by Roddy Doyle
—He must be a righ’ fuckin’ bastard, said Jackie.—I know what I’d’ve told him.
—I said I couldn’t help it if I had to keep goin’ to the toilet. He blushed, yeh should’ve seen him. Just cos I said Toilet.
—Jesus, are yeh serious? He must be red all the time, is he?
—He’s a fuckin’ eejit, said Sharon.—He said it wasn’t fair on the other girls. An’ I said they didn’t mind. They don’t annyway. Most o’ them prefer the check-out. Cos they can sit down.—’Cept when it’s really busy. But you’d swear stackin’ shelves was a fuckin’ luxury, the way he talked. That’s all he is annyway. A shelf stacker in a suit. He’s not a real manager at all. He’s only one o’ them trainee ones. Paddy in the bakery called him tha’ to his face once, a shelf stacker in a suit. It was fuckin’ gas.
—Is he good lookin’, Sharon? Mary asked.
—Are yeh jokin’ me! said Sharon.—Yeh know Roland the Rat? Well, he looks like him. Only not as nice.
They laughed.
—Jesus then, listen, said Sharon.
She’d remembered something else.
—He asked me why I wasn’t wearin’ me uniform, an’ I—
She did it as she said it.
—stuck me belly out an’ I said, It doesn’t fit me. Yeh should’ve seen his face, I’m not jokin’ yis.
They screamed.
—Ah, said Jackie.—The poor chap must’ve been embarrassed.
—Yeah, Sharon, said Mary.—You’re mean.
They laughed again.
—Well—said Sharon.—I was only standin’ up for me rights.
—You were dead right, Sharon, said Yvonne.—Yeh should’ve stuck one o’ your tits in his mouth as well.
—Jesus!!
They really screamed now.
—Oh look it, said Yvonne when they’d recovered. —There’s your chap, Mary.
They looked across at the lounge boy.
Yvonne waved at him.
—Come here!
—Is he comin’?
—No.
They started laughing again.
A few Sundays after Sharon had sorted out George Burgess, at a quarter to seven, Jimmy Sr was standing in the bar jacks, tucking a bit of shirt back into his fly. The lads had all gone home for their tea and to bring their wives back later—because it was Sunday. Jimmy Sr was going home now himself to collect Veronica.
He decided to wash his hands. They’d installed a new hand dryer and he wanted to have a go on it.
He had his hands in under the dryer and was wondering how long more it would take when he saw George Burgess in the mirror, coming in. George walked behind Jimmy Sr and put his hand on his shoulder. He smiled at Jimmy Sr in the mirror.
—How’s it goin’, Jimmy? he said.
Jimmy Sr shrugged violently.
—Get your fuckin’ hands off me, Burgess.
George was very surprised, and worried.
—What’s wrong with YOU? he asked, still looking at the mirror.
—You know fuckin’ well what’s wrong with me.
Jimmy Sr turned.
—I haven’t a clue, Jim, said George.
He stepped back a bit, to make room for Jimmy Sr.
—Don’t start, said Jimmy Sr.—If you’re goin’ to start tha’ then we’ll go outside an’ have it ou’ now.
George hadn’t been in a fight since 1959, in Bray. He’d lost it, and two of his teeth. And, he was only realizing it now that this was Sharon’s father he was having a row with.
—Look, Jimmy, I don’t know wha’ you’re talkin’ abou’ so you’ll have to tell me.
—I’ll tell yeh alrigh’. You were sayin’ things abou’ Sharon.
Jimmy Sr’s face dared George to deny it.
—I said nothin’ abou’ Sharon, Jimmy. I—
Jimmy Sr gave George’s chest a good dig. It was loud but not too hard; a warning.
—Yeh fuckin’ did, pal, said Jimmy Sr.—Cos Bimbo heard yeh.
—I didn’t mean anny harm, for fuck sake; it was only a joke—
Jimmy Sr thumped him again, harder. George stayed put. He wasn’t going to let himself be pinned to the urinal wall. He’d his good suit on him.
—You’ve got it wrong, Jim.
—Wrong me bollix!
—Yeh have, I swear.
—Me bollix.
Jimmy Sr was pressing into George by now.
—Just cos the poor young one’s pregnant, he said.
—Look—
George was up against the wall. He had to get up onto the step.
