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Excerpt From THE GUTS by Roddy Doyle
Excerpt From THE GUTS by Roddy Doyle
Excerpt From THE GUTS by Roddy Doyle
It was propped there, against the ketchup. Facing the door, so he’d see it. Brown cardboard, from
Amazon.
—Nice one.
—What is it?
—Loveyoutoo, he muttered.
She smiled. He was imitating the boys. And he was Jimmy again, not the jittery lump she’d seen
leaving the house earlier. He pulled off the ribbon and tore at the blue wrapping paper.
—Love it.
He laughed again.
He held her with one arm and held the book over her head. He read the blurb at the top of the
cover.
—Understand cancer treatment options, get a handle on the side effects, and feel better.
—Thanks.
—You’re welcome.
—I know, he said.—And it is. A good one as well. Because, especially. Let’s face it. You’re not
great at the jokes.
—I am! Am I not?
He laughed.
—Gotcha.
—Oh Jesus.
—No, I’m not, said Jimmy.—D’you know what a recession is, May?
She lifted her hands and did the quotation marks thing with her index fingers.
—temporary —
—economic decline during which trade and industrial activity are, like, reduced.
—The sound of silent laughter, said Mahalia, as she went past him, out.
—Looks like an omelette, said Jimmy.—The picture’s a bit grainy. Tomatoes, mushrooms.
—Jesus, said Aoife.—It never occurred to me that you’d read the fucking thing.
—Wig?
—Cancer.
—God.
—No, said Aoife.—I agree. It’s just the thought. Your hair —
—Hardly me best feature, said Jimmy.—Let’s keep it real, love. She loved what he’d said but it
couldn’t stop the tears. He joined her; he couldn’t help it. It had become the nightly event –
nearly every night. They often chatted as they cried, as if they were just chopping onions.
—I know, said Jimmy.—It’s still there but. And it started – we call it receding in the trade.
Another fuckin’ recession.
She smiled.
—It’s sweet.
—There.
—Thanks for that, said Jimmy.—Anyway —
—I know. Now?
—No.
He was gone. She heard him stomping quietly into the bathroom. She heard the water. She heard
something drop. The water went off. She heard nothing – then the water again. She thought
about going after him. She wanted to watch him do it. She wanted to help – she wanted to stop
him. She heard what she guessed was Jimmy soaping his head. She heard – she thought she
heard a scrape, his razor.
—Fuck!
He was holding a towel, one of the good white ones, to the side of his head.
He climbed into the bed. With no groans at all. She could tell: he was excited, worked up.
—I cut the side o’ me fuckin’ head, he told her. He was grinning and grimacing.
She held the hand that was holding the towel and made him lift it away from his head, behind his
ear.
—You did.
—I am.
—Is it bad?
—Look.
She took the towel from him and flapped it open. She pointed at the speck.
—There.
—I’m sure.
She hadn’t a clue what that meant. There’d never been short hair in the house. The boys had
disappeared behind their hair years ago. They came out to eat.
—Fine.
She didn’t ask him why he wouldn’t just let the barber shave his head, and avoid the blood and
drama. The book, the decision to go bald – she hadn’t seen him so lively and happy in weeks.
—Fuck off.
From THE GUTS by Roddy Doyle. Reprinted by arrangement with Viking, a member of Penguin
Group (USA) LLC, A Penguin Random House Company. Copyright © Roddy Doyle, 2013.