The Snapper

by Roddy Doyle

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

  —Leave me alone, you.

  Jimmy Jr stuck his head into the room.

  —Are yeh finished with the paper?

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

  —Top o’ the Pops, said Sharon.

  —Oh good shite! said Jimmy Sr.—Where’s the remote? Sharon was getting up.

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

  —The toilet.

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

  Sharon sat down again. She whispered to Jimmy Sr.

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

  Jimmy Sr turned to her.

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

  He was blushing.

  —Sorry, said Sharon.

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

  —Can you not just say Eejit? said Veronica.

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

  Darren laughed.

  Veronica gave up.

  —Da, said Darren.

  —No, yeh can’t have a bike.

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

  —There’s Cliff Richard, said Jimmy Sr.

  Veronica looked up.

  —Yes.

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

  Veronica laughed.

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

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

  —He’s a Christian, said Veronica.

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

  He looked at it.

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

  Jimmy Jr stuck his head round the door.

  —Finished with the paper yet?

  —No.

  —You’re not even lookin’ at it.

  —It’s my paper. I own it. Fuck off.

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

  —Jesus!

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

  —Ah lay off, Veronica.

  The front door slammed and Darren walked past the window.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  —It’s better than what you got him.

  —That’s not fair, Veronica.

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

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

  —Ha ha.

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

  —Yes, said Veronica.

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

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

  —Leslie Rabbitte, lawn-mower doctor.

  —Ha ha.

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

  —He can go further.

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

  -Yes.

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

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

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

  —There now, said Veronica.

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

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

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

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

  —A jumper.

  —I don’t like purple.

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

  —Who will?

  —Me.

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

  —And then you never wear them.

  —I do so. What’s this I have on?

  —That’s a Dunnes one.

  —It is in its hole.

  —Can I buy the paper then?

  It was Jimmy Jr.

  —No!

  Veronica picked the paper off the floor.

  —Here.

  Jimmy Jr grabbed it.

  —Thanks, Ma.

  And he was gone.

  Veronica turned to Jimmy Sr.

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

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

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

  —What’s that? she said.

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

  Linda and Tracy ran in.

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

  —Ah!—

  —Get him ou’!

  He pressed the orange button and the telly popped off.

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

  —There’s never anything.

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

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

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

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

  —Are yeh serious?

  —I suppose so.

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

  -No. Just let me finish this.

  Jimmy Sr stood up.

  —I’ll brush me teeth, he said.

  —That’ll be nice, said Veronica.

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

  —It does! said Sharon. -Look.

  Sharon showed Jackie her side.

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

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

  —Everyone’s lookin’, Jackie.

  They laughed.

  Sharon went over to Jackie.

  —Put your hand on it.

  Jackie did, very carefully.

  —Press.

  —Fuck off, Sharon, will yeh.

  —Go on.

  Jackie pressed gently.

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

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

  —It’s funny, she said.

  Then she took her hand down.
>
  —Thanks, Sharon, she said.

  Sharon laughed.

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

  —Aah Jesus, Sharon!

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

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

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

  —Howth?

  —Yeah. Get pissed, wha’.

  —Yeah.

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

  —Sharon, let’s touch the baby.

  —No!

  -Aah!

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

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

  —It’s the dog, said Jimmy Jr.

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

  —Ou’ the back, said Darren.

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

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

  —Don’t look at me, said Jimmy Jr.

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

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

  —Ah Da, the cyclin’s on in a minute.

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

  —But the—

  —Get ou’!

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

  —I wouldn’t touch your poxy socks.

  —Yeh’d better not.

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

  —Yeah, said Jimmy Jr.

  —His feet can’t breathe in them.

  —Yeah.

  —Who’s your one?

  —Gabriella Sabatini.

  —Jaysis, wha’.

  —She’s only seventeen.

  —Fuck off.—Are yeh serious?

  —Yeah.

  —Is she winnin’, is she?

  —Yeah.

  -Good.

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

  —It was a woman, said Sharon.

  —Yeah?

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

  —How long abou’? Mary asked her.

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

  —The stupid bitch, said Jackie.

  They laughed.

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

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

  —Doctors are always like tha’, said Mary.

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

  They roared.

  —Mammy, said Linda.

  Tracy stood beside her.

  —What? said Veronica.

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

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

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

  —No, it’s brilliant, said Tracy.

  —Yeah, said Linda.

  —Where are my glasses? said Veronica.

  She wanted to see the twins properly.

  —There, look.

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

  —How much? she said.

  -Nothin’!

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

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

  —We have to have dresses.

  —Oh God, said Veronica.

  Sharon bought some pants with elastic waists, baggy things that would get bigger as she got bigger. She wouldn’t have been caught dead in them if she hadn’t been pregnant but now, when she looked at herself in them, she thought she looked okay. She’d have looked stupid and pathetic in what she usually wore. She was happy enough with her new shape. She walked as straight as she could although now and again she just wanted to droop.

  She was sweating a lot. Like a pig sometimes. She knew she would, but it was embarrassing one day when she was putting jars of chutney on a high shelf in work and she felt a chill and looked, and under her arms was wringing. She felt terrible. She didn’t know if anyone else had seen but she wanted to go around and tell everyone that she’d washed herself well that morning. As far as she knew she had a choice: she could drink a lot and sweat or she could stop and become constipated. Some choice. She kept drinking and wore a jumper in work.

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

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

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

  Bimbo was with him.

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

  He took a mouthful from his new pint.

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

  He waited till Jimmy Sr was looking at him.

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

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

  —He said she was a great little ride.

  —My God—said Jimmy Sr, softly.

  His guess had been way wrong.

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

  Bimbo was shocked.

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

  He lifted his glass.

  —An’ me.

  Jimmy Sr was breathing deeply.

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

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

  He took his hand away from the ashtray.

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

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

  —I know, said Bimbo.

  —Just cos—

  He snuffled.

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

  It had gone very quiet in the bar.

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

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

  —It’s pa
t‘etic really, said Bimbo.—A grown man sayin’ things like tha’.

  —Exactly.

  —Just cos she’s pregnant.

  —Exactly.

  —It’s stupid.

  —Yeah.

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

  —Still though, said Jimmy Sr.

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

  Bimbo put his glass down.

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

  —You should know, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Ah here.

  —Two pints, chop chop, Jimmy Sr called.

  Bertie came in.

  —Three pints!

  —Buenas noches, lads, said Bertie.

  —There y’are, Bertie, said Bimbo.

  —Howyeh, Bertie, said Jimmy Sr.

  —The rain she pisses down, Bertie told them. Something was still eating Jimmy Sr.

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

  —Wha’? said Bertie.

  —Nothin’, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Okay; be like tha’.

  —I will.

  —Fuck you, amigo.

  —Go an’ shite, amigo.

  —Here’s the pints, said Bimbo.

  Jimmy Sr looked at them.

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

  Sharon wasn’t asleep.

  —Sharon, are yeh awake?

  She didn’t answer.

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

  —Are you awake, Sharon?

  —Daddy, said Sharon.—Is tha’ you?

  —Yeah.

  —Daddy, is tha’ you? said Linda.

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

  —Daddy, is tha’ you? said Tracy.

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

  They laughed and giggled.

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

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

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

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

  -Okay.

  —Good girl.

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

  —Is somethin’ the matter? she asked.

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