The Van

  It was busy, getting dark; the Living Dead were out there somewhere. Bimbo had had to dash home for a shite, so Jimmy Sr was by himself at the hatch, taking the orders. And he’d three burgers doing on the hotplate and he asked Darren to turn them for him, and he wouldn’t do it.

  —I’m not askin’ yeh to eat them, said Jimmy Sr, trying not to sound too snotty in front of the customers.—I only want yeh to turn them fuckin’ over.

  Darren said nothing, and he didn’t do anything either.

  —Darren? said Jimmy Sr.

  But Darren just started filling the bags with chips.

  —Fuck yeh, said Jimmy Sr and he got back to the hotplate and picked the fish slice up off the floor.

  The burgers were welded to the plate; they were part of the plate.

  —Look wha’ you’re after doin’, said Jimmy Sr.

  Darren said nothing.

  One of the punters outside spoke up.

  —If that’s my burger you’re messin’ with there I’m not takin’ it, he told Jimmy Sr.

  Jimmy Sr had had enough.

  —Righ‘, he said.—Fuck off then. An’ get your burger somewhere else.—Annyone else want to complain?

  But Bimbo came back and took over at the hatch. And with Bimbo blocking the view Jimmy Sr was able to get the burgers off the hot plate and into their bundies without doing too much damage to them. He dipped them into the deep fat fryer to make them juicy and then trapped them in the bundies before they dripped or fell apart.

  —There, he said.—No help to you.

  Darren said nothing.

  Dunphies were out of the question as well as far as Darren was concerned and they had to go into the deep fat fryer with the fish, so Darren would stand back and get out of Jimmy Sr or Bimbo’s way while they fished out the dunphies. It was stupid. Still but, they had to respect Darren’s beliefs. Jimmy Sr told that to Maggie after Bimbo had told her about Darren and his vegetarianism.

  —At least he has the courage of his convictions, he said.

  He wasn’t really sure what that meant but it shut Maggie up. Not that she’d been giving out or anything; she’d just thought it was funny that someone called Rabbitte was a vegetarian. Jimmy Sr couldn’t see anything particularly funny about that.

  Where Darren was way out of line, way out—just the once - was when he objected to the dunphies going into the same cooking oil as the fish.

  —Wha’!?

  —Part of the meat is left in the oil.

  —So?

  —It gets into the fish.

  —It does in its hole. Nothin’ would get through tha’ batter. Bimbo made it.

  Darren laughed but he kept going on all night about contaminating the oil and he put a face on him every time Jimmy Sr leaned over and dropped a dunphy into the fryer; he got on Jimmy Sr’s wick.

  No one had ordered a dunphy; he just did it to annoy Darren; he deserved it.

  —’Xcuse me, Darren, till I drop this into the holy of holies.

  He blessed the dunphy as it sank down and bobbed up again between two pieces of cod.

  —Make sure they don’t touch there, said Jimmy Sr. —We don’t want any bits o’ cod gettin’ into the dunphy an’ poisonin’ someone.

  Darren had one last bash at explaining osmosis to Jimmy Sr. He was halfway through it when Jimmy Sr turned on him.

  —Spare me the fuckin’ lecture, righ’, an’ just do your fuckin’ job.

  He flicked a dunphy into the fryer so that it would send some oil flying in Darren’s direction. Darren got some of it on his arms. He said nothing but he went outside.

  Jimmy Sr’s ears hummed while he waited for Darren to come back. He prayed for him to come back but he wouldn’t go to the door to look out; he wouldn’t even look at it.

  He felt Darren going past him, on his way back to the fryer.

  —Sorry, he said.

  He looked at Darren: he looked fine.

  —Okay? said Jimmy Sr.

  —Yeah.

  —Grand;—sorry.

  They were all set to move out. It was the hottest day yet, Jimmy Sr reckoned. All they were waiting for now was Sharon.

  —What’s she at? said Jimmy Sr.—Jesus tonigh’.

  She had Gina with her, in the buggy.

  —Mammy can’t mind her, she said before Jimmy Sr could ask her.—An’ the twins won’t.

  —Yeh can’t bring the baby—

  —Give us a hand, said Sharon.

