by Roddy Doyle
—Ah, there’s no need—
—This is the evidence, the man interrupted Bimbo.
He checked to see that the bag was still under his arm.
—You’ll be hearin’ more about this, he told them. —Don’t you worry. I’ll never recover from a shock like this.
—A tenner, said Jimmy Sr.—Will tha’ do yeh?
—What’s your name? he asked Jimmy Sr.
—I don’t have to tell you tha’, said Jimmy Sr.
—I don’t care, said the man.—I’ve the evidence here.
—Twenty, said Jimmy Sr.—Final offer; go on.
—I’ve the evidence.
—Shove the fuckin’ evidence. We know nothin’ about it.
—You’re not goin’ to bribe me, said the man.
—It’s the suppliers yeh should be reportin‘, said Jimmy Sr,—not us. We know nothin’ abou’ nappies.
Gina started singing again. Sharon put her hand over Gina’s mouth, but the man wasn’t listening. He was looking at the sign on the side of the van.
—Which one of yis is Bimbo? he said.
—Ask me arse, said Jimmy Sr.
He pulled Bimbo over to him.
—Get ou’ an’ start the van.
—But—
—Fuckin’ do it!
Bimbo went to the back door.
—Go round the other way, Jimmy Sr told him.
He remembered something.
—The gas!
Bimbo lifted the gas canister and pushed it into the van. He closed his eyes when it scraped on the floor. Jimmy Sr distracted the man.
—It must be terrible bein’ baldy with the sun like this, he said.—Is it?
Bimbo got to the driver’s door, around the other side of the van, without the man seeing him. He got the buggy off the seat.
—I’m rememberin’ all this, the man told Jimmy Sr.
—Good man, said Jimmy Sr.
He took away the hatch bars when he heard the engine starting.
—See yeh now, Baldy Conscience, he said.—Keep in touch.
And he dropped the hatch door. The salt and the vinegar fell onto the path. He shut the back door.
—Go on, go on!
The van lurched; Jimmy Sr fell forward, and grabbed a shelf. It skipped again, and then they got going.
Jimmy Sr steadied himself. He leaned against the hatch counter.
—My Jaysis—
—He’ll get the registration, said Sharon.
—No, he won’t, said Jimmy Sr.
—Why not?
—We don’t have one. It’s in the shed in Bimbo’s. We never stuck it back on. Just as well, wha’.
—He might be followin’ us, said Sharon.
She had a point.
Jimmy Sr opened the back door. They were still on the causeway road, and there was your man coming after them, pedalling like fuck.
—I’ll get this bollix, said Jimmy Sr.
He looked back, around the van. He stepped over to the hotplate and got a can of Coke from under it. They went over a pothole or something when he was bending over. The hotplate and the fryer were still turned on.
—Jesus; I nearly fuckin’ fried myself.
He got to the canister and switched it off.
He weighed the Coke in his hand, then wiped the grease off it on his shirt.
—You’ll kill him, said Sharon.
She was probably right. They were heavy things when they were full. He grabbed a few pieces of cod. They were still hard enough.
Bimbo turned left instead of right at the top of the causeway road.
—What’s he fuckin’ doin’?
—It’s so your man can’t follow us home, said Sharon.
—Fair enough.
He opened the back door again and the man was still after them, but further back; his legs didn’t have it. Jimmy threw a piece of cod anyway, skimmed it, to see how far he could get it. He watched it bounce off the road, well short of the man.
—There’s more evidence for yeh!
He shut the door.
Bimbo brought them to Clontarf, then up the Lawrence’s Road, onto the Howth Road. He went up Collins’ Avenue at Killester, and to the Malahide Road.
Jimmy Sr looked out again, and saw Cadbury’s in Coolock.
—We’ll end up in fuckin’ Galway, he said.
He threw Gina up and caught her, and again, but not too high because he’d already hit her head off the roof, and he was only doing it now to make her forget about it.
They got home. Jimmy Sr and Sharon were melting when they got out the back. Jimmy Sr had to stand in front of the open fridge door.
—We’ll steer clear o’ Dollier for a while, he said.
—Yeah, said Bimbo.
Bimbo was angry.
—It would never’ve happened if she’d—
—Shut up, said Jimmy Sr.
