–Yeah, said Sharon.—No, I’m grand. I feel fine. I’d another check-up. Me last one, I think.

–An’ no problems?

–No.

–Good. All set so.

Sharon got back to her magazine, but Jimmy Sr wasn’t finished yet.

–I was lookin’ at this other buke there an’—It was abou’ wha’ happens—

He pointed at the table, just in front of Sharon.

–inside in the woman for the nine months. The pictures. Fuckin’ hell; I don’t know how they do it. There was this one o’ the foetus, righ’. That’s the name o’—

–I know what it is, Daddy!

–Yeh do o’ course.—I’m a stupid thick sometimes.

–Ah, you’re not.

–Ah, I am. Annyway, it was only seven weeks, Sharon. Seven weeks. In colour, yeh know. It had fingers—

He showed her his fingers.

–Ah, Jaysis, everythin’. An’ the little puss on him, yeh know.

–Yeah, it’s incredible, isn’t it?

–It fuckin’ is, said Jimmy Sr.—It got me thinkin’. I know it sounds stupid but—

He was blushing. But he looked straight at her.

–Youse were all like tha’ once, said Jimmy Sr.—Yeh know. Even Jimmy.—I was as well long, long ago.

He belched.

–’Scuse me, Shar—

He belched again.

–Sharon. Tha’ fried bread’s a killer.—Wha’ I’m tryirt’ to say is—when yeh look at tha’ picture, righ’, an’ then’ the later ones, an’ then the born baby growin’ up—Well, it’s a fuckin’ miracle, isn’t it?

–I s’pose it is, said Sharon.

–It’s got to be, said Jimmy Sr.—Shhh!

Veronica came back into the kitchen. She’d been upstairs, lying down.

–There’s Veronica, said Jimmy Sr.—Yeh may as well fill the oul’ kettle while you’re on your feet.

–God almighty, said Veronica.—You’d die of the thirst before you’d get up and do it yourself.

–That’s not true, said Jimmy Sr.—I’d say I’d’ve got up after a while.

The front door was opened and slammed. Jimmy Jr came in from work.

–Hoy, said Jimmy Jr.

Jimmy Sr studied him.

–Ahoy, he said.—Shiver me timbers. It’s Jim lad, me hearties. Hoy! Is there somethin’ wrong with your mouth?

–Fuck off.

–That’s better.

–Fuck off.

–Better still. Ahoy, Veronica. There’s the kettle.

–I’ll get it, said Sharon.

–Now don’t be—Only if you’re makin’ one for yourself now. Jimmy Sr looked up at Jimmy Jr. Then he sang.

–JUST A MINUTE—

THE SIXTY SECOND QUIZ—

–Fuck off.

–That’s lovely language from a DJ.

The front room door opened and they heard the music of Victor Sylvester and his orchestra.

–Ah now, said Jimmy Sr.—There’s music. Listen to tha’, wha’.

He tapped the table.

–Oh my Jaysis, said Jimmy Jr.—This is embarrassin’.

Sharon laughed. Veronica smiled. Jimmy Sr closed his eyes and nodded his head and kept tapping the table.

Linda and Tracy had danced into the hall. Sharon and Veronica went to the door to watch them.

–They’re very good, aren’t they? said Sharon.—You can nearly hear their bones clickin’ when they turn like tha’.

Jimmy Sr was impressed.

–They’re good enough for the Billie Barry kids, he said.—Too fuckin’ good.

They heard the doorbell.

Linda came running down, into the kitchen.

–Da, Mister Cantwell wants yeh.

–Cantwell? Wha’ does he want?

He stood up.

–Don’t know, said Linda.

–It must be abou’ Darren. Where is he?

–He’s out, said Veronica.

–Oh God.

Jimmy Sr dashed out to the front door. The others stayed where they were.

–Hope he’s not hurt, said Sharon.

–Shut up, for God’s sake! said Veronica.

She sat down and lined up a row of sequins.

Victor Sylvester was still playing

Jimmy Sr came back. He was pale.

–What did he want; what’s wrong?

–Wha’? said Jimmy Sr.—Oh. It wasn’t abou’ Darren. Is Leslie in?