  She went round and opened the back door. She climbed in.

  —Jesus!

  The heat hit her.

  Jimmy Sr picked up the buggy with Gina still in it and passed it in to Sharon.

  —It’s fuckin’ dangerous—, he said.

  —We’ll be grand, said Sharon.—Won’t we, Gina?

  Gina was looking around. She liked what she saw. She tried to free herself. Sharon sat up on the hatch counter and held the buggy close to her, between her legs.

  —I don’t know—, said Jimmy Sr.

  He shut the door.

  Bimbo went very carefully. An oul’ one on crutches could have gone faster.

  —It’ll be fuckin’ dark by the time we get there, said Jimmy Sr.

  —I don’t want to be responsible for an injury, Bimbo told him.—’Specially to a baby.

  But they got there. Jimmy Sr got Gina to sit on a shelf and gave her a Twix to keep her quiet for a bit and Sharon folded the buggy and put it in on top of the driver’s seat. It wasn’t too bad that way. Bimbo showed Gina how to make batter and he got her down off the shelf and let her dip a slab of cod into it. That was a mistake because now she had to dip everything into it, including herself. But it was nice having her in the van there; it was kind of exciting, as if they were performing for her. Bimbo put her back up on the shelf out of harm’s way, and Jimmy Sr gave her the other half of the Twix.

  But she nearly fell into the deep fat fryer. She’d crawled nearer to it and she was leaning over to look at the bubbles and the smoke when Jimmy Sr saw her, roared and caught her. He didn’t really catch her, cos she wasn’t falling, but he told Sharon he did. The poor little thing was wringing with the sweat, so Jimmy Sr put her on the hatch counter to dry. She knocked the salt and pepper and a load of bags out onto the path. A load of young ones saw her and came over to look at her and say hello and wave at her but they didn’t buy anything, of course.

  —Get us the salt an’ pepper there, will yeh, love, Jimmy Sr asked a young one.

  —Get it yourself, she said.

  They all walked off, laughing.

  —Hope yeh got skin cancer! Jimmy Sr roared after them.

  —Jesus, Daddy!

  —Bitches.

  —Bitis! said Gina after them.

  —Good girl yourself, said Jimmy Sr.

  They couldn’t keep her on the counter because she’d get in the way and she was bound to fall out so what Jimmy Sr did was, he went into the dunes and found a plank. He brought it back to the van and gave it a good wipe and used up most of a milk bottle of water to clean it. It was long enough to go over the top of the chip bin and that made a seat for Gina, in the corner, away from danger. She complained a bit; the plank was wet. Bimbo put a cloth under her.

  Serving was easier here than at closing time cos there wasn’t a mad rush of people. It was good, a gradual, steady flow of customers. Jimmy Sr liked it. It was a good way to start the working day.

  —Have yeh anny spicey burgers, Mister?

  —They’re on the menu, said Jimmy Sr, but not in a snotty way.

  —Oh yeah, said the young fella.—How much are they?

  Jimmy Sr pointed at the price on the board.

  —There; look it.

  —Oh yeah.

  The kid was a bit simple, he could tell; the way his mouth hung open.

  —D’yeh want chips as well? he asked him.

  —Yeah.

  —Have yeh the money on yeh?

  —Me ma’s comin’, said the kid.

  —Fair enough
, said Jimmy Sr.—Will she want annythin’ herself, would yeh say?

  —Wha’?

  —Will she be long?

  —She’s comin’.

  —Okay, said Jimmy Sr.

  Poor little sap; he’d give him the order even if his ma didn’t come. He turned to get a spice-burger.

  —Wha’ the fuck—

  —What’?

  —Yeh can’t fuckin’ do tha’ in here!

  Sharon was changing Gina’s nappy.

  Jesus; if a health inspector or a guard was passing and looked in and saw the baby’s little arse pointing out at him they’d be rightly fucked. Or Mister Whippy over the other side of the roundabout; if he saw what Sharon was doing he’d race down to Raheny station and report them, and he’d play the Teddy Bears’ Picnic all the fuckin’ way.

  Jimmy Sr slammed down the hatch.

  —Back in a minute, he told the kid waiting outside.

  —Quick! he said.—Hurry up. An’ mind nothin’ drops into the chips.

