The Snapper

  Tracy pounced.

  —Can we keep it, Mammy? Can we?

  —Alright, said Veronica.

  Jimmy Sr beamed at her.

  —When was the last time you brushed your teeth? she asked him.

  —This mornin’!

  —With Guinness, was it?

  She looked at the twins.

  —You’re to feed it, the two of you.—An’ it’s not to come into the house.

  —The ‘Malley’s dog had it, Linda told them.—He had loads o’ them.

  —Can we get another one, Ma? One each.

  —No!

  —Aah.

  —No.

  —One’ll do yis, said Jimmy Sr.—Show us it here.

  Linda handed the pup to Jimmy Sr.

  Jimmy Jr walked back in.

  —What’s tha’? A rat?

  —It is not a rat, Jimmy Rabbitte, said Tracy.—It’s a dog.

  —It’s a dog, righv, said Linda.

  It was warm and quivering. Jimmy Sr could feel its bones.

  —Wha’ sort of a dog is it but? he asked.

  —Black, said Tracy.

  —Go ’way! said Jimmy Jr.

  —I’m your new da, Jimmy Sr told it.

  They all laughed.

  —An‘, look it. There’s your mammy makin’ the tea.

  He made its paw wave at Veronica. Linda and Tracy were delighted. They couldn’t wait to do that.

  —Give us it, said Linda, and she pulled at it.

  —Easy!—for Jaysis sake, said Jimmy Sr.—You’ll break the poor little bastard.

  He lifted it up by the skin at the back of its neck and looked under it.

  —It’s a young fella, he told Veronica.

  —Thank God, said Veronica.

  —How do yeh know tha’? Tracy wanted to know.

  —It’s written there. Look.

  —It isn’t.—Where is it?

  Then the pup puked on Jimmy Sr’s shoulder.

  —Oh, look it, said Linda.

  She tried to rub it off before her mammy saw it and changed her mind.

  —Leave it, leave it, said Jimmy Sr.—What’re you laughin’ at?

  —Nothin’ much, said Jimmy Jr.

  —Put it in the back, said Veronica.

  Jimmy Sr put the pup on the table so he could get to the sink and clean his shoulder. It stood there, rattling, its paws slipping on the formica, and pissed on it.

  Tracy grabbed it and ran for the door and Jimmy Sr had the piss in a J-cloth and under the tap before Veronica had time to turn from the cooker to see what had happened.

  Jimmy Sr studied his shoulder.

  —That’s grand.

  —Change it, said Veronica.

  —Not at all, said Jimmy Sr.—It’s grand.

  Tracy came back in with the pup clinging to the front of her jumper.

  —Look it. He’s hangin’ on by himself.

  —What’re yis goin’ to call him? Jimmy Sr asked.

  —Don’t know.

  —Wha’ abou’ Larry Gogan? said Jimmy Sr.

  He looked across at Jimmy Jr, but Jimmy Jr didn’t know he was being slagged.

  —That’s stupid, said Linda.

  —It’s thick, said Tracy.

  —No, it’s not, said Jimmy Sr.—Listen. How many—?

  —Call him Anthrax, said Jimmy Jr.

  —They will not, said Veronica.

  —Look it, said Jimmy Sr when he’d stopped laughing. —If yis call him King or Sultan or somethin’ like tha’ an’ yis shout ou’ his name half the dogs in Barrytown’ll come runnin’ at yis; d’yeh see? But if yis call him Larry Gogan he’s the only one that’ll come to yis cos there’s not all tha’ many dogs called Larry Gogan as far as I know.

  —It’s an excellent name, said Jimmy Jr.

  The girls looked at each other.

  —Okay, said Linda.—We were goin’ to call it Whitney.

  —It’s a boy, said Jimmy Sr, laughing.

  —Yeah.

  —Your name’s Larrygogan, Tracy told the pup.

  Larrygogan didn’t look all that impressed.

  —Howyeh, Larrygogan.

  —Will yis do a message for me, girls?

  —Yeah, said Linda.

  Jimmy Sr always paid them for messages.

  —Get a choc-ice for your mammy—

  —I want a Toblerone as well, said Veronica.

  —Certainy, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr.—A choc-ice an’ a small Toblerone, an’ you can have choc-ices as well.

  —Can we just have the money?

  —No way. Choc-ices. An‘, come here, I want to see yis eatin’ them.

  —Not till they’ve had their tea, said Veronica.

