The Barrytown Trilogy (36 page)

She wished she’d someone to talk to.

It was going to hurt. Jesus, it was like waiting to be stabbed, knowing for definite you were going to be, but not when, only soon. It wasn’t fair. It was cruel. She’d never do this to anyone.

* * *

—They’re a bit smelly, Jimmy Sr admitted. —But they’re not too bad.

He threw the jerseys on the floor.

—Are yeh alrigh’, Sharon?

—Yeah.

—Sure?

—Yeah!

—Are yeh constipated at all?

—Lay off, Daddy, will yeh.

—Fair enough. I was only askin’.

—Well, don’t.

——Tea, said Jimmy Sr.

He went over to the kettle and looked at it.

—You get the water from the tap, said Veronica, who’d just come in.

—Ha ha, said Jimmy Sr.

He put the kettle under the tap, and sang.

—
OH YEH-HESS
—

I’M THE GREAT PRE-TE-HENDER—

DO DOO —DO DOO —DO—

The twins came barging in the back door. They had their dancing dresses on under their anoraks.

—There’s the girls, said Jimmy Sr. —How’d yis get on, girls?

—We didn’t come last, Tracy told them.

—Course yeh didn’t, said Jimmy Sr. —We didn’t either. Darren, eh, acquitted himself very well. An’ buckled his wheel.

—Teresa Kelly’s shoe broke an’ she fell, said Linda.

—Yeah, said Tracy. —An’ she said somethin’ rude an’ they disqualified her.

—Yeah, an’ her ma dragged her —

—Mammy!

—Her mammy dragged her ou’ an’ yeh could hear her dress rippin’.

Jimmy Sr laughed. He switched the kettle on.

—There. ——Poor Teresa.

—We hate her, said Linda.

—Course yeh do, said Jimmy Sr. —When’s the big one? Next week, is it?

—Yeah.

—We’ll all have to go to tha’.

—You’re not to, said Linda. —Only if yeh want to.

—You can hold our coats an’ our handbags, said Tracy.

—Thanks very much, said Jimmy Sr.

—What handbags? said Veronica.

—Missis McPartland says we’ve to have —

—No!

—Ah now, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. —Maybe Santy’ll come a bit early.

—Ah, no way, said Linda. —I don’t want a handbag from Santy.

—We’ll see wha’ happens.

Sharon had gone upstairs for her radio. She had it ready.

—Listen, she said.

She turned it on. Alexander O’Neal was singing Fake.

—Wha’? said Jimmy Sr.

—Shut up an’ listen a minute, said Sharon.

Fake was ending. Then they heard him.

—THOT WAS OLEXONDER O’NEAL WITH FAKE. THERE’S NOTHIN’ FAKE ABOUT THIS ONE. HERE’S THE GODFATHER OF SOUL. ——JAMES BROWN, YIS SIMPLEHEADS YIS.

James Brown sang Living in America. Sharon turned it down.

—Was tha’ Jimmy? said Jimmy Sr.

—Yeah, said Sharon.

—Was it, Sharon? said Tracy.

—Yeah.

—Janey.

—Jimmy on the radio.

—Wha’ station is it? Jimmy Sr asked.

—Radio 2, Sharon lied.

—Go ’way. Jimmy?

—Yeah. He’s fillin’ in for someone on their holidays.

—Go ’way. ——Jimmy, wha’. Turn it up.

He listened to James Brown.

—We’re some family all the same, wha’.

He smiled at Veronica, and nodded at the radio.

—Cyclin’, ——dancin’, DJin’ on the radio. Havin’ babies. ——Y’alrigh’, Sharon?

—Yeah ——

She looked shocked, and scared.

——I think I’m startin’.

—Sure?

—Yeah. ——Yeah.

—Up yeh go, girls, an’ get Sharon’s bag for her, said Jimmy Sr.

—Are yeh havin’ the baby, Sharon?

—Get up!

—And —Ah! —an’ me toothbrush, Tracy.

—ROIGHT. ROCKIN’ ROBBITTE COMIN’ AT YOUUU, FILLIN’ IN FOR LEE BRADLEY. HOW’S YOUR WEEKEND GOIN’? ——TOUGH.

—We’re some family alrigh’, said Jimmy Sr.

He grinned at Sharon.

—Come on, Sharon.

—THIS ONE’S FOR ANTO AN’ GILLIAN WHO WERE SNARED BEHIND THE CLINIC LAST NIGHT BY FATHER MOLLOY. YEOW, ANTO!

Jimmy Sr was out starting the car, so he didn’t hear that bit.

