— Mister Rabbitte?
— Wha’?
It was your woman, the Principal. He was next — he hadn’t noticed.
— Sorry, he said. — I was —
He held up the phone.
— Work.
— I know.
He followed her into the office.
— When the word expulsion was mentioned —
— Oh Christ no. Expulsion?
— Yep.
— Oh God — Jimmy —! They can’t —
— Hold on, he said. — It’s not too bad. She was just tellin’ me they could. That the offence justified it.
— That’s ridiculous.
— I know, yeah. But I didn’t argue with her. I heard someone doin’ that — before me, like. It didn’t last long. Anyway, look, they’re not goin’ to expel ten girls all at once. It’d be a national scandal. The press would jump on it. Joe Duffy. It’d take their minds off Anglo an’ the fuckin’ Household Charge —
— Jimmy, tell me.
— I let her have her say. Expulsion, suspension, all the options and procedures. And then I told her I had cancer.
— You —?
— So it’s grand. She’s not bein’ expelled.
— Because you told Fionnuala Halpin you had cancer?
— No, he said. — But I told her before she said what they’d decided to do. Just to be on the safe side.
The dog was beside him, at his leg. He picked him up and parked him.
— Suspended, he said. — For a week.
— That’s not too bad.
— Includin’ today.
— We’ll ground her.
— Yep.
— Take her phone.
— No pocket money.
— Yes.
— I’m to phone her tomorrow, said Jimmy. — To let her know what we’re doin’ from our end.
— And a letter of apology, said Aoife.
— Good idea. An’ I’ll send her an mp3 of ‘Erectile Dysfunction’ as well.
Aoife smiled.
— Maybe this is —.
— What?
— To do with you.
— Wha’?
— Mahalia, said Aoife. — She’s never as much as got a negative remark in a Christmas report. Ever. And now — this.
— Because of me?
— Don’t dismiss it, she said.
— I’m not, said Jimmy. — But no — fuck it. There were ten o’ them. I only recognised one. Shannon I think her name is. She’s been in the house. But, like — they didn’t all get pissed because they’re worried about me.
— Forget the others —
— You should’ve seen them, by the way. In the sickbay. Jesus, it was chillin’.
— Just think about it.
— Okay.
The dog’s front paws were on his chest.
— Vodka, he said.
— They drank?
— She had — your woman, Nuala —
— Fionnuala.
— She had the empty bottle on her desk. Exhibit A.
— They didn’t drink it neat?
— No, said Jimmy. — That was Exhibit B. A Coke bottle, one o’ the two-litre jobs. Oh, and that’s another thing.
— What?
— She wants to know who brought the bottle into school.
— That’s fair enough.
— I told her we don’t have much drink in the house.
— I could do with one.
— We’ll have to interrogate May.
— Tomorrow.
— Could they all have got hammered on one bottle of vodka?
— Well, it wouldn’t be easy. But there’s the context. Where were they?
— Behind the gym.
— In the right circumstances ten girls together could probably get drunk without actually drinking anything at all. They’re amazing things really, teenage girls.
— They’re terrifyin’.
— Probably.
— I’ll go up to her and say hello.
— She’ll like that, said Aoife. — She feels wretched.
— Good.
They smiled — grinned.
— But anyway, said Jimmy. — I thought I handled it well. The school.
— Calling in the cancer was a masterstroke.
— I thought so.
— Did she ask for a doctor’s cert?
He laughed. She loved that, making him laugh.
— And this fella, he said.
He held up the dog.
— The vet. Another of today’s shocks.
— God, yeah, said Aoife. — I’d forgotten.
— What happened?
— He was lying on the floor, she said. — Over there. And he wouldn’t move his eyes or respond. I called his name and he wouldn’t wag his tail. But it was his eyes really. They were — dead.
— Christ, said Jimmy.
— So I just picked him up and ran. There was no one else in the vet’s, thank God, and Eamon —
— Who’s he?
— The vet — hello.
They laughed at her Mahalia impression.
— So he put Messi down on the table. The stainless steel one he has. And he felt Messi’s tummy. Then —
She started laughing.
— He put his finger —
She couldn’t talk for a while. He was laughing now as well.
— Was he wearin’ rubber gloves?
— Yes! But he put his finger up poor Messi’s bum and said, Aha, and pulled out something. It was horrible at first. I thought it was a worm or a lizard. But then I knew.
She wiped her eyes.
— I think I recognised them before Eamon did —
— I fuckin’ hope so.
— Stop, she said. — I mean, I knew what they were before he did. But he was still pulling away when Messi stood up and —
She was laughing again.
— started —
She couldn’t stop. She waved a hand, like she was surrendering to it; she’d be back in a minute.
— No hurry, said Jimmy.
— He started —
— Go on.
— He started wagging his tail.
— The vet?
— Messi, she said — she actually screamed it. — While Eamon was still pulling them out! Oh God —
He wondered if Mahalia could hear them laughing. The boys — all three of them — had wandered in. That often happened when they heard their parents laughing. They hovered around the door and the fridge.
— You must’ve been pleased, said Jimmy.
— Relieved, she said. — Mortified.
— Still, said Jimmy. — Your knickers able to fit inside a dog this small. At your age.
— Fuck off.
They loved hearing their mother use bad language.
— Poor May, said Jimmy. — I’ll go on up and say hello.
He handed the dog to Brian.
— Here yeh go, Smoke. Mind he doesn’t eat your jocks.
It was always a surprise to know he’d been asleep. He hadn’t been breathing; he’d been holding his breath, smothering — he didn’t know. And quickly enough, he didn’t care. He was up and out, trotting ahead of the dark thoughts.
He got up before the gang. He let out the dog, he fired off a few emails, he let the dog back in. The Halfbreds were demanding a meeting. They wanted to know why more than three hundred thousandYouTube hits had produced less than two thousand sales. They were entitled to an explanation. But they had kids, so they knew that kids didn’t buy the vital musical moments they’d be bringing with them for the rest of their poxy lives; they expected them all for nothing. And their parents were beginning to share the attitude. Mammies wearing Uggs, dads in skinny jeans — they were stealing their music now as well. Anyway, two thousand — so far — was very good. This was Ireland, a small country on the brink of collapse. Barry and Connie could fuck off.
The Dangerous Dream’s coast-to-coast return tour had to be sorted. The middle-aged prog rockers were refusing to stay in B&Bs, and they wouldn’t accept that they could drive home after most of the gigs. Their main man, Andrew Belton, had been living in Kenya for the last twenty years, so Jimmy didn’t know what his problem was. Sleeping in the van should have been a fuckin’ luxury. But My Life On the Planet Behind You had been Jimmy’s solid seller all year, and he’d made the big mistake of telling Andrew. A nice enough head was becoming a bit of a bollix. Jimmy would have to book a couple of rooms in a hotel beside one of the roundabouts outside Athlone — the same hotel every night, even for the Dublin gig.