Roddy Doyle - The Guts

He looked at her properly.

— It was always us, wasn’t it? You an’ me. We did it, not fuckin’ Noeleen.

— Leave her alone.

— I know. But you know what I mean.

And he told her about the song he was going to write. He got a bit worked up as he heard himself tell her, afraid it sounded infantile and silly. They were skint and he was going to mess with history.

He finished telling her, and she told him she’d an idea as well.

— No.

— Why not?

— D’yeh think?

— Why not? she said again. — You’ve seen him.

He thought — he didn’t; he didn’t have to.

— Okay, he said.

His eyes were watering.

— Fuckin’ hell, Aoife.

He walked into the kitchen. He was struggling a bit, a bit drowsy. He saw Marvin at the fridge, or young Jimmy. It was still dark. There was something not right — he turned on the light.

He roared — it wasn’t a word, or a howl.

It was a kid, a young lad, a fuckin’ burglar. Gone. Out the open window. Jimmy hadn’t seen him get there. There’d been no sound on the floor and he’d knocked nothing over as he slid out.

Jimmy went after him.

He was gone — the kid was gone. Over the back wall. Or the wall beside him, into the empty neighbour’s. He didn’t know. He wasn’t even certain now he’d seen him.

He went back into the kitchen.

The window was open. It was nearly a welcome sight, proof. He’d seen the kid.

— You, he said softly, to the dog. — You’re a useless shitebag, aren’t yeh?

Jimmy picked the dog up. His arms were shaking. He could feel it before he took the dog’s weight. His heart was hopping. He was surprised, though; he wasn’t angry. He felt nothing about the kid.

His roar had woken no one. He listened — no sounds from upstairs.

He brought the dog over to the door, and shoved him out the back for his piss.

They’d left the kitchen window unlocked. They never used the alarm.

They were broke.

They weren’t.

They were — they were squeezed. They were in the club.

He let the dog back in.

There’d been something about the kid, the glimpse he’d had of him. Standing at the fridge, like one of his own.

He didn’t phone the Guards. He wasn’t going to. He was telling no one.

He shut the fridge door. He made the coffee.

She sat on the bed. She looked back at him and laughed.

— Fuck off, Jimmy.

— Look, he said.

— No, she said. — You fuckin’ look.

She hadn’t moved.

— This stay away from each other shite, she said. — We’re not married, Jimmy. There’s no arrangement. That I’m aware of. A kiss an’ a cuddle now an’ again. That was always it.

— I know.

— So grand. You know. Fuck off.

This hadn’t been the plan.

— You don’t get to decide, Jimmy, she said. — There’s no fuckin’ decision. If you want to stay away, then stay away. I couldn’t care less.

— Listen —

— Don’t fuckin’ listen me , Jimmy Rabbitte.

She stood up.

— I’m not your fuckin’ wife.

She walked out of the room. Two steps did it. But the way she did them — fuckin’ hell. He heard her put down the toilet seat — she didn’t bang it. Was he supposed to go while she was in there? She’d told him to fuck off. And she’d meant it — he thought she had.

He’d get fully dressed, no rushing down the stairs with his jeans and shoes in his arms. He didn’t want to leave like this. He didn’t want to leave at all. He wanted to change his mind, get back into the bed, roll back five minutes and shut his fuckin’ trap.

But he was up now, buttoning his shirt. He heard the flush, the tap.

— Where’re yeh goin’?

— I’m just goin’, he said. — Work.

— Ah. And I was goin’ to put you in my mouth one last time.

— Really?

— No. Fuck off.

— Can I say somethin’?

— Go on, said Imelda. — But keep puttin’ your trousers on.

She sat back into the bed.

— I’ve —, he started.

Don’t!

— I’ve —

Fuckin’ don’t .

— I’ve cancer, he said.

She laughed. Her head hit the wall behind her.

— Sorry, she said. — I don’t mean I don’t care.

She smiled.

— I’m really sorry.

— It’s okay, said Jimmy.

She looked very calm. Kind of flat — neutral.

— When did you find out?

— A while back, he said. — I should have —.

— Bowel, she said.

— Wha’?

— Your cancer.

— How did yeh know tha’?

— The scar, Jimmy.

He looked down to where it was, hidden behind his clothes.

— I’ve had my face up against it quite a lot over the last few months, she said. — I could see it was newish. Tuck your shirt in, Jimmy. You’re not a teenager.

He smiled. They were over the hump.

— So anyway, he said.

She sat up a bit straighter. She was pushing a pillow behind her when she spoke.

— And that’s the excuse, yeah?

— Wha’?

— Your escape route, she said.

She let go of the pillow and looked at him.

— You tell me you have cancer. After you fucked me, mind you. Thanks very much, by the way. You were magnificent.

— Look, Imelda —

— Every grunt was music to my ears.

She wasn’t angry, or sarcastic. She wanted him to laugh — he thought she did.

He sat on the bed and put on his socks and shoes.

— So, she said.

She tapped his back with her foot, kind of kicked it.

— Go on, she said.

— Wha’?

— You’ve got cancer, she said.

— Yeah.

— And?

— I need —

He was putting on the wrong sock. It was one of her husband’s, from under the bed. Blue. His were black.

— What? she said.

She nudged him again with her foot.

He couldn’t tell her about the sock. They’d never spoken about the husband, or Aoife. Steve. That was all he knew. He travelled a lot. That was all.

He did his laces.

— I have to spend time with the kids.

She laughed again.

— Lovely, she said.

— Serious, he said.

— As cancer.

Had she always been that quick?

— So, she said. — Like —. You’ve suddenly got cancer.

— Yeah, he said. — Not suddenly, no.

— You’re — you must be, wha’? Jesus, it’s like measurin’ a pregnancy. You’re havin’ chemo by now. Are yeh?

He nodded. He thought she shivered. But she was naked and it wasn’t warm.

— Look it, he said. — I couldn’t tell you.

—’Course yeh couldn’t, Jimmy. You haven’t gone bald or anythin’.

— No.

— Lucky, she said. — So. I’m just curious. When we finally met. Had the chemotherapy started?

— Yeah.

— Grand.

— Just.

— Wha’? The same day?

— No, he said. — Once. But not then — the first time.

— Go on, Jimmy, she said. — Hop it.

— Sorry.

— For what?

— I should’ve told yeh.

— Yeah, she said. — But it’s no odds, really. I kind of knew anyway.

— Did yeh?

— Not really, she said. — That’s just tha’ women’s intuition shite. I don’t believe in it. Unless it suits me. Go on.

— I’d better.

— Yep, she said. — Fuck off.

— An’ I’m sorry —

— Jimmy. I’m not givin’ you the satisfaction. Go on. Fuck off.

He’d been dismissed. Already gone; it was like he’d never been there.

He was downstairs, at the front door. He felt exposed — he even checked his fly. He’d liked it that they’d never spoken about the families. He’d started once, to tell her about May and the drinking. But she’d stopped him. I don’t want to know . He’d loved it. He’d laughed. Except.