* * *

—The lights are turnin’ green for us, look it, said Jimmy Sr.

—Yeah.

—That’s the second one. Must be a good sign, wha’.

—Yeah.

—Soon be over.

—Yeah.

—Don’t worry, love. ——God, wait’ll yeh have it in your arms, wha’. Jaysis, women have all the luck. ——Y’alrigh’?

—Yeah.

—Good girl. Don’t hold the handle so tight there, Sharon. You might fall ou’.

—Sorry.

—No problem. ——Shite; they’ve turned red up here. Can’t expect them all to be green, I suppose.

He slowed the car, then gripped Sharon’s hand.

—Good girl. It’s only the oul’ cervix dilatin’. ——It could happen to a bishop, wha’.

He got the car going again.

—Here, Sharon. Look it; here’s me watch. Yeh can time the contractions so you’ll be able to tell them when we get there. They’ll be impressed. ——Oh, God help yeh. Sit back, Sharon, good girl. Take deep breaths, good girl. Good deep breaths. That’s wha’ I always do, wha’.

He was going to turn on the radio.

—Let’s listen to Jimmy.

—He’d be over by now.

—Ah well. He was very good, wasn’t he? ——Did yeh time tha’ one, Sharon?

—Ye-yeah. ——Thirty-seven seconds, ——abou’.

—That’s grand, said Jimmy Sr. —Nearly there now. Summerhill, look it. Straight down now an’ we’re there. Green again up here, look it.

—Yeah.

—That’s great. Is it God or the Corporation, would yeh say?

——

—Tha’ place has changed its name again, look it. ——Good girl, sit back. Good girl. Deep breaths. ——Get ou’ of me way, yeh fuckin’ ——! Gobshite; I should have run over him. The thick head on him, did yeh see it? Good girl. ——Here we are, Sharon, look.

* * *

The nurse, the nice one, wiped Sharon’s face.

—Th-thanks. ——Will it hurt anny more?

—Not really, love. We’re nearly there now.

—How long more —

—Quiet, Sharon. Come on; breathe with me. ——In——

The breath became a gasp and a scream as Sharon let go of it.

—No, Sharon. Don’t push! ——It’s too early; don’t —

She wiped Sharon’s face.

—Don’t push yet, Sharon.

Sharon gasped again.

—When!?

—In a little while. ——In ——Out ——

Sharon had to scream again, and gulp back air.

—It —it hurt more.

—Not much.

—Yes, much! Jeeesus!

* * *

They were all in the hall, watching Veronica, waiting. She was taking ages.

—Ah no, she said. ——Ah no; the poor thing.

She wouldn’t look at them.

—Is she alright? ——Will you come home now? ——Get a taxi, Jimmy. You must be exhausted. ——That’s terrible. ——Okay. In a while. Bye bye, love.

She put the phone down, and turned to them.

—A girl, she said.

—Yeow!

—Alive? said Darren.

He was crying.

—Yes!

—I thought —The way you were talkin’ —

He started laughing.

The twins hugged Darren and Jimmy Jr and Veronica and Larrygogan. Les was out.

—What’ll we call her? said Linda.

Veronica laughed.

—Hey, Larrygogan, said Tracy. —We’ve a new sister.

—She’s not your sister, said Jimmy.

—Why?

—You’re her auntie, he told her.

—Am I? Janey!

—So am I then, said Linda.

—That’s righ’, said Jimmy.

—I’m tellin’ Nicola ’Malley, said Linda. —She thinks she’s great just cos her ma lets her bring her sister to the shops. ——Come on, Tracy.

They were gone.

—Well, Darren, said Veronica. —Do you like being an uncle?

—Ah yeah, said Darren. —It’s brilliant.

* * *

Sharon was able to look at her in the crib there without having to lift her head. That was nice.

There she was, asleep; red, blotched, shrivelled and gorgeous; all wrapped up. Tiny. And about as Spanish looking as —

She didn’t care.

She was gorgeous. And hers.

She was fuckin’ gorgeous.

Georgina; that was what she was going to call her.

They’d all call her Gina, but Sharon would call her George. And they’d have to call her George as well. She’d make them.

—Are yeh alrigh’, love?

It was the woman in the bed beside Sharon.

—Yeah, said Sharon. —Thanks; I’m grand.

She lifted her hand —it weighed a ton —and wiped her eyes.

Ah, said the woman. —Were yeh cryin’?

—No, said Sharon. —I was laughin’.

* * *

This book is dedicated to John Sutton

Thanks to
Brian McGinn and Will Moore
for their help, advice and recipe for batter

Jimmy Rabbitte Sr had the kitchen to himself. He felt a draught and looked up and Darren, one of his sons, was at the door, looking for somewhere to do his homework.

