careful and not get too drunk again so she wouldn’t blabber, and make sure she wasn’t caught looking at him and try not to vomit if anyone mentioned his name and Jesus, it was going to be terrible.

If they ever found out! She tried to imagine it. But all she could do was curl up and groan. It was—

Years ago — four years ago — when she’d been a modette, she’d gone with this young fella called Derek Cooper who spent all of his money on clothes and then never washed them and was dead now, and the two of them missed the last DART from town so they got the last bus instead. She’d been really pissed. She was only a kid then. She’d gotten the money she got for doing the pre-employment in school the day before so she’d been loaded. She paid for his drink as well. Anyway, she was pissed and she fell asleep on the bus and she woke up and she’d wet herself and she had to tell him and she made them stay on till the last stop, Howth. It was horrible remembering it. Even now. She’d never been able to laugh about it. She’d nearly been glad when she found out that Derek Cooper had been killed in that crash, but she’d made herself cry.

But this — this was far worse than that.

Sharon didn’t even bother closing her eyes. There was no point. She waited for the time to get up.

It was mad, but she wished she’d had sex a lot more often. Doubts about the father would have been very comforting; lovely. But the last time she’d done it with a fella she’d really liked — who’d turned out to be a right fuckin’ bastard — was six months before.

Before — Jesus!

She was glad she didn’t remember much about it. The bits she did remember were disgusting. It wasn’t a moving memory, like a film. It was more like a few photographs. She couldn’t really remember what happened in between. She’d been really drunk, absolutely paralytic. She knew that because she remembered she’d fallen over on her way back from the toilets. She bumped into loads of people dancing. It was the soccer club Christmas do, only it was on in February because they weren’t able to get anywhere nearer to Christmas. She’d made it back to her table and she just sat there, trying not to think about getting sick. She remembered Jackie was asking her was she alright. Then it was blank. Then she was by herself at the table. Jackie was getting off with a fella in front of her. That was Greg. She could remember the song: The Power of Love, the Jennifer Rush one. She wasn’t sure if it was then or after but she was very hot, really sweating. She was going to be sick. She rushed and pushed over the dance floor, past the toilets, outside because she wanted cold air. It was blank again then for a bit but she knew that she didn’t puke. The air had fixed her. She was leaning against the side of a car. She was looking at the ground. It was just black gravel so she didn’t know why she was looking at it; maybe because she’d thought she was going to get sick earlier. Anyway, she was shivering but she didn’t move; go back in. Pity. She couldn’t move really. Then there was a hand on her shoulder. — Alrigh’, Sharon? he’d said. Then it was blank and then they were kissing rough — she wasn’t really: her mouth was just open — and then blank again and that was it really. She couldn’t remember much more. She knew they’d done it — or just he’d done it — standing up because that was the way she was in the next bit she remembered; leaning back against the car, staring at the car beside it, her back and arse wet through from the wet on the door and the window and she was wet from him too. She was very cold. The wet was colder. He was gone. It was like waking up. She didn’t know if it had happened. She wanted to be at home. At home in bed. Her knickers were gone. And she was all wet and cold there. She wanted to get into bed. She went straight home. She staggered a lot, even off the path. She wanted to sleep. Backwards. To earlier. She was freezing but she didn’t go back for her jacket.

Jackie brought it and her bag home for her the day after.

— What happened yeh?

— Jesus, I was pissed, Jackie, I’m not jokin’ yeh. I just came home. I woke up in me clothes.

— Yeh stupid bitch yeh.

— I know.

She’d wondered a few times if what had happened could be called rape. She didn’t know.

That was as much as she remembered. She wished she didn’t remember more. — When he sat down white skin poked out from between the buttons of his shirt.

There was one more thing she remembered; what he’d said after he’d put his hand on her shoulder and asked her was she alright.

— I’ve always liked the look of you, Sharon.

Sharon groaned.

The dirty bastard.

* * *

Les was nearly crying. So was Veronica.

— Shut up! The lot o’ yis! said Jimmy Sr.

— You started it, Jimmy Jr reminded him.

— Good Jesus!!

— I’m goin’ to smash your fuckin’ records, Les told Jimmy Jr.

This time Veronica slapped him hard across the head.

— Wha’!?

— Don’t Wha’ me, said Veronica, and she slapped him again. — Don’t think you can stroll in and out of here when you feel like it and shout language like a — like a knacker.

She drew her hand back, Les ducked, and then she slapped him.

Linda and Tracy were giggling.

— Don’t start, youse! Jimmy Sr roared at them.

— You never hit THEM, do yeh? said Les.

He was crying now.

— I’m not takin’ this.

He slammed the back door.

Jimmy Sr was going after him.

— Leave him out there, said Veronica. — It’s going to rain in a minute. That’ll bring him back.

Jimmy Sr couldn’t leave it just like that. He’d lost, in front of Darren, the twins, Sharon — them all. He was the head of the fuckin’ house!

— Come here, you, he said to Jimmy Jr. — If you ever behave like that again in this house yeh can pack your belongin’s. Your groovy clothes an’ your shampoo an’—an’ your bras an’ yeh can fuck off to somewhere else, righ’. Is tha’ clear?

— I don’t know, said Jimmy Jr. — I’ll have to discuss it with my solicitor.

A laugh burst out of Darren. He’d have loved the neck to say something like that.

— Don’t YOU start!

Darren stopped.

And Jimmy Sr felt a bit better.

— Now, he said. — Sharon has a bit o’ news for yis.

Veronica started laughing.

— Sorry, she said. — I can’t help it.

— Darren, said Jimmy Sr. — We live in a mental home.

Darren laughed.

— Sorry, Sharon, said Veronica. — Go on, love. Sharon grinned at Veronica. She looked at the twins when she spoke. — I’m goin’ to be havin’ a baby.

* * *

Jimmy Sr and Veronica were alone in the kitchen. Jimmy Sr was having the cup of tea he always had before he went out.

— These yokes aren’t as nice as they used to be, said Jimmy Sr. — Sure they’re not?

He put the rest of the Jaffa Cake on the table.

— That doesn’t stop you eating them.

— I didn’t say they weren’t nice, Veronica. Wha’ I said was—

— Right. Right. I agree with you.

— Are yeh tired, Veronica?

— Mm, said Veronica.

— Will yeh go on up to the bed?

— Mm.

— That’s the place to be. — It went well, didn’t it?

— I suppose it did, said Veronica.

— They took it very well, I thought.

— Ah Jimmy, for Christ’s sake. What did you expect? Did you think the girls would be outraged or something?

— No.

He grinned at her.

— I didn’t think they’d go tha’ wild. Poor Sharon won’t have any peace now. Inside—

He nodded at the door.

— watchin’ the telly there, Sharon yawned an’ Tracy asked her was she havin’ the baby. — Tha’ Jimmy fella’s a righ’ pup though. He said somethin’ to Sharon, yeh know, cos I saw her hittin’ him. She gave him a righ’ wallop.

— They get on very well, those two.

— I don’t know, said Jimmy Sr.

He sighed.

— You were exactly like him, said Veronica.

— Veronica, please. It’s been a rough day. Now, lay off.

— Remember that Crombie you had?

— No.

— You do so. You used to keep it spotless. Except for your dandruff.

— I didn’t have dandruff!

— Excuse me, you did so. My Uncle Bob used to say that we needed a Saint Bernard dog to find everyone after you’d been in the house.

Jimmy Sr laughed.

— He was an oul’ bollix, tha’ fella. A right oul’ bollix. I bought tha’ fucker a brandy at the weddin’, I did.

— Annyway, we didn’t have those special shampoos.

Timotei. So mild you can wash your hair as often as yeh like! As if yeh didn’t have better things to be doin’ than washin’ your fuckin’ hair all day. As often as yeh like!

— What happened that coat?

— I don’t know! I threw it ou’.

— You did not. After you bought it you stopped trying to get me to go into the fields with you. It was the best contraceptive ever invented, that coat.

— Veronica!

— That’s what they should give every young lad these days. A nice new coat.

Jimmy Sr laughed.

They said nothing for a while. Then Veronica spoke.

— Jimmy.

— Yes, Veronica?

— Do you not think—?—You’ll probably shout at me for saying it. — I think we should tell the twins that what Sharon did was wrong.

— Wha’?

— No, listen. I don’t want to turn them against her or anything—

— An’ the baby, remember.

— Yes, I know that. But—

— Wha’?

— I think we should tell them. Without, you know. We should tell them that they should only have babies when they’re married.

— They wouldn’t understand wha’ you were on abou’.

— Oh they would, you know.

— Maybe they would. — It’s a bit young but, isn’t it?

Wha’ were yeh thinkin’ o’ tellin’ them?

He was flicking fluff and specks off his jumper. That meant he was on his way out.

— Do you not think we should? Veronica asked him.

— Well, whatever you think yourself, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. — They’d only laugh at me. I’m only their da. Anyway, it’d sound better comin’ from a woman, wouldn’t it? — Maybe leave it till they’re a bit older.

— But by then—

She couldn’t finish. There was no tidy way of saying what she thought. She gave up. Maybe she’d talk to Sharon about it.

Jimmy Sr was standing up, ready to go. But he didn’t want to leave Veronica unhappy.

— Times’ve changed, Veronica, he said.

— I suppose so, said Veronica. — But do we have to keep up with them?

Jimmy Sr didn’t like questions like that.

— D’yeh want to come? he asked Veronica.

— Ah no.

— Up to the bed?

— Mm; yeah.

— That’s the place. See yeh later.

— Bring your Crombie. It might rain. — Ha fuckin’ ha.

* * *

— How much did it cost yeh, Jackie? Yvonne asked.

She dipped two wetted fingers into her crisp bag and dredged it for crumbs.

— Fifteen pound, ninety-nine, said Jackie.

— Really? said Yvonne. — That’s brilliant, isn’t it?

— Is it hand wash, Jackie? said Mary.

— Yeah, it is.

— It’s very nice now.

— Thanks.

Yvonne wiped her fingers on the stool beside her.

Sharon saw this as she walked over to join them so she parked herself on the stool opposite Yvonne.

— Hiyis, she said.

— Hiyeh, Sharon.

— Ah howyeh, Sharon.

— Hiyis, said Sharon.

— Are they new, Sharon?

— No, not really.

A lounge boy was passing. Sharon stopped him.

— A vodka an’ a Coke, please, she said.

— Don’t bother abou’ the Coke, Sharon, said Jackie. — I’ve loads here, look it.

— Okay. Thanks, Jackie. A vodka just, she told the lounge boy.

— Anyway, Jackie, said Mary.

The real business of the night was starting.

— Will yeh be seein’ Greg again?

— Tha’ prick! said Jackie.

They laughed.

Jackie had given Greg the shove the Saturday before

— or so she said anyway — in one of those cafe places in the ILAC Centre, after he’d accused her of robbing the cream out of his chocolate eclair. — An’ I paid for the fuckin’ thing! she’d told them the night before.

She was in good form tonight as well. She tapped the table with her glass.

— If he was the last man on earth I wouldn’t go with him.

She took a fair sip from the glass.

— I’d shag the Elephant Man before I’d let him go near me again, the prick.

They roared.

— Yis should’ve seen him with that fuckin’ eclair. I was so embarrassed, I was scarleh, I’m not jokin’ yis, I was burnin’. In his leather jacket an’ his fuckin’ keys hangin’ off his belt, yeh know, givin’ the goo goo eyes to a fuckin’ eclair. It was pat’etic, it was.

— Were yeh goin’ to break it off annyway? Sharon asked her.

— Yeah, said Jackie. — I was thinkin’ about it alrigh’. I was givin’ the matter, eh, my serious consideration.

They laughed.

— Then when I saw him sulkin’; Jesus!

— He was very good lookin’ though, wasn’t he? said Yvonne. — Very handsome.

— Not really, said Jackie. — Not when yeh got up close to him. D’yeh know what I mean?

— Beauty is only skin deep, said Mary.

— It wasn’t even tha’ deep, Mary, Jackie told her. — He had loads o’ little spots on his chin. Tiny little ones now. Millions o’ them. You only noticed them when you were right up against him, an’ then you’d want to throw up.

— There was nothin’ under the leather jacket really.

That’s all he was now that I think of it.

Jackie sighed and took a slug from her glass.

— A leather jacket. — He was thick as well.

— Come here, Jackie, said Mary. — Was he passionate?

— No, said Jackie. — But he thought he was. Yeh know? He was just a big thick monkey.

— Lookin’ for somewhere to stick his banana, wha’, said Yvonne.

They screamed.

— Yvonne Burgess!

Sharon wiped her eyes.

— He stuck his tongue in me ear once, Jackie told them when they’d settled down again. — An’, I’m not jokin’ yis, I think he was tryin’ to get it out the other one. I don’t know what he fuckin’ thought I had in there.

She laughed with them.

— He licked half me brains ou’. Like a big dog, yeh know.

They roared.

Jackie waited.

— His sense o’ direction wasn’t the best either, d’yis know what I mean?

They roared again.

— Jesus!

— Jackie O’Keefe! You’re fuckin’ disgustin’!

— Wha’?

More vodkas and Cokes and a gin and a tonic were ordered. And crisps.

Then Sharon told them her bit of news.

— I’m pregnant, did I tell yis?

Mary laughed, but the others didn’t. Then Mary stopped.

— Yeah, well, said Sharon. — I am.

— She’s fuckin’ serious, said Yvonne.

No one said anything for a bit. Sharon couldn’t look anywhere. The others looked at one another, their faces held blank. Sharon picked up her glass but she was afraid to put it to her mouth.

Then Jackie spoke.

— Well done, Sharon, she said.

— Thanks, Jackie.

She put the glass down. She was starting to shake. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe in enough air to keep her going.

— Yeah, Sharon. Congrats, said Mary.

— Thanks, Mary.

— Well done, Sharon, said Yvonne. — Yeh thick bitch yeh.

