The Van

  —He can get his ma after me if he likes, said Jimmy Sr.

  They cheered.

  —Mind you, said Jimmy Sr.—His da’s better lookin’.

  —Haaaa!

  They were having a great time.

  —He’!! definitely get his da now.

  —Let him, said Jimmy Sr.—I’ll let the air ou’ of his wheelchair.

  He turned to see what was keeping Bimbo. Bimbo was holding a spice-burger over two bags; he didn’t know which was which.

  —D’yeh want to swap? said Jimmy Sr.

  —No! said Bimbo.—No.—Yeah.

  Jimmy Sr spoke to his customers.

  —I’ll have to leave yis now, I’m afraid, he told them.—We’re a bit understaffed in the kitchen.

  —Bye bye, Mister Rabbitte.

  —Good luck now, said Jimmy Sr.

  He made room for Bimbo.

  —There yeh go, he said.—Make sure yeh get their money off them before yeh hand over the goods.

  He’d enjoyed that, and the bit of fresh air coming through the hatch had done him the power of good. He slapped on a burger, for himself; he deserved it.

  —Batter burger, large, Coke! Bimbo roared.

  —I hear yeh, said Jimmy Sr.

  He didn’t know how anyone could eat those batter burgers; they were disgusting. You could leave one of them swimming around in the fryer for hours and the meat would still be that pink colour and you’d want a chisel to get through the batter. You were dicing with death eating one of those things. Still, they were big though, very good value. He lowered it very carefully into the fat. It was like launching a ship.

  Darren was back again.

  —Is she happy now? Jimmy Sr asked him.

  —Yeah, said Darren.—Sort of.

  —Piss on her chips the next time, said Jimmy Sr.

  He passed a brown bag back to Bimbo.

  —Batter burger, large.

  —A Coke as well, Bimbo reminded him.

  —That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr.

  He bent down and got a can from under the hotplate, making sure that his head didn’t go too close to it. He wiped the grease off the can with Darren’s T-shirt and handed it to Bimbo.

  —From the back o’ the fridge, he said.

  —Two five, Darren told Bimbo.

  —Two pound an’ fivepence, Bimbo told the young fella at the hatch.

  —I’ve on’y two pounds, said the young fella.

  Jimmy Sr took the bag from Bimbo when he heard that. He opened it, got the batter burger out and took a huge bite out of it, and let the rest of it drop back into the bag. He shut the bag, and shoved the chunk of batter burger over to the side of his mouth.

  —Two pound, he managed to say, and held the bag out for the young fella.

  —Jaysis!! Did yeh see wha’ he done!

  Bimbo grabbed the bag from him.

  —It’s all yours, said Jimmy Sr.

  They went mad outside.

  Jimmy Sr chewed the burger into manageable bits. It wasn’t that bad. He went back to his post and turned his burger. Darren was dipping the bits of cod into the fryer, to set the batter. He was laughing as well.

  —That’s revoltin’, he told his da.

  —They don’t taste tha’ bad, said Jimmy Sr,—if yeh don’t look at them first. Oh, I forgot but, you’re a vegetarian ; that’s righ’. I suppose yeh think I’m a cannibal, Darren, do yeh?

  —No, said Darren.—I just think you’re a fuckin’ eejit.

  They laughed. Jimmy Sr spat the rest of the meat out the back door. His real burger was ready. He didn’t bother with sauce.

  God, he felt good now.

  —Large, smoked! said Bimbo.

  —That’s your department, Darren, said Jimmy Sr.

  The meat was a good safe brown colour.

  —Tha’ looks better now, doesn’t it? he said before he put the top half of the bun on it.

  —Small! Bimbo shouted.

  —D’yeh not like the smell? he asked him.

  —No! said Darren.—Jaysis.

  —Yeh must, said Jimmy Sr.

  —I don’t.

  —I don’t know—, said Jimmy Sr.

  He’d leave Darren alone. He passed a bag back to Bimbo.

  —Large, smoked.

  —One eighty-five, said Darren.

  It was getting dark now. Darren turned on the lamps.

  Jimmy Sr handed another bag back to Bimbo.

  —Small.

  —Fifty-five, said Darren.

  —I know tha’! said Bimbo.

  Jimmy Sr nudged Darren.

