The Snapper

by Roddy Doyle

  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.

&
nbsp; 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 l
ooking 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.