He saw Veronica looking at him.
— I can’t enjoy me pint under those conditions.
Veronica was still looking at him.
— It’s fuckin’ desperate, so it is.
— God almighty, said Veronica.
Jimmy Sr sat down. He tried to explain again.
— If it was annyone else. I don’t care abou’ the age, annyone. But Georgie Burgess! Jesus.
— Oh, shut up. I’m sick of it. Why won’t you believe her?
— Oh, I do believe her. Only — I don’t know. I—
They heard the door. Sharon was coming in.
— Wash your nose, said Veronica.
— There’s no point.
— You want her to see it, don’t you?
— That’s offside, said Jimmy Sr.
It was true though.
He got up too late to be at the sink by the time Sharon came in.
— Hiyis.
— Look, Sharon, said Veronica. — Your father’s been defending your honour. Isn’t he great?
— What happened yeh, Daddy?
— Nothin’, Sharon, nothin’. Don’t listen to your mother. She’s been at the sherry bottle again, ha ha.
Jimmy Sr was at the sink again. He studied the J-cloth, threw it back and rooted in his pockets for a paper hankie. He turned on the cold tap.
— Were you in a fight? Sharon asked him.
— No, no. Not really.
— He was defending your honour, I told you, said Veronica.
— Shut up, Mammy, will yeh.
— Don’t—
— Shut up!
Veronica did. Sharon looked like she was going to kill Jimmy Sr and that was alright with Veronica.
Sharon was angry. Something unfair was going on.
— Wha’ did yeh do? she asked Jimmy Sr.
— Ah—
— Yeah?
— They were sayin’ things about yeh, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr.
His nose was clean now.
— You didn’t hear them, said Veronica.
— I know wha’ I heard, said Jimmy Sr. — I’m not goin’ to stand by an’ let annyone — annyone, I don’t care who, jeer Sharon.
— You’re a fuckin’ eejit, Daddy, said Sharon. — Why couldn’t yeh just ignore them?
— I’m not like tha’, said Jimmy Sr.
He was nearly crying.
— I’m not goin’ to let them jeer yeh.
He was liking himself now.
— Why not, for fuck sake?
Veronica tut-tutted.
Jimmy Sr thumped the table.
— Because you’re my daughter an’—well, fuck it, you’re my daughter an’ as long as yeh live in this house I’m not goin’ to let bollixes like them say things about yeh.
— Maybe I should leave then.
That hit like a thump.
— Ah no, Sharon.
— Maybe I will if you’re goin’ to get into fights all the time.
— No, Sharon, Jimmy Sr assured her. — It was just the once.
Something had gone wrong.
— I’m not goin’ there again.
That wasn’t the right thing to say, he realized. He changed it.
— I’m not goin’ to listen to them annymore. — They’re only a shower o’ shites. They’re not worth it.
He felt like a right fuckin’ eejit now. He couldn’t look at Veronica.
— Well—, said Sharon. — Look; I know you mean well—
— I know tha’, Sharon.
— I can fight my own fights, on my own.
— I know tha’.
— No better girl, said Veronica.
— Anyway, said Sharon. — They’ve nothin’ to jeer me about. Now tha’ they know I’m not havin’ the baby for Mister Burgess.
— You’re right o’ course.
Sharon went to bed.
All Jimmy Sr had wanted was value for his nosebleed. But something had gone wrong. A bit of gratitude was all he’d expected. He’d felt noble there for a while before Sharon started talking about leaving, even though he’d been lying. But she’d attacked him instead.
There was more to it than that though.
— She put you back in your box, didn’t she? said Veronica.
Veronica went to bed.
Jimmy Sr stayed there, sitting in the kitchen. He was busy admitting something: he was ashamed of Sharon. That was the problem. He was sorry for her troubles; he loved her, he was positive he did, but he was ashamed of her. Burgess! Even if there WAS a Spanish sailor — Burgess!—
There was something else as welclass="underline" she was making an eejit of him. She wasn’t doing it on purpose — there was no way she’d have got herself up the pole just to get at him. That wasn’t what he meant. But, fuck it, his life was being ruined because of her. It was fuckin’ terrible. He was the laughing stock of Barrytown. It wasn’t her fault — but it was her fault as well. It wasn’t his. He’d done nothing.
Jimmy Sr stood up. He was miserable. He’d admitted shocking things to himself. He’d been honest. He was ashamed of Sharon. He was a louser for feeling that way but that was the way it was. He could forgive her for giving him all this grief but it would still be there after he’d forgiven her. So what was the point?
He did forgive her anyway.
A bit of gratitude would have been nice though. Not just for himself; for Veronica as well.
Jimmy Sr went up to bed.
* * *
Sharon nearly died.
Her heart stopped for a second. It did.
She was just getting to her gate and there was Yvonne Burgess, coming out of her house, across the road.
She must have seen her.
Sharon threw the gate out of her way and dashed up the path. She nearly went head-first through the glass in the front door. She hadn’t her key with her. Oh Jesus. She rang the bell. She couldn’t turn around. She rang the bell. She was bursting for the toilet. She rang the fuckin’ bell. And she wanted to get sick. She rang the — The door opened. She fell in.
— I nearly gave birth in the fuckin’ hall, Jackie, she said. — I’m not jokin’ yeh.
* * *
— When will they be finished, Mammy? said Tracy.
— When they’re ready, said Veronica.
— When?
— Get out.
Linda spoke.
— We have to have them—
— Get out!
Veronica felt Larrygogan at her feet. She gave him a kick and she didn’t feel a bit guilty about it after.
* * *
Jimmy Sr got moodier. He wouldn’t go out. He sat in the kitchen. He roared at the twins. He walloped Darren twice. He’d have hit Les as well but he didn’t see Les. He stayed in bed, didn’t go to work two mornings the next week. He listened to the radio and ate most of a packet of Hobnobs one of the mornings and Veronica nearly cut herself to ribbons on the crumbs when she got into bed that night. He couldn’t have been that sick, she said. It wasn’t his stomach that was sick, Jimmy Sr told her. What was it then? He didn’t answer.
But she’d guessed it and she wanted to box his ears for him.
Jimmy Sr knew he could snap out of it but he didn’t want to. He was doing it on purpose. He was protesting; that was how he described it to himself. He’d been wronged; he was suffering and he wanted them all to know this. Especially Sharon.
What he was doing was getting at Sharon. He wanted to make her feel bad, to make her realize just how much she’d hurt her father and the rest of the family.
He couldn’t tell her. That wasn’t the way to do it. She’d have to work it out herself — he didn’t know; say Sorry or something; admit — something.
He sat in the kitchen by himself. He was dying to go in and watch a bit of the American Wrestling on the Sports Channel — he loved it; it was great gas and he always ended up feeling glad that he lived in Ireland after he’d watched it — but he didn’t want them to see him enjoying himself.