He patted Sharon’s shoulder. He was standing up, but he stopped.
— Hang on a sec, he said. — I’ll wait till your man passes.
Sharon looked.
— Who?
— Burgess there, the bollix. Excuse me, Sharon. I can’t stand him.
— I’ve seen yeh talkin’ to him loads o’ times.
— He traps me. An’ Darren’s his goalie this year. He’d drop him if I got snotty with him.
— Oh. Yeah.
— It’s alrigh’ now, said Jimmy Sr, and he stood up again. — The coast’s clear. See yeh later.
Jimmy Sr trotted out, and down to the lads in the bar.
Sharon took her vodka and her jacket and her bag and went across to Jackie O’Keefe, Mary Curran and Yvonne Burgess, her friends; the gang.
— Hiyis, she said when she got there.
— Oh, howyeh, Sharon.
— Hiyeh, Sharon.
— Howyeh, Sharon.
— Hiyis, said Sharon.
— Put your bag over here, Sharon, look, said Yvonne.
— Thanks, said Sharon. — Hiyeh, Jackie. Haven’t seen yeh in ages.
— She’s been busy, said Mary.
Yvonne sniggered.
— How’s Greg? Sharon asked Jackie.
Yvonne sniggered again.
— Fuck off, you, said Jackie. — He’s grand, Sharon.
— They’re goin’ on their holliers together, Mary told Sharon.
— Dirty bitch, said Yvonne.
They laughed.
— Fuck off, will yeh, said Jackie. — We’re not goin’ for definite.
She explained.
— He mightn’t be able to take the time off.
— Yeh see, Sharon, said Yvonne. — You’ve got to understand, Greg’s a very important person.
— Fuck off, Burgess, said Jackie, but she was grinning.
— Where’re yeh goin’? Sharon asked Jackie.
— Rimini. In Italy.
— Lovely.
— Yeah.
— Yeh can go for a swim with the Pope, said Yvonne.
They laughed.
— Cos there’ll be fuck all else to do there, Yvonne finished.
— She’s just jealous, said Mary.
— Of wha’? said Yvonne—
Mary changed the subject.
— Anny news, Sharon? she asked.
— No, said Sharon. — Not really.
* * *
Sharon told no one else yet.
She bought a book in Easons and read about the first fourteen weeks of pregnancy and waited for the changes to happen; the breasts swelling, the urinating, the nausea and that. She looked at herself in her parents’ wardrobe mirror. She looked the same. And from the side; the same as well. She was ten weeks and two days pregnant. She didn’t bother including the hours and minutes, but she nearly could have. The book said that the real changes started after the tenth week. And that was now.
Her nipples were going to get darker. She didn’t mind that too much. The veins in her breasts would become more prominent. Sharon didn’t like the sound of that. That worried her. She wondered would they be horrible and knobbly like her Auntie Mona’s varicose veins. The joints between her pelvic bones would be widening. She hoped they wouldn’t pinch a sciatic nerve, which ran from her arse down through the back of her legs, because she had to stand a lot of the time in work and a pinched sciatic nerve would be a killer. She read about her hormones and what they were doing to her. She could picture them; little roundy balls with arms and legs. She hoped her bowel movements stayed fairly regular. Her uterus would soon be pressing into her bladder. What worried her most was the bit about vaginal secretions. They’d make her itchy, it said. That would be really terrible in work, fuckin’ murder. Or when she was out. She’d have preferred a pinched sciatic nerve.
She hoped these changes came one at a time.
She read about eating. Nearly everything she normally ate was wrong. She decided she’d follow the instructions in the book. She wasn’t getting sick in the mornings but she started having dry toast for her breakfast, just to be on the safe side. It was good for morning sickness. She ate raw carrots. She took celery home from work and chewed that. Jimmy Sr banned the carrots and the celery when the telly was on, except during the ads. If she didn’t go easy on the carrots, he said, she’d give birth to a fuckin’ rabbit. And there were enough bunnies in the house already.
She ploughed through her book, about three pages a night. It was hard going, and frightening. There was a lot more to being pregnant than she’d thought. And there was so much that could go wrong.
She didn’t feel pregnant yet, not really.
She read about the feelings she might have at this stage. She might, she read, feel increased sensuality. She looked that up in Darren’s dictionary and that wasn’t how she felt at all. She might feel like she was in love: no way. She might feel great excitement — no.
She was sitting between Jimmy Sr and Veronica a few days after she’d told them the news. Blankety Blank was over. The panel were waving out at them. Jimmy Sr stuck his fingers up at them. Darren laughed.
— Your man, Rolf Harris, is an awful gobshite, said Jimmy Sr. — I’ve always said it.
— He’s a great painter, said Veronica.
— He is in his hole a great painter, said Jimmy Sr. — He slaps a bit o’ paint around an’ if it looks like somethin’ he says it an’ if it doesn’t he starts singin’ Two Little Boys Had Two Little Toys. To distract us.
— He’s good for the kids, said Veronica.
— He’s good for the bowels, said Jimmy Sr. — You don’t like him, do yeh, Darren?
— No way.
— I don’t like him either, said Tracy.
— I don’t like him either, said Linda.
— There now, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr.
— What’s perception? Sharon asked.
— Wha?
— What’s perception?
— Sweat, Jimmy Sr told her. — Why?
Sharon whispered to Jimmy Sr.
— It says my perception might be heightened when I’m pregnant.
— Yeh smell alrigh’ from here, love, said Jimmy Sr.
He leaned over.
— What’s the buke abou’?
— Pregnancy.
— Jaysis, d’yeh need a buke to be pregnant these days?
— I didn’t have a book, said Veronica.
— Shhh! went Jimmy Sr.
— You wouldn’t’ve been able to read it, Ma, said Darren.
The remote control hit his shoulder and bounced off his head.
— Wha’ was tha’ for!? he cried.
His hand tried to cover both sore spots.
— Mind your own business, you, said Jimmy Sr. — Don’t look at me like tha’, son, or I’ll — Say you’re sorry to your mother.
— I was on’y—
— SAY YOU’RE SORRY.
— Sorry.
— PROPERLY.
— I’m sorry, Ma.
— You don’t look it, said Veronica.
— I can’t help it.
— You get that from your father.
— It’s not all he’ll get from his father, said Jimmy Sr.
— Turn on Sky there, he barked at Darren, — for the wrestlin’.
— His master’s voice, said Veronica.
— No chips for you tonigh’, Jimmy Sr told her.
— Aw.
Jimmy Sr pointed at a diagram in Sharon’s book.
— What’s tha’ supposed to be? he asked her.
— The inside of a woman, said Sharon, softly.
— Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr. — Sky, I said. That’s RTE 2. Look at the wavy lines, look. That’s RTE 2. It’s one o’ their farmin’ programmes.
Linda and Tracy giggled.
Jimmy Sr studied the diagram.