–None o’ those kids he has at home are his annyway, said Jimmy Sr.

The stout in Bimbo’s throat rushed back into his mouth and bashed against his teeth.

–My round, compadres, said Bertie.

He stood up.

–Three pints, isn’t that it? he said.

They looked up at him.

–Do yeh want me charity, Paddy, or will yeh stay on your own?

–Fuck off.

–Four pints, said Bertie.

Jimmy Sr and Bimbo laughed and grinned at each other. Paddy spoke.

–Fuck yis.

Bertie took two more calculators out of the bag.

–For my amigos, the barmen.

When he got back from the bar Bimbo had one of the calculators out of its wrapper.

–The round costs five pound, forty-four, he told them.

–Go ’way! said Jimmy Sr.

–That’s very fuckin’ dear all the same, isn’t it? said Bimbo.

–It was just as dear before yeh got the calculator, said Bertie.

–I know, I know tha’. It’s just when yeh see it like tha’ in black an’, eh, silvery grey it makes it look worse.—I think annyway.

–My Jaysis, said Paddy.

He looked at Bertie.

–Fuckin’ hell, said Bimbo.—If there was six of us the round’d cost—

–Put it away, Bimbo, for fuck sake, said Jimmy Sr.

–I’ve got two kids in school, Paddy told Bertie.

–Is tha’ righ’? said Bertie.

–Yeah.

–Well, I hope they’re good at their sums, said Bertie.—Cos they’re not gettin’ anny calculators.

–Young Sharon’s after gettin’ herself up the pole, Jimmy Sr told them.

He rubbed his hands and picked up his pint.

–Is tha’ YOUR Sharon, like? said Bimbo.

–That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr.—Gas, isn’t it?

–One calculator for Sharon, said Bertie, and he passed one across to Jimmy Sr, and then another one.—And one for the bambino. A good start in life.

–She’s not married, said Bimbo.

–I know tha’! said Jimmy Sr.

–Is tha’ the tall girl tha’ hangs around with Georgie Burgess’s young one? Paddy asked.

–That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr.

–Is she gettin’ married? said Bimbo.

–No, said Jimmy Sr.—Why should she? They’ve more cop-on these days. Would you get married if you were tha’ age again these days?

–I think I’m goin’ to cry, said Bertie.

–I’d say I would, yeah, said Bimbo.

–What’re yeh askin’ him for, for fuck sake? said Paddy.—He brings home little umbrellas for his kids. He goes to meetin’s. He brought his mot to the flicks last week.

–Only cos her sister’s in hospital, said Bimbo.—She usually goes with her sister, he told Jimmy Sr.—The Livin’ Daylights, we went to. The James Bond one.

–Is it anny good?

–Ah it is, yeah. It’s good alrigh’.—There’s a lovely lookin’ bird in it. Lovely.

–Oh, I’ve seen her, said Bertie.

–Isn’t she lovely?

–Oh si. Si. A little ride.

–Ah no. She’s not. She’s the sort o’ bird, said Bimbo,—that yeh wouldn’t really want to ride. D’yeh know wha’ I mean?

–No.

Paddy shook his head and looked at Bertie, and grinned.

–Is she a cripple or somethin’?

–No! said Bimbo.—No.—She’s TOO nice, yeh know?

–You’d give her little umbrellas, would yeh?

–Fuck off, you, said Bimbo.

Bertie put a calculator in front of Bimbo.

–Give her tha’ the next time yeh see her.

–Who did the damage? Paddy asked Jimmy Sr.

–We don’t know, to tell yeh the truth, said Jimmy Sr.—She won’t tell us.

–Well, you’d want to fuckin’ find ou’, said Paddy.

–What’s it you who it is? said Bimbo.

–I couldn’t give a fuck who it is, said Paddy.—It’s Jimmy. I’m not goin’ to be buyin’ food for it, an’ nappies an’ little fuckin’ track suits. Jimmy is.

–I am in me hole, said Jimmy Sr.—Hang on though. Maybe I will be.

He thought about it.

–So wha’ though. I don’t care.

–Good man, said Bimbo.

–An’ she’ll have her allowance, said Bertie.

–Will she? said Jimmy Sr.—I don’t know. I s’pose she will. I don’t care.