—Look, I’m sorry, Jimmy.
—Yeh’d fuckin’ want to be.
—I am, I sw—
—Yeh should be ashamed of yourself, a man o’ your age sayin’ things abou’ young girls like tha’.
—I know—
—Yeh bastard, yeh.—You’re not worth hittin’.
That, thought George, was good news.
—I’m sorry, Jimmy. Really now. On the Bible. I was just messin’ with the lads, yeh know.
—The lads! said Jimmy Sr.—Yeh sound like a fuckin’ kid.
Jimmy Sr turned away and went to the door. He wanted to whoop. He’d won. He stopped at the door.
—Come here, you, he said.—If you ever say another word abou’ Sharon again I’ll fuckin’ kill yeh. Righ’?
—Righ’, Jimmy. I won’t. Yeh needn’t worry. I’m not, eh—
George looked like a beaten man. And that chuffed Jimmy Sr a bit more.
—An’ come here as well, he said.—If yeh drop Darren off the team cos o’ this I’ll kill yeh as well.
—Jaysis, Jimmy, I’d never drop Darren!
Darren walked into the kitchen.
—Happy birthd’y, son.
—Happy birthday, Darren.
—Happy birth’y, Darren.
—Good man, Darren, said Jimmy Sr.—There y’are.
He handed Darren a thin cylindrical parcel.
—Wha’ is it?
—It’s your birthd’y present, Jimmy Sr told him.
—It’s not a bike.
—I know tha’, said Jimmy Sr.
—What is it?
—Open it an’ see, son.
Darren did.
—It’s a pump.
—That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr.—It’s a good one too. Darren didn’t understand. He looked at his da’s face.
—I’ll get yeh a wheel for your Christmas, said Jimmy Sr. —An’ the other one for your next birthd’y. An’ then the saddle. An’ before yeh know it you’ll have your bike. How’s tha’?
Darren looked at the pump, then at his da. His da was smiling but it wasn’t a joking smile. He looked at his ma. She had her back to him, at the sink. Now he understood. He understood now: he’d just been given a poxy pump for his birthday. And he was going to be getting bits of bike for the rest of his life and—But the twins were giggling. And now so was Sharon.
His brother, Jimmy, stood up and was putting on his jacket.
—Yeh can pump yourself to school every mornin’ now, he said.
—Yis are messin’, said Darren.
He laughed. He knew it. He had a bike. He knew it.
- Yis are messin’!
Jimmy Sr laughed.
—We are o’ course.
He opened the back door and went out, and came back in with a bike, a big old black grocer’s delivery bike with a frame over the front wheel but no basket in it.
—Get up on tha’ now an’ we’ll see how it fits, said Jimmy Sr.
—Wha’? said Darren.
His mouth was wide open. Veronica was laughing now.
—It’s a Stephen Roche special, said Jimmy Sr.
Darren was still staring at the bike. Then he noticed the others laughing.
He looked around at them.
—Yis are messin’.
He laughed, louder now than before.
—Yis are still messin’.
—We are o’ course, said Jimmy Sr.
&nbs
p; He patted the saddle.
—This is Bimbo’s.
He wheeled it out, and wheeled in the real present. Larrygogan followed it in.
—Ah rapid! Da—Ma -.Thanks. Rapid. Ah deadly.
He held the bike carefully.
—A Raleigh! Deadly.—Ten gears! Great. Muggah’s only got five.
Jimmy Sr laughed.
—Only the best, he said.
—Raleighs aren’t the best, Darren told him.—Peugeots and Widersprints are.
He was looking at his new bike and adoring it; its thinness, neatness, shininess, the colour, the pedals with the straps on them and, most of all, the handlebars.
—Yeh ungrateful little bollix, said Jimmy Sr.—Give us tha’ back.
He grabbed the bike and pushed Darren away from it.
Darren was lost. He didn’t know what he’d done. He didn’t know. His eyes filled. He just stood there.
Jimmy Sr pushed the bike back to him.
—There.
—Thanks, Da. Thanks, Ma.
-Mammy.
-Mammy. It’s brilliant.
He wolfed his breakfast, then cycled across the road to school.
It was about six o’clock the same day, Jimmy Sr, washed and ready, sat down at the kitchen table. But the dinner wasn’t ready.
