The Snapper

She started to walk around him. He was going to stop her, but then he didn’t. He walked with her.

— Look, Sharon, I swear I’ll leave you alone. On the Bible; forever. If yeh just listen to me for a minute. I swear.

— Fuck off.

— Please, Sharon. Please.

— Get your fuckin’ hands off me!

But she stopped.

— Wha’? she said.

— Here?

— Yeah.

— Can we not go into a pub or — or a coffee place or somethin’?

No, we can’t. Come on, I’m in a hurry.

— Okay.

She was watching Mister Burgess blushing.

— Sharon, he said. — Sharon — I love you, Sharon. Don’t laugh; I do! I swear. On the — I love you. I’m very embarrassed, Sharon. I’ve been thinkin’ about it. — I think I–I want to take care of you—

— You took care of me five months ago. Goodbye, Mister Burgess.

She walked on.

— It’s my son too, remember, said George.

— Son!?

— Baby, I meant baby.

— Your baby?

She couldn’t stop the laugh coming out.

— You’ve got it bad, haven’t you, Mister Burgess?

— I have, Sharon; yeah.

He sighed. He looked at the ground. Then he looked at her for a second.

— I’ve always liked yeh, Sharon; you know tha’. I — Sharon, I’ve been livin’ a lie for the last fifteen years. Twenty years. The happily married man. Huh. It’s taken you to make me cop on. You, Sharon.

— Did you rehearse this, Mister Burgess?

— No. — Yeah, I did. I’ve thought o’ nothin’ else, to be honest with yeh. I’ve been eatin an’ drinkin’ an’ sleepin’—sleepin’ it, Sharon.

— Bye bye, Mister Burgess.

— Come to London with me, Sharon.

— Wha’!?

— I’ve a sister, another one, lives there an’—

— Would you ever—

— Please, Sharon; let me finish. — Thanks. Avril. Me sister. She lives very near QPR’s place, yeh know. Loftus Road. She’d put us up no problem, till we get a place of our own. I’ll get a—

— Stop.

Sharon looked straight at him. It wasn’t easy.

— I’m not goin’ annywhere with yeh, Mister Burgess. I’m stayin’ here. An’ it’s not YOUR baby either. It’s not yours or annyone else’s. Will yeh leave me alone now?

— Is it because I’m older than yeh?

— It’s because I hate the fuckin’ sight of yeh.

— Oh. — You’re not just sayin’ tha’?

— No. I hate yeh. Will I sing it for yeh?

— What abou’ the little baby?

— Look; forget about the little baby, righ’. If yeh must know, you were off-target tha’ time annyway.

— I was not!

That was going too far.

— Yeh were. So now.

Then she remembered.

— An’ anyway, it was a Spanish sailor, if yeh must know.

— Spanish?

— Yeah. I sleep around, Mister Burgess. D’yeh know what I mean?

— I find tha’ hard to believe, Sharon.

Sharon laughed.

— Go home, Mister Burgess. George. Go home.

— But—

— If yeh really want to do me a favour—

— Annythin’, Sharon. You know I’d—

— Shut up before yeh make an even bigger sap of yourself.

Sorry. — Don’t ever talk abou’ wha’ we did to annyone again; okay?

— Righ’, Sharon; okay. It’ll be our—

— Bye bye.

She went.

He didn’t follow.

— I’ll always remember you, Sharon.

Sharon laughed again, quietly. That was that out of the way. She hoped. She felt better now. That poor man was some eejit.

* * *

Sharon grabbed the boy. She held him by the hood of his sweatshirt.

— Let go o’ me!

She was twice as big as him. He wriggled and elbowed and tried to pull away from her but he wasn’t getting anywhere. They heard cloth ripping.

— You’re after ripping me hoodie, said the boy.

He stopped squirming. He was stunned. His ma had only bought it for him last week. When she saw it she’d—

Sharon slapped him across the head.

— Wha’!

— Wha’ did yeh call me? said Sharon, and she slapped him again.

— I didn’t call yeh ann’thin’!

Sharon held onto the hood and swung him into the wall. There was another rip, a long one.

— If you ever call me annythin’ again I’ll fuckin’ kill yeh, d’yeh hear me?

The boy stood there against the wall, afraid to move in case there was another tear.

— D’yeh hear me?

He said nothing. His mates were at the corner, watching. Sharon looked down quickly to see if there was room. Then she lifted her leg and kneed him.

— There, she said.

She’d never done it before. It was easy. She’d do it again.

For a while the boy forgot about his ripped hoodie and his ma.

Sharon looked back, to make sure that he was still alive. He was. His mates were around him, in stitches.

* * *

— She’s a fuckin’ lyin’ bitch, said Yvonne. — I don’t care wha’ yeh say.

* * *

Jimmy Sr was in the kitchen. So were Sharon and Veronica. Veronica wished she wasn’t.

So did Sharon.

— D’yeh expect us to believe tha’? Jimmy Sr asked her, again. — Yeh met this young fella. Yeh — yeh clicked with him. An’ yeh went to a hotel with him an’—an’ yeh can’t even remember his fuckin’ name.

— I was drunk I said, said Sharon.

— I was drunk when I met your mother, said Jimmy Sr. — But I still remember her name. It’s Veronica!

— Don’t shout, said Veronica.

— Ah look, I was really drunk, said Sharon. — Pissed. Sorry, Mammy.

— How do yeh know he was Spanish then? said Jimmy Sr.

He had her.

— Or a sailor.

He had her alright.

— He could’ve been a Pakistani postman if you were tha’ drunk. — Well?

Sharon stood up.

— Yis needn’t believe me if yeh don’t want to.

There wasn’t enough room for her to run out so she had to get around Jimmy Sr’s chair as quick as she could. Jimmy Sr turned to watch her but he didn’t say anything. He turned back to the table.

— Wha’ d’yeh think? he asked Veronica.

Veronica was flattening the gold paper from a Cadbury’s Snack — she always had a few of them hidden away from the kids for when she wanted one herself — with a fingernail.

— I think, she said, — I’d be delighted if the father was a Spanish sailor and not George Burgess.

— God, yeah, said Jimmy Sr.

— Why don’t you leave her alone then?

— Wha’ d’yeh mean, Veronica?

— If she says he was a Spanish sailor why not let her say it?

— An’ believe her?

Veronica shrugged.

— Yeah.

— I don’t know, said Jimmy Sr. — It’d be great. — If she’d just give us a name or somethin’.

— Does it matter?

— Wha’?—Maybe you’re righ’.

He stood up.

— Fuck it annyway. — I’ll, eh, give it some thought.

— You do that, said Veronica.

* * *

Tracy stayed at the bedroom door. She had something she had to ask Sharon.

She got it out.

— Sharon, sure the baby won’t look like Mister Burgess?

— Aaah! No, he won’t! He’s not the daddy, Tracy; I told yeh.

She eyed Tracy.

— Who said that annyway?

— Nicola ’Malley, said Tracy.

— Well, you tell Nicola ’Malley — to fuck off.

They grinned.

— I did already, said Tracy.

— Good.

— An’ I scraped her face as well.

— Good.

— An’ Linda scribbled all over her sums.

Sharon laughed.

— Brilliant.

* * *

They were nearly finished talking about Bertie’s shirt and tie and jacket and why he was wearing them. He’d done a mock interview that afternoon.

— He said he’d’ve given me the job if there’d been a real job goin’, Bertie told them.

— Did he say yeh did annythin’ wrong? Paddy asked him.

— Yes, indeed. He said I’d have to stop scratchin’ me bollix all the time.

They laughed, but Jimmy Sr didn’t.

— Jimmy, said Bertie. — Compadre mio.

— Wha’?

— I just said somethin’ funny. Why didn’t yeh laugh?

— Sorry, Bertie. I wasn’t listenin’.—I was just lookin’ at the soccer shower over there. I think they were laughin’ at me.

— Ah cop on, will yeh, said Paddy.

— No; they were, said Jimmy Sr. — Lookin’ over, yeh know, an’ laughin’.

— No one’s laughin’ at yeh, said Bertie.

— Not at all, said Bimbo. — They’d want to try.

— Ah sorry, lads. — It’s just—

— You’re alrigh’, said Bertie.

Jimmy Sr forced himself to smile. They said nothing for a short while.

— She says that it was a Spanish sailor now, said Jimmy Sr. — Sharon.

— So yeh said.

— Why did Burgess fuck off then? Paddy wanted to know.

His wife at home wanted to know as well. So did Bertie and Bimbo.

— That’s it, said Jimmy Sr. — I don’t fuckin’ know. If I knew tha’ I’d be able to — yeh know?

— He must’ve had some reason, said Paddy.

— Tha’ doesn’t mean tha’ Sharon was the reason, said Bimbo. — It could’ve been annythin’. Your mot left you for a bit, remember.

— Tha’ was different.

— Annyone’d leave him, said Bertie.

— Fuck off, you, said Paddy.

— The way I see it, said Bimbo, — just cos Georgie Burgess ran away an’ said he got some young one pregnant an’ Sharon is pregnant, yeh know, tha’ doesn’t mean it has to be Sharon.

He drank.

— That’s wha’ I think annyway.

— Si, said Bertie.

— Sharon’s a lovely lookin’ young one, Bimbo told Jimmy Sr. — She’d have young lads queuein’ up for her. Burgess wouldn’t get near her. I’d say it was the sailor alrigh’.

— This hombre, he speaks the truth, said Bertie.

— A good lookin’ young lad, yeh know, said Bimbo. — A bit different as well, yeh know. Dark an’ tall. An’—

— Exotic, said Bertie.

— Exactly, said Bimbo.

— An’ a hefty langer on him, said Bertie.

They all laughed, even Jimmy Sr.

— Christopher Columbus, said Bertie.

They roared.

— You believe her, don’t yeh? said Bimbo.

Jimmy held his glass up to the light so he wouldn’t have to look at Bimbo or the other two.

— I’d—, he began.

— Course yeh do, said Bimbo.

— Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. — I suppose I do. I def’ny would if I knew — Veronica says I should believe her whether it’s true or not.

— She’s righ’, said Bimbo.

— Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. — Yeah. Whose round is it?

* * *

Sharon wasn’t sure, but she thought they’d all swallowed it. It made more sense anyway, the lie; it was more believable. No one would ever have believed that herself and Mister Burgess had — she couldn’t think of any proper name for it — except for she was pregnant and Mister Burgess had told Missis Burgess that he’d got a young one pregnant. But everyone would easily believe that she’d got off with a Spanish sailor.

So it made more sense. But she knew this as well: everyone would prefer to believe that she’d got off with Mister Burgess. It was a bigger piece of scandal and better gas. She’d have loved it herself, only she was the poor sap who was pregnant. Yeah definitely, Sharon and Mister Burgess was a much better story than Sharon and the Spanish sailor.

So that was what she was fighting against; Barrytown’s sense of humour. She’d keep telling them that it was the Spanish sailor and they’d believe her alright, but every time they thought about Mister Burgess with his trousers down and pulling at her tits and watering at the mouth they’d forget about the Spanish sailor.

She should have given him a name. It was too late now. Anyway, her daddy would have been down to the Spanish embassy looking for his address then.

She hated this time of the day, when there weren’t enough customers and some of the girls on the check-out had to do the shelves. She was straightening the ranks of shampoo and then she was going to do the same with the soap so she wouldn’t have to bend down too much because they were on the middle and top shelves.

She’d keep at it anyway, telling them about her Spanish sailor. She was sorry now she hadn’t thought of this earlier, before Mister Burgess ran away and started writing letters to everyone. It was a pity. None of this would have happened then.

— Ah cop on, Sharon, she told herself.

It was a good idea and it was working. Jackie believed her. Jackie said Mary believed her as well. Her mammy believed her. She wasn’t so sure about her daddy. But she’d keep at him, telling him until she believed it herself. She’d have loved that, to believe it herself.

She’d been noticing all the Spanish students that were always upstairs on the buses at this time of year. They looked rich — their clothes were lovely — and snotty. There were a lot of fat ones. But most of them had lovely skin and hair. Black eyes and black hair.

Sharon was fair. Mister Burgess was — pink and white. His hair was like dirty water.

Maybe she should have said it was a Swedish sailor.

Too late now.

She’d have to start eating polish or something. She grinned although she didn’t really feel like it. The shampoos were done and now she crossed the aisle to the soap.

— Fuck it annyway.

The Palmolives were nearly all gone and Simple section was empty. She’d have to fill them and that meant she’d have to bend down.

* * *

It wasn’t fair on the lads either, Jimmy Sr told Bimbo at his gate a few nights later, after closing time.

— I should stay at home maybe.

— Don’t be thick, said Bimbo.

Jimmy Sr reckoned they’d been talking about him. He knew it. Nothing surer. Let’s be nice to Jimmy. He’s having it rough. Don’t mention babies or Burgess or Sinbad the fuckin’ Sailor. It was terrible. He’d had a good one tonight about a young lad getting up on an oul’ one but he couldn’t tell it. They’d have laughed too loud.

— They’re just bein’, eh, considerate, said Bimbo. — It’ll pass.

— I suppose you’re righ’, said Jimmy Sr. — But I felt like a leper tonigh’ the way they were smilin’ at me.

— Bertie an’ Paddy wouldn’t smile at a leper, Jimmy. Cop on now. They just see that you’re not the best these days so — It’ll pass. It’ll pass. They’re just bein’ nice.

— I don’t like them nice. I prefer them the other way; bollixes. — Did yeh see the way the other shower were gawkin’ over at me?

— Ah Jaysis, Jimmy. — You’re not startin’ to get sorry for yourself, are yeh?

— Go home to bed, you.

— I will.

He yawned.

— Nigh’ now, Jim.

— Good luck.

— See yeh.

Jimmy Sr had chips for Veronica but they were cold so he ate them on the step, looking across at the Burgess’s, and then he went in.

* * *

It was Thursday night and Sharon was going upstairs after work. Jimmy Jr was coming down.

— Howyeh, Larry, said Sharon.

— Ah, don’t start, Sharon.

— How’s the practice goin’?

— Shite, to be honest with yeh. The tape sounds woeful. I sound like a fuckin’ harelip. — I’m thinkin’ o’ gettin’ elocution lessons.

Sharon screamed.

— You!

— Yeah; why not. Don’t tell Da, for fuck sake.

Sharon laughed. Jimmy grinned.

— It’d be worth it, he said, still grinning.

— How much?

— Don’t know. I’m only thinkin’ about it. Don’t tell him but; righ’?

— Don’t worry, said Sharon.

Sharon had asked about him and listened so Jimmy thought he’d better ask about her, and listen.

— How are yeh yourself an’ annyway? he said.

— Grand.

