Roddy Doyle - The Snapper

— Will yeh come down to the kitchen for a minute, Sharon? said Jimmy Sr.

He was making a sandwich for himself when Sharon got downstairs.

She was worried. She’d never been called out of bed before.

— Yeh might as well have a cup o’ tea now you’re up, said Jimmy Sr.

— Okay.

— Good girl.

Jimmy Sr sat down. Sharon went back to the sink and filled the kettle.

— Is somethin’ the matter? she asked.

— Not really, no, Sharon. — It’s just, I heard somethin’ tonigh’. An’ I wanted to warn yeh.

Then he started eating his sandwich, a lemon curd one.

Sharon turned off the tap.

— Warn me?

She was really worried now. The kettle was heavy enough to hide the shakes. She took it over to the socket, and then went back to wash two cups.

— Well, yeah, said Jimmy Sr. — Warn.

He took a drop of lemon curd off the table with his finger, thought twice about licking it and rubbed it into his trousers.

— Yeh know your man, George Burgess?

Sharon was facing the kitchen window. She leaned over the sink and coughed. She turned on the tap.

— Are yeh alrigh’ there? said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah. I’ll be fine.

— I thought yis only did tha’ sort o’ thing in the mornin’s.

— Sometimes in the night as well.

— Is tha’ righ’? God love yis.

Sharon felt a bit better. He was being too nice. He didn’t know anything.

— What abou’ Mister Burgess? she said.

— Ah, he was sayin’ things abou’ yeh.—

— Wha’ was he sayin’ about me?

— Not to me face. He wouldn’t fuckin’ want to. It was Bimbo tha’ told me. He said — He was sayin’ things abou’ you, bein’ pregnant.

— So wha’?

— Good girl.

— Wha’ did he say?

— Ah — He said you were a great little ride. So Bimbo says annyway.

— Mister Reeves wouldn’t make somethin’ like that up.

— God no, not Bimbo. Never.

— An’ who’s your man Burgess callin’ little? I’m bigger than he is.

Jimmy Sr laughed, delighted.

— That’s righ’. You’re not upset or annythin’?

— No!

She filled the cups and worked at the teabags with a spoon.

— Really, bein’ called a ride is a bit of a compliment really, isn’t it?

— Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr. — I don’t know. — Thanks.

He took his cup.

— I suppose it is.

He tried the tea.

— That’s grand, good girl. — Still though, he’d no righ’ to be sayin’ things like tha’.

— Sure, fellas — men — are always sayin’ things like tha’ abou’ girls.

— Ah yeah, but. Not daughters though.

— Don’t be thick, Daddy. All girls are daughters.

— Well, not my fuckin’ daughter then.

— That’s hypocritical.

— I don’t give a fuck what it is, said Jimmy Sr. — He has young ones of his own. Tha’ pal o’ yours—?

— Yvonne.

— That’s righ’.—It’s shockin’. Annyway, I’m not havin’ some fat little fucker insultin’ any of my family. Specially not you.

— You’re my knight in shinin’ armour.

— Don’t start.

He grinned. So did Sharon.

— I just thought tha’ I should tell yeh, yeh know, said Jimmy Sr.

— Thanks.

— No problem.

— I’m goin’ back up now, righ’?

— Okay. Night nigh’, Sharon.

Les got tired and cold waiting out the back for his da to go to bed so he filled his lungs and opened the back door.

— Good Jaysis! Where were you till now?

— Ou’.

Les got past Jimmy Sr, behind his chair. Standing up quickly was always a problem for Jimmy Sr.

— Get back here, you.

But Les didn’t come back. Jimmy Sr heard the boys’ bedroom door being opened and closed. He’d get him in the morning. He started looking for a few biscuits.

Larrygogan yelped in his sleep.

— Shut up, you, said Jimmy Sr.

Sharon heard the boys’ door as well. She was deciding what to do about Mister Burgess. It was simple: she’d go over to his place and tell him to stop saying things about her or she’d tell Missis Burgess, or something. She didn’t really know him but she thought that that would give him a big enough fright. Simple. Not easy though; no way. She hated the idea of having to go over and talk to him, and look at him; and him looking at her. Still though, she had to shut him up.

She’d do it tomorrow.

The stupid prick.

* * *

lt was half-six and Sharon was home from work. She was standing on the Burgess’s front step. She was afraid she was making a mistake but she rang the bell again before she could change her mind.

Pat Burgess slid back the aluminium door.

— Yeah?

— Is Mister Burgess there?

— Yeah.

— Can I see him for a minute?

— He’s still havin’ his tea.

— Only for a minute, tell him.

Sharon looked in while she was waiting. It was a small hall, exactly the same as theirs. There were more pictures in this one though, and no phone. Sharon could hear children and adult voices from the kitchen. She could see the side of Missis Burgess’s back because she was sitting at the end of the table nearest the door. Then she saw Missis Burgess’s face. And then she heard her voice.

— Is it George you want, Sharon?

God! thought Sharon.

— Yes, please, Missis Burgess. Just for a minute.

She wanted to run. Jesus, she was terrified but she thought Mister Burgess probably was as well. The kitchen door closed for a second and when it opened again Mister Burgess was there. There was a napkin hanging from his trousers. He looked worried alright. And angry and afraid. And a bit lost.

Looking at him, Sharon felt better. She knew what she was going to say: he didn’t. She wasn’t disgusted looking at him now. She just couldn’t believe she’d ever let him near her.

Mister Burgess came towards her.

— Yes, Sharon? he said. To Missis Burgess.

— I want to talk to you, Sharon said quickly when he got to the door.

He wouldn’t look at her straight.

— Wha’ abou’?

— YOU know.

— I’ll see yeh later.

— I’ll tell Missis Burgess.

Mister Burgess looked back into the hall. A lift of his head told her to come in.

— Come into the lounge, Sharon, he shouted. — Sharon’s here abou’ Darren.

— Hiyeh, Sharon.

It was Yvonne, from somewhere in the kitchen.

— Hiyeh, Yvonne, Sharon called back.

— See yeh later.

— Yeah, okay.

She walked into the front room. Mister Burgess shut the door. He was shaking and red.

— Wha’ do yeh think you’re up to, yeh little bitch, he hissed.

— Wha’ d’yeh think YOU’RE up to, yeh little bastard?

He didn’t hiss now.

— Wha’?

— Wha’ were yeh sayin’ about me to your friends? said Sharon.

— I didn’t say ann’thin’ to annyone.

It was an aggressive answer but there was a tail on it.

— You said I was a ride. Didn’t yeh?

George Burgess hated that. He hated hearing women using the language he used. He just didn’t think it was right. It sounded dirty. As well as that, he knew he’d been snared. But he wasn’t dead yet.

— Didn’t yeh? said Sharon.

— Are yeh mad? I did not.

— I can tell from your face.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been told that. His mother had said it; Doris said it; everyone said it.

— I was only jokin’.

— I’m a great little ride.

The word ride made him snap his eyes shut.

— I didn’t mean anny harm. I only—

— Wha’ else did yeh say about me?

— Nothin’.

— Maybe!

— I swear. I didn’t. On the Bible. I didn’t say annythin’. Else.