Roddy Doyle - The Guts

Dyeh do the Facebook thing?

Wha dyeh mean?

They were in the pub, in their corner. It wasnt unusual any more, having a pint with his father. In the early evening, before he went home after work. Hed phone, or his da would phone. It wasnt an organised, regular thing.

It had started the day his da got his first mobile. His first call was to Jimmy.

Hows it goin?

Da?

Yeah, me.

How are yeh?

Not too bad. Im after gettin one o the mobiles.

Great.

Im usin it now, like.

Congratulations.

Will we go for a pint? To celebrate.

Grand. Good. Yeah.

Jimmys da had still been working when he got the phone. But hed retired a while back.

Theres fuck-all work, hed told everyone when hed made the announcement on Stephens Day, when Jimmy had dragged the kids to his parents house to collect the presents and kiss their granny. So I might as well just stop an call it retirement.

Jimmys own job was safe he thought.

Well, said his da now in the pub. Facebook. Yeh know it, yeah?

I do, yeah, said Jimmy.

What dyou make of it?

I dont know.

Yeh dont know?

No, said Jimmy. Not really.

But youve kids.

I know tha, said Jimmy. Ive four of them.

Is it the four you have? said his da. I thought it was three.

No, said Jimmy. Its been four for a good while. Ten years, like.

This was what Jimmy liked. It was why he phoned his da every couple of weeks. His da was messing, pretending he didnt know how many grandchildren he had. It was the way hed always been. A pain in the hole at times but, today, exactly what Jimmy wanted.

Its Darren has the three, is it? said his da.

His name was Jimmy as well.

No, said Jimmy, the son. Darren has two. Far as I know.

Darren was one of Jimmys brothers.

Ah now, yeh see but, said Jimmy Sr. I knew there was somethin.

He put his pint down.

Shes pregnant.

Fuck, thought Jimmy. Fuck fuck fuck it.

Is she? he said. Thats brilliant.

Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. Darren phoned your mother this mornin to tell her. Shes three months gone.

Ma is?

Fuck off. Melanie.

Melanie was Darrens wife although theyd never got married. His fuckin life partner. Theyd been trying for another baby for years. Thered been so many miscarriages, it had become a rule between Jimmy and his da: no more jokes about Melanies miscarriages. Their other two kids

The two that managed to hang on in there.

Theyd broken the rule once or twice.

The other two kids were twelve and ten.

Shes well on her way so, Jimmy said now.

Yeah, said his da. Fingers crossed.

He sniffed the top of his pint.

I dont think I could cope with another miscarriage, he said. He drank.

Anyway, he said. Facebook.

Yeah.

What is it? Exactly.

I dont know much about it, said Jimmy.

His da had a laptop at home. He knew how to google. Hed booked flights online. Hed backed a few horses, although he preferred the walk to the bookies. Hed bought a second-hand book online, about Dublin during the War of Independence. Hed nearly bought an apartment in Turkey but that had been a bit of an accident. Hed thought he was clicking to see inside the place a tour but hed stopped when the laptop asked him for his credit card details. He knew hed gone wrong or it was a scam. But the point was, his da knew his way around the internet. So Jimmy didnt know why he was pretending to be completely thick.

Why dyeh want to know? he asked.

Ah, for fuck sake, said his da. Every time I ask a fuckin question.

Whats wrong with yeh?

I ask a fuckin question and some cunt says why dyeh want to know.

Youre askin the wrong cunts, said Jimmy.

Must be.

Wha questions?

Wha?

What questions have yeh been askin?

Well, said his da. I asked a fella in Woodies where the duck-tape was. An, granted, he didnt say why dyeh want to know. He said, wha dyeh want it for. I told him I wanted to fuckin buy it.

He just wanted to help.

Thats not the fuckin point. There was a time when hed have just said, over there or I havent a clue. He wouldnt have asked me why I wanted it. Thats the problem. Somehow or other hes become an expert on duck-tape. The shops are full of experts. The countrys full of fuckin experts. Tha havent a fuckin clue.

Facebook.

Yeah.

Its a social network.

Whats tha?

How come every time I say somethin some cunt asks me a question?

Tou-fuckin-shay, said Jimmy Sr.

Listen, said Jimmy. Your phone there. Your mobile.

Yeah.

Your contacts. Your friends an their numbers. Your kids. All the numbers yehd want. Facebooks a bit like tha, except with pictures.

So its just a list o peoples numbers an emails?

No, said Jimmy. Theres more to it than tha. But thats the start. The foundation of it, I suppose. Friends. Youre going for a pint, dyeh phone the lads to see if theyre goin?

No point, said Jimmy Sr. I know the answer.

Just go with me on this one, Da, said Jimmy. Im tryin to educate yeh.

Go on.

Youre goin for a pint, like. An you want to know if your buddy, Bertie, will be there. Dyeh phone him?

No, said Jimmy Sr. Not anny more.

Yeh text him, yeah?

Yeah.

An he texts back.

He never fuckin stops.

His mobile buzzed and crawled an eighth of an inch across the table.

Theres the cunt now.

He picked up the phone and stared at it. He took his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket, put them on and stared at it again.

Your mother, he said. She wants milk.

He put the phone down and took off his glasses.

She used to be able to walk to the shops herself, he said. She was very good at it.

He texts yeh back, said Jimmy. Yeah, or somethin. An you text him. Grand.

Thats righ, said Jimmy Sr. Tha sounds like a day in my life.

Well, thats social networkin, said Jimmy. More or less. Its like a club but yeh have your own room, for the people yeh want to meet. Except theres no room an yeh meet no one. Unless yeh want to.

A club.

Thats the best way to see it.

Grand.

Why?

Why wha?

Jimmy watched his da look across to the bar, squint, wait, and lift his hand, one finger up.

Did he see me?

Think so.

Jimmy Sr was having another pint. He knew Jimmy wasnt.

Why did yeh ask abou Facebook?

Somethin Bertie told me, said Jimmy Sr. Somethin he heard.

Its illegal if its Bertie.

No, said Jimmy Sr. Its not. Its fuckin immoral but.

Youll have to tell me now.

Im goin to tell yeh. Ive every intention of tellin yeh. Is he workin on my pint over there?

Jimmy pretended to look across at the bar and the barman he didnt know behind it.

He is, yeah, he told his da.

Grand.

Are yeh goin blind?

No. But no. Its like everythin else.

Jimmy knew what his da meant and it was a good place to give him his own news. But he couldnt do it. He wasnt ready.

Bertie, he said.

Fuckin Bertie, said his da. He told me his youngest fella, Gary I think it is. Hes about the same age as your Marvin.

Seventeen.

Abou tha, yeah. A year or two older. A little fucker, by all accounts. Annyway, he told Bertie and Bertie told me that he Gary, like gets off with older women on Facebook.

I heard abou that alrigh.

Did yeh?

I did, yeah.

Wha sort of a fuckin club is tha?

A good one, said Jimmy. If its what youre into. Theyre called cougars.

What are?

The older women tha prey on the younger men.

Jesus, said Jimmy Sr. Veronica watches tha one.

Wha?

Cougar Town. On the telly. And thats what its about, is it? I thought it was like