Read Online The Barrytown Trilogy by Roddy Doyle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roddy Doyle
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little saxophone in each corner of the poster.
—Saturday, 24 March, it said across the top. —In The Community Centre, The Hardest Working Band In The World, The Saviours Of Soul. The Commitments. Admission: £2 (Unwaged: £1). Bringing The People’s Music To The People.
* * *
—I hate him, said Billy.
—We all do, for fuck sake, said Jimmy.
—Really, I mean—I really hate him.
—We all do, I’m tellin’ yeh.
—Enough to kill him?
———Maybe not tha’ much.
—I’d fuckin’ kill him. I fuckin’ would.
—Who’d do the singin’ then?
———Good thinkin’.
* * *
—It’s a pity we don’t do anny songs of our own, isn’t it? said Outspan, during a break.
—Yeah.
—A song belongs to no man, said Joey The Lips. —The Lord holds copyright on all songs.
—Me arse, said Outspan.
—We have the Dublin bits, said Derek.
—True.
* * *
—We’ll need a Brother to do the mix, said Joey The Lips.
—We have one, said Jimmy.
—Who?
—Me.
—Good good.
—Wha’ do you know abou’ it? said Outspan.
—Fuck all, said Jimmy. —But I got an honour in science in me Inter.
* * *
Deco had bought his suit. He bought the shirt and bow on the Thursday before the gig. The other Commitments managed to get into town to hire their suits.
Joey The Lips got one of his dress suits dry-cleaned. Dean crawled in under his bed and found the one he’d flung under there. He soaked the jacket till the muck was nearly all gone. Then he brought it down to the cleaners.
Black shoes were polished or bought or borrowed.
* * *
Friday was a dress rehearsal.
Joey The Lips was already dressed when The Commitments got there.
—Oh my Jaysis, Joey, wha’! said Outspan.
—Yeh look like Dickie Davis, said Dean.
—I don’t know the dude, said Joey The Lips. —But I accept the compliment. Thank you, Brother.
—Yeh look gorgeous, Joey, said Imelda.
—Joey? said Outspan. —How do yeh get your hankie to go like tha’? I can’t get mine like tha’.
Joey The Lips let the girls into the kitchen to change. The lads changed in the garage. There was a lot of slagging of underpants and so on. None of them played football so it was a good while since they’d dressed in this way. They enjoyed it.
—Jaysis, look at those skid marks.
—Fuck off.
—Come here till I ride yeh, yeh lovely young fella, yeh.
—Fuck off, will yeh.
—Where’s it gone? said Outspan.
—Wha’?
—Me knob. ——I could’ve sworn I tucked it into me sock before I came ou’.
James joined in the crack too.
—Do yeh know wha’ the Latin is for tha’ weapon yeh have on yeh there?
The small door to the kitchen was knocked.
—Can we come in? Imelda asked.
The lads cheered, and thumped and kicked each other.
Deco cupped his crotch in both hands (although one could have done) and roared: —I’ve a bugle here yeh can blow on, ’melda.
—Fuck yourself, Natalie roared.
—Jaysis, Cuffe, take it easy. For fuck sake!
—I’ve an arse here yeh can kiss, Imelda shouted back from behind the door. —Can we come in?
—No.
—Enter, Sisters.
—Well, we’re comin’.
Deco cheered.
Imelda was first (—Good fuck!), then Natalie (—Fair fuckin’ play to yis girls), then Bernie.
—I’m scarleh, said Bernie.
The girls were stunning; very tight black skirts to just above the knee with an extension at the back so they could walk, black sleeveless tops, hair held up, except the fringe, as near to the Ronettes as they could manage, black high heels, loads of black eye shadow, very red lipstick.
They were blushing.
Joey The Lips applauded.
Jimmy spoke. —Well, as James says, It don’t mean nothin’ without a woman or a girl.
—I never said tha’, said James.
—James Brown, yeh dick.
The girls admired the suits. There was lots of giggling and redners.
Joey The Lips did their breast pocket hankies for them. One of Billy’s trouser legs was longer than the other.
