—Yes, she said.—It’s yours. Keepies.
—It’s gorgeous.
—Yes, she said.
He’d seen a trumpet before, of course. An oul’ lad in his first band – Joey the Lips Fagan – had been a trumpet player, and
there’d been a trumpet in two of his later bands. But he’d never held one. He brought it up to his mouth.
—Where’s the yoke? The mouthpiece.
It wasn’t there. The trumpet looked unfinished, a bit useless, without it.
—It’s separate, said Aoife.
She pointed at the case.
—See? It has its own little space.
Jimmy took the mouthpiece from the case.
—He said to be sure not to put it in too tightly, said Aoife.
—Sound advice.
He put it to his mouth.
He changed his mind. He took it away.
—Are you not going to give it a go?
—No, he said.—Not now. It’ll be terrible. Tomorrow, I’ll try it. But not now.
He looked properly at her.
—Jesus, Aoife. Thanks.
—You’re welcome.
—It’s just – amazin’.
—I know.
He pulled out the mouthpiece and put it back in its hole.
—It’s funny, he said.—I don’t even know how to hold it properly.
—You can have lessons.
—Yep.
He put the trumpet back into the case.
—He said you —
—Who?
—The man I bought the trumpet from. He said you’d be able to play a tune by next Christmas.
—Great.
He looked at her.
—Brilliant.
He closed the case and zipped it.
—You like it, so?
—It’s—, he said.—Well – it’s perfect.
—Good.
—And it looks perfect.
—It does, doesn’t it?
—Yeah.
—And sexy.
—Oh yeah.
She picked up the velour.
—So, she said.—Do you like your new cancer trousers?
—Fuck off now.
He’d whacked Ned.
That fact whacked him at his mother’s. It shook him. He couldn’t remember ever hitting anyone. Anyone else – ever. He’d always avoided fights, and no one had ever really started on him. In a pub or club, or a taxi rank – the usual places – the queue in the chipper. He’d never picked a fight that needed a boot or a fist.
But there it was.
He looked at his right hand. There were no marks or cuts, no sudden pain to match the clout of the memory.
But he’d whacked the man. Outside, after the office do. It was there in his head, something that had definitely happened.
The house was packed. It was the same every Stephen’s Day. All the kids and grandkids, the wives, husbands, and the latest life partners. It had started years ago, when Jimmy and his sister, Sharon, had first moved out. They’d eat the stuff left over from Christmas Day. Now though, there weren’t enough leftovers. It was a whole new turkey, more spuds, ham, the works and the leftovers. They ate in shifts or standing up, or on the stairs. A couple of the kids even ate on the street, holding their plates and kicking a ball.
—This is our big day now, his ma had told him.
She spoke quietly.
—How are yeh, love?
—Grand.
—No, she said.—Listen to me. I’ve been livin’ too long with your father. How are you – really?
His ma had shrunk. She was in under his chin, a hand on his chest and a hand on his back, the way he’d often held onto his own kids.
—Really, he said.—I’m grand.
—Grand, she said.—I hate that bloody word.
His da was pretending to count the grandkids.
—You’re new, he said to Brian.
—I’m not, Grandda.
—Well, yeh weren’t here last year.
—I was.
—And which one is your da?
Brian pointed.
—Him.
—Far as yeh know, said Jimmy’s da.
His ma let go of Jimmy.
—In you go. If you can find a bit of space.
His sisters and brother –
No Les! –
and the other adults all hugged him carefully or shook his hand, carefully, and gave him enough space to park a car. They were just being considerate but he found himself in front of the only empty chair in the house, probably in Barrytown, and surrounded by loved ones who were waiting to see if he’d manage to sit without his guts spilling onto the carpet.
He stayed standing.
Ned had been walking ahead of him. Jimmy had held back, just for a few seconds. He was getting used to the air, and waiting till he thought he’d be able to walk without strolling out onto the road. But he was fine, he was grand. He was getting the hang of simple things again, how to walk with people close to him, how to talk to more than one person at a time, how not to panic, how not to give up and just go home, how not to worry about the taste of the mulled wine that kept coming back up at him.
He was grand. He was grand.
—Alright, Jimmy?
—Grand, yeah. I’m just waitin’ on Des.
—He’s ahead of us, look.
—Oh, grand.
He could walk. He was fine.
—Sorry.
