— Just lookin’.
— Are you actin’ the prick?
— No! No; it’s just I’ve never seen yeh doin’ annythin’ before, yeh know. Can I watch?
— Fuck off ou’ o’ tha’. It’s hard enough without havin’ bollixes like you gawkin’ at—
— Watch ou’!
Darren was coming.
Jimmy Sr got up and ran to the wall.
— Seven seconds down, Darren! Seven seconds! Come on now. — Come on, lads; yis’re laggin’ behind. Nine seconds down. Come on now. Good lads. One last drive. Come on.
There was no sign of Eric. Jimmy Sr turned back to Mickah.
— Tha’ was close.
Mickah ran around Jimmy Sr and ducked in behind the wall. Jimmy Sr looked around, and saw George Burgess coming down his path to the gate. Then Mickah started singing.
— OH — TIE A YELLOW RIBBON—
ROUND THE OLD OAK TREE—
George looked over at Jimmy Sr.
— Don’t look at me, Burgess!
— IT’S BEEN THREE LONG YEARS—
DO YEH STILL WANT ME—
DA RAH DA RAH-
Jimmy Sr held up the shears.
— Yeh know wha’ I’d like to do with these, Burgess, don’t yeh?
— Go on, Mister Rabbitte, said Mickah, still crouched behind the wall. — Have him ou’. Go on. I’ll back yeh up.
Eric cycled by.
— Good man, Eric! Good man, son. One more now, one more, then we’ll call it a day. Good lad. — Hope he doesn’t die on us.
George kept walking. He didn’t look back. Mickah stood up. They both looked at George walking down Chestnut Avenue.
— You SHOULD knock the shite ou’ of him though, Mickah told Jimmy Sr.
— Why? said Jimmy Sr. — He didn’t do annythin’ to me.
Mickah thought about this. He studied Jimmy Sr carefully.
— Maybe he didn’t, he said. — But yeh should still give him a hidin’.
— Why?
— Cos you’d beat him.
Jimmy Sr got down on his knees at the edge of the grass.
— That’s why I couldn’t be bothered, he said. — Jaysis, look it!
— Wha’?
Jimmy Sr held up a well mauled and weathered ten pound note.
— Nice one, said Mickah.
— It was in the grass, said Jimmy Sr. — Just there. That’s gas.
He stood up.
— What’re yeh goin’ to do with it? Mickah asked him.
— Well, said Jimmy Sr. — I’m goin’ to give five of it to Leslie. After he’s cut this fuckin’ grass.
— Good thinkin’, said Mickah.
— An’ maybe a nice set o’ handlebars for poor Eric.
— Ah, said Mickah. — Nice one.
* * *
Sharon got Linda to open the window a bit before she went down for her breakfast. Now she was alone in the bedroom. She sat up against all the pillows, and listened. The room was at the back of the house but she could still hear enough. She’d heard about five cars starting, including her daddy’s — it always coughed before it got going. She could hear kids shouting, going into the school. She heard a front door slamming, and back ones — the sound was different. But best of all was the clicking of heels. That meant girls dashing to work, and she wasn’t one of them.
It was brilliant. She’d been doing this every morning since she’d given up work.
She didn’t care much about the money. The pay had been useless anyway. She’d be getting her allowance after the baby was born and her daddy was going to give her some money every week, once he’d sorted it out with her mammy. She’d only have to stay in the house a bit more often and she’d be doing that anyway because of the baby. So it was great.
Her back wasn’t hurting her that much. The baby’s head had settled and sometimes it felt like she wasn’t pregnant any more. But never for long. She was dry and clean. She was nice and tired. She wanted to go to the toilet but not enough yet to get up. She was going to read a bit of her book, Lace II — it was a bit thick but she liked it and she liked being able to get through the pages fast. Then she’d go down and have her breakfast. She’d see if she could get her mammy to come out for a walk or something. She’d watch a bit of telly as well; there’d be videos on Sky and Super.
She couldn’t make her mind up about the name. Fiona or Lorraine; she liked them. Mark, if it was a boy. Or maybe James. Her daddy would love that. But then he might take over the baby, the way he was these days. And there’d be three Jimmys in the house. She didn’t know.
It had gone quiet outside. There were no cars. Everyone was gone.
Her belly button was like a real button now; inside out. She didn’t like it that way. It felt dangerous.
She heard something; someone was running and wheezing, and the steps weren’t very fast. The wheezing must have been really bad if she could hear it from the back of the house. And now it was raining again. She hoped it was Mister Burgess out there. Not really though.
It was nice.
But she still couldn’t stop worrying. It could happen any time. She was having these — painless contractions the book called them — all the time, now and again, but they weren’t really painless at all because they made her really nervous because the next one might be painful, and she waited and waited for the next one until she ached.
She got up. She wanted to be in the kitchen.
* * *
— Oh Jesus! said Sharon.
— What’s wrong? said Jimmy Sr.
He jumped up off the couch.
— Is it comin’, is it?
— No, said Sharon.
She shifted, to get the cushions behind her again.
— Sorry. I was just fallin’ asleep an’ I didn’t know it, em — Sorry.
Jimmy Sr looked disappointed. He sat down, but he was ready to get up again.
— Yeh can’t be too careful abou’ this sort o’ thing, he said.
Veronica climbed out of the armchair and stood up.
— We don’t want you bursting your waters all over the furniture, isn’t that right, Jimmy dear? They’re new covers.
She went out, into the kitchen.
Jimmy Sr sat there, appalled. That was the dirtiest, foulest thing he’d heard in his life. And his wife had said it!
Sharon was laughing.
— Jaysis, Sharon, I’m sorry, said Jimmy Sr. — Tha’ was a terrible thing for Veronica to say. Terrible.
— Ah, stop it, said Sharon. — She was only jokin.
— No, no, said Jimmy Sr. — There’s jokin’ an’ jokin’ but tha’ was no fuckin’ joke. I’m just glad the twins weren’t here to hear it.
— Ah Daddy!
— No, Sharon, Jimmy Sr insisted. — This is no laughin’ matter.
He pointed at Sharon’s belly.
— Do yeh not realize tha’ there’s a livin’ bein’ in there? he said. — A livin’—thing.
— Ah, feck off, Daddy. Cop on.
— Don’t start tha’ raisin’ your eyes to heaven shite with me. An’ don’t start chewin’ tha’ fuckin’ celery when I’m talkin’ to yeh.
Sharon tapped Jimmy Sr on the head with her celery.
— Yes, Daddy.
She gulped.
— The livin’ bein’ in here is givin’ me terrible fuckin’ indigestion, she said.
— That’s cos your stomach’s flattened, Jimmy Sr told her. — Yeh prob’ly ate too much.
— I didn’t.
— Yeh should only eat small amounts.
— Ah, shag off.
— It looks like there’s only one person takin’ this thing seriously, an’ that’s me.
— Excuse me! said Sharon. — I am takin’ it seriously. I’m the one carryin’ it around with me all the time.
— You’re gettin’ snotty now cos o’ your hormones, Jimmy Sr told her. — I’ll talk to yeh later.