—Ah, fuck tha’, he said.
He
—Saturday, 24 March, it said across the top. —In The Community Centre, The Hardest Working Band In The World, The Saviours Of Soul. The Commitments. Admission: £2 (Unwaged: £1). Bringing The People’s Music To The People.
* * *
—I hate him, said Billy.
—We all do, for fuck sake, said Jimmy.
—Really, I mean—I really hate him.
—We all do, I’m tellin’ yeh.
—Enough to kill him?
———Maybe not tha’ much.
—I’d fuckin’ kill him. I fuckin’ would.
—Who’d do the singin’ then?
———Good thinkin’.
* * *
—It’s a pity we don’t do anny songs of our own, isn’t it? said Outspan, during a break.
—Yeah.
—A song belongs to no man, said Joey The Lips. —The Lord holds copyright on all songs.
—Me arse, said Outspan.
—We have the Dublin bits, said Derek.
—True.
* * *
—We’ll need a Brother to do the mix, said Joey The Lips.
—We have one, said Jimmy.
—Who?
—Me.
—Good good.
—Wha’ do you know abou’ it? said Outspan.
—Fuck all, said Jimmy. —But I got an honour in science in me Inter.
* * *
Deco had bought his suit. He bought the shirt and bow on the Thursday before the gig. The other Commitments managed to get into town to hire their suits.
Joey The Lips got one of his dress suits dry-cleaned. Dean crawled in under his bed and found the one he’d flung under there. He soaked the jacket till the muck was nearly all gone. Then he brought it down to the cleaners.
Black shoes were polished or bought or borrowed.
* * *
Friday was a dress rehearsal.
Joey The Lips was already dressed when The Commitments got there.
—Oh my Jaysis, Joey, wha’! said Outspan.
—Yeh look like Dickie Davis, said Dean.
—I don’t know the dude, said Joey The Lips. —But I accept the compliment. Thank you, Brother.
—Yeh look gorgeous, Joey, said Imelda.
—Joey? said Outspan. —How do yeh get your hankie to go like tha’? I can’t get mine like tha’.
Joey The Lips let the girls into the kitchen to change. The lads changed in the garage. There was a lot of slagging of underpants and so on. None of them played football so it was a good while since they’d dressed in this way. They enjoyed it.
—Jaysis, look at those skid marks.
—Fuck off.
—Come here till I ride yeh, yeh lovely young fella, yeh.
—Fuck off, will yeh.
—Where’s it gone? said Outspan.
—Wha’?
—Me knob. ——I could’ve sworn I tucked it into me sock before I came ou’.
James joined in the crack too.
—Do yeh know wha’ the Latin is for tha’ weapon yeh have on yeh there?
The small door to the kitchen was knocked.
—Can we come in? Imelda asked.
The lads cheered, and thumped and kicked each other.
Deco cupped his crotch in both hands (although one could have done) and roared: —I’ve a bugle here yeh can blow on, ’melda.
—Fuck yourself, Natalie roared.
—Jaysis, Cuffe, take it easy. For fuck sake!
—I’ve an arse here yeh can kiss, Imelda shouted back from behind the door. —Can we come in?
—No.
—Enter, Sisters.
—Well, we’re comin’.
Deco cheered.
Imelda was first (—Good fuck!), then Natalie (—Fair fuckin’ play to yis girls), then Bernie.
—I’m scarleh, said Bernie.
The girls were stunning; very tight black skirts to just above the knee with an extension at the back so they could walk, black sleeveless tops, hair held up, except the fringe, as near to the Ronettes as they could manage, black high heels, loads of black eye shadow, very red lipstick.
They were blushing.
Joey The Lips applauded.
Jimmy spoke. —Well, as James says, It don’t mean nothin’ without a woman or a girl.
—I never said tha’, said James.
—James Brown, yeh dick.
The girls admired the suits. There was lots of giggling and redners.
Joey The Lips did their breast pocket hankies for them. One of Billy’s trouser legs was longer than the other.
—Ah, fuck tha’, he said.
He
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