—How come? he wanted to know.
—I started on the girls’ dresses, said Veronica.
—Wha’ dresses?
—Ballroom.
—Jaysis.
—Stop that.—Anyway, I forgot the time.
Jimmy Sr was in good form.
—Ah well, he said.—Not to worry. I’ll have a slice o’ bread. That’ll keep me goin’.
He didn’t bother with the marge.
—How—are yeh today, Veronica? he asked.
-Okay. Grand. I’m tired now though.
—Cummins said he might have somethin’ for Leslie in a few weeks.
—I’ll believe it when I see it, said Veronica.
—I suppose so, said Jimmy Sr.—He said he’ll ask round an’ see if anny of his pals have annythin’ for him. Yeh know, the golf an’ church collection shower.
—You wouldn’t want to be relying on them.
-True.
He began to demolish another couple of slices.
—Still—what else can we do?—I had five fuckin’ jobs to choose from when I got thrun out o’ school. Where is he?
—Who?
—Leslie.
—I don’t know. Out.
—I haven’t seen him in ages. Weeks—Yeah, weeks. Wha’ does he look like?
Veronica laughed.
—He’s not hangin’ round the house annyway, said Jimmy Sr.—Gettin’ under your feet.
—No.
—That’s somethin’. But he should have his breakfasts an’ his dinners with the rest of us. The family tha’ eats together —How does it go?
Veronica was prodding the potatoes.
Darren came in, on his way out. He was wearing a Carrera cycling jersey Jimmy Jr had just given him. It nearly reached his knees. He was trying to rub the creases out of it. When he looked down the zip touched his nose.
—That’s a great yoke, Darren, Jimmy Sr told him—It’ll fit yeh properly in a couple o’ months, wha’.
—It’ll be too small, said Veronica,—the way he’s growing. Where d’you think you’re going to?
—Ou’, said Darren.
—Not till after your tea you’re not, said Veronica.
—Ah Ma. Round the block only?
—Let him go, said Jimmy Sr.—He wants to show off his jersey to the young ones.
Darren was out the door.
Jimmy Jr came into the kitchen.
—Was tha’ jersey yoke dear? Jimmy Sr asked him.
Jimmy Jr tapped the side of his nose with a finger, and winked. Jimmy Sr raised his eyebrows. He looked at Veronica. She was turning the chops.
—Did no one actually buy the poor fucker a present? he whispered.
Jimmy Jr grinned, and went upstairs to change.
Sharon came in from work.
—There’s Sharon, said Jimmy Sr.—How are yeh, Sharon?
-Grand.
-Good. That’s the way to be. Your face is nice an’ pink.
—Thanks very much!
—Very healthy lookin’. Is he kickin’?
—He’s doin’ cartwheels.
—We’ll have to get him a bike like Darren’s so.
Sharon sat down.
—That’s righ’, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr.—Sit down.
The twins were in the hall.
They heard Linda.
—Slow - Slow - Quick - Quick - Slow.—Ah, watch it! You’re supposed to be the man, yeh fuckin’ eejit.
-Tell them to stop that language, said Veronica.
—Stop tha’ language, Jimmy Sr shouted.
—Linda said it, said Tracy from the hall.
—You made me.
—I didn’t.
-Did.—Come on. Your fingers are supposed to be at righ’ angles to my spine.—Slow - Slow - Quick - Quick —Slow.
—What’s goin’ on ou’ there? said Jimmy Sr.
He leaned back so he could see out into the hall. He grinned as he watched Linda and Tracy going through their steps. They hit the stairs.
—You’re doin’ it wrong, he said.—Look.
He got up and went into the hall.
Sharon grinned.
Veronica was dividing the food onto the plates.
—D’yeh need a hand, Mammy? said Sharon.
—No.
They heard Jimmy Sr.
-Now. Are yis watchin’? Yeh put your feet slightly apart, d’yeh see? Like this.—Now, I put my weight on me left foot. An’ wha’ foot do you put your weight on?
—The righ’ one, said Linda.
—Good girl, said Jimmy Sr.—Cos you’re the lady. —Then, look it, I side-step like tha’—an’ we’re off. Step - Step - Cha Cha Cha - Step - Step - Cha Cha Cha—
Sharon laughed.
—I didn’t know Daddy could dance like tha’, she said.