— Gettin’ big, wha’. He nodded at her belly.

— Yeah, said Sharon.

— Does it hurt?

— No! — I do exercises for the extra weight an’ tha’.

— Yeah?

— Yeah. Sometimes only.

— Nothin’ wrong then?

— No. Not really.

— D’yeh get sick?

— No. Not annymore.

— That’s good. I was in bits meself this mornin’.

— Were yeh?

— Yeah. The oul’ rum an’ blacks, yeh know.

— Oh Jesus.

— I know. Never again. I puked me ring; Jesus. And me lungs. The oul’ fella was battenn’ the door. — Come here, d’yeh eat annythin’ funny?

— No.

— I saw yeh eatin’ tha’ long stuff; what’s it — celery.

— That’s not funny.

— S’pose not. Never ate it.

— It’s nice.

— Mickah’s ma ate coal when she was havin’ him.

— Jesus!

— He says annyway. She said she used to nibble it when no one was lookin’.

— That’s gas—

Jimmy looked at his watch. It wasn’t there.

— Bollox! I’ve left me watch in work again.

— I’m goin’ to me check-up tomorrow, Sharon told him.

— Yeah?

— Yeah. Me second one, it is.

— That’s great. I’m—

— Not a complete physical this time. Thank God. It took fuckin’ ages the first time, waitin’. They even checked me heart to see if I have a murmur.

She didn’t know why she was telling Jimmy all this. She just wanted to.

— I’d a murmur once, said Jimmy. — But a lorry splattered it.

— Ha ha. Anyway, it’s at eleven.

— Wha’?

Sharon looked at the ceiling.

— Me antenatal check-up, yeh simple-head yeh.

— Oh yeah. That’s great.

He looked at where his watch usually was.

— Meetin’ the lads, yeh know. See yeh, righ’.

— Yeah. See yeh.

He stopped a few steps down.

— An’ come here, he said.

He was reddening a bit.

— Abou’ Burgess bein’ the da an’ tha’.

— He’s not!

— I know, I know tha’. No; I mean — IF he was.

— He’s not.

— I fuckin’ know. Will yeh shut up a minute. — There’s people tha’ still say he is, righ’.

He was getting red again.

— An’ they’ll prob’ly always say it. — I couldn’t give a shite who the da is. D’yeh know what I mean?

— Yeah. — Thanks.

— No; I wanted to say tha’. An’ the lads couldn’t give a fuck either.

Sharon grinned.

— Mickah says it’s great.

Sharon laughed.

— He says there’s hope for us all if fuckin’ Burgess can—

— Jimmy!

They laughed.

— Seriously, Jimmy, though, said Sharon. — They don’t really think it was him, do they?

— No, not really. It’s just, yeh know — funnier.

— Yeah.

— Good luck.

He had the door open.

— Jimmy.

— Wha’?

Sharon looked over the landing rail.

— How. Now. Brown. Cow.

— Fuck off, said Jimmy Jr. — You’re the only brown cow around here.

— Thanks very much!

* * *

— I’m not takin’ this, said Jimmy Sr.

He pushed his chair back and stood up and walked away, towards the bar.

— What’s he on abou’? Bimbo asked Bertie.

— Don’t know, compadre, said Bertie.

They got up to follow Jimmy Sr.

* * *

— These are reheats, Jackie complained, but she kept eating them.

— Mine aren’t too bad, said Sharon. — Look it. That’s a lovely one.

She held up a huge, healthy-looking chip.

— Come here, said Jackie. — I wouldn’t mind seein’ tha’ on a young fella.

— Jesus, Jackie!

They screamed laughing.

They were going across the Green to Jackie’s house. It hadn’t rained in ages so the ground was nice and hard.

— I shouldn’t be eatin’ these, said Sharon.

— Wha’ harm can they do yeh?

— They’re all fat an’ things. I don’t know; things that’ll clog me up, I can’t remember. — She asked me did I eat chips an’ tha’, your woman this mornin’.

— None of her fuckin’ business.

— Yeah. I said I didn’t. Ah, she’s nice though. She says I have the right kind o’ nipples.

— Lezzer.

— Ah stop; for breast feedin’. Me blood pressure’s grand.

— I’m very happy for yeh.

— Fuck off, you.

They got to Jackie’s gate.

— Come here, Jackie, said Sharon. — Did Yvonne say annythin’ else about me?

They’d been talking about Yvonne Burgess before they bought the chips.

— Only; she said you led him on.

— God, said Sharon. — Poor Yvonne. Still, I’ll break her head for her if I see her.

— Yeh know wha’ else though? said Jackie. — She said he paid yeh.

— He did, said Sharon.

Then she laughed.

Jackie looked at her, and then she laughed as well.

— I’m pissed, d’yeh know tha’, said Sharon.

She patted the lodger.

— He’s playin’ fuckin’ tennis in there.

— He’s prob’ly eatin’ your chips, said Jackie.

— Yeuuh; stop.

Jackie remembered what she’d wanted to ask Sharon earlier but she’d been a bit afraid to. Now, with a few vodkas inside her, she was still afraid but it was easier.

— Come here, Sharon, she said. — Why didn’t yeh tell me earlier? Yeh know; abou’ your sailor.

— Aah. I don’t know—

Sharon couldn’t tell her the truth: because I only made it up a few days ago and you ARE the first person I told. Or the realler truth: because we’re not that close; or weren’t anyway.

— I just — I was too embarrassed. Sorry; I should’ve.

— No, it’s okay. I was only—

— Here, I’ll tell yeh the next time, righ’.

They screamed again, but quieter because people were in bed.

* * *

Jimmy Sr came in with a bloody nose. The blood was dry and there wasn’t much of it but it was there to be seen. He put a brown paper bag with grease marks down on the table.

Veronica took off her glasses and scooped up the loose sequins and poured them into a tobacco tin. She put the lid on the tin. Then she saw Jimmy Sr and his nose.

— Where in the name of God did you get that?

— Hang on till I have a look at it, said Jimmy Sr.

He pointed at the bag.

— I got yeh a burger as well.

— You didn’t go into the chipper with that nose!

— No; I got them from the van.

— You can eat them yourself then. Who hit you?

Jimmy Sr had the curtain pulled back and he was trying to get a good look at himself in the kitchen window. He was leaning over the sink.

— It doesn’t look too bad. From here annyway.

— Who hit you?

Veronica was eating the chips but she wasn’t going to go near the burger.

— Ah, I’ll live, said Jimmy Sr.

— More’s the pity, said Veronica. — Who hit you? I want to thank him.

— You would too. Are yeh not eatin’ tha’ burger?

The inspection was over. There was no real damage done. He hadn’t even got any of it on his shirt or his jacket. He’d wash his nose before he went to bed. He took a good bite out of the burger in case Veronica said, Yes, she was eating it.

— I’ll tell yeh one thing though, said Jimmy Sr. — I gave back better than I got.

— Aren’t you great?

— Tha’ soccer shower, said Jimmy Sr. — Yeh know the bunch o’ wankers tha’ hang — used to hang around with Georgie Burgess. They were laughin’, yeh know. The whole gang o’ them. They’ve been at it since — yeh know. The bollixes.

— How d’you know they were laughing at you, for God’s sake?

Jimmy Sr ignored the question. Bimbo had asked it already and he hadn’t answered it then either.

— I got Larry O’Rourke when he was up at the bar an’ I told him if, righ’, if they were laughin’ at me I’d fuckin’ kill them. Every—

Jimmy Sr liberated the rest of the burger.

— Every—’scuse me, Veronica — every jaysis one o’ them. He said they wouldn’t bother their bollixes — pardon, Veronica — bother laughin’ at me, an’ I said they’d better not. For their own sakes.

— You’re—

— An’—sorry — I gave him a bit of a dig — nothin’ much now — when he was tryin’ to get past me. Bimbo an’ Bertie got in between us. Just as well.

He wiped his fingers with the bag.

— I’d’ve destroyed him.

Veronica didn’t know what to say. And he was too old to be slapped.

Jimmy Sr continued.

— I’m not goin’ up there annymore. I don’t care. I only have to walk in an’ they’re—

He saw Veronica looking at him.

— I can’t enjoy me pint under those conditions.

Veronica was still looking at him.

— It’s fuckin’ desperate, so it is.

— God almighty, said Veronica.

Jimmy Sr sat down. He tried to explain again.

— If it was annyone else. I don’t care abou’ the age, annyone. But Georgie Burgess! Jesus.

— Oh, shut up. I’m sick of it. Why won’t you believe her?

— Oh, I do believe her. Only — I don’t know. I—

They heard the door. Sharon was coming in.

— Wash your nose, said Veronica.

— There’s no point.

— You want her to see it, don’t you?

— That’s offside, said Jimmy Sr.

It was true though.

He got up too late to be at the sink by the time Sharon came in.

— Hiyis.

— Look, Sharon, said Veronica. — Your father’s been defending your honour. Isn’t he great?

— What happened yeh, Daddy?

— Nothin’, Sharon, nothin’. Don’t listen to your mother. She’s been at the sherry bottle again, ha ha.

Jimmy Sr was at the sink again. He studied the J-cloth, threw it back and rooted in his pockets for a paper hankie. He turned on the cold tap.

— Were you in a fight? Sharon asked him.

— No, no. Not really.

— He was defending your honour, I told you, said Veronica.

— Shut up, Mammy, will yeh.

— Don’t—

— Shut up!

Veronica did. Sharon looked like she was going to kill Jimmy Sr and that was alright with Veronica.

Sharon was angry. Something unfair was going on.

— Wha’ did yeh do? she asked Jimmy Sr.

— Ah—

— Yeah?

— They were sayin’ things about yeh, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr.

His nose was clean now.

— You didn’t hear them, said Veronica.

— I know wha’ I heard, said Jimmy Sr. — I’m not goin’ to stand by an’ let annyone — annyone, I don’t care who, jeer Sharon.

— You’re a fuckin’ eejit, Daddy, said Sharon. — Why couldn’t yeh just ignore them?

— I’m not like tha’, said Jimmy Sr.

He was nearly crying.

— I’m not goin’ to let them jeer yeh.

He was liking himself now.

— Why not, for fuck sake?

Veronica tut-tutted.

Jimmy Sr thumped the table.

— Because you’re my daughter an’—well, fuck it, you’re my daughter an’ as long as yeh live in this house I’m not goin’ to let bollixes like them say things about yeh.

— Maybe I should leave then.

That hit like a thump.

— Ah no, Sharon.

— Maybe I will if you’re goin’ to get into fights all the time.

— No, Sharon, Jimmy Sr assured her. — It was just the once.

Something had gone wrong.

— I’m not goin’ there again.

That wasn’t the right thing to say, he realized. He changed it.

— I’m not goin’ to listen to them annymore. — They’re only a shower o’ shites. They’re not worth it.

He felt like a right fuckin’ eejit now. He couldn’t look at Veronica.

— Well—, said Sharon. — Look; I know you mean well—

— I know tha’, Sharon.

— I can fight my own fights, on my own.

— I know tha’.

— No better girl, said Veronica.

— Anyway, said Sharon. — They’ve nothin’ to jeer me about. Now tha’ they know I’m not havin’ the baby for Mister Burgess.

— You’re right o’ course.

Sharon went to bed.

All Jimmy Sr had wanted was value for his nosebleed. But something had gone wrong. A bit of gratitude was all he’d expected. He’d felt noble there for a while before Sharon started talking about leaving, even though he’d been lying. But she’d attacked him instead.

There was more to it than that though.

— She put you back in your box, didn’t she? said Veronica.

Veronica went to bed.

Jimmy Sr stayed there, sitting in the kitchen. He was busy admitting something: he was ashamed of Sharon. That was the problem. He was sorry for her troubles; he loved her, he was positive he did, but he was ashamed of her. Burgess! Even if there WAS a Spanish sailor — Burgess!—

There was something else as well: she was making an eejit of him. She wasn’t doing it on purpose — there was no way she’d have got herself up the pole just to get at him. That wasn’t what he meant. But, fuck it, his life was being ruined because of her. It was fuckin’ terrible. He was the laughing stock of Barrytown. It wasn’t her fault — but it was her fault as well. It wasn’t his. He’d done nothing.

Jimmy Sr stood up. He was miserable. He’d admitted shocking things to himself. He’d been honest. He was ashamed of Sharon. He was a louser for feeling that way but that was the way it was. He could forgive her for giving him all this grief but it would still be there after he’d forgiven her. So what was the point?

He did forgive her anyway.

A bit of gratitude would have been nice though. Not just for himself; for Veronica as well.

Jimmy Sr went up to bed.

* * *

Sharon nearly died.

Her heart stopped for a second. It did.

She was just getting to her gate and there was Yvonne Burgess, coming out of her house, across the road.

She must have seen her.

Sharon threw the gate out of her way and dashed up the path. She nearly went head-first through the glass in the front door. She hadn’t her key with her. Oh Jesus. She rang the bell. She couldn’t turn around. She rang the bell. She was bursting for the toilet. She rang the fuckin’ bell. And she wanted to get sick. She rang the — The door opened. She fell in.

— I nearly gave birth in the fuckin’ hall, Jackie, she said. — I’m not jokin’ yeh.

* * *

— When will they be finished, Mammy? said Tracy.

— When they’re ready, said Veronica.

— When?

— Get out.

Linda spoke.

— We have to have them—

— Get out!

Veronica felt Larrygogan at her feet. She gave him a kick and she didn’t feel a bit guilty about it after.

* * *

Jimmy Sr got moodier. He wouldn’t go out. He sat in the kitchen. He roared at the twins. He walloped Darren twice. He’d have hit Les as well but he didn’t see Les. He stayed in bed, didn’t go to work two mornings the next week. He listened to the radio and ate most of a packet of Hobnobs one of the mornings and Veronica nearly cut herself to ribbons on the crumbs when she got into bed that night. He couldn’t have been that sick, she said. It wasn’t his stomach that was sick, Jimmy Sr told her. What was it then? He didn’t answer.

But she’d guessed it and she wanted to box his ears for him.

Jimmy Sr knew he could snap out of it but he didn’t want to. He was doing it on purpose. He was protesting; that was how he described it to himself. He’d been wronged; he was suffering and he wanted them all to know this. Especially Sharon.

What he was doing was getting at Sharon. He wanted to make her feel bad, to make her realize just how much she’d hurt her father and the rest of the family.

He couldn’t tell her. That wasn’t the way to do it. She’d have to work it out herself — he didn’t know; say Sorry or something; admit — something.

He sat in the kitchen by himself. He was dying to go in and watch a bit of the American Wrestling on the Sports Channel — he loved it; it was great gas and he always ended up feeling glad that he lived in Ireland after he’d watched it — but he didn’t want them to see him enjoying himself.