Then they all started laughing. They looked at one another and kept laughing. Sharon was delighted. They were all blushing and laughing. The tears were running out of her and the snot would be as well in a minute. She took up her bag from the floor to look for a hankie.

The laughing died down and became fits of the giggles. They all blew their noses and wiped their eyes.

— Jesus though, Sharon, said Jackie, but she was grinning.

Sharon reddened again.

— I know, she said. — It’s terrible really.

Some questions had to be asked.

First an easy one.

— How long are yeh gone, Sharon? Yvonne asked her.

— Fourteen weeks.

They converted that into months.

— Jesus! Tha’ long? said Mary.

They looked at Sharon.

— You don’t look it, said Yvonne.

— I do, said Sharon.

— I won’t argue with you, said Yvonne. — You’re the expert.

They screamed.

— I’m only messin’, said Yvonne.

Sharon wiped her eyes.

— I know tha’.

— You look the same, said Mary.

— I’ll start gettin’ bigger in a few weeks.

— Well, said Jackie, — you can start hangin’ round with someone else when tha’ happens. No fellas’ll come near us if one of us is pregnant.

They laughed.

— Sharon, said Yvonne. — Who’re yeh havin’ it for?

Your fat da, thought Sharon.

— I can’t tell, she said. — Sorry.

She looked at her drink. She could feel herself going red again.

— Ah, Sharon!

She grinned and shook her head.

— Meany, said Jackie.

Sharon grinned.

— Give us a hint.

— No.

— Just a little one.

Nothing.

— Do we know him?

— No, said Sharon.

— Ah Sharon, go on. Tell us.

— No.

— We won’t tell annyone,

— Leave Sharon alone, said Jackie. — It’s none o’ your fuckin’ business. Is he married, Sharon?

— Oh Jesus! said Mary.

— No, said Sharon.

She laughed.

— You’re scarleh. He must be.

— He’s not. I swear. He’s not—

— Are yeh gettin’ married? Mary asked.

— No. I mean — I mean I don’t want to marry him.

— Are yeh sure we don’t know him?

— Yeah.

— Is he in here?

— Jesus, said Jackie. — If we don’t know him he isn’t here. An’ anyway, would you do it with annyone here?

— I was only fuckin’ askin’, said Yvonne.

She looked around. The lounge was fairly full.

— You’re righ’ though, she said. — It was a stupid question. Sorry for insultin’ yeh, Sharon.

— That’s okay.

— Serious though, Sharon, said Mary. — Do we really not know him?

— No. I swear to God.

— I believe yeh, thousands wouldn’t, said Yvonne.

— Where did yeh meet him?

— Ah look, said Sharon. — I don’t want to talk about it annymore; righ’?

— Let’s get pissed, will we? said Jackie.

— Ah yeah, said Sharon.

— Hey! Jackie roared at the lounge boy. — Get your body over here.

They laughed.

The lounge boy was sixteen and looked younger.

— Three vodkas an’ two Cokes an’ a gin an’ tonic, said Jackie. — Got tha’?

— Yeah, said the lounge boy.

— An’ a package o’ crisps, said Yvonne.

— Ah yeah, said Sharon. — Two packs.

— Do yeh have anny nuts? Mary asked him.

— Jesus, Mary, yeh dirty bitch yeh!

They screamed.

— I didn’t mean it tha’ way, said Mary.

The very red lounge boy backed off and headed for the bar.

Yvonne shouted after him.

— Come back soon, chicken.

— Leave him alone or he’ll never come back, said Jackie.

— Who’s goin’ to sub me till Thursday? said Yvonne.

— Me, said Sharon. — I will. A tenner?

— Lovely.

— He’ll be nice when he’s older, won’t he? said Mary.

— Who? The lounge boy?

Jackie looked over at him.

— He’s a bit miserable lookin’.

— He’s a nice little arse on him all the same, said Yvonne.

— Pity there’s a dickie bow under it, said Jackie.

They stopped looking at the lounge boy.

— Annyway, Sharon, said Jackie. — What’s it like? Are yeh pukin’ up in the mornin’s?

— No, said Sharon. — Well, yeah. Only a couple o’ times. It’s not tha’ bad.

— I’d hate tha’.

— Yeah. It’s bad enough havin’ to get up without knowin’ you’re goin’ to be vomitin’ your guts up as well.

— It’s not tha’ bad, said Sharon.

— Are you goin’ to give up work? Mary asked her.

— I don’t know, said Sharon. — I haven’t thought about it really. I might.

— It’s nice for some, said Yvonne. — Havin’ a job to think abou’ givin’ it up.

— Ah, stop whingin’, said Jackie.

— I wasn’t whingin’.

— Would you really like to be doin’ wha’ Sharon does, would yeh? Stackin’ shelves an’ tha’?

— No.

— Then fuck off an’ leave her alone.

— Are you havin’ your periods or somethin’?

— Yeah, I am actually. Wha’ about it?

— You’re stainin’ the carpet.

The row was over. They nearly got sick laughing. The lounge boy was coming back.

— Here’s your bit o’ fluff, Mary, said Sharon.

— Ah stop.

— Howyeh, Gorgeous, said Jackie. — Did yeh make your holy communion yet?

The lounge boy tried to get everything off the tray all at once so he could get the fuck out of that corner.

He said nothing.

— Wha’ size do yeh take? Yvonne asked him.

The lounge boy legged it. He left too much change on the table and a puddle where he’d spilt the Coke. Mary threw a beer-mat on top of it.

— Jesus, Sharon, said Jackie. — I thought you were goin’ to have a miscarriage there you were laughin’ so much.

— I couldn’t help it. — Wha’ size d’yeh take.

They started again.

— I meant his shirt, said Yvonne.

They giggled, and wiped their eyes and noses and poured the Coke and tonic on top of the vodka and gin.

— Are yeh eatin’ annythin’ weirdy? Mary asked Sharon.

— No, said Sharon.

— Debbie ate coal, Jackie told them.

— Jesus!

— I wouldn’t eat fuckin’ coal, said Sharon.

— How d’you eat coal? Mary asked.

— I don’t know! said Jackie. — The dust, I suppose.

— My cousin, Miriam. Yeh know her, with the roundy glasses? She ate sardines an’ Mars Bars all squashed together.

— Yeuhh! Jesus!

— Jesus!

— That’s disgustin’.

— Was she pregnant? said Jackie.

— Of course she — Fuck off, you.

They all attacked their drinks.

— He won’t come back, said Jackie. — We’ll have to go up ourselves.

— Come here, Sharon, said Yvonne. — Was it Dessie Delaney?

— No!

— I was on’y askin’.

— Well, don’t, said Sharon. — I’m not tellin’, so fuck off.

— Was it Billy Delaney then?

Sharon grinned, and they laughed.

Sharon put her bag under her arm.

— Are yeh comin’, Jackie?

— The tylet?

— Yeah.

— Okay.

Jackie got her bag from under the table. They stood up. Sharon looked down at Yvonne and Mary.

— Me uterus is pressin’ into me bladder, she told them.

— Oh Jesus!

They roared.

* * *

— Annyway, said Bimbo. — I gave him his fiver an’ I said, Now shag off an’ leave me alone.

— A fiver! said Paddy. — I know wha’ I’d’ve given the cunt.

— I owed him it but.

— So wha’? said Paddy. — Tha’ doesn’t mean he can come up to yeh outside o’ mass when you’re with your mot an’ your kids an’ ask yeh for it.

— The kids weren’t with us. Just Maggie an’ her mother.

— Jimmy!

— Wha’? said Jimmy Sr from the bar.

— Stick on another one, said Paddy. — Bertie’s here.

Bertie saluted those looking his way and then sat down at the table with Paddy and Bimbo.

— There y’are, Bertie, said Bimbo.

— Buenas noches, compadre, said Bertie.

— How’s business, Bertie? said Paddy.

— Swings an’ roundabouts, said Bertie. — Tha’ sort o’ way, yeh know.

— Tha’ seems to be the story everywhere, said Bimbo. — Doesn’t it?

— Are you goin’ to nigh’ classes or somethin’? said Paddy.

Bertie laughed.

— Ah fuck off, you now, said Bimbo. — Every time I open me mouth yeh jump down it.

— There’s plenty o’ room in there annyway, said Bertie, — wha’.

They heard Jimmy Sr.

— D’yis want ice in your pints?

He put two pints of Guinness down on the table, in front of Paddy and Bimbo. There was a little cocktail umbrella standing up in the head of Bimbo’s pint.

Jimmy Sr came back with the other two pints.

— How’s Bertie?

— Ah sure.

— It’s the same everywhere, isn’t it? said Paddy.

Bertie sniggered.

Bimbo was spinning the umbrella.

— Mary Poppins, said Jimmy Sr.

— Who? said Bimbo. — Oh yeah.

He held the umbrella up in the air and sang.

— THE HILLS ARE A-

Paddy squirmed, and looked around.

— LIVE WITH THE SOUND O’—no, that’s wrong. That’s not Mary Poppins.

— It was very good, all the same, said Jimmy Sr.

— It fuckin’ was, alrigh’, Bertie agreed. — Yeh even looked like her there for a minute.

Bimbo stuck his front teeth out over his bottom lip, and screeched.

— JUST A SPOONFUL OF SHUGEH—

HELPS THE MEDICINE — GO DOWN—

THE MEDICINE — GO DOW—

WOWN—

THE MEDICINE — GO DOWN—

— Are yeh finished? said Paddy.

— Do your Michael O’Hehir, said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah, for fuck sake, said Paddy. — Not again. All o’ them horses are fuckin’ dead.

— Weuahh!

That was Bertie.

— Jesus! — fuck!

He gasped. His mouth was wide open. He shook his face. He was holding his pint away from his mouth like a baby trying to get away from a full spoon.

He pointed the pint at Jimmy Sr.

— Taste tha’.

— I will in me hole taste it. What’s wrong with it?

— Nothin’, said Bertie.

And he knocked back a bit less than half of it.

— Aah, he said when he came up for air. — Mucho good.

Bimbo put the umbrella into his breast pocket.

— Wha’ d’yeh want tha’ for? said Paddy.

— Jessica, said Bimbo. — She collects them. Maggie brings all hers home to her.

Paddy looked across to Jimmy Sr and Bertie for support. Jimmy Sr grinned and touched his forehead.

— Oh yeah, said Bertie.

He’d remembered something. He picked the bag he’d brought in with him off the floor and put it on his lap.

— You don’t follow Liverpool, said Paddy.

— It’s Trevor’s, said Bertie. — I had to take all his bukes an’ copies ou’ of it cos I’d nothin’ else. There was a lunch in the bottom of it an’, fuckin’ hell. Did yis ever see blue an’ green bread, did yis?

— Ah fuck off, will yeh.

— The fuckin’ meat. Good Christ. It stuck its head ou’ from between the bread an’ it said, Are The Tremeloes still Number One?

He put his face to the opening and sniffed.

— Yeh can still smell it. The lazy little bastard. Annyway, Jimmy, he said. — Compadre mio. How many bambinos have yeh got that are goin’ to school.

— Eh — three. Why?

Bertie took three Casio pocket calculators in their boxes out of the bag.

— Uno, dos, tres. There you are, my friend. For your bambinos so tha’ they’ll all do well for themselves an’ become doctors.

— Are yeh serious? said Jimmy Sr.

He picked up one of the calculators and turned it round.

— Si, said Bertie.

He explained.

— There’s a bit of a glut in the calculator market, yeh know. I took three gross o’ them from a gringo tha’ we all know an’ think he’s a fuckin’ eejit—

— An’ whose wife does bicycle impressions when he isn’t lookin’?

— That’s him, said Bertie. — I gave him fuck all for them. I was laughin’ before I’d the door shut on the cunt, yeh know. Only now I can’t get rid o’ the fuckin’ things. No one wants them. I even tried a few o’ the shops. Which was stupid. But they were gettin’ on me wick. I can’t live with failure, yeh know. So I’m givin’ them away. Righ’, Bimbo. How many do you need?

— Five, said Bimbo.

— Five!?

— He only has four, said Jimmy Sr. — He wants one for himself.

Bimbo held up his left hand. He pointed to his little finger.

— Glenn.

He moved on to the next finger.

— Wayne.

The middle one.

— Jessica.

— Okay okay, said Bertie. — There’ll be six by the time you’ve finished.

He dealt the boxes out to Bimbo.

— Uno, dos, tres, four, five.

— Thanks very much, Bertie.

— No problem, said Bertie. — See if yeh can get them to lose them, so I can give yeh more. I still have two gross in intervention. A fuckin’ calculator mountain. — Cal-cul-ators! We don’t need your steenking cal-cul-ators! I speet on your cal-cul-ators! — Paddy?

— Wha’?

— How many?

— I don’t want your charity.

Bertie, Jimmy Sr and Bimbo laughed. Paddy was serious, but that made it funnier.

— None o’ those kids he has at home are his annyway, said Jimmy Sr.

The stout in Bimbo’s throat rushed back into his mouth and bashed against his teeth.

— My round, compadres, said Bertie.

He stood up.

— Three pints, isn’t that it? he said.

They looked up at him.

— Do yeh want me charity, Paddy, or will yeh stay on your own?

— Fuck off.

— Four pints, said Bertie.

Jimmy Sr and Bimbo laughed and grinned at each other. Paddy spoke.

— Fuck yis.

Bertie took two more calculators out of the bag.

— For my amigos, the barmen.

When he got back from the bar Bimbo had one of the calculators out of its wrapper.

— The round costs five pound, forty-four, he told them.

— Go ’way! said Jimmy Sr.

— That’s very fuckin’ dear all the same, isn’t it? said Bimbo.

— It was just as dear before yeh got the calculator, said Bertie.

— I know, I know tha’. It’s just when yeh see it like tha’ in black an’, eh, silvery grey it makes it look worse. — I think annyway.

