— You haven’t read it before, no?
— No.
He held her with one arm and held the book over her head. He read the blurb at the top of the cover.
— Understand cancer treatment options, get a handle on the side effects, and feel better.
He lowered the book.
— Fuckin’ hell. I feel better already.
He kissed her.
— Thanks.
— You’re welcome.
He flicked quickly through the book — lots of lists and pictures.
— It’ll be very useful, he said. — Very instructive.
— It was supposed to be a joke.
— I know, he said. — And it is. A good one as well. Because, especially. Let’s face it. You’re not great at the jokes.
— I am! Am I not?
He laughed.
— Gotcha.
— Oh Jesus.
It was Mahalia. She’d stopped at the door.
— Is it, like, safe to come in?
— Why wouldn’t it be? said Jimmy.
— The flirting, said Mahalia. — It’s disgusting. At your age, like.
— Feck off, you.
She passed him on her way to the fridge.
— Don’t eat anything, May, said Aoife. — Dinner’ll be in a minute.
— You should be happy I’m not, like, anorexic, said Mahalia.
— We are, said Jimmy. — Very happy. Although now, the way things are goin’ in this country, some anorexic kids wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
— Ah, Jimmy! He’s joking, May.
— No, I’m not, said Jimmy. — D’you know what a recession is, May?
— Yeah, actually, said Mahalia. — I do. A period of —
She lifted her hands and did the quotation marks thing with her index fingers.
— temporary —
She dropped her hands.
— economic decline during which trade and industrial activity are, like, reduced.
They stared at her as she shut the door of the fridge.
— That’s brilliant, said Jimmy. — Where’d yeh learn that?
— School, said Mahalia. — Hello!
— Can you say it in Irish?
— The sound of silent laughter, said Mahalia, as she went past him, out.
— Where did she come from?
— My side, definitely.
Jimmy found a good picture in the book. He read the caption.
— A healthy, protein-rich breakfast starts the day off right.
— Can’t argue with that.
— Looks like an omelette, said Jimmy. — The picture’s a bit grainy. Tomatoes, mushrooms.
She said nothing.
He read a heading — the book was full of them.
— Embracing carbohydrates and fats.
— Jesus, said Aoife. — It never occurred to me that you’d read the fucking thing.
Jimmy slapped the book shut.
— Fair enough, he said.
— It’s a horrible word, though, isn’t it?
— Wig?
— Cancer.
Jimmy had brought the book up to the bed.
— So loaded, said Aoife.
— Yeah, said Jimmy. — Anyway, look it. I won’t be goin’ for a wig.
— God.
— It’d just be stupid.
— No, said Aoife. — I agree. It’s just the thought. Your hair —
— Hardly me best feature, said Jimmy. — Let’s keep it real, love.
She loved what he’d said but it couldn’t stop the tears. He joined her; he couldn’t help it. It had become the nightly event — nearly every night. They often chatted as they cried, as if they were just chopping onions.
— Will the kids accept me without hair? Jimmy asked.
— I don’t — why wouldn’t they?
— Well, said Jimmy. — Like — they’ve grown up with it.
— It’s a bit thinner, said Aoife. — Sorry.
— I know, said Jimmy. — It’s still there but. And it started — we call it receding in the trade. Another fuckin’ recession.
She smiled.
— There’s a little patch at the back.
— Fuck off now.
— It’s sweet.
She put her hand on the back of his head.
— There.
— Thanks for that, said Jimmy. — Anyway —
— Shave it off, said Aoife.
— Good idea. Brilliant. Now?
— Your head’s a lovely shape.
— I know. Now?
— Yes, said Aoife. — Tomorrow.
— Fuck that. I’m doin’ it now.
He got out of the bed.
— They can see me bald and healthy.
— Can it not wait till —?
— No.
He was gone. She heard him stomping quietly into the bathroom. She heard the water. She heard something drop. The water went off. She heard nothing — then the water again. She thought about going after him. She wanted to watch him do it. She wanted to help — she wanted to stop him. She heard what she guessed was Jimmy soaping his head. She heard — she thought she heard a scrape, his razor.
— Fuck!
She heard his feet. He was back.
— It’s too long.
He was holding a towel, one of the good white ones, to the side of his head.
— What did you do?
He climbed into the bed. With no groans at all. She could telclass="underline" he was excited, worked up.
— I cut the side o’ me fuckin’ head, he told her.
He was grinning and grimacing.
— I’m a fuckin’ eejit, he said.
— Take it out of the way there.
She held the hand that was holding the towel and made him lift it away from his head, behind his ear.
— Why did you start there? she asked.
— Don’t know, said Jimmy. — I didn’t want to start at the front. The top, like. In case I made a balls of it.
— You did.
— I know, he said. — But it’s hidden. You’d want to be lookin’.
— I am.
— Is it bad?
— Look.
She took the towel from him and flapped it open. She pointed at the speck.
— There.
— It felt worse.
— I’m sure.
— You sounded like Mahalia there. Like.
— You’ll be fine, she said.
— I’ll get it cut short tomorrow, he said. — A three blade or somethin’.
She hadn’t a clue what that meant. There’d never been short hair in the house. The boys had disappeared behind their hair years ago. They came out to eat.
— Then I’ll finish the job at home, said Jimmy.
— Fine.
She didn’t ask him why he wouldn’t just let the barber shave his head, and avoid the blood and drama. The book, the decision to go bald — she hadn’t seen him so lively and happy in weeks.
— How’s the poor heddy-weddy?
— Fuck off.
The snow was a shock.
— It’s fuckin’ November.
He heard himself sometimes; he was turning into his da. He could even feel it in his back, in the way he was standing. But it didn’t stop him.
— Early fuckin’ November, he said.
— It’s beautiful, said Aoife.
— Yeah. But. Work.
He had to go.
The last thing on the list of things he had to do.
Tell Noeleen, the boss.
Who wasn’t really his boss.
— It never snows in November.
He’d been putting it off. The same question, every evening. Did you tell her yet?
— Will you be alright driving? Aoife asked.
— Yeah, no bother. It won’t stick.
But it did. It stuck and it grew and now he was in work, stuck.
— Global warming me bollix, he said.
He pretended he was looking out the window.
— Yup, said Noeleen.
The boss. The senior partner. The owner of Jimmy’s great idea.
There was no office; there were no internal walls. They were the team, the gang. The jacks and outside were the only escapes.