He’d forgotten his key. He knocked on the glass. Bimbo probably would write off to McDonalds even though he’d said he wouldn’t. He knocked again. He wouldn’t rest until he got himself one of those fuckin’ uniforms. He hid his eyes from the sun with his hand and looked in the window of the front room. There was no one in there. He knocked again. He should have got a knocker, one of those brass ones on the door. Bertie had one on his, and one of those spy-hole things. There was no one in.
— Fuck it annyway.
He’d go down to Bimbo’s for a bit, and watch the — Hang on though, no; there was someone coming down the stairs. He could hear it, and now he could make out the shape. It was Veronica. She must have been asleep, or studying. She was doing the Leaving as well in a couple of weeks, God love her. Fair play to her though. He was going to do the same himself next year.
Veronica opened the door.
— Wha’ kept yeh? said Jimmy Sr.
Jimmy Jr came around with four cans of Carlsberg, still lovely and cold from the off-licence fridge. Jimmy Sr put his nose to the hole in his can.
— I always think it smells like piss when yeh open it first, he said. — Not bad piss now, he explained.
— Yeah, Jimmy Jr agreed.
He got his jacket from behind the couch and took out two packets of Planter’s Nuts and threw one of them to Jimmy Sr.
— Open them an’ smell them, he said.
Jimmy Sr did.
— Well? said Jimmy Jr.
— They smell like shite, said Jimmy Sr.
— Yeah, said Jimmy Jr. — Fuckin’ gas, isn’t it? An’ they still taste lovely.
Jimmy Sr took a swig and trapped the beer in his mouth and only let it down slowly. That way he didn’t belch. The remote control needed a battery so Jimmy Sr couldn’t turn up the sound without getting up, and he couldn’t be bothered. He’d turned it down when young Jimmy had come, to ask how he was and that, and how Aoife was. There’d been one more goal since then; Ian Rush had scored it. He didn’t need George Hamilton or Johnny Giles to tell him who’d scored it cos he’d seen it himself. He was sick of those two. Giles was always fuckin’ whinging.
— They’re a machine, said Jimmy Sr. — Aren’t they?
— What’s that’?
— Liverpool, said Jimmy Sr. — They’re like a machine. Brilliant.
— Yeah, said Jimmy Jr.
He didn’t follow football much.
— A well-oiled machine, said Jimmy Sr. — There’s nothin’ like them.
— Yeah, said Jimmy Jr. — I’m gettin’ married.
— They always do the simple thing, said Jimmy Sr. — It’s obvious but no one else fuckin’ does it.
— I’m gettin’ married, said Jimmy Jr.
— I heard yeh, said Jimmy Sr.
— And?
— And is she pregnant?
— No, she fuckin’ isn’t!
— That’s grand so, said Jimmy Sr.
He held out his hand to Jimmy Jr.
— Put it there.
He’d have killed him if he’d put her up the pole; she was too nice a young one to have that sort of thing happen to her, far too nice.
They shook hands.
— Did you tell your mother yet?
— No. No, I wanted to tell you first. There’s another goal, look it.
— Barnes, said Jimmy Sr. — Brilliant. Pity he hasn’t an Irish granny. — Why?
— Why, wha’?
— Don’t start, said Jimmy Sr. — Why did yeh want to tell me first?
Jimmy Jr was concentrating on the telly.
— I just did, he said. — Eh, I’ll go in an’ tell Ma.
— Shell be delighted.
— Yeah, said Jimmy Jr.
He got up and went out.
Liverpool had scored again but Jimmy Sr only noticed it when the replay came on and even then he didn’t really pay attention to it. He didn’t know who’d scored it.
— What’re her parents like? Sharon asked Jimmy Jr.
— Good question, said Jimmy Sr. — Look carefully at her mother cos that’s wha’ she’ll end up lookin’ like.
— Will you listen to him, said Veronica.
They were all having the dinner, Darren and the twins as well. It was very nice. Not the food — it was nice as well, mind you; lovely — the atmosphere.
Young Jimmy had brought a bottle of wine. He poured a glass for the twins as well, just a small one, and Veronica didn’t kick up at all. Jimmy Sr looked at her. She couldn’t keep her eyes off young Jimmy.
— They’re alrigh’, said Jimmy Jr.
He put down his knife and fork, making noise on purpose.
— No, they’re not, now that I think of it, he said.
They cheered.
— He’s a bollix—, said Jimmy Jr.
— Stop that, said Veronica.
— Sorry, ma, said Jimmy Jr. — He is though.
They laughed, Veronica as well.
— An’ she’s—, said Jimmy Jr. — I think she’s ou’ of her tree half the time.
— Go ‘way, said Jimmy Sr. — Is tha’ righ’? Drink?
— No, said Jimmy Jr. — I don’t think so.
— Tippex, said Darren.
— Stop that, said Veronica.
— She looks doped, said Jimmy Jr. — When yeh go into the house she smiles at you abou’ ten seconds after she’s been lookin’ at you, yeh know. It’d freak you ou’.
— Maybe she’s just thick, said Jimmy Sr.
— You’ll be meetin’ her soon annyway, said Jimmy Jr, — so you’ll be able to judge for yourself.
— That’s righ‘, said Jimmy Sr. — Is she good lookin’?
— Who? Her ma?
— O’ course! said Jimmy Sr. — Who d’yeh think I meant? Her da?
They laughed.
— I couldn’t give a shite wha’ her da looks like, said Jimmy Sr.
— Excuse me, said Veronica. — You’d better not give a shite what her ma looks like either.
— Yeow, Ma!
They roared. Veronica was pleased.
Jimmy Sr really did want to know what Aoife’s ma looked like. He didn’t know why; he just did — badly.
— Well? he said.
He put some more salt on his spuds. They were good spuds, balls of flour.
— Is she?
— Yeah, said Jimmy Jr. — I s’pose she — No, not really
— Ah Jaysis—
— It’s hard to say. She an oul’ one. She was probably nice lookin’ once alrigh’. Years ago but.
— Can she not be good looking if she isn’t young? Veronica asked Jimmy Jr.
— Eh—
—’Course she can, said Jimmy Sr.
— Yeah, Jimmy Jr agreed. — But she—
— Be careful wha’ yeh say, son, Jimmy Sr warned him.
— Some old women are lovely lookin’, said Sharon.
— That’s true, said Jimmy Sr. — A few o’ them.
He glanced over at Veronica.
— What abou’ you? said Darren to his da. — Look at the state o’ you.
Jimmy Sr looked at Darren. Darren was looking back at him, waiting for a reaction. Jimmy Sr wasn’t going to take that from him, not for another couple of years.
He pointed his fork at Darren.
— Don’t you forget who paid for tha’ dinner in front of you, son, righ’.
— I know who paid for it, said Darren. — The state.
Jimmy Sr looked like he’d been told that someone had died.
— Yeh prick, Jimmy Jr said to Darren.
But no one said anything else. Linda and Tracy didn’t look at each other.
Jimmy Sr took a sip from his wine.
— Very nice, he said.
Then he got up.
— Em — the jacks, he said.
He had to sit down again and shift his chair back to get up properly.