— My Jaysis, said Paddy.

He looked at Bertie.

— Fuckin’ hell, said Bimbo. — If there was six of us the round’d cost—

— Put it away, Bimbo, for fuck sake, said Jimmy Sr.

— I’ve got two kids in school, Paddy told Bertie.

— Is tha’ righ’? said Bertie.

— Yeah.

— Well, I hope they’re good at their sums, said Bertie. — Cos they’re not gettin’ anny calculators.

— Young Sharon’s after gettin’ herself up the pole, Jimmy Sr told them.

He rubbed his hands and picked up his pint.

— Is tha’ YOUR Sharon, like? said Bimbo.

— That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr. — Gas, isn’t it?

— One calculator for Sharon, said Bertie, and he passed one across to Jimmy Sr, and then another one. — And one for the bambino. A good start in life.

— She’s not married, said Bimbo.

— I know tha’! said Jimmy Sr.

— Is tha’ the tall girl tha’ hangs around with Georgie Burgess’s young one? Paddy asked.

— That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr.

— Is she gettin’ married? said Bimbo.

— No, said Jimmy Sr. — Why should she? They’ve more cop-on these days. Would you get married if you were tha’ age again these days?

— I think I’m goin’ to cry, said Bertie.

— I’d say I would, yeah, said Bimbo.

— What’re yeh askin’ him for, for fuck sake? said Paddy. — He brings home little umbrellas for his kids. He goes to meetin’s. He brought his mot to the flicks last week.

— Only cos her sister’s in hospital, said Bimbo. — She usually goes with her sister, he told Jimmy Sr. — The Livin’ Daylights, we went to. The James Bond one.

— Is it anny good?

— Ah it is, yeah. It’s good alrigh’.—There’s a lovely lookin’ bird in it. Lovely.

— Oh, I’ve seen her, said Bertie.

— Isn’t she lovely?

— Oh si. Si. A little ride.

— Ah no. She’s not. She’s the sort o’ bird, said Bimbo, — that yeh wouldn’t really want to ride. D’yeh know wha’ I mean?

— No.

Paddy shook his head and looked at Bertie, and grinned.

— Is she a cripple or somethin’?

— No! said Bimbo. — No.—She’s TOO nice, yeh know?

— You’d give her little umbrellas, would yeh?

— Fuck off, you, said Bimbo.

Bertie put a calculator in front of Bimbo.

— Give her tha’ the next time yeh see her.

— Who did the damage? Paddy asked Jimmy Sr.

— We don’t know, to tell yeh the truth, said Jimmy Sr. — She won’t tell us.

— Well, you’d want to fuckin’ find ou’, said Paddy.

— What’s it you who it is? said Bimbo.

— I couldn’t give a fuck who it is, said Paddy. — It’s Jimmy. I’m not goin’ to be buyin’ food for it, an’ nappies an’ little fuckin’ track suits. Jimmy is.

— I am in me hole, said Jimmy Sr. — Hang on though. Maybe I will be.

He thought about it.

— So wha’ though. I don’t care.

— Good man, said Bimbo.

— An’ she’ll have her allowance, said Bertie.

— Will she? said Jimmy Sr. — I don’t know. I s’pose she will. I don’t care.

— Of course yeh don’t, said Bimbo. — Such a thing to be worryin’ abou’! Who’s goin’ to pay for it!

— Will yeh listen to him, said Paddy. — The singin’ fuckin’ nun.

— Fuck off.

— I believe Gerry Foster’s young fella’s after puttin’ some young one from Coolock up the stick, Bertie told them.

— Wha’? said Jimmy Sr. — Jimmy’s pal? What’s this they call him? Outspan.

— Yeah. Him.

Jimmy Sr laughed.

— I’d say tha’ made his hair go curly.

— Is he marryin’ her? Bimbo asked.

— Yes indeed, said Bertie. — A posse came down from Coolock. Mucho tough hombres. They hijacked the 17A. Take us to Barrytown, signor.

They laughed.

— I believe the poor fucker’s walkin’ around with half an 8 iron stuck up his arse.

— Where’s he goin’ to be livin’?

They knew the answer they wanted to hear.

— Coolock, said Bertie.

— There’s no need for all tha’ fuss, said Jimmy Sr, when they’d stopped laughing. — Sure there’s not?

— Not at all, said Bimbo. — It’s stupid.

Bertie agreed.

— Thick, he said.

— It’s only a baby, said Bimbo. — A snapper.

— Doctor Kildare, Bertie said to Paddy.

— That’s it, said Paddy.

— Fuck off, youse, said Bimbo.

— I wouldn’t want Sharon gettin’ married tha’ young, said Jimmy Sr.

— She’s her whole life ahead of her, said Bimbo.

— Unless she drinks an iffy pint, said Bertie.

— Annyway, said Jimmy Sr.

He lifted his glass.

— To Sharon, wha’.

— Oh yeah. Def’ny. Sharon.

Bertie picked up his pint.

— To the Signorita Rabbeete that is havin’ the bambino out of wedlock, fair play to her.

He gave Jimmy Sr another calculator.

— In case it’s twins.

— Stop, for fuck sake.

Bimbo filled his mouth, swallowed, filled it again, swallowed and put his glass back on its mat.

— Havin’ a baby’s the most natural thing in the world, he said.

Jimmy Sr loved Bimbo.

— D’you know wha’ Sharon is, Jimmy? Said Bimbo.

— Wha’?

— She’s a modern girl.

— Oh good fuck, said Paddy.

* * *

Sharon was lying in bed.

Well, they knew now. They’d been great. It’d been great.

She was a bit pissed. But not too bad. She shut her eyes, and the bed stayed where it was.

She’d never laughed as much in her life. And when Yvonne had pinched the lounge boy’s bum, the look on his face. And Jackie’s joke about the girl in the wheelchair at the disco. It’d been brilliant.

Then, near closing time, they’d all started crying. And that had been even better. She didn’t know how it had started. Outside, they’d hugged one another and said all sorts of stupid, corny things but it had been great. Mary said that the baby would have four mothers. If she’d said it any other time Sharon would have told her to cop on to herself but outside in the car-park it had sounded lovely.

Then they’d gone for chips. And Jackie asked the poor oul’ one that put the stuff in the bags how she kept her skin so smooth.

Sharon laughed—

Soon everyone would know. Good. She could nearly hear them.

— Sharon Rabbitte’s pregnant, did yeh hear?

— Your one, Sharon Rabbitte’s up the pole.

— Sharon Rabbitte’s havin’ a baby.

— I don’t believe yeh!

— Jaysis.

— Jesus! Are yeh serious?

— Who’s she havin’ it for?

— I don’t know.

— She won’t say.

— She doesn’t know.

— She can’t remember.

— Oh God, poor Sharon.

— That’s shockin’.

— Mm.

— Dirty bitch.

— Poor Sharon.

— The slut.

— I don’t believe her.

— The stupid bitch.

— She had tha’ comin’.

— Serves her righ’.

— Poor Sharon.

— Let’s see her gettin’ into those jeans now.

Sharon giggled.

Fuck them. Fuck all of them. She didn’t care. The girls had been great.

Mister Burgess would know by tomorrow as well. He probably knew now. He might have been up when Yvonne got home. — Fuck him too. She wasn’t going to start worrying about that creep.

She couldn’t help it though.

* * *

— There’s Stephen Roche, said Darren. — Wha’? said Jimmy Sr. He looked over his Press. — Oh yeah.

The Galtee cheese ad was on the telly. — That’s a brilliant bike, Da, look. — No, said Jimmy Sr, back behind the paper. — Ah, Da! — No. Jimmy Sr put the paper down.

— I’ll tell yeh what I will do though, he told Darren. — I’ll buy yeh a box o’ cheese. How’s tha’?

Darren wouldn’t laugh.

— What’s on now? said Jimmy Sr.

He was sitting between Veronica and Sharon on the couch. He nudged Veronica.

— Leave me alone, you.

Jimmy Jr stuck his head into the room.

— Are yeh finished with the paper?

— No, said Jimmy Sr. — What’s on, Sharon?

— Top o’ the Pops, said Sharon.

— Oh good shite! said Jimmy Sr. — Where’s the remote?

Sharon was getting up.

— Where’re yeh off to now? he asked her nicely.

— The toilet.

— Again!? Yeh must be in a bad way, wha’.

Sharon sat down again. She whispered to Jimmy Sr.

— Me uterus is beginnin’ to press into me bladder. It’s gettin’ bigger.

Jimmy Sr turned to her.

— I don’t want to hear those sort o’ things, Sharon, he said. — It’s not righ’.

He was blushing.

— Sorry, said Sharon.

— That’s okay. Who’s tha’ fuckin’ eejit, Darren?

— Can you not just say Eejit? said Veronica.

— That’s wha’ I did say! said Jimmy Sr.

Darren laughed.

Veronica gave up.

— Da, said Darren.

— No, yeh can’t have a bike.

Darren got up and left the room in protest. That left Jimmy Sr and Veronica by themselves.

— There’s Cliff Richard, said Jimmy Sr.

Veronica looked up.

— Yes.

— I’d never wear leather trousers, said Jimmy Sr.

Veronica laughed.

Jimmy Sr found the remote control. He’d been sitting on it.

— He’s a Moonie or somethin’, isn’t he? he said as he stuck on the Sports Channel. — And an arse bandit.

— He’s a Christian, said Veronica.

— We’re all tha’, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. — Baseball! It’s worse than fuckin’ cricket.

He looked at it.

— They’re dressed up like tha’ an’ chewin’ gum an’ paint on their faces, so you’re expectin’ somethin’ excitin’, an’ wha’ do yeh get? Fuckin’ cricket with American accents.

Jimmy Jr stuck his head round the door.

— Finished with the paper yet?

— No.

— You’re not even lookin’ at it.

— It’s my paper. I own it. Fuck off.

Jimmy Sr switched again; an ad for a gut-buster on Sky.

— Jesus!

— You’ve got the foulest mouth of anyone I ever knew, Veronica told him. — Ever.

— Ah lay off, Veronica.

The front door slammed and Darren walked past the window.

— It’s not his birthd’y for months yet, said Jimmy Sr. — Sure it’s not?

— A bike’s much too dear for a birthday, said Veronica.

— God, yeah. He has his glue — What’s tha’ ANCO thing Leslie’s signed up for, again?

— He’s only applied, said Veronica. — He doesn’t know if he’ll get it. — Motorbike maintenance.

— Wha’ good’s tha’ to him? He doesn’t have a motorbike.

— I don’t know, said Veronica. — It lasts six months, so there must be something in it.

— But he doesn’t have a motorbike. An’ he’s not gettin’ one either. No way.

— You don’t have to have a car to be a mechanic, said Veronica.

— That’s true o’ course, said Jimmy Sr. — Still, it doesn’t sound like much though.

— It’s better than what you got him.

— That’s not fair, Veronica.

— He says he’ll be able to fix lawn-mowers as well.

— We’ll have to buy one an’ break it so.

— Ha ha.

— He might be able to do somethin’ with tha’ alrigh’, said Jimmy Sr. — Go from door to door an’ tha’.

— Yes, said Veronica.

— Get little cards done, said Jimmy Sr. — With his name on them.

— Yes, said Veronica. — That sort of thing.

— Leslie Rabbitte, lawn-mower doctor.

— Ha ha.

— He won’t get much business round here. Everyone gets a lend o’ Bimbo’s.

— He can go further.

— That’s true. — It’ll get him up with the rest of us annyway. An’ a few bob. ANCO pays them.

— Yes.

— The EEC, Jimmy Sr explained. — They give the money to ANCO.

— An’ who gives the money to the EEC? Veronica asked.

— Em, said Jimmy Sr. — I’ve a feelin’ we do.

— There now, said Veronica.

Jimmy Sr stayed quiet for a while. He switched back to the baseball.

— Look at tha’ now, he said. — Your man there swingin’ the bat. You’d swear somethin’ great was goin’ to happen, but look it.

He switched through all nine channels, back to the baseball.

— There. He hasn’t budged. It’s fuckin’ useless. What’s tha’ you’re knittin’?

— A jumper.

— I don’t like purple.

— It’s not purple and you won’t be wearing it.

— Who will?

— Me.

— Good. ’Bout time yeh made somethin’ for yourself. You have us spoilt.

— And then you never wear them.

— I do so. What’s this I have on?

— That’s a Dunnes one.

— It is in its hole.

— Can I buy the paper then?

It was Jimmy Jr.

— No!

Veronica picked the paper off the floor.

— Here.

Jimmy Jr grabbed it.

— Thanks, Ma.

And he was gone.

Veronica turned to Jimmy Sr.

— Do you think I stitch St Bernard tags and washing instructions on the jumpers when I’ve finished knitting them?

— No, Veronica. I don’t think that at—

Veronica grabbed the tag that was sticking up at the back of Jimmy Sr’s jumper.

— What’s that? she said.

— Take it easy! said Jimmy Sr. — You’re fuckin’ stranglin’ me.

Linda and Tracy ran in.

— Get tha’ dog out o’ here, Jimmy Sr roared.

— Ah!—

— Get him ou’!

He pressed the orange button and the telly popped off.

— Yeh can always tell when it’s comin’ up to the summer, he said. — There’s nothin’ on the telly.

— There’s never anything.

— That’s true o’ course. But in the summer there’s absolutely nothin’.

He was restless now and it wasn’t even half-seven yet. He said it before he knew he was going to.

— I suppose a ride’s ou’ of the question.

— Hang on till I get this line done, said Veronica.

— Are yeh serious?

— I suppose so.

— Fuckin’ great, said Jimmy Sr. — It’s not even dark yet. You’re not messin’ now?

— No. Just let me finish this.

Jimmy Sr stood up.

— I’ll brush me teeth, he said.

— That’ll be nice, said Veronica.

* * *

— It doesn’t really show yet, said Jackie.

— It does! said Sharon. — Look.

