The Barrytown Trilogy (38 page)

He’d ask for one the next time. The young one was dealing with some people at the desk and one of them looked like he was going to start getting snotty with her.

She was a nice-looking young one, lovely; not what you’d have expected. With a few buttons open at the front, fair play to her.

He went over to the books. He wanted to find the Sports shelf. He was thinking of getting a couple of greyhounds.

* * *

Veronica and Jimmy Sr were alone, sitting on their bed. Jimmy Sr watched Veronica putting on socks and then her boots.

—We could always get a few bob from a lender, I suppose, said Jimmy Sr.

—No, said Veronica.

—A few bob only —

—No, said Veronica.

——You’re righ’; you’re right, o’ course, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. —We’d only be gettin’ ourselves into —

—I’d die before I’d go looking for help from one of those crooks, said Veronica.

—You’re dead right, yeah. I just thought ——Will Leslie come home, d’yeh think?

Veronica didn’t want to answer this. But she did.

—I doubt it, she said.

——Yeah, said Jimmy Sr.

Les was in England, somewhere. They thought.

—What abou’ Jimmy? said Jimmy Sr.

—Ah yeah, said Veronica.

She studied the soles of the boots.

—Where else would he go? said Veronica. —If I pushed a bit harder my fingers would come through, look it.

Well, don’t push then, Jimmy Sr nearly said, but he stopped himself.

—Would he not go to – em – Aoife’s parents’ place? he said.

Aoife and Jimmy Jr were living in a bedsit in Clontarf.

—He’d better not, said Veronica. —If he does he needn’t come home for his Sunday dinner again.

She stood up.

—With his washing.

—Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. —At least we won’t have to buy anythin’ for him.

—Something small, said Veronica.

—Very small, said Jimmy Sr. —So that’s the twins an’ Gina is all we have to get presents for really. An’ Darren. An’ somethin’ small for Sharon as well. That’s not too bad.

Veronica wasn’t convinced.

—Well ——, she said.

She was at the dressing-table mirror now.

—What about all the food and the drink? There’s a lot more than just the presents. And there’s other presents as well, you know. Gerry’s kids and —

—I’ll tell Gerry and Thelma and Pat they’re not to send ours any presents an’ we won’t send theirs any.

—God, said Veronica. ——I never —

—Sure, they can’t afford it either, said Jimmy Sr.

He didn’t want Veronica to finish. There was no point. He’d heard it before. It only made him angry now and he’d end up shouting. It wasn’t fair.

—No one can, said Jimmy Sr.

Veronica said nothing.

—We were always broke at Christmas.

—After it though, said Veronica.

—Ah ——! said Jimmy Sr.

It wasn’t fuckin’ fair.

—Ah sorry, said Veronica.

She turned to look at him properly.

—I didn’t mean anything.

—Ah, I know. ——I don’t blame yeh. It’s just ——

He looked at her looking at him.

—We’ll manage, he said.

—Yes, said Veronica.

—I’ll win the turkey in the pitch ’n’ putt annyway, he said.

—You always do, said Veronica.

—An’ maybe a hamper as well, wha’.

—That’d be great.

Neither of them wanted to talk any more about Christmas. It was still months away anyway; weeks. And Veronica had to go. She checked her folder.

—Eh ——how’re the oul’ classes goin’, Veronica? said Jimmy Sr.

—Grand, said Veronica.

Veronica was doing night classes, two Leaving Cert subjects.

—Are yeh the oldest? said Jimmy Sr.

—No!

—I’d say the maths is hard, is it?

—It’s not too bad, said Veronica.

That was a lie, only a small one though because it was getting easier. She was getting used to it, being in the classroom and having the teacher, a young lad Jimmy Jr’s age, looking over her shoulder all the time. And Darren was going to give her a hand.

—I was thinkin’ I might do a few classes meself, Jimmy Sr told her.

—You’re too late, Veronica told him. —You’ll have to wait till next year.

She wasn’t sure if that was true – she thought it was: really – but she wanted to do it on her own, even going up to the school on her own and walking home; everything.

She had to go.

—Bye bye so, she said. —Are yeh stayin’ up here?

—I am, yeah, said Jimmy Sr. —I’m goin’ to read one o’ me bukes.

The twins were in the front room – he could hear them – and Darren would be in the kitchen but he didn’t mind staying up here. He’d lie back – it wasn’t that cold; just nice – and read.

—I got three bukes ou’, he told Veronica. —Look it.

But she was gone.

—See you later, she said from the hall.

—Okay, love, said Jimmy Sr. —Good luck. D’yeh have all your eccer done now?

