The Snapper

by Roddy Doyle

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

  Sharon turned off the tap.

  —Warn me?

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

  —Well, yeah, said Jimmy Sr. -Warn.

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

  —Yeh know your man, George Burgess?

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

  —Are yeh alrigh’ there? said Jimmy Sr.

  —Yeah. I’ll be fine.

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

  —Sometimes in the night as well.

  —Is tha’ righ’? God love yis.

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

  —What abou’ Mister Burgess? she said.

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

  —Wha’ was he sayin’ about me?

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

  —So wha’?

  —Good girl.

  —Wha’ did he say?

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

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

  —God no, not Bimbo. Never.

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

  Jimmy Sr laughed, delighted.

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

  —No!

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

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

  —Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.—I don’t know.—Thanks. He took his cup.

  —I suppose it is.

  He tried the tea.

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

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

  —Ah yeah, but. Not daughters though.

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

  —Well, not my fuckin’ daughter then.

  —That’s hypocritical.

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

  —Yvonne.

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

  —You’re my knight in shinin’ armour.

  —Don’t start.

  He grinned. So did Sharon.

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

  —Thanks.

  —No problem.

  —I’m goin’ back up now, righ’?

  -Okay. Night nigh’, Sharon.

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

  —Good Jaysis! Where were you till now?

  —Ou’.

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

  —Get back here, you.

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

  Larrygogan yelped in his sleep.

  —Shut up, you, said Jimmy Sr.

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

  She’d do it tomorrow.

  The stupid prick.

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

  Pat Burgess slid back the aluminium door.

  —Yeah?

  —Is Mister Burgess there?

  —Yeah.

  —Can I see him for a minute?

  —He’s still havin’ his tea.

  —Only for a minute, tell him.

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

  —Is it George you want, Sharon?

  God! thought Sharon.

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

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

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

  Mister Burgess came towards her.

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

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

  He wouldn’t look at her straight.

  —Wha’ abou’?

  —YOU know.

  —I’ll see yeh later.

  —I’ll tell Missis Burgess.

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

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

  —Hiyeh, Sharon.

  It was Yvonne, from somewhere in the kitchen.

  —Hiyeh, Yvonne, Sharon called back.

  —See yeh later.

  —Yeah, okay.

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

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

  —Wha’ d’yeh think YOU’RE up to, yeh little bastard? He didn’t hiss now.

  —Wha’?

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

  —I didn’t say ann‘thin’ to annyone.

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

  —You said I was a ride. Didn’t yeh?

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

  —Didn’t yeh? said Sharon.

  —Are yeh mad? I did not.

  —I can tell from your face.

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

  —I was only jokin’.

  —I’m a great little ride.

  The word ride made him snap his eyes shut.

  —I didn’t mean anny harm. I only—

  —Wha’ else did yeh say about me?

  —Nothin’.

  —Maybe!

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

  She was nearly feeling sorry for him.

  —Yeh stupid bastard yeh.

  He looked as if he was being smacked.

  She went on.

  —You got your hole, di
dn’t yeh?

  He shut his eyes again. He got redder.

  —Wha’ more do yeh want?

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

  —Wha’ did yeh say?

  —Ah, it was nothin’.

  —I’ll go in an’ tell her.

  He believed her.

  —Ah, it was silly really. Just the lads talkin’, yeh know.

  Sharon knew that one step towards the door would get her a better explanation, so she took one.

  —We—they—we were havin‘ a laugh, abou’ women, yeh know. The usual. An’ the young lads, the lads on the team, they were goin’ on abou’ the young ones from around here.—An’ that’s when I said you were a—I said it.

  He looked at the carpet.

  —Yeh dope. Wha’ did yeh say tha’ for?

  —Ah, I don’t know.

  He looked up.

  —I was showin’ off.

  -Wha’ else?

  —Nothin‘, I swear. They laughed at me. Some o’ them didn’t even hear me. They’d never believe that I got me —have—Off you.

  He was looking at the carpet again.

  —They thought tha’ I was jokin’.

  He jumped when the door was opened by Missis Burgess.

  —There y’are, love, he roared at her.

  —Hello, Sharon, said Missis Burgess.

  —Hiyeh, Missis Burgess, said Sharon.—I was just tellin’ Mister Burgess abou’ Darren.

