Roddy Doyle - The Snapper

She was angry now. She thumped the bed.

The bastard, the fucker; it wasn’t fuckin’ fair. She’d deny it, that was what she’d do. And she’d keep denying it. And denying it.

* * *

Veronica and Jimmy Sr were down in the kitchen.

— Desperate, so it is, said Jimmy Sr quietly. — Shockin’.

Veronica put the dress down. She couldn’t look at another sequin.

— That’s about the hundredth time you’ve said that, she told him.

— Well, it is fuckin’ desperate.

They heard Linda and Tracy coming up the hall.

— Slow — Slow — Quick — Quick — Slow.

— Get ou’! Jimmy Sr roared.

— We know where we’re not wanted, said Linda. — Come on, Tracy.

— Slow — Slow — Quick—

They danced down the hall, into the front room to annoy Darren.

Jimmy Sr was miserable.

— Poor Sharon though.

— Poor Sharon! said Veronica. — What about poor us?

— Don’t start now, said Jimmy Sr.

He was playing with a cold chip.

— I suppose — She could’ve been more careful, he said.

— She could’ve had more taste, said Veronica.

— That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr, glad to be able to say it. — You’re right o’ course. That’s what’s so terrible about it.

George Burgess. — Georgie Burgess. Jesus, Veronica, I think the cunt’s older than I am.

He threw the chip at the window, and then felt stupid.

He was feeling sorry for himself; he knew it. And now he was letting his eyes water.

— It’s only yourself you’re worried about, Veronica told him.

— Ah — I know, said Jimmy Sr. — But poor Sharon as well.

He rubbed his eyes quickly.

— I can’t even go ou’ for a fuckin’ pint.

— It’s about time you stayed in.

— Is there annythin’ good on?

— I don’t know.

— George fuckin’ Burgess.

Then they heard the voice from upstairs.

— THIS IS JIMMY RABBITTE — ALL — OVER — IRELAND.

— Oh fuck, no, Jimmy Sr pleaded. — Not tonigh’. Please.

* * *

Jimmy Sr gave Sharon a lift to work the next morning. They didn’t say much. Jimmy Sr asked a question.

— How—?

— It wasn’t him.

— I never—

— It wasn’t him, righ’.

— Okay. — Okay.

That was it.

* * *

Jimmy Sr scooped out the teabag and flung it into a corner. His shoulders were at him. He felt shite. He wanted to go home.

It wasn’t him, she’d said.

He didn’t know. He tried it again: it wasn’t him. He believed her of course, but — If it wasn’t Burgess then who the fuck was it? She’d have to tell them. He had to know for certain that it was definitely someone else; anyone. She’d just have to fuckin’ tell them.

Or else.

He tried the tea. It was brutal.

* * *

— There’s no fuckin’ way, Jackie. You know tha’.

Jackie was sitting on the twins’ bed. Sharon was sitting on her own bed. She looked at the steam rising up off her tea, so she didn’t have to look at Jackie.

— I know, said Jackie.

It wasn’t enough, Jackie knew; not nearly. It didn’t sound as if she’d meant it enough.

— I know tha’, she said; better this time, she thought. — Jesus, the state of him. There’s no way you’d’ve—

— Don’t say it, said Sharon. — I’ll get sick, I swear.

Jackie tried to laugh. They looked at each other and then they really laughed. Sharon thought the happiness would burst out of her, through her ribs, out of her mouth.

— Can yeh imagine it! she said.

— Tha’ dirty big belly on top o’ yeh!

— Stop it!

They said nothing for a bit, and the giggling died. Sharon’s nails dug into her palms.

— i KNOW WHA’ YOU’RE THIN — KIN’, she sang.

Jackie laughed, at the floor.

— Fuck off, she said. — Are yeh tellin’?

— S’pose I’d better.

— Jesus, Sharon, come on.

— It was one o’ them Spanish sailors.

— Wha’?

— Yeh know, said Sharon. — Yeh do. In the Harp, I met him.

— Oh, now I get yeh. Jesus, Sharon.

— There was loads o’ them there, yeh know. There was a big boat, yeh know; down in the docks for two days, I think it was.

She had this bit off by heart.

— He was gorgeous, Jackie, I’m not jokin’ yeh.

— Was he? Jesus. — Yeh never mentioned him before.

— No. I didn’t want to. — Yeh know. It was only for one night.

— Yeah. Do yeh know his address?

— I don’t even know his fuckin’ name, Jackie.

Manuel was the only Spanish name she could think of.

— Jesus, said Jackie. — Go on annyway.

— Ah, I just met him. In the Harp, yeh know. His English was brutal. — Come here, he had a sword.

She’d just thought up that bit.

— I’d say he did alrigh’, said Jackie, and they roared laughing.

— That’s disgustin’, Jackie.

— Where did yis — do it? Jackie asked.

She was smiling. She was enjoying herself now.

— In his hotel. The Ormond, yeh know.

— Was he not supposed to sleep in his ship?

— No, not really. They let them ou’ for the night.

— Oh yeah. — Like Letter To Brezhnev.

— God, yeah, said Sharon. — Jesus, I never thought o’ tha’.

She was sure her nails had gone through the skin.

— Was he nice?

— Fuckin’ gorgeous. Anyway, I wouldn’t’ve done it with him if he hadn’t o’ been, sure I wouldn’t?

— No way.

— He was very dark.

She hoped to God the baby wouldn’t have red hair.

— Was he good?

— Fuckin’ brilliant. He had me nearly screamin’, I’m not jokin’ yeh.

— Oh—

— We did it in the bath as well.

— God, I’d love tha’.

— It was brilliant.

— Yeah, said Jackie. — Yeh lucky bitch yeh, Sharon. I’m goin’ to go to the Harp from now on. — Come here, did he give you his cap?

— Wha’?

— His cap. Yeh know. His uniform.

— Ah, no.

— Did he not? — Yeh know Melanie Beglin? She has two o’ them. A German an’ a Swedish.

— Does she?

— Yeah. She’s a slut, tha’ one. — Jesus, sorry, Sharon! I didn’t mean—

Sharon laughed.

— She is though, said Jackie. — I hate her. Come here, Sharon, though. Why did Mister Burgess run away?

— I don’t know!

— I know it wasn’t — because. Yeh know. But — Let’s go an’ get pissed.

— Ah—

— Go on, Sharon. Howth. A bit o’ buzz.

— Okay. Where’s me shoes?

— There, look it. I’ll get them.

— No, it’s alrigh’. Jesus, me fuckin’ back. — How’s Yvonne takin’ it?

–

— Will yeh tell her about the sailor? said Sharon.

— Okay.

— Thanks.

* * *

— I’ll be blinded by these bloody sequins, said Veronica.

— Wha’? said Jimmy Sr.

— Look it, said Veronica. — I’m still on Linda’s one.

She held up the dress.

— It looks like I’ve only started.

— That’s shockin’, said Jimmy Sr. — Why couldn’t they just play basketball or somethin’? It looks very nice though, Veronica.

— Mm.

Jimmy Sr wriggled around on the couch. It was past his going out time.

— D’yeh know wha’, Veronica? I’m nearly afraid to go down to the pub — because of—

— Oh, shut up.

— Do you believe her, Veronica?

— Shut up.

* * *

There was a bunch of kids, boys Darren’s age, sitting on the wall at the bus-stop when Sharon got off. They all stared at her as she went past them. When she’d gone about three gates one of them shouted.