–Don’t be stupid.

They all relaxed, except Jimmy Sr. He put a painted cement gnome on the table.

–Ah, look it, said Tracy.

–He says tha’ Leslie threw tha’ thing through his window. His, eh, drawin’ room window.

They all studied the gnome. It had a red cap and trousers and a yellow beard. Jimmy Jr laughed.

–Don’t start, said Jimmy Sr.—It’s not funny.—Would Leslie do tha’?

–Did he see him?

–No.

–Well then.

–Did he dust it for fingerprints? said Jimmy Jr.

–Wha’?—Oh yeah. No. He says he’ll let me deal with it this time but if it happens again he’ll have to get the guards. He said Leslie’s always hangin’ around outside his house. Loiterin’, he said.

–Did you not say annythin’ back? said Sharon.

–I know wha’ yeh mean, said Jimmy Sr.—I should’ve. He’s no proof. I’ll go round an’ have it ou’ with him later. On me way to the Hikers. But, he explained,—I got a terrible fuckin’ fright.

They waited for more.

–Look at its face, said Jimmy Sr.

They did.

–It’s the spit o’ George Burgess.

It was.

Darren had news for them the next day at tea time.

–Pat Burgess said his da’s after comin’ back.

Jimmy Sr put his knife and fork down.

–I knew it, he said.—I fuckin’ knew it. I told yis. When I saw tha’ gnome yoke’s face.—Where is it?

–Out on the windowsill, said Veronica.

–Well, it’s goin’ in the bin the minute I’ve liberated these fishfingers.

He shovelled one into him.

–So he’s back, he said.

He looked at Sharon.

–I don’t care, she said.

–Good girl, said Jimmy Sr.—Course yeh don’t. He’s only a bollix, isn’t tha’ righ’?

–Yeah.

Darren had more news later.

–I’ve been dropped.

He sat down on the arm of the couch and looked like he’d just seen his dog being splattered.

–From the soccer? said Jimmy Sr.

–No, said Darren.

Fuck the soccer, his face said.

–The cyclin’.

–Ah no. Why?

–Cos—cos you won’t pay for Mister Cantwell’s window an’ yeh called him names.

–I didn’t call him names, said Jimmy Sr.

–You told me you called him a little Virgin Mary, said Veronica.

–Now, Veronica. Please.—Let me talk to Darren.

Darren couldn’t stop the tears any more.

–Why won’t yeh pay him? he asked Jimmy Sr.

–Why should I? said Jimmy Sr.—Listen, Darren; he’s lookin’ for twenty-five quid an’ he doesn’t even know for definite tha’ Leslie broke the window. He only thinks he did. D’yeh expect me to cough up every time the man thinks Leslie done somethin’?

–All—all I know is—

–Ah Darren, sorry. But it’s a matter o’ principle. I can’t pay him. It’s not the money—

–It is!

–It isn’t!—It’s not the money, Darren. Fuck the money. It’s the principle o’ the thing. If he even said he saw Leslie runnin’ away I’d pay him. But Leslie says he didn’t do it an’, fuck it, I believe him.

Darren’s voice hurt Jimmy Sr.

–I’ll never get back on the team now.

Jimmy Sr thought about this. Darren was probably right. He didn’t know Cantwell but he looked like that sort of a small-minded bollix.

–We’ll form our own club.

–Wha’?

–We’ll form our own fuckin’ club, said Jimmy Sr.

He laughed and rubbed his hands and looked around him, laughing.

–You’re messin’, said Darren.

–I’m not, Darren, I can assure you. I’ve been thinkin’ that I should get involved in somethin’—for the kids—an’ the community.

–Oh my God, said Veronica.

–A cyclin’ club, Darren. Wha’ d’yeh say?

–Are yeh not messin’?

–I’m deadly serious, said Jimmy Sr.—Cross me heart, look it, an’ hope to die. You are attendin’ the inaugural meetin’ of the new cyclin’ club.

–Wha’?

–This is the club’s first meetin’.

Darren studied his da’s face.

–Ahh, rapid!

Jimmy Sr beamed.

–Is tha’ alrigh’ then? he asked.