Roddy Doyle - The Snapper

She’d have to be careful and not get too drunk again so she wouldn’t blabber, and make sure she wasn’t caught looking at him and try not to vomit if anyone mentioned his name and Jesus, it was going to be terrible.

If they ever found out! She tried to imagine it. But all she could do was curl up and groan. It was—

Years ago — four years ago — when she’d been a modette, she’d gone with this young fella called Derek Cooper who spent all of his money on clothes and then never washed them and was dead now, and the two of them missed the last DART from town so they got the last bus instead. She’d been really pissed. She was only a kid then. She’d gotten the money she got for doing the pre-employment in school the day before so she’d been loaded. She paid for his drink as well. Anyway, she was pissed and she fell asleep on the bus and she woke up and she’d wet herself and she had to tell him and she made them stay on till the last stop, Howth. It was horrible remembering it. Even now. She’d never been able to laugh about it. She’d nearly been glad when she found out that Derek Cooper had been killed in that crash, but she’d made herself cry.

But this — this was far worse than that.

Sharon didn’t even bother closing her eyes. There was no point. She waited for the time to get up.

It was mad, but she wished she’d had sex a lot more often. Doubts about the father would have been very comforting; lovely. But the last time she’d done it with a fella she’d really liked — who’d turned out to be a right fuckin’ bastard — was six months before.

Before — Jesus!

She was glad she didn’t remember much about it. The bits she did remember were disgusting. It wasn’t a moving memory, like a film. It was more like a few photographs. She couldn’t really remember what happened in between. She’d been really drunk, absolutely paralytic. She knew that because she remembered she’d fallen over on her way back from the toilets. She bumped into loads of people dancing. It was the soccer club Christmas do, only it was on in February because they weren’t able to get anywhere nearer to Christmas. She’d made it back to her table and she just sat there, trying not to think about getting sick. She remembered Jackie was asking her was she alright. Then it was blank. Then she was by herself at the table. Jackie was getting off with a fella in front of her. That was Greg. She could remember the song: The Power of Love, the Jennifer Rush one. She wasn’t sure if it was then or after but she was very hot, really sweating. She was going to be sick. She rushed and pushed over the dance floor, past the toilets, outside because she wanted cold air. It was blank again then for a bit but she knew that she didn’t puke. The air had fixed her. She was leaning against the side of a car. She was looking at the ground. It was just black gravel so she didn’t know why she was looking at it; maybe because she’d thought she was going to get sick earlier. Anyway, she was shivering but she didn’t move; go back in. Pity. She couldn’t move really. Then there was a hand on her shoulder. — Alrigh’, Sharon? he’d said. Then it was blank and then they were kissing rough — she wasn’t really: her mouth was just open — and then blank again and that was it really. She couldn’t remember much more. She knew they’d done it — or just he’d done it — standing up because that was the way she was in the next bit she remembered; leaning back against the car, staring at the car beside it, her back and arse wet through from the wet on the door and the window and she was wet from him too. She was very cold. The wet was colder. He was gone. It was like waking up. She didn’t know if it had happened. She wanted to be at home. At home in bed. Her knickers were gone. And she was all wet and cold there. She wanted to get into bed. She went straight home. She staggered a lot, even off the path. She wanted to sleep. Backwards. To earlier. She was freezing but she didn’t go back for her jacket.

Jackie brought it and her bag home for her the day after.

— What happened yeh?

— Jesus, I was pissed, Jackie, I’m not jokin’ yeh. I just came home. I woke up in me clothes.

— Yeh stupid bitch yeh.

— I know.

She’d wondered a few times if what had happened could be called rape. She didn’t know.

That was as much as she remembered. She wished she didn’t remember more. — When he sat down white skin poked out from between the buttons of his shirt.

There was one more thing she remembered; what he’d said after he’d put his hand on her shoulder and asked her was she alright.

— I’ve always liked the look of you, Sharon.

Sharon groaned.

The dirty bastard.

* * *

Les was nearly crying. So was Veronica.

— Shut up! The lot o’ yis! said Jimmy Sr.

— You started it, Jimmy Jr reminded him.

— Good Jesus!!

— I’m goin’ to smash your fuckin’ records, Les told Jimmy Jr.

This time Veronica slapped him hard across the head.

— Wha’!?

— Don’t Wha’ me, said Veronica, and she slapped him again. — Don’t think you can stroll in and out of here when you feel like it and shout language like a — like a knacker.

She drew her hand back, Les ducked, and then she slapped him.

Linda and Tracy were giggling.

— Don’t start, youse! Jimmy Sr roared at them.

— You never hit THEM, do yeh? said Les.

He was crying now.

— I’m not takin’ this.

He slammed the back door.

Jimmy Sr was going after him.

— Leave him out there, said Veronica. — It’s going to rain in a minute. That’ll bring him back.

Jimmy Sr couldn’t leave it just like that. He’d lost, in front of Darren, the twins, Sharon — them all. He was the head of the fuckin’ house!

— Come here, you, he said to Jimmy Jr. — If you ever behave like that again in this house yeh can pack your belongin’s. Your groovy clothes an’ your shampoo an’—an’ your bras an’ yeh can fuck off to somewhere else, righ’. Is tha’ clear?

— I don’t know, said Jimmy Jr. — I’ll have to discuss it with my solicitor.

A laugh burst out of Darren. He’d have loved the neck to say something like that.

— Don’t YOU start!

Darren stopped.

And Jimmy Sr felt a bit better.

— Now, he said. — Sharon has a bit o’ news for yis.

Veronica started laughing.

— Sorry, she said. — I can’t help it.

— Darren, said Jimmy Sr. — We live in a mental home.

Darren laughed.

— Sorry, Sharon, said Veronica. — Go on, love. Sharon grinned at Veronica. She looked at the twins when she spoke. — I’m goin’ to be havin’ a baby.

* * *

Jimmy Sr and Veronica were alone in the kitchen. Jimmy Sr was having the cup of tea he always had before he went out.

— These yokes aren’t as nice as they used to be, said Jimmy Sr. — Sure they’re not?

He put the rest of the Jaffa Cake on the table.

— That doesn’t stop you eating them.

— I didn’t say they weren’t nice, Veronica. Wha’ I said was—

— Right. Right. I agree with you.

— Are yeh tired, Veronica?

— Mm, said Veronica.

— Will yeh go on up to the bed?

— Mm.

— That’s the place to be. — It went well, didn’t it?

— I suppose it did, said Veronica.

— They took it very well, I thought.

— Ah Jimmy, for Christ’s sake. What did you expect? Did you think the girls would be outraged or something?

— No.

He grinned at her.

— I didn’t think they’d go tha’ wild. Poor Sharon won’t have any peace now. Inside—

He nodded at the door.

— watchin’ the telly there, Sharon yawned an’ Tracy asked her was she havin’ the baby. — Tha’ Jimmy fella’s a righ’ pup though. He said somethin’ to Sharon, yeh know, cos I saw her hittin’ him. She gave him a righ’ wallop.