He looked down at the Evening Press crossword. 8 across. Being a seaman he requires no bus. — What did that fuckin’ mean?

He looked at the pictures of the women’s faces on the Dubliner’s Diary page and decided how many of them he’d ride. — All of them.

He drew moustaches on some of them, and then glasses.

Bimbo called.

— He’s in the kitchen, said Darren.

— There y’are, said Bimbo.

— Howyeh, Bimbo, said Jimmy Sr. — I’m not comin’ ou’.

— Ah, why not?

— Ah, said Jimmy Sr. — I’m not well. — I’m fed up, Bimbo. I’ve had it up to here.

— Wha’ has yeh tha’ way?

— Ah—, said Jimmy Sr.

He was saying nothing.

— I know wha’ you need, said Bimbo. — An’ so do you. A kick up the hole an’ a few nice pints.

— No way, said Jimmy Sr.

— Go on, said Bimbo. — Yeh must be constipated, yeh haven’t had a pint in ages. Bertie says your shite must be brown by now.

Jimmy Sr grinned.

— Hang on till I get me jacket.

He was only human.

* * *

Sharon noticed. It wasn’t hard. Her daddy stopped talking to her during the drives into work. He stopped saying Thanks Sharon when she handed him things at the table. He stopped asking her how she was and saying There’s Sharon when she came in from work or in the mornings. He said Howyeh to her as if it cost him money.

At first she didn’t know why. He’d been great before; bringing her out, giving her lifts, telling her not to mind what people said. He’d helped her. He’d been brilliant. But now he didn’t want anything to do with her.

It annoyed her.

She caught him looking at her belly when she turned from the cooker. She let him know he’d been snared.

— I’m gettin’ very big, amn’t I? she said.

— S’pose so, he answered.

That was all; no joking, no smile, not even a guilty look. He just stared at the cinema page of the Press. He never went to the pictures.

She knew now for definite what was eating him: she was. There he was, sitting there, pretending to read the paper. For a second she thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t. She would have a few weeks ago, but not now. She had no problem stopping herself. A few weeks ago she wouldn’t have blamed him for being like this. But — she flattened her hands on her belly — it was a bit late to be getting snotty now.

She’d have to do something.

* * *

What though? What could she do?

She didn’t know.

But she did know that she wasn’t going to put up with it. He probably didn’t believe her about the sailor. Why couldn’t he, the oul’ bastard? Everyone else did. There was nothing she could do to make him believe her — at least she didn’t think there was — but she wasn’t going to let him go on treating her like shite. The twins might start copying him; and Darren. And then she’d be having the baby in — in ten weeks — Jesus — and if it didn’t look a bit Spanish they’d all gang up on it before it was even fully out of her.

There was nothing in the book about snotty das. She was on her own.

She took all her clothes off and locked her parents’ bedroom door and looked at herself in the wardrobe mirror and the dressing table mirror. Jesus, she looked terrible. She was white in one mirror and greeny-pink in the other one. Her tits were hanging like a cow’s. They weren’t anything like that before. A fella she’d gone with — Niall, a creep — once said that she should have been in the army because her tits stood to attention. She looked like a pig. In both the mirrors.

She washed her hair but the shampoo stayed in it and it looked worse. Now she wanted to cry. She tried to think of something to set her off. She thought of everything but she couldn’t cry. A few drinks would have got her going; bawling. But she’d no money. And now the baby was throwing wobblers inside of her.

— Ah, lay off, will yeh, she said.

She sat down on her bed and slumped and stayed that way for ages.

* * *

Jimmy Sr began to time his moods. This gave him the best of both worlds. He could enjoy his depression when Sharon was around or when he thought she was around and he could enjoy his few pints with the lads as well. Sharon didn’t go up to the Hikers any more — she went to Howth or Raheny or into town — so he let her believe that he didn’t go there either. He didn’t announce it or anything. He just hinted at it. He wondered out loud where he’d go tonight or he waited till she went out before he went out. Or he stayed in. He wanted her to think she’d robbed his local off him. Now and again guilt got to him. He felt like a bollix and he thought he should leave her alone and get back to normal. He’d have liked that. But every time he saw one of the soccer shower looking his way or when Georgie Burgess came into his head he decided to keep it up. Anyway, it was for her own good. She had to be made to realize all the trouble she’d caused, the consequences of her messing around.

One time at the dinner he came within that, an inch, of giving the twins a few quid to go and get choc-ices for everyone. It was a lovely day, a scorcher. But he’d stopped himself just in time.

Mind you, he bought one for himself later on his way up to the Hikers.

* * *

Now was as good a time as any.

— What—, Jimmy Sr started.

Bertie, Bimbo and Paddy paid attention.

— What, said Jimmy Sr, — is hard an’ hairy on the outside—

Bimbo started giggling. Hairy was a great word.

— is soft an’ wet on the inside—

They were laughing already.

— begins with a C—

— Oh Jaysis! said Bimbo.

— end with a T, an’ has a U an’ an N in it?

They sat there laughing, Jimmy Sr as well.

Paddy knew he was going to be wrong.

— A cunt, he said.

— No, said Jimmy Sr. — A coconut.

They roared.

* * *

— Hey Daddy, said Linda. — Will yeh watch us for a bit to tell us wha’ we’re doin’ wrong?

Jimmy Sr looked up at her.

— Can’t yeh see I’m readin’ me paper? he said.

* * *

Veronica was looking in the dressing table mirror, hunting an eyelash that was killing her. She was leaning over the stuff on the table so she could get right in to the mirror. She saw Jimmy Sr’s head floating behind her shoulder. She felt his hand go down between the cheeks of her bum. His finger pressed into her skirt.

— You’re still a great lookin’—

— Get away from me, you, she barked at the mirror.

She clouted his arm with the hairbrush.

— Oh Jesus! Me fuckin’—There was no need for tha’.

The face was gone from the mirror.

She’d been wanting to do something like that for days. Weeks.

* * *

Sharon asked Jackie to back her up.

— Yeah, said Jackie. — No problem.

— Is that alrigh’ then?

— Yeah. It is, said Jackie. — An’, come here. If nothin’ happens an’ he’s still actin’ the prick, we’ll go ahead an’ do it, okay?

— Are yeh serious?

— Yeah. Why not?

They were sitting in the front room of Jackie’s house.

— I hate this fuckin’ room, said Jackie.

Sharon laughed.

— Yeh can’t open the door without trippin’ over one of her ornaments, said Jackie.

* * *

He wasn’t in the kitchen. She looked in the front room. He was in there by himself, watching MTV with the sound down. He only turned the sound up when he recognized the singers or when he liked the look of them. Veronica had been in bed since just after the tea. It had been a bad day. The twins and Darren were in bed. The twins were asleep. Darren was listening to Bon Jovi on Jimmy Jr’s walkman. Jimmy would kill him when he caught him but it was worth it: Bon Jovi were brilliant. Jimmy Jr was in Howth, trying to get into Saints. Mickah Wallace was with him so it wasn’t easy. Les was out. Larrygogan was in the coal shed.

Jimmy Sr didn’t go to bed these days until Sharon got in.

— Hiyeh, said Sharon.

Jimmy Sr didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on Curiosity Killed the Cat.

— I said Hiyeh, Daddy, said Sharon.

— I heard yeh.

— Then why didn’t yeh answer me?

— Wait a—

— An’ why haven’t yeh answered for the last — weeks?

She got the pouffe and sat in front of him.

— You’re in me way, look it, he said.

She said it louder.

— Why haven’t yeh answered me?

— Get lost, will yeh; I have.

Jimmy Sr’d been taken by surprise. He tried to look around Sharon. She leaned back — it wasn’t easy — and turned off the telly.

— Yeh haven’t, she said. — Yeh haven’t said hello to me properly in ages.

Jimmy Sr was never going to admit anything like that.

— You’re imaginin’ things, he said.

— No, I’m not.

She looked straight at him. There wasn’t any shaking in her voice. She just spoke. She was a bit frightening.

— I’ll tell yeh the last time yeh spoke to me.

— I said hello to yeh yesterday.

— Yeh didn’t. Not properly. The last time yeh said hello to me properly was before the night yeh got hit in the nose.

— Now listen; that’s not true.

— It is. An’ you know it.

Jimmy Sr wondered if he’d be able to get past her and up to bed. He thought she was capable of trying to stop him.

— Are yeh goin’ to tell me why? Sharon asked him.

He looked as if he was going to get up. She didn’t know what she’d do if he did that. She’d follow him.

— There’s nothin’ to tell, for fuck sake, said Jimmy Sr.

— It’s me, isn’t it?

— Go up to bed, will yeh.

— It is, said Sharon. — I can tell.

Sharon nearly had to stop herself from grinning as she asked the next question.

— Did I do somethin’ to yeh?

Jesus, she was asking him had she done something: had she done something! She could sit there and—

— You’ve done nothin’, Sharon.

— I’ll tell yeh what I’ve done.

Her voice had softened. The bitch; he couldn’t have a proper row with her that way.

— I’m pregnant. — I saw yeh lookin’ at me.

Jimmy Sr said nothing yet.

— I’ve disgraced the family.

— No.

— Don’t bother denyin’ it, Daddy. I’m not givin’ out.

The look on his face gave her the sick for a minute.

— I’ve been stupid, she said. — An’ selfish. I should’ve known. An’ I know tha’ you still think it was Mister Burgess an’ that makes it worse.

— I don’t think it was—

— Ah ah! she very gently gave out to him. — You were great. Yeh did your best to hide it.

— Ah, Sharon—

— If I leave it’ll be the best for everyone. Yeh can get back to normal.

— Leave.

— Yeah. Leave. Go. Yeh know what I mean.

She stopped herself from getting too cheeky.

— I’m only bringin’ trouble for you an’ Mammy, so I’m — Me an’ Jackie are goin’ to get a flat. Okay?

— You’re not goin’?

— I am. I want to. It’s the best. Nigh’ night.

She went upstairs.

— Ah Sharon, no.

Sharon got undressed. She wondered if it would work; what he was thinking; was he feeling guilty or what. The face on him when she was talking to him; butter wouldn’t melt in his fuckin’ mouth, the bastard. She got into bed. She wondered if she’d be here next week. God, she hoped so. She didn’t want to move into a flat, even with Jackie. She’d seen some. She didn’t want to be by herself, looking after herself and the baby. She wanted to stay here so the baby would have a proper family and the garden and the twins and her mammy to look after it so she could go out sometimes. She didn’t want to leave. What was he thinking down there?

Jimmy Sr sat back and stretched.

Victory: he’d won. Without having to admit anything himself, he’d got her to admit that she was the one in the wrong. She was to blame for all this, and he’d been great. She’d said it herself.

Jimmy Sr stretched further and sank down in the couch. He punched his fists up into the air.

— Easy! Easy! he roared quietly.

He’d won. He’d got what he wanted.

— Here we go, here we go, here we go!

He stood up.

He could get back to normal now. He’d drive her all the way to work on Monday, right up to the door. He’d bring her out for a drink at tea-time on Sunday, up to the Hikers. He’d insist.

He switched on the telly to have a quick look and see if there was a good video on. There was a filthy one they sometimes showed after midnight. No; it was only some shower of wankers running down a beach. He switched it off.

He was glad it was over. He preferred being nice. It was easier.

Sharon had been great there, the way she’d taken the blame. Fair play to her. She was a great young one; the way she’d just sat there and said her bit, and none of the fuckin’ water works that you usually got. Any husband of Sharon’s would have his work cut out for him.

Tomorrow he’d tell her not to leave.

* * *

He told her when she came down for her breakfast. Veronica was there too but she was determined not to have anything to do with it. She was sick of the two of them.

— No, Daddy, said Sharon. — Thanks, but I’ve made me mind up.

— But there’s no need, Sharon.

— No; you’ve been great. So have you, Mammy.

— I know.

— Hang on, Veronica; this is serious. You can’t go, Sharon. I won’t let yeh.

— Try fuckin’ stoppin’ me.

— Now there’s no need for tha’ now. We want yeh to stay here with us an’ have it—

He nodded and pointed.

— the baby there, with us. Don’t we?

Veronica didn’t look up from Tracy’s ballroom dress.

— Yes, she said.

Sharon stopped spreading the Flora on her brownbread.

— I’m goin’.

Jimmy Sr believed her.

— When?

— After dinner.

— Wha’!? Today?

— Yeah.

— Ah, for fuck sake, Sharon—

Jimmy Jr walked in. He wasn’t looking the best. He headed for the fridge.

— Why aren’t you in work? said Jimmy Sr.

— Wha’?

Jimmy Jr’s head came out of the fridge.

— It’s alrigh’. I’ll phone in. I’ll work me day off. Is there anny Coke?

— No.

— Or annythin’ with bubbles in it?

— Go down to the shops, said Veronica.

— I’d never make it.

He sat down carefully and stared at the table.

Sharon was cursing him. Now she’d have to start again.

— It’s the best thing to do, she said.

— What’s tha’? said Jimmy Sr. — No. Fuck it, Sharon; this is your home.

His voice didn’t sound right. It was shivery. He coughed.

— You should stay — stay with your family.

Sharon smiled.

— Now maybe. But, look it.

She patted her belly.

— It’s goin’ to be gettin’ bigger an’ yeh won’t be able to get out of its way an’ stop lookin’ at it. It’ll keep remindin’ you of Mister Burgess. No, it will; even though he’s not — So, yeh see, it’s best for us all if I go.

She stood up. She smiled. She patted his shoulder.

— I’ll go upstairs an’ pack.

Jimmy Sr was afraid to say anything. He didn’t know what it would sound like. He’d never felt like this before.

Sharon was planking going up the stairs. She hoped she hadn’t been too convincing. He mightn’t bother trying to stop her. She didn’t even have a suitcase or anything. She’d just pile her stuff on the bed.

Jimmy Sr didn’t know what to do. It was terrible. Sharon was leaving because of him. That wasn’t what he’d wanted at all.

It was wrong.

Jimmy Jr’s face distracted him.

— Jaysis, he said.

Jimmy Jr was still staring at the table. Veronica looked up from the dress.

— Get up, quick!

Jimmy Jr stood up and fell across to the sink. He dropped his head and vomited — HYUHH — uh — fuck — HYY-

— YUUH! — onto the breakfast plates and cups.

That was it, Jimmy Sr decided. There was no way Sharon could go. She was the only civilized human being in the whole fuckin’ house.

Veronica had her face in her hands. She shook her head slowly.

Jimmy Sr stood up.

— Veronica, he said. — She’s not goin’.

Veronica looked up at him. She still had her hands to her face but she nodded.

— An’ come here, you, he bawled across to Jimmy Jr. — Wash up them dishes, righ’.