He’d bumped into someone – the twit.
—No worries.
He’d been walking. There’d been nothing to it. Easy.
There were women ahead. He’d catch up. He’d soak up their sympathy and love. The mulled wine was there again, a ball of it bursting at the top of his throat. He kept going, though. He was grand. There was Noeleen. And girlfriends and wives. He’d nearly caught up. And he saw Ned’s hand. Sliding down the back of your woman Ocean’s jacket, down towards her arse. And Jimmy
grabbed Ned’s arm, kind of leaned forward – he remembered this – like he was crossing a finishing line or something. Ned turned and Jimmy thumped him – no, slapped him. That was it – he’d slapped Ned across the face. Jimmy could feel the beard on his open hand.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
—You alrigh’?
It was his da. Worried. Quiet.
—Yeah, said Jimmy.—I’m grand.
His eyes were open again. He looked at his da.
—I just remembered somethin’, he said.
—Oh-oh.
They were side by side at the table.
—D’yeh know wha’? his da said now.
—Wha’?
—I see a man cringin’ like tha’. The way you were now. Yeah?
—Okay. Yeah. Go on.
—Well, I say to myself, there’s a man who’s nearly back to normal. He’s done somethin’ stupid. Am I righ’?
—Yeah.
—I knew it, said his da.—An’ between you, me an’ the fuckin’ wall —
He looked around, like he was in a shite film, checking to see if anyone was earwigging. Then he leaned in, even closer to Jimmy.
—I’m delighted, he said.—That’s all I’ll say.
—Thanks.
—Is it serious?
—No, said Jimmy.—No. Not really.
—It won’t kill yeh?
—No.
—Grand.
He’d slapped the cunt twice. At least. He remembered being pulled away, and someone getting between the two of them. It was the father in him. He’d explained it – he’d tried to, to Noeleen.
—When I saw his hand.
—Okay, listen —
—I just saw red. He’s twice – he’s fuckin’ three or four times her age.
—I know, she’d said.—And here’s what, Jimbo. It’s exactly where you wanted to put your own hand. Now, for God’s sake, listen —
He smiled at his da.
—I’ll mingle, he said.
—Good luck, said his da.
He didn’t know how many were in the house. He actually didn’t know how many there were in the family. There were his sisters, Sharon, and the twins, Linda and Tracy. There was his brother, Darren.
Where’s Les!
There was his gang, the kids and Aoife. There was Sharon’s young one, Gina, tall and gorgeous and twenty-one, and Sharon’s other kid, Craig. Her husband, Martin, had become her ex-husband since last Christmas, so they wouldn’t be seeing him again. Martin had seemed alright when Jimmy had met him the first few times, but he’d turned out to be a bollix. Mean with the money, and just plain mean. But Sharon had stuck with him for a while – a good while. Craig must have been fourteen now, and Martin had only left some time in the summer. Anyway, he was gone, so that was one less.
—What’re yeh doin’?
It was his da again.
—Countin’ the family, said Jimmy.
—Why?
—Just curious.
—How many is there?
—I’m not finished, said Jimmy.—Eleven so far.
—Did yeh subtract tha’ culchie cunt?
That was Martin.
—I did, yeah.
There was Darren’s pregnant Melanie, and their two, Fay and Fergal. That brought it up to fourteen. Should he include the unborn kid? Better not, he decided. Just in case.
—What’re you smilin’ at?
—Nothin’.
There were his ma and da. Sixteen. Melanie was already huge, even though she wasn’t all that pregnant – Jimmy wasn’t sure. Time had gone weird on him. It was the way she was moving, and the colour of her face. She looked colossal. And lovely.
There was his other sisters, the twins. They were identical but one of them had five kids and the other was a lesbian. How had that happened? They’d been mad about the same boybands and real boys when they were thirteen or so, the last time Jimmy had really known them. Anyway, there was Tracy’s five, Glen, Alex, Shauna, Jordy and he couldn’t remember the name of the youngest, the bullet-headed little bastard who’d charged into him earlier.
Five kids, and she was only thirty-three or so. The young one, the only girl, was following Mahalia everywhere, holding onto Mahalia’s new H & M hoodie. There was Glen Sr, Tracy’s husband. He was usually out the back, smoking and avoiding everyone. He was okay, the few times Jimmy had actually spoken to him. That made twenty-two – he thought. Then there was Linda’s partner, Louise. This was her third Stephen’s Day, so she qualified.
