Roddy Doyle - The Guts

Jimmy had emailed the album to the boys and Mahalia.

Our cool dad.

Another fuckin’ sob.

He choked it. No way was he going to inflict it on young Jimmy. He took out the earphones.

— I’ll leave yeh to it.

— Yeah.

— Later.

— Yeah, later.

— I want to show you somethin’.

He’d brought the laptop into the kitchen. He sat at the table and Aoife stood at his shoulder. He had it open on his Facebook page.

— You changed it, she said.

She pointed at his photograph in the left-top corner.

— Thought I’d better, he said.

— It’s nice.

— Thanks.

It was him looking straight at the camera, the glass hole above the laptop screen. The shaved head, no smile.

— A bit fierce maybe, he said.

— No, she said. — Sorry to disappoint you. Serious. Interesting.

— Keep goin’.

— That’s as far as I was going to take it, said Aoife. — Not fierce.

She patted his head.

He liked that.

— Anyway, he said. — This is — it might be — I don’t know. Remember I told you I sent a message to someone called Maisie Rabbitte?

— Yes, said Aoife. — I do. What a name though.

— Yeah.

— She’d have to be lovely.

— Yeah. Look.

Aoife read it.

He’s my dad .

— God, she said.

The sob again.

Aoife heard it. She put her hands on his head and pulled it back to her stomach.

— What’ll you write back to her? she asked.

— I don’t know, he said.

He was grand — he could talk.

— But I’m just after thinkin’. I changed my profile picture after I sent her the first message. I think I did anyway. So she sent her message to a man with hair and she’ll be gettin’ the answer from a fuckin’ serial killer.

— Don’t flatter yourself.

— Do I not even look a bit hard?

— No.

— Shite.

— Sorry.

— What d’you think though?

— About answering?

— Yeah.

— Keep it straightforward.

— Yeah. God, though. That’s great news. I’m his brother. Somethin’ like that?

— Yes. But you mightn’t be.

— That’s true, he said. — But. What’re the chances of it not bein’

Les?

— Small, I suppose. But I don’t know.

— I don’t either. So it can’t be that fuckin’ straightforward.

He typed.

Hi, Maisie. Your dad might be my brother. Will you give him my email address, please? All the best. Jimmy .

— Perfect, said Aoife.

— D’you think?

— Yes, she said. — Just send it.

He did.

— Now shut the laptop, said Aoife.

— Good idea — yeah.

He closed the laptop and pushed it to the centre of the table.

— Thanks, he said.

— Must feel strange.

— Yeah — yeah. How long will I give her?

— I don’t know, said Aoife. — A day? Two? I don’t really know.

— Yeah.

— She mightn’t answer.

— She did the first time, he said. — I just hope—

— What?

— Well — I’m goin’ into the Mater next week.

— And you’ll wake up after the surgery, Jimmy.

— I know, he said. — I know that.

He stood up.

— I’m not bein’ morbid, he said.

— You are.

— I’m not.

— I know.

She sounded angry. She wasn’t looking at him.

— It would — Aoife?

— What?

— It would just be nice, he said. — Yeah, nice. Nothin’ bigger. Nice. To contact Les. Even an email.

— I know.

— Before I go in.

— I know, she said. — I do.

— Let’s stop sayin’ I know. Will we?

— Okay.

— Grand.

He pointed at the laptop.

— This, he said. — I know it’s been years.

— You said I know.

— I didn’t. Did I?

— Yes, she said. — You did. But this.

And she pointed at the laptop.

— You didn’t invite him to our wedding. That’s how long it’s been, Jimmy.

— I know, he said. — I know. I didn’t know how — where to send an invitation. But I know. Fuck it.

— There are real people in the house, Jimmy.

— That’s not fuckin’ fair.

— Write an email, she said. — If it works, great. Just don’t —

— Wha’?

— Just listen, Jimmy — for fuck sake.

— Go on.

— Don’t make it bigger than it should be.

She was right, although he wanted to explode, throw fucks and froth around the room.

— Yeah, he said. — I know what you’re sayin’. But fuck it, Aoife. It’s — I don’t know. It’s excitin’.

— I know.

— Are there poppadoms? Brian asked.

— No, said Aoife. — No poppadoms.

— I said poppadoms, said Brian. — I told you.

He was talking to Marvin. Marvin had taken the orders and phoned.

— She censored the list, he said.

— She? said Jimmy.

— Mam.

— She?

— It’s okay, said Aoife.

She looked at Brian.

— There was more than enough already, she said. — So I knocked a few things off the list.

— Bet you didn’t, said Brian. — Did she?

— Stop this, said Jimmy. — Now. You listenin’?

Brian nodded.

— Okay, said Jimmy. — Good man. So look it —

He was wasting his time. The lids were off the cartons and they were all digging in. Mahalia was eating meat again. She seemed to stop being a vegetarian whenever they ordered a takeaway. Jimmy said nothing. He respected her principles and loved the way she could bypass them.

— So anyway, he said.

He tapped his plate with his fork.

— No speech, don’t worry. Just —

They all looked at him. They were worried, even scared. He hated this — doing this.

— I’m goin’ into the hospital.

They stared at him.

— And I’ll be gone for a few days, said Jimmy. — That’s all.

That wasn’t all; they knew it.

— So, said Marvin. — Like — this isn’t the last supper, no?

— Marvin Rabbitte!

God — fuck — he loved him. He loved them.

They looked at him and saw that they were allowed to laugh.

— Alright.

He looked at the guy, the anaesthetist, looking at his chart.

— Now, James.

He was looking at Jimmy’s arm.

The cunt. With his James. He tapped Jimmy’s shoulder.

— Count to ten for me.

Jimmy looked at the needle.

— One —

He came out of nothing.

No memory, image. Smell.

Nothing.

No name.

No idea where, who — nothing.

— Some of this?

The straw was at his lips. He knew what to do. He felt it. Water. On his lip.

Gone.

He was alone. Blue curtain. Tray thing on wheels.

She was there.

— Aoife.

Her face was there. She couldn’t hear him.

— Aoife.

— Hi.

She pressed. His hand.

— The drugs, he said.

— Shush, she said. — What drugs?

— Fuckin’ amazin’.

— You can tell me later.

— Amazin’.

She held his hand.

— Later.

— Get the name.

They had him out of the bed.

— Fuckin’ Lazarus.

It was his da.

— Fuck off, Da.

— So you’re grand.

— Not bad, said Jimmy. — I’ve to drag this fuckin’ thing around though.

He shook the IV stand.

— Not for ever but, said his da. — Am I righ’?

— A few days, I suppose. They told me but I forget. But I walked from over there —

He pointed to the bed.

— To here.

He pointed at his feet. He was at the door from the ward to the corridor.

— Fair play.

— An’ I’m bollixed.

— It’s a fair stretch, said his da. — Three beds.

— Twice.

— Six beds, said his da. — Good man. I know cunts wouldn’t get past two.