— What abou’ the little baby?
— Look; forget about the little baby, righ’. If yeh must know, you were off-target tha’ time annyway.
— I was not!
That was going too far.
— Yeh were. So now.
Then she remembered.
— An’ anyway, it was a Spanish sailor, if yeh must know.
— Spanish?
— Yeah. I sleep around, Mister Burgess. D’yeh know what I mean?
— I find tha’ hard to believe, Sharon.
Sharon laughed.
— Go home, Mister Burgess. George. Go home.
— But—
— If yeh really want to do me a favour—
— Annythin’, Sharon. You know I’d—
— Shut up before yeh make an even bigger sap of yourself.
Sorry. — Don’t ever talk abou’ wha’ we did to annyone again; okay?
— Righ’, Sharon; okay. It’ll be our—
— Bye bye.
She went.
He didn’t follow.
— I’ll always remember you, Sharon.
Sharon laughed again, quietly. That was that out of the way. She hoped. She felt better now. That poor man was some eejit.
* * *
Sharon grabbed the boy. She held him by the hood of his sweatshirt.
— Let go o’ me!
She was twice as big as him. He wriggled and elbowed and tried to pull away from her but he wasn’t getting anywhere. They heard cloth ripping.
— You’re after ripping me hoodie, said the boy.
He stopped squirming. He was stunned. His ma had only bought it for him last week. When she saw it she’d—
Sharon slapped him across the head.
— Wha’!
— Wha’ did yeh call me? said Sharon, and she slapped him again.
— I didn’t call yeh ann’thin’!
Sharon held onto the hood and swung him into the wall. There was another rip, a long one.
— If you ever call me annythin’ again I’ll fuckin’ kill yeh, d’yeh hear me?
The boy stood there against the wall, afraid to move in case there was another tear.
— D’yeh hear me?
He said nothing. His mates were at the corner, watching. Sharon looked down quickly to see if there was room. Then she lifted her leg and kneed him.
— There, she said.
She’d never done it before. It was easy. She’d do it again.
For a while the boy forgot about his ripped hoodie and his ma.
Sharon looked back, to make sure that he was still alive. He was. His mates were around him, in stitches.
* * *
— She’s a fuckin’ lyin’ bitch, said Yvonne. — I don’t care wha’ yeh say.
* * *
Jimmy Sr was in the kitchen. So were Sharon and Veronica. Veronica wished she wasn’t.
So did Sharon.
— D’yeh expect us to believe tha’? Jimmy Sr asked her, again. — Yeh met this young fella. Yeh — yeh clicked with him. An’ yeh went to a hotel with him an’—an’ yeh can’t even remember his fuckin’ name.
— I was drunk I said, said Sharon.
— I was drunk when I met your mother, said Jimmy Sr. — But I still remember her name. It’s Veronica!
— Don’t shout, said Veronica.
— Ah look, I was really drunk, said Sharon. — Pissed. Sorry, Mammy.
— How do yeh know he was Spanish then? said Jimmy Sr.
He had her.
— Or a sailor.
He had her alright.
— He could’ve been a Pakistani postman if you were tha’ drunk. — Well?
Sharon stood up.
— Yis needn’t believe me if yeh don’t want to.
There wasn’t enough room for her to run out so she had to get around Jimmy Sr’s chair as quick as she could. Jimmy Sr turned to watch her but he didn’t say anything. He turned back to the table.
— Wha’ d’yeh think? he asked Veronica.
Veronica was flattening the gold paper from a Cadbury’s Snack — she always had a few of them hidden away from the kids for when she wanted one herself — with a fingernail.
— I think, she said, — I’d be delighted if the father was a Spanish sailor and not George Burgess.
— God, yeah, said Jimmy Sr.
— Why don’t you leave her alone then?
— Wha’ d’yeh mean, Veronica?
— If she says he was a Spanish sailor why not let her say it?
— An’ believe her?
Veronica shrugged.
— Yeah.
— I don’t know, said Jimmy Sr. — It’d be great. — If she’d just give us a name or somethin’.
— Does it matter?
— Wha’?—Maybe you’re righ’.
He stood up.
— Fuck it annyway. — I’ll, eh, give it some thought.
— You do that, said Veronica.
* * *
Tracy stayed at the bedroom door. She had something she had to ask Sharon.
She got it out.
— Sharon, sure the baby won’t look like Mister Burgess?
— Aaah! No, he won’t! He’s not the daddy, Tracy; I told yeh.
She eyed Tracy.
— Who said that annyway?
— Nicola ’Malley, said Tracy.
— Well, you tell Nicola ’Malley — to fuck off.
They grinned.
— I did already, said Tracy.
— Good.
— An’ I scraped her face as well.
— Good.
— An’ Linda scribbled all over her sums.
Sharon laughed.
— Brilliant.
* * *
They were nearly finished talking about Bertie’s shirt and tie and jacket and why he was wearing them. He’d done a mock interview that afternoon.
— He said he’d’ve given me the job if there’d been a real job goin’, Bertie told them.
— Did he say yeh did annythin’ wrong? Paddy asked him.
— Yes, indeed. He said I’d have to stop scratchin’ me bollix all the time.
They laughed, but Jimmy Sr didn’t.
— Jimmy, said Bertie. — Compadre mio.
— Wha’?
— I just said somethin’ funny. Why didn’t yeh laugh?
— Sorry, Bertie. I wasn’t listenin’.—I was just lookin’ at the soccer shower over there. I think they were laughin’ at me.
— Ah cop on, will yeh, said Paddy.
— No; they were, said Jimmy Sr. — Lookin’ over, yeh know, an’ laughin’.
— No one’s laughin’ at yeh, said Bertie.
— Not at all, said Bimbo. — They’d want to try.
— Ah sorry, lads. — It’s just—
— You’re alrigh’, said Bertie.
Jimmy Sr forced himself to smile. They said nothing for a short while.
— She says that it was a Spanish sailor now, said Jimmy Sr. — Sharon.
— So yeh said.
— Why did Burgess fuck off then? Paddy wanted to know.
His wife at home wanted to know as well. So did Bertie and Bimbo.
— That’s it, said Jimmy Sr. — I don’t fuckin’ know. If I knew tha’ I’d be able to — yeh know?
— He must’ve had some reason, said Paddy.
— Tha’ doesn’t mean tha’ Sharon was the reason, said Bimbo. — It could’ve been annythin’. Your mot left you for a bit, remember.
— Tha’ was different.
— Annyone’d leave him, said Bertie.
— Fuck off, you, said Paddy.
— The way I see it, said Bimbo, — just cos Georgie Burgess ran away an’ said he got some young one pregnant an’ Sharon is pregnant, yeh know, tha’ doesn’t mean it has to be Sharon.
He drank.
— That’s wha’ I think annyway.
— Si, said Bertie.
— Sharon’s a lovely lookin’ young one, Bimbo told Jimmy Sr. — She’d have young lads queuein’ up for her. Burgess wouldn’t get near her. I’d say it was the sailor alrigh’.