—She’s sound enough, his da had said once, when Jimmy had asked him what he thought.
—You’ve no problem with her?
His da shrugged.
—No, he said.—I wish she was better lookin’. A bit more – yeh know. I’d love to be able to flirt with my daughter’s wife, yeh know. But she’s grand. She’s good for Linda.
—What does tha’ mean?
—I don’t know, to be honest. Your mammy said it. So that’s the line. I’ll tell yeh but. She plays a great game o’ pitch an’ putt.
—Wha’?!
—Wha’ d’yeh mean, Wha’?
—You play pitch an’ putt with a lesbian?
—I’ll play pitch an’ putt with annyone. Is there a rule tha’ says I can’t?
So Louise made it twenty-three.
The twins weren’t nearly as identical as they used to be. There was more of Tracy, but she looked happier, or at least smilier. Linda didn’t look unhappy, and maybe she’d just had less to drink than Tracy. Glen Sr must have been the designated driver, wherever he was. Out in their mini-van, waiting for it all to end.
Anyway, Louise had two kids, Max and Faith, and she’d brought them with her. They were both adults, and they lived in New York – or they used to – with their dad. This was the first time Jimmy had seen them.
Darren was beside him.
—What d’you make of Mad Max?
—He hasn’t said a word.
—Gas, isn’t it? His mother’s gay, his father’s a vegan and he thinks he’s walked into a house full of weirdos. He’s terrified.
—Your woman can’t be a vegan too, can she?
—Faith?
—Yeah.
—Doubt it.
—She’s a big girl, said Jimmy.—It’s a nice name, isn’t it? Faith.
—She’s an atheist.
—I wasn’t watchin’ them eat, were you?
—I was, yeah, said Darren.
—Did they eat the turkey an’ ham?
—Well, Beyond the Thunderdome ate nothin’.
—At all?
—At all.
—Jaysis. An’ Faith?
—She ate her own and his.
—Excellent.
It was the strange thing about being in a packed room. You could talk away and no one heard you.
—His first.
—Wha’?
—She wolfed Max’s dinner first, said Darren.—Took a breath, then went down on her own.
—Brilliant. How’s Melanie?
Darren looked at Jimmy over the top of his glasses.
—She’s fine.
—Good. She looks great.
There was a scream. The house was full of screams. No one really gave a fuck. Even the women had copped on. The kids would sort themselves out.
—How are you? Darren asked him.
—I’m grand, said Jimmy.—I got a trumpet for Christmas.
—I got a train set, said Darren.—But I don’t have cancer.
—Neither do I, said Jimmy.
Darren was looking at him over his specs again.
—Why don’t yeh get lenses, Darren?
He was a superior little cunt sometimes.
—D’you even need those fuckin’ glasses? You spend most of your time lookin’ over them.
—You don’t have cancer? said Darren.
—No, said Jimmy.—I don’t. I used to. That’s the way I’m lookin’ at it.
—When does the chemo start?
—Couple of weeks.
—What does it involve?
—Happy Christmas, Darren.
—Okay, said Darren.—Sorry.
—Grand, said Jimmy.—What d’yeh think but? Do I include Faith an’ Thunderdome in the family?
—I’m not with you.
—I’ve been countin’ everyone, said Jimmy.—Kind of a census, like. Like Bethlehem – is tha’ the place?
—No room at the inn.
—So I was just countin’. Seein’ how many are actually in the family. Martin’s out, yeah?
—Okay.
—An’ Louise is in.
—Agreed.
—But what about her kids? Are they family?
—No.
—Why not?
—Well, okay.
—You understand my predicament.
—There’s no blood connection, said Darren.
—Okay, said Jimmy.—But what if one of us was adopted? Would we be turfed out?
—No.
—So?
—Well —
One of Darren’s kids was beside Darren. Jimmy hadn’t seen him arriving.
—Howyeh, Fergie.
—Hi.
—What’s up, Fergal? said Darren.
—Can I have another Coke?
Darren looked a bit embarrassed. Jimmy loved that. And he wouldn’t be telling Darren that it was a reasonable and regular question in his house too.
—Did you ask Melanie? said Darren.
—She said No.
—And I’m saying No, said Darren.—But I won’t be going into the kitchen any time soon.
—Cool.