He looked at the carpet.
— Yeh dope. Wha’ did yeh say tha’ for?
— Ah, I don’t know.
He looked up.
— I was showin’ off.
— Wha’ else?
— Nothin’, I swear. They laughed at me. Some o’ them didn’t even hear me. They’d never believe that I got me — have — Off you.
He was looking at the carpet again.
— They thought tha’ I was jokin’.
He jumped when the door was opened by Missis Burgess.
— There y’are, love, he roared at her.
— Hello, Sharon, said Missis Burgess.
— Hiyeh, Missis Burgess, said Sharon. — I was just tellin’ Mister Burgess abou’ Darren.
— That’s righ’, Mister Burgess nearly screamed.
— Is somethin’ wrong with Darren?
— He has a bit of a cold just.
— A cold, said Mister Burgess.
— Maybe flu.
— We’ll just have to hope he’s better for Saturday, said Mister Burgess. — God knows, we’ll need him.
— I didn’t know there was flu goin’ around, said Missis
Burgess. — I hope there isn’t, — now. Will you tell your mammy I was askin’ for her?
— I will, yeah, Missis Burgess.
— When are yeh due, Sharon? Missis Burgess asked.
— November. The end.
— Really? You look sooner. — D’you want a boy or a little girl?
— I don’t mind. A girl maybe.
— One of each, wha’, said Mister Burgess.
Missis Burgess looked at Mister Burgess.
— I’m off to my bingo now, George.
— Good, said Mister Burgess. — That’s great. Have you enough money with yeh, Doris?
— My God, he’s offerin’ me money! He’s showin’ off in front of you, Sharon.
Sharon smiled.
— Bye bye so, Sharon, said Missis Burgess.
— See yeh, Missis Burgess.
— Don’t forget the grass, George.
— No, no. Don’t worry.
— Remember to tell your mammy now, Missis Burgess told Sharon.
Then she was gone.
Sharon knew what he was going to say next.
— Phew, he said. — Tha’ was close, wha’.
— It’ll be closer the next time if yeh don’t stop sayin’ things abou’ me.
— There won’t be a next time, Sharon, I swear to God. I only said it the once. I’m sorry. — I’m sorry.
— So yeh should be. — I don’t mind bein’ pregnant but I do mind people knowin’ who made me pregnant.
— So — you’re pregnant, Sharon?
— Fuck off, Mister Burgess, would yeh.
They stood there. Sharon was looking at him but he wasn’t looking at her, not really. She wanted to smile. She’d never felt power like this before.
— Sorry, Sharon.
Sharon said nothing.
She was going to go now, but he spoke. His mouth was open for a while before words left it.
— An’, Sharon—
He rubbed his nose, on his arm.
— Yeah?
— I never thanked yeh for — yeh know. Tha’ nigh’.
He was looking at the carpet again, and fidgeting.
— I was drunk, said Sharon.
She wanted to cry now. She’d forgotten That Night for a minute. She was hating him again.
— I know. So was I. I’d never’ve — God, I was buckled. — Em—
He tried to grin, but he gave up and looked serious.
— You’re a good girl, Sharon. We both made a mistake.
— You’re tellin’ me, said Sharon.
— Hang on a sec, Sharon, he said. — I’ll be back in a minute.
He went to the door.
— Wait there, Sharon.
Sharon waited. She was curious. She wasn’t going to cry now. She heard Mister Burgess going up the stairs, and coming down.
He slid into the room.
— That’s for yourself, Sharon, he said.
He had a ten pound note in his hand.
Sharon couldn’t decide how to react. She looked at the money.
She wanted to laugh but she thought that that wouldn’t be right. But she couldn’t manage anger, looking at this eejit holding out his tenner to her.
— Do you think I’m a prostitute, Mister Burgess?
— God, no; Jaysis, no!
— What’re yeh givin’ me tha’ for then?
— It’s not the way yeh think, Sharon. Shite! — Em, it’s a sort of a present—
The tenner, he knew now, was a big mistake.
— Yeh know. A present. No hard feelin’s, yeh know.
— You’re some fuckin’ neck, Mister Burgess, d’yeh know tha’?
— I’m sorry, Sharon. I didn’t mean it the way you’re thinkin’, I swear. On the Bible.
He was beginning to look hurt.
— We made a mistake, Sharon. We were both stupid. Now go an’ buy yourself a few sweets — eh, drinks.
Sharon couldn’t help grinning. She shook her head.
— You’re an awful fuckin’ eejit, Mister Burgess, she said. — Put your tenner back in your pocket.
— Ah no, Sharon.
He looked at her.
— Okay, sorry — You’re a good girl. And honest.
— Fuck off!
— Sorry! — Sorry. I’ll never open me mouth about you again.
— You’d better not.
— I won’t, I swear.
Then he remembered something.
— Oh yeah, he said.
He dug into his trousers pocket.
— I kept these for yeh. Your, em, panties, isn’t tha’ what yis call them?
He was really scarlet.
— Me knickers!
Sharon was stunned, and then amused. She couldn’t help it. He looked so stupid and unhappy.
She put the knickers in her jacket pocket. Mister Burgess, she noticed, wiped his hand on his cardigan. She nearly laughed.
— Wha’ were yeh doin’ with them? she asked.
— I was keepin’ them for yeh. So they wouldn’t get lost.
He was purple now. His hands were in and out of his cardigan pockets. He couldn’t look at her.
— Don’t start again, said Sharon. — Just tell us the truth.
— Ah Jaysis, it was stupid really. Again. — A joke — I was goin’ to show them to the lads.
— Oh my—!
— But I didn’t I didn’t, Sharon! I didn’t.
He coughed.
— I wouldn’t.
Sharon went to the door.
— I’ve changed me mind, she said. — Give us the tenner. I deserve it.
— Certainly, Sharon. Good girl. There y’are.
Sharon took the money. She stopped at the door.
— Remember: if you ever say annythin’ about me again I’ll tell Missis Burgess wha’ yeh did.
— Yeh needn’t worry, Sharon. Me lips are sealed.
— Well — Just remember. — Bye bye.
— Cheerio, Sharon. Thanks, — very much—
She was a great young one, George decided as Sharon shut the door after her. And a good looker too. But, my God—! He sat down and shook like bejaysis for a while. She’d do it; tell Doris. No problem to her. He’d have to be careful. Think but: he’d ridden her. And he’d made her pregnant. HE had.
— Jaysis.
He was a pathetic little prick, Sharon thought as she went back across the road to her house. He was pathetic. He wouldn’t yap anymore anyway. He’d be too scared to.
* * *
Bertie put his pint down.
— Caramba! he said. — That’s fuckin’ lovely.
— It is alrigh’, Bimbo agreed. — Lovely.
— Is it a new bike? Jimmy Sr asked Bertie.
— Nearly, yeah, said Bertie.
— Fuck off now, said Jimmy Sr. — How old is it?
— A few months only.
— Any scratches?
— Not at all, said Bertie. — It’s perfect.