–My God. We’ll have to kill the fatted cod for yeh.

–Wha’?

–Darren’s gone to the chipper.

–He’s back.

–Is he?

–Yeah.

–Why didn’t yeh tell us? I’m fuckin’ starvin’.—Hang on.

He took the book.

–I’ll put this upstairs, he said to Sharon.—I wouldn’t want Darren to see it.—Or Jimmy.

Sharon laughed.

–I could blackmail yeh now.

–Yeh could indeed. Yeh could alrigh’.

They heard the radio being turned up.

–Righ’ now, said Jimmy Sr.—Listen now.

He looked up at the ceiling. Sharon and Veronica looked up at the ceiling.

Alison Moyet was singing Is This Love. The sound dropped.

–Now, said Jimmy Sr.

They listened.

–THIS IS JOMMY ROBBITTE—ALL—OVER—ORELAND.

Then the sound went up again.

–There, said Jimmy Sr.—Doesn’t he sound different?

–Sorry, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr.—Sorry for interruptin’ yeh.

Sharon wasn’t doing anything really. She hadn’t the energy even to get up. She was lying on the couch, flicking through the channels.

Jimmy Sr was at the door.

–Wha’? said Sharon.

She was getting really tired of her da; all his questions.

–How many weeks are yeh pregnant, exactly? said Jimmy Sr.

–Thirty-five. Why?

–Just checkin’.

–What’re yeh lookin’ at?

–Your ankles. They don’t look too swollen.

–They’re not.

–Good.

Sharon hoped that was that.

It wasn’t.

–I was just readin’ there, said Jimmy Sr.—Abou’ what’s goin’ on, yeh know. It made me a bit worried.

Sharon said nothing. She flicked to BBC 2.; two hippies talking.

–Pain is mentioned a bit too often for my likin’.—Are yeh in pain, Sharon?

–No.

–None?

–No.

–At all?

–No!

–Good.—I’ll leave yeh to your telly. Sorry for disturbin’ yeh.

–Okay.

He was becoming a right pain in the neck. He’d be down again in a few minutes with more questions. Last night he’d told Darren and the twins to get out of the room and then he asked her if her shite was lumpy!

He came home earlier in the week with two new pillows for her so she could prop herself up in bed.

–It’ll take some o’ the pressure off the oul’ diaphram, Sharon.

Was she in pain, he asked her. The fuckin’ eejit; she’d give him pain if he didn’t get off her case. It was her pregnancy and he could fuck off and stay out of it. If he came in once more, once more she’d—

She felt fuckin’ terrible.

The screen became blurred.

She was sweating and wet and she’d gone over herself with the hairdryer an hour ago only and she was still sweating and wet. Her hair was dead and manky. She could hardly walk. She was really hot and full; full like the way she used to be on Christmas Day when she was a kid; stuffed. It was brutal. She was a fat wagon, that was what she was.

She hoped Jackie’d call down because she wanted to see her but she couldn’t be bothered getting up.—She’d been like this all her life.

Ah fuck it; she tried to get up.

The heat made her sleepy. She hated sleeping this way. It wasn’t right. Only oul’ ones did it.

She thought she heard her daddy’s voice.

–Good girl, Sharon.

–What d’you think you’re doing down there? Veronica asked Jimmy Sr.

–Hang on a minute.—How’s tha’, Veronica?

–I’m cold.—Aah!

–What’s wrong?

–Your fingernail! Get up here; I’m freezing.

–Okay.—I love you, Veronica.

–Jesus. Get out and brush your teeth. No; hang on. Do that again.

–Wha’? Tha’?

–Yeah.

–There. D’yeh like tha’, Veronica?

–It’s alright.

She grabbed his hair.

–Where did you learn it?

–Ah, let go!

–Where!?

–In a buke! Let go o’ me!

Her face was wet. She pushed the blanket and the sheet off and the nice cool air hit her and made her feel awake, and that was what she wanted. Bits of the dream clung. She’d had a miscarriage, in an empty bath. She kept having miscarriages; like going to the toilet. And they all lived, hundreds of them, all red and raw and folded over. All crawling all over her. And she lay there and more of them climbed out of her.

It was only half-five but she got out of bed. By the time she’d got downstairs to the kitchen her head was clear and the dream wasn’t part of her any more. She just remembered it. It was stupid.

She hadn’t thought about what the baby would be like before; only if it would be a boy or a girl. God, she hoped it would be normal and healthy and then she nearly stopped breathing when she realized she’d just thought that. What if it wasn’t? Jesus. What if it was deformed, or retarded like Missis Kelly’s baby down the road; what then? And she’d been worrying that it might look like Mister Burgess!

She was kind of looking forward to being a mother but if—

The kettle was boiling.

It might be a Down’s Syndrome baby. It would never be able to do anything for itself. It wouldn’t grow properly. It would have that face, that sort of face they all had.

The baby nudged her.

She’d seen a programme about dwarfs. It said that there were ten thousand of them in Britain. The ones on the programme seemed happy enough.

She started laughing. She’d suddenly seen her mammy making a ballroom dress for a dwarf.

This was stupid. If she kept on like this something was bound to go wrong. That was what always happened.

It had gone wrong already—it was too late—if anything HAD gone wrong, if there was something wrong with it.

She spread her hands over her dressing gown.

What was in there?

The baby bounced gently off the wall of her uterus. She opened her dressing gown and put her hands back on her belly. It moved again, like a dolphin going through the water; that was the way she imagined it.

–Are yeh normal? she said.

She wished to fuck it was all over. She was sick of it, and worried sick as well.

–Soon, she said.

–Specially with a few chips, said Bertie. They howled.

–I’m fuckin’ serious, righ’, said Jimmy Sr.

He was getting furious.

–It is a fuckin’ miracle.

–Fuckin’ sure it is, Your Holiness, said Paddy.

Bimbo was wiping his eyes.

–You’re a sick bunch o’ fuckers, said Jimmy Sr.

Bertie pointed at Jimmy Sr, and sang.

–MOTHER OF CHRIST—

STAR OF THE SEA-

Jimmy Sr mashed a beer mat.

–Sharon, said Jimmy Sr.

Sharon looked up from her Bella.

Not again.

–Yeah? she said.

–D’yeh know your hormones?

–Wha’?

–Your hormones, said Jimmy Sr.

Sharon was interested.

–What abou’ them?

–Are they givin’ yeh anny trouble?

–Eh—wha’ d’yeh mean?

–Well—

He shifted his chair.

–I was just readin’ there yesterday abou’ how sometimes your hormones start actin’ up when you’re pregnant an’ tha’. An’ yis get depressed or, eh, snotty or—yeh know?

Sharon said nothing. She didn’t know she’d been asked a question.

–Don’t get me wrong now, Sharon, said Jimmy Sr.—Hormonal changes are perfectly normal. Part an’ parcel of the pregnancy, if yeh follow me. But sometimes, like, there are side effects. Snottiness or depression or actin’ a bit queer.

–I’m grand, said Sharon.

–Good, said Jimmy Sr.—Good girl. That’s good. I thought so myself. I just wanted to be on the safe side, yeh know.