Maggie had a great head for ideas; Jimmy Sr had to say that for her. She got flyers printed and sent Wayne and Glenn and Jessica all around putting them into houses. Linda and Tracy did them as well, until Darren caught them sticking hundreds of the flyers into the letter-box outside the Gem.
BIMBO’S BURGERS TODAY’S CHIPS TODAY Wedding Anniversary? Birthday? Or Just Lazy? Treat Yourself And Let Us Cook Your Dinner For You Ring 374693 and Ask for Maggie
That was what they said, on nice blue paper.
—Four-course meals? said Jimmy Sr when she was telling them about it.—How’ll we fuckin’manage tha’?
—Easy, said Maggie.
She’d stick the melon into the fridge in the afternoon so it would be still nice and cold when Bimbo and Jimmy Sr delivered it. They’d use a flask if it was soup; just pour it into the bowls and get it into the houses and onto the tables while there was still steam coming up off it. The main course was no bother because that was what they made all the time anyway.
—What abou’ the sweet but? said Jimmy Sr.—The ice-cream’ ll be water by the time they’ve got through their main stuff.
He wasn’t against the idea; he just saw problems with it.
—Well, said Maggie.—You could keep chunks of ice-cream in a flask as well—
—Wha’; with the soup?
—There’s bound to be a mix-up, said Bimbo.—Somewhere along the line.
What they decided on was, one of them would do a legger back to Bimbo’s while the customers were laying into the main course and get the ice-cream out of the fridge and hoof it back. That was Darren’s job. He didn’t mind; he got an almighty slagging from the lads when they saw him running across the Green with a bowl of jelly and ice-cream in each hand but it was better than having to go into the house and serving the customers, like a bleedin’ waiter. That was Bimbo’s job.
Jimmy Sr shook the flask over the bowl and the last bits of potato slid out and dropped into the soup.
—There now—
There was nothing like a few big chunks of vegetable to make packet soup look like the real thing.
—That’s great lookin’ soup, said Jimmy Sr.—Wha’.
—Lovely, said Bimbo.
—It’s wasted on those fuckers.
—Ah now, said Bimbo.
They were feeding the O’Rourkes tonight, Larry and Mona; their twenty-third wedding anniversary.
—We should make them cough up before we hand over the grub, said Jimmy Sr.—Fuckin’ Larry wouldn’t give yeh the steam off his piss if you were dyin’ o’ dehydration.
He took two small pieces of parsley from the bag Maggie’d given him, aimed and dropped one onto the soup in each bowl.
—Nice touch, tha’, he said.
Bimbo got into his jacket.
—How’s the back, Darren? he asked.
Darren rubbed down Bimbo’s back, getting rid of the creases.
Bimbo put the tea-towel over his arm.
The jacket Maggie’d got Bimbo was the stupidest thing Jimmy Sr’d ever seen. He felt humiliated just looking at Bimbo in it. It was white, with goldy bu
ttons, and the sleeves were too long. But it didn’t bother Bimbo; he thought he was Lord fuckin’ Muck in it - the man in charge.
—Away we go so, said Bimbo.
He checked his watch again.
—Yeah, he said.—They were told to have the table set for half-seven.
He picked up the bowls, using the cuffs to mind his fingers.
—Ring the bell for me, Darren.
—Okay.
—Good lad. Bring the candles as well, will yeh.
—Ah fuck—
—Go on, Darren, said Jimmy Sr.—You’re alrigh’; they’re vegetarian candles.
—Humour, said Darren.
Bimbo climbed carefully out of the van.
—Get back quick with the main order, Jimmy Sr said after them.
—Will do.
The chips were a definite so Jimmy Sr lowered the basket into the fryer. Larry and Mona wouldn’t be long getting rid of the soup. Mind you, they mightn’t know what it was. They put water on their cornflakes in that house; so everyone said, anyway.
Bimbo and Darren were back.
—How’d it go?
—It was embarrassin’, said Darren.
—How was it? Jimmy Sr asked him.
—He started singin’.
—He’s always singin’.
Bimbo took over.
—The minute he saw the candles he started singing to Mona. Tha’ one, I Can’t Help Fallin’ In Love With You.