  —I’m not tha’ thick, said Bimbo.

  —Yeh fuckin’ are! said someone outside.

  Darren knew the voice.

  —Nappies Harrison, he told Jimmy Sr.

  Jimmy Sr went to the hatch.

  —Nappies Harrison! he shouted.—You’re barred.

  They cheered.

  —Yeow, Nappies!

  —Which one o’ yis is Nappies? said Jimmy Sr when they’d settled down a bit.

  —Here he is, Mister Rabbitte.

  They picked him up, his pals, the lads that played with Darren for Barrytown United.

  —Fuck off messin’! Nappies shouted.

  They hoisted him up over their heads and shoved him through the hatch. He held onto the sides like Sylvester the Cat but one of the lads took his shoe off and hit Nappies’ knuckles with it.

  —Aaah!! Fuck yeh!—That’s me guitar hand!

  —It’s your wankin’ hand!

  Bimbo saved the salt and vinegar and got out of the way. He wasn’t impressed.

  —For God’s sake!

  Nappies tumbled over the counter, over the spilt salt and the grease. His foot sent the menu board flying. He’d have landed inside on his head if Jimmy Sr hadn’t caught him under his shoulders and held him up till he got his feet off the counter.

  Nappies shoved his shirt back into his trousers.

  —Look at Nappies’ sunburn!

  —Give him a job, Mister Rabbitte.

  Nappies turned to face the lads outside. He took the red sauce bottle from Bimbo.

  —Yaah! Yis cunts, yis!

  He squeezed the bottle with both hands before Bimbo could get it back off him; gobs of ketchup rained down on the lads. The van shook. A half-empty can came in through the hatch. It hit no one but it made an almighty bang when it hit the wall and scared the shite out of Bimbo. It dropped onto a shelf and into the fryer and sent a wave of oil onto the floor.

  —Oh good Jaysis—!

  —Here! Jimmy Sr roared, keeping his head well down in case of more cans.—None o’ tha’!

  —Come on, Bimbo said to Nappies.—Out. It’s gone too far. Ou’; come on.

  Nappies didn’t need to be pushed.

  —I didn’t ask to come in here, he said.—I was thrun in.

  He slid on the oil.

  —Jaysis!

  He grabbed at the hotplate to hold himself up, but Darren knocked his hand away and he went on his arse, right into the oil.

  —Get up, said Bimbo.

  Nappies ignored him. He thought he was being cooked. He spoke to Darren.

  —What’ll I do?

  Darren held his hands out for Nappies. He kept his feet out of the oil. Nappies’ hands slid out of Darren’s. Nappies looked terrified when that happened. He tried to sit up. Darren grabbed his sleeves and dragged him off the oil, to the door.

  —Thanks, Darrah.

  Nappies was now standing up and looking healthier, ready to start giving out about the state of his clothes. Bimbo was trying to fish the Coke can out of the fryer.

  —Everythin’s ruined, he said.

  He could feel the oil under his runners. He gave up on the can and looked at the floor.

  —Bloody bowsies, he said, and he threw a J-cloth onto the floor.—Yeh shouldn’t encourage them.

  —We want Nappies! We want Nappies!

  The lads outside had gathered again.

  Jimmy
Sr stood at the hatch again.

  —What’s he worth to yis? he asked.

  —Twopence!

  Nappies didn’t go out the way he’d come in. He was going to, but Jimmy Sr sent him back to the door.

  —Oh yeah—

  —Mind the oil there, said Bimbo.—Look it.

  Nappies climbed down the steps backwards and slowly, because the oil had made his trousers soggy and it was horrible and warm.

  —Seeyeh, Darren, he said.

  —Good luck, Nappies, said Darren.

  He was down on his hunkers squeezing the J-cloth over the chip bin.

  There was no one left outside. Jimmy Sr let down the hatch door till they fixed up the mess.

  They’d only the one J-cloth, and it was lifting very little of the oil.

  —This is crazy, said Darren.

  —It’s disgraceful, said Bimbo.

  —D’yeh think so—? said Jimmy Sr—

  The next thing either of them said could have started a fight, so they said nothing.

  It was terrible; the only noise was the shoes on the oil, and the breathing. Then Jimmy Sr remembered something.

  —Did yeh ever see Cocktail, Darren? he asked.