Jimmy Jr groaned.

Sharon heard the stairs creaking. She threw a bundle of knickers onto the bed.

Jimmy Sr knocked, and came in.

— Are you alone?

— Yeah.

— Where’re the twins?

— Camogie, I think.

— They do everything don’t they?

— Yeah.

— Fair play to them. Don’t go, Sharon.

— I have to.

She stopped messing with the clothes.

— Yeh don’t have to—

Jimmy Sr looked across, out the window. His eyes were shiny. He kept blinking. He gulped, but the lump kept rising.

— I’m cryin’, Sharon, sorry. I didn’t mean to.

He pulled the sleeve of his jumper over his fist and wiped his eyes with it.

— Sorry, Sharon.

He looked at her. She looked as if she didn’t know how she should look, what expression she should have on.

— Em — I don’t know wha’ to fuckin’ say. — That’s the first time I cried since your granny died. Hang on; no. I didn’t cry then. I haven’t cried since I was a kid.

— You cried last Christmas.

— Sober, Sharon. Drunk doesn’t count. We all do stupid things when we’re drunk.

— I know.

— Fuck, sorry; I didn’t mean it like tha’!

He looked scared.

— I know tha’, said Sharon.

— Sorry. — Annyway, look — I’ve been a righ’ bollix,

Sharon. I’ve made you feel bad an’ that’s why you’re leavin’. Just cos I was feelin’ hard done by. It’s my fault. Don’t go, Sharon. Please.

Sharon was afraid to say no. She didn’t want to start him crying again.

— But I’ll only keep remindin’ yeh—

— Sorry, Sharon. For interruptin’ yeh. — This isn’t easy for me. I wanted to make you feel bad cos I was feelin’ sorry for myself. I can’t look at yeh, sayin’ this. It’s very fuckin’ embarrassin’.

He tried to grin but he couldn’t.

— I behaved like a bollix, I realize tha’ now. — I didn’t think you’d leave. Don’t leave. We need you here. Your mammy — Your mammy’s not always the best. Because of — Yeh know tha’ yourself. I’m a fuckin’ waster. Jimmy’s worse. D’yeh know what he’s at now?

— Wha’?

— He’s down there gettin’ sick into the sink. On top o’ the plates an’ stuff.

— Oh my God.

— Poor Veronica. — The fuckin’ dinner might be

— what’s the word — steepin’ in the sink for all I know. Believe me, Sharon, we need you. The twins, they need you.

Sharon was nearly crying now. She was loving this.

— What abou’ the baby?

Jimmy Sr breathed deeply and looked out the window, and looked at Sharon. His eyes were shiny again.

— I feel like a fuckin’ eejit. — I love you, Sharon. An’ it’ll be your baby, so I’ll love it as well.

— Wha’—what if it looks like Mister Burgess?

Jimmy Sr creased his forehead. Then he spoke.

— I don’t mind what it looks like. I don’t give a shite.

— It’s easy to say tha’ now—

— I don’t, Sharon, I swear I don’t. Not now, fuck it. I don’t mind. If the first words it says are On the Bible, Jim, on the Bible, I won’t mind. I’ll still love it.

Sharon was laughing.

— If it looks like Burgess’s arse I’ll love it, Sharon. On the Bible.

They were both laughing. They’d both won. Both sets of eyes were watery. Sharon spoke.

— What if it’s a girl an’ she looks like Mister Burgess?

— Ah well, fuck it; we’ll just have to smother it an’ leave it on his step.

— Ah Daddy!

— I’m only messin’. I suppose I’ll still have to love her. Even if she does have a head on her like Georgie Bur—

He couldn’t finish. He had an almighty fit of the giggles.

— She’ll be lovely, said Sharon.

— She’d fuckin’ better be. We’re a good lookin’ family. ’Cept for Jimmy, wha’. An’, come here, an’ anyway; it won’t look like Burgess cos he isn’t the da. — Isn’t tha’ righ’?

— Yeah.

— Unless your Spanish sailor looked a bit like him, did he?

— Just a little bit.

— Ah well, said Jimmy Sr after a small while. — Your poor mammy. I’d better go down an’ see if your man’s still spinnin’ the discs in the sink. — Good girl, Sharon.

— See yeh in a minute. I’ll just put me stuff back.

— Good girl.

He was gone, but he came back immediately.

— Eh, sorry; Sharon?

— Yeah?

— Don’t tell Jimmy yeh saw me cryin’ there, sure yeh won’t?

— Don’t worry.

— Good girl.

He grinned.

— He looks up to me, yeh know.

* * *

— Ah, said Jimmy Sr to the twins. — There yis are. An’ there’s Larry with yis.

He bent down and patted the dog’s head.

— He’s growin’, he said. — He’ll soon be makin’ his communion. Yis must be thirsty after your camogie, are yis?

— Yeah, said Linda and Tracy.

— Yes! said Veronica.

— Yes, said Linda.

— There, said Jimmy Sr.

It was a pound.

— Get yourselves some 7 Ups. Or the one tha’ Tina Turner drinks. Pepsi.

— What about me?

— A Toblerone?

— And a Flake.

Jimmy Sr’s hand went back into his pocket.

— Can we have a Flake instead of the 7 Up? said Tracy.

— No! — Oh, alrigh’.

The twins legged it.

Jimmy Sr smiled over at Veronica.

— Are yeh well, Veronica?

— I’m alright, said Veronica.

— Good, said Jimmy Sr. — Good.

* * *

It was a few weeks later.

Jimmy Sr dropped the book onto the couch. He was the only one in the front room.

— Wha’ in the name o’ Jaysis was tha’? he said out loud to himself although he knew what it was.

Veronica had just screamed. What Jimmy Sr really wanted to know was, why? He struggled out of the couch. It hadn’t sounded like a scream of pain or shock. It’d been more of a roar.

— No peace in this fuckin’ house, he sort of muttered as he went down to the kitchen.

Tracy and Linda were in there with Veronica.

— What’s goin’ on here? said Jimmy Sr.

He saw the way Veronica was glaring at the twins and the twins were trying to glare back, keeping the table between themselves and their mother. They looked at Jimmy Sr quickly, then back at Veronica in case she did something while they were looking at Jimmy Sr.

— What’s wrong? said Jimmy Sr.

Veronica picked up the dress from her lap and clutched it in front of her, nearly hard enough to tear it.

— Are you after upsettin’ your mammy? said Jimmy Sr.

— No, said Linda.

— No, said Tracy.

Jimmy Sr was going to shout at them.

— We on’y told her somethin’, said Linda. — Tracy said it.

— You did as well! said Tracy.

— Shut up! Jimmy Sr roared.

They jumped. They didn’t know where to move. If they got away from their daddy that would mean getting closer to their mammy and she had the scissors on the table in front of her.

Veronica spoke.

— All those — fuckin’ sequins, she said, softly. — Oh my sweet Jesus.

Jimmy Sr could have murdered Linda and Tracy. They saw this, so they both answered promptly when he asked them what they’d said to their mother.

— Tracy said—

— Linda said I was—

— Shut up!

Tracy started crying.

Jimmy Sr pointed at Linda.

— Tell me.

— Tracy said—

Jimmy Sr’s pointed finger seemed to get closer to her although he didn’t move. She started again.

— We on’y told her we weren’t doin’ the dancin’ annymore.

— Oh good fuck, said Jimmy Sr, not loudly.

He looked at Veronica. She was staring at a little pile of sequins in front of her.

— Yis ungrateful little brassers, he said.

— It’s stupid, said Linda. — I’m sick of it. It’s stupid.

Veronica came back to life.

— They’re not giving it up, she said.

— That’s righ’.

— Ah Mammy—

— No! said Veronica.

— But it’s stupid.

— You heard your mammy, didn’t yeh? said Jimmy Sr. — DIDN’T YEH?

— Yeah.

— An’ wha’ did she say?

–

— ANSWER ME.

— We have to keep doin’ it.

— That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr. — An’, what’s more, yis’ll enjoy it. An’ if I hear anny whingin’ out o’ yis yis’ll need an operation to get my foot ou’ of your arses. — Now, say you’re sorry.

— Sorry.

— Not to me.

— Sorry.

— Now go inside an’ practise, said Jimmy Sr.

They got past Jimmy Sr without touching him. He heard Tracy when they’d got out of the kitchen.

— I don’t care, I’m not doin’ it.

Jimmy Sr rushed out and grabbed her and, without intending to, lifted her.

— Wha’ did you say?

— Aah! — Nothin’!

— Are yeh sure?

She was rubbing her arm and deciding whether to cry or not.

— Yeah, she said.

— Good, said Jimmy Sr. — Now get in there an’ cha cha cha.

Darren was coming in the back door when Jimmy Sr got back to the kitchen.

— Again? said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah, said Darren.

He’d crashed again. One side of his face was grazed, the darkest, reddest scrape along his cheekbone.

— Look.

Darren showed them where his jersey was ripped.

— Look it.

He showed them the big, wide scrape down his leg. He was delighted.

Jimmy Sr remembered having a gash like that, only bigger, when he was a young fella. He was going to tell Darren about it but he decided not to, not with Veronica there.

— Wha’ happened yeh? he said instead. Sharon came in from work. — Hiyis.

— There’s Sharon. Do us a favour, love. Talk to the twins, will yeh. — They’re talkin’ abou’ wantin’ to give up the oul’ dancin’, yeh know?

He nodded at Veronica. Sharon looked at her.

— Okay, she said.

— Good girl. They’re in with the telly. Practisin’.

Sharon saw Darren.

— God, wha’ happened yeh?

— I came off me bike.

He smiled.

— Sharon’ll sort them ou’, Jimmy Sr told Veronica. — Are we havin’ the dinner?

Veronica put the dress on the table. She stood up and looked around her, as if she’d just woken up with a fright.

— It’ll have to be from the chipper, she said.

— Grand, said Jimmy Sr. — Darren can go an’ show off his war wounds, wha’.

Darren laughed.

— How’d it happen? Jimmy Sr asked him.

— I was blemmin’ down Tonlegee Road.

— Jaysis! Was it a race?

— Yeah, but I didn’t give up. I got on again an’ I finished it.

— Good man, said Jimmy Sr. — Course yeh did. Did yeh win?

— No. I was last but Mister Cantwell says I showed the righ’ spirit.

— He’s dead righ’.

He turned to Veronica.

— Just like his da, wha’.

He turned back to Darren.

— Did yeh know I met your mammy when I fell off me bike?

— Did yeh?

— He was drunk, said Veronica.

— It was love, said Jimmy Sr. — Love knocked me off me bike.

Darren spoke.

— Mister Cantwell says we’re not to bother with young ones cos they’ll only distract us.

Jimmy Sr laughed.

— Fair play to Mister Cantwell. He’s dead righ’.

— Cantwell. He’s your man from across from the shops, isn’t he?

— Yeah.

— He does the church collection.

— Yeah.

— Isn’t he great? said Veronica.

Jimmy Sr grinned at her.

— An’ he’s your manager, is he?

— Yeah.

— Good. What’re yis called?

— The Barrytown Cyclin’ Club.

— Go ’way! That’s very clever.

— Don’t mind him, Veronica told Darren. — He’s just being smart. Wash your cuts and then you’re to go to the chipper.

— I don’t need to wash—

— Do wha’ your mammy tells yeh.

Darren did.

Jimmy Sr looked at Veronica.

— How’re yeh feelin’, love?

— Ah—

Linda and Tracy came in.

— Yes? said Jimmy Sr.

The twins looked at each other. Then Linda spoke.

— Ma, we’re sorry.

— Mammy.

— Mammy. We’re sorry.

— It’s not tha’ bad, said Tracy. — It’s not really stupid.

— Won’t yeh keep makin’ our dresses? said Linda.

— She will o’ course, said Jimmy Sr.

— I’ll think about it, said Veronica to Jimmy Sr.

— She’ll think abou’ it, said Jimmy Sr.

He clapped his hands.

— The few chips’ll go down well, he said.

He went over to the bread bin.

— I’ll butter a few slices, will I? For butties.

— You think of nothing except your stomach, said Veronica.

— It’s the family’s stomachs I’m thinkin’ of, Veronica, me dear.

He rolled up two slices and shoved them into his mouth. He winked at Veronica and then he went back to the front room. Sharon was in there, alone. She was sitting on the couch, and reading Jimmy Sr’s book.

— Who’s readin’ this? she asked Jimmy Sr when she saw him.

He shouldn’t have left it there.

— I am, he said.

— You!

The book was Everywoman.

— Yeah. — Why not?

He sat down beside her.

— What’re yeh readin’ it for? Sharon asked him.

— Aah — Curiosity. I suppose.

— Where d’yeh get it?

— Library.

He looked at Sharon. He took the book from her.

— I didn’t know there was so much to it, yeh know.

— Yeah.

— It’s like the inside of a fuckin’ engine or somethin’. ’Cept engines don’t grow.

Sharon grinned.

— D’yeh get cramps, Sharon? said Jimmy Sr.

Sharon laughed a bit.

— No. Not yet annyway.

— Good. Good. I’d say they’d be a killer. We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed. — Anythin’ else?

— Wrong?

— Yeah.

— No.

— Good. That’s good.

— I went to me antenatal check-ups.

— Yeh did o’ course. — An’ wha’ were they like?

— Grand.

— Good. — Good. Darren’s gone to the chipper, for the dinners. — Yeah.

— That’s some knock he got. — Yeah.

— He got up though, fair play to him. — I was lookin’ at another chapter there.

He opened the book and closed it and opened it again and looked at a diagram and closed it.

— The one abou’—doin’ the business, yeh know.

— Sex?

— Yeah. Exactly. — Jaysis, I don’t know — It’s very fuckin’ complicated, isn’t it?

Sharon laughed, and felt her face getting hot. — I can’t say I don’t know, she said.

— Wha’? Oh yeah. — I’d say Georgie Burgess was a dab hand at the oul’—wha’ d’yeh macall it — the foreplay, wha’?

— Daddy!

— Sorry. Sorry, Sharon. It wasn’t Burgess, I know. I just said it for a laugh. But — abou’, yeh know, ridin’ an’ tha’—I thought it was just — D’yeh know wha’ I mean?

— I think so.

— Jaysis, Sharon. I don’t know—

— I’d better warn Mammy.

— Wha’? Oh yeah. Very good. Yeah. — Annyway, I was lookin’ at another bit here. Look it.

Les saved Sharon by sticking his head round the door. Jimmy Sr felt the draught and looked up.

— Jaysis!

— Howyeh.

— Leslie. How are yeh?

— Alrigh’.

— Good man. How’re the jobs goin’?

— Alrigh’.

— Good man. Gardens?