Sharon showed Jackie her side.

Jackie was sitting on Linda and Tracy’s bed while Sharon got out of her work clothes.

— Oh yeah, said Jackie. — You’d want to be lookin’ though.

— Everyone’s lookin’, Jackie.

They laughed.

Sharon went over to Jackie.

— Put your hand on it.

Jackie did, very carefully.

— Press.

— Fuck off, Sharon, will yeh.

— Go on.

Jackie pressed gently.

— God, it’s harder than I thought, she said. — Oh Jesus, somethin’s movin’!

She took her hand away. Sharon giggled. Jackie put her hand back.

— It’s funny, she said.

Then she took her hand down.

— Thanks, Sharon, she said.

Sharon laughed.

— I won’t show yeh the state of me nipples, she said.

— Aah Jesus, Sharon!

— Ah, they’re not tha’ bad, said Sharon. — They’re just a funny colour, kind of. I can’t wear these jeans annymore, look.

— Why not? — Oh yeah. Yeh fat bitch yeh.

— These are grand though. Where’ll we go?

— Howth?

— Yeah. Get pissed, wha’.

— Yeah.

* * *

— Jaysis, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr as he moved over on the couch to make room for her. — You’ll soon be the same shape as me, wha’.

* * *

— Sharon, let’s touch the baby. — No!

— Aah!

— Alrigh’. Quick but. Daddy’s waitin’ on me.

* * *

— There’s an awful smell o’ feet in here, said Jimmy Sr. — It’s fuckin’ terrible.

— It’s the dog, said Jimmy Jr.

— He’s wearin’ shoes an’ socks now, is he? said Jimmy Sr. — Where is he?

— Ou’ the back, said Darren.

Jimmy Sr, Jimmy Jr and Darren were in the front room, watching the tennis.

— It can’t be him so, said Jimmy Sr. — An’ it’s not me.

— Don’t look at me, said Jimmy Jr.

They both looked at Darren. He was stretched out on the floor. Jimmy Sr tapped one of his ankles.

— Get up there an’ change your socks an’ wash your feet as well. Yeh smelly bastard yeh.

— Ah Da, the cyclin’s on in a minute.

— I amn’t askin’ yeh to amputate your feet, said Jimmy Sr. — I only want yeh to change your fuckin’ socks.

— But the—

— Getou’!

— Come here, said Jimmy Jr as Darren was leaving the room. — Don’t go near my socks, righ’.

— I wouldn’t touch your poxy socks.

— Yeh’d better not.

— It’s those fuckin’ runners he wears, said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah, said Jimmy Jr.

— His feet can’t breathe in them.

— Yeah.

— Who’s your one?

— Gabriella Sabatini.

— Jaysis, wha’.

— She’s only seventeen.

— Fuck off. — Are yeh serious?

— Yeah.

— Is she winnin’, is she?

— Yeah.

— Good.

* * *

— Jesus, I wouldn’t like tha’, said Yvonne. — Some dirty oul’ bastard with a rubber glove.

— It was a woman, said Sharon.

— Yeah?

— Yeah. She was very nice. Doctor Murray. She was real young as well. It took bleedin’ ages though.

— How long abou’? Mary asked her.

— Ages. Hours. Most of it was waitin’ though. All fuckin’ mornin’, I’m not jokin’ yeh. She said it was because of the cut-backs. She kept sayin’ it. She said I should write to me TD.

— The stupid bitch, said Jackie.

They laughed.

— Ah, she was nice, said Sharon. — Come here though. I nearly died, listen. She said she wanted to know me menstrual history an’ I didn’t know what she talkin’ abou’ till she told me. I felt like a right fuckin’ eejit. I knew what it meant, like, but I was—

— Why didn’t she just say your periods? said Yvonne.

— Doctors are always like tha’, said Mary.

— Menstrual history, said Jackie. — I got a C in that in me Inter.

They roared.

* * *

— Mammy, said Linda.

Tracy stood beside her.

— What? said Veronica.

— Me an’ Tracy are doin’ ballroom dancin’.

Veronica opened her eyes and sat up on the couch and put her feet back into her slippers.

— Ballroom dancing, she said. — Is that not a bit old-fashioned for you?

— No, it’s brilliant, said Tracy.

— Yeah, said Linda.

— Where are my glasses? said Veronica.

She wanted to see the twins properly.

— There, look.

Both girls went to get Veronica’s glasses for her but Veronica got to them first. She put them on.

— How much? she said.

— Nothin’!

— There’s a competition, said Linda, — an’ that’s ten pounds but it isn’t on for ages.

— Well, I know you want something, said Veronica. — So you might as well tell me what it is.

— We have to have dresses.

— Oh God, said Veronica.

* * *

Sharon bought some pants with elastic waists, baggy things that would get bigger as she got bigger. She wouldn’t have been caught dead in them if she hadn’t been pregnant but now, when she looked at herself in them, she thought she looked okay. She’d have looked stupid and pathetic in what she usually wore. She was happy enough with her new shape. She walked as straight as she could although now and again she just wanted to droop. She was sweating a lot. Like a pig sometimes. She knew she would, but it was embarrassing one day when she was putting jars of chutney on a high shelf in work and she felt a chill and looked, and under her arms was wringing. She felt terrible. She didn’t know if anyone else had seen but she wanted to go around and tell everyone that she’d washed herself well that morning. As far as she knew she had a choice: she could drink a lot and sweat or she could stop and become constipated. Some choice. She kept drinking and wore a jumper in work.

She looked at her face. Was it redder or was it just the light? She thought she looked as if she’d just been running.

She met Mister Burgess, once. It wasn’t a real meeting because she crossed the road to the shops when she saw him coming round the corner and she looked at the girls playing football on the Green while he went past. He just went past, and that was what she wanted.

* * *

Jimmy Sr got out of the house earlier than usual because Veronica was in her moods again. Anyway, they were all watching Miami Vice at home and he couldn’t stand it. It was like watching a clatter of Jimmy Jr’s pals running around and shooting each other.

Bimbo was with him.

— Now, Bimbo continued, — there mightn’t be annythin’ in this.

He took a mouthful from his new pint.

— That’s grand. — It’s a bit embarrassin’ really—

He waited till Jimmy Sr was looking at him.

— But I heard him talkin’ abou’ Sharon. Your Sharon, like, on Sunday. Yeh know the way they all come in after the mornin’ match.

— An’ take over the fuckin’ place; I know. Wha’ was he sayin’ abou’ Sharon? Jimmy Sr asked, although he’d already guessed the answer.

— He said she was a great little ride.

— My God — said Jimmy Sr, softly.

His guess had been way wrong.

— What a — I’ll crease the fucker. Would yeh say he’s upstairs?

Bimbo was shocked.

— Yeh don’t want to claim him here, he said. — You’d be barred.

He lifted his glass.

— An’ me.

Jimmy Sr was breathing deeply.

— You’re right o’ course, he said. — That’s wha’ he’d want.

He whacked his glass down on the counter. It didn’t break. He gripped the ashtray. The two barmen braced themselves for some kind of action.

He took his hand away from the ashtray.

Bimbo was appalled when he heard, then saw, that Jimmy Sr was crying.

— He’d no right to say tha’, Bimbo, said Jimmy Sr.

— I know, said Bimbo.

— Just cos—

He snuffled.

In a way, Bimbo felt privileged, even though it was terrible. He knew that Jimmy Sr would never have cried in front of the other lads.

It had gone very quiet in the bar.

— Yeh wouldn’t want to be listenin’ to tha’ fella, Bimbo told Jimmy Sr. — I only told yeh cos — I’m not sure why I told yeh.

— You were righ’, Bimbo, said Jimmy Sr.

— It’s pat’etic really, said Bimbo. — A grown man sayin’ things like tha’.

— Exactly.

— Just cos she’s pregnant.

— Exactly.

— It’s stupid.

— Yeah.

— It’s not worth gettin’ worked up abou’.

— Still though, said Jimmy Sr.

They looked around. There was no one looking at them.

Bimbo put his glass down.

— Sure, that’s wha’ we were put down here for. To have snappers.

— You should know, said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah here.

— Two pints, chop chop, Jimmy Sr called.

Bertie came in.

— Three pints!

— Buenas noches, lads, said Bertie.

— There y’are, Bertie, said Bimbo.

— Howyeh, Bertie, said Jimmy Sr.

— The rain she pisses down, Bertie told them.

Something was still eating Jimmy Sr.

— Why did he say it THA’ way? he asked Bimbo.

— Wha’? said Bertie.

— Nothin’, said Jimmy Sr.

— Okay; be like tha’.

— I will.

— Fuck you, amigo.

— Go an’ shite, amigo.

— Here’s the pints, said Bimbo.

Jimmy Sr looked at them.

— Get back there an’ put a proper head on them pints, he told Dave, the apprentice barman. — Jaysis.

* * *

Sharon wasn’t asleep.

— Sharon, are yeh awake?

She didn’t answer.

He didn’t know which side of the room he should have been talking into. He hadn’t been in here in eight years, the last time he’d wallpapered the room.

— Are you awake, Sharon?

— Daddy, said Sharon. — Is tha’ you?

— Yeah.

— Daddy, is tha’ you? said Linda.

— Yes, pet. Go back to sleep. I want to talk to Sharon.

— Daddy, is tha’ you? said Tracy.

— Yes, pet, said Linda. — Go back to sleep.

They laughed and giggled.

— Will yeh come down to the kitchen for a minute, Sharon? said Jimmy Sr.

He was making a sandwich for himself when Sharon got downstairs.

She was worried. She’d never been called out of bed before.

— Yeh might as well have a cup o’ tea now you’re up, said Jimmy Sr.

— Okay.

— Good girl.

Jimmy Sr sat down. Sharon went back to the sink and filled the kettle.

— Is somethin’ the matter? she asked.

— Not really, no, Sharon. — It’s just, I heard somethin’ tonigh’. An’ I wanted to warn yeh.

Then he started eating his sandwich, a lemon curd one.

Sharon turned off the tap.

— Warn me?

She was really worried now. The kettle was heavy enough to hide the shakes. She took it over to the socket, and then went back to wash two cups.

— Well, yeah, said Jimmy Sr. — Warn.

He took a drop of lemon curd off the table with his finger, thought twice about licking it and rubbed it into his trousers.

— Yeh know your man, George Burgess?

Sharon was facing the kitchen window. She leaned over the sink and coughed. She turned on the tap.

— Are yeh alrigh’ there? said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah. I’ll be fine.

— I thought yis only did tha’ sort o’ thing in the mornin’s.

— Sometimes in the night as well.

— Is tha’ righ’? God love yis.

Sharon felt a bit better. He was being too nice. He didn’t know anything.

— What abou’ Mister Burgess? she said.

— Ah, he was sayin’ things abou’ yeh.—

— Wha’ was he sayin’ about me?

— Not to me face. He wouldn’t fuckin’ want to. It was Bimbo tha’ told me. He said — He was sayin’ things abou’ you, bein’ pregnant.

— So wha’?

— Good girl.

— Wha’ did he say?

— Ah — He said you were a great little ride. So Bimbo says annyway.

— Mister Reeves wouldn’t make somethin’ like that up.

— God no, not Bimbo. Never.

— An’ who’s your man Burgess callin’ little? I’m bigger than he is.

Jimmy Sr laughed, delighted.

— That’s righ’. You’re not upset or annythin’?

— No!

She filled the cups and worked at the teabags with a spoon.

— Really, bein’ called a ride is a bit of a compliment really, isn’t it?

— Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr. — I don’t know. — Thanks.

He took his cup.

— I suppose it is.

He tried the tea.

— That’s grand, good girl. — Still though, he’d no righ’ to be sayin’ things like tha’.

— Sure, fellas — men — are always sayin’ things like tha’ abou’ girls.

— Ah yeah, but. Not daughters though.

— Don’t be thick, Daddy. All girls are daughters.

— Well, not my fuckin’ daughter then.

— That’s hypocritical.

— I don’t give a fuck what it is, said Jimmy Sr. — He has young ones of his own. Tha’ pal o’ yours—?

— Yvonne.

— That’s righ’.—It’s shockin’. Annyway, I’m not havin’ some fat little fucker insultin’ any of my family. Specially not you.

— You’re my knight in shinin’ armour.

— Don’t start.

He grinned. So did Sharon.

— I just thought tha’ I should tell yeh, yeh know, said Jimmy Sr.

— Thanks.

— No problem.

— I’m goin’ back up now, righ’?

— Okay. Night nigh’, Sharon.

Les got tired and cold waiting out the back for his da to go to bed so he filled his lungs and opened the back door.

— Good Jaysis! Where were you till now?

— Ou’.

Les got past Jimmy Sr, behind his chair. Standing up quickly was always a problem for Jimmy Sr.

— Get back here, you.

But Les didn’t come back. Jimmy Sr heard the boys’ bedroom door being opened and closed. He’d get him in the morning. He started looking for a few biscuits.

Larrygogan yelped in his sleep.

— Shut up, you, said Jimmy Sr.

Sharon heard the boys’ door as well. She was deciding what to do about Mister Burgess. It was simple: she’d go over to his place and tell him to stop saying things about her or she’d tell Missis Burgess, or something. She didn’t really know him but she thought that that would give him a big enough fright. Simple. Not easy though; no way. She hated the idea of having to go over and talk to him, and look at him; and him looking at her. Still though, she had to shut him up.

She’d do it tomorrow.

The stupid prick.

* * *

lt was half-six and Sharon was home from work. She was standing on the Burgess’s front step. She was afraid she was making a mistake but she rang the bell again before she could change her mind.

Pat Burgess slid back the aluminium door.

— Yeah?

— Is Mister Burgess there?

— Yeah.

— Can I see him for a minute?

— He’s still havin’ his tea.

— Only for a minute, tell him.