—Wha?—WISE MEN SAY—ONLY FOO-ILS RUSH IN—Tha’ one?
—Yeah.
—Jaysis. He’s gettin’ worse. Did they like the soup?
—Stop it, said Bimbo.—Their spoons were clackin’ off the bowls. He was singin’ an’ drinkin’ at the same time.
—They didn’t think much o’ the parsley though, Darren told his da.
—Now there’s a surprise, said Jimmy Sr.
—He said if he’d wanted weeds in his dinner he‘d’ve gone ou’ the back an’ got some of his own.
—Tha’ sort o’ thing is wasted on shite-bags like them, said Jimmy Sr.
Back to business.
—What’s the main course?
—Smoked cod for Larry an’ the same for Mona, said Bimbo.—An’ they both want a few pineapple fritters as well.
—And onion rings, Darren reminded him.
—Oh, that’s righ’. Mona said she’d go a couple of onion rings as well.
—Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.—They’ll keep her up all night if Larry doesn’t.
He dropped the orders into the fryer, except the pineapples; they only took a few seconds or they’d turn to mush.
—Do they want wine? said Jimmy Sr when he’d everything else in order.
—Yeah, said Darren.
—Black or blue?
—Blue.
Jimmy Sr ducked in under the hot plate and got out a bottle of Blue Nun.
—Do the business with tha’, he said to Darren, and he held the bottle out to him.
—I’d better get back for their sweets, said Darren.
Jimmy Sr turned to Bimbo.
—There, he said.—Suck the cork ou’ o’ tha’.
Bimbo got working on the bottle with the corkscrew and Jimmy Sr put the two plates on the hatch counter and made a hill of chips on each of them.
—There’ll be no complaints abou’ the quantity annyway, wha’, said Jimmy Sr.—Give someone more than they think they’re entitled to and yeh have a friend for life.
—Cos they know we give value for money, said Bimbo.
—Cos they think we’re fuckin’ saps, said Jimmy Sr.
—The cork’s after breakin’ on me, said Bimbo.
—Shove it into the bottle.
The plates were full now, too full. Jimmy Sr took some of the chips off and pushed the fish further in, under the chips.
—There, he said.—Can yeh manage?
—No problem, said Bimbo.—I’ll have to come back for the wine.
—I’ll bring it as far as the door for yeh, said Jimmy Sr.
—Good man; thanks.
Jimmy Sr knew that Bimbo thought he meant O’Rourke’s front door but he was only going to go to the van door, for the laugh.
Bimbo wasn’t impressed when he got back.
—Very funny, he said.
—Ah, cop on, said Jimmy Sr.
They said nothing for a bit. Then—
—They’re havin’ a row inside, Bimbo told Jimmy Sr.
—Fuckin’ great, said Jimmy Sr.—What abou’?
—Couldn’t tell yeh, said Bimbo.—I just gave them their dinners an’ got ou’.
—Ah, you’re fuckin’ useless.
He handed the Blue Nun to Bimbo.
—Go back an’ find ou’ wha’ they’re rowin’ abou’.
—Who d‘yeh think you’re orderin’ around—?
Darren was back with the jelly and ice-cream.
—Hey, Darren; go in an’ see what Larry an’ Mona are rowin’ abou’.
—Go in yourself.
—Jesus, said Jimmy Sr.—What a staff; such a pair o’ fuckin’ wasters I’m lumbered with.
He turned to Bimbo and he was glaring at Jimmy Sr; he didn’t have time to change his face. It surprised Jimmy Sr.
Eh—are they in the front room or the kitchen or wha’?
—The kitchen, said Bimbo, back to normal.
—Fuck. We could’ve crept up under the window—Larry O’Rourke came charging out of the house, trying to get into his jacket. He didn’t slam the door.
—How was the cod, Larry? Jimmy Sr asked him.
—Fuck the fuckin’ cod, said Larry.
He headed down the road, in a Hikers direction.
—Your jelly an’ ice-cream, Larry!
—Fuck the jelly an’ the fuckin’ ice-cream, they heard.
He turned back to them.
—She can fuckin’ eat them! Her mouth’s fuckin’ big enough!
—Will yeh look who’s talkin‘! Bimbo said to Jimmy Sr and Darren.—Who’s goin’ to pay for the dinners?