— Yeah.

— An’ windows.

— Yeah.

— Good. Gives yeh a few bob annyway, wha’. Are yeh havin’ your dinner with us?

— Yeah.

— My God. We’ll have to kill the fatted cod for yeh.

— Wha’?

— Darren’s gone to the chipper.

— He’s back.

— Is he?

— Yeah.

— Why didn’t yeh tell us? I’m fuckin’ starvin’.—Hang on.

He took the book.

— I’ll put this upstairs, he said to Sharon. — I wouldn’t want Darren to see it. — Or Jimmy.

Sharon laughed.

— I could blackmail yeh now.

— Yeh could indeed. Yeh could alrigh’.

* * *

They heard the radio being turned up.

— Righ’ now, said Jimmy Sr. — Listen now.

He looked up at the ceiling. Sharon and Veronica looked up at the ceiling.

Alison Moyet was singing Is This Love. The sound dropped.

— Now, said Jimmy Sr.

They listened.

— THIS IS JOMMY ROBBITTE — ALL — OVER — ORELAND.

Then the sound went up again.

— There, said Jimmy Sr. — Doesn’t he sound different?

* * *

— Sorry, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr. — Sorry for interruptin’ yeh.

Sharon wasn’t doing anything really. She hadn’t the energy even to get up. She was lying on the couch, flicking through the channels.

Jimmy Sr was at the door.

— Wha’? said Sharon.

She was getting really tired of her da; all his questions.

— How many weeks are yeh pregnant, exactly? said Jimmy Sr.

— Thirty-five. Why?

— Just checkin’.

— What’re yeh lookin’ at?

— Your ankles. They don’t look too swollen.

— They’re not.

— Good.

Sharon hoped that was that.

It wasn’t.

— I was just readin’ there, said Jimmy Sr. — Abou’ what’s goin’ on, yeh know. It made me a bit worried.

Sharon said nothing. She flicked to BBC 2.; two hippies talking.

— Pain is mentioned a bit too often for my likin’.—Are yeh in pain, Sharon?

— No.

— None?

— No.

— At all?

— No!

— Good. — I’ll leave yeh to your telly. Sorry for disturbin’ yeh.

— Okay.

He was becoming a right pain in the neck. He’d be down again in a few minutes with more questions. Last night he’d told Darren and the twins to get out of the room and then he asked her if her shite was lumpy!

He came home earlier in the week with two new pillows for her so she could prop herself up in bed.

— It’ll take some o’ the pressure off the oul’ diaphram, Sharon.

Was she in pain, he asked her. The fuckin’ eejit; she’d give him pain if he didn’t get off her case. It was her pregnancy and he could fuck off and stay out of it. If he came in once more, once more she’d—

She felt fuckin’ terrible.

The screen became blurred.

She was sweating and wet and she’d gone over herself with the hairdryer an hour ago only and she was still sweating and wet. Her hair was dead and manky. She could hardly walk. She was really hot and full; full like the way she used to be on Christmas Day when she was a kid; stuffed. It was brutal. She was a fat wagon, that was what she was.

She hoped Jackie’d call down because she wanted to see her but she couldn’t be bothered getting up. — She’d been like this all her life.

Ah fuck it; she tried to get up.

The heat made her sleepy. She hated sleeping this way. It wasn’t right. Only oul’ ones did it.

She thought she heard her daddy’s voice.

— Good girl, Sharon.

* * *

— What d’you think you’re doing down there? Veronica asked Jimmy Sr.

— Hang on a minute. — How’s tha’, Veronica?

— I’m cold. — Aah!

— What’s wrong?

— Your fingernail! Get up here; I’m freezing.

— Okay. — I love you, Veronica.

— Jesus. Get out and brush your teeth. No; hang on. Do that again.

— Wha’? Tha’?

— Yeah.

— There. D’yeh like tha’, Veronica?

— It’s alright.

She grabbed his hair.

— Where did you learn it?

— Ah, let go!

— Where!?

— In a buke! Let go o’ me!

* * *

Her face was wet. She pushed the blanket and the sheet off and the nice cool air hit her and made her feel awake, and that was what she wanted. Bits of the dream clung. She’d had a miscarriage, in an empty bath. She kept having miscarriages; like going to the toilet. And they all lived, hundreds of them, all red and raw and folded over. All crawling all over her. And she lay there and more of them climbed out of her.

It was only half-five but she got out of bed. By the time she’d got downstairs to the kitchen her head was clear and the dream wasn’t part of her any more. She just remembered it. It was stupid.

She hadn’t thought about what the baby would be like before; only if it would be a boy or a girl. God, she hoped it would be normal and healthy and then she nearly stopped breathing when she realized she’d just thought that. What if it wasn’t? Jesus. What if it was deformed, or retarded like Missis Kelly’s baby down the road; what then? And she’d been worrying that it might look like Mister Burgess!

She was kind of looking forward to being a mother but if—

The kettle was boiling.

It might be a Down’s Syndrome baby. It would never be able to do anything for itself. It wouldn’t grow properly. It would have that face, that sort of face they all had.

The baby nudged her.

She’d seen a programme about dwarfs. It said that there were ten thousand of them in Britain. The ones on the programme seemed happy enough.

She started laughing. She’d suddenly seen her mammy making a ballroom dress for a dwarf.

This was stupid. If she kept on like this something was bound to go wrong. That was what always happened.

It had gone wrong already — it was too late — if anything HAD gone wrong, if there was something wrong with it.

She spread her hands over her dressing gown.

What was in there?

The baby bounced gently off the wall of her uterus. She opened her dressing gown and put her hands back on her belly. It moved again, like a dolphin going through the water; that was the way she imagined it.

— Are yeh normal? she said.

She wished to fuck it was all over. She was sick of it, and worried sick as well.

— Soon, she said.

* * *

— Specially with a few chips, said Bertie. They howled.

— I’m fuckin’ serious, righ’, said Jimmy Sr.

He was getting furious.

— It is a fuckin’ miracle.

— Fuckin’ sure it is, Your Holiness, said Paddy.

Bimbo was wiping his eyes.

— You’re a sick bunch o’ fuckers, said Jimmy Sr.

Bertie pointed at Jimmy Sr, and sang.

— MOTHER OF CHRIST—

STAR OF THE SEA-

Jimmy Sr mashed a beer mat.

* * *

— Sharon, said Jimmy Sr.

Sharon looked up from her Bella.

Not again.

— Yeah? she said.

— D’yeh know your hormones?

— Wha’?

— Your hormones, said Jimmy Sr.

Sharon was interested.

— What abou’ them?

— Are they givin’ yeh anny trouble?

— Eh — wha’ d’yeh mean?

— Well—

He shifted his chair.

— I was just readin’ there yesterday abou’ how sometimes your hormones start actin’ up when you’re pregnant an’ tha’. An’ yis get depressed or, eh, snotty or — yeh know?

Sharon said nothing. She didn’t know she’d been asked a question.

— Don’t get me wrong now, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr. — Hormonal changes are perfectly normal. Part an’ parcel of the pregnancy, if yeh follow me. But sometimes, like, there are side effects. Snottiness or depression or actin’ a bit queer.

— I’m grand, said Sharon.

— Good, said Jimmy Sr. — Good girl. That’s good. I thought so myself. I just wanted to be on the safe side, yeh know.

— Yeah, said Sharon. — No, I’m grand. I feel fine. I’d another check-up. Me last one, I think.

— An’ no problems?

— No.

— Good. All set so.

Sharon got back to her magazine, but Jimmy Sr wasn’t finished yet.

— I was lookin’ at this other buke there an’—It was abou’ wha’ happens—

He pointed at the table, just in front of Sharon.

— inside in the woman for the nine months. The pictures. Fuckin’ hell; I don’t know how they do it. There was this one o’ the foetus, righ’. That’s the name o’—

— I know what it is, Daddy!

— Yeh do o’ course. — I’m a stupid thick sometimes.

— Ah, you’re not.

— Ah, I am. Annyway, it was only seven weeks, Sharon. Seven weeks. In colour, yeh know. It had fingers—

He showed her his fingers.

— Ah, Jaysis, everythin’. An’ the little puss on him, yeh know.

— Yeah, it’s incredible, isn’t it?

— It fuckin’ is, said Jimmy Sr. — It got me thinkin’. I know it sounds stupid but—

He was blushing. But he looked straight at her.

— Youse were all like tha’ once, said Jimmy Sr. — Yeh know. Even Jimmy. — I was as well long, long ago.

He belched.

–’Scuse me, Shar—

He belched again.

— Sharon. Tha’ fried bread’s a killer. — Wha’ I’m tryirt’ to say is — when yeh look at tha’ picture, righ’, an’ then’ the later ones, an’ then the born baby growin’ up — Well, it’s a fuckin’ miracle, isn’t it?

— I s’pose it is, said Sharon.

— It’s got to be, said Jimmy Sr. — Shhh!

Veronica came back into the kitchen. She’d been upstairs, lying down.

— There’s Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. — Yeh may as well fill the oul’ kettle while you’re on your feet.

— God almighty, said Veronica. — You’d die of the thirst before you’d get up and do it yourself.

— That’s not true, said Jimmy Sr. — I’d say I’d’ve got up after a while.

The front door was opened and slammed. Jimmy Jr came in from work.

— Hoy, said Jimmy Jr.

Jimmy Sr studied him.

— Ahoy, he said. — Shiver me timbers. It’s Jim lad, me hearties. Hoy! Is there somethin’ wrong with your mouth?

— Fuck off.

— That’s better.

— Fuck off.

— Better still. Ahoy, Veronica. There’s the kettle.

— I’ll get it, said Sharon.

— Now don’t be — Only if you’re makin’ one for yourself now. Jimmy Sr looked up at Jimmy Jr. Then he sang.

— JUST A MINUTE—

THE SIXTY SECOND QUIZ—

— Fuck off.

— That’s lovely language from a DJ.

The front room door opened and they heard the music of Victor Sylvester and his orchestra.

— Ah now, said Jimmy Sr. — There’s music. Listen to tha’, wha’.

He tapped the table.

— Oh my Jaysis, said Jimmy Jr. — This is embarrassin’.

Sharon laughed. Veronica smiled. Jimmy Sr closed his eyes and nodded his head and kept tapping the table.

Linda and Tracy had danced into the hall. Sharon and Veronica went to the door to watch them.

— They’re very good, aren’t they? said Sharon. — You can nearly hear their bones clickin’ when they turn like tha’.

Jimmy Sr was impressed.

— They’re good enough for the Billie Barry kids, he said. — Too fuckin’ good.

They heard the doorbell.

Linda came running down, into the kitchen.

— Da, Mister Cantwell wants yeh.

— Cantwell? Wha’ does he want?

He stood up.

— Don’t know, said Linda.

— It must be abou’ Darren. Where is he?

— He’s out, said Veronica.

— Oh God.

Jimmy Sr dashed out to the front door. The others stayed where they were.

— Hope he’s not hurt, said Sharon.

— Shut up, for God’s sake! said Veronica.

She sat down and lined up a row of sequins.

Victor Sylvester was still playing

Jimmy Sr came back. He was pale.

— What did he want; what’s wrong?

— Wha’? said Jimmy Sr. — Oh. It wasn’t abou’ Darren. Is Leslie in?

— Don’t be stupid.

They all relaxed, except Jimmy Sr. He put a painted cement gnome on the table.

— Ah, look it, said Tracy.

— He says tha’ Leslie threw tha’ thing through his window. His, eh, drawin’ room window.

They all studied the gnome. It had a red cap and trousers and a yellow beard. Jimmy Jr laughed.

— Don’t start, said Jimmy Sr. — It’s not funny. — Would Leslie do tha’?

— Did he see him?

— No.

— Well then.

— Did he dust it for fingerprints? said Jimmy Jr.

— Wha’?—Oh yeah. No. He says he’ll let me deal with it this time but if it happens again he’ll have to get the guards. He said Leslie’s always hangin’ around outside his house. Loiterin’, he said.

— Did you not say annythin’ back? said Sharon.

— I know wha’ yeh mean, said Jimmy Sr. — I should’ve. He’s no proof. I’ll go round an’ have it ou’ with him later. On me way to the Hikers. But, he explained, — I got a terrible fuckin’ fright.

They waited for more.

— Look at its face, said Jimmy Sr.

They did.

— It’s the spit o’ George Burgess.

It was.

* * *

Darren had news for them the next day at tea time.

— Pat Burgess said his da’s after comin’ back.

Jimmy Sr put his knife and fork down.

— I knew it, he said. — I fuckin’ knew it. I told yis. When I saw tha’ gnome yoke’s face. — Where is it?

— Out on the windowsill, said Veronica.

— Well, it’s goin’ in the bin the minute I’ve liberated these fishfingers.

He shovelled one into him.

— So he’s back, he said.

He looked at Sharon.

— I don’t care, she said.

— Good girl, said Jimmy Sr. — Course yeh don’t. He’s only a bollix, isn’t tha’ righ’?

— Yeah.

* * *

Darren had more news later.

— I’ve been dropped.

He sat down on the arm of the couch and looked like he’d just seen his dog being splattered.

— From the soccer? said Jimmy Sr.

— No, said Darren.

Fuck the soccer, his face said.

— The cyclin’.

— Ah no. Why?

— Cos — cos you won’t pay for Mister Cantwell’s window an’ yeh called him names.

— I didn’t call him names, said Jimmy Sr.

— You told me you called him a little Virgin Mary, said Veronica.

— Now, Veronica. Please. — Let me talk to Darren.

Darren couldn’t stop the tears any more.

— Why won’t yeh pay him? he asked Jimmy Sr.

— Why should I? said Jimmy Sr. — Listen, Darren; he’s lookin’ for twenty-five quid an’ he doesn’t even know for definite tha’ Leslie broke the window. He only thinks he did. D’yeh expect me to cough up every time the man thinks Leslie done somethin’?

— All — all I know is—

— Ah Darren, sorry. But it’s a matter o’ principle. I can’t pay him. It’s not the money—

— It is!

— It isn’t! — It’s not the money, Darren. Fuck the money. It’s the principle o’ the thing. If he even said he saw Leslie runnin’ away I’d pay him. But Leslie says he didn’t do it an’, fuck it, I believe him.

Darren’s voice hurt Jimmy Sr.

— I’ll never get back on the team now.

Jimmy Sr thought about this. Darren was probably right. He didn’t know Cantwell but he looked like that sort of a small-minded bollix.

— We’ll form our own club.

— Wha’?

— We’ll form our own fuckin’ club, said Jimmy Sr.

He laughed and rubbed his hands and looked around him, laughing.

— You’re messin’, said Darren.

