The Guts by Roddy Doyle

Author:Roddy Doyle [Doyle, Roddy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Humour
ISBN: 9780670016433
Google: emxGE5X4Qu0C
Amazon: B00BRUQ2HW
Barnesnoble: B00BRUQ2HW
Goodreads: 17568638
Publisher: Viking Adult
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

—The cancer trousers are back.

—Lay off, Aoife.

The nights were the worst. When he couldn’t sleep and he knew he wouldn’t be able to – until he woke up.

Two nights to go.

—What’re you doing?

—Oilin’ the valves, he said—I’m not sure if I’m doin’ it properly.

—It looks complicated.

—Not really.

She picked up the bottle.

—Blue Juice Valve Oil, she read.

—Yep.

She let him take the bottle. She watched him as he dipped the nozzle against what must have been one of the valves and let a few drops roll out onto its side – it looked oily already – before putting it down, on top of the bedroom radiator.

—Jimmy, she said again.

—Wha’?

—Can I say something?

He couldn’t hear her. He could – but he had to try hard. It was like trying to follow what someone was saying in a packed pub.

—Go on.

—Look at me.

—Hang on.

He lowered the valve back into the cylinder, or whatever it was.

Go away, go away.

He jiggled it till he thought he heard a click and a tightness – the valve was home – and he screwed it down. He put fingers on the valves, and lowered them. He lifted the fingers and watched the valves rise.

—Done.

—I’m still here.

The way she’d said it – she was lovely.

—Sorry.

—Nervous?

—Not really. Yeah. Very.

He put the trumpet in the case.

—I’m terrified, he said.

Now he looked at her.

—Not the chemo, he said.

—I know.

—The nausea.

It felt good to say it.

—It’s like puttin’ your hand on a hotplate, he said.—Deliberately. Why would you fuckin’ do that?

—Do you want to stop?

—No. You mean call it off?

—Yes.

—No. Yeah, I’d love to. I’d – I’d faint with happiness if I was told – if they rang now an’ told me it was over.

Her arms were around him.

—But no.

She pulled at the waistband, and let it go.

—Lay off.

—Sorry. I’m listening.

—I’m finished, he said.—And sorry about the cancer trousers. I know you hate them.

—I want you to hate them.

—I do.

—Not really.

—No, I do. It’s just – the tension, I suppose.

He tried to show her.

—It’s all around my stomach, like it’s in it. Have I put on weight?

—No.

—It feels that way. With proper jeans on.

—Will you come downstairs?

—Yeah, yeah. In a minute.

—No, listen, she said.—I don’t know what you’re going through. Don’t take this wrong – but you’re frightening the kids. Even Marvin. Especially Marvin. When you’re like this. And I know – . But – do you understand, Jimmy?

—Yeah.

He nodded.

—Yeah.

His eyes were wet. So were hers.

—I’m tryin’.

—I know.

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