  Sharon giggled. Bimbo was battering away. It wasn’t dark exactly; you could see everything. It was quite nice really.

  —Are yeh finished? said Jimmy Sr.

  —Nearly.

  Sharon put the old nappy into a plastic bag and put that bag into her proper bag.

  —Pity the poor fucker tha’ robs your handbag, said Jimmy Sr.

  They laughed, and Jimmy Sr opened the hatch. The kid was still there.

  —Still here, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Me ma’s comin’, said the kid.

  —She’s a lucky woman, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Daddy!

  Jimmy Sr slid the spice-burger into the cooking oil.

  —Now.

  He put a few chips into a bag, nice big ones, and handed them out to the kid.

  —Have them while you’re waitin’, he said.

  —A one an’ one there, please.

  Jimmy Sr looked to see who’d said that. It was a man about his own age, wearing a Hawaii 5-0 shirt and a Bobby Charlton haircut. Bimbo sank the cod into the fryer.

  —Grand day again, said Jimmy Sr to the man.

  —We’re spoilt, said the man.

  —What’s the water like today? said Jimmy Sr.

  —Shockin’, said the man.—Filthy dirty, it is. Yeh wouldn’t make your worst enemy swim in it.

  —Yes, I would, Jimmy Sr told him.—Won’t be a minute here.

  —No hurry.

  Sharon handed out the spice-burger and chips to the young fella. He didn’t take them.

  —Me ma’s comin’, he said.

  —You’re alrigh’, said Jimmy Sr.—Go on. She can pay us when she comes; go on.

  Gina started singing.

  —OLÉ—OLÉ OLÉ OLÉ—

  They all joined in.

  Jimmy Sr got the cod out the fryer, shook the drops off it and put it in its bag and put that into the brown bag; a grand big piece of fish it was too. Sharon gave him the bag of chips and he slid that in alongside the cod.

  —OLÉ—OLÉ OLÉ OLÉ—The works? he asked the man.

  He held the salt over the bag.

  —Fire away, said the man.

  —Righto, said Jimmy Sr.—Say when.

  The man took the bag. He handed two of the new pound coins to Jimmy Sr but stopped just short of Jimmy’s reach.

  —Me ma’s comin’, he said.

  They laughed and he gave the money to Jimmy Sr. Jimmy Sr gave him his change and that was that.

  —Good luck now, said Jimmy Sr.—Enjoy your meal.

  —Cheerio, said the man.

  Jimmy Sr watched him trying to wheel his bike and eat his chips at the same time. There was a woman outside now, trying to get her shower of kids to make up their minds what they wanted.

  —Milkshake! said one of them.

  They were all over her; it was hard to be sure how many kids she had with her; about six, and another on the way, now that Jimmy Sr looked at her properly.

  —It isn’t McDonald’s, she told the milkshake kid.

  —Wha’ is it? said the kid.

  —It’s a lurry! said his sister, and she gave him a smack in the mouth, and legged it.

  —Look at this, Jimmy Sr said to Sharon.

  —Six singles, said the woman when she made it to the counter.—No; seven. Me as well.

  —I don’t want chips, said one of the boys.

  —Well, you’re gettin’ them! said the woman.—And anyway, you, you’re not even one o’ mine so yeh should be grateful.

  The woman looked at Sharon.

  —I only own three o’ them, she said.

  That was all.

  She looked as if she could lie down under the van and go fast asleep, and maybe not wake up again.

  —Never again, she said.

  —They’re lovely, said Sharon.

  —They’re bastards, said the woman.—Every fuckin’ one o’ them.

  She looked as if she felt better after getting that off her chest, and she straightened up. She patted her stomach.

  —This’ll be the last, she said.—He can stick it in a milk bottle after tha’, so he can.

  Sharon was shocked. She’d never seen the woman before.

  There was a scream; the littlest lad was having a bucket of crabs and stones and water poured down his togs. The woman patted her stomach again.

  —With a bit o’ luck this one’ll be deaf an’ dumb.

  She didn’t smile: she meant it.

  —Righ’! Jimmy Sr yelled.—Line up for your chipses!

  —Me!!

