Roddy Doyle - The Snapper

— Stop? said Jimmy Sr, shocked. — Well now, I hope Miss O’Keefe doesn’t hear abou’ this. My God, wha’. The twins’s mother won’t let them show a bit o’ charity to those less fortunate than—

— Stop that!

Darren was in stitches. He loved it when his da talked like that.

— I’m sure there’s a couple o’ piccaninnies—

— Daddy!

The boys laughed, cheering on Jimmy Sr. The twins were still giggling, and looking at their mammy.

— in a refugee camp somewhere that’d love a couple o’ red lurex majorette’s dresses. An’ the sticks as well.

— You’re not fit to be a father, said Veronica.

— Not now maybe, Jimmy Sr admitted.

He patted his gut.

— I used to be though, wha’.

He winked at Veronica. She growled at him. Jimmy Sr looked at the boys and raised his eyes to heaven.

— Women, wha’.

He lowered the last of his tea. Then he heard something, a scraping noise.

— What’s tha’?

— Larrygogan, said Tracy. — He wants to come in.

Linda opened the door. Larrygogan, even smaller than usual because his hair was stuck down by the rain, was standing on the step.

— Come on, Larrygogan, said Linda.

Larrygogan couldn’t make it. He fell back twice. They laughed.

— The poor little sappo, said Jimmy Sr.

Linda picked him up and carried him in and put him down on the floor. He skidded a bit on the lino, then shook himself and fell over.

Then he barked.

The Rabbittes roared laughing. Jimmy Sr copied Larrygogan.

— Yip! Yip!

He looked at his watch.

— Oh good shite!

He was up, and grabbed his sandwiches.

— Are yeh righ’, Sharon? — Wha’ are they, he asked

Veronica.

— Corned beef.

— Yippee. — Good luck now. See yeh tonigh’.

He wondered if he should kiss Veronica on the cheek or something because they were both in a good mood at the same time. But no, he decided, not with the boys there. They’d slag him.

— Da, can I’ve a bike for me birth’y? Darren asked him.

— Yeh can in your hole, said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah, Da!

— Forget it, Sunshine.

Jimmy Sr waited for Sharon to go out into the hall first.

— Good girl.

He followed her.

— Hang on a sec, he said, at the front door.

He gave Sharon the keys of the van.

— Let yourself in.

Les thought it was a heart attack. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t.

Jimmy Sr’s hand was clamped tight over Les’s face. He waited till Les was awake and knew what was happening.

— That’s the front o’ me hand, Jimmy Sr told Les.

He pushed Les’s head deeper into the pillow.

— If yeh don’t get up for your breakfast tomorrow like I told yeh you’ll get the back of it. D’yeh follow?

Jimmy Sr took his hand off Les’s face.

— Now get up, yeh lazy get, an’ don’t be upsettin’ your mother.

He stopped at the door.

— I want to talk to you tonigh’, righ’.

Downstairs, Jimmy Jr and Darren heard a snort. They looked and saw their mother crying. It was terrible. She was wiping tears from her eyes before they could get to her cheeks.

But she wasn’t crying. She was laughing. She tried to explain why.

— They’re not—

She started laughing again.

— They’re not corned beef at all.

A giggle ran through her, and out.

— They’re Easy Slices.

They didn’t know what she was on about but they laughed with her anyway.

* * *

Sharon was in bed. She’d decided: tomorrow. She’d been half-thinking of doing it tonight but then Jackie had come in with the big news: she’d broken it off with Greg. So they’d had to spend the rest of the night slagging Jackie and tearing Greg apart. It’d been brilliant crack.

So Jackie would be there when she told them all tomorrow. That was good because the two of them always defended one another when the slagging got a bit serious. She was going to tell the rest of the family first, after the tea — that would be easy — and then the girls, later in the Hikers.

That was it, decided. But she wasn’t a bit sleepy now. She had been when she got into bed but once she’d made up her mind she was wide awake again.

What was she going to tell them; how much? Only that she was pregnant. But what was going to happen after that, and what they were going to ask and say, and think; that’s what was worrying her.

— Go on, Sharon, tell us. Who was it?

There was no way she was going to tell them that. If they ever found out — God, she’d kill herself if that happened, she really would. She couldn’t think of a good enough lie to tell them, one that would stop them from asking more questions. She could say she didn’t know who he was but they wouldn’t believe her. Or if they did, if Sharon told them she’d been so pissed she couldn’t remember, they’d help her remember and they wouldn’t give up till they’d found someone. — Was it him, Sharon, was it? And if Sharon said, No, it wasn’t him, they’d say, — How d’yeh know if yeh can’t remember? It must’ve been him then.

She’d just have to tell them that she wasn’t going to tell them.

But they’d still try and find out.

She didn’t blame them. She’d have been the same. It was going to be terrible though. She wouldn’t be able to really relax with them any more.

— There’s Keith Farrelly.

— Yeah.

— He’s a ride, isn’t he?

— He’s alrigh’.

— D’yeh not like him?

— He’s alrigh’.

— I thought that yeh liked him.

— Fuck off, will yeh. It wasn’t him.

It was going to be fuckin’ terrible.

She felt a bit lonely now. She’d have loved someone to talk to, to talk to nonstop for about an hour, to tell everything to. But — and she was realizing this now really — there was no one like that. She’d loads of friends but she only really knew them in a gang.

It hadn’t been like that in school. Jackie had been her best friend for years but now that was only because she saw her more often than the others, not because she knew her better. She’d never have been able to tell Jackie all about what had happened. They’d often talked about fellas; what he did and how he did it and that sort of thing, but that had only been for a laugh; messing. They hadn’t spoken seriously about anything to do with sex since — since Sharon had her first period. Or they’d pretended it wasn’t serious. It was always for a laugh. Giggling, roaring, saying things like, — I swear, Jackie, I was scarleh. — She really had something to be scarlet about now and it wasn’t even a little bit funny. And she couldn’t tell it to Jackie. And anyway, Jackie had been going with Greg until last weekend so she hadn’t seen her that much since — she knew the date — the twentieth of February.

That was always the way when one of the gang was going with someone. She’d disappear for a while, usually a couple of months, and come back when one of them broke it off. She’d come back to the pub and they’d all be delighted to see her and she’d have to slag the fella — it always happened — about how he was always farting, or how he kept trying to tear the tits off her, or how his tongue always missed her mouth in the dark and he slobbered all over her make-up (Sharon giggled as she thought of that one. Yvonne Burgess had said that about a fella in the army who’d gone off to the Lebanon without telling her. — I hope he’s fuckin’ kilt, said Yvonne. — By an Arab or somethin’. D’yeh know wha’ his ma said when I phoned? He’s gone to the Leb. The Leb! I thought it was the name of a pub or somethin’ so I said to her, D’yeh know wha’ time he’ll be back at? I’m tellin’ yis now, I swear, I was never so mortified in — my — life. I wasn’t. And they’d screamed laughing), and after that it was like she’d never been gone. It was back to normal till the next time they went to Saints or Tamangos or one of the places in town and one of them got off with a fella she liked and disappeared again for another couple of months. She’d often read in magazines and she’d seen it on television where it said that women friends were closer than men, but Sharon didn’t think they were. Not the girls she knew. — Anyway, if she couldn’t tell Jackie the whole lot — and she couldn’t — then she couldn’t tell anyone.