  —Did yis hear tha’? said Jimmy Sr.—An’ get one for Darren an’ as well.

  —Wha’ abou’ me? said Jimmy Jr.

  —Buy your own.

  —Aaah! He’s gorgeous!

  Sharon had just walked in and seen Larrygogan.

  —There’s Sharon, said Jimmy Sr.—D’yeh want a choc-ice, Sharon?

  —Yeah thanks, Daddy.

  —A celery one, is it?

  —Very funny, I don’t think.

  Sharon patted Larrygogan.

  —God, he’s only a skeleton.

  —He’s from Ethiopia, said Jimmy Jr.

  Jimmy Sr, Linda, Tracy and Sharon laughed but Veronica didn’t. They heard a bang from above them. The bunk beds in the boys’ room had hopped. Les and Darren were fighting.

  —STOP THA’, Jimmy roared at the ceiling.—There.

  He gave three pound notes to Linda.

  —We’ll bring Larrygogan, said Tracy.

  Sharon laughed.

  —Is tha’ wha’ yis’re callin’ him?

  —That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr.

  He winked at her.

  —Don’t bring him, he told the twins.—He’ll have to have his shots. If yis bring him ou’ before he has his shots he’ll catch diseases.

  —What’s shots?

  —Injections.

  —Ah no!

  —They’re nice injections. They don’t hurt. They’ll tickle him. An’ annyway, if he doesn’t have them he’ll catch all sorts o’ diseases. An’ then Jimmy here’ll catch them off o’ him an’ give them to all his pals.

  —I’ll wear a johnny, Jimmy Jr whispered to Sharon.

  —Oh Jesus! Sharon laughed.

  —Take it easy, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Right, said Veronica.—Ready. Sharon, give me a hand here.

  —Dash, girls, Jimmy Sr told the twins.

  And they did.

  And Larrygogan fell into the sink.

  On the Tuesday morning after Larrygogan joined the family, in the middle of week eleven, Sharon got an awful fright when she was climbing out of bed, just waking up. Her period had started.

  —Oh no!—Oh God—

  She’d been robbed.

  But then she remembered: she’d read in the book that this could happen. It wasn’t a real period. It probably wasn’t a real period.

  She stayed at home in bed and waited. She lay there, afraid to move too much. She tried to remember the Hail Mary but she couldn’t get past Hello Be Thy Name, and anyway, she didn’t believe in it, not really; so she stopped trying to remember the rest of it. It was just something to do. She wanted to turn on her side but she was afraid to. She just lay there and she started saying Please please please please all the time to herself. She kept everything else out of her mind. She concentrated on that.

  —Please please please please.

  The book was right. It didn’t last long. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t a real period at all. She was still pregnant.

  —Aah! Jaysis!!

  Veronica put the skirt on the table and got up to see what was wrong in the hall. But before she got to the door Jimmy Sr came hopping into the kitchen with one of his leather slippers in his hand.

  —What happened? said Veronica.

  —The dog’s after shitein’ in the fuckin’ h
all an’ I fuckin’ stood in it, that’s wha’ happened.

  —On the floor?

  -No. On the fuckin’ ceilin’. Jesus!

  He hopped over to the sink and put the slipper under the tap. Veronica came back from the hall.

  —It’s comin’ off alrigh’, Jimmy Sr told her.

  —What about the carpet?

  —The twins’ll be cleanin’ tha’, don’t worry. An’ the sink here.

  —It’s disgusting, said Veronica.

  Jimmy Sr inspected the slipper. It was grand and clean again. He threw it on the floor and stepped into it.

  —Ah, he’s only a pup, he said.

  —He’ll have to go. They’re not training him properly.

  —Give him a chance, Veronica. You’ll be expectin’ the poor little bollix to eat with a knife an’ fork next.

  Veronica gave up and got back to the skirt. She was just finishing Linda’s and then she had Tracy’s to do.

  Jimmy Sr saw the twins out in the back. They were trying to get Larrygogan to catch a burst plastic football but Larrygogan was having problems staying upright. If the ball landed on him Jimmy Sr thought it would kill him. The grass needed cutting. Larrygogan kept disappearing in it.

  Jimmy Sr opened the back door.

  —Get in here, you-is!

  Sharon woke up and she knew she was going to be sick.

  She was hunched down at the toilet bowl. There was sweat, getting cold, on her face. She shivered. More puke, not much now—hardty any—rushed into her mouth.