  —Your mammy first! said Jimmy Sr.—Get back.

  —She’s always first!

  —Get back!

  —Not fair—

  —Into line, said Jimmy Sr.—Or I’ll dump your chips into the sand.

  He held a bag of chips up, ready to throw it.

  —A straight line.—Salt an’ vinegar, love?

  —Loads.

  That was when Bobby Charlton came back. He threw his bike against the wall of the van.

  —Come here—!!

  Jimmy Sr dropped the salt.

  —Mother o’ fuck!

  The woman yelped.

  —Come here! the man said again.

  But the bike slid onto the ground and he tried to pick it up but his leg got on the wrong side of the crossbar, and he’d only one hand to work with because the other one was still holding the chips. He gave up trying to lift the bike and stepped over it, and nearly tripped. He leaned against the van.

  He’d given Jimmy Sr time to get his act together.

  —What’s your problem? said Jimmy Sr.

  —I’ll tell yeh—

  —I’m dealin’ with a customer here, Jimmy Sr told him. —You’ll have to wait your turn.

  The man was right up at the hatch now, like he was going to climb in.

  —I’ll tell yeh wha’ my problem is—, the man started again.

  —There’s a queue, said the woman.

  —There won’t be when I’m finished here, said the man.

  Jimmy Sr, Sharon and Bimbo were at the hatch. Jimmy Sr handed the singles down to the woman and she handed them on to the kids.

  —Excuse me! said the man.

  —Calm down, said Bimbo.—Calm down.

  —Sap, said Sharon, but not loud.

  —Three eighty-five, Sharon told the woman when she looked up.

  —Be careful eatin’ them, the man told the woman.

  That sounded bad.

  —Oh Christ, said Bimbo.

  He looked back at the fryer.

  —Righ’, said Jimmy Sr, when Sharon had given the woman her change.—What’s your problem?

  He’d been thinking about it; he hadn’t a clue what was going to happen. He stared down at the man.

  —It’s your problem, said the man.

  —Wha’ is?

  —This.

  He held up the bag in his hand, far enough away not to be grabbed.

  Jimmy Sr leaned out to see.

 
—The chips?

  —No!

  —The fish?

  The man looked very upset.

  —Fish! he said.

  —It’s fresh, Bimbo assured him.—It was grand an’ hard comin’ out o’ the—

  —Fresh! the man screamed.

  Jimmy Sr had to say it again.

  —What’s your problem?

  —Will yeh look it.

  But he still wouldn’t bring his hand in any closer to the hatch.

  —I can’t fuckin’ see it, said Jimmy Sr.—Wha’ever—

  Maybe it was maggots.

  —I bit into it—, said the man.

  —That’s wha’ you were supposed to do, said Jimmy Sr.

  This chap was some tulip.

  —Wha’ did yeh think yeh were supposed to do with it; ride it?

  Now the man did come closer; he banged into the van.

  —Oh Jesus, said Sharon.

  She got back and went beside Gina.

  The man’s mouth was open crooked. He really looked like a looper now. They could see into the bag.

  —It’s not fish—, said Bimbo.

  —Oh fuck—. What is it?

  Hang on though—

  —It’s white, said Jimmy Sr.

  —It’s a nappy! the man told him.

  —Wha’!—Fuck off, would yeh.

  —He’s righ‘, Jimmy, said Bimbo.—It’s a Pamper; folded up. My God, that’s shockin’.

  —Shut up! Jimmy Sr hissed at him.

  —I must have put it in the batter—

  —Shut up!

  —What is it? said Sharon.

  The man wasn’t angry-looking now; he looked like he needed comfort.

  —Is it a used one? Jimmy Sr asked him, and he crossed his fingers.

  —No!

  —Ah well, said Jimmy Sr.—That’s alrigh’ then.

  —That’s how, said Bimbo.—It’d look like a piece o’ cod, folded up like. Ah, that’s gas.

  —Sorry abou’ tha’, said Jimmy Sr to the man.—We’ll give yeh your money back, an’ a can o’ Coke; how’s tha’ sound? Were the chips alrigh’?

  The man wasn’t won over. He folded the bag into a neater package and put it under his arm.

  —I’m goin’ to the guards with this, he said.