— I’m not, Darren, I can assure you. I’ve been thinkin’ that I should get involved in somethin’—for the kids — an’ the community.

— Oh my God, said Veronica.

— A cyclin’ club, Darren. Wha’ d’yeh say?

— Are yeh not messin’?

— I’m deadly serious, said Jimmy Sr. — Cross me heart, look it, an’ hope to die. You are attendin’ the inaugural meetin’ of the new cyclin’ club.

— Wha’?

— This is the club’s first meetin’.

Darren studied his da’s face.

— Ahh, rapid!

Jimmy Sr beamed.

— Is tha’ alrigh’ then? he asked.

— Ah Da; yeah. Fuckin’—sorry — brilliant!

Veronica was pretending to watch Today Tonight.

— Darren’s joined a new club, Veronica, Jimmy Sr told her.

— That’s nice.

— We’ll be wantin’ sequins on our jerseys, isn’t tha’ righ’, Darren?

— No way. — Oh yeah! Yeah.

Darren gasped, keeping the laugh in. Jimmy Sr nudged Darren. Darren nudged Jimmy Sr. Snot burst out of Darren’s nose because he was trying not to laugh, but Jimmy Sr didn’t mind. His cardigan was due a wash anyway.

Veronica flicked through the channels while the ads were on.

— How’s this for a name, Darren? — The Barrytown

Wheelies.

— Brilliant!

Darren couldn’t stay sitting any more.

— Better than the oul’ Barrytown Cyclin’ Club, wha’.

— Ah yeah!

— I’ll tell yeh wha’. Go an’ see if yeh can get a few o’ your chums to join. All o’ them. The more the merrier. We’ll poach them.

He laughed.

— That’ll teach the bollix.

Darren dashed to the door.

— You’ll never keep it up, said Veronica.

— Won’t I? said Jimmy Sr. — Who says I won’t? I’m serious abou’ this, yeh know. I’ve been doin’ a lot o’ thinkin’ these days an’, well — I’m his father an’—

Darren jumped back in.

— Da.

— Yes, Darren?

— Can girls be in the club?

Jimmy Sr looked at Darren. He wanted to give him the right answer. He guessed.

— Yeah — probably.

— Rapid! Thanks.

Darren was gone again. Jimmy Sr turned back to Veronica.

— That’s mah boy, he said.

— Are you crying?

— No, I amn’t! — Jaysis! — It’s the smoke.

— What smoke?

— Fuck off an’ stop annoyin’ me.

* * *

Sharon was passing her before she saw her. She’d been too busy thinking about wanting to get out; she felt really squashed in and surrounded and sticky. Then she saw her and before she had time even to say, Jesus, it’s her, she said — Hiyeh, Yvonne.

Yvonne Burgess saw who it was. She turned back quickly and continued to flick through the rack of skirts.

Sharon stayed for a second, half deciding to force Yvonne to talk to her.

Yvonne spoke.

— Terrible smell in here, isn’t there, Mary?

Sharon then saw that Mary Curran — she hadn’t seen her in months — was on the other side of the rack. She wasn’t exactly hiding but that was what she was doing all the same.

Mary didn’t say anything.

Sharon stood there a bit more, then went on.

She heard Yvonne again, louder.

— They shouldn’t let prostitutes in here, sure they shouldn’t, Mary?

Sharon grinned.

God help her, she thought. She couldn’t blame her really. At least she hadn’t tried to beat her up or anything. That Mary one was a right cow though, pretending she hadn’t seen her.

Spotty bitch. Even Mister Burgess wouldn’t have gone near her.

* * *

— What’s tha’ shite? said Jimmy Sr. — What’s tha’ under the hedge there? — A hedgehog, is it? The head on it, wha’.

— It’s David Attenborough.

— It looks like a hedgehog, said Jimmy Sr.

They laughed.

— It’s abou’ hedgehogs, said Sharon. — Wildlife On One.

— Ah yeah. Jaysis, look at him! The speed of him. Where’s the remote till we hear wha’ David’s sayin’.

— Oh look it, said Sharon. — There’s two o’ them now.

Jimmy Jr came in.

— Typical, said Jimmy Sr. — Walkin’ in just when the nookie’s startin’.

Jimmy Jr sat down, on the other side of Sharon.

— What’s thot? he said.

— A hudgehog, said Jimmy Sr. — Two hudgehogs. Roidin’.

— Fuck off.

— Keep your feet up there, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr. — You’ll get cramps.

— I’m goin’ to the toilet.

— Oh, fair enough. — So that’s how they do it. That’s very clever all the same. Off he goes again, look it. Back into the hedge. Didn’t even say goodbye or thanks or ann’thin’. That’s nature for yeh.

Jimmy Jr was bored. He didn’t like nature programmes or things like that. But he wanted to talk to Sharon so he stayed where he was.

Jimmy Sr sniffed.

— Are you wearin’ perfume?

— Fuck off.

Sharon came back and sat between the Jimmys.

— Feet up, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr. — That’s righ’.

— Come here, said Jimmy Jr.

But Jimmy Sr got to her first.

— Only a few more weeks to go now, wha’.

— Yeah, said Sharon.

— Sharon, said Jimmy Jr.

— Wha’?

— Do us a favour, will yeh.

— I was just lookin’ at your, eh, stomach there, Jimmy Sr told Sharon. — It’s movin’ all over the place.

— Wha’? Sharon asked Jimmy Jr.

— I can’t tell yeh here—

— Do you mind! said Jimmy Sr.

— Wha’? said Jimmy Jr.

— I was talkin’ to Sharon.

Jimmy Jr leaned out so he could see past Sharon.

— So?

— So fuck off. Go upstairs an’ spin your discs.

Sharon was laughing.

Jimmy Sr was looking at his watch. He stood up.

— You’ve got three minutes, he said. — I’ll check an’ see if Veronica’s fixed Darren’s jersey yet.

— Did he crash again?

— No. The fuckin’ dog was swingin’ off it when it was on the line.

He was gone. Jimmy Jr stood up and shut the door.

— I’ve a gig in a few weeks; Soturday, he told Sharon.

— Stop talkin’ like tha’, will yeh.

— I’m tryin’ to get used to it.

— It makes yeh sound like a fuckin’ eejit.

— Here maybe, but not on the radio, said Jimmy.

— Anywhere, said Sharon.

— The lessons cost me forty fuckin’ quid, said Jimmy.

— You were robbed, said Sharon. — Yeh sound like a dope. — Roight?

— Fuck up a minute. I’ve a gig on, Soh-Saturday fortnight.

— Wha’ gig?

— On the radio, said Jimmy.

She looked as if she didn’t believe him.

— The community radio. You know. — Andy Dudley’s garage.

— Tha’!

— Yeah; tha’!

Sharon roared.

— Don’t start, said Jimmy. — Wacker Mulcahy — he calls himself Lee Bradley on Saturdays — he has to do best man at his brother’s weddin’. So Andy said I can have his slot.

— His wha’?

— His slot.

— That’s disgustin’.

— Oh yeah.

They both laughed.

— Annyway, listen.

He switched on his new accent.

— Hoy there, you there, out there. This is Jommy Robbitte, Thot’s Rockin’ Robbitte, with a big fot hour of the meanest, hottest, baddest sounds arouuund; yeahhh. — How’s tha’?

— Thick.

— Fuckin’ thanks.

— No, it’s good. Rockin’ Rabbitte, I like tha’.

— Do yeh? — I was thinkin’ o’ callin’ meself Gary — eh, Gary Breeze.

Sharon had a hankie in her sleeve and she got it to her nose just in time.

— I’ll stick to Rockin’ Rabbitte, will I? said Jimmy.

He grinned. Sharon nodded.

— Yeah.

Jimmy Sr was back.

— Hop it.

— Righ’. Thanks, Sharon.

Jimmy Jr left.

— Was he annoyin’ yeh? said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah no.

— You’ve enough on your plate withou’ that eejit hasslin’ yeh. — Righ’. Annyway, Sharon, what I wanted to say was: how’re yeh feelin’?

— Grand.

— You’re not nervous or worried or ann’thin’?

— No, she lied. — Not really.

— Three weeks.

— Twenty days.

— That’s righ’.—I’ve been thinkin’ a bit, said Jimmy Sr. — An’, well; if yeh want I’ll—

The twins charged in, just like the cavalry.

— Daddy, said Linda. — Mister Reeves says you’re to hurry up an’ he says if we get you ou’ of the house in a minute he’ll give us a pound.

Jimmy Sr patted Sharon’s leg.

— I’ll get back to yeh abou’ tha’, he said.

— Okay, said Sharon.

About what? she wondered.

— Righ’, girls, said Jimmy Sr. — Let’s get this pound off o’ Bimbo.

That left Sharon alone. She laughed a bit, then closed her eyes.

* * *

She didn’t wait at her usual bus-stop, across from work. She kept going, around the corner to the stop with the shelter. There was no one else there.

She couldn’t stop crying. She wasn’t trying to stop.

She leaned her back against the shelter ad. She gulped, and let herself slide down to the ground. She fell the last bit. She didn’t know how she’d get up again. She didn’t care.

She gulped, and gulped, and cried.

* * *

Sharon tried to explain it to Veronica.

— I’m sick of it, she said.

She tried harder.

— I hate it, watchin’ the oul’ ones countin’ their twopences out o’ their purses an’ lookin’ at yeh as if you were goin’ to rob them. An’ listenin’ to them complainin’ abou’ the weather an’ the prices o’ things.

Her mother was still looking hard.

— And anyway, said Sharon. — Me back’s really killin’ me these days an’ I’m always wantin’ to go to the toilet an’—

She was crying.

— tha’ bastard Moloney is always houndin’ me. He’s only a shelf stacker in a suit, an’ Gerry Dempsey — prick! — he put his arm round me. In front of everyone, an’ he said to give him a shout if I was havin’ anny more babies. — An’

I’m sick of it an’ I’m not goin’ back. I don’t care!

Veronica wanted to go around to Sharon and hold her but—

— Sharon, love, she said. — A job’s a job. Could you not wait—

— I don’t care, I’m not goin’. You can’t make me.

Veronica let it go.

— You’d love to make me go back, wouldn’t yeh? said

Sharon. — Well, I’m not goin’ to. I don’t care. — All you care abou’ is the money.

Veronica got out of the kitchen. She sat on the bed in her room.

* * *

— Yeh did righ’, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah — well—

— No; you were dead righ’.

— It was just — Sharon started; then stopped.

— I shouldn’t have paid any attention to them, she said. — I’d only the rest of the week to go anyway. I’ll go back tomorrow an’—

— You won’t, said Jimmy Sr. — If yeh don’t want to.

— Sure, me maternity leave; I’ve three months off after Saturday annyway.

— Well, you’ve the rest o’ your life off if yeh want it, wha’.

— Wha’ abou’ Mammy?

— Your mammy’s grand, said Jimmy Sr. — She doesn’t want you to go back there if you don’t want to either. She was just a bit worried abou’ you havin’ no job after you have the baby — but — She’s grand. She doesn’t want you to go in an’ be treated like tha’—by thicks.

— Ah — said Sharon.

She’d been thinking about it.

— They ARE fuckin’ thick, she said. — If he’d said it — half an hour earlier even I’d’ve told him to feck off or I’d’ve laughed or — But when he said it — an’ they all started laughin’, I just — If he said it now—

— We’d feed the bits of him to the dog, wha’.

— Yeah.

— You’re not goin’ back so.

It was sort of a question.

— No.

— Good.

— I’d like to go back just — An’ walk ou’ properly, yeh know?

— I do, yeah. — The lady o’ leisure, wha’.

— Yeah.

— Wish I was.

* * *

— Ah fuck this, said Jimmy Sr.

He let go of the lawn-mower. He looked at his palms. He was sure he’d ripped the skin off them. But, no, it was still there, and bit redder but alright. That meant he’d have to keep going.

— Fuck it, he said.

Jimmy Sr was cutting the grass, the front. Last night Bimbo had called Jimmy Sr’s house Vietnam because of the state of the front garden. Jimmy Sr had laughed. But when Bimbo told him that everyone called it that Jimmy Sr’d said, Enough; fuck it, he’d cut the grass tomorrow, the cunts.

— Give us a lend o’ your lawn-mower, Bimbo, he’d said.

— No way, Bimbo’d said.

— Ah go on, he’d said, — for fuck sake. I’ll give it back to yeh this time.

— Okay, Bimbo’d said.

— Good man, he’d said.

So here he was trying to cut the grass. In November.

— Fuck Bimbo, he said to himself.

The grass was too long for the mower. And it was damp, so the mower kept skidding. He’d have to get the shears to it first. Bimbo’d insisted that he take the shears as well when he’d called for the mower. That was why he said Fuck Bimbo.

He’d have to get down on his hunkers now. But it had to be done.

He was a changed man, a new man. That trouble a while back with Sharon had given him an awful fright and, more important, it had made him feel like a right useless oul’ bollix. He’d done a lot of thinking since then. And a lot of reading, and looking at pictures. Those little foetuses all curled up — with their fingers, and the lot.

There was more to life than drinking pints with your mates. There was Veronica, his wife, and his children. Some of his own sperms had gone into making them so, fuck it, he was responsible for them. But, my Jaysis, he’d made one poxy job of it so far. Bimbo’d said he was being too hard on himself; his kids were grand, but Jimmy Sr’d said that that was just good luck and Veronica because he’d had nothing to do with it. But from now on it was going to be different. Darren and Linda and Tracy, and even Leslie, were still young enough, and then there’d be Sharon’s little snapper as well. A strong active man in the house, a father figure, would be vital for Sharon’s snapper.

— Vital, Bimbo. Vital.

— Oh God, yes, Bimbo’d agreed.

So cutting the grass was important. The new short grass would be a sort of announcement: there’s a new man living in this house, so fuck off and mind your own business.

Jimmy Sr looked at the garden. For a small garden it grew a terrible lot of grass. The Corporation should have cut it; he’d always said it. But they were useless.

It was up to him.

He chose a spot to put his knees. It looked soft.

There was a problem but. Any minute now Darren would come flying around the corner, down the road and past the house and he’d be expecting Jimmy Sr to shout out how long the lap had taken him. Because, as well as cutting the grass, Jimmy Sr was training the Barrytown Wheelies Under 14 squad; Darren and three of his pals. They had a team time trial at the weekend and Darren had said that they’d have to be ready and Jimmy Sr agreed with him. So he had them doing laps of the estate, and he was pretending to time them. He was only pretending because he couldn’t get the hang of the stop-watch Bertie’d got him. He couldn’t admit this to the team because it would’ve been bad for morale. The last thing a new, breakaway, very keen team needed to know was that their manager couldn’t operate the stop-watch.