But she didn’t answer. She was gone. He heard the door.

Fair play to her.

He picked up one of his books. The Man in the Iron Mask. By Alexandre Dumas. Lousy cover. He could have drawn better himself.

He remembered something. He got his thumb-nail and dragged it across the plastic covering. It worked, left a line of little grooves across the plastic. He did it again. The sound was the same as well, as when he was a kid.

That was gas ——

He got up.

He’d make himself a cup of tea – it was just a bit chilly up here – and then he’d get going. Fifty pages before Veronica got home.

* * *

—Mind your house!

That wanker over there had been roaring that since the start of the match. He probably didn’t even know what it meant, the stupid oul’ bollix. The ball was down at the Barrytown goal, about the first time it had gone in that direction in the second half.

It was Saturday afternoon. Jimmy Sr was in St Anne’s Park, watching the Barrytown Utd Under 18s; watching Darren.

Five-nil for Barrytown was the score. The opposition were useless. Jimmy Sr couldn’t even remember what they were called. Darren didn’t bother dashing back to help defend, and he was dead right. The last time this shower had seen the net shake was when their keeper farted.

The ball was coming back up. Darren went to meet it. No one came with him.

—Good man, Darren! Away yeh go!

Darren stopped the ball. Normally he’d have had two or three men up his arse by now or, with the ground this soggy,
someone sliding towards his ankle. Now though, two of their defence ran around him on their way back as if they didn’t want to get in his way because it was rude, so Darren held on to the ball for a while, turned and crossed where the centre line should have been.

—Give us a display of your silky skills, Darren!

That was the Barrytown keeper, Nappies Harrison.

The sweeper was waiting for Darren. That was what he’d called himself; the sweeper. —We’re playin’ three central defenders, he’d told Darren in the first half. —Like Arsenal. He was waiting for Darren on the other side of a puddle, hunched as if he was going to dive into it. Kenny Smith was to Darren’s left, shouting for the ball. Darren lobbed the ball over the sweeper, ran around him (—Yeow, Darren!) and dug the ball out of the muck with his toe and sent it over to Kenny, hard so it wouldn’t get stuck again.

—Good play, said their sweeper; Jimmy Sr heard him.

Darren knew he’d be praised after the match for his unselfish play (—That’s the Liverpool way, lads) but he’d given the ball to Kenny because he couldn’t be bothered bringing it any further himself. He heard the ironic cheer. They’d scored again; an Anto Brennan diving header that he hadn’t really needed to dive for.

Darren strolled back across the line. He hated these sort of games, when they won without sweating. They’d be beaten next week; it always happened.

—Come on now, lads, the oul’ guy at the side shouted. —Make the score respectable, come on.

—Will yeh listen to him, said Kenny.

—Yeah, said Darren. —Fuckin’ pitiful.

Most of them wouldn’t turn up for training on Tuesday night because of this win; their emphatic victory.

The ball was in the centre circle. The ref picked it up and blew his whistle; game over, ten minutes early.

—Thank fuck, said Pat Conlon. —It’s fuckin’ freezin’.

—I was goin’ for me hat-trick, Kenny complained.

—Ah, fuck off complainin’, said Pat. —Anyway, yeh’d never have got another two.

—No problem to me against these cunts.

The sweeper was waiting for Darren at the sideline, with his hand out.

—Good game, he said.

—Yeah, said Darren. —Thanks.

—Best team won.

—The pitch wasn’t fit for playin’ on, said Darren.

His da was waiting for him as well.

—Well done, Darren.

—Thanks, Da.

He ran along the edge of the gravel path to the gates of the park.

—Bring your ma with yis the next time, he heard Kenny telling the sweeper, and he heard his da laughing.

Darren got into the back of one of the three Barrytown cars.

—Push over, there, he said.

—Ahh! Hang on; me leg!

—Good man, Darren, said Mr Reeves, his da’s friend; Bimbo. —Is that everyone now?

—No; Kenny.

—Kenny! Darren roared. —Come on.

—They were useless, weren’t they? said Mr Reeves.

—Pitiful, said Darren.

Hurry up, he wanted to say. Hurry up!

Kenny climbed in the back on top of the three lads already in there. There were two more in the front, and Bimbo.

Darren got the door shut.

—Jaysis, said Bimbo. —We’re nearly scrapin’ the ground. Did yis have your dinners at half-time or somethin’?

They laughed. The car moved. They cheered.

But Bimbo braked.

Darren’s da was at the front passenger window.

—Will youse go with Billy, lads? he asked Muggah McCarthy and Pat Conlon.