Sharon looked in while she was waiting. It was a small hall, exactly the same as theirs. There were more pictures in this one though, and no phone. Sharon could hear children and adult voices from the kitchen. She could see the side of Missis Burgess’s back because she was sitting at the end of the table nearest the door. Then she saw Missis Burgess’s face. And then she heard her voice.

— Is it George you want, Sharon?

God! thought Sharon.

— Yes, please, Missis Burgess. Just for a minute.

She wanted to run. Jesus, she was terrified but she thought Mister Burgess probably was as well. The kitchen door closed for a second and when it opened again Mister Burgess was there. There was a napkin hanging from his trousers. He looked worried alright. And angry and afraid. And a bit lost.

Looking at him, Sharon felt better. She knew what she was going to say: he didn’t. She wasn’t disgusted looking at him now. She just couldn’t believe she’d ever let him near her.

Mister Burgess came towards her.

— Yes, Sharon? he said. To Missis Burgess.

— I want to talk to you, Sharon said quickly when he got to the door.

He wouldn’t look at her straight.

— Wha’ abou’?

— YOU know.

— I’ll see yeh later.

— I’ll tell Missis Burgess.

Mister Burgess looked back into the hall. A lift of his head told her to come in.

— Come into the lounge, Sharon, he shouted. — Sharon’s here abou’ Darren.

— Hiyeh, Sharon.

It was Yvonne, from somewhere in the kitchen.

— Hiyeh, Yvonne, Sharon called back.

— See yeh later.

— Yeah, okay.

She walked into the front room. Mister Burgess shut the door. He was shaking and red.

— Wha’ do yeh think you’re up to, yeh little bitch, he hissed.

— Wha’ d’yeh think YOU’RE up to, yeh little bastard?

He didn’t hiss now.

— Wha’?

— Wha’ were yeh sayin’ about me to your friends? said Sharon.

— I didn’t say ann’thin’ to annyone.

It was an aggressive answer but there was a tail on it.

— You said I was a ride. Didn’t yeh?

George Burgess hated that. He hated hearing women using the language he used. He just didn’t think it was right. It sounded dirty. As well as that, he knew he’d been snared. But he wasn’t dead yet.

— Didn’t yeh? said Sharon.

— Are yeh mad? I did not.

— I can tell from your face.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been told that. His mother had said it; Doris said it; everyone said it.

— I was only jokin’.

— I’m a great little ride.

The word ride made him snap his eyes shut.

— I didn’t mean anny harm. I only—

— Wha’ else did yeh say about me?

— Nothin’.

— Maybe!

— I swear. I didn’t. On the Bible. I didn’t say annythin’. Else.

She was nearly feeling sorry for him.

— Yeh stupid bastard yeh.

He looked as if he was being smacked.

She went on.

— You got your hole, didn’t yeh?

He shut his eyes again. He got redder.

— Wha’ more do yeh want?

— I swear on the Bible, Sharon, I didn’t mean anny harm, I swear. True as God now.

— Wha’ did yeh say?

— Ah, it was nothin’.

— I’ll go in an’ tell her.

He believed her.

— Ah, it was silly really. Just the lads talkin’, yeh know.

Sharon knew that one step towards the door would get her a better explanation, so she took one.

— We — they — we were havin’ a laugh, abou’ women, yeh know. The usual. An’ the young lads, the lads on the team, they were goin’ on abou’ the young ones from around here. — An’ that’s when I said you were a — I said it.

He looked at the carpet.

— Yeh dope. Wha’ did yeh say tha’ for?

— Ah, I don’t know.

He looked up.

— I was showin’ off.

— Wha’ else?

— Nothin’, I swear. They laughed at me. Some o’ them didn’t even hear me. They’d never believe that I got me — have — Off you.

He was looking at the carpet again.

— They thought tha’ I was jokin’.

He jumped when the door was opened by Missis Burgess.

— There y’are, love, he roared at her.

— Hello, Sharon, said Missis Burgess.

— Hiyeh, Missis Burgess, said Sharon. — I was just tellin’ Mister Burgess abou’ Darren.

— That’s righ’, Mister Burgess nearly screamed.

— Is somethin’ wrong with Darren?

— He has a bit of a cold just.

— A cold, said Mister Burgess.

— Maybe flu.

— We’ll just have to hope he’s better for Saturday, said Mister Burgess. — God knows, we’ll need him.

— I didn’t know there was flu goin’ around, said Missis

Burgess. — I hope there isn’t, — now. Will you tell your mammy I was askin’ for her?

— I will, yeah, Missis Burgess.

— When are yeh due, Sharon? Missis Burgess asked.

— November. The end.

— Really? You look sooner. — D’you want a boy or a little girl?

— I don’t mind. A girl maybe.

— One of each, wha’, said Mister Burgess.

Missis Burgess looked at Mister Burgess.

— I’m off to my bingo now, George.

— Good, said Mister Burgess. — That’s great. Have you enough money with yeh, Doris?

— My God, he’s offerin’ me money! He’s showin’ off in front of you, Sharon.

Sharon smiled.

— Bye bye so, Sharon, said Missis Burgess.

— See yeh, Missis Burgess.

— Don’t forget the grass, George.

— No, no. Don’t worry.

— Remember to tell your mammy now, Missis Burgess told Sharon.

Then she was gone.

Sharon knew what he was going to say next.

— Phew, he said. — Tha’ was close, wha’.

— It’ll be closer the next time if yeh don’t stop sayin’ things abou’ me.

— There won’t be a next time, Sharon, I swear to God. I only said it the once. I’m sorry. — I’m sorry.

— So yeh should be. — I don’t mind bein’ pregnant but I do mind people knowin’ who made me pregnant.

— So — you’re pregnant, Sharon?

— Fuck off, Mister Burgess, would yeh.

They stood there. Sharon was looking at him but he wasn’t looking at her, not really. She wanted to smile. She’d never felt power like this before.

— Sorry, Sharon.

Sharon said nothing.

She was going to go now, but he spoke. His mouth was open for a while before words left it.

— An’, Sharon—

He rubbed his nose, on his arm.

— Yeah?

— I never thanked yeh for — yeh know. Tha’ nigh’.

He was looking at the carpet again, and fidgeting.

— I was drunk, said Sharon.

She wanted to cry now. She’d forgotten That Night for a minute. She was hating him again.

— I know. So was I. I’d never’ve — God, I was buckled. — Em—

He tried to grin, but he gave up and looked serious.

— You’re a good girl, Sharon. We both made a mistake.

— You’re tellin’ me, said Sharon.

— Hang on a sec, Sharon, he said. — I’ll be back in a minute.

He went to the door.

— Wait there, Sharon.

Sharon waited. She was curious. She wasn’t going to cry now. She heard Mister Burgess going up the stairs, and coming down.

He slid into the room.

— That’s for yourself, Sharon, he said.

He had a ten pound note in his hand.

Sharon couldn’t decide how to react. She looked at the money.

She wanted to laugh but she thought that that wouldn’t be right. But she couldn’t manage anger, looking at this eejit holding out his tenner to her.

— Do you think I’m a prostitute, Mister Burgess?

— God, no; Jaysis, no!

— What’re yeh givin’ me tha’ for then?

— It’s not the way yeh think, Sharon. Shite! — Em, it’s a sort of a present—

The tenner, he knew now, was a big mistake.

— Yeh know. A present. No hard feelin’s, yeh know.

— You’re some fuckin’ neck, Mister Burgess, d’yeh know tha’?

— I’m sorry, Sharon. I didn’t mean it the way you’re thinkin’, I swear. On the Bible.

He was beginning to look hurt.

— We made a mistake, Sharon. We were both stupid. Now go an’ buy yourself a few sweets — eh, drinks.

Sharon couldn’t help grinning. She shook her head.

— You’re an awful fuckin’ eejit, Mister Burgess, she said. — Put your tenner back in your pocket.

— Ah no, Sharon.

He looked at her.

— Okay, sorry — You’re a good girl. And honest.

— Fuck off!

— Sorry! — Sorry. I’ll never open me mouth about you again.

— You’d better not.

— I won’t, I swear.

Then he remembered something.

— Oh yeah, he said.

He dug into his trousers pocket.

— I kept these for yeh. Your, em, panties, isn’t tha’ what yis call them?

He was really scarlet.

— Me knickers!

Sharon was stunned, and then amused. She couldn’t help it. He looked so stupid and unhappy.

She put the knickers in her jacket pocket. Mister Burgess, she noticed, wiped his hand on his cardigan. She nearly laughed.

— Wha’ were yeh doin’ with them? she asked.

— I was keepin’ them for yeh. So they wouldn’t get lost.

He was purple now. His hands were in and out of his cardigan pockets. He couldn’t look at her.

— Don’t start again, said Sharon. — Just tell us the truth.

— Ah Jaysis, it was stupid really. Again. — A joke — I was goin’ to show them to the lads.

— Oh my—!

— But I didn’t I didn’t, Sharon! I didn’t.

He coughed.

— I wouldn’t.

Sharon went to the door.

— I’ve changed me mind, she said. — Give us the tenner. I deserve it.

— Certainly, Sharon. Good girl. There y’are.

Sharon took the money. She stopped at the door.

— Remember: if you ever say annythin’ about me again I’ll tell Missis Burgess wha’ yeh did.

— Yeh needn’t worry, Sharon. Me lips are sealed.

— Well — Just remember. — Bye bye.

— Cheerio, Sharon. Thanks, — very much—

She was a great young one, George decided as Sharon shut the door after her. And a good looker too. But, my God—! He sat down and shook like bejaysis for a while. She’d do it; tell Doris. No problem to her. He’d have to be careful. Think but: he’d ridden her. And he’d made her pregnant. HE had.

— Jaysis.

He was a pathetic little prick, Sharon thought as she went back across the road to her house. He was pathetic. He wouldn’t yap anymore anyway. He’d be too scared to.

* * *

Bertie put his pint down.

— Caramba! he said. — That’s fuckin’ lovely.

— It is alrigh’, Bimbo agreed. — Lovely.

— Is it a new bike? Jimmy Sr asked Bertie.

— Nearly, yeah, said Bertie.

— Fuck off now, said Jimmy Sr. — How old is it?

— A few months only.

— Any scratches?

— Not at all, said Bertie. — It’s perfect.

Bimbo shifted to one side and farted. They started laughing.

— My Jaysis, said Paddy. — You’re fuckin’ rotten.

— There’s somethin’ dead inside you, d’yeh know tha’? said Jimmy Sr, waving his hand in the air and leaning away from Bimbo.

Bimbo wiped his eyes with his fist.

— Yeh can smell it from here, said a voice from a distant corner.

That got them laughing again.

— They sound great in these chairs, Bimbo explained.

— Yeah, said Bertie. — Tha’ stuff’s great.

— Leatherette.

— Si.

— I don’t believe I’m hearin’ this, said Paddy.

— Ah fuck off, Paddy, said Jimmy Sr. — Annyway, it’s your twist.

Jimmy Sr turned back to Bertie.

— Okay, he said. — You’re on.

— Good, said Bertie. — Mucho good. Are yeh sure now you’ll be able to get me the jacks?

— No problem to me.

— An’ one o’ those yokes for washin’ your arse? A bidet.

— No problem.

— Wha’ would yeh want one o’ them for? Bimbo asked.

— For washin’ your arse, yeh fuckin’ eejit, said Paddy.

— Yeah, but wha’ would yeh want to do tha’ for? Bimbo wanted to know. — Puttin your arse wet back into your knickers.

— You’re got a point there, said Jimmy Sr.

— It’s a buyer’s market, Bimbo, compadre mio, said Bertie. — My client he wants to wash his hole, so — I’ll wash it for him meself if he pays me enough. Fawn? he asked Jimmy Sr.

— Okay. No problem.

— What’s fawn? Bimbo asked.

— The colour!

— Oh yeah.

— Jesus, said Paddy.

* * *

— Wha’ did yeh say to him? Yvonne asked.

— I said I couldn’t help it, said Sharon.

— He must be a righ’ fuckin’ bastard, said Jackie. — I know what I’d’ve told him.

— I said I couldn’t help it if I had to keep goin’ to the toilet. He blushed, yeh should’ve seen him. Just cos I said Toilet.

— Jesus, are yeh serious? He must be red all the time, is he?

— He’s a fuckin’ eejit, said Sharon. — He said it wasn’t fair on the other girls. An’ I said they didn’t mind. They don’t annyway. Most o’ them prefer the check-out. Cos they can sit down. — ’Cept when it’s really busy. But you’d swear stackin’ shelves was a fuckin’ luxury, the way he talked. That’s all he is annyway. A shelf stacker in a suit. He’s not a real manager at all. He’s only one o’ them trainee ones. Paddy in the bakery called him tha’ to his face once, a shelf stacker in a suit. It was fuckin’ gas.

— Is he good lookin’, Sharon? Mary asked.

— Are yeh jokin’ me! said Sharon. — Yeh know Roland the Rat? Well, he looks like him. Only not as nice.

They laughed.

— Jesus then, listen, said Sharon.

She’d remembered something else.

— He asked me why I wasn’t wearin’ me uniform, an’ I—

She did it as she said it.

— stuck me belly out an’ I said, It doesn’t fit me. Yeh should’ve seen his face, I’m not jokin’ yis.

They screamed.

— Ah, said Jackie. — The poor chap must’ve been embarrassed.

— Yeah, Sharon, said Mary. — You’re mean.

They laughed again.

— Well — said Sharon. — I was only standin’ up for me rights.

— You were dead right, Sharon, said Yvonne. — Yeh should’ve stuck one o’ your tits in his mouth as well.

— Jesus!!

They really screamed now.

— Oh look it, said Yvonne when they’d recovered. — There’s your chap, Mary.

They looked across at the lounge boy.

Yvonne waved at him.

— Come here!

— Is he comin’?

— No.

They started laughing again.

