Roddy Doyle - The Snapper

— I was drunk I said, said Sharon.

— I was drunk when I met your mother, said Jimmy Sr. — But I still remember her name. It’s Veronica!

— Don’t shout, said Veronica.

— Ah look, I was really drunk, said Sharon. — Pissed. Sorry, Mammy.

— How do yeh know he was Spanish then? said Jimmy Sr.

He had her.

— Or a sailor.

He had her alright.

— He could’ve been a Pakistani postman if you were tha’ drunk. — Well?

Sharon stood up.

— Yis needn’t believe me if yeh don’t want to.

There wasn’t enough room for her to run out so she had to get around Jimmy Sr’s chair as quick as she could. Jimmy Sr turned to watch her but he didn’t say anything. He turned back to the table.

— Wha’ d’yeh think? he asked Veronica.

Veronica was flattening the gold paper from a Cadbury’s Snack — she always had a few of them hidden away from the kids for when she wanted one herself — with a fingernail.

— I think, she said, — I’d be delighted if the father was a Spanish sailor and not George Burgess.

— God, yeah, said Jimmy Sr.

— Why don’t you leave her alone then?

— Wha’ d’yeh mean, Veronica?

— If she says he was a Spanish sailor why not let her say it?

— An’ believe her?

Veronica shrugged.

— Yeah.

— I don’t know, said Jimmy Sr. — It’d be great. — If she’d just give us a name or somethin’.

— Does it matter?

— Wha’?—Maybe you’re righ’.

He stood up.

— Fuck it annyway. — I’ll, eh, give it some thought.

— You do that, said Veronica.

* * *

Tracy stayed at the bedroom door. She had something she had to ask Sharon.

She got it out.

— Sharon, sure the baby won’t look like Mister Burgess?

— Aaah! No, he won’t! He’s not the daddy, Tracy; I told yeh.

She eyed Tracy.

— Who said that annyway?

— Nicola ’Malley, said Tracy.

— Well, you tell Nicola ’Malley — to fuck off.

They grinned.

— I did already, said Tracy.

— Good.

— An’ I scraped her face as well.

— Good.

— An’ Linda scribbled all over her sums.

Sharon laughed.

— Brilliant.

* * *

They were nearly finished talking about Bertie’s shirt and tie and jacket and why he was wearing them. He’d done a mock interview that afternoon.

— He said he’d’ve given me the job if there’d been a real job goin’, Bertie told them.

— Did he say yeh did annythin’ wrong? Paddy asked him.

— Yes, indeed. He said I’d have to stop scratchin’ me bollix all the time.

They laughed, but Jimmy Sr didn’t.

— Jimmy, said Bertie. — Compadre mio.

— Wha’?

— I just said somethin’ funny. Why didn’t yeh laugh?

— Sorry, Bertie. I wasn’t listenin’.—I was just lookin’ at the soccer shower over there. I think they were laughin’ at me.

— Ah cop on, will yeh, said Paddy.

— No; they were, said Jimmy Sr. — Lookin’ over, yeh know, an’ laughin’.

— No one’s laughin’ at yeh, said Bertie.

— Not at all, said Bimbo. — They’d want to try.

— Ah sorry, lads. — It’s just—

— You’re alrigh’, said Bertie.

Jimmy Sr forced himself to smile. They said nothing for a short while.

— She says that it was a Spanish sailor now, said Jimmy Sr. — Sharon.

— So yeh said.

— Why did Burgess fuck off then? Paddy wanted to know.

His wife at home wanted to know as well. So did Bertie and Bimbo.

— That’s it, said Jimmy Sr. — I don’t fuckin’ know. If I knew tha’ I’d be able to — yeh know?

— He must’ve had some reason, said Paddy.

— Tha’ doesn’t mean tha’ Sharon was the reason, said Bimbo. — It could’ve been annythin’. Your mot left you for a bit, remember.

— Tha’ was different.

— Annyone’d leave him, said Bertie.

— Fuck off, you, said Paddy.

— The way I see it, said Bimbo, — just cos Georgie Burgess ran away an’ said he got some young one pregnant an’ Sharon is pregnant, yeh know, tha’ doesn’t mean it has to be Sharon.

He drank.

— That’s wha’ I think annyway.

— Si, said Bertie.

— Sharon’s a lovely lookin’ young one, Bimbo told Jimmy Sr. — She’d have young lads queuein’ up for her. Burgess wouldn’t get near her. I’d say it was the sailor alrigh’.

— This hombre, he speaks the truth, said Bertie.

— A good lookin’ young lad, yeh know, said Bimbo. — A bit different as well, yeh know. Dark an’ tall. An’—

— Exotic, said Bertie.

— Exactly, said Bimbo.

— An’ a hefty langer on him, said Bertie.

They all laughed, even Jimmy Sr.

— Christopher Columbus, said Bertie.

They roared.

— You believe her, don’t yeh? said Bimbo.

Jimmy held his glass up to the light so he wouldn’t have to look at Bimbo or the other two.

— I’d—, he began.

— Course yeh do, said Bimbo.

— Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. — I suppose I do. I def’ny would if I knew — Veronica says I should believe her whether it’s true or not.

— She’s righ’, said Bimbo.

— Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. — Yeah. Whose round is it?

* * *

Sharon wasn’t sure, but she thought they’d all swallowed it. It made more sense anyway, the lie; it was more believable. No one would ever have believed that herself and Mister Burgess had — she couldn’t think of any proper name for it — except for she was pregnant and Mister Burgess had told Missis Burgess that he’d got a young one pregnant. But everyone would easily believe that she’d got off with a Spanish sailor.

So it made more sense. But she knew this as well: everyone would prefer to believe that she’d got off with Mister Burgess. It was a bigger piece of scandal and better gas. She’d have loved it herself, only she was the poor sap who was pregnant. Yeah definitely, Sharon and Mister Burgess was a much better story than Sharon and the Spanish sailor.

So that was what she was fighting against; Barrytown’s sense of humour. She’d keep telling them that it was the Spanish sailor and they’d believe her alright, but every time they thought about Mister Burgess with his trousers down and pulling at her tits and watering at the mouth they’d forget about the Spanish sailor.

She should have given him a name. It was too late now. Anyway, her daddy would have been down to the Spanish embassy looking for his address then.

She hated this time of the day, when there weren’t enough customers and some of the girls on the check-out had to do the shelves. She was straightening the ranks of shampoo and then she was going to do the same with the soap so she wouldn’t have to bend down too much because they were on the middle and top shelves.

She’d keep at it anyway, telling them about her Spanish sailor. She was sorry now she hadn’t thought of this earlier, before Mister Burgess ran away and started writing letters to everyone. It was a pity. None of this would have happened then.

— Ah cop on, Sharon, she told herself.

It was a good idea and it was working. Jackie believed her. Jackie said Mary believed her as well. Her mammy believed her. She wasn’t so sure about her daddy. But she’d keep at him, telling him until she believed it herself. She’d have loved that, to believe it herself.

She’d been noticing all the Spanish students that were always upstairs on the buses at this time of year. They looked rich — their clothes were lovely — and snotty. There were a lot of fat ones. But most of them had lovely skin and hair. Black eyes and black hair.