—Eh—I suppose—
Bimbo looked down the road, then at the house.
—It was Mona phoned Maggie.
—Righ’, said Jimmy Sr.
He went up the path, and into the house, with the wine.
Bimbo and Darren waited for him.
Jimmy Sr came back out.
—She wants her jelly.
Darren handed him a bowl.
—Better give her the both o’ them, said Jimmy Sr. —She’s payin’ for them.
—Is she? said Bimbo.
—Fuckin’ sure she is.
He went back into the house. Darren and Bimbo got the gas canister back into the van and wiped the shelves. Bimbo mixed some more batter for later that night and Darren fished some loose bits of batter out of the oil in the fryer.
—Maybe she’s seducin’ him, said Darren.
—Ah no.
They were shutting the back door when Jimmy Sr came out.
—Wha’ kept yeh?
—I was havin’ a glass o’ wine with Mona.
—Is she alrigh’?
—She’s grand; not a bother on her.
He waved two tenners at them.
—How’s tha‘, he said.—An’ this as well.
He held out a pound coin for Bimbo.
—Your tip, he said.—She says thanks very much. Go on; take it.—D‘yis know wha’ the row was abou’? said Jimmy Sr when they were all in the van, heading home.
—Wha’?
—His pigeons shitein’ on her washin’, said Jimmy Sr.
—Ah, is that all?
—She’s not a bad-lookin’ bird, Mona, said Jimmy Sr.—If she tidied herself up a bit. Sure she’s not?
Bimbo and Darren didn’t say anything. Jimmy Sr wished he’d kept his stupid mouth shut. Darren was blushing beside him; he could nearly feel the heat off him, and he was blushing now himself was well. Bimbo had his mouth in a whistle but there was no noise coming out.
> Although they never ran out of ways of flogging their chips and stuff, closing time outside the Hikers was still their bread and butter. Dollymount was grand on a good, sunny day but on a rainy day or even just a cloudy one there wasn’t a sinner down there to sell a chip to. And there were never going to be too many good, sunny days in an Irish summer; there was always rain coming at you from somewhere. But people coming out of the pub after a few jars didn’t give a shite what the weather was like, they just wanted their chips and maybe a bit of cod with a nice crispy batter on it. Anyway, rain was never that wet when you were half scuttered.
The dinners-for-two with candles and wine hardly paid for themselves. They did them for the crack more than anything else. Bimbo did them to please Maggie, because the idea had been her brainwave, and Jimmy Sr went along with Bimbo.
Only she was always having brainwaves. Sometimes Jimmy Sr felt like telling her to give her fuckin’ head a rest.
They came back from Dollier on a Monday late in July covered in sand and with damn all in the money box because there’d been showers on and off all afternoon, and she was there waiting for them, swinging off the front door, with her latest: breakfasts on the Malahide Road.
—You’re jokin’, said Jimmy Sr, once he knew what she was on about.
She wanted them to park the van at the crossroads in Coolock every morning and make rasher sandwiches for people driving to work.
—Wha’ time?
-Half-seven.
—Jaysis—!
—Eight then; it doesn’t matter. Durin’ the rush hour.
—Look it, said Jimmy Sr.—Maggie. If they’re in such a rush they’re not goin’ to be stoppin’ for a rasher sandwich. Or even a rasher an’ dunphy sandwich.
—There’s plenty of people would love a rasher sandwich on their way to work, said Maggie.
—I know tha‘, said Jimmy Sr.—But they’ll be goin’ by us on the bus or they’ll be at home in bed cos they’re on the dole.
Bimbo was staying a bit quiet, Jimmy Sr thought; very fuckin’ quiet.
—The only people who’d drive past that way, said Jimmy Sr,—is the yuppies. An’ they can make their own fuckin’ breakfasts as far as I’m concerned.
—You just don’t want to get up early, said Maggie.
Jimmy Sr ignored this; he wasn’t finished.
—Sure, Jaysis, he said.—No yuppie’d be caught dead eatin’ a rasher sandwich on his way to work. Think about it.
—You could give it a try, Maggie said to both of them, but especially Bimbo.
—Hang on, said Jimmy Sr.
