— Back in a minute, he said.
— Yeh fuckin’ big-headed little prick, yeh, Jimmy Jr called Darren when they heard Jimmy Sr on the stairs, going up.
— Stop that! said Veronica.
— Wha’ did yeh go an’ say tha’ for? Sharon asked Darren, and wanting to slap the face off him.
— Stop, said Veronica.
— I was only jokin’, said Darren.
It was true; mostly.
Jimmy Jr grabbed Darren’s sleeve.
— Stop!!
Veronica looked around at them all.
— Stop that, she said. — Now, eat your dinners.
They did. Sharon kicked Darren under the table but didn’t really get him.
Then Linda spoke.
— Are they rich, Jimmy?
— Who?
— Her ma an’ da, said Linda.
— Yeah, said Jimmy Jr. — They are, kind of. — Yeah. — I suppose they are.
They were all listening for noise from upstairs.
— What did you do in school yesterday? Veronica asked Tracy.
Tracy was stunned.
— Eh—
— Nothin’, said Linda.
— The usual.
— Tell us about it, said Veronica.
— Ah, get lost—
— Go on.
— Yeah, said Sharon. — Tell us.
— Well—, said Linda.
She knew what was going on, sort of. They weren’t to be waiting for her daddy to come down.
— Well, she said. — We had Mr Enright first class.
— Lipstick Enright, said Darren.
— Shut up, you, said Jimmy Jr.
— Linda fancies him, Tracy told them.
— I do not you, righ’!
Veronica started laughing.
— I used to—, said Linda. — I’m goin’ to kill you, Tracy, righ’.
Jimmy Sr was coming down; they heard the stairs.
— Why did yeh stop? Sharon asked Linda. — Fancyin’ him.
Linda teased them.
— I just did, she said.
— She—, Tracy started.
— Shut up, Tracy, said Linda, — righ’. I’m tellin’ it.
— Tellin’ wha’? said Jimmy Sr.
He’d combed his hair.
— Why she doesn’t fancy Mr Enright annymore, Sharon told him.
— Oh good Jaysis, he said.
They all laughed, hard.
He washed his face, put his hands under the cold tap and rubbed water all over his face and put them under again and held them over his eyes. God, he felt much better now. He was looking forward to going home. He had to wipe his face in his jumper because there was no towel. It was like when you ate ice-cream too fast and you had a terrible fuckin’ headache, a real splitter, and it got worse and worse and you had to close your eyes to beat it — and then it was gone and you were grand, not a bother on you. For a while after the dinner, he’d had to really stretch his face to stop himself from crying. And that passed and he’d thought he was going to faint — not faint exactly — He kept having to lift himself up, and sit up straight and open his eyes full; he couldn’t help it. He didn’t blame Darren; it was a phase young fellas went through, hating their fathers. He wouldn’t have minded smacking him across the head though.
He was grand now, wide awake. The pint had helped, nice and cold, and the taste had given him something to think about. He was grand.
— Come here, you, he said to Bimbo when he got back from the jacks. — The only reason you beat me today was because I let yeh take your first shot again at the seventh.
— Oh, said Bertie. — The tricky seventh; si.
— I beat yeh by two shots, said Bimbo.
— So?
— So I’d still’ve beaten yeh.
— Not at all, said Jimmy Sr. — Yeh went one up at the seventh. D‘yeh admit tha’?
— Say nothin’, compadre, said Bertie.
— Yeah, Bimbo said to Jimmy Sr.
He was dying to know what Jimmy Sr was going to say next.
— Yeh went up after I let yeh take your shot again. Yeah?
— Yeah.
— Well, that had a bad psychological effect on me. I shouldn‘t’ve let yeh. I’d’ve hockied yeh if I’d won tha’ hole like I should’ve. — Like I really did when yeh think about it.
— Nick fuckin’ Faldo, said Paddy.
— That’s not fair now, said Bimbo.
He sat up straight.
— That’s not fair, Jim, he said. — I beat yeh fair an’ square.
— No, Bimbo, sorry; not really.
Bimbo was annoyed.
— Righ‘, he said. — Fair enough. — I wasn’t goin’ to mention it but—
— Wha’?
Jimmy Sr was worried now, but he didn’t show it.
— Wha’? he said again. — Go on.
— I seen yeh kickin’ the ball ou’ o’ the long grass on the ninth.
— Yeh cunt!
— I seen yeh, Bimbo insisted.
— Yeh poxbottle fuck yeh; yeh did not!
— I did, said Bimbo.
— Serious allegations, said Bertie after he’d stopped laughing.
— He’s makin’ it up, said Jimmy Sr. — Don’t listen to him.
Bimbo tapped his face with a finger, just under his left eye.
— He’s makin’ it up, said Jimmy Sr. — It’s pat’etic really. He’s just a bad loser.
— I won, sure! said Bimbo.
— Not really, yeh didn’t, said Jimmy Sr.
— You’re the loser, excuse me, said Bimbo. — And a cheater.
— Yeh’d want to be careful abou’ wha’ you’re sayin’, Jimmy Sr told him.
He knew well they all believed Bimbo; he didn’t give a fuck. He was enjoying himself.
— I’m only sayin’ what I saw, said Bimbo. — Yeh looked around yeh an’ yeh gave the ball a kick, then yeh shouted Found it! And then yeh said, I was lucky, it’s landed nicely for me.
Bertie and Paddy were roaring.
— Fuck yeh, said Jimmy Sr. — Wha’ were yeh lookin’ at me for annyway?
— You’ll have to buy a round because o’ tha’, compadre, Bertie said to Jimmy Sr.
— Fair enough, said Jimmy Sr.
He had a tenner that Jimmy Jr’d given him.
— Four pints over here, he roared at the young fella who was going past them with a trayload of empty glasses. — I’d still have beaten yeh, he told Bimbo.
— But I won, said Bimbo.
— It’s tha’ baldy bollix, Gorbachev’s fault. The grass should’ve been cut there; he’s useless. There’s always dog-shite in the bunkers as well.
— Annyone want a kettle jug? said Bertie.
— Free?
— No, said Bertie. — No, I’m afraid not. I can give it to yeh at a keen price though.
— How much? said Paddy.
— Fifteen quid, said Bertie. — Thirty-five in the shops. — Two for twenty-five.
— How many have yeh? Jimmy Sr asked him.
— Ask no questions, compadre, said Bertie. — Not tha’ many. A small herd. Well?
— No, said Jimmy Sr.
He looked around to see if there was anyone listening or watching.
— No, Paddy said. — We don’t need one.
— No, Bimbo agreed.
— Fair enough, said Bertie. — No problem.
— Yeh wouldn’t have a chipper van to sell, I suppose, said Bimbo, — would yeh, Bertie?
— No, said Bertie, like Bimbo’d just asked him if he’d any bananas.
Jimmy Sr and Paddy stared at Bimbo.
— Just a thought, said Bimbo.
And he left it at that.
Bertie loved a challenge.
— Wha’ abou’ a Mister Whippy one? Bertie asked Bimbo. — I think I could get me hands on one o’ them.
— No, said Bimbo.
— You’ve your heart set on a chipper one?
— Yeah. — Not really; just if yeh see one.
— Si, said Bertie. — I’ll see what I can do.
Jimmy Sr looked at Bimbo. But Bimbo was just looking the way he always did, friendly and stupid looking, no glint in his eye or nothing.