–Of course yeh don’t, said Bimbo.—Such a thing to be worryin’ abou’! Who’s goin’ to pay for it!

–Will yeh listen to him, said Paddy.—The singin’ fuckin’ nun.

–Fuck off.

–I believe Gerry Foster’s young fella’s after puttin’ some young one from Coolock up the stick, Bertie told them.

–Wha’? said Jimmy Sr.—Jimmy’s pal? What’s this they call him? Outspan.

–Yeah. Him.

Jimmy Sr laughed.

–I’d say tha’ made his hair go curly.

–Is he marryin’ her? Bimbo asked.

–Yes indeed, said Bertie.—A posse came down from Coolock. Mucho tough hombres. They hijacked the 17A. Take us to Barrytown, signor.

They laughed.

–I believe the poor fucker’s walkin’ around with half an 8 iron stuck up his arse.

–Where’s he goin’ to be livin’?

They knew the answer they wanted to hear.

–Coolock, said Bertie.

–There’s no need for all tha’ fuss, said Jimmy Sr, when they’d stopped laughing.—Sure there’s not?

–Not at all, said Bimbo.—It’s stupid.

Bertie agreed.

–Thick, he said.

–It’s only a baby, said Bimbo.—A snapper.

–Doctor Kildare, Bertie said to Paddy.

–That’s it, said Paddy.

–Fuck off, youse, said Bimbo.

–I wouldn’t want Sharon gettin’ married tha’ young, said Jimmy Sr.

–She’s her whole life ahead of her, said Bimbo.

–Unless she drinks an iffy pint, said Bertie.

–Annyway, said Jimmy Sr.

He lifted his glass.

–To Sharon, wha’.

–Oh yeah. Def’ny. Sharon.

Bertie picked up his pint.

–To the Signorita Rabbeete that is havin’ the bambino out of wedlock, fair play to her.

He gave Jimmy Sr another calculator.

–In case it’s twins.

–Stop, for fuck sake.

Bimbo filled his mouth, swallowed, filled it again, swallowed and put his glass back on its mat.

–Havin’ a baby’s the most natural thing in the world, he said.

Jimmy Sr loved Bimbo.

–D’you know wha’ Sharon is, Jimmy? Said Bimbo.

–Wha’?

–She’s a modern girl.

–Oh good fuck, said Paddy.

Sharon was lying in bed.

Well, they knew now. They’d been great. It’d been great.

She was a bit pissed. But not too bad. She shut her eyes, and the bed stayed where it was.

She’d never laughed as much in her life. And when Yvonne had pinched the lounge boy’s bum, the look on his face. And Jackie’s joke about the girl in the wheelchair at the disco. It’d been brilliant.

Then, near closing time, they’d all started crying. And that had been even better. She didn’t know how it had started. Outside, they’d hugged one another and said all sorts of stupid, corny things but it had been great. Mary said that the baby would have four mothers. If she’d said it any other time Sharon would have told her to cop on to herself but outside in the car-park it had sounded lovely.

Then they’d gone for chips. And Jackie asked the poor oul’ one that put the stuff in the bags how she kept her skin so smooth.

Sharon laughed—

Soon everyone would know. Good. She could nearly hear them.

–Sharon Rabbitte’s pregnant, did yeh hear?

–Your one, Sharon Rabbitte’s up the pole.

–Sharon Rabbitte’s havin’ a baby.

–I don’t believe yeh!

–Jaysis.

–Jesus! Are yeh serious?

–Who’s she havin’ it for?

–I don’t know.

–She won’t say.

–She doesn’t know.

–She can’t remember.

–Oh God, poor Sharon.

–That’s shockin’.

–Mm.

–Dirty bitch.

–Poor Sharon.

–The slut.

–I don’t believe her.

–The stupid bitch.

–She had tha’ comin’.

–Serves her righ’.

–Poor Sharon.

–Let’s see her gettin’ into those jeans now.

Sharon giggled.

Fuck them. Fuck all of them. She didn’t care. The girls had been great.

Mister Burgess would know by tomorrow as well. He probably knew now. He might have been up when Yvonne got home.—Fuck him too. She wasn’t going to start worrying about that creep.