Roddy Doyle - The Snapper

Unless it’s the manager o’ Spurs or Man United or somethin’.—I wouldn’t mind, compadres, but I’ve abou’ thirty fuckin’ phones in cold storage. Mickey Mouse an’ Snoopy ones.

— Jessica’d like a Snoopy one, said Bimbo. — For her birth’y.

— You don’t have a phone, said Paddy.

— So?

— So a Snoopy one won’t be much use to Jessica, will it?

— For an ornament, I meant. For her bedside locker.

— Her wha’?

— Her bedside locker.

— I bet yeh you made it yourself.

— No! — I bought it an’ put it together.

Paddy raised his eyes to heaven.

— Do anny of yis ever hit your kids? Jimmy Sr asked them all.

He lowered a third of his latest pint while they looked at him.

— Never, said Bimbo.

— Now an’ again, said Paddy.

— Well, yeah, said Bimbo. — Now an’ again, alrigh’. When they’re lookin’ for it. Specially Wayne.

— It’s the only exercise I get, Bertie told them. — I wait till they’re old enough to run but. To give them a fair chance, yeh know.

Bimbo knew he was joking, so he laughed.

— I’m dyin’ to give Gillian a good hidin’, said Bertie. — But she never does annythin’ bold. She’d give yeh the sick. Trevor’s great though. Trevor’s a desperado.

Jimmy Sr took control of the conversation again.

— Yis’d want to be careful, he told them.

— Why’s tha’, compadre?

— Cos if you’re caught you’re fucked.

— What’re yeh on abou’? said Paddy.

— Child abuse, said Jimmy Sr.

— Would yeh ever fuck off, said Paddy. — Givin’ your kids a smack for bein’ bold isn’t child abuse.

— No way.

— I don’t know, said Jimmy Sr. — It looks to me like yeh can’t look crooked at your kids now—

— Don’t be thick, said Paddy. — You’re exaggeratin’. Yeh have to burn them with cigarette butts or—

— I’m not listenin’ to this, said Bimbo.

— Don’t then, said Paddy. — Or mess around with their—

— SHUT UP.

It was Bimbo. Paddy stopped.

— You’re makin’ a joke of it, said Bimbo.

— I’m not.

— Yeh are.

— Whose twist is it? said Bertie. — Someone’s shy.

— Four pints, Leo, Jimmy Sr shouted. — Like a good man. — Maybe you’re righ’, he said to both Bimbo and Paddy. — It’s shockin’ though, isn’t it? The whole business.

— Fuckin’ terrible, said Bimbo.

— Come here, said Bertie. — Guess who I spied with my little eye this mornin’.

— Who?

— Someone beginnin’ with B.

— Burgess!

— Si.

— Great. Where?

— Swords.

— How was he lookin’? said Jimmy Sr.

— Oh, very thin an’ undernourished, said Bertie. — An’ creased.

— Yahaah!

Jimmy Sr rubbed his hands.

I nearly gave the poor cunt twopence, Bertie told them.

They liked that.

— There mustn’t be another mot so, said Paddy. — If he’s in rag order like tha’.

— Unless she’s a brasser.

— Were yeh talkin’ to him? Bimbo asked.

— No, said Bertie. — I was on me way to learn how to use the phone.

— Now, Leo called. — Four nice pints over here.

— Leo wants yeh, Paddy told Jimmy Sr.

Jimmy Sr brought the pints down to the table and sat down. Bertie picked up the remains of his old pint.

— To the Signor Horge Burgess, he said.

— Oh def’ny, said Bimbo.

They raised their glasses.

— The fuckin’ eejit, said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah now, said Bertie. — That’s not nice.

* * *

Sharon was nowhere near the Abbey Mooney at eight o’clock on Tuesday.

She lay in bed later, half expecting stones to start hitting the window. Or something.

* * *

It was that Sharon Rabbitte one from across the road. She was pregnant. She’d come to the house. She was the one; she knew it.

Dear Doris,

I hope you are well—

People probably knew already. They always did around here. Oh God, the shame; the mortification. She’d never be able to step out of the house again.

I am writing to you to let you know why I left you last week—

If he’d died and left her a widow it would’ve been different, alright; but this wasn’t fair. He was making her feel ashamed, the selfish bastard, and she hadn’t done anything.

Doris, I’ve been having a bit of an affair with a girl. This girl is expecting—

The Rabbitte one; it had to be.

I am very sorry—

It had to be.

I hope you will understand, Doris. I cannot abandon this girl. She has no one else to look after her—

The next bit was worse.

I still love you, Doris. But I love this girl as well. I am, as the old song goes, torn between two lovers. I will miss you and the children very much—

Oh God!

He was her husband!

Twenty-four years. It wasn’t her fault.

P.S.

I got a lend of the paper.

Doris sniffed.

He’d always been an eejit. She’d never be able to go out again. — Men got funny at George’s age. She’d noticed the same thing with her father. They went silly when there were girls near them; when her friends had been in the house. They tried to pretend that they weren’t getting old and made eejits out of themselves. And, God knew, George had a head start there.

The Rabbitte one probably took money off him as well.

* * *

Veronica made out Doris Burgess’s shape through the glass. The hair was the give-away.

She opened the door.

— Doris, she said.

— Is Sharon in? said Doris.

— She’s at work. Why?

Veronica knew; before she had it properly worked out.

Doris tried to look past Veronica.

— Why do you want her? said Veronica.

Now Doris looked at Veronica.

— Well, if you must know, she’s been messin’ around with George. — He’s the father.

— Get lost, Doris, said Veronica.

— I will not get lost now, said Doris. — She’s your daughter, isn’t she?

There were two women coming up the road, four gates away.

— Of course, said Doris, — what else would you expect from a—

Veronica punched her in the face.

* * *

— What happened yeh, Doris? said Mrs Foster.

— Tha’ one hit her, said Mrs Caprani. — Yeh seen it yourself.

— I mean before that.

Doris wanted to get out of Rabbitte territory. She pulled herself away from the women and ran out the gate. She stopped on the path.

— What happened, Doris? Mrs Foster asked again.

She tried to get to Doris’s nose with a paper hankie.

More people were coming.

— Veronica Rabbitte’s after givin’ poor Doris an awful clatter, Mrs Caprani told them. — In the nose.

Doris was still crying.

— I’ll do it — it myself.

She took the hankie.

— Wha’ happened yeh, Doris?

— Sh — Shar—

— Shar, Doris? What shar?

* * *

Inside, Veronica sat in the kitchen, putting sequins onto Linda’s dancing dress.

* * *

Sharon lay on her bed. She couldn’t go downstairs, she couldn’t go to the Hikers, or anywhere. She was surrounded. She was snared. If she went anywhere or — she couldn’t. All because of that stupid fucker.

— The fucker, she said to the ceiling.

The baby was nothing. It happened. It was alright. Barrytown was good that way. Nobody minded. Guess the daddy was a hobby. But now Burgess — He’d cut her off from everything. She’d no friends now, and no places to go to. She couldn’t even look at her family. God, she wanted to die; really she did. She just lay there. She couldn’t do anything else.