— An’ is she still in the front row?
— Yeah. It’s not fair. — An’ the music’s stupid.
They were back in the bedroom.
— What is it? Sharon asked.
— Don’t know. A woman singin’ Moll-ee My Irish Moll-ee, or somethin’. Miss O’Keefe thinks it’s brilliant but it’s thick.
Jimmy Sr shouted from downstairs.
— Are yeh ready for a lift, Sharon?
— Nearly.
— Make it snappy, will yeh.
He strolled back into the kitchen. Veronica was the only one still in there.
— Cummins is comin’ ou’ to have a look at the plasterin’ this mornin’ an’ we’ve still got one o’ the rooms to do, Jimmy Sr told her.
— Did you mention about a job for Leslie to him? Veronica asked him.
— Not yet. I will but. Today.
— Mm, said Veronica.
— I will now, Jimmy Sr assured her. — Scout’s honour. Is he up yet?
— Not at all.
— We’ll have to put a stop to tha’.
He picked up his sandwiches.
— Wha’ are they? he asked.
— It’s a surprise.
— It’s not Easy Slices, is it?
Veronica turned to the sink.
— Is it? It is. Ah Jaysis, Veronica! How many times—!?
Linda came in from the back.
— Does the dog like sandwiches, does he? Jimmy Sr asked her.
And he lobbed the tinfoil pack out the door into the back garden.
* * *
It was the thirteenth week of Sharon’s pregnancy and the middle of May, but it was cold.
— It’s fuckin’ freezin’, said Jimmy Sr, and he was right.
Any time now, Sharon knew, and the real swelling would start. But she kept putting off telling the girls. Twice in the last week she’d gone down to the Hikers and she was definitely going to tell them. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.
She could’ve told them she was pregnant. That wouldn’t have been too bad, not all that embarrassing really. But it was the big question that would come after that — WHO? — that was what she couldn’t face.
But she’d have to tell them sooner or later and, judging by what she’d been reading, it would have to be sooner.
She struggled through her book. She read forward into the weeks ahead. Parts of it terrified her. She learned that the veins in her rectum might become painful. She was sure she felt a jab just after she’d read that.
She might get varicose veins. Or nosebleeds. Better than iffy rectum veins, she thought. Oedema sounded shocking. She could see herself filling up with water and bouncing around. Larrygogan would claw her and she’d have a puncture.
All these things were bad but when she read about eclampsia she went to the toilet and got sick. She shook and shivered for ages after it. She read it again: protein in the urine — blurred vision — severe headaches — hospital — swelling of face and fingers — she read it very slowly this time — eclampsia — convulsions — coma — death. She was going to catch it, she knew it. She always got the flu and colds when they were going around. She didn’t mind the protein in her urine, or even the blurred vision so much. It was the word Convulsions that got to her.
So much could go wrong. Even when it was okay there seemed to be nothing but secretions and backache and constipation. And she’d thought there was no more to it than getting bigger and then having it and maybe puking a few times along the way.
Still, nothing was going wrong so far. The book said there might be vomiting in the mornings, and there was — not every morning though. The book said her breasts would be tender. She’d always thought that that was another word for Good when you were talking about meat but she looked for it in Darren’s dictionary and that was what her tits were alright. They were still the same colour though. Her nipples were the same colour as well, although it was hard to tell for sure. They changed colour every day in the bathroom mirror.
She started doing sit-up exercises and touching her toes when she got home from work. They’d make carrying the extra weight easier. As well as that the exercises helped to squeeze water from the pore spaces in her blood vessels.
But the book didn’t say what happened to the water after that. Sometimes she forgot about the exercises though, and sometimes she just didn’t feel like it; she was too knackered. Anyway, she was tall and quite strong and she always walked straight, so she didn’t think the exercises mattered that much. She really did them because she wanted to do everything right, and the book said she should do them.
She was drinking a lot of milk. She was eating oranges. She kept reminding herself to go to a chemist’s and get vitamin pills. She was eating All-Bran four times a week.
— What’s tha’ stuff like, Sharon? Jimmy Sr asked her one morning she’d the time to eat her breakfast sitting down.
— Horrible, said Sharon.
— Does it work?
— Sort of, yeah.
— Ah well, that’s the main thing, isn’t it? — You don’t need it, sure yeh don’t?
He was talking under the table to Larrygogan.
She kept eating the celery and the carrots. The right food was hard and boring and it took ages to eat but Sharon thought she was doing things the right way, and that pleased her. And excited her. She felt as if she was getting ready, packing to go somewhere — for good. And that frightened her a bit.
She felt her stomach. It was harder and curved, becoming like a shell or a wall.
She’d definitely have to tell the girls.
* * *
It was Tuesday morning. It was raining. There was war going on downstairs in the kitchen.
Linda and Tracy put the table between themselves and their mother.
— What’s wrong now? Jimmy Sr wanted to know. — Can a man not eat his bit o’ breakfast in peace?
— It’s stupid, Ma, said Linda.
— Yeah, said Tracy.
— Mammy! said Veronica.
— Mammy, said Linda. — It’s stupid.
— I don’t care, said Veronica. — I spent hours making those skirts for you two little rips—
— They’re stupid, said Linda.
She hadn’t meant to say that. She knew she’d made a mistake but she hated those skirts, especially her own one.
Veronica roared.
— Aaah!
The hours she’d wasted; cutting, clipping, sewing, making mistakes, starting again.
Jimmy Sr threw his knife and fork onto the plate.
— Wha’ kind of a fuckin’ house is this at all? he asked the table.
He looked at Veronica. She was deciding if she’d throw the marmalade at the twins.
— A man gets up in the mornin’, said Jimmy Sr. — an’—an’—
— Oh shut up, said Veronica.
— I will not shut up, said Jimmy Sr. — A man gets up—
— Hi-dee-hi, campers, Jimmy Jr greeted them all when he came into the kitchen.
— Fuck off, Jimmy Sr shouted.
Jimmy Jr looked down at Jimmy Sr.
— Do yeh not love me annymore, Daddy?
— Yeh sarcastic little prick, yeh, said Jimmy Sr. — If—
— Stop that language, said Veronica.
— I’m only startin’, said Jimmy Sr.
— Miss O’Keefe said yeh should be ashamed of yourself, Linda told Jimmy Sr.
This interested Jimmy Sr.
— What? said Veronica.
Darren came in and sat down and started eating Sugar-Puffs.
— They’re ours, said Tracy.
— So? said Darren.
— When did, eh, Miss O’Keefe say tha’ to yis? Jimmy Sr asked.
— Last week.
— Yeah, said Tracy.
— WHY did she say it? Veronica asked.
— Yeh took the words righ’ ou’ of me mouth, said Jimmy Sr.