He’d wait till they cycled past, then he’d do a few minutes shearing and he’d be waiting for them when they came around again.

He leaned on the wall and held the stop-watch ready. It looked like an easy enough yoke to use. He was sure it was. He’d bring it up to the Hikers and see if one of the lads could figure it out.

— How’s it goin’, Mister Rabbitte?

Jimmy Sr looked. It was one of Jimmy Jr’s pals, Mickah Wallace.

— Howyeh, Mick, said Jimmy Sr. — He’s upstairs doin’ his DJin’. Or shavin’ his legs or somethin’. No fear of him givin’ me a hand here an’ annyway, that’s for fuckin’ certain.

— Wha’; holdin’ the wall up?

— Wha’—No. No; I’m cuttin’ the grass. Hang on, here they come.

Darren was first. He came out of Chestnut Drive onto Chestnut Avenue. He was slowing but he still had to go up on the far path to get a wide enough angle to turn. Then he was through two parked cars, back onto the road and across to the proper side and towards Jimmy Sr and Mickah, picking up speed again. Two more followed Darren across the road, onto the path. One of them got too close to the wall and must have scraped his knee. The last lad was on an ordinary bike, the poor little sap. No gears or nothing. Jimmy Sr would’ve loved to have got him a proper bike, if he’d had the money. But he didn’t have it. And anyway, he was the manager. He had to be ruthless. If he didn’t have gears he’d just have to pedal faster. He was part of a team.

Darren raced past him. Jimmy Sr stared at the stopwatch. He pressed one of the black twirly knobs at the top.

He roared.

— Thirteen seconds faster! Good man, Darren!

But Darren was gone.

— Thirteen seconds up, lads! Good lads!

Mickah admired their yellow jerseys. They had The Hiker’s Rest — Pub Grub printed across the backs.

The last one, Eric Rickard, was suffering.

— Come on, Paddy Last, Jimmy Sr roared as Eric came up to them. — Catch up with him. Come on.

His face was white. His legs weren’t really long enough for the bike. He had to shift from side to side as he pedalled. The bollix must’ve been torn off him.

But he was pedalling away like bejaysis.

— Good lad, good man, good man. — Poor little fucker.

Mickah was laughing. He’d enjoyed all that.

— The hurlin’ helmets look deadly, he said.

— Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. — Your man, the Hikers’ manager, bought them for us as well. One for me even as well.

— Fair play. Jimmy’s inside an’ anyway?

— Yeah. Spinnin’ the discs.

Jimmy Sr looked down at the grass.

— Fuckin’ hell.

He was bending his knees experimentally.

— Wish I was younger.

Mickah was still there.

— A good bit younger, said Mickah.

— Fuck off, you, said Jimmy Sr. — He’s up in his room. Go on ahead in.

Jimmy Sr got down on his knees.

— Oh, bollix to it.

Mickah stood there with his hands in his pockets, his head tilted a bit to one side.

— Wha’? said Jimmy Sr.

— Just lookin’.

— Are you actin’ the prick?

— No! No; it’s just I’ve never seen yeh doin’ annythin’ before, yeh know. Can I watch?

— Fuck off ou’ o’ tha’. It’s hard enough without havin’ bollixes like you gawkin’ at—

— Watch ou’!

Darren was coming.

Jimmy Sr got up and ran to the wall.

— Seven seconds down, Darren! Seven seconds! Come on now. — Come on, lads; yis’re laggin’ behind. Nine seconds down. Come on now. Good lads. One last drive. Come on.

There was no sign of Eric. Jimmy Sr turned back to Mickah.

— Tha’ was close.

Mickah ran around Jimmy Sr and ducked in behind the wall. Jimmy Sr looked around, and saw George Burgess coming down his path to the gate. Then Mickah started singing.

— OH — TIE A YELLOW RIBBON—

ROUND THE OLD OAK TREE—

George looked over at Jimmy Sr.

— Don’t look at me, Burgess!

— IT’S BEEN THREE LONG YEARS—

DO YEH STILL WANT ME—

DA RAH DA RAH-

Jimmy Sr held up the shears.

— Yeh know wha’ I’d like to do with these, Burgess, don’t yeh?

— Go on, Mister Rabbitte, said Mickah, still crouched behind the wall. — Have him ou’. Go on. I’ll back yeh up.

Eric cycled by.

— Good man, Eric! Good man, son. One more now, one more, then we’ll call it a day. Good lad. — Hope he doesn’t die on us.

George kept walking. He didn’t look back. Mickah stood up. They both looked at George walking down Chestnut Avenue.

— You SHOULD knock the shite ou’ of him though, Mickah told Jimmy Sr.

— Why? said Jimmy Sr. — He didn’t do annythin’ to me.

Mickah thought about this. He studied Jimmy Sr carefully.

— Maybe he didn’t, he said. — But yeh should still give him a hidin’.

— Why?

— Cos you’d beat him.

Jimmy Sr got down on his knees at the edge of the grass.

— That’s why I couldn’t be bothered, he said. — Jaysis, look it!

— Wha’?

Jimmy Sr held up a well mauled and weathered ten pound note.

— Nice one, said Mickah.

— It was in the grass, said Jimmy Sr. — Just there. That’s gas.

He stood up.

— What’re yeh goin’ to do with it? Mickah asked him.

— Well, said Jimmy Sr. — I’m goin’ to give five of it to Leslie. After he’s cut this fuckin’ grass.

— Good thinkin’, said Mickah.

— An’ maybe a nice set o’ handlebars for poor Eric.

— Ah, said Mickah. — Nice one.

* * *

Sharon got Linda to open the window a bit before she went down for her breakfast. Now she was alone in the bedroom. She sat up against all the pillows, and listened. The room was at the back of the house but she could still hear enough. She’d heard about five cars starting, including her daddy’s — it always coughed before it got going. She could hear kids shouting, going into the school. She heard a front door slamming, and back ones — the sound was different. But best of all was the clicking of heels. That meant girls dashing to work, and she wasn’t one of them.

It was brilliant. She’d been doing this every morning since she’d given up work.

She didn’t care much about the money. The pay had been useless anyway. She’d be getting her allowance after the baby was born and her daddy was going to give her some money every week, once he’d sorted it out with her mammy. She’d only have to stay in the house a bit more often and she’d be doing that anyway because of the baby. So it was great.

Her back wasn’t hurting her that much. The baby’s head had settled and sometimes it felt like she wasn’t pregnant any more. But never for long. She was dry and clean. She was nice and tired. She wanted to go to the toilet but not enough yet to get up. She was going to read a bit of her book, Lace II — it was a bit thick but she liked it and she liked being able to get through the pages fast. Then she’d go down and have her breakfast. She’d see if she could get her mammy to come out for a walk or something. She’d watch a bit of telly as well; there’d be videos on Sky and Super.

She couldn’t make her mind up about the name. Fiona or Lorraine; she liked them. Mark, if it was a boy. Or maybe James. Her daddy would love that. But then he might take over the baby, the way he was these days. And there’d be three Jimmys in the house. She didn’t know.

It had gone quiet outside. There were no cars. Everyone was gone.

Her belly button was like a real button now; inside out. She didn’t like it that way. It felt dangerous.

She heard something; someone was running and wheezing, and the steps weren’t very fast. The wheezing must have been really bad if she could hear it from the back of the house. And now it was raining again. She hoped it was Mister Burgess out there. Not really though.

It was nice.

But she still couldn’t stop worrying. It could happen any time. She was having these — painless contractions the book called them — all the time, now and again, but they weren’t really painless at all because they made her really nervous because the next one might be painful, and she waited and waited for the next one until she ached.

She got up. She wanted to be in the kitchen.

* * *

— Oh Jesus! said Sharon.

— What’s wrong? said Jimmy Sr.

He jumped up off the couch.

— Is it comin’, is it?

— No, said Sharon.

She shifted, to get the cushions behind her again.

— Sorry. I was just fallin’ asleep an’ I didn’t know it, em — Sorry.

Jimmy Sr looked disappointed. He sat down, but he was ready to get up again.

— Yeh can’t be too careful abou’ this sort o’ thing, he said.

Veronica climbed out of the armchair and stood up.

— We don’t want you bursting your waters all over the furniture, isn’t that right, Jimmy dear? They’re new covers.

She went out, into the kitchen.

Jimmy Sr sat there, appalled. That was the dirtiest, foulest thing he’d heard in his life. And his wife had said it!

Sharon was laughing.

— Jaysis, Sharon, I’m sorry, said Jimmy Sr. — Tha’ was a terrible thing for Veronica to say. Terrible.

— Ah, stop it, said Sharon. — She was only jokin.

— No, no, said Jimmy Sr. — There’s jokin’ an’ jokin’ but tha’ was no fuckin’ joke. I’m just glad the twins weren’t here to hear it.

— Ah Daddy!

— No, Sharon, Jimmy Sr insisted. — This is no laughin’ matter.

He pointed at Sharon’s belly.

— Do yeh not realize tha’ there’s a livin’ bein’ in there? he said. — A livin’—thing.

— Ah, feck off, Daddy. Cop on.

— Don’t start tha’ raisin’ your eyes to heaven shite with me. An’ don’t start chewin’ tha’ fuckin’ celery when I’m talkin’ to yeh.

Sharon tapped Jimmy Sr on the head with her celery.

— Yes, Daddy.

She gulped.

— The livin’ bein’ in here is givin’ me terrible fuckin’ indigestion, she said.

— That’s cos your stomach’s flattened, Jimmy Sr told her. — Yeh prob’ly ate too much.

— I didn’t.

— Yeh should only eat small amounts.

— Ah, shag off.

— It looks like there’s only one person takin’ this thing seriously, an’ that’s me.

— Excuse me! said Sharon. — I am takin’ it seriously. I’m the one carryin’ it around with me all the time.

— You’re gettin’ snotty now cos o’ your hormones, Jimmy Sr told her. — I’ll talk to yeh later.

Sharon laughed at this.

— There’s nothin’ wrong with my hormones.

— I didn’t say there was annythin’ wrong with them, said Jimmy Sr. — No, there’s nothin’ wrong. As such. Wrong’s the wrong word. Imbalance is the term I’d use.

— Thanks very much, Doctor Rabbitte.

— Fuck off.

Then he grinned. Then he stopped grinning, and coughed.

— When, he said. — When your mammy — Times have changed, d’yeh know tha’?

Sharon smiled.

— When your mammy was havin’ Jimmy I was in work. An’ when she was havin’ you I was in me mother’s. When she had Leslie I was inside in town, in Conways, yeh know, with the lads. The Hikers wasn’t built then. For Darren, I was — I can’t remember. The twins, I was in the Hikers.

— You’ve a great memory.

— Nowadays the husbands are there with the women, said Jimmy Sr. — That’s much better, I think. I’d—

He scratched his leg.

— Because he can hold her hand an’ help her, an’ encourage her, yeh know, an’ see his child bein’ born.

There wasn’t even a car going past. The pipes upstairs weren’t making any noise.

— Sharon, I’ll — Only if yeh want now — I wouldn’t mind stayin’ with you when — you’re havin’ it.

— Ah no.

— Okay.

* * *

— Stop pushin’ her, will yeh!

Sharon and Jackie were in Howth, on stools at the bar. It was busy and getting busier.

— I’m tryin’ to get tha’ prick of a barman to serve me, said the young fella in the black polo neck and glowing dandruff who’d pushed Sharon’s back. He was wedged between Sharon and one of the poles that held up the ceiling, on his toes and clicking his fingers.

— Look at her condition, will yeh, said Jackie.

He did, still clicking his fingers.

— She doesn’t look tha’ bad, he said.

— She’s pregnant, yeh fuckin’ sap.

— Fuck, sorry!

— Yeah; so yeh should be. — I’ll get the barman for yeh. Raymond!

Raymond was there before she’d finished calling him.

— Yeah?

— He wants yeh.

— Oh. — Yeah?

— He fancies yeh, said Sharon.

— I know, said Jackie. — He nearly dribbles all over me. Did yeh see him there? His fuckin’ tongue was hangin’ ou’.

She copied Raymond.

— Yeah? Yeah? Yeah?

Sharon laughed.

— Ah stop. He’s not tha’ bad.

— I suppose he isn’t. He’s still a spa though.

Sharon laughed again.

— You’re a terrible fuckin’ wagon, Jackie. — I’m pissed.

— So am I, said Jackie. — Raymond!

— Yeah?

— Same again, chicken.

— Yeah.

He ran over to the optics.

— Yeah, said Jackie.

She lifted herself up a bit so she could see all of Raymond.

— He’s got a nice arse on him all the same.

She sat down again.

— Pity abou’ the rest of him.

— I’m pissed, Jackie, said Sharon.

— So am I, said Jackie.

Sharon looked down.

— I shouldn’t be doin’ this.

— Wha’?

— Drinkin’.

— Ah, don’t be thick, Sharon. Yeh need to get pissed now an’ again. There’s no harm in it.

— Yeah, said Sharon.

She tried to sit up.

— Thank you, Raymond, said Jackie. — You’re the best little barman in the world.

— An’ the best lookin’, said Sharon.

— Oh def’ny, said Jackie.

Raymond grinned and blushed and dropped tenpence into Jackie’s glass, and decided not to try and get it out after he’d already put two of his fingers into the vodka.

— I want another one, said Jackie. — I’m not takin’ tha’.

— Okay, said Raymond. — Sorry abou’ tha’.

He went over to the optics, got the tenpence out, filled a new glass, but left it on the counter and brought Jackie back her old one.

— There, he said.

— Thank you, Raymond. I’ll have my change now. If you don’t mind.

— Oh yeah.

Sharon couldn’t stop laughing. Her hand shook when she poured the Coke in on top of the vodka.

— Thank you very much, Raymond, said Jackie when Raymond came back with the tenpence. — Better late than never.

Sharon pushed the tears off her nose.

— Is me mascara alrigh’? she asked.

— Ah yeah, said Jackie. — Yeh’d want to be lookin’.

— Me back’s fuckin’ killin’ me. We shouldn’t’ve sitten here. I need somethin’ to lean against.

— The pole, said Jackie.

— Yeah, said Sharon.

She came down off her stool.

— Jesus! — God, I’m pissed, d’yeh know tha’.

She straightened up.

— Jesus.

She picked up the stool.

–’Xcuse me. Out o’ me way.

She shoved the stool between the bar and a man who was waiting at it, and reached the pole. Jackie followed her. They got back onto the stools. Sharon leaned back. The pole was cold through her clothes.

— That’s lovely.

— What’re YOU lookin’ at? Jackie asked a spotty young fella.

— Nothin’!

— Better not be. — Where’s me drink? Jesus, I’m finished already.

— My turn, said Sharon.

She knocked back the rest of hers.

