The Barrytown Trilogy (37 page)

Linda giggled, and so did Tracy. They shushed each other. Linda opened the tin.

—Jesus, she said. —I’ve crushed it.

—Let’s see.

It was their last one.

—Ah Jesus, said Linda. —I’m gaspin’!

—So am I, said Tracy.

—Yeh can’t be. You don’t even inhale.

—I do, Linda.

—Yeh don’t. Your smoke comes ou’ too puffy.

—That’s just the way I do it. It is, Linda. ——God, I’m gaspin’.

—Yeah, said Linda. —Does tha’ look like Mammy’s writin’?

Tracy looked at the writing on the inside cover of one of Linda’s copies.

—Yeah, she said. —Sort of——

—Look it, said Linda.

She took the copy from Tracy and showed her the other inside cover.

—That’s wha’ it was like when I started, she told Tracy.

She turned back to the first cover.

—This’s much better, isn’t it?

—Yeah, said Tracy, and she meant it.

She read it; Please Excuse, about ten times down the page, getting smaller and closer near the bottom, not like her mammy’s yet but not like Linda’s usual writing either, much smaller, hardly any holes in the letters.

—She’ll kill yeh, Tracy told Linda

—Why will she? said Linda. —I haven’t done annythin’. I’m only experimentin’.

She wrote Please.

—Is tha’ like it?

——Yeah, said Tracy.

They’d forgotten that they were gasping. Tracy crossed out History in her homework journal. She’d just finished it, five questions about the pyramids.

—Jesus, she said, reading what was next on the list. —Wha’ Irish story are yeh doin’, Linda?

—I’m not doin’ anny, said Linda.

She showed Tracy another Please and a new Excuse.

—Is tha’ like it?

* * *

—No.

—Ah but, Mammy —

—No, I said.

—Daddy —?

—Yeh heard your mammy, said Jimmy Sr.

—But —

—No buts.

The twins, Linda doing all of the talking, had just asked if they could get a new video for Christmas. They’d had none in the house since Jimmy Jr, the eldest, had taken his with him when he’d moved out a few months ago.

—No buts, said Jimmy Sr. —We can’t afford it, an’ that’s that. And, we’ve no place to put it—

—With the telly —

—Don’t interrupt me, righ’!

He was really angry, before he knew it; nearly out of his seat. It was happening a lot these days. He’d have to be careful. He stopped pointing at Linda.

——We’re not getting’ one; end o’ story. Now I want to enjoy me dinner. For a change.

Linda raised her eyes to heaven and shifted a bit in her chair, and thought about walking out of the kitchen in protest, but she stayed. She was hungry.

So was Gina, Sharon’s little young one.

—Shut up, Sharon told her. —Wait.

She put the chips in front of Gina, then lifted them away.

—Now, if yeh throw them around, Sharon warned her, —I’ll take them back off yeh, d’yeh hear me?

Gina screamed.

—An’ Grandad’ll eat them on yeh. Isn’t tha’ righ’, Grandad?

—Wha’? said Jimmy Sr. —Chips, is it? Come here, I’ll eat them now.

He leaned over to Gina’s chair.

—Give us them here. Lovely.

Gina screamed, and grabbed the plate. Sharon managed to keep the chips on the plate but got ketchup on her hand.

—Ah, bloody —

—Buddy! said Gina.

Sharon wiped her hand on Gina’s bib.

The Rabbittes got dug into their dinners.

—Lovely, said Jimmy Sr.

Tracy had an announcement.

—There’s a piece o’ paper hangin’ up in the toilet an’ yis are all to put a tick on it every time yis flush the toilet.

—Wha’? said Jimmy Sr.

Darren came in.

—Good man, Darren, said Jimmy Sr. —Were yeh watchin’ abou’ the Berlin Wall there?

—Yeah, said Darren as he sat down.

—Terrific, isn’t it? said Jimmy Sr.

—Yeah, said Darren.

Jimmy Sr wondered, again, why Darren wouldn’t talk to him properly any more.

—Darren, said Tracy. —Every time yeh flush the toilet you’re to put a tick on the paper hangin’ up on the wall.

—What’s this abou’? Jimmy Sr still wanted to know.

—There’s a biro for yeh to do it in the glass with the toothbrushes, Tracy told them.

—Okay, said Darren.

—Hang on, said Jimmy Sr. —What are we to do? Exactly.

Tracy raised her eyes.

—Jesus, she said to Linda.

