by Roddy Doyle
He wasn’t dead yet; and he wasn’t getting up at half-six in the morning.
—How far is it from Malahide to town? he asked them. —Abou’?
—Five miles, said Bimbo.
—Abou’?
—Yeah.
Jimmy Sr looked to Maggie to give her a chance; she agreed with Bimbo.
—Five miles so, said Jimmy Sr.—A bit more maybe. It’s not very far, is it now? You’re not goin’ to get hungry travellin’ five miles only. Unless you’re goin’ on your hands an’ knees.
—The airport road then, said Maggie.—That’d be better. They’d be comin’ from much further on tha’ one. Drogheda, and Dundalk - and—
—Belfast, said Bimbo.
—That’s righ’, said Maggie.—Well—?
—I’m on, said Bimbo.—Jim?
He’d no choice.
—Okay.—Just promise us one thing, he said.—If it works, don’t make us go ou’ later an’ make their fuckin’ tea for them as well.
It didn’t work. Jimmy Sr made sure it didn’t.
—Come here, he said to Bimbo.
They were on the new airport road. It was seven o’clock.
—D‘you want to do this every mornin’?
—Wha’? said Bimbo.
—Don’t start, said Jimmy Sr.—Do yeh?
—Wha’?
—Want to get up before the fuckin’ seagulls every mornin’. Do yeh?
—No.
—Righ’; park over there then.
—Where?
—There.
—Under the bridge?
—Yeah.
They stayed there on the motorway, under the flyover, for an hour and a half. They opened the hatch and all; they didn’t cheat. They made three rasher sandwiches, and Jimmy Sr ate two of them and Bimbo ate the other one, and a Twix each as well. They shouldn’t have been there but the guards never came near them. They leaned out over the hatch and watched the cars and the trucks blemming past. Then they shut the hatch and went home.
—Not a word, Jimmy Sr warned Bimbo.
—No, said Bimbo.—No.
Jimmy Sr enjoyed getting back to the fort that morning. He let Bimbo do the talking.
—Where did yis park it? she asked him.
—Just there, in Whitehall, said Bimbo.—At the church; where yeh said.
—And no one stopped at all?
—That’s righ’, said Bimbo.
—No one even slowed down, said Jimmy Sr.
—Ah well—, said Maggie.
That was all; it was grand. Maggie wasn’t pushy or a Hitler or anything; she was just a bit too fuckin’ enthusiastic.
Bimbo and his kids ate nothing except rashers for two weeks after that, and Maggie brought Wayne and Glenn and Jessica and the other two kids into Stephen’s Green in town and they fed seventeen large sliced pans to the ducks.
Bimbo and Maggie were the ones in charge; Jimmy Sr couldn’t help thinking that sometimes. Not just Maggie; the both of them.
It wasn’t that they ordered him about or anything like that—they’d want to have fuckin’ tried. It was just, he was sure they talked about business in bed every night, and he wasn’t in bed with them. There was nothing wrong with that; it was only natural, he supposed. He’d have been the same if it’d been Veronica. But sometimes he felt that they’d their minds made up, they’d the day’s tactics all worked out, before he rang their bell.
He felt a bit left out; he couldn’t help it.
When Maggie’d announced the dinners for two with wine and candles Bimbo didn’t say anything but Jimmy Sr could tell that he knew about it already. He didn’t stand beside Maggie and nod like he’d heard it all before, but he didn’t ask her any questions either: he didn’t have to. He might even have come up with the candles bit himself. It was the type of romantic shite that Bimbo always fell for.
But, again, there was nothing wrong with it; it was a good idea. It wasn’t any less of an idea just cos he hadn’t thought of it himself, or because he hadn’t been around when Maggie’d thought of it. And anyway, even if he didn’t like it, there was nothing he could do about it. He could stay downstairs and watch the telly in Bimbo’s till they were finished riding each other or whatever the two of them did when they went to bed and then go up and get in between them and have a chat for a couple of hours, but he couldn’t see them agreeing to that.