  —Are yeh jokin’ me? said Darren.

  —I watched it with Linda an’ Tracy there earlier, said Jimmy Sr.—They’ve seen it thirteen times.

  —That’s just because Tom Cruise flashes his arse in it, Darren told him.

  —Does he? I don’t think he does, does he? I must’ve gone to the jacks—. I thought it was quite good, meself.

  He saw Darren’s face.

  —It was shite, he explained.—But good shite, yeh know. —The routines. Behind the bar. Between Tom Cruise an’ your man from Thornbirds. They were fuckin’ gas. —Did yeh see any o’ them, Bimbo?

  The first stone hit the van before Bimbo could answer. It smacked the side over the hotplate, full on. The next one skimmed off the roof.

  —Jesus—!!

  Jimmy got the door shut.

  The next one shook the hatch door.

  The Living Dead were outside. They hadn’t done this for a good while, more than three weeks. Jimmy Sr had forgotten that they did it.

  —The cunts.

  Darren knew them. Lar O’Rourke had been in his class in primary school. They knew he was in the van.

  The next one hit the side again. Flakes of paint fell on top of the oil.

  There was nothing they could do. They’d just have to wait till they stopped. They never did much real damage; they’d never broken the windscreen or the side windows.

  The next one was lobbed onto the roof. It made the loudest bang, and the rock stayed on the roof. Sometimes it wasn’t rocks they threw; it was used-up batteries from their ghettoblaster. All they ever played was UB4o; nothing else, ever.

  Jimmy Sr sang.

  —NEARER MY GOD TO THEE—

  He didn’t lose his temper any more; there was no point.

  Another one rolled across the roof.

  They’d just have to sit it out. Only they couldn’t sit on the floor because of the mess. They had to stand, away from the walls.

  —Some nigh‘, wha’, Jimmy Sr said to Bimbo.

  —Yeah, said Bimbo.—I hope-

  The stone nearly came through the wall.

  —Good fuck! said Jimmy Sr.

  He touched the dent beside the hatch.

  —Someone ou’ there’s eatin’ his greens, wha’.

  That was the last one, but it was hard to tell.

  They were in the front room.

  —FOR GOODNESS SAKE—

  I GOT THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE—

  —Fuck; sorry, Darren.

  He’d dropped the Kandee Sauce bottle again.

  Darren pushed the Pause button.

  Jimmy Sr couldn’t get the hang of the sauce bottle. The vinegar was grand; his hand fitted around it properly. It was easy enough to catch. The sauce, though, was a fucker.

  Jimmy Sr got the dollop of sauce up off the carpet, most of it. He licked his finger.

  —Ready? said Darren.

  —Hang on, said Jimmy Sr.

  He rubbed the carpet and the stain faded and went. It was grand.

  —Righ’, said Jimmy Sr.

  He’d the vinegar in his left hand and the sauce bottle in his right. He stood beside Darren, a few feet away, to be on the safe side.

  —Fire away, Darren.

  Darren lifted the Pause button.

  —YEAH—

  I GOT THE SHAKE—

  I GOT THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE—

  —Vinegar!

  They threw up their vinegar bottles

  —I GOT THE HIPPY—

  And caught them, together.

  —Yeow!

  They laughed.

  —WUUU—

  I CAN’T SIT STILL—

  —Sauce!

  They did it; the bottles landed back down flat in their right hands.

  —YEAH—

  I GET MY FILL—

  —The both of them!

  —NOW WITH THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE—

  And Veronica came in and caught them.

  Darren managed to catch his two bottles but Jimmy Sr lost his concentration completely; he seized up and the bottles went down past his hands and onto the floor. The vinegar stayed there but the sauce bounced and rolled over and some of the goo on the nozzle came off on the carpet. Darren smacked the Pause button.

  It took Veronica a while to say anything. She was more surprised than they were. The two of them were in shorts and T-shirts, holding vinegar and ketchup bottles. Maybe they’d been juggling.

  That would have explained the ketchup she now saw on the ceiling.

  —Ah no, look—!

  —Wha’?—Where?—Jaysis, how did tha’ get up there?

  —I don’t know what you two messers are up to—

  —We’re not messin’, Veronica, Jimmy Sr assured her. —It’s business.

  —Well, you can do it somewhere else, said Veronica.

