She bought a book in Easons and read about the first fourteen weeks of pregnancy and waited for the changes to happen; the breasts swelling, the urinating, the nausea and that. She looked at herself in her parents’ wardrobe mirror. She looked the same. And from the side; the same as well. She was ten weeks and two days pregnant. She didn’t bother including the hours and minutes, but she nearly could have. The book said that the real changes started after the tenth week. And that was now.

Her nipples were going to get darker. She didn’t mind that too much. The veins in her breasts would become more prominent. Sharon didn’t like the sound of that. That worried her. She wondered would they be horrible and knobbly like her Auntie Mona’s varicose veins. The joints between her pelvic bones would be widening. She hoped they wouldn’t pinch a sciatic nerve, which ran from her arse down through the back of her legs, because she had to stand a lot of the time in work and a pinched sciatic nerve would be a killer. She read about her hormones and what they were doing to her. She could picture them; little roundy balls with arms and legs. She hoped her bowel movements stayed fairly regular. Her uterus would soon be pressing into her bladder. What worried her most was the bit about vaginal secretions. They’d make her itchy, it said. That would be really terrible in work, fuckin’ murder. Or when she was out. She’d have preferred a pinched sciatic nerve.

She hoped these changes came one at a time.

She read about eating. Nearly everything she normally ate was wrong. She decided she’d follow the instructions in the book. She wasn’t getting sick in the mornings but she started having dry toast for her breakfast, just to be on the safe side. It was good for morning sickness. She ate raw carrots. She took celery home from work and chewed that. Jimmy Sr banned the carrots and the celery when the telly was on, except during the ads. If she didn’t go easy on the carrots, he said, she’d give birth to a fuckin’ rabbit. And there were enough bunnies in the house already.

She ploughed through her book, about three pages a night. It was hard going, and frightening. There was a lot more to being pregnant than she’d thought. And there was so much that could go wrong.

She didn’t feel pregnant yet, not really.

She read about the feelings she might have at this stage. She might, she read, feel increased sensuality. She looked that up in Darren’s dictionary and that wasn’t how she felt at all. She might feel like she was in love: no way. She might feel great excitement:—no.

She was sitting between Jimmy Sr and Veronica a few days after she’d told them the news. Blankety Blank was over. The panel were waving out at them. Jimmy Sr stuck his fingers up at them. Darren laughed.

–Your man, Rolf Harris, is an awful gobshite, said Jimmy Sr.—I’ve always said it.

–He’s a great painter, said Veronica.

–He is in his hole a great painter, said Jimmy Sr.—He slaps a bit o’ paint around an’ if it looks like somethin’ he says it an’ if it doesn’t he starts singin’ Two Little Boys Had Two Little Toys. To distract us.

–He’s good for the kids, said Veronica.

–He’s good for the bowels, said Jimmy Sr.—You don’t like him, do yeh, Darren?

–No way.

–I don’t like him either, said Tracy.

–I don’t like him either, said Linda.

–There now, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr.

–What’s perception? Sharon asked.

–Wha?

–What’s perception?

–Sweat, Jimmy Sr told her.—Why?

Sharon whispered to Jimmy Sr.

–It says my perception might be heightened when I’m pregnant.

–Yeh smell alrigh’ from here, love, said Jimmy Sr.

He leaned over.

–What’s the buke abou’?

–Pregnancy.

–Jaysis, d’yeh need a buke to be pregnant these days?

–I didn’t have a book, said Veronica.

–Shhh! went Jimmy Sr.

–You wouldn’t’ve been able to read it, Ma, said Darren.

The remote control hit his shoulder and bounced off his head.

–Wha’ was tha’ for!? he cried.

His hand tried to cover both sore spots.

–Mind your own business, you, said Jimmy Sr.—Don’t look at me like tha’, son, or I’ll—Say you’re sorry to your mother.

–I was on’y—

–SAY YOU’RE SORRY.

–Sorry.

–PROPERLY.

–I’m sorry, Ma.

–You don’t look it, said Veronica.

–I can’t help it.

–You get that from your father.

–It’s not all he’ll get from his father, said Jimmy Sr.

–Turn on Sky there, he barked at Darren,—for the wrestlin’.

–His master’s voice, said Veronica.

–No chips for you tonigh’, Jimmy Sr told her.

–Aw.

Jimmy Sr pointed at a diagram in Sharon’s book.

–What’s tha’ supposed to be? he asked her.

–The inside of a woman, said Sharon, softly.

–Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.—Sky, I said. That’s RTE 2. Look at the wavy lines, look. That’s RTE 2. It’s one o’ their farmin’ programmes.

Linda and Tracy giggled.

Jimmy Sr studied the diagram.

–Where’s it all fit? he wanted to know.—Is this an Irish buke, Sharon?

–No. English.

–Ah, said Jimmy Sr.

–Is Sharon havin’ a baby? Linda asked.

–No! said Jimmy Sr.

–Are yeh, Sharon?

–Are yeh havin’ a baby, Sharon? said Tracy.

–NO, i SAID.

–Sharon, are yeh?

–Aaah! said Jimmy Sr.

–No, I’m not, Sharon told them.—A friend o’ mine is, that’s all.

–Ah, said Tracy, very disappointed.

–Ma? said Linda.

–Mammy, said Veronica.

–Mammy. Will you be havin’ more babies?

–Oh my Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.—Here. Here. Come here.

He dug into his pockets. He’d no change, so he gave Linda a pound note.

–Go ou’ an’ buy sweets.—Say Thank—

But they were gone. Jimmy Sr saw Darren looking at him.

–What’re you lookin’ at?—Here.

It was a pound.

–Thanks, Da. Rapid.

–Get ou’.—I think yeh’d better read tha’ buke up in your room, Sharon. I can’t afford to do tha’ every nigh’.

–D’yeh think they know? Sharon asked him.

–Not at all, said Jimmy Sr.—They’ll have forgotten all abou’ it once they have their faces stuffed with—with Trigger Bars an’ Cadbury’s fuckin’ Cream Eggs.

–Stop that.

–Sorry, Veronica.—Annyway sure, we’ll have to tell them some time annyway, won’t we?

–Yeah. I suppose so.—Yeah. I hadn’t thought o’ tha’, said Sharon.

–I have, Veronica told her.

Sharon brought the book upstairs.

She read on. She might feel shock: no, not now. She might feel a loss of individuality. She might feel she didn’t matter: no. Like a vessel: no. Loveless: yeah—not really.

Scared: a bit. Sick: not yet. Not ready for pregnancy: sort of, but not really.

What she really felt, she decided later in bed, was confused. There was so much. And she wouldn’t have really known that if she hadn’t bought the bleedin’ book.

But she wanted to know. She wanted to know exactly what was going to happen, what was happening even now. She put her hand on her stomach: nothing.

She felt a bit impatient too. Sometimes she didn’t think anything was going to happen. She hoped the changes came soon. She was ready for it; getting bigger, backache, and the rest of it. In a way she wanted it. She didn’t mind people knowing she was pregnant—as long as no one knew who’d helped her—but she couldn’t go around telling everyone. She could never have done that. Once she started getting bigger, then they’d know. Then they could laugh and talk about it and try and guess who she’d done it with, and then leave her alone. Though she’d have to tell her friends, Jackie and them.

Jimmy Sr woke up. His neck was killing him. He hated falling asleep sitting on the couch, but he’d had a few pints with the lads after the pitch and putt, so he didn’t know he was falling asleep till now, after he’d woken up. He tried to stretch, and lift his head up.