There was another day; Jimmy Sr was going to play pitch and putt, against Sinbad McCabe. It was the Hon Sec’s Prize he was playing him in, and Sinbad McCabe was the Hon Sec himself, and Jimmy Sr hated the cunt. So he really wanted to win it, to beat the bollix in his own cup. He was getting a few sandwiches into him - not rasher ones, mind you - and a bowl of soup, and psyching himself up at the same time. There were two things Jimmy Sr hated about Sinbad McCabe, two main things: the way he always waited till the Hikers was full before he filled in the results on the fixtures board, like it was the Eurovision fuckin’ Song Contest he was in charge of, and the way you could see the mark of his underpants through his trousers. There were other things as well but they were the big two. Jimmy Sr was going to look at Sinbad’s underpants lines before he took a shot; it would help him concentrate. He wouldn’t talk to him either, not a word, and he’d stand right up behind him when Sinbad was putting, as close behind as he could get without actually climbing into his trousers. He was telling Veronica and Sharon this when Bimbo came in.
—What’s keepin’ yeh? said Bimbo.
—Are yeh comin’ to watch me? said Jimmy Sr.
He wasn’t sure he wanted Bimbo along with him for this one. Bimbo was too nice to everyone. He’d be chatting away to McCabe and all Jimmy Sr’s work would be wasted.
—Wha’? said Bimbo.
He’d come down to hurry Jimmy Sr up; they were bringing the van to Dollier. Maggie and himself had looked out the window, seen all the blue in the sky, and stocked up the van. Only Jimmy Sr hadn’t been with them, so he didn’t know anything about it. They just expected him to hop. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
It upset him. He still beat Sinbad McCabe though.
Another thing he’d thought about a few times, and he couldn’t make up his mind about it, if it was important or not: Bimbo had bought the van. Jimmy Sr’d been there beside him when he did it, but Bimbo’d paid for it. He hadn’t paid much for it; he didn’t think it mattered - he wasn’t sure. He didn’t feel guilty about it. Maybe he should have given Bimbo his half of the cost of the van. He had the money now. He was welcome to it. What would happen if he did that though? Probably nothing; he didn’t know. He’d think about it, maybe talk to Veronica about it. He didn’t want to do anything that would mess everything up. At the same time, he was no one’s skivvy. Partners was the word Bimbo’d used at the very start, in the Hikers the day they’d pushed the van to Bimbo’s. Maybe it was time to remind him of that. He didn’t want to hurt Bimbo’s feelings though, or even Maggie’s. He didn’t know.
He’d think about it.
It was great knowing there’d be money there when he put his hand in his pocket; not that he’d much time to spend it. He could go up to the Hikers whenever he wanted, if he wanted to. He sometimes got the paper in the mornings and brought it into the pub and had a quiet pint by himself but it always smelt of last night and polish and the smell that old hoovers left behind them. Except on Saturdays and Sundays; they were better.
He bought himself a suit, a grey one. Veronica liked it. She even came down to the Hikers with him the first Sunday he wore it. It wasn’t flashy, and he didn’t wear a tie although he’d bought one of them as well.
—Nice suit, compadre, Bertie said.
—Must have cost yeh a few bob, was what Paddy said, but you wouldn’t have minded him.
Bimbo didn’t say anything but he was wearing a new suit himself the next Sunday, so he must have been impressed, or Maggie’d been.
They were thinking of getting a car; they’d always had one before, or a van, but they’d always had
something. Veronica was putting money away.
—We’ll have a decent Christmas this year annyway, wha’, he said when himself and Veronica were out having a walk alongside the seafront.
—Jimmy.
—Wha’?
—It’s August.
—Yeh know what I mean, he said, but they laughed.
They all went to the zoo. Darren and the twins wouldn’t come, but the rest of them did; Jimmy Sr and Veronica, Sharon and Gina, and Jimmy Jr and his mot, Aoife. They’d a great day. Gina didn’t give a fuck about the animals; she just wanted to go on the slide all day. Jimmy Sr and Jimmy Jr laughed their way around the place. Aoife laughed at nearly everything they said, but especially when Jimmy Sr said that the hippo smelt like Veronica’s mother used to, and Veronica agreed with him. She was a lovely girl, Aoife; lovely. They’d a picnic with them. Jimmy Jr slagged Jimmy Sr because he wouldn’t sit on the grass cos he’d his new suit on him.