—Oh—, said Darren, and he turned to go back into the hall.

—D’yeh need the table, Darren? said Jimmy Sr.

—Eh —

— No, come on. Fire away.

Jimmy Sr stood up. His arse had gone numb on him.

—Jesus —!

He straightened up and grinned at Darren.

—I’ll go somewhere else, he said.

—Thanks, said Darren.

—Not at all, said Jimmy Sr.

Jimmy Sr left Darren in the kitchen and went out to the front step and sat on it. Christ, the step was cold; he’d end up with piles or the flu or something. But there was nowhere else to go until after the dinner. All the rooms in the house were occupied. He rubbed his hands; it wasn’t too bad. He tried to finish the article in the Press he’d been reading, about how people suffered after they got out of jail, with photographs of the Guildford Four.

A car went by. Jimmy Sr didn’t know the driver. The sun was down the road now, going behind the school gym. He put the paper down beside him on the step and then he put his hands in under the sleeves of his jumper.

He was tempted to have a bash at the garden but the grass
was nearly all gone, he’d been cutting it so often. He’d have looked like a right gobshite bringing the lawn-mower for a walk around a baldy garden, in the middle of November. There were weeds in under the hedge, but they could stay there. Anyway, he liked them; they made the garden look more natural. He’d painted the gate and the railings a few months back; red, and a bit of white, the Liverpool colours, but Darren didn’t seem to care about that sort of thing any more.

—Look, Darren. Your colours.

——Oh yeah.

Jimmy Sr’d noticed small patches where some dust and bits of stuff had got stuck to the wet paint. He’d go over it again, but not today. It was a bit late.

The car went by again, the other way this time. He got a better look at the driver but he still didn’t know him. He looked as if he was searching for a house he didn’t know. He was only looking at the even numbers across the way. He might have been the police. That would’ve been good, watching the guards going in and arresting Frano Traynor again. It had been great gas the last time they’d done it, especially when Chrissie, Frano’s mot, started flinging toys down at them from the bedroom window and she hit Frano with Barbie’s Ferrari.

—Jesus; sorry, love!

—You’re alrigh’, said Frano back, searching his hair for blood.

That would have killed the time till the dinner.

But the car was gone.

There was nothing else happening, no kids on the street even. He could hear some though, around the corner, and a Mr Whippy van, but it sounded a good bit away, maybe not even in Barrytown. He took his change out of his pocket and counted it: a pound and sevenpence. He looked at his watch; the dinner’d be ready soon.

* * *

Darren read the question he’d just written at the top of his page.

—Complexity of thought and novelty in the use of language sometimes create an apparent obscurity in the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins. Discuss this view, supporting the points you make by quotations from or references to the poems by Hopkins on your course.

Then he tore out the page and wrote the question out again, in red. He read it again.

Starting was the hard bit. He brought the poetry book in closer to him. He wrote Complexity, Language and Obscurity in the margin.

He could never start questions, even in tests; he’d sit there till the teacher said Ten minutes left and then he’d fly. And he always did alright. It was still a bit of a fuckin’ drag though, starting.

He read the question again.

His ma would come in to make the dinner in a minute and then he’d have to find somewhere else.

He read one of the poems, That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire.

Darren didn’t know when Tippex had been invented but Gerrah Manley Hopkins had definitely been sniffing something. He couldn’t write that in his answer though.

Down to business.

—Right, he whispered. —Come on. Complexity.

He started.

—In my opinion the work of the poet and priest —

He crossed out And Priest.

—Gerard Manley Hopkins is —

Then he stopped.

—Fuck it.

He’d just remembered; he shouldn’t have written In My Opinion. It was banned. Crosbie, their English teacher, wouldn’t let them use it.

He tore out the page.

* * *

Upstairs in her bedroom Veronica, Darren’s mother, was doing her homework as well.

The door was locked.

* * *

—You’re not even inhalin’ properly, said Linda

—I am so, Linda; fuck off.

Tracy took another drag, held the smoke in her mouth for a bit, then blew it out, in behind the couch. She couldn’t blow it out the window cos her daddy was out there sitting on the step. Linda grabbed the Major from her and took a drag, a real one, and held it much longer than Tracy had – and got rid of it when they heard the stairs creaking. She threw the fag into her Zubes tin and shut it and nearly took the skin off her fingers. They beat the air with their copy books.

They waited. They looked at the door.

But it didn’t open.

—Get it before it goes ou’, Tracy whispered.