Roddy Doyle - The Guts

— What?

— Don’t know.

She slid down beside him.

— Do me a favour, she said.

— Wha’?

— Concentrate a bit on the kids.

— I took Brian and May to my parents —

— The other two.

— They hardly know if I’m here or not.

— They’re worried. Just like the younger ones.

— They’ve some way o’ showin’ it.

— Ah Jimmy.

He knew he was being a prick. A complete one.

— Sorry.

— It’s okay.

She was still right in against him. It was great but it made him nervous. He was sure there was a smell of something off him — guilt, or fuckin’ stupidity. That was just stupid, he knew. But he couldn’t believe he’d get away with it. And he kind of didn’t care.

He turned in the bed, to face her properly. He bent his legs, so one of his knees touched her thigh.

— Tell me one thing, he said.

— What?

— If they’re so worried, if Marvin’s so worried —. This is a real question now. It isn’t self-pity.

— Go on.

— Right, said Jimmy. — The last time I was sick. An’ they all saw the state of me —

— You shouldn’t feel bad about that.

— Easily said.

— Jimmy, I’m tired of this. I really am. You’re flogging yourself. But, actually, you’re not. You’re flogging us. Me.

— Okay, he said. — Sorry. I hear you. You’re right. Just — Marvin.

— Go on.

— He sees me, he sees you gettin’ me up the stairs. And he leaves — he goes out the fuckin’ door, to a party.

She sighed, but she didn’t move.

— Yes.

— So, said Jimmy. — What? He’s goin’ to a party because he’s upset?

— Jesus, Jimmy. Use your imagination.

— I know. I do. I just wish he’d be a bit more conventional. I wish he’d fuckin’ hug me.

— When was the last time you hugged him?

— Okay — yeah. Yeah.

He closed the curtains. He got onto the bed. He sat back against the wall.

It was coming. He knew it was coming.

Oh God .

Oh fuck .

The house was empty.

Just him.

He listened again, the same voice, the exact same unbelievable message.

— Okay, he said. — I’ll have to —. Did you phone my wife, by the way?

He listened carefully.

— Okay.

He looked across at Ocean and Noeleen.

— Okay, he said. — Grand. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

He was finishing the call, about to press the red button. Then he thought of something.

— Thanks.

He inhaled, and slowly exhaled. He looked at the women, and stood up.

— Sorry, he said. — A family thing. I’ve to go.

— Is everything alright? said Noeleen.

— Yeah, he said. — It’ll be grand. I just have to —. Sorry about this.

He was on his way.

— Jimbo?!

— Yeah?

— Is there anything we can do? A phone call or anything?

— No, he said. — Thanks. It’s under control.

Jesus .

Down the stairs, out to the street, and the two corners to the car park at the back of the building. He had the key out, all ready to point at the car.

Nearly there — he was sweating like a bastard.

The code, the code — the car-park gate. He hit Cancel. He’d been punching in his bank card number. He had the right one now. 1977. How could he have forgotten that? Heroes, Exodus, Lust for Life . Maybe that was the steroids too — forgetting simple things. He’d ask Aoife. She’d know.

His heart — he could feel it.

He had the car going. On his way. He’d be there in twenty minutes.

— Mister Rabbitte?

— Yes.

— Mahalia Egan-Rabbitte’s father?

— Is something after happenin’?

Mahalia had gone back to class after the lunch break, drunk.

He checked his hands, loosened his grip on the wheel. They were fine — no shakes.

Pissed in home economics.

Mahalia — May. She was brilliant in school. She always had been. Since day one. Drunk as a skunk while making a swiss roll.

It wasn’t funny.

He was over the East Link now, past the O2.

Aoife had told him to concentrate on the kids. Well, her wish was coming true. Her wish and his. He’d be well able for this.

He’d texted Des as he went down the school corridor. Might hve to cancel trumpt. I’ll get bac . He’d texted Aoife too. On way. X . He’d been tempted to call her but he’d thought it would’ve looked bad, arriving at the Principal’s door with the phone to his ear.

— Where is she now? he asked.

He was in the Principal’s office, sitting in front of her desk. Missis Halpin. He thought her first name was Fionnuala.

— Sickbay, she answered.

— I want to see her, said Jimmy.

— Of course, she said. — We’ll just wait till Miss Traynor joins us. Miss Traynor was the Year Head. He’d met her before — he thought. At one of the parent — teacher meetings. She’d been alright.

— I need to see her, said Jimmy.

— Mister Rabbitte.

— Jimmy.

— There are ten girls in sickbay.

— Ten?

— Ten, yes. Mahalia’s in good company. She’s being well looked after.

— I know, said Jimmy. — And I’m really sorry about this. We don’t have drink in the house —

— I’ll stop you there. This isn’t some fitness-for-parenthood test. That isn’t why we’re here.

— I know — thanks.

— I don’t doubt that yourself and Missis Egan-Rabbitte —. Is she on her way, by the way?

— I think so, said Jimmy. — Yes.

— Fine, said Missis Halpin. — Good.

— How long will she — Miss Traynor — be, d’yeh think?

— Classes end in —

Missis Halpin lifted her sleeve and took a look at her watch.

— Ten minutes.

— Ten — I can’t wait till then, sorry.

He stood up.

— Where’s the sickbay?

— Mister Rabbitte —

Where the fuck was Aoife?

— Sorry, he said. — I don’t mean to be obstructive or anythin’. We’ll back whatever the school decides to do. I’m sure we will. But I have to see May.

He went to the door.

— I’m her dad.

His voice wobbled a bit, shook, like a bubble had passed through it. But he was grand.

— Mister Rabbitte.

She was standing too now.

— I’ll go with you.

— I just want to see her, he said. — Let her know I’m here. She’s probably feelin’ —

He said it; he got over it.

— Nauseous.

They were on the corridor.

— This way.

Don’t look at her arse .

They turned on to a different corridor, and another one. They didn’t speak.

— Here we are.

They were in front of a door with no window. She held the handle. She seemed to be listening. Her ear was an inch from the green-painted wood.

She opened the door.

It was a small room and it was full. He couldn’t see Mahalia — there were ten Mahalias. The air was damp with old tears and sweat. He could feel it. And the smell of puke and something sharply sweet, some sort of cleanser or spray. There were two of the girls — no, three — lying down, and the rest were sitting in a row.

She was sitting between two orange girls — it was the fake tan, and she probably looked even paler than she was because of that.

She saw him.

— Hiya, love, he said.

He saw her eyes fill. She smiled — it wasn’t easy.

He went further into the room.

— Mister Rabbitte.

He went across to Mahalia. There was a woman he saw now, to his left. She was smiling but she looked worried. He kept his eyes on Mahalia. God love her, she looked desperate. White, blotchy skin, panda eyes; her lips were dry. A confused little girl.

He kneeled in front of her. The oompa-loompas on each side of her stared at him.