They had a few drinks in the Park Lodge Hotel after the zoo. It was nice in there, after Jimmy Jr got them to turn the telly down. When they were thinking of going home Jimmy Sr ordered a taxi for them, and they went home that way, in style.
—Honk the horn, said Jimmy Sr when your man, the taxi driver, was stopping at their gate.
—Do not, said Veronica.
They all got out while Jimmy Sr settled up with the taxi fella; eight fuckin’ quid, but he said nothing, just handed it over to him. It was only money. He made sure he got the right change back off him though. Then he gave him fifty pence.
—There yeh go, said Jimmy Sr.—Buy yourself a hat.
Jimmy Jr wanted to give him half the taxi fare.
—Fuck off ou’ o’ tha’, said Jimmy Sr.—Put it back in your pocket.
—Are yeh sure?
—’Course I’m sure.
He spoke quieter now.
—I remember when I was skint an’ you helped me ou’; I remember tha’.
—Can I have it back? said Jimmy Jr.
They laughed up the hall, into the kitchen, and they wouldn’t tell the women what they were laughing about.
It was past midnight, and hectic - mad. They were sliding all over the place but they’d no time to wipe the floor. They were used to it by now, like sailors. Sharon was with them tonight and even she was sweating through her clothes.
—My Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.
He was getting ready to say what he wanted to say. Himself and Bimbo were at the fryer and the hotplate trying to keep up with Sharon as she called the orders back to them. Bimbo was chasing an onion ring that kept ducking away from the tongs.
Jimmy Sr wiped his brow with his arm.
—D‘yeh know wha’? he said.
Here went.
He chuckled first so it would sound right, half a joke.
—This place should be called Bimbo and Jimmy’s Burgers, he said.
—No, said Bimbo, very—too fuckin’ quickly.
Jimmy Sr’s heart was pounding.
—It wouldn’t sound righ’, said Bimbo.
—Yeah, Jimmy Sr agreed with him.—You’re righ’.
—Too long, said Bimbo.
—Exactly, said Jimmy Sr.—I wasn’t serious—
—know tha’,—still—
—No, you’re righ’.
—You’ve been great pals for years, said Veronica.
Jimmy Sr nodded.
That was true. Still was.
He nodded again.
—You should try to make sure that it stays that way, said Veronica.—The two of you.
Jimmy Sr kind of laughed.
—Don’t worry, love, he said.—Anyway, it’s not Bimbo really—I don’t know. It’s her.
Veronica said nothing.
Darren got out of the way just in time. Jimmy Sr was carrying a brown bag that was already soggy; the arse was going to fall out of it. He’d got his timing wrong; he’d stuck the cod and the spice-burger into the bag but when he went to get the chips there were none left, so while he was putting a new batch into the fryer and waiting for them the cod had got out of the batter and was soaking the bottom of the bag. But he hadn’t time to change it. It was getting mad outside again, and it wasn’t even dark yet; small gangs of kids had a way of making it seem like they were big gangs of kids. There were only about six waiting to be served but they were all shouting at the same time, and pushing and changing their positions. It was another hot airless bastard of a night, worse than last night.
—Two cods, a spice, three large, Jimmy Sr checked with the young ones who’d ordered them.
—Yeah, she said, like she’d been waiting all day for them.
He slammed in the salt and vinegar and closed the bag.
—A single an’ a—
—Wait your turn! said Jimmy Sr.
He turned to Darren and Bimbo.
—One o’ yis get over here.
He turned back to the young one.
—There, he said, and he handed her the bag.
—I’m not takin’ tha’, she said.
—What’s your problem? said Jimmy Sr.
—The bag, said the young one.—It’ll burst before I get it home to me house.
Jimmy Sr couldn’t argue with her; she was right.
—Jesus wept!
He turned to get another bag and bumped into Bimbo. There was no damage done.
—Will yeh watch where you’re fuckin’ goin’!
—You watch where you’re goin’ yourself, said Bimbo.
—Where’s Darren gone?
—Over to Flemings for water.
—He’s no use to us over there, said Jimmy Sr.
