We’re on O’Connell Street, and Brigita, my partner – I love that word – has just given the two Aislings ten euro each and told them to spend it in the shop that’s parked and waiting right behind them, Penney’s.
But they don’t understand.
They’re not really listening to Brigita, because Sky News is right up against them, trying to fit their sleepy hair and the statue of the big dude with his hands in the air into one shot.
–I gave you ten euro, says Brigita.
–We know that, like.
–Which you did not earn.
–So?
–Go into Penney’s, says Brigita.
–What’s pennies? an Aisling asks.
The Sky camerawoman starts laughing.
–The department store, says Brigita. –Behind you.
They look.
–In there? says one.
–No fucking way, like, says the other.
But they look back at Brigita, and they know. They’re in trouble.
–You are such twits! says Brigita.
She’s enjoying the Sky attention too. The RTÉ guy keeps getting himself pushed out of the way – by me. I have my camera too, remember, and I want to be seen using it, and not by the boggers who watch children’s programmes on RTÉ. I’m going to my folks’ house later, to fatten up on my father’s crap cooking and to watch myself on Sky News, in HD.
–I came to this country, says Brigita. –So I could shop in Penney’s. It is amazing! So, get in there, you Irish bitches.
–With ten euros?
–Yes!
–Okay, okay. What do you want us to get, like?
–Everything.
–Everything?
–All of your autumn and winter clothing requirements!
The Aislings look at each other.
–I think she mean new clothes, says the one who is doing final year English in UCD.
The other one (2nd Year Medicine) holds up her money.
–With, like, fucking this?
–Yes!
Brigita bullies them and the rest of us across the street and into Penney’s. If you’ve seen it already, you know that this is how we open Episode 3 of I’m Irish, Get Me Out Of Here, ‘Lesson Three: Buying Clothes’.
I run ahead. I feel like a real live news reporter, in war-torn somewhere, bullets zipping and pinging around my head. I get in the door before the rest and have the camera ready in time to capture the Aisling faces as they walk in. To Penney’s.
You know the scene in all those movies: the male lead, or a female, in the snake pit. Or the rat pit, or the spider pit. Don’t think of the Harrison Ford ‘Aw, shit’ face. Harrison never looks scared. He doesn’t know how to look scared. Think of the expendable-girl-in-the-crap-horror-film face. The face – and the scream – that tells you that this the last time you’re going to see her in this film, or ever again.
In fairness – as the politicians say any time I’m listening – only one of the Aislings screams.
We cut on that scream, and come up on the rectangular Guard choking me (see Chapter Six).
–Where are they? he asks, but I’m not really in a position to answer. We see his colleague, smiling. In fairness, I think she’s embarrassed, and kind of concerned about my welfare and flirting with me at the same time. And what a man I am. I’m being murdered by her partner – I hate that word - but I still smile back.
We cut to Brigita roaring at the Aislings, and herding them out of the DJ’s bed. But we don’t actually know if he’s a DJ. Or if there is a DJ. But we hear a voice:
–Well, Breda, how’s your day?!
Maybe it’s only a radio under the duvet. Anyway, then we’re on O’Connell Street, where we started this chapter.
Then the scream.
But, actually, it’s not a horror movie scream at all. It’s more. It’s the anguished cry of a child, torn from her mother’s arms and thrown down at the gates of Hell. It’s the last gasp of an era, the Titanic going down – the warm skin meeting the freezing ocean. It’s a spoilt Irish brat looking at her future, confronting an idea that she’s never had to care about before.
Value.
–OhhmyGodddddd!
She backs out. Both of them do – or they try to. But their way is blocked by the TV crews and – now I can see him – the rectangular cop. He’s pushing through Sky News and RTÉ, trying to get his paws on the Aislings. They are paws. They’re huge and hairy; they’re going to look great in HD. They’re on shoulders and in faces, and this is where it gets a bit out of control. Because Brigita bites one of them. A paw, not an Aisling.
It’s all in Episode Three. And so is my own scream – more a roar, really – when a different paw lands on my shoulder.
Continued next month
© Roddy Doyle 2011