—Don’t Jesus me, you, said Jimmy Sr. —An’ anyway, that’s a curse. Swearbox.

—It’s not a curse, said Tracy. —It’s a name.

—Not the way you said it, said Jimmy Sr.

He picked up the marmalade jar with the slit in its lid and rattled it in front of her. The swearbox had been his idea, to force him to clean up his act in front of the baby.

—Come on, he said.

—I haven’t anny money, said Tracy.

—Yeh have so, said Linda.

—Fuck —

—Ah ah! said Jimmy Sr. —Double.

Veronica took over.

—That’s the last time you’ll use language like that in this house, she told Tracy. —D’you hear me? And you as well, she told Linda.

—I didn’t say ann’thin’! said Linda.

—You know what I mean, said Veronica. —It’s disgraceful; I’m not having it. In front of Gina.

Gina was busy with her chips.

—That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr. —Yis know how quickly she’s pickin’ up things.

—I on’y said Jesus, said Tracy very quietly, standing up for her rights.

—I didn’t say ann’thin’, said Linda.

—You’re becoming a right pair of ——

Veronica didn’t finish. She stared at them, then looked away.

—Bitches, said Sharon. —If Gina starts usin’ dirty language I’ll kill yis.

—I didn’t say ann’thin’, Linda told her plate.

Jimmy Sr studied the piece of burger on his fork.

—Eh, he said. —Should it be this colour?

—Yes! said Veronica.

—Fair enough, said Jimmy Sr. —Just askin’.

He chewed and swallowed.

—Second time we’ve had these yokes this week, he said, sort of to himself.

Veronica let her knife and fork rattle off her plate. Jimmy Sr didn’t look at her.

—Anyway, he asked Tracy, —why am I to put a tick on this piece o’ paper when I go to the jacks?

—It’s for school, said Tracy, as if he was some sort of a thick. —Geog’aphy.

—Wha’ has goin’ to the jacks got to do with geography?

—I don’t know, said Tracy. —Somethin’ to do with water. Miss Eliot says we’re to do it.

—Why does Miss Eliot want to know how often I have a—

—Swearbox! said Linda.

—Starebock! said Gina.

—I didn’t say it, said Jimmy Sr.

He turned back to Tracy.

—Why does she want to know how often I use the toilet facilities?

—Not just you, said Tracy. —All of us have to.

—Why?

—Geog’aphy.

—It’s to see how much water all the class uses, Linda told him.

—Why? Darren asked.

—I don’t know! said Linda. —It’s thick. She’s useless. Tracy’s to do the toilet an’ I’m to do the sink an’ the washin’ machine but I’m not goin’ to. It’s thick.

—Is that your homework? said Veronica.

—Yeah, said Linda.

—Then you’re to do it.

Linda said nothing.

—I’d still like to know wha’ Miss Eliot wants with all this information, said Jimmy Sr. —She might blackmail us; wha’, Darren?

—Yeah. ——Yeah.

—The Rabbittes go to the jacks twice as much as everyone else, wha’. She’ll want to know how often we change our underwear next; wait an’ see.

—Stop that, said Veronica. —It’s their homework.

Darren was beginning to grin, so Jimmy Sr continued.

—An’ after tha’ we’ll find bits o’ paper stuck up beside the beds, wha’.

—Stop!

Darren laughed. And so did Jimmy Sr. He spoke to Gina.

—We’d run ou’ of paper if we had to tick off every time you go to the jacks, wouldn’t we, Honey?

Gina threw a chip at him, and hit. He pretended he was dying. Sharon picked up the chip before the dog, Larrygogan, got to it and she made Gina eat it.

—There, she said.

But Gina didn’t mind.

—Do you not do maps and stuff like that? Veronica asked Linda and Tracy.

—No, said Linda. —Sometimes only.

—Nearly never, said Tracy.

Veronica shrugged.

Jimmy Sr belched.

—Lovely dinner, Veronica, he said.

—You liked those yokes, did you? said Veronica.

—They were grand, said Jimmy Sr. —Much nicer than the ones yeh get in the chipper or the shops.

—Yeah, well, said Veronica. —When I start getting some proper money again you won’t see them so often.

—No no, said Jimmy Sr. —They’re grand.

They looked at each other.

Then Gina dropped her plate on Larrygogan.

—Ah Jesus, said Sharon.

Starebock! said Gina.

Jimmy Sr stood on some chips when he was trying to wipe the ketchup off Larrygogan.

—Ah Jaysis —

—Starebock!