* * *

A few Sundays after Sharon had sorted out George Burgess, at a quarter to seven, Jimmy Sr was standing in the bar jacks, tucking a bit of shirt back into his fly. The lads had all gone home for their tea and to bring their wives back later — because it was Sunday. Jimmy Sr was going home now himself to collect Veronica.

He decided to wash his hands. They’d installed a new hand dryer and he wanted to have a go on it.

He had his hands in under the dryer and was wondering how long more it would take when he saw George Burgess in the mirror, coming in. George walked behind Jimmy Sr and put his hand on his shoulder. He smiled at Jimmy Sr in the mirror.

— How’s it goin’, Jimmy? he said.

Jimmy Sr shrugged violently.

— Get your fuckin’ hands off me, Burgess.

George was very surprised, and worried.

— What’s wrong with YOU? he asked, still looking at the mirror.

— You know fuckin’ well what’s wrong with me.

Jimmy Sr turned.

— I haven’t a clue, Jim, said George.

He stepped back a bit, to make room for Jimmy Sr.

— Don’t start, said Jimmy Sr. — If you’re goin’ to start tha’ then we’ll go outside an’ have it ou’ now.

George hadn’t been in a fight since 1959, in Bray. He’d lost it, and two of his teeth. And, he was only realizing it now that this was Sharon’s father he was having a row with.

— Look, Jimmy, I don’t know wha’ you’re talkin’ abou’ so you’ll have to tell me.

— I’ll tell yeh alrigh’. You were sayin’ things abou’ Sharon.

Jimmy Sr’s face dared George to deny it.

— I said nothin’ abou’ Sharon, Jimmy. I—

Jimmy Sr gave George’s chest a good dig. It was loud but not too hard; a warning.

— Yeh fuckin’ did, pal, said Jimmy Sr. — Cos Bimbo heard yeh.

— I didn’t mean anny harm, for fuck sake; it was only a joke—

Jimmy Sr thumped him again, harder. George stayed put. He wasn’t going to let himself be pinned to the urinal wall. He’d his good suit on him.

— You’ve got it wrong, Jim.

— Wrong me bollix!

— Yeh have, I swear.

— Me bollix.

Jimmy Sr was pressing into George by now.

— Just cos the poor young one’s pregnant, he said.

— Look—

George was up against the wall. He had to get up onto the step.

— Look, I’m sorry, Jimmy.

— Yeh’d fuckin’ want to be.

— I am, I sw—

— Yeh should be ashamed of yourself, a man o’ your age sayin’ things abou’ young girls like tha’.

— I know—

— Yeh bastard, yeh. — You’re not worth hittin’.

That, thought George, was good news.

— I’m sorry, Jimmy. Really now. On the Bible. I was just messin’ with the lads, yeh know.

— The lads! said Jimmy Sr. — Yeh sound like a fuckin’ kid.

Jimmy Sr turned away and went to the door. He wanted to whoop. He’d won. He stopped at the door.

— Come here, you, he said. — If you ever say another word abou’ Sharon again I’ll fuckin’ kill yeh. Righ’?

— Righ’, Jimmy. I won’t. Yeh needn’t worry. I’m not, eh—

George looked like a beaten man. And that chuffed Jimmy Sr a bit more.

— An’ come here as well, he said. — If yeh drop Darren off the team cos o’ this I’ll kill yeh as well.

— Jaysis, Jimmy, I’d never drop Darren!

* * *

Darren walked into the kitchen.

— Happy birthd’y, son.

— Happy birthday, Darren.

— Happy birth’y, Darren.

— Good man, Darren, said Jimmy Sr. — There y’are.

He handed Darren a thin cylindrical parcel.

— Wha’ is it?

— It’s your birthd’y present, Jimmy Sr told him.

— It’s not a bike.

— I know tha’, said Jimmy Sr.

— What is it?

— Open it an’ see, son.

Darren did.

— It’s a pump.

— That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr. — It’s a good one too.

Darren didn’t understand. He looked at his da’s face.

— I’ll get yeh a wheel for your Christmas, said Jimmy Sr. — An’ the other one for your next birthd’y. An’ then the saddle. An’ before yeh know it you’ll have your bike. How’s tha’?

Darren looked at the pump, then at his da. His da was smiling but it wasn’t a joking smile. He looked at his ma. She had her back to him, at the sink. Now he understood. He understood now: he’d just been given a poxy pump for his birthday. And he was going to be getting bits of bike for the rest of his life and — But the twins were giggling. And now so was Sharon.

His brother, Jimmy, stood up and was putting on his jacket.

— Yeh can pump yourself to school every mornin’ now, he said.

— Yis are messin’, said Darren.

He laughed. He knew it. He had a bike. He knew it.

— Yis are messin’!

Jimmy Sr laughed.

— We are o’ course.

He opened the back door and went out, and came back in with a bike, a big old black grocer’s delivery bike with a frame over the front wheel but no basket in it.

— Get up on tha’ now an’ we’ll see how it fits, said Jimmy Sr.

— Wha’? said Darren.

His mouth was wide open. Veronica was laughing now.

— It’s a Stephen Roche special, said Jimmy Sr.

Darren was still staring at the bike. Then he noticed the others laughing.

He looked around at them.

— Yis are messin’.

He laughed, louder now than before.

— Yis are still messin’.

— We are o’ course, said Jimmy Sr.

He patted the saddle.

— This is Bimbo’s.

He wheeled it out, and wheeled in the real present. Larrygogan followed it in.

— Ah rapid! Da — Ma—.Thanks. Rapid. Ah deadly.

He held the bike carefully.

— A Raleigh! Deadly. — Ten gears! Great. Muggah’s only got five.

Jimmy Sr laughed.

— Only the best, he said.

— Raleighs aren’t the best, Darren told him. — Peugeots and Widersprints are.

He was looking at his new bike and adoring it; its thinness, neatness, shininess, the colour, the pedals with the straps on them and, most of all, the handlebars.

— Yeh ungrateful little bollix, said Jimmy Sr. — Give us tha’ back.

He grabbed the bike and pushed Darren away from it.

Darren was lost. He didn’t know what he’d done. He didn’t know. His eyes filled. He just stood there.

Jimmy Sr pushed the bike back to him.

— There.

— Thanks, Da. Thanks, Ma.

— Mammy.

— Mammy. It’s brilliant.

He wolfed his breakfast, then cycled across the road to school.

* * *

It was about six o’clock the same day, Jimmy Sr, washed and ready, sat down at the kitchen table. But the dinner wasn’t ready.

— How come? he wanted to know.

— I started on the girls’ dresses, said Veronica.

— Wha’ dresses?

— Ballroom.

— Jaysis.

— Stop that. — Anyway, I forgot the time.

Jimmy Sr was in good form.

— Ah well, he said. — Not to worry. I’ll have a slice o’ bread. That’ll keep me goin’.

He didn’t bother with the marge.

— How — are yeh today, Veronica? he asked.

— Okay. Grand. I’m tired now though.

— Cummins said he might have somethin’ for Leslie in a few weeks.

— I’ll believe it when I see it, said Veronica.

— I suppose so, said Jimmy Sr. — He said he’ll ask round an’ see if anny of his pals have annythin’ for him. Yeh know, the golf an’ church collection shower.

— You wouldn’t want to be relying on them.

— True.

He began to demolish another couple of slices.

— Still — what else can we do? — I had five fuckin’ jobs to choose from when I got thrun out o’ school. Where is he?

— Who?

— Leslie.

— I don’t know. Out.

— I haven’t seen him in ages. Weeks — Yeah, weeks. Wha’ does he look like?

Veronica laughed.

— He’s not hangin’ round the house annyway, said Jimmy Sr. — Gettin’ under your feet.

— No.

— That’s somethin’. But he should have his breakfasts an’ his dinners with the rest of us. The family tha’ eats together — How does it go?

Veronica was prodding the potatoes.

Darren came in, on his way out. He was wearing a Carrera cycling jersey Jimmy Jr had just given him. It nearly reached his knees. He was trying to rub the creases out of it. When he looked down the zip touched his nose.

— That’s a great yoke, Darren, Jimmy Sr told him — It’ll fit yeh properly in a couple o’ months, wha’.

— It’ll be too small, said Veronica, — the way he’s growing. Where d’you think you’re going to?

— Ou’, said Darren.

— Not till after your tea you’re not, said Veronica.

— Ah Ma. Round the block only?

— Let him go, said Jimmy Sr. — He wants to show off his jersey to the young ones.

Darren was out the door.

Jimmy Jr came into the kitchen.

— Was tha’ jersey yoke dear? Jimmy Sr asked him.

Jimmy Jr tapped the side of his nose with a finger, and winked. Jimmy Sr raised his eyebrows. He looked at Veronica. She was turning the chops.

— Did no one actually buy the poor fucker a present? he whispered.

Jimmy Jr grinned, and went upstairs to change.

Sharon came in from work.

— There’s Sharon, said Jimmy Sr. — How are yeh, Sharon?

— Grand.

— Good. That’s the way to be. Your face is nice an’ pink.

— Thanks very much!

— Very healthy lookin’. Is he kickin’?

— He’s doin’ cartwheels.

— We’ll have to get him a bike like Darren’s so.

Sharon sat down.

— That’s righ’, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr. — Sit down.

The twins were in the hall.

They heard Linda.

— Slow — Slow — Quick — Quick — Slow. — Ah, watch it! You’re supposed to be the man, yeh fuckin’ eejit.

— Tell them to stop that language, said Veronica.

— Stop tha’ language, Jimmy Sr shouted.

— Linda said it, said Tracy from the hall.

— You made me.

— I didn’t.

— Did. — Come on. Your fingers are supposed to be at righ’ angles to my spine. — Slow — Slow — Quick — Quick — Slow.

— What’s goin’ on ou’ there? said Jimmy Sr.

He leaned back so he could see out into the hall. He grinned as he watched Linda and Tracy going through their steps. They hit the stairs.

— You’re doin’ it wrong, he said. — Look.

He got up and went into the hall.

Sharon grinned.

Veronica was dividing the food onto the plates.

— D’yeh need a hand, Mammy? said Sharon.

— No.

They heard Jimmy Sr.

— Now. Are yis watchin’? Yeh put your feet slightly apart, d’yeh see? Like this. — Now, I put my weight on me left foot. An’ wha’ foot do you put your weight on?

— The righ’ one, said Linda.

— Good girl, said Jimmy Sr. — Cos you’re the lady. — Then, look it, I side-step like tha’—an’ we’re off. Step — Step — Cha Cha Cha — Step — Step — Cha Cha Cha—

Sharon laughed.

— I didn’t know Daddy could dance like tha’, she said.

— Neither did I, said Veronica. — Now, where is everyone? Why do they all disappear just when their dinner’s ready?

They heard Jimmy Sr.

— Step — Step — Cha Cha Cha — An’ there we go. Your turn, Tracy. — No, wrong foot. You’re the lady. Good girl. An’ off we go. Two — Three — Four — an’ One — Two — Three — Four — an’ One — Step — Step — Cha Cha Cha. It’s all comin’ back to me.

— Dinner, Veronica roared.

Jimmy Jr came in.

— Has Da been dnnkin’?

Jimmy Sr was in after him, followed by Linda and Tracy.

— Do we still have tha’ Joe Loss LP, Veronica?

— Wha’ are you grinnin’ at?

He was talking to Jimmy Jr.

— LP, Jimmy Jr sneered. — It’s an album.

— Oh, said Jimmy Sr. — I forgot. We’ve Larry fuckin’ Gogan here with us for the dinner. Spinnin’ the discs, wha’.—It’s an LP, righ’.

— Fair enough, Twinkletoes.

— I’ll fuckin’—

— Shut up and eat your dinner, said Veronica.

— Certainly, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr.

He looked down at his dinner.

— My God now, tha’ looks lovely. I’m starvin’ after all tha’ dancin’. I could eat the left leg o’ the Lamb o’—

— Don’t! said Veronica.

Jimmy Sr chewed, and swallowed.

— Mind you, girls, he told the twins. — I always preferred the Cucarachas to the Cha Cha Cha. You can really swing your lady in the Cucarachas.

Jimmy Jr laughed. So did Sharon.

— Fuck yis, said Jimmy Sr.

Darren dashed in. He had news for them.

— Pat said his da’s after runnin’ away from home.

Jimmy Sr looked up from his dinner.

— Pat who?

— Burgess.

Jimmy Sr burst out laughing. Jimmy Jr and the others joined in.

— Is Georgie Burgess after runnin’ away? said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah, said Darren. — Pat said he fucked — ran off last nigh’. His ma’s up to ninety. He’s says she’s knockin’ back the Valiums like there’s no tomorrow.

— She would, said Veronica.

— Poor Doris, said Jimmy Sr. — That’s a good one though.

— Here, said Jimmy Jr. — He’s prob’ly gone off to join the French Foreign Legion.

— That’s righ’, yeah. Where’s he gone, Darren?

— Don’t know. Pat doesn’t know. He said he just snuck ou’.

— Sneaked, said Veronica.

— Yeah, righ’.

— That’s a good one all the same.

Jimmy Sr was delighted.

— Where’s Sharon gone?

— She must be gone to the jacks.

— She’s always in there.

— Leave her alone. She can’t help it, said Jimmy Sr. — Ran away, wha’.—That’s a lovely chop.

— That’s a lovely chop, said Linda.

— Don’t start, you, said Jimmy Sr.

He grinned.

— Who’ll be managin’ yis now, Darren?

— Don’t know, said Darren. — He might come back.

— Jaysis, I hope not.

Jimmy Sr filled his mouth again.

— Ran away, wha’.

— Yeah, said Jr.

— Tom Sawyer, said Jimmy Sr.

He laughed.

* * *

Sharon was in her parents’ bedroom, looking out across at the Burgess’s.

It was frightening. She was sure Mister Burgess running away had something to do with her but she hadn’t a clue what. And she was sure as well that this wasn’t the end of it; there was more to come.