  —That’s righ’, Mister Burgess nearly screamed.

  —Is somethin’ wrong with Darren?

  —He has a bit of a cold just.

  —A cold, said Mister Burgess.

  —Maybe flu.

  —We’ll just have to hope he’s better for Saturday, said Mister Burgess.—God knows, we’ll need him.

  —I didn’t know there was flu goin’ around, said Missis Burgess.—I hope there isn’t,——now. Will you tell your mammy I was askin’ for her?

  —I will, yeah, Missis Burgess.

  —When are yeh due, Sharon? Missis Burgess asked.

  —November. The end.

  —Really? You look sooner.—D’you want a boy or a little girl?

  —I don’t mind. A girl maybe.

  —One of each, wha’, said Mister Burgess.

  Missis Burgess looked at Mister Burgess.

  —I’m off to my bingo now, George.

  —Good, said Mister Burgess.—That’s great. Have you enough money with yeh, Doris?

  —My God, he’s offerin’ me money! He’s showin’ off in front of you, Sharon.

  Sharon smiled.

  —Bye bye so, Sharon, said Missis Burgess.

  —See yeh, Missis Burgess.

  —Don’t forget the grass, George.

  —No, no. Don’t worry.

  —Remember to tell your mammy now, Missis Burgess told Sharon.

  Then she was gone.

  Sharon knew what he was going to say next.

  —Phew, he said.—Tha’ was close, wha’.

  —It’ll be closer the next time if yeh don’t stop sayin’ things abou’ me.

  —There won’t be a next time, Sharon, I swear to God. I only said it the once. I’m sorry.—I’m sorry.

  —So yeh should be.—I don’t mind bein’ pregnant but I do mind people knowin’ who made me pregnant.

  —So—you’re pregnant, Sharon?

  —Fuck off, Mister Burgess, would yeh.

  They stood there. Sharon was looking at him but he wasn’t looking at her, not really. She wanted to smile. She’d never felt power like this before.

  —Sorry, Sharon.

  Sharon said nothing.

  She was going to go now, but he spoke. His mouth was open for a while before words left it.

  —An’, Sharon—

  He rubbed his nose, on his arm.

  —Yeah?

  —I never thanked yeh for—yeh know. Tha’ nigh’.

  He was looking at the carpet again, and fidgeting.

  —I was drunk, said Sharon.

  She wanted to cry now. She’d forgotten That Night for a minute. She was hating him again.

  —I know. So was I. I’d never’ve—God, I was buckled. —Em—

  He tried to grin, but he gave up and looked serious.

  —You’re a good girl, Sharon. We both made a mistake.

  —You’re tellin’ me, said Sharon.

  —Hang on a sec, Sharon, he said.—I’ll be back in a minute.

  He went to the door.

  —Wait there, Sharon.

  Sharon waited. She was curious. She wasn’t going to cry now. She heard Mister Burgess going up the stairs, and coming down.

  He slid into the room.

  —That’s for yourself, Sharon, he said.

  He had a ten pound note in his hand.

  Sharon couldn’t decide how to react. She looked at the money.

  She wanted to laugh but she thought that that wouldn’t be right. But she couldn’t manage anger, looking at this eejit holding out his tenner to her.

  —Do you think I’m a prostitute, Mister Burgess?

  —God, no; Jaysis, no!

  —What’re yeh givin’ me tha’ for then?

  —It’s not the way yeh think, Sharon. Shite!—Em, it’s a sort of a present—

  The tenner, he knew now, was a big mistake.

  —Yeh know. A present. No hard feelin’s, yeh know.

  —You’re some fuckin’ neck, Mister Burgess, d’yeh know tha’?

  —I’m sorry, Sharon. I didn’t mean it the way you’re thinkin’, I swear. On the Bible.

  He was beginning to look hurt.

  —We made a mistake, Sharon. We were both stupid. Now go an’ buy yourself a few sweets—eh, drinks.

  Sharon couldn’t help grinning. She shook her head.

  —You’re an awful fuckin’ eejit, Mister Burgess, she said. —Put your tenner back in your pocket.

  —Ah no, Sharon.

  He looked at her.

  —Okay, sorry—You’re a good girl. And honest.

  —Fuck off!

  —Sorry! Sorry. I’ll never open me mouth about you again.