  —Yu—hh—!

  It dropped into the water and she groaned. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wiped them, then her nose, and her eyes again. She stood up carefully. She was cold.

  —Are yeh alrigh’ in there, Sharon?

  It was Jimmy Sr.

  —Yeah, she said.—Ou’ in a minute.

  —No hurry, Jimmy Sr assured her.—I was in already.

  Sharon rubbed her arms. A wave of horribleness ran through her.

  She gagged. She really felt terrible, and weak. She leaned against the wall. It was cool; nice. She knew she wasn’t going to be sick again. This morning.

  She thought about nothing.

  —Are yeh stayin’ in there, or wha’?

  It was the other Jimmy.

  Sharon unlocked the door.

  —What’s your fuckin’ hurry? she said.

  Jimmy Jr looked at her face.

  —Wha’ were you drinkin’ last nigh’? he asked.

  Sharon passed him. She was going back to bed. That was where she wanted to be.

  The twins looked at her.

  —Are yeh not well, Sharon? Linda asked her.

  —No, said Sharon.

  —That’ll be the flu, said Linda.

  Tracy agreed with her.

  —There’s a bug goin’ around, she said.—Cover yourself up properly.

  They went downstairs to get a cup of tea and a bit of dry toast for Sharon. Sharon rubbed her legs. Only her forehead was cold now.

  Well, she was pregnant now alright. She pressed her stomach gently: still nothing, but she was on her way. She smiled, but she hoped to God it wasn’t going to be like this every morning.

  When she took her hand away from her stomach —probably because she didn’t feel sick any more—she noticed that her skin there was kind of sore, a bit like sunburn but not nearly as bad. She pressed again: yeah, the same. She tried her tits.

  —Ouw!—

  She’d been half-aware of that soreness for a few days but it was only now, because she’d just been sick, that she paid proper attention and linked it to being pregnant. They used to get a bit sore before her periods, but now—God, it was all starting to happen.

  She’d have to tell her friends now; no, soon.

  Jesus.

  Tracy ran in.

  —Ma said to say if yeh keep not goin’ to work you’ll be sacked an’ jobs don’t grow on trees.

  —Tell her I’ll be down in a little while.

  Linda came in. She had Larrygogan with her.

  —Larrygogan wants to say Howyeh.

  She brought him over to Sharon’s bed so he could lick Sharon’s face. Sharon lifted her head for him.

  —Hiyeh, Larry.

  He stared at her. Linda put him right up to Sharon’s nose.

  —Kiss her, she said.

  Nothing happened.

  —Kiss her, will yeh.

  —Give us a kiss, Larry, said Sharon.

  —Daddy said we’re to call him his whole name so he’ll know who he is, said Tracy.

  —He kisses us, Linda told Sharon.—Tracy, doesn’t he?

  —Yeah.

  —He doesn’t really know me yet, that’s all, said Sharon. —Bring him back down now, will yeh.

  -Okay. Come on, Larrygogan.

  Linda ran out.

  —Tracy, will yeh tell Mammy I’m gettin’ up now, said Sharon.

  She sat up.

  —Ah, said Tracy.—Do yeh not have the flu?

  —No.

  —Ah janey.

  She sounded very disappointed.

  —Wha’? said Sharon.

  —I wanted to catch it off yeh, an’ so did Linda. Sharon laughed.

  —Why?

  —Don’t want to do the majorettes annymore, said Tracy. —It’s stupid.

  —I thought yis liked it.

  -No. We used to. But it’s stupid.

  —Why is it? Sharon asked.

  —It’s just stupid, said Tracy.—She won’t let us be in the front.

  —Why won’t she?

  —Don’t know.—She hates us. It’s prob‘ly cos Daddy called her a wagon at tha’ meetin’.

  Sharon laughed. She got out of bed.

  —He didn’t really call Miss O‘Keefe a wagon, she told Tracy.—He was only messin’ with yeh.

  Tracy continued.

  —Nicola ‘Malley’s in the front an’ she’s nearly always droppin’ her stick an’ me an’ Linda only drop ours sometimes.

  —It’s not fair, sure it’s not, said Sharon.

  Tracy followed her into the bathroom.

  —No, she agreed.—The last time Nicola ‘Malley threw her stick through the fuckin’ window.

  Sharon nearly bit the top off her toothbrush.

  —Tracy!

  —It just came ou’.—She did though, Sharon.

  —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.