The Barrytown Trilogy by Roddy Doyle

were three girls, pals of Imelda, Natalie and Bernie. The rest were kids, except for one, Outspan’s mother. The caretaker got her a chair and she sat at the front, at the side.
    Outspan looked again. He dropped the curtain.
    —Fuck her, he said. —She promised me she wouldn’t come.
    —I’m scarleh for yeh, said Bernie.
    —Soul has no age limits, said Joey The Lips.
    —Fuck off, Joey, said Outspan.
    —She’s wearin’ her fur, Imelda told them.
    She was at the curtain.
    —Fuck her annyway, said Outspan. —I’m not goin’ on.
    —If yeh don’t go on, said Deco, —I’ll tell your pal, Mickah.
    Outspan looked at him.
    —My ma could beat the shi’e ou’ o’ Mickah Wallace anny day.
    At ten to eight Jimmy shut the door. The numbers had risen by three, his brother Darren and his mates.
    Jimmy grabbed Darren’s shoulder.
    —Come here, you, bollox. There’s only one E in Heroin.
    He thumped Darren’s ear.
    —Make them all go up to the front, Mickah, will yeh. It’ll look better.
    —Righto. ——That’s good thinkin’.
    —We don’t want the group demoralized.
    —Fuck, no.
    Mickah went along the back. He shoved everyone forward.
    —Get up there an’ clap or I’ll fuckin’ crease yis.
    He was obeyed. Mickah followed them.
    —Cheer when the curtain opens, righ’. ——An’ clap like fuck. Great gig, Missis Foster, he shouted to Outspan’s mother.
    Billy stood back and looked at the banner.
    —That’s not how yeh spell heroin.
    Imelda looked at it.
    —Oh, look it, she said. —That’s brilliant.
    —The syringe is very good though, isn’t it? said Dean.
    —It’ll do, said Derek. —It’s grand. ——None o’ those cunts ou’ there knows how to spell an’annyway.
    Jimmy was back-stage.
    —If we do tha’ dance in Walkin In The Rain we’ll fall off the fuckin’ stage, said Natalie. —It’s much smaller than Joey’s garage.
    —Yis’ll be alrigh’, said Jimmy. —You’re professionals.
    —Janey!
    The Commitments were all at their positions.
    Jimmy stood at the side of the stage. He had a mike in one hand and the curtain cord in the other. He nodded to them. They looked at themselves and each other and stood, ready, very serious.
    This was it. Even if there were only thirty-three in the hall. James Brown had played to less. Joey The Lips said so.
    —Ladies an’ gentlemen, Jimmy said to the mike.
    There was a cheer, a big one too, from the other side of the curtain.
    —Will yeh please put your workin’ class hands together for your heroes. The Saviours o’ Soul, The Hardest Workin’ Band in the World, ——Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes ——The Commitments.
    He dropped the mike and pulled the cord. The curtain stayed shut.
    —Wrong rope, son, said the caretaker.
    —Yeh fuckin’ sap, said Imelda.
    The caretaker got the curtain open. There was another cheer. (Jimmy dashed down to the mixing desk. —Get away from tha’, youse.) The house lights were still on. The crowd wasn’t even two deep in some places. The caretaker went to turn off the lights.
    The clapping stopped. The lights went off. There were a few cheers, but no music.
    —Hurry up, a boy shouted.
    —Who said tha’? said Mickah. —Which one o’ yis said tha’? They watched him tearing along the front, grabbing shoulders.
    —Billy, said Joey The Lips.
    —Yeah?
    —I Thank You.
    —Wha’ —Oh fuck, yeah! Sorry.
    —THUH THUH — DAH THUH — THUH THUH — DAH THUH —
    THUH THUH — DAH THUH — THUH THUH — DAH THUH —
    Deco stepped up and walked along the front of the stage. He looked down at his audience.
    —I want everybody to get up off o’ your seats an’ (—Wha’ fuckin’ seats? Mickah shouted.) —an’ get your arms together an’ your hands together an’ give me some o’ tha’ Ooold Soul Clappin’.
    Billy: — THUH THUH — DAH THUH — THUH THUH — DAH THUH —
    Derek got going on the bass.
    Deco sang.
    — YEH DIDN’T HAVE TO LOVE ME LIKE YEH DID BUT YEH DID BUT YEH DID —
    Joey The