Hand in the Till by Gerald Hansen

Author:Gerald Hansen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: londonderry, derry, dark humor, terrorists, terrorism, IRA, dysfunctional family, strong women characters, Lady Gaga, Hannah Montana, Humor
Publisher: Mint Books
Published: 2011-01-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 33

“‘Poker Face’ is vulgar,” Miss McClurkin explained. “Filth pure and simple.”

Mrs. Pilkey scanned the page of lyrics the teacher had handed her, and her lips contorted with confusion. She had been bracing herself for F- and A- and B- and C-words, a litany of expletives which described the joys of substance abuse, promiscuity and casual violence; she had heard that was what the pop songs of the day dealt with, as well as being three major pastimes of the city at large, but she could find nothing of the kind on the printed page.

Mrs. Pilkey said, “I must admit I thought the song dealt with tending to a fireplace. I now see that is not the case. But perhaps you could point out to me which words you find offensive?”

“I should think it’s obvious!”

“Not to me. Please point them out.”

“If I must.”

Mrs. Pilkey waited with a look that said she really must. Miss McClurkin took a deep breath and pointed out.

“There’s I’m bluffin with my muffin, and I’m just stunnin with my love-glue-gunnin,..and, most distressingly of all, baby, when it’s love, if it’s not rough, it isn’t fun, fun.”

“Hmm, perhaps you are right,” Mrs. Pilkey said. “They are rather declassé. But I suggest that, as you are the one who has an issue with the lyrics, you deal with Siofra and the girls about this yourself. The entire class is practicing in the gym.”

“With pleasure.”

Miss McClurkin minced down the corridor like a convict enroute to a strip-search with a cellphone lodged up her hole. She bemoaned the flagon of wine which had made her moral compass spin too far in the wrong direction.

Inside the gym, pan pipes and fiddles blared from an army of CD players strewn across a floor in desperate need of a polish. Legs flew, skirts billowed, arms stayed rigid as 4x4s, and in one corner a girl with a recorder was close to hyperventilation. Next to the changing rooms, Grainne and Catherine stood around the CD player blaring Lady Gaga’s electro-pop—“Mum mum mum mah, mum mum mum mah...!”—as Siofra showed them their moves.

“...and towards the end,” she said to Catherine, “ye join me and Grainne and shake yer bum seven times, then pose with yer hands in the air like this. And then ye smile.”

Catherine was disappointed. Grainne, as well, stood in a strop; she didn’t know much about choreography, but suspected that a group dance should include more than one dancer.

Catherine opened her mouth. “I—I—I...”

“Och, spit out what ye want to say!” Siofra snapped.

“I haven’t many dance moves, have I?” Catherine chanced.

“And I don’t think ye’ve made great use of me talents either,” Grainne slipped in.

Siofra glared at Grainne as if she had just thrust a sharpened screwdriver between her shoulder-blades.

“I’ll give ye more steps, Grainne,” she conceded. “You, but, Catherine, should count yerself lucky to even be seen in wer presence.”

“B-but, b-but...”

“Och, out with it!” Siofra barked.

Catherine took a deep breath. “I stole from me daddy and lied to me mammy, two sins

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