Roddy Doyle - The Guts

— Yeah?

— Howyeh. Can yeh hear me?

— Yeah.

— Is that Lochlainn?

— Yeah.

— It’s Jimmy Rabbitte.

— They’ve gone.

— The Halfbreds?

— Yeah.

— Can I come in anyway?

He heard the buzz, and a slight click. There was no handle on the door but there was room for his fingers, so he pulled it back and found the light switch before he pulled the door shut again. The switch was on one of those timers. He had thirty seconds, and a set of concrete steps in front of him. He was Tom fuckin’ Cruise. He went up, no bother, onto a landing, a turn, and more steps, and another switch. He gave it a thump and kept going, and came to another iron door, this one painted red with a single badly painted eye staring at him. He knocked, and stepped back as the door slowly came at him.

— Lochlainn?

— Yeah.

— Jimmy.

— Hi.

It was disappointing, even before he saw anything. Lochlainn obviously lived there, but it wasn’t like one of those New York lofts. This was a tiny kip. The studio was a corner of what might have been the bedroom — Jimmy wasn’t sure.

— They’ve gone, you said.

— Yeah.

These guys were always fuckin’ autistic; he’d forgotten.

— But they recorded the song? said Jimmy.

It was a prayer more than a question.

Lochlainn shrugged.

— Yeah.

— Is it anny good?

He shrugged again. Or at least his Nine Inch Nails T-shirt moved.

— Can I hear it so? said Jimmy.

— Yeah, said Lochlainn. — But.

— But?

— They only did one take.

— Is that a problem? Jimmy asked. — There was only ever one successful take of ‘Like a Rolling Stone’. Did you know that, Lochlainn?

— They, like, said Lochlainn. — I think they broke up.

— Ah Jesus, again?

— He — eh —

— Barry.

— Yeah. His phone rang before the end.

— Of the first take?

— Yeah.

— The only take?

— Yeah.

— Ah shite.

Lochlainn shrugged. He drew breath and spoke.

— She —

— Brenda.

— She said Connie.

— Same woman, said Jimmy. — Go on.

— She shouted.

— I’d better hear it, said Jimmy.

Bollix to it.

But he’d come this far. He wanted something to attach to the day, his first day of chemo. And he was curious.

— They’re old punks, he told Lochlainn.

— Maybe, said Lochlainn. — But he left because the Minister needed a file for questions in the Dáil tonight, yeah? And she had to pick up their daughter from hockey.

— And you reckon they broke up?

— Looked like that.

— That’s just their way, said Jimmy. — They love each other, really.

— Cool.

— Can I hear it?

Lochlainn shrugged again.

— It’s yours.

Jimmy looked around for somewhere to sit, but changed his mind. He was too giddy to sit. And Lochlainn had the only chair.

It was rough.

— I’M DOWN ON MY KNEES —

It was dreadful.

— A MUNCHIN’ MUNCHIN’ MUNCHIN’ —

It was brilliant. Lochlainn was yawning but he hadn’t a clue.

— AND THE GIRL DON’T KNOW —

I GOT ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION —

Jimmy was listening to the howling kid inside every middle-aged man, and Brenda on the drums was the howling middle-aged woman.

— OH YES SHE DO —

— OH NO SHE DON’T —

— OH YES SHE DO —

— OH NO SHE DON’T —

— Was their bassist with them? Jimmy shouted.

— No, said Lochlainn.

— I didn’t think so, said Jimmy. — Just the two of them, yeah?

— Yeah.

— They fill the room but, don’t they?

— SHE’S SMILIN’ BACK AT ME —

SHE’S SHOWIN’ ME HOWTH JUNCTION —

AND THE BITCH DON’T KNOW —

I GOT ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION —

There was no getting away from it, the senior civil servant could sure make that guitar scream. There wouldn’t have been room for the bass.

— OH YES SHE DO —

— OH NO SHE DON’T —

This was the scream of a shocked and angry man. And Brenda’s drums boomed, brutal as ever. Waiting, wanting, wanting, wanting. Waiting, wanting, wanting, wanting. It was fuckin’ wonderful.

— BUT NOW SHE KNOWS —

— I GOT ERECTILE —

The phone — Barry’s phone — went off. ‘Ace of Spades’. It was perfect and it sounded distant, fading. And Barry’s voice.

— Sorry.

And Brenda’s.

— Ah, for fuck sake!

— I’ll have to take it.

Brenda kept at it. Waiting, wanting, wanting, wanting. And stopped.

— Then fucking take it, Barry!

— Stop it there, Lochlainn.

Brenda’s shout was still in the room.

— Exactly there, said Jimmy.

— What?

— I want it to end on Barreeeee — the way she says it, okay?

Jimmy loved this.

— Make the eeee hang there, he said. — Three beats. No, four. Then done. Can you handle that, Lochlainn?

Lochlainn shrugged — no problem, no interest, your funeral. He hadn’t a fuckin’ clue. And Barry and Brenda. They hadn’t a clue either. They’d left, gone back to their other lives. It was a classic, and Jimmy was the only man in the world who knew it. He’d probably need the rights to ‘Ace of Spades’, even that poxy phone version. But that was grand, easily done — he thought.

What a day.

He watched Lochlainn fiddling away.

— D’yeh suffer yourself, Lochlainn?

— Sorry?

— The erectile dysfunction.

— No, said Lochlainn.

— No, said Jimmy. — Me neither.

He sipped.

— Jesus.

He tried it again. He’d never tasted anything like it. That was the chemo — he’d read about it, before he’d stopped reading. How his taste might become heightened.

He sipped again. It exploded — it just exploded — upwards, straight into his brain. He shook. Coffee tastes amazin. X He fired the text off to Aoife. She’d like that.

He looked around. Everything else was normal. The Brazilian young one behind the counter still looked nice, but not as nice as she should have looked, being from Brazil. But she was the same young one — that was the point. Everything was the same. It was just taste; it was exact, scientific. He wasn’t going mad.

Aoife’s text arrived. Great. X . And another one. Will u be wanting cancer trousers when you get home? He fired one back. Fck off .

Barry’s phone was off. But Brenda answered him immediately.

— We’re not paying for the studio.

Jimmy could hear kids — girls — shouting, behind Brenda.

— Who’s winning?

— We are, bitch. My girls are pussy-whipping Mount Anville.

She wasn’t whispering.

— Great, said Jimmy. — Ra ra ra.

— We’re not paying.

— I wouldn’t expect you to, Connie.

— It wasn’t my fault, said Brenda. — Hey, fat girl! Try chasing the ball!

— It was nobody’s fault, said Jimmy.

— Bloody Barry, said Brenda. — So fucking important. Good block, honey!

— I think it’s saveable, said Jimmy.

— We’re not paying.

— No one’s askin’ you to pay, said Jimmy. — I’m happy to cover it. That’s what I do.

— Yeah, yeah. Suck my cock.

— Here’s what I’m thinkin’, Connie, said Jimmy. — I’m goin’ to run it past some people and see wha’ they think. Some market research, but nothin’ too formal.

He’d play it to the kids — the older pair — when he got home. And Aoife — she’d love it.

— You’re serious? said Brenda.

— Yeah, said Jimmy. — I am.

— Yessss!

— Did we score there?

— Yes!

— Ah great.

He didn’t tell Noeleen. He kept the song in his pocket. He wanted to live with it for a day.