Roddy Doyle - The Snapper

— Don’t mind him, Veronica told Darren. — He’s just being smart. Wash your cuts and then you’re to go to the chipper.

— I don’t need to wash—

— Do wha’ your mammy tells yeh.

Darren did.

Jimmy Sr looked at Veronica.

— How’re yeh feelin’, love?

— Ah—

Linda and Tracy came in.

— Yes? said Jimmy Sr.

The twins looked at each other. Then Linda spoke.

— Ma, we’re sorry.

— Mammy.

— Mammy. We’re sorry.

— It’s not tha’ bad, said Tracy. — It’s not really stupid.

— Won’t yeh keep makin’ our dresses? said Linda.

— She will o’ course, said Jimmy Sr.

— I’ll think about it, said Veronica to Jimmy Sr.

— She’ll think abou’ it, said Jimmy Sr.

He clapped his hands.

— The few chips’ll go down well, he said.

He went over to the bread bin.

— I’ll butter a few slices, will I? For butties.

— You think of nothing except your stomach, said Veronica.

— It’s the family’s stomachs I’m thinkin’ of, Veronica, me dear.

He rolled up two slices and shoved them into his mouth. He winked at Veronica and then he went back to the front room. Sharon was in there, alone. She was sitting on the couch, and reading Jimmy Sr’s book.

— Who’s readin’ this? she asked Jimmy Sr when she saw him.

He shouldn’t have left it there.

— I am, he said.

— You!

The book was Everywoman.

— Yeah. — Why not?

He sat down beside her.

— What’re yeh readin’ it for? Sharon asked him.

— Aah — Curiosity. I suppose.

— Where d’yeh get it?

— Library.

He looked at Sharon. He took the book from her.

— I didn’t know there was so much to it, yeh know.

— Yeah.

— It’s like the inside of a fuckin’ engine or somethin’. ’Cept engines don’t grow.

Sharon grinned.

— D’yeh get cramps, Sharon? said Jimmy Sr.

Sharon laughed a bit.

— No. Not yet annyway.

— Good. Good. I’d say they’d be a killer. We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed. — Anythin’ else?

— Wrong?

— Yeah.

— No.

— Good. That’s good.

— I went to me antenatal check-ups.

— Yeh did o’ course. — An’ wha’ were they like?

— Grand.

— Good. — Good. Darren’s gone to the chipper, for the dinners. — Yeah.

— That’s some knock he got. — Yeah.

— He got up though, fair play to him. — I was lookin’ at another chapter there.

He opened the book and closed it and opened it again and looked at a diagram and closed it.

— The one abou’—doin’ the business, yeh know.

— Sex?

— Yeah. Exactly. — Jaysis, I don’t know — It’s very fuckin’ complicated, isn’t it?

Sharon laughed, and felt her face getting hot. — I can’t say I don’t know, she said.

— Wha’? Oh yeah. — I’d say Georgie Burgess was a dab hand at the oul’—wha’ d’yeh macall it — the foreplay, wha’?

— Daddy!

— Sorry. Sorry, Sharon. It wasn’t Burgess, I know. I just said it for a laugh. But — abou’, yeh know, ridin’ an’ tha’—I thought it was just — D’yeh know wha’ I mean?

— I think so.

— Jaysis, Sharon. I don’t know—

— I’d better warn Mammy.

— Wha’? Oh yeah. Very good. Yeah. — Annyway, I was lookin’ at another bit here. Look it.

Les saved Sharon by sticking his head round the door. Jimmy Sr felt the draught and looked up.

— Jaysis!

— Howyeh.

— Leslie. How are yeh?

— Alrigh’.

— Good man. How’re the jobs goin’?

— Alrigh’.

— Good man. Gardens?

— Yeah.

— An’ windows.

— Yeah.

— Good. Gives yeh a few bob annyway, wha’. Are yeh havin’ your dinner with us?

— Yeah.

— My God. We’ll have to kill the fatted cod for yeh.

— Wha’?

— Darren’s gone to the chipper.

— He’s back.

— Is he?

— Yeah.

— Why didn’t yeh tell us? I’m fuckin’ starvin’.—Hang on.

He took the book.

— I’ll put this upstairs, he said to Sharon. — I wouldn’t want Darren to see it. — Or Jimmy.

Sharon laughed.

— I could blackmail yeh now.

— Yeh could indeed. Yeh could alrigh’.

* * *

They heard the radio being turned up.

— Righ’ now, said Jimmy Sr. — Listen now.

He looked up at the ceiling. Sharon and Veronica looked up at the ceiling.

Alison Moyet was singing Is This Love. The sound dropped.

— Now, said Jimmy Sr.

They listened.

— THIS IS JOMMY ROBBITTE — ALL — OVER — ORELAND.

Then the sound went up again.

— There, said Jimmy Sr. — Doesn’t he sound different?

* * *

— Sorry, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr. — Sorry for interruptin’ yeh.

Sharon wasn’t doing anything really. She hadn’t the energy even to get up. She was lying on the couch, flicking through the channels.

Jimmy Sr was at the door.

— Wha’? said Sharon.

She was getting really tired of her da; all his questions.

— How many weeks are yeh pregnant, exactly? said Jimmy Sr.

— Thirty-five. Why?

— Just checkin’.

— What’re yeh lookin’ at?

— Your ankles. They don’t look too swollen.

— They’re not.

— Good.

Sharon hoped that was that.

It wasn’t.

— I was just readin’ there, said Jimmy Sr. — Abou’ what’s goin’ on, yeh know. It made me a bit worried.

Sharon said nothing. She flicked to BBC 2.; two hippies talking.

— Pain is mentioned a bit too often for my likin’.—Are yeh in pain, Sharon?

— No.

— None?

— No.

— At all?

— No!

— Good. — I’ll leave yeh to your telly. Sorry for disturbin’ yeh.

— Okay.

He was becoming a right pain in the neck. He’d be down again in a few minutes with more questions. Last night he’d told Darren and the twins to get out of the room and then he asked her if her shite was lumpy!

He came home earlier in the week with two new pillows for her so she could prop herself up in bed.

— It’ll take some o’ the pressure off the oul’ diaphram, Sharon.

Was she in pain, he asked her. The fuckin’ eejit; she’d give him pain if he didn’t get off her case. It was her pregnancy and he could fuck off and stay out of it. If he came in once more, once more she’d—

She felt fuckin’ terrible.

The screen became blurred.

She was sweating and wet and she’d gone over herself with the hairdryer an hour ago only and she was still sweating and wet. Her hair was dead and manky. She could hardly walk. She was really hot and full; full like the way she used to be on Christmas Day when she was a kid; stuffed. It was brutal. She was a fat wagon, that was what she was.

She hoped Jackie’d call down because she wanted to see her but she couldn’t be bothered getting up. — She’d been like this all her life.

Ah fuck it; she tried to get up.

The heat made her sleepy. She hated sleeping this way. It wasn’t right. Only oul’ ones did it.

She thought she heard her daddy’s voice.

— Good girl, Sharon.

* * *

— What d’you think you’re doing down there? Veronica asked Jimmy Sr.

— Hang on a minute. — How’s tha’, Veronica?

— I’m cold. — Aah!

— What’s wrong?

— Your fingernail! Get up here; I’m freezing.

— Okay. — I love you, Veronica.

— Jesus. Get out and brush your teeth. No; hang on. Do that again.

— Wha’? Tha’?