What though? She didn’t know. Something terrible, something really terrible—

Oh God—

She’d have to wait and see.

She stood up off the bed. The bad shakes were gone. Her chest didn’t hurt as much. She’d go down and finish her dinner.

On the way down she went into the toilet and flushed it.

* * *

— Tom Sawyer, wha’, said Jimmy Sr.

— Exactly, said Bimbo.

They all laughed again.

— That’s the best ever, said Bimbo. — Gas.

— He must have a mot hidden away somewhere, said Paddy.

— Si, Bertie agreed.

— Who’d fuckin’ look at HIM? Jimmy Sr wanted to know. — The state of him.

— Have yeh looked at yourself recently? Paddy asked him.

— I’m not runnin’ away, am I? said Jimmy Sr. — Fuckin’ off an’—an’ shirkin’ my responsibilities.

— Shirkin’? said Bertie.

— Fuck off.

— He’s not tha’ bad, said Bimbo.

— Yeh fancy him yourself, do yeh?

— No!

Bertie and Paddy laughed.

— Bimbo goes for the younger lads, Jimmy Sr told them. — Isn’t tha’ righ’?

— Ah lay off, will yeh. — I can’t understand it. Yeh know, the way queers — like each other.

— D’yeh think about it much? Paddy asked him.

— No! — Nearly never. Lay off.

Bertie put his pint down.

— So the Signor Burgess has vamoosed, he said.

— An’ shirked his responsibilities, said Paddy.

— Fuck off, you, said Jimmy Sr.

— Poor Doris an’ the kids, said Bimbo.

— Why don’t you adopt them? said Paddy.

— Would you ever leave me alone, said Bimbo.

— Tell him to fuck off, said Jimmy Sr.

— I will, said Bimbo. — Fuck off.

— Make me.

* * *

What WAS he up to anyway?

Sharon pulled on her other boot. She sat up slowly. God Jesus, her back really hurt her when she did that, after being bent down. She put her hands on her belly. She could feel it shifting.

What was he fuckin’ up to?

The baby butted her.

— Take it easy, will yeh, said Sharon.

She got her money off the bed and put it in her bag. She hoped to God Yvonne wouldn’t be there tonight. Maybe she’d be better off staying at home—

— Ah fuck this, she said.

And she got up and went out.

* * *

— Jesus; poor Yvonne though, said Jackie.

— Yeah, said Mary and Sharon.

— Maybe we should go round to her, said Jackie.

— Ah no, said Sharon.

— Yeah, said Mary. — I’d be too embarrassed.

— Mm, said Jackie. — Can yeh imagine it? Jesus!

— Jesus, yeah.

* * *

She waited. She knew she’d have to get up and go to the toilet at least once more.

He was going to do something really stupid, she was certain of that.

She sat up. She’d go to the toilet now.

Something really, really stupid.

She’d just have to wait and see, that was all. — People were going to find out — her mammy and daddy—!

Oh God, if that-!

She’d just have to wait and see.

She got back into bed.

* * *

Sharon wasn’t long waiting and seeing. Linda woke her up. This was the night after Darren had broken the big news.

— Sharon, said Linda.

She was scared.

— There’s someone throwin’ things at the window.

— Yeah, said Tracy.

She wouldn’t get out of the bed.

— Who’s throwin’ things? said Sharon.

— Don’t know.

— Yeah.

— Let’s see, said Sharon.

— I’m not lookin’, said Linda.

Sharon went over to the window. Just before she reached it there was a neat little bang.

— Oh janey! said one of the twins.

Someone had flung something at it. That frightened Sharon. She parted the curtain a little bit. The bedroom light was out but she could see nothing in the garden.

But then she saw someone, behind the hedge at the back, in the field. He — it looked like a man — was bent down. Then he stood up and came through the gap in the hedge, over the wire, and it was Mister Burgess.

Sharon nearly died.

He stood there in the middle of the garden at the place where Les was supposed to do the digging. He was looking up at her window. — How did he know? — Then she saw his hand move up from his side, the palm towards her. Then there was another bang.

She jumped. He’d just lobbed a little stone at the window. She let go of the curtain.

— Who is it, Sharon?

— Just young fellas, said Sharon. — Messin’.

— Messin’! said Tracy. — At this hour o’ night.

— I’ll get them tomorrow, said Sharon.

— Wha’ young fellas? said Linda.

Sharon parted the curtain again. Mister Burgess wasn’t there. She didn’t think he was behind the hedge or the trees in the field either.

— They’re gone now, she said.

— Let’s see, said Linda.

She looked.

— They’re gone, Tracy, she said.

— Night nigh’, said Sharon.

She was back in bed.

— Nigh’ nigh’, said Linda.

Tracy was sleeping.

Was Mister Burgess getting all romantic on her? Sharon wondered. Jesus, that was disgusting. Maybe he’d gone weird, like one of those men on the News—

She’d have to wait and see a bit more.

She lay there, wide awake.

* * *

Jimmy Sr turned the sound down a bit.

— I’ll never lay a hand on the twins again, he told Sharon.

— Wha’?

— The twins, said Jimmy Sr. — I’ll never touch them again.

— Did you hit them?

— No! — No; it’s all tha’ child abuse stuff goin’ on over in England. Were yeh not watchin’ it?

— No. I was miles away.

— On the News there, Jimmy Sr explained. — It looks like yeh can’t look at your own kids over there. They’ll take them away from yeh. An’ inspect their arses—

— Daddy!

— It’s true, Jimmy Sr insisted.

They were by themselves in the front room.

— Half the fuckin’ doctors in England are spendin’ their time lookin’ up children’s holes.

— You’re disgustin’.

— It’s not me, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr. — Yeh can’t turn on the fuckin’ telly or open a paper or — there’s somethin’ abou’ child abuse. The kids must be scared stiff.

— But it happens, said Sharon.

— Maybe it does, I don’t know. I suppose it does.

— I’d kill annyone tha’ did somethin’ like tha’ to a child. A little kid. They do it to snappers even. I’d chop his bollix — excuse me, Sharon — off. I would. Then hang him. Or shoot him. — At least it’s not goin’ on over here.

— You’d never know, said Sharon.

— Would yeh say so? said Jimmy Sr. — Maybe you’re righ’. Jaysis. — It’s shockin’. How could annyone—

Darren came in.

— Good man, Darren, said Jimmy Sr. — Have yeh come in for your cyclin’?

— Yeah, said Darren.

He sat down on the floor.

— Channel 4, said Jimmy Sr. — Let’s see now.

He studied the remote control.

— Number one.

He pressed it.

— Ads, he said. — That’s it. How’s Kelly doin’, Darren?

— Alrigh’.

— He’s gettin’ old, said Jimmy Sr. — The oul’ legs.

Wha’ abou’ Roche?

— Fourth.

— He hasn’t a hope, said Jimmy Sr.

— He has so.

— Not at all, said Jimmy Sr. — He’s too nice, that’s his problem. He doesn’t have the killer instinct.

— He won the Giro, Darren reminded him.

— Fluke, said Jimmy Sr. — Hang on, here it is.

He turned up the sound.

— The music’s great, isn’t it?

— Yeah, said Darren and Sharon.

— Good Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr. — Look at those mountains. Roche is fucked. There’s no mountains like tha’ in Ireland.

— Ah shut up, Da, will yeh.

— I’m only expressin’ me opinion.

— Yeh haven’t a clue.

Jimmy Sr nudged Sharon. Then he switched channels.

— Aaah!

— Sorry. Sorry, Darren. Me finger slipped, sorry — There; that’s it back. There’s Roche now. He’s strugglin’, look it. I told yeh. He’s not smilin’ now, wha’.

— Da!

Jimmy Sr grinned and nudged Sharon again.

* * *

Sharon got home from work a bit early on Monday, five days after she’d seen Mister Burgess throwing stones at the window. She hadn’t been feeling well, like as if she’d eaten too much chocolate, and the bottom of her back was killing her.

She took a box of cod steaks from her bag.

— I got these out o’ work, she told her mother.

— You’ll get caught, said Veronica.

— No, I won’t, said Sharon.

— It’s not right. There’s a letter over there for you.

— For me?

The envelope was white and the address was in ordinary writing. Sharon had never got a real letter before.

— That’s a man’s writing, said Veronica.

Sharon looked at her.

— I didn’t open it.

— I never thought yeh did, Mammy, said Sharon.

But she went upstairs to read it. Linda and Tracy were down watching the telly or practising their dancing. Something had been written on the back of the envelope but it had been rubbed over with the same pen. She couldn’t make it out. She opened the envelope carefully, afraid she’d rip what was inside. She gasped, then groaned, — Oh my God, and sat down on her bed when she saw what the letter was about. She should have guessed it, but she hadn’t; not really.

There was no address or date.

Dear Sharon,

I hope you are well. Please meet me in the Abbey Mooney in town at 8 o’clock on Tuesday night. I want to talk to you about something very important. I am looking forward to seeing you.

Yours sincerely

George Burgess.

There was a P.S.

The paper is my sisters.

The writing paper was pink. There was a bunny rabbit in the top left corner, sitting in some light blue and yellow flowers.

Sharon sat there. She just sat there.

Then she sort of shook herself, and realized that she was angry.

The fucker.

There was no way she was going to meet him, no fuckin’ way. She lifted the flap of the envelope up to the light coming through the window. She could make out the shapes of the rubbed-out writing on the flap now. They were capital letters.

S.W.A.L.K.

— Oh, the fuckin’ eejit! said Sharon.

* * *

Bertie came in.

— There y’are, Bertie, said Bimbo.

— Howyeh, Bertie.

— Buenas noches, compadres, said Bertie.

— It’s your round, Paddy told him.

— Give us a chance, for the sake of fuck.

As Bertie said this he sat down and lifted his hand, showing four fingers to Leo the barman.

— How’s the Jobsearch goin’, Bertie? Jimmy Sr asked him.

— Don’t talk to me abou’ Jobsearch.

He pretended to spit on the ground.

— I speet on Jobsearch.

Bimbo and Jimmy Sr laughed and Paddy grinned.

— D’yis know wha’ they had me doin’ today, do yis? Yis won’t believe this.

— Wha’? said Bimbo.

— They were teachin’ us how to use the phone.

— Wha’!?

— I swear to God. The fuckin’ phone.

— You’re not serious.

— I am, yeh know. I fuckin’ am. The gringo in charge handed ou’ photocopies of a diagram of a phone. I think I have it — No, I left it back at the Ponderosa. I’ll show it to yis tomorrow. — A fuckin’ phone.

— Don’t listen to him.

— It’s true, I’m tellin’ yeh. I was embarrassed for him, the poor cunt. He knew it was fuckin’ stupid himself. You could tell; the poor fucker tellin’ us where to put the tenpences. One chap told him where he could stick the tenpences an’ then he walked ou’.

They laughed.

— Then he was tellin’ us, Bertie continued, — wha’ we should an’ shouldn’t say when we’re lookin’ for work.

— Wha’ should yeh not say? Bimbo asked.

— Anny chance of a fuckin’ job there, pal.

They laughed.

— It was the greatest waste o’ fuckin’ time, said Bertie. — You should always tell the name o’ the paper yeh saw the ad in. There now. An’ there’s no job ads in the Mirror.

Unless it’s the manager o’ Spurs or Man United or somethin’.—I wouldn’t mind, compadres, but I’ve abou’ thirty fuckin’ phones in cold storage. Mickey Mouse an’ Snoopy ones.

— Jessica’d like a Snoopy one, said Bimbo. — For her birth’y.

— You don’t have a phone, said Paddy.

— So?

— So a Snoopy one won’t be much use to Jessica, will it?

— For an ornament, I meant. For her bedside locker.

— Her wha’?

— Her bedside locker.

— I bet yeh you made it yourself.

— No! — I bought it an’ put it together.

Paddy raised his eyes to heaven.

— Do anny of yis ever hit your kids? Jimmy Sr asked them all.

He lowered a third of his latest pint while they looked at him.

— Never, said Bimbo.

— Now an’ again, said Paddy.

— Well, yeah, said Bimbo. — Now an’ again, alrigh’. When they’re lookin’ for it. Specially Wayne.

— It’s the only exercise I get, Bertie told them. — I wait till they’re old enough to run but. To give them a fair chance, yeh know.

Bimbo knew he was joking, so he laughed.

— I’m dyin’ to give Gillian a good hidin’, said Bertie. — But she never does annythin’ bold. She’d give yeh the sick. Trevor’s great though. Trevor’s a desperado.

Jimmy Sr took control of the conversation again.

— Yis’d want to be careful, he told them.

— Why’s tha’, compadre?

— Cos if you’re caught you’re fucked.

— What’re yeh on abou’? said Paddy.

— Child abuse, said Jimmy Sr.

— Would yeh ever fuck off, said Paddy. — Givin’ your kids a smack for bein’ bold isn’t child abuse.

— No way.

— I don’t know, said Jimmy Sr. — It looks to me like yeh can’t look crooked at your kids now—

— Don’t be thick, said Paddy. — You’re exaggeratin’. Yeh have to burn them with cigarette butts or—

— I’m not listenin’ to this, said Bimbo.

— Don’t then, said Paddy. — Or mess around with their—

— SHUT UP.

It was Bimbo. Paddy stopped.

— You’re makin’ a joke of it, said Bimbo.

— I’m not.

— Yeh are.

— Whose twist is it? said Bertie. — Someone’s shy.

— Four pints, Leo, Jimmy Sr shouted. — Like a good man. — Maybe you’re righ’, he said to both Bimbo and Paddy. — It’s shockin’ though, isn’t it? The whole business.

— Fuckin’ terrible, said Bimbo.

— Come here, said Bertie. — Guess who I spied with my little eye this mornin’.

— Who?

— Someone beginnin’ with B.

— Burgess!

— Si.

— Great. Where?

— Swords.

— How was he lookin’? said Jimmy Sr.

