They knew the answer they wanted to hear.
— Coolock, said Bertie.
— There’s no need for all tha’ fuss, said Jimmy Sr, when they’d stopped laughing. — Sure there’s not?
— Not at all, said Bimbo. — It’s stupid.
Bertie agreed.
— Thick, he said.
— It’s only a baby, said Bimbo. — A snapper.
— Doctor Kildare, Bertie said to Paddy.
— That’s it, said Paddy.
— Fuck off, youse, said Bimbo.
— I wouldn’t want Sharon gettin’ married tha’ young, said Jimmy Sr.
— She’s her whole life ahead of her, said Bimbo.
— Unless she drinks an iffy pint, said Bertie.
— Annyway, said Jimmy Sr.
He lifted his glass.
— To Sharon, wha’.
— Oh yeah. Def’ny. Sharon.
Bertie picked up his pint.
— To the Signorita Rabbeete that is havin’ the bambino out of wedlock, fair play to her.
He gave Jimmy Sr another calculator.
— In case it’s twins.
— Stop, for fuck sake.
Bimbo filled his mouth, swallowed, filled it again, swallowed and put his glass back on its mat.
— Havin’ a baby’s the most natural thing in the world, he said.
Jimmy Sr loved Bimbo.
— D’you know wha’ Sharon is, Jimmy? Said Bimbo.
— Wha’?
— She’s a modern girl.
— Oh good fuck, said Paddy.
* * *
Sharon was lying in bed.
Well, they knew now. They’d been great. It’d been great.
She was a bit pissed. But not too bad. She shut her eyes, and the bed stayed where it was.
She’d never laughed as much in her life. And when Yvonne had pinched the lounge boy’s bum, the look on his face. And Jackie’s joke about the girl in the wheelchair at the disco. It’d been brilliant.
Then, near closing time, they’d all started crying. And that had been even better. She didn’t know how it had started. Outside, they’d hugged one another and said all sorts of stupid, corny things but it had been great. Mary said that the baby would have four mothers. If she’d said it any other time Sharon would have told her to cop on to herself but outside in the car-park it had sounded lovely.
Then they’d gone for chips. And Jackie asked the poor oul’ one that put the stuff in the bags how she kept her skin so smooth.
Sharon laughed—
Soon everyone would know. Good. She could nearly hear them.
— Sharon Rabbitte’s pregnant, did yeh hear?
— Your one, Sharon Rabbitte’s up the pole.
— Sharon Rabbitte’s havin’ a baby.
— I don’t believe yeh!
— Jaysis.
— Jesus! Are yeh serious?
— Who’s she havin’ it for?
— I don’t know.
— She won’t say.
— She doesn’t know.
— She can’t remember.
— Oh God, poor Sharon.
— That’s shockin’.
— Mm.
— Dirty bitch.
— Poor Sharon.
— The slut.
— I don’t believe her.
— The stupid bitch.
— She had tha’ comin’.
— Serves her righ’.
— Poor Sharon.
— Let’s see her gettin’ into those jeans now.
Sharon giggled.
Fuck them. Fuck all of them. She didn’t care. The girls had been great.
Mister Burgess would know by tomorrow as well. He probably knew now. He might have been up when Yvonne got home. — Fuck him too. She wasn’t going to start worrying about that creep.
She couldn’t help it though.
* * *
— There’s Stephen Roche, said Darren. — Wha’? said Jimmy Sr. He looked over his Press. — Oh yeah.
The Galtee cheese ad was on the telly. — That’s a brilliant bike, Da, look. — No, said Jimmy Sr, back behind the paper. — Ah, Da! — No. Jimmy Sr put the paper down.
— I’ll tell yeh what I will do though, he told Darren. — I’ll buy yeh a box o’ cheese. How’s tha’?
Darren wouldn’t laugh.
— What’s on now? said Jimmy Sr.
He was sitting between Veronica and Sharon on the couch. He nudged Veronica.
— Leave me alone, you.
Jimmy Jr stuck his head into the room.
— Are yeh finished with the paper?
— No, said Jimmy Sr. — What’s on, Sharon?
— Top o’ the Pops, said Sharon.
— Oh good shite! said Jimmy Sr. — Where’s the remote?
Sharon was getting up.
— Where’re yeh off to now? he asked her nicely.
— The toilet.
— Again!? Yeh must be in a bad way, wha’.
Sharon sat down again. She whispered to Jimmy Sr.
— Me uterus is beginnin’ to press into me bladder. It’s gettin’ bigger.
Jimmy Sr turned to her.
— I don’t want to hear those sort o’ things, Sharon, he said. — It’s not righ’.
He was blushing.
— Sorry, said Sharon.
— That’s okay. Who’s tha’ fuckin’ eejit, Darren?
— Can you not just say Eejit? said Veronica.
— That’s wha’ I did say! said Jimmy Sr.
Darren laughed.
Veronica gave up.
— Da, said Darren.
— No, yeh can’t have a bike.
Darren got up and left the room in protest. That left Jimmy Sr and Veronica by themselves.
— There’s Cliff Richard, said Jimmy Sr.
Veronica looked up.
— Yes.
— I’d never wear leather trousers, said Jimmy Sr.
Veronica laughed.
Jimmy Sr found the remote control. He’d been sitting on it.
— He’s a Moonie or somethin’, isn’t he? he said as he stuck on the Sports Channel. — And an arse bandit.
— He’s a Christian, said Veronica.
— We’re all tha’, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. — Baseball! It’s worse than fuckin’ cricket.
He looked at it.
— They’re dressed up like tha’ an’ chewin’ gum an’ paint on their faces, so you’re expectin’ somethin’ excitin’, an’ wha’ do yeh get? Fuckin’ cricket with American accents.
Jimmy Jr stuck his head round the door.
— Finished with the paper yet?
— No.
— You’re not even lookin’ at it.
— It’s my paper. I own it. Fuck off.
Jimmy Sr switched again; an ad for a gut-buster on Sky.
— Jesus!
— You’ve got the foulest mouth of anyone I ever knew, Veronica told him. — Ever.
— Ah lay off, Veronica.
The front door slammed and Darren walked past the window.
— It’s not his birthd’y for months yet, said Jimmy Sr. — Sure it’s not?
— A bike’s much too dear for a birthday, said Veronica.
— God, yeah. He has his glue — What’s tha’ ANCO thing Leslie’s signed up for, again?
— He’s only applied, said Veronica. — He doesn’t know if he’ll get it. — Motorbike maintenance.
— Wha’ good’s tha’ to him? He doesn’t have a motorbike.
— I don’t know, said Veronica. — It lasts six months, so there must be something in it.
— But he doesn’t have a motorbike. An’ he’s not gettin’ one either. No way.
— You don’t have to have a car to be a mechanic, said Veronica.
— That’s true o’ course, said Jimmy Sr. — Still, it doesn’t sound like much though.
— It’s better than what you got him.
— That’s not fair, Veronica.
— He says he’ll be able to fix lawn-mowers as well.
— We’ll have to buy one an’ break it so.
— Ha ha.
— He might be able to do somethin’ with tha’ alrigh’, said Jimmy Sr. — Go from door to door an’ tha’.