The Guts

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— D’yeh do the Facebook thing?

— Wha’ d’yeh mean?

They were in the pub, in their corner. It wasn’t unusual any more, having a pint with his father. In the early evening, before he went home after work. He’d phone, or his da would phone. It wasn’t an organised, regular thing.

It had started the day his da got his first mobile. His first call was to Jimmy.

— How’s it goin’?

— Da?

— Yeah, me.

— How are yeh?

— Not too bad. I’m after gettin’ one o’ the mobiles.

— Great.

— I’m usin’ it now, like.

— Congratulations.

— Will we go for a pint? To celebrate.

— Grand. Good. Yeah.

Jimmy’s da had still been working when he got the phone. But he’d retired a while back.

— There’s fuck-all work, he’d told everyone when he’d made the announcement on Stephen’s Day, when Jimmy had dragged the kids to his parents’ house to collect the presents and kiss their granny. — So I might as well just stop an’ call it retirement.

Jimmy’s own job was safe — he thought.

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