The Barrytown Trilogy (16 page)

—That was grand, Sharon, thanks, he said. —An’ you’re def’ny not goin’ to tell us who it is?

—No. ——Sorry.

—Never mind the Sorry. ——I think you should tell us. I’m not goin’ to kill him or annythin’.

Sharon said nothing.

Jimmy Sr pushed his chair back from the table.

—There’s no point in anny more talkin’ then, I suppose. Your mind’s obviously made up, Sharon.

He stood up.

—A man needs a pint after all tha’, he said.

—Is that all? said Veronica, shocked.

—Wha’ d’yeh mean, Veronica?

—It’s a terrible —Veronica started.

But she couldn’t really go on. She thought that Sharon’s news deserved a lot more attention, and some sort of punishment.
As far as Veronica was concerned this was the worst thing that had ever happened the family. But she couldn’t really explain why, not really. And she knew that, anyway, nothing could be done about it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad once she got used to it.

Then she thought of something.

—The neighbours, she said.

—Wha’ abou’ them? said Jimmy Sr.

Veronica thought for a bit.

—What’ll they say? she then said.

—You don’t care wha’ tha’ lot says, do yeh? said Jimmy Sr.

——Yes. I do.

—Ah now, Veronica.

He sat down.

Sharon spoke.

—They’ll have a laugh when they find ou’ an’ they’ll try an’ guess who I’m havin’ it for. An’ that’s all. ——An’ anyway, I don’t care.

—An’ that’s the important thing, Jimmy Sr told Veronica.

Veronica didn’t look convinced.

—Sure look, said Jimmy Sr. —The O’Neill young ones have had kids, the both o’ them. An’ —an’ the Bells would be the same ’cept they don’t have anny daughters, but yeh know wha’ I mean.

—Dawn O’Neill had her baby for Paddy Bell, Sharon reminded him.

—She did o’ course, said Jimmy Sr.

He stood up.

—So there now, Veronica, he said. —Fuck the neighbours.

Veronica tried to look as if she’d been won over. She wanted to go up to bed. She nodded.

Jimmy Sr had a nice idea.

—Are yeh comin’ for a drink, Sharon?

—No thanks, Daddy. I’ll stay in tonigh’.

—Ah, go on.

—Alrigh’, Sharon smiled.

—Good girl. Yeh may as well ——Veronica?

—’M? ——Ah no, no thanks.

—Go on.

—No. I’m goin’ up to bed.

—I’d go up with yeh only I’ve a throat on me.

Veronica smiled.

—You’re sure now? said Jimmy Sr.

—Yep, said Veronica.

Sharon went for her jacket.

—Will I bring yeh home a few chips? Jimmy Sr asked Veronica.

—I’ll be asleep.

—Fair enough.

Jimmy Sr stopped at the front door and roared back to Veronica.

—Cheerio now, Granny.

Then he laughed, and slammed the door harder than Jimmy Jr had.

***

Jimmy Sr came back with the drinks and sat in beside Sharon. He hated the tables up here, in the lounge. You couldn’t get your legs in under them. Sharon couldn’t either. She sat side-saddle.

—Thanks a lot, Daddy, said Sharon when she’d poured the Coke in with the vodka.

—Ah, no problem, said Jimmy Sr.

He’d never had a drink with Sharon before. He watched his pint settling, something he never did when he was downstairs in the bar. He only came up here on Sundays, and now.

He turned to Sharon and spoke softly.

—When’s it due an’ annyway?

—November.

Jimmy Sr did a few quick sums in his head.

—You’re three months gone.

—No. Nearly.

—Yeh should’ve told us earlier.

—I know. ——I was scared to.

—Ah, Sharon. ——I still think you should tell us who the da is.

—You can think away then.

Jimmy Sr couldn’t help grinning. She’d always been like that.

—I thought your mammy took it very well, he said.

—Yeah, Sharon agreed. —She was great.

—Cos she’s a bit ol’ fashioned like tha’. Set in her ways.

—Yeah. No, she was great. So were you.

—Ah, now.

They said nothing after that for a bit. Jimmy Sr could think of nothing else to say. He looked around him: kids and yuppies. He sat there, feeling far from home. The lads would all be downstairs by now. Jimmy Sr had a good one he’d heard in work for them, about a harelip in a spermbank. He loved Sharon but, if the last five minutes were anything to go by, she was shocking drinking company.

He noticed Jimmy Jr up at the stools with his pals.

—There’s Jimmy, he said.

—Yeah, said Sharon.

—That’s an awful lookin’ shower he hangs around with.

—They’re alrigh’.

—The haircuts on them, look.

—That’s only the fashion these days. Leave them alone.

—I s’pose so, said Jimmy Sr.

And they stopped again.

There was only an hour to closing time but Jimmy Sr wasn’t sure he’d be able to stick it.

—Wha’ does Jimmy be doin’ up there when he’s shoutin’, yeh know, abou’ bein’ all over Ireland? he asked Sharon.

—He wants to be a D.J.

—A wha’?

—A D.J. A disc jockey.

—Wha’; like Larry Gogan?

—Yeah. Sort of.

—Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.

He’d had enough.

He’d spotted a gang of Sharon’s friends over past Jimmy Jr and his pals.

—There’s those friends o’ yours, Sharon, he said.

Sharon knew what he was at.

—Oh yeah, she said.

—D’yeh want to go over to them?

—I don’t mind.

—They’d be better company than your oul’ fella annyway, wha’.

—Ah no.

—Go on. Yeh may as well go over. I don’t mind.

—I can’t leave you on your own.

—Ah sure, said Jimmy Sr. —I can go down an’ see if there’s annyone downstairs.

Sharon grinned. So did Jimmy Sr. He still felt guilty though, so he got a fiver out and handed it to Sharon.

—Ah, there’s no need, Daddy.

—There is o’ course, said Jimmy Sr.

He moved in closer to her.

—It’s not every day yeh find ou’ you’re goin’ to be a granda.

He’d just thought of that now and he had to stop himself from letting his eyes water. He often did things like that, gave away pounds and fivers or said nice things; little things that made him like himself.

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.

—Where’s it all fit? he wanted to know. —Is this an Irish buke, Sharon?

—No. English.

—Ah, said Jimmy Sr.

—Is Sharon havin’ a baby? Linda asked.

—No! said Jimmy Sr.

—Are yeh, Sharon?

—Are yeh havin’ a baby, Sharon? said Tracy.

—
NO, I SAID
.

—Sharon, are yeh?

—Aaah! said Jimmy Sr.

—No, I’m not, Sharon told them. —A friend o’ mine is, that’s all.

—Ah, said Tracy, very disappointed.

—Ma? said Linda.

—Mammy, said Veronica.

—Mammy. Will you be havin’ more babies?

—Oh my Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr. —Here. Here. Come here.