—Neither did I, said Veronica.—Now, where is everyone? Why do they all disappear just when their dinner’s ready?
They heard Jimmy Sr.
—Step - Step - Cha Cha Cha—An’ there we go. Your turn, Tracy.—No, wrong foot. You’re the lady. Good girl. An’ off we go. Two—Three—Four—an’ One—Two —Three - Four—an’ One - Step - Step - Cha Cha Cha. It’s all comin’ back to me.
—Dinner, Veronica roared.
Jimmy Jr came in.
—Has Da been drinkin’?
Jimmy Sr was in after him, followed by Linda and Tracy.
—Do we still have tha’ Joe Loss LP, Veronica? —Wha’ are you grinnin’ at?
He was talking to Jimmy Jr.
—LP, Jimmy Jr sneered.—It’s an album.
-Oh, said Jimmy Sr.—I forgot. We’ve Larry fuckin’ Gogan here with us for the dinner. Spinnin’ the discs, wha’.
——It’s an LP, righ’.
—Fair enough, Twinkletoes.
—I’ll fuckin’—
—Shut up and eat your dinner, said Veronica.
—Certainly, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr.
He looked down at his dinner.
—My God now, tha’ looks lovely. I’m starvin’ after all tha’ dancin’. I could eat the left leg o’ the Lamb o’
—Don’t! said Veronica.
Jimmy Sr chewed, and swallowed.
—Mind you, girls, he told the twins.—I always preferred the Cucarachas to the Cha Cha Cha. You can really swing your lady in the Cucarachas.
Jimmy Jr laughed. So did Sharon.
—Fuck yis, said Jimmy Sr.
Darren dashed in. He had news for them.
—Pat said his da’s after runnin’ away from home.
Jimmy Sr looked up from his dinner.
—Pat who?
—Burgess.
Jimmy Sr burst out laughing. Jimmy Jr an
d the others joined in.
—Is Georgie Burgess after runnin’ away? said Jimmy Sr.
—Yeah, said Darren.—Pat said he fucked—ran off last nigh’. His ma’s up to ninety. He’s says she’s knockin’ back the Valiums like there’s no tomorrow.
—She would, said Veronica.
—Poor Doris, said Jimmy Sr.—That’s a good one though.
—Here, said Jimmy Jr.—He’s prob’ly gone off to join the French Foreign Legion.
—That’s righ’, yeah. Where’s he gone, Darren?
—Don’t know. Pat doesn’t know. He said he just snuck ou’.
—Sneaked, said Veronica.
—Yeah, righ’.
—That’s a good one all the same.
Jimmy Sr was delighted.
—Where’s Sharon gone?
—She must be gone to the jacks.
—She’s always in there.
—Leave her alone. She can’t help it, said Jimmy Sr. —Ran away, wha’.—That’s a lovely chop.
—That’s a lovely chop, said Linda.
—Don’t start, you, said Jimmy Sr.
He grinned.
—Who’ll be managin’ yis now, Darren?
—Don’t know, said Darren.—He might come back.
—Jaysis, I hope not.
Jimmy Sr filled his mouth again.
—Ran away, wha’.
—Yeah, said Jr.
—Tom Sawyer, said Jimmy Sr.
He laughed.
Sharon was in her parents’ bedroom, looking out across at the Burgess’s.
It was frightening. She was sure Mister Burgess running away had something to do with her but she hadn’t a clue what. And she was sure as well that this wasn’t the end of it; there was more to come.
What though? She didn’t know. Something terrible, something really terrible—
Oh God
She’d have to wait and see.
She stood up off the bed. The bad shakes were gone. Her chest didn’t hurt as much. She’d go down and finish her dinner.
On the way down she went into the toilet and flushed it.
—Tom Sawyer, wha’, said Jimmy Sr.
—Exactly, said Bimbo.
They all laughed again.
—That’s the best ever, said Bimbo. -Gas.
—He must have a mot hidden away somewhere, said Paddy.
—Si, Bertie agreed.
—Who’d fuckin’ look at HIM? Jimmy Sr wanted to know. —The state of him.
—Have yeh looked at yourself recently? Paddy asked him.
—I’m not runnin’ away, am I? said Jimmy Sr.—Fuckin’ off an’—an’ shirkin’ my responsibilities.