Roddy Doyle - The Guts

He was back out with the public, charging across the field to the Crawdaddy. He thought he could hear ‘Erectile Dysfunction’. Guitar chords drifted, stopped, then all he could hear was cheering. And all he could see as he came up to the tent was people pouring out. He spotted the lads. He got through the crowd to them.

— That was fuckin’ short.

— They broke up, said Des.

— It was brilliant, said Outspan.

— They were great.

— Wha’ happened?

— The song about the erectile wha’-d’yeh-call-it, said Outspan.

— Yeah.

— Oh yes she does.

— It’s great.

— Annyway, said Outspan. — She hit him across the head with one of her sticks.

— And he kicked her bass drum.

— She hopped on him.

— It was hilarious.

— Fuck, said Jimmy. — An’ I missed it. It sounds better than usual.

— Have they broken up before?

— Fuck, yeah. Every time. They’re married. Would yeh go see them again?

— Fuckin’ sure, said Outspan.

— If they stayed together a bit longer. If you were buying a ticket.

— She was gorgeous, said Les.

— Connie?

— Gorgeous.

— Really?

The three lads were nodding.

They heard the noise. Music. Drums.

— They’re back.

They charged into the tent. It was empty, then full and dangerous in ten seconds. And they were right: Connie was gorgeous. A middle-aged ma, just in from the hairdresser, standing behind the drums and beating the living fuck out of them.

— THE ICE CAP IS MELTING — AH —

IT’S MELTING IN THE SUN —

THE POLAR BEAR —

THE POLAR BEAR —

THE POLAR BEAR —

THE POLAR BEAR —

Jimmy could hear it now, the crowd shouting with Connie.

THE POLAR BEAR —

THE POLAR BEAR —

They’d never heard the song before but they’d a good idea of where it was going.

— THE POLAR BEAR’S AN ENDANGERED LITTLE CUNT — TAH —

The cheer ripped a hole in the roof of the tent.

And a brilliant thing happened. The crowd grabbed the song.

Five hundred people shouted at the same time.

— OH YES HE IS —

And five hundred cheerfully disagreed.

— OH NO HE ISN’T —

It was a national debate, the country’s response to climate change.

— OH YES HE IS —

OH NO HE ISN’T —

The thing — the joy — went off in Jimmy again. He nearly pissed.

— THE POLAR BEAR —

THE POLAR BEAR —

HE’S A — HE’S A — HE’S A — HE’S A —

THE FURRY LITTLE POLAH BEAR-AH —

HE’S A — HE’S A — HE’S A —

The crowd took over.

— ENDANGERED LITTLE CUNT —

ENDANGERED —

LITTLE CUNT —

Outspan had the mask to his face between shouts.

— ENDANGERED LITTLE —

CUNT — TAH —

Connie pushed the drums out of her way. She threw her sticks into the crowd. She didn’t lob them. She aimed and threw. The St John’s Ambulance would be needed at the front. And she walked off. Barry lifted his guitar, ready to smash it on the stage. He held it high and stepped up to the mic.

— You’re not fuckin’ worth it!

And he followed his wife offstage.

They were done.

And Jimmy finally knew it: they were geniuses. This wasn’t a middle-aged couple reliving the glory days in front of a few friends. This was the Sex Pistols in Manchester. Jimmy had another sensation on his hands. He’d seen at least ten people filming it. The gig and both break-ups would be up on YouTube. They were probably up already.

They went back outside.

— Fuckin’ hell.

— Amazin’.

Jimmy looked at his watch. It wasn’t even one o’clock. The phone hopped. It was Aoife. Cudnt get in, packed . He sent one back. We’re outside .

He saw it now. The inflatable chair. A big purple armchair. They’d parked it in against the side of the Crawdaddy canvas, at the backstage fence. Outspan dropped into it and tucked the cylinder in beside him.

— Where did tha’ come from? said Jimmy.

— They’re on sale over there, said Les.

— Les bought it for me, said Outspan.

He loved it.

Another text from Aoife. Any toilet paper? X . She could wait a while for the answer, after the slagging she’d given him yesterday, before he’d left the house.

— Where now?

— Grub?

— Great.

— I’ve to go to Body and Soul, said Jimmy.

— What’s that?

— It’s the fuckin’ hippy place, said Outspan.

— There’s a stage there, said Jimmy. — I’ve another band on.

— Who?

— The Bastards of Lir.

— Good as that lot?

— No way, said Jimmy. — Celtic Rock.

— Great.

— Christy on fuckin’ acid, said Outspan.

— We’ll follow you over, Jim, said Les.

Jimmy didn’t want to leave them, especially when he saw Les and Des take a side each of Outspan’s chair and hoist it and Outspan up onto their shoulders.

— I’m your man from The Jungle Book , said Outspan. — King Louie.

They marched away –

— See you in a bit.

— across to the food stalls. Jimmy wanted his shoulder under the chair but they were getting on fine without him. But then, he thought, he’d just given them the gig of their lives. He was at work and the elderly Bastards of Lir were waiting for him.

He texted Connie. Brilliant . He texted Barry. Fuckin brilliant . He texted Aoife and told her where he was headed. She’d appreciate the jacks paper better in a place called Body and Soul.

He texted young Jimmy. Enjoyin yrslf?

He texted Marvin. Excited?

He texted Noeleen. Halfbreds brilliant. We’ll make a few € .

He texted Ned the Celtic wanker, the Bastard of Lir himself.

On way. Looking forward to it .

He was dreading it.

The only reason Ned was on the ticket was because Jimmy still felt guilty for calling the da’s attention to the daughter’s arse at the Christmas do. It still made him weak — the guilt, not the arse. And there was the awful fact that the Bastards of Lir sold. No one went to see them live, but middle-aged men and women who didn’t venture out after dark still craved the sound.

The Body and Soul stage, when he found it, was like something from Lord of the Rings . It was in among the trees, in a hollow, a tiny natural amphitheatre.

The Bastards of Lir were waiting there.

— Ned.

— Jimmy.

Five men, four ponytails. Three leather waistcoats.

— You’re being looked after?

— We expected a tent, said Ned.

— This is your venue, Ned.

— It’s an afterthought.

— It fuckin’ isn’t, said Jimmy.

He wasn’t taking this.

— Some of the best gigs happen here, said Jimmy. — Look at it.

Now that he was down in the hollow, it was great, and a bit magic. The place would fill.

— The whole festival is built around Body and Soul, said Jimmy.

Ned wasn’t looking at him.

— What if it was raining? he said.

— It isn’t rainin,’ said Jimmy. — How many times have you played the Picnic before?

Ned didn’t answer.

— Do you think they actually wanted you? said Jimmy.

He got to an answer before Ned could.

— Yes, they fuckin’ did, said Jimmy. — And they wanted you here . In Body and Soul. That was the ask.

He was saving the day, lying through his arse, and impressing himself again.

— Okay, said Ned. — I hear you.

— Read the email I sent you, said Jimmy. — You knew what you were gettin’.

The tin whistle player spat on the ground.

— You’ll be brilliant, said Jimmy.

He looked at his watch. The stage manager was waving at them. — You’re on, said Jimmy.