Bimbo took over at the hatch.
—Yourself, he said, pointing at a kid.
—Single.
—Annythin’ else?
—No.
—One single, Bimbo shouted over his shoulder, into Jimmy Sr’s face.—Sorry.
Jimmy Sr handed out the new bag to the young one.
—There now, he said.—Let’s see your money.
The young one looked under the bag before she handed over the pound coins, five of them. The coins were warm.
—Your hands are sweaty, Jimmy Sr told her.
—So’s your bollix, said the young one, and she just stood there waiting for her change, not a bother on her. She was only about twelve. She stared up at him.
They were all laughing outside.
He took twenty-five pence out of the box. He thought that that was what he owed her, he wasn’t sure.
—There, he said.
—‘Bou’ time, she said, and she shoved back, to get through the crowd.
She was replaced by a young fella with a pony tail.
—Righ’, Geronimo, said Jimmy Sr.
—Me name’s not—
—Okay, said Jimmy Sr.—Wha’ d’yeh want?
—Curry chips.
—We don’t do them.
—Why don’t yis?
—Our chips are too good, son, Jimmy Sr told him.
—Wha’?
—We wouldn’t insult our chips by ruinin’ them with tha’ muck, said Jimmy Sr.—They only use curry sauce cos their potatoes are bad, to hide the real taste. Now there’s some inside information for yeah.
He was beginning to feel better. Bimbo went back to the hotplate and the fryer. It was about time he did a bit of real work, instead of just hiding in the corner with the fish.
—So, said Jimmy Sr.—Will ordin‘y chips do yeh, or wha’?
—Okay, said the young fella.—They’d better be good though.
Jimmy leaned back and took a chip from the rack.
—How’s tha’ look? he said, and he held up the chip.
They all cheered. There were more of them outside now, about twenty, all of them kids.
—Yeow! Yeh man, yeh!
—They’re not chips! a high-pitched young fella in the crowd shouted.—They’re potato mickies!
—Gis a bag o’ them! said the young fella with the pony tail
.
—One single! Jimmy roared back at Bimbo.
Darren was back, with three full milk bottles.
—Wha’ kept yeh? said Bimbo.
—I had to negotiate, Darren told him.
Jimmy Sr chose his next customer.
—You with the head, he said.
—A large an’ a dunphy.
—Large an’ a dunphy! Jimmy Sr roared.
—She was watchin’ Jake and the Fat Cunt when I rang the bell, Darren told Bimbo.
—Oh oh, said Bimbo.
Missis Fleming had cut off their water supply before, when Jimmy Sr rang the bell during Coronation Street and then knocked on the front-room window when she hadn’t answered fast enough for him. They’d had to buy her a box of Terry’s Moonlight chocolates, and get Maggie to deliver them, before she’d given them the right of way again.
—A large, a smoked an’ a spice! Jimmy Sr roared.—An’ hurry up with the large an’ the dunphy!
Darren filled a bag with chips and fished a spice-burger out of the fryer.
—He said a dunphy, Bimbo told him.
—It’s not for him, said Darren.—It’s for Missis Fleming.
He jumped out the back.
—Where’s he gone now? said Jimmy Sr.—For fuck sake. We can’t let that oul’ bitch hold us to ransom. Two large, a bun an’ a dunphy—Stop pushin’ there; you’ll turn us over.
He turned back to Bimbo.
—Why can’t she just get a key cut for us, like I said to her?—Two 7-Ups with tha’ last one, righ’.
Bimbo was struggling; he could tell.
Good.
Jimmy Sr lobbed in the salt and vinegar, closed the brown bag and handed it out to a young fella.
—One, eh, eighty.
—An’ a Twix, said the young fella.
Jimmy Sr got the Twix and went back to the hatch and the young fella’d fucked off without paying. They were all laughing outside. Jimmy Sr had to laugh as well.
—Did yeh see tha’? he asked Bimbo.
—Wha’?
—Mister Rabbitte; here - !
—No skippin’ the queue just cos yeh know me name.
—Fuck yeh.
—You’re barred.
—He’s after barrin’ Anto, said another young fella.—He’ll get his da after yeh, Mister Rabbitte.