And Sharon slapped her.

—Ah leave her, leave her, said Jimmy Sr. —It’s only chips.

—She does it on purpose.

Gina started some serious screaming. Sharon wanted to kill her, but only for a second. She lifted her out of her chair and rocked her. But Gina wasn’t impressed.

—Jive Bunny, Gina, said Jimmy Sr. —Look it.

—OH —

He started twisting.

—Look at Grandad, Gina, said Sharon.

—LET’S TWIST AGAIN —

LIKE WE DID LAST
Jaysis!

He slid on a chip and nearly went on his arse, saved by the table. Gina stopped screaming, to watch. Jimmy Sr, steadying himself and taking off his shoe, looked at Gina and sniffed victory. But Gina was getting ready to start again; he could tell by the way her cheeks were twitching.

—Righ’, he said to the rest. —Hawaii 5–0.

He made a trumpet out of his fists and started.

—
DEH DEH DEH DEH
—

DEHHH DEH
—

Linda, Tracy, Darren, even Veronica made trumpets and joined in. Gina danced in Sharon’s arms and forgot about screaming. Larrygogan cleaned the chips off the floor and he cleaned the plate as well.

* * *

Jimmy Sr sat watching the television. There was no sound on. The three other lads watching it all had earphones but Jimmy
Sr couldn’t see another pair anywhere. He could’ve asked the young one behind the desk over there what he’d to do to get a pair of earphones for himself but he didn’t want to. She looked busy. Anyway, they mightn’t have been free. And anyway as well, what was on didn’t look that good; just fellas in togas talking; a play or something.

Jimmy Sr was in the ILAC library, in town.

It was terrific here, very nice.

He’d never been in here before. It was great. There was a lot more to it than just the books. You could get tapes or records out or even those compact discs, or just listen to them in here. He’d go over there, to the music part, after this. There was a language resource centre, a room where you could learn more than sixty languages in one of those booth things. Or you could use the computer – he looked at the brochure again – to enhance your computer literacy skills. There was even a reading machine for if you had sight problems. Having one of them beside the bed would have been very handy for when you came home scuttered at night.

He didn’t drink much any more; just the few pints twice a week.

He’d go over and have a look at the machine in a minute.

He was definitely joining. He had his application cards here. It was lovely here. You could stay for ages and never get bored. You could even borrow pictures and bring them home.

That was a bit fuckin’ stupid when you thought about it; sticking a picture up on your wall for a fortnight and then having to bring it back again; on a bus or on the DART, sitting there like a gobshite with a big picture on your lap, of a woman in her nip or something.

Still though.

It was gas watching your men here watching the telly, and not being able to hear. One of them had laughed a minute ago, like he was trying not to, but the chaps on the telly had looked deadly serious. She’d asked him – your woman at the desk – if he was a householder when he’d asked her how you joined.

He didn’t know.

He told her it wasn’t for himself he was asking, and she gave him the cards and told him that he’d have to get a householder to sign the back of them.

He sort of knew. But the problem was, he didn’t know – not exactly – if you actually had to own your house or if renting was enough. And he rented his, so if he’d said Yeah, I am a householder and he’d found out that he wasn’t one when he was filling in the card at the desk he’d’ve felt like a right fuckin’ eejit. In front of the young one there. She looked younger than Sharon.

Bimbo, one of his mates, owned his house. Jimmy Sr’d get him to sign it, to be on the safe side.

There was a thing he’d seen downstairs in the shopping part of the ILAC on his way up here; a studio, a small one you went into and sang a song – for six quid. The twins would’ve loved that.

Maybe they wouldn’t have, but; not any more. They’d have been too embarrassed. There was a list of the songs you could sing along to. New York New York was one of them. That was his song; he always sang it at weddings and on bank holiday Mondays in the Hikers.

Six quid. Veronica would fuck him from a height if he came home with a tape of himself singing and she found out how much it’d cost.

He got up. He was going to have a look at the books. When he joined up he could take out three at a time and keep them for three weeks, but he’d only take out one or maybe two. He wasn’t that quick of a reader. And anyway, he’d want to come here more than just once every three weeks so if he took out one book at a time he could come back more often than that.

There was a sign – a handmade one – on the desk that said that you could get an Action Pack for the Unemployed but there weren’t any on the desk. You had to ask for one.

He wondered what was in them. Action Pack. Probably just leaflets.

And a compass and a fuckin’ hand grenade and one of them cyanide tablets for if you were caught behind enemy lines.