Roddy Doyle - The Snapper

— What about the carpet?

— The twins’ll be cleanin’ tha’, don’t worry. An’ the sink here.

— It’s disgusting, said Veronica.

Jimmy Sr inspected the slipper. It was grand and clean again. He threw it on the floor and stepped into it.

— Ah, he’s only a pup, he said.

— He’ll have to go. They’re not training him properly.

— Give him a chance, Veronica. You’ll be expectin’ the poor little bollix to eat with a knife an’ fork next.

Veronica gave up and got back to the skirt. She was just finishing Linda’s and then she had Tracy’s to do.

Jimmy Sr saw the twins out in the back. They were trying to get Larrygogan to catch a burst plastic football but Larrygogan was having problems staying upright. If the ball landed on him Jimmy Sr thought it would kill him. The grass needed cutting. Larrygogan kept disappearing in it.

Jimmy Sr opened the back door.

— Get in here, you-is!

* * *

Sharon woke up and she knew she was going to be sick.

She was hunched down at the toilet bowl. There was sweat, getting cold, on her face. She shivered. More puke, not much now — hardly any — rushed into her mouth.

— Yu-hh—!

It dropped into the water and she groaned. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wiped them, then her nose, and her eyes again. She stood up carefully. She was cold.

— Are yeh alrigh’ in there, Sharon?

It was Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah, she said. — Ou’ in a minute.

— No hurry, Jimmy Sr assured her. — I was in already.

Sharon rubbed her arms. A wave of horribleness ran through her.

She gagged. She really felt terrible, and weak. She leaned against the wall. It was cool; nice. She knew she wasn’t going to be sick again. This morning.

She thought about nothing.

— Are yeh stayin’ in there, or wha’?

It was the other Jimmy.

Sharon unlocked the door.

— What’s your fuckin’ hurry? she said.

Jimmy Jr looked at her face.

— Wha’ were you drinkin’ last nigh’? he asked.

Sharon passed him. She was going back to bed. That was where she wanted to be.

The twins looked at her.

— Are yeh not well, Sharon? Linda asked her.

— No, said Sharon.

— That’ll be the flu, said Linda.

Tracy agreed with her.

— There’s a bug goin’ around, she said. — Cover yourself up properly.

They went downstairs to get a cup of tea and a bit of dry toast for Sharon. Sharon rubbed her legs. Only her forehead was cold now.

Well, she was pregnant now alright. She pressed her stomach gently: still nothing, but she was on her way. She smiled, but she hoped to God it wasn’t going to be like this every morning.

When she took her hand away from her stomach — probably because she didn’t feel sick any more — she noticed that her skin there was kind of sore, a bit like sunburn but not nearly as bad. She pressed again: yeah, the same. She tried her tits.

— Ouw!—

She’d been half-aware of that soreness for a few days but it was only now, because she’d just been sick, that she paid proper attention and linked it to being pregnant. They used to get a bit sore before her periods, but now — God, it was all starting to happen.

She’d have to tell her friends now; no, soon.

Jesus.

Tracy ran in.

— Ma said to say if yeh keep not goin’ to work you’ll be sacked an’ jobs don’t grow on trees.

— Tell her I’ll be down in a little while.

Linda came in. She had Larrygogan with her.

— Larrygogan wants to say Howyeh.

She brought him over to Sharon’s bed so he could lick Sharon’s face. Sharon lifted her head for him.

— Hiyeh, Larry.

He stared at her. Linda put him right up to Sharon’s nose.

— Kiss her, she said.

Nothing happened.

— Kiss her, will yeh.

— Give us a kiss, Larry, said Sharon.

— Daddy said we’re to call him his whole name so he’ll know who he is, said Tracy.

— He kisses us, Linda told Sharon. — Tracy, doesn’t he?

— Yeah.

— He doesn’t really know me yet, that’s all, said Sharon. — Bring him back down now, will yeh.

— Okay. Come on, Larrygogan.

Linda ran out.

— Tracy, will yeh tell Mammy I’m gettin’ up now, said Sharon.

She sat up.

— Ah, said Tracy. — Do yeh not have the flu?

— No.

— Ah janey.

She sounded very disappointed.

— Wha’? said Sharon.

— I wanted to catch it off yeh, an’ so did Linda.

Sharon laughed.

— Why?

— Don’t want to do the majorettes annymore, said Tracy. — It’s stupid.

— I thought yis liked it.

— No. We used to. But it’s stupid.

— Why is it? Sharon asked.

— It’s just stupid, said Tracy. — She won’t let us be in the front.

— Why won’t she?

— Don’t know. — She hates us. It’s prob’ly cos Daddy called her a wagon at tha’ meetin’.

Sharon laughed. She got out of bed.

— He didn’t really call Miss O’Keefe a wagon, she told Tracy. — He was only messin’ with yeh.

Tracy continued.

— Nicola ’Malley’s in the front an’ she’s nearly always droppin’ her stick an’ me an’ Linda only drop ours sometimes.

— It’s not fair, sure it’s not, said Sharon.

Tracy followed her into the bathroom.

— No, she agreed. — The last time Nicola ’Malley threw her stick through the fuckin’ window.

Sharon nearly bit the top off her toothbrush.

— Tracy!

— It just came ou’.—She did though, Sharon.

— An’ is she still in the front row?

— Yeah. It’s not fair. — An’ the music’s stupid.

They were back in the bedroom.

— What is it? Sharon asked.

— Don’t know. A woman singin’ Moll-ee My Irish Moll-ee, or somethin’. Miss O’Keefe thinks it’s brilliant but it’s thick.

Jimmy Sr shouted from downstairs.

— Are yeh ready for a lift, Sharon?

— Nearly.

— Make it snappy, will yeh.

He strolled back into the kitchen. Veronica was the only one still in there.

— Cummins is comin’ ou’ to have a look at the plasterin’ this mornin’ an’ we’ve still got one o’ the rooms to do, Jimmy Sr told her.

— Did you mention about a job for Leslie to him? Veronica asked him.

— Not yet. I will but. Today.

— Mm, said Veronica.

— I will now, Jimmy Sr assured her. — Scout’s honour. Is he up yet?

— Not at all.

— We’ll have to put a stop to tha’.

He picked up his sandwiches.

— Wha’ are they? he asked.

— It’s a surprise.

— It’s not Easy Slices, is it?

Veronica turned to the sink.

— Is it? It is. Ah Jaysis, Veronica! How many times—!?

Linda came in from the back.

— Does the dog like sandwiches, does he? Jimmy Sr asked her.

And he lobbed the tinfoil pack out the door into the back garden.

* * *

It was the thirteenth week of Sharon’s pregnancy and the middle of May, but it was cold.

— It’s fuckin’ freezin’, said Jimmy Sr, and he was right.

Any time now, Sharon knew, and the real swelling would start. But she kept putting off telling the girls. Twice in the last week she’d gone down to the Hikers and she was definitely going to tell them. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

She could’ve told them she was pregnant. That wouldn’t have been too bad, not all that embarrassing really. But it was the big question that would come after that — WHO? — that was what she couldn’t face.

But she’d have to tell them sooner or later and, judging by what she’d been reading, it would have to be sooner.