—Okay, said Muggah, and Darren’s da got in when the two of them got out.

—Off yeh go, he said to Bimbo.

Kenny leaned over (—Ah, Kenny! Watch it!) and rolled down Darren’s window. He roared at the other team as they climbed into their mini-bus.

—Yis dozy cunts, yis!

—Here; none o’ tha’! said Bimbo.

He braked again.

—Yeh can get ou’ here if you’re goin’ to start tha’.

—Disgraceful behaviour, said Darren’s da, and he winked back at them.

—Sorry, said Kenny.

They nudged each other. Bimbo got the car going again.

—Did yeh get this yoke off the Vincent de Paul, Mr Reeves? said Nappies.

They laughed.

—Yeah, said Kenny. —It’s pitiful, isn’t it, Darrah?

—Fuck off, said Darren.

His da laughed.

—Gettin’ locked tonigh’, men? said Anto.

—Fuckin’ sure, said Kenny.

He started singing.

—
HERE WE GO

HERE WE
—

—Shut up in the back, said Bimbo.

The windows were steaming up. Darren rubbed his and watched the people walking along the sea front, looking out for young ones.

—D’yeh see her? said Kenny. —Jaysis.

He turned to look out the back window and kicked Anto in the mouth.

—You’re dead, said Anto.

He checked for blood. There wasn’t any.

—That’s pitiful behaviour, said Nappies. —Isn’t it, Darren?

Darren gave Nappies the finger.

—Swivel, he said.

Nappies was sitting on Anto’s lap. His right ear was nearly pressed to the roof.

—Hurry up, Mr Reeves, will yeh. Me neck’s nearly broke.

—Well, men, said Anto. —Where’re we goin’ tonigh’?

—The Nep, said Nappies.

—No way. Yeh fuckin’ hippy.

—There’s nothin’ wrong with the Nep, said Anto. —It’s better than the field youse drink in.

—Yeah, man.

—Right on, Anto.

—Will yeh be wearin’ your flares, Nappies?

—He’s pitiful.

—Yis haven’t a clue, Nappies told them.

—Where’s the Nep? said Bimbo.

—Town, said Nappies.

—My God, said Bimbo. —Would yis go tha’ far for a drink?

—Fuckin’ eejits, said Jimmy Sr.

—It’s cos they’re afraid their oul’ ones’ll catch them if they drink in the Hikers, Anto told Bimbo and Jimmy Sr.

—Don’t start, you, said Nappies. —My ma knows I drink.

—Yeah; milk.

—Fuck off.

—Does she know yeh smoke hash as well, Nappies?

Kenny got a couple of digs from Darren, to shut him up.

—Where do the rest of yis go? Bimbo asked them.

He wasn’t being nosy.

—The Beachcomber, said Anto.

—Yeh do not, said Nappies. —Don’t start. They wouldn’t let yeh in.

—Would they not now? said Anto. —D’yis hear him?

—What’s it like inside then? said Nappies, —if yeh’ve been in there. Tell us; go on.

—Better than the fuckin’ Nep anyway.

—You were never in there; I knew it.

—Fuck off, you.

—Fuck off, yourself. The state o’ yeh. You’d get drunk on a barman’s fart.

—Fuck off.

—Language, lads. ——Do none of yis go up to the Hikers at all?

—I do, said Kenny.

—Yeh do in your brown, said Anto. —He asked yeh do yeh drink in the Hikers, not do yeh sit on the wall outside.

—Don’t start, said Kenny. —I do drink there.

—When?

—Yeah; go on.

—With me da.

—Yeah; the day yeh made your Confirmation.

—Fuck off.

—Yeah, Kenny; your oul’ lad drank your money on yeh.

Darren enjoyed this, even with his da there; the lads slagging each other. He rubbed the window. He couldn’t open it because Kenny’s feet were in the way. They were turning off the sea front. It was a bit fuckin’ childish though; not the slagging, the subject matter. The theme.

—Anyway, said Kenny, —knacker drinkin’s better than drinkin’ in a pub. Specially if you’ve a free house.

—That’s not knacker drinkin’! said Anto.

They didn’t even shave, most of them in the car. Darren did, and he was younger than some of them. And he’d been in the Beachcomber. And the Hikers. It was no big deal. He was working tonight in the Hikers – but he’d drunk in there as well when he wasn’t working – and then he was going on to the Grove. The Grove was a dump. It usen’t to be that bad but there were just kids there now and the music was pitiful; it used to be great. But he was meeting Miranda there after work, so it was okay.