  —You’d better not.

  —I won’t, I swear.

  Then he remembered something.

  —Oh yeah, he said.

  He dug into his trousers pocket.

  —I kept these for yeh. Your, em, panties, isn’t tha’ what yis call them?

  He was really scarlet.

  —Me knickers!

  Sharon was stunned, and then amused. She couldn’t help it. He looked so stupid and unhappy.

  She put the knickers in her jacket pocket. Mister Burgess, she noticed, wiped his hand on his cardigan. She nearly laughed.

  —Wha’ were yeh doin’ with them? she asked.

  —I was keepin’ them for yeh. So they wouldn’t get lost.

  He was purple now. His hands were in and out of his cardigan pockets. He couldn’t look at her.

  —Don’t start again, said Sharon.—Just tell us the truth.

  —Ah Jaysis, it was stupid really. Again.—A joke—I was goin’ to show them to the lads.

  —Oh my—!

  —But I didn’t I didn’t, Sharon! I didn’t.

  He coughed.

  —I wouldn’t.

  Sharon went to the door.

  —I’ve changed me mind, she said.—Give us the tenner. I deserve it.

  —Certainly, Sharon. Good girl. There y’are.

  Sharon took the money. She stopped at the door.

  —Remember: if you ever say annythin’ about me again I’ll tell Missis Burgess wha’ yeh did.

  —Yeh needn’t worry, Sharon. Me lips are sealed.

  —Well—Just remember.—Bye bye.

  —Cheerio, Sharon. Thanks,—very much—

  She was a great young one, George decided as Sharon shut the door after her. And a good looker too. But, my God—! He sat down and shook like bejaysis for a while. She’d do it;
tell Doris. No problem to her. He’d have to be careful. Think but: he’d ridden her. And he’d made her pregnant. HE had.

  —Jaysis.

  He was a pathetic little prick, Sharon thought as she went back across the road to her house. He was pathetic. He wouldn’t yap anymore anyway. He’d be too scared to.

  Bertie put his pint down.

  —Caramba! he said.—That’s fuckin’ lovely.

  —It is alrigh’, Bimbo agreed.—Lovely.

  —Is it a new bike? Jimmy Sr asked Bertie.

  —Nearly, yeah, said Bertie.

  —Fuck off now, said Jimmy Sr.—How old is it?

  —A few months only.

  —Any scratches?

  —Not at all, said Bertie.—It’s perfect.

  Bimbo shifted to one side and farted. They started laughing.

  —My Jaysis, said Paddy.—You’re fuckin’ rotten.

  —There’s somethin’ dead inside you, d’yeh know tha’? said Jimmy Sr, waving his hand in the air and leaning away from Bimbo.

  Bimbo wiped his eyes with his fist.

  —Yeh can smell it from here, said a voice from a distant corner.

  That got them laughing again.

  —They sound great in these chairs, Bimbo explained.

  —Yeah, said Bertie.—Tha’ stuff’s great.

  —Leatherette.

  —Si.

  —I don’t believe I’m hearin’ this, said Paddy.

  —Ah fuck off, Paddy, said Jimmy Sr.—Annyway, it’s your twist.

  Jimmy Sr turned back to Bertie.

  —Okay, he said.—You’re on.

  —Good, said Bertie.—Mucho good. Are yeh sure now you’ll be able to get me the jacks?

  —No problem to me.

  —An’ one o’ those yokes for washin’ your arse? A bidet.

  —No problem.

  —Wha’ would yeh want one o’ them for? Bimbo asked.

  —For washin’ your arse, yeh fuckin’ eejit, said Paddy.

  —Yeah, but wha’ would yeh want to do tha’ for? Bimbo wanted to know.—Puttin your arse wet back into your knickers.

  —You’re got a point there, said Jimmy Sr.

  —It’s a buyer’s market, Bimbo, compadre mio, said Bertie.—My client he wants to wash his hole, so—I’ll wash it for him meself if he pays me enough. Fawn? he asked Jimmy Sr.

  -Okay. No problem.

  —What’s fawn? Bimbo asked.

  —The colour!

  —Oh yeah.

  —Jesus, said Paddy.

  —Wha’ did yeh say to him? Yvonne asked.

  —I said I couldn’t help it, said Sharon.