The excuse was great, the fuckin’ window. He could gush and let himself go. Maybe exams weren’t such a bad thing. Marv’s arms were around him too.
— I’m proud of you too, Dad, he said, the sarcastic, wonderful little prick.
Now he could phone the Halfbreds. Barry or Connie?
He went out to the back garden.
Connie.
He didn’t think the phone rang even once.
— Five hundred and sixty points, motherfucker!
— Congratulations, Brenda.
He seemed to remember Connie screaming something about the points her daughter would need to earn the right to shove her hand up donkeys’ cunts.
— Five hundred and sixty!
— Great stuff, said Jimmy. — So she’s all set to become a vet.
— Oh yeah!
Connie was never going to ask him why he’d phoned.
— I’ve some more good news for you, Brenda.
— What?
He’d got them — Noeleen had got them — a Picnic gig, half an hour in one of the tents, to replace Little Whistles, two girls with guitars and flowery dresses. Their auntie had died; she’d been the inspiration for their big song, ‘Forget Whatever’. So they’d cancelled all gigging till the new year.
— I’ve a gig for you, Jimmy told Connie. — The Electric Picnic.
— We’re not going on before the fucking Cure!
He took a quick breath.
— Or Patti Smith! said Connie.
— Christ, said Jimmy. — Will Patti Smith be there?
— Not on my fucking stage.
Jimmy could hear a girl crying happily behind Connie. That would be the kid with the points, the donkey lover.
— I’ll make sure Patti stays away, said Jimmy.
— G.L.O.R.I.A. spells fuck off, bitch!
— Good one, said Jimmy. — So you’re up for it, yeah?
They’d been screaming at him for a decent gig, for months — for years.
— I’ll think about it.
— Grand, said Jimmy.
Aoife needed the car.
— Why?
— I’m going too, she said. — Remember?
— Shite, yeah — sorry. Can yeh not get the bus?
— Jimmy.
— Grand, okay. Shite. Not you — life in general.
Des had sold his car and Jimmy was fairly certain Outspan didn’t have one.
Do u own car?
Xwife says its hrs.
— Da?
— Jimmy.
— Howyeh.
— We’ve Leslie here with us.
It was Wednesday night and Les was staying at the folks’ until they headed down to Stradbally and the Picnic on Friday.
— Great, said Jimmy.
Slap the fatted calf onto the fuckin’ barbecue.
— I’ll be over tomorrow night.
— Wha’ time? his da asked.
— Why?
— We’re goin’ out for a meal, said his da. — Leslie’s treatin’ us.
— Brilliant, said Jimmy. — But come here. Can I’ve a lend of your car for the weekend?
—’Course.
— It’s to get us to the festival. Aoife needs ours.
— No bother, said his da.
— Thanks very much.
— Delighted to be of help.
His da sounded so happy. He told Aoife about it.
— Because Leslie’s come home, she said.
— Yeah.
— And why’s that?
— Because —
It hit him.
— Because I asked him.
She laughed.
— And how does that make you feel?
— Eh — good, he said.
— Where’s tha’ Swiss Army knife?
— You’re not serious.
— I am.
— It’s two in the fucking morning, Jimmy.
— Exactly the time o’ day when you’d need a Swiss Army knife. I didn’t mean to wake you, by the way.
— Why would you need a knife?
— Cuttin’ rope, self-protection, killin’ Outspan.
— Come back to bed.
— Okay.
She pulled him tight to her.
— You’re going to have a great time.
— I know.
Her knee whacked his arse.
— Sound convincing.
— I know.
— That’s a bit better. Stop worrying.
That annoyed him.
— I’m not worried, he said.
He didn’t think he was lying.
— What’s the worst that can happen?
— Listen, he said.
He tried not to push away from her.
— I’m not one of the kids.
— I’m just —
— Stop fuckin’ patronising me.
She said nothing. Her knee was gone. But her arm was still there.
— Listen, she said. — I’ve been doing it a lot. Since your diagnosis. Which wasn’t even a year ago, by the way.
— I know, he said. — Mad.
— I’ve tried to imagine what the worst thing is that can happen. The worst conclusion.
— My fuckin’ death.
— Yes, she said. — That was one of them. And very upsetting. Usually.
— Fuck off.
She squeezed.
— But after the surgery and chemo, she said. — Money, next door —
There was still no one in there, behind their bedroom wall.
— All the worrying things. Genuinely worrying. I’d ask what the worst outcome was.
— And?
— It’s usually not that bad, she said. — Not good either. Shite actually. But not devastating. So.
— So?
— What’s the worst that can go wrong? she asked.
— We won’t be able to stand one another.
— And you come home?
— I suppose.
— It’s not that bad, she said. — Is it?
— No, he said. — I suppose not. I’m not sure I even want to go.
— Ah Jimmy.
— I do — but. And it’s not that I’m worried that somethin’ will go wrong. Do we have any babywipes in the house?
— Why?
— It’ll be easier than washin’ an’ whatever.
— Jesus, she said. — You really are thinking ahead, aren’t you?
— There’s another thing.
— What?
— What if somethin’ happens to Outspan?
— It won’t.
— You can’t say that, he said.
— Then you’ll need more than babywipes.
She started laughing first.
— Jesus, Outspan.
— It’s grand.
— It’s fuckin’ Darfur.
— Okay, said Outspan. — Okay. But it’s kind o’ Southside Darfur.
He had a point. It looked like a refugee camp but it was filling up with blonde girls in shorts and flowery wellies. None of them looked hungry. It wasn’t too mucky yet but it had been pissing down all the way from Dublin and Jimmy could feel the months of rain just under his feet, waiting to fuck up the weekend.
— I want me yurt, he said.
They’d come in Outspan’s ex’s car. He’d phoned Jimmy that morning, to tell him.
— I hacked up blood in front of her, he’d said. — An’ she relented.
— My da’s happy enough to give us his.
— No, said Outspan. — I have it now, so we may as well run the arse off it.
Jimmy didn’t want to be involved in some kind of marital vendetta. Outspan’s ex was bound to be a hard woman. But —
— Okay, he said.
— One thing but, said Outspan.
— Wha’?
— Can yeh drive us?
— Okay, said Jimmy. — No bother.
— I’d do it meself, said Outspan. — But I can’t.
— Cos o’ your meds?
— No, said Outspan. — I’m banned.
— Grand, said Jimmy.
Des had cycled to Jimmy’s, and Aoife had given them a lift to his da’s. Les had been waiting for them, dressed like a man who did some serious walking.