— You call him, okay? she said to Jackie.

— Raymond!

— Same again?

— Yeah, said Jackie. — Yeah.

— Oh fuh-fuck, said Sharon. — I’ve got the hic-coughs.

She put her hand on her chest, to feel for any approaching hiccups.

— Jesus, I’m scuttered. — They’re gone.

— Wha’?

— The hi-hi — Fuck it, they’re back.

There was a new song on the jukebox.

— Oh, I love this one, said Jackie.

— Yeah, said Sharon. — He’s a ride, isn’t he?

— He is, yeah, said Jackie. — A riyed! I’d love to dig me nails—

— Talkin’ abou’ rides, lo-look who’s behind yeh, Jackie. Don’t turn.

But she’d turned already.

— Where?

— There.

— Where!

— There. Look it, yeh blind bitch. Beside your woman.

— Who is it? — Oh Jesus Christ!

It was Greg, Jackie’s ex, the fella she’d blown out in the ILAC Centre because the cream in his eclair had gone missing.

Jackie turned back and faced the bar.

— Is he lookin’ this way?

— Yeah, said Sharon. — He’s seen yeh. Oh Jesus, he’s comin’ over, Jackie.

— I won’t talk to him, I don’t care. I fuckin’ won’t.

— He’s takin’ somethin’ ou’ of his trousers. Oh my God, Jackie!

Jackie had copped on by now. She turned and saw the back of Greg’s head way over on the other side of the lounge.

— You’re a fuckin’ cunt, Rabbitte.

She hoped she hadn’t sounded too disappointed. She laughed with Sharon, just in case.

— I think I’m goin’ to be sick, said Sharon.

Her face was really white.

— Oh Jesus, said Jackie. — Come on.

She slid off her stool.

Sharon shook her head.

— I won’t make it.

She grabbed her bag from the counter. She unclasped and opened it quickly. It wasn’t a big bag but she got as much of her head as she could into it; her chin, her mouth and her nose. Then she puked. It was a quick rush of vodka and Coke and a few little things. Then up with her head and she shut the bag.

Jackie gave her a paper hankie. She wiped her mouth and opened the bag a bit and threw the tissue in on top of the vodka and the rest. She held the bag up.

— It should hold, she said. — I’ll bring it ou’ and empty it in a minute.

They both laughed. Sharon felt much better already. She gave herself a test burp: grand; there was no taste off it or anything.

— Did annyone see me? she said.

— Yeah, said Jackie. — I think so. Your man there, look. He was lookin’ at yeh.

— Him? Specky Features? I wouldn’t mind him.

— You were very fast, said Jackie.

— There wasn’t tha’ much, said Sharon.

They drank to it. The vodka put up no fight going down. Sharon relaxed. She dropped the bag onto the floor.

— Squelch, said Jackie.

— I’m fuckin’ pissed.

— Hiyis.

Mary Curran was standing between them.

— Mary! said Jackie. — Howyeh.

— Hiyis, said Mary. — Haven’t seen yis in ages.

— Yeh saw me a few weeks ago, said Sharon.

— When, Sharon?

— You know fuckin’ well when, Mary. In Dunnes with Yvonne.

— I didn’t see yeh, Sharon.

— Yeh did so.

— I didn’t Sharon; when?

— Ah, who cares when? said Jackie. — Yeh see each other now, don’t yis?

— Yeah — Well—

— Jesus, Sharon, sorry.

— Yeah. — Sorry for shoutin’ at yeh.

— Your hair’s lovely, Mary, said Jackie.

— Yeah, said Sharon.

— Thanks. How are yeh, Sharon, an’ annyway?

— Alrigh’, said Sharon. — Grand.

— She’s pissed, said Jackie.

— Fuck off, you. I am not.

— You look fabulous, Mary told Sharon.

— Thanks.

— When’re yeh due?

— Monday.

— Jesus, that’s brilliant.

— But it’ll be late prob’ly.

— Yeh must be thrilled, are yeh?

— Ah yeah.

They were struggling, but they tried.

— Who’re yeh with, Mary? said Sharon.

— A fella.

— Who?

— You know him, Jackie. Greg.

Sharon looked at Jackie.

— Does he still like eclairs? said Jackie.

— Pardon?

— Nothin’. Tell him I was askin’ for him, will yeh.

— Yeah. — I’d better go back.

— Yeah. See yeh, Mary.

— See yeh, Jackie. See yeh, Sharon. I’ll come in to see yeh when you’re in the hospital.

— Thanks. See yeh.

— See yeh, Mary. Bye bye. — Yeh fuckin’ cow yeh.

She’s a titless bitch, isn’t she?

They laughed.

— I never liked her, said Jackie.

— Jesus, I’m pissed.

— My turn, said Jackie. — Raymond!

— Yeah? Same again?

— S’il vous plait.

— Yeah.

— Yeah. — Wha’ did yeh think of her fuckin’ hair?

Sharon slid off the stool, and nearly fell.

— I’m goin’ home, she said.

— Are yeh alrigh’?

— Yeah, I think — I’d better go home.

Jackie picked up their bags.

— Come on, she said.

* * *

She was afraid to close her eyes. She didn’t want to get sick again. She was glad she was home. She wouldn’t go out again, even if the baby was weeks late.

Even in the taxi, before it moved even, she knew that nothing was going to happen. But she didn’t tell Jackie that. She just wanted to get home. She’d sort of panicked; thought she’d felt something, a real contraction or something, and the heat and the smoke and the crowds got to her and she had to get out of the pub and come home. She’d been sick twice since she got home but she wasn’t going to be again. As well as that though, she’d wanted to go to the toilet really badly, like she had the runs, but she hadn’t gone nearly as much as she thought she’d needed to but she still felt like she wanted to go, and that was supposed to be a sign that the labour would be starting soon, so it was just as well that she was here at home.

Could it start when you were asleep? she wondered. She’d wake up. Wouldn’t she? Anyway, she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep. She was terrified.

She’d felt better the minute she got into the taxi. The driver had been nice, telling them he was going to charge them for three because of the size of Sharon. And Jackie told him to hurry up or he’d be charging for three alright, and paying for the cleaning. It’d been nice. And then when Sharon opened her bag to pay him!.

She wished she’d someone to talk to.

It was going to hurt. Jesus, it was like waiting to be stabbed, knowing for definite you were going to be, but not when, only soon. It wasn’t fair. It was cruel. She’d never do this to anyone.

* * *

— They’re a bit smelly, Jimmy Sr admitted. — But they’re not too bad.

He threw the jerseys on the floor.

— Are yeh alrigh’, Sharon?

— Yeah.

— Sure?

— Yeah!

— Are yeh constipated at all?

— Lay off, Daddy, will yeh.

— Fair enough. I was only askin’.

— Well, don’t.

— Tea, said Jimmy Sr.

He went over to the kettle and looked at it. — You get the water from the tap, said Veronica, who’d just come in. — Ha ha, said Jimmy Sr. He put the kettle under the tap, and sang.

— OH YEH-HESS—

I’M THE GREAT PRE-TE-HENDER—

DO DOO — DO DOO — DO—

The twins came barging in the back door. They had their dancing dresses on under their anoraks.

— There’s the girls, said Jimmy Sr. — How ’d yis get on, girls?

— We didn’t come last, Tracy told them.

— Course yeh didn’t, said Jimmy Sr. — We didn’t either. Darren, eh, acquitted himself very well. An’ buckled his wheel.

— Teresa Kelly’s shoe broke an’ she fell, said Linda.

— Yeah, said Tracy. — An’ she said somethin’ rude an’ they disqualified her.

— Yeah, an’ her ma dragged her—

— Mammy!

— Her mammy dragged her ou’ an’ yeh could hear her dress rippin’.

Jimmy Sr laughed. He switched the kettle on.

— There. — Poor Teresa.

— We hate her, said Linda.

— Course yeh do, said Jimmy Sr. — When’s the big one? Next week, is it?

— Yeah.

— We’ll all have to go to tha’.

— You’re not to, said Linda. — Only if yeh want to.

— You can hold our coats an’ our handbags, said Tracy.

— Thanks very much, said Jimmy Sr.

— What handbags? said Veronica.

— Missis McPartland says we’ve to have—

— No!

— Ah now, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. — Maybe Santy’ll come a bit early.

— Ah, no way, said Linda. — I don’t want a handbag from Santy.

— We’ll see wha’ happens.

Sharon had gone upstairs for her radio. She had it ready.

— Listen, she said.

She turned it on. Alexander O’Neal was singing Fake.

— Wha’? said Jimmy Sr.

— Shut up an’ listen a minute, said Sharon.

Fake was ending. Then they heard him.

— THOT WAS OLEXONDER O’NEAL WITH FAKE. THERE’S NOTHIN’ FAKE ABOUT THIS ONE. HERE’S THE GODFATHER OF SOUL. — JAMES BROWN, YIS SIMPLEHEADS YIS.

James Brown sang Living in America. Sharon turned it down.

— Was tha’ Jimmy? said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah, said Sharon.

— Was it, Sharon? said Tracy.

— Yeah.

— Janey.

— Jimmy on the radio.

— Wha’ station is it? Jimmy Sr asked.

— Radio 2, Sharon lied.

— Go ’way. Jimmy?

— Yeah. He’s fillin’ in for someone on their holidays.

— Go ’way. — Jimmy, wha’. Turn it up.

He listened to James Brown.

— We’re some family all the same, wha’.

He smiled at Veronica, and nodded at the radio.

— Cyclin’,—dancin’, DJin on the radio. Havin’ babies.

— Y’alrigh’, Sharon?

— Yeah—

She looked shocked, and scared.

— I think I’m startin’.

— Sure?

— Yeah. — Yeah.

— Up yeh go, girls, an’ get Sharon’s bag for her, said Jimmy Sr.

— Are yeh havin’ the baby, Sharon?

— Get up!

— And — Ah! — an’ me toothbrush, Tracy.

— ROIGHT. ROCKIN’ ROBBITTE COMIN’ AT YOUUU, FILLIN’ IN FOR LEE BRADLEY. HOW’S YOUR WEEKEND GOIN’?—TOUGH.

— We’re some family alrigh’, said Jimmy Sr.

He grinned at Sharon.

— Come on, Sharon.

— THIS ONE’S FOR ANTO AN’ GILLIAN WHO WERE SNARED BEHIND THE CLINIC LAST NIGHT BY FATHER MOLLOY. YEOW, ANTO!

Jimmy Sr was out starting the car, so he didn’t hear that bit.

* * *

— The lights are turnin’ green for us, look it, said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah.

— That’s the second one. Must be a good sign, wha’.

— Yeah.

— Soon be over.

— Yeah.

— Don’t worry, love. — God, wait’ll yeh have it in your arms, wha’. Jaysis, women have all the luck. — Y’alrigh’?

— Yeah.

— Good girl. Don’t hold the handle so tight there, Sharon. You might fall ou’.

— Sorry.

— No problem. — Shite; they’ve turned red up here.

Can’t expect them all to be green, I suppose.

He slowed the car, then gripped Sharon’s hand.

— Good girl. It’s only the oul’ cervix dilatin’.—It could happen to a bishop, wha’.

He got the car going again.

— Here, Sharon. Look it; here’s me watch. Yeh can time the contractions so you’ll be able to tell them when we get there. They’ll be impressed. — Oh, God help yeh. Sit back, Sharon, good girl. Take deep breaths, good girl. Good deep breaths. That’s wha’ I always do, wha’.

He was going to turn on the radio.

— Let’s listen to Jimmy.

— He’d be over by now.

— Ah well. He was very good, wasn’t he? — Did yeh time tha’ one, Sharon?

— Ye-yeah. — Thirty-seven seconds, — abou’.

— That’s grand, said Jimmy Sr. — Nearly there now. Summerhill, look it. Straight down now an’ we’re there. Green again up here, look it.

— Yeah.

— That’s great. Is it God or the Corporation, would yeh say?

–

— Tha’ place has changed its name again, look it.

— Good girl, sit back. Good girl. Deep breaths. — Get ou’ of me way, yeh fuckin’—! Gobshite; I should have run over him. The thick head on him, did yeh see it? Good girl. — Here we are, Sharon, look.

* * *

The nurse, the nice one, wiped Sharon’s face.

— Th-thanks. — Will it hurt anny more?

— Not really, love. We’re nearly there now.

— How long more—

— Quiet, Sharon. Come on; breathe with me. — In—

The breath became a gasp and a scream as Sharon let go of it.

— No, Sharon. Don’t push! — It’s too early; don’t—

She wiped Sharon’s face.

— Don’t push yet, Sharon.

Sharon gasped again.

— When!?

— In a little while. — In — Out—

Sharon had to scream again, and gulp back air.

— It — it hurt more.

— Not much.

— Yes, much! Jeeesus!

* * *

They were all in the hall, watching Veronica, waiting. She was taking ages.

— Ah no, she said. — Ah no; the poor thing.

She wouldn’t look at them.

— Is she alright? — Will you come home now?

— Get a taxi, Jimmy. You must be exhausted.

— That’s terrible. — Okay. In a while. Bye bye, love.

She put the phone down, and turned to them.

— A girl, she said.

— Yeow!

— Alive? said Darren.

He was crying.

— Yes!

— I thought — The way you were talkin’—

He started laughing.

The twins hugged Darren and Jimmy Jr and Veronica and Larrygogan. Les was out.

— What’ll we call her? said Linda.

Veronica laughed.

— Hey, Larrygogan, said Tracy. — We’ve a new sister.

— She’s not your sister, said Jimmy.

— Why?

— You’re her auntie, he told her.

— Am I? Janey!

— So am I then, said Linda.

— That’s righ’, said Jimmy.

— I’m tellin’ Nicola ’Malley, said Linda. — She thinks she’s great just cos her ma lets her bring her sister to the shops. — Come on, Tracy.

They were gone.

— Well, Darren, said Veronica. — Do you like being an uncle?

— Ah yeah, said Darren. — It’s brilliant.

* * *

Sharon was able to look at her in the crib there without having to lift her head. That was nice.

There she was, asleep; red, blotched, shrivelled and gorgeous; all wrapped up. Tiny. And about as Spanish looking as—

She didn’t care.

She was gorgeous. And hers.

She was fuckin’ gorgeous.

Georgina; that was what she was going to call her.

They’d all call her Gina, but Sharon would call her George. And they’d have to call her George as well. She’d make them.

— Are yeh alrigh’, love?

It was the woman in the bed beside Sharon. — Yeah, said Sharon. — Thanks; I’m grand. She lifted her hand — it weighed a ton — and wiped her eyes.

— Ah, said the woman. — Were yeh cryin’?—No, said Sharon. — I was laughin’.