— Oh, very thin an’ undernourished, said Bertie. — An’ creased.

— Yahaah!

Jimmy Sr rubbed his hands.

I nearly gave the poor cunt twopence, Bertie told them.

They liked that.

— There mustn’t be another mot so, said Paddy. — If he’s in rag order like tha’.

— Unless she’s a brasser.

— Were yeh talkin’ to him? Bimbo asked.

— No, said Bertie. — I was on me way to learn how to use the phone.

— Now, Leo called. — Four nice pints over here.

— Leo wants yeh, Paddy told Jimmy Sr.

Jimmy Sr brought the pints down to the table and sat down. Bertie picked up the remains of his old pint.

— To the Signor Horge Burgess, he said.

— Oh def’ny, said Bimbo.

They raised their glasses.

— The fuckin’ eejit, said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah now, said Bertie. — That’s not nice.

* * *

Sharon was nowhere near the Abbey Mooney at eight o’clock on Tuesday.

She lay in bed later, half expecting stones to start hitting the window. Or something.

* * *

It was that Sharon Rabbitte one from across the road. She was pregnant. She’d come to the house. She was the one; she knew it.

Dear Doris,

I hope you are well—

People probably knew already. They always did around here. Oh God, the shame; the mortification. She’d never be able to step out of the house again.

I am writing to you to let you know why I left you last week—

If he’d died and left her a widow it would’ve been different, alright; but this wasn’t fair. He was making her feel ashamed, the selfish bastard, and she hadn’t done anything.

Doris, I’ve been having a bit of an affair with a girl. This girl is expecting—

The Rabbitte one; it had to be.

I am very sorry—

It had to be.

I hope you will understand, Doris. I cannot abandon this girl. She has no one else to look after her—

The next bit was worse.

I still love you, Doris. But I love this girl as well. I am, as the old song goes, torn between two lovers. I will miss you and the children very much—

Oh God!

He was her husband!

Twenty-four years. It wasn’t her fault.

P.S.

I got a lend of the paper.

Doris sniffed.

He’d always been an eejit. She’d never be able to go out again. — Men got funny at George’s age. She’d noticed the same thing with her father. They went silly when there were girls near them; when her friends had been in the house. They tried to pretend that they weren’t getting old and made eejits out of themselves. And, God knew, George had a head start there.

The Rabbitte one probably took money off him as well.

* * *

Veronica made out Doris Burgess’s shape through the glass. The hair was the give-away.

She opened the door.

— Doris, she said.

— Is Sharon in? said Doris.

— She’s at work. Why?

Veronica knew; before she had it properly worked out.

Doris tried to look past Veronica.

— Why do you want her? said Veronica.

Now Doris looked at Veronica.

— Well, if you must know, she’s been messin’ around with George. — He’s the father.

— Get lost, Doris, said Veronica.

— I will not get lost now, said Doris. — She’s your daughter, isn’t she?

There were two women coming up the road, four gates away.

— Of course, said Doris, — what else would you expect from a—

Veronica punched her in the face.

* * *

— What happened yeh, Doris? said Mrs Foster.

— Tha’ one hit her, said Mrs Caprani. — Yeh seen it yourself.

— I mean before that.

Doris wanted to get out of Rabbitte territory. She pulled herself away from the women and ran out the gate. She stopped on the path.

— What happened, Doris? Mrs Foster asked again.

She tried to get to Doris’s nose with a paper hankie.

More people were coming.

— Veronica Rabbitte’s after givin’ poor Doris an awful clatter, Mrs Caprani told them. — In the nose.

Doris was still crying.

— I’ll do it — it myself.

She took the hankie.

— Wha’ happened yeh, Doris?

— Sh — Shar—

— Shar, Doris? What shar?

* * *

Inside, Veronica sat in the kitchen, putting sequins onto Linda’s dancing dress.

* * *

Sharon lay on her bed. She couldn’t go downstairs, she couldn’t go to the Hikers, or anywhere. She was surrounded. She was snared. If she went anywhere or — she couldn’t. All because of that stupid fucker.

— The fucker, she said to the ceiling.

The baby was nothing. It happened. It was alright. Barrytown was good that way. Nobody minded. Guess the daddy was a hobby. But now Burgess — He’d cut her off from everything. She’d no friends now, and no places to go to. She couldn’t even look at her family. God, she wanted to die; really she did. She just lay there. She couldn’t do anything else.

She was angry now. She thumped the bed.

The bastard, the fucker; it wasn’t fuckin’ fair. She’d deny it, that was what she’d do. And she’d keep denying it. And denying it.

* * *

Veronica and Jimmy Sr were down in the kitchen.

— Desperate, so it is, said Jimmy Sr quietly. — Shockin’.

Veronica put the dress down. She couldn’t look at another sequin.

— That’s about the hundredth time you’ve said that, she told him.

— Well, it is fuckin’ desperate.

They heard Linda and Tracy coming up the hall.

— Slow — Slow — Quick — Quick — Slow.

— Get ou’! Jimmy Sr roared.

— We know where we’re not wanted, said Linda. — Come on, Tracy.

— Slow — Slow — Quick—

They danced down the hall, into the front room to annoy Darren.

Jimmy Sr was miserable.

— Poor Sharon though.

— Poor Sharon! said Veronica. — What about poor us?

— Don’t start now, said Jimmy Sr.

He was playing with a cold chip.

— I suppose — She could’ve been more careful, he said.

— She could’ve had more taste, said Veronica.

— That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr, glad to be able to say it. — You’re right o’ course. That’s what’s so terrible about it.

George Burgess. — Georgie Burgess. Jesus, Veronica, I think the cunt’s older than I am.

He threw the chip at the window, and then felt stupid.

He was feeling sorry for himself; he knew it. And now he was letting his eyes water.

— It’s only yourself you’re worried about, Veronica told him.

— Ah — I know, said Jimmy Sr. — But poor Sharon as well.

He rubbed his eyes quickly.

— I can’t even go ou’ for a fuckin’ pint.

— It’s about time you stayed in.

— Is there annythin’ good on?

— I don’t know.

— George fuckin’ Burgess.

Then they heard the voice from upstairs.

— THIS IS JIMMY RABBITTE — ALL — OVER — IRELAND.

— Oh fuck, no, Jimmy Sr pleaded. — Not tonigh’. Please.

* * *

Jimmy Sr gave Sharon a lift to work the next morning. They didn’t say much. Jimmy Sr asked a question.

— How—?

— It wasn’t him.

— I never—

— It wasn’t him, righ’.

— Okay. — Okay.

That was it.

* * *

Jimmy Sr scooped out the teabag and flung it into a corner. His shoulders were at him. He felt shite. He wanted to go home.

It wasn’t him, she’d said.

He didn’t know. He tried it again: it wasn’t him. He believed her of course, but — If it wasn’t Burgess then who the fuck was it? She’d have to tell them. He had to know for certain that it was definitely someone else; anyone. She’d just have to fuckin’ tell them.

Or else.

He tried the tea. It was brutal.

* * *

— There’s no fuckin’ way, Jackie. You know tha’.

Jackie was sitting on the twins’ bed. Sharon was sitting on her own bed. She looked at the steam rising up off her tea, so she didn’t have to look at Jackie.

— I know, said Jackie.

It wasn’t enough, Jackie knew; not nearly. It didn’t sound as if she’d meant it enough.

— I know tha’, she said; better this time, she thought. — Jesus, the state of him. There’s no way you’d’ve—

— Don’t say it, said Sharon. — I’ll get sick, I swear.

Jackie tried to laugh. They looked at each other and then they really laughed. Sharon thought the happiness would burst out of her, through her ribs, out of her mouth.

— Can yeh imagine it! she said.

— Tha’ dirty big belly on top o’ yeh!

— Stop it!

They said nothing for a bit, and the giggling died. Sharon’s nails dug into her palms.

— i KNOW WHA’ YOU’RE THIN — KIN’, she sang.

Jackie laughed, at the floor.

— Fuck off, she said. — Are yeh tellin’?

— S’pose I’d better.

— Jesus, Sharon, come on.

— It was one o’ them Spanish sailors.

— Wha’?

— Yeh know, said Sharon. — Yeh do. In the Harp, I met him.

— Oh, now I get yeh. Jesus, Sharon.

— There was loads o’ them there, yeh know. There was a big boat, yeh know; down in the docks for two days, I think it was.

She had this bit off by heart.

— He was gorgeous, Jackie, I’m not jokin’ yeh.

— Was he? Jesus. — Yeh never mentioned him before.

— No. I didn’t want to. — Yeh know. It was only for one night.

— Yeah. Do yeh know his address?

— I don’t even know his fuckin’ name, Jackie.

Manuel was the only Spanish name she could think of.

— Jesus, said Jackie. — Go on annyway.

— Ah, I just met him. In the Harp, yeh know. His English was brutal. — Come here, he had a sword.

She’d just thought up that bit.

— I’d say he did alrigh’, said Jackie, and they roared laughing.

— That’s disgustin’, Jackie.

— Where did yis — do it? Jackie asked.

She was smiling. She was enjoying herself now.

— In his hotel. The Ormond, yeh know.

— Was he not supposed to sleep in his ship?

— No, not really. They let them ou’ for the night.

— Oh yeah. — Like Letter To Brezhnev.

— God, yeah, said Sharon. — Jesus, I never thought o’ tha’.

She was sure her nails had gone through the skin.

— Was he nice?

— Fuckin’ gorgeous. Anyway, I wouldn’t’ve done it with him if he hadn’t o’ been, sure I wouldn’t?

— No way.

— He was very dark.

She hoped to God the baby wouldn’t have red hair.

— Was he good?

— Fuckin’ brilliant. He had me nearly screamin’, I’m not jokin’ yeh.

— Oh—

— We did it in the bath as well.

— God, I’d love tha’.

— It was brilliant.

— Yeah, said Jackie. — Yeh lucky bitch yeh, Sharon. I’m goin’ to go to the Harp from now on. — Come here, did he give you his cap?

— Wha’?

— His cap. Yeh know. His uniform.

— Ah, no.

— Did he not? — Yeh know Melanie Beglin? She has two o’ them. A German an’ a Swedish.

— Does she?

— Yeah. She’s a slut, tha’ one. — Jesus, sorry, Sharon! I didn’t mean—

Sharon laughed.

— She is though, said Jackie. — I hate her. Come here, Sharon, though. Why did Mister Burgess run away?

— I don’t know!

— I know it wasn’t — because. Yeh know. But — Let’s go an’ get pissed.

— Ah—

— Go on, Sharon. Howth. A bit o’ buzz.

— Okay. Where’s me shoes?

— There, look it. I’ll get them.

— No, it’s alrigh’. Jesus, me fuckin’ back. — How’s Yvonne takin’ it?

–

— Will yeh tell her about the sailor? said Sharon.

— Okay.

— Thanks.

* * *

— I’ll be blinded by these bloody sequins, said Veronica.

— Wha’? said Jimmy Sr.

— Look it, said Veronica. — I’m still on Linda’s one.

She held up the dress.

— It looks like I’ve only started.

— That’s shockin’, said Jimmy Sr. — Why couldn’t they just play basketball or somethin’? It looks very nice though, Veronica.

— Mm.

Jimmy Sr wriggled around on the couch. It was past his going out time.

— D’yeh know wha’, Veronica? I’m nearly afraid to go down to the pub — because of—

— Oh, shut up.

— Do you believe her, Veronica?

— Shut up.

* * *

There was a bunch of kids, boys Darren’s age, sitting on the wall at the bus-stop when Sharon got off. They all stared at her as she went past them. When she’d gone about three gates one of them shouted.

— How’s Mister Burgess?

She didn’t turn or stop.

— Yeh ride yeh.

She kept walking.

They were only kids.

Still, she was shaking and kind of upset when she got home and upstairs. She didn’t know why really. Men and boys had been shouting things after her since she was thirteen and fourteen. She’d never liked it much, especially when she was very young, but she’d looked on it as a sort of a stupid compliment.

Tonight was different though. Being called a ride wasn’t any sort of a compliment anymore.

* * *

— What’re YOU fuckin’ lookin’ at? Jimmy Sr asked Paddy.

He was serious.

— Nothin’.

— D’yeh think I have fuckin’ cancer or somethin’?

— No!

— Ah lads, now, said Bimbo. — There’s no need for tha’ sort o’ shite.

— I didn’t do annythin’, Paddy insisted.

— You were starin’ at me, said Jimmy Sr. — Annyway, he said out of nowhere. (They’d been talking about Stephen Roche.) — It wasn’t Burgess. It was a Spanish sailor.

* * *

— She thinks he was Spanish annyway, Jackie told Mary. — Where? said Mary. — The Harp.

— Oh, yeah. — D’you believe her?

— Yeah. It couldn’t have been—

— No.

— Will Yvonne believe it, d’yeh think? Jackie asked.

— Emm — she might.

— She won’t, sure she won’t?

— No. — She might though.

* * *

Two nights after Sharon told Jackie about the Spanish sailor George Burgess was waiting for her outside work.

— God! said Sharon. — How did you know where I worked?

— Did yeh not see me at the vegetables?

He was having problems holding up his smile.

— What d’you want, Mister Burgess?

— George.

— Mister Burgess.

— Yeh didn’t turn up on Tuesday.

— I know I didn’t. Wha’ d’yeh want?

— I want to talk to yeh, Sharon.

— That’s a pity now, Mister Burgess, cos I don’t want to talk to you.

— Ah Sharon, please. I have to talk.

The smile was gone.

— I’m tormented.

— You’re tormented! Yeh prick yeh. Who’s been flingin’ rocks at my window? An’ how did yeh know it was my window annyway? An’ sendin’ me stupid fuckin’ letters. Well? — You’ve made me the laughin’ stock o’ Barrytown, that I can’t even go ou’ without bein’ jeered. You’re tormented! Fuck off, Mister Burgess.