  She saw the carpet now.

  —I don’t believe it—

  And now the smell of the vinegar hit her as well.

  —It’s a routine for the van, Jimmy Sr explained.—We were workin’ on it.

  He followed Veronica’s eyes.

  —Don’t worry abou’ them, he told her.—They’!! wash ou’.

  Veronica was looking at the marks on the curtains.

  —Get out, said Veronica.—Get out; go on. You bloody big eejit, yeh, she said to Jimmy Sr.

  She just looked at Darren.

  —Come on, Darren, said Jimmy Sr.—We’ll go ou’ the back, an’ leave Veronica alone.

  Darren wanted to say something to his mother; not Sorry —he didn’t know what.

  —Bring the yoke, Darren, said Jimmy Sr.—We’ll be ou’ the back, Veronica, if anyone calls.—Will I open the windows for yeh there? It might get rid o’ the smell—

  —No, said Veronica.—Go on.

  Darren unplugged the twins’ ghettoblaster. He turned it on quickly to check if the batteries were working.

  —SHAKE IT TO THE—

  Yeah; they were grand.

  There was only his mother in the room now, but he still couldn’t say anything. He got out the door and followed his da through the kitchen.

  He’d left the cassette cover behind him, on the couch. Veronica picked it up.

  Cocktail, she read. Original Motion Picture Soundtrack. There was a picture of a nice-looking lad on the front. His mouth was shut but she was sure he had lovely teeth. She read inside to see who he was. Tom Cruise. So that was what he looked like; the twins were always going on about him.

  She studied the damage again. It wasn’t too bad. The curtains needed a wash anyway. A damp cloth would get rid of the ketchup on the ceiling. Darren could do that.

  She went back to the kitchen; she wanted to see what they were at.

  —FOR GOODNESS SAKE —

  I GOT THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE—

/>   YEAH—I GOT THE SHAKE—

  She turned on the cold tap and filled the sink although she wasn’t going to do anything with the water. She just wanted an excuse to be at the kitchen window.

  —WUUU—

  I CAN’T SIT STILL—

  —Vinegar!

  She looked.

  They were standing out there, side by side, legs apart.

  —WITH THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE—

  They caught the bottles.

  —Yahaa! said Jimmy Sr.

  Darren looked around to see if anyone was looking over the hedge at them, and behind him into the field. There wasn’t anyone, as far as Veronica could see. There was bound to be someone looking out a window though; there always was. Poor Darren.

  —WELL I CAN SHAKE IT TO THE LEFT—

  —Concentrate now, Darren.

  —I CAN SHAKE IT TO THE RIGHT—

  —Sauce!

  —I CAN DO THE HIPPY SHAKE-SHAKE—

  The sauce bottle hopped off Jimmy Sr’s palm but he managed to catch it before it hit the ground, then got back into place.

  —WITH ALL OF MY MIGHT—

  OOOOOHH -

  Darren was quite good at it, streets ahead of the other fool. They threw up both bottles and Darren did a complete spin, in time to catch them. His shorts fitted him as well. Jimmy Sr’s were up at the back and down at the front, holding his belly up like a sling.

  She turned off the tap.

  —FOR GOODNESS SAKE—

  She lowered her arms into the water - it was nice—and looked out. She wished Sharon was here, or even the twins; they’d have loved it. Darren flipped the vinegar over his shoulder, and caught it.

  —Stop showin’ off.

  He saw her looking at him; Jimmy Sr did. She looked into the water. She lifted a hand and dropped it, as if she was doing something at the sink.

  —YEAH—I GOT THE SHAKE—

  I GOT THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE—

  It got darker. She looked up. She jumped back: Jimmy Sr had his face squashed up to the window. Cold water got through her blouse. She screamed, and laughed. His nose was crooked and white against the glass. He was miming to the Georgia Satellites.

  —OOOH I CAN’T SIT STILL—

  He kissed the glass. She saw Darren behind him, looking around to see if anyone was looking. Veronica rapped the glass.

  —Go away. You’re smudging the glass.

  —Ah, fuck it, said Jimmy Sr.

  But he lowered himself from the ledge and backed into the garden still miming, with his hand clutching his crotch.

  SHAKE IT TO THE LEFT—

  SHAKE IT TO THE RIGHT—