by Roddy Doyle
—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 doi
n’ 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 fulckin’ 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 ge
t 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—