The Van

  —That’s righ’, said Bimbo.

  —Brendan’s Burgers, said Anne Marie.

  Bimbo and Anne Marie were holding hands.

  —We’re buildin’ up a fleet o’ them, Jimmy Sr told Dawn. —Wha’ d’yeh do yourself, Dawn?

  —Do you bring it to football matches and that sort of thing?

  She sat up, but she didn’t seem to be trying to get away from him. Maybe it would be alright. He was still going to kill Bimbo though, the stupid cunt.

  —Sometimes, said Jimmy Sr.—We stay local most o’ the time. Our market research has shown tha’ reliability is important.

  He pushed Dawn’s back with his arm, trying to get her to settle into him.

  —The punters like to know tha’ if they want a single o’ chips all they have to do is go out their doors an’ we’ll be there outside to give them their chips.

  —And do you actually make the chips and the burgers yourself?

  —Sometimes, said Jimmy Sr,—yeah.

  If he pushed against her back any more he’d shove her off the stool.

  —Strange thing to do for a living really, isn’t it?

  —Not really, said Jimmy Sr. -1 suppose it might—eh—

  This was fuckin’ desperate; he was getting nowhere. He’d lose the rag in a minute.

  Oh good shite! Bimbo was kissing Anne Marie! It wasn’t fuckin’ fair. Right up against her, her arms around him, moving up and down his back, then her hands into his hair.

  He put his mouth up to Dawn’s. She drew back.

  —Now now, she said.

  Like she had to cope with this all the time.

  —Sorry—

  Fuck it, he was a fool.

  Bimbo and Anne Marie were chewing the faces off each other.

  He wanted to cry, and go home. He pointed to Bimbo.

  —His nickname’s Bimbo, he told Dawn.

  He felt really rat-arsed now. He nearly fell over. The arm behind Dawn was killing him but if he took it away that was it, over. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t think. Something funny, anything. The taste of the Guinness was coming up his throat. Anne Marie bit Bimbo’s ear.

  Jimmy Sr went in on Dawn’s mouth again.

  —Stop that!

  —Come on, said Jimmy Sr.

  She pushed him away, well able for him; he was fuckin’ hopeless.

  Bimbo was going to the jacks. Anne Marie held him back and straightened his tie. Then he was gone, past Jimmy Sr.

  Dawn didn’t look angry or indignant, or anything. Like nothing had happened. She even smiled at him, the bitch.

  He moved in again, and she pushed him away again. She pushed him back and picked up her glass at the same time.

  —Fuck yeh! said Jimmy Sr, and he went after Bimbo.

  The jacks was out the way they’d come in. Jimmy Sr shoved someone out of his way at the door and went in. He fell against the wall inside the door. There was another door. He got that open and there were four sinks and a big mirror in front of him. There was no one at the urinal. Bimbo must have been in one of the cubicles, getting sick with any luck. There were three of them, two of them shut. He got over there and walloped both doors.

  —Come ou’, yeh cunt yeh!

  One of them opened a bit when he thumped it. It wasn’t shut at all; there was no one in there. Bimbo was in the middle one so.

  —Come on; I know you’re in there—

  He gave the door a kick. Wood cracked.

  —What’s wrong with yeh? Bimbo said.

  Jimmy Sr heard a zip going up and then the flush. He pushed against the door before Bimbo had it properly open. Bimbo didn’t fall back, like Jimmy Sr’d wanted; he could do nothing right tonight. He kicked the door again.

  —Get ou’!

  —I’m tryin’ to—

  He saw half of Bimbo’s face behind the door. He threw everything against it and it smacked Bimbo’s face, and all of the violence went out of him.

  He’d hurt Bimbo.

  He wanted to lie down on the floor.

  Bimbo came out and went over to the mirror. He had his hands over his forehead. Jimmy Sr followed him.

  —Are yeh alrigh’?

  Bimbo didn’t answer.

  He studied his forehead. There was a graze, and there’d be a lump. But there was no real damage.

  —Sorry, Bimbo—righ’?

  Bimbo still didn’t say anything.

  —Are yeh alrigh’?—Are yeh?

  It’s no thanks to you if I am.

  —Ah look it; sorry, righ’.—I just lost the head—

  Just now, that second, he couldn’t even remember why. Then it came back.

  —Wha’did yeh go an’ tell them abou’ the van for?

  —Why shouldn’t I have? She asked me what I did for a livin’, so I told her.

  —Well, yeh messed it up for me with your woman—

  —How did I? said Bimbo.—You messed it up yourself. It’s not my fault if - if she didn’t like yeh, is it?

  —I was away on a hack until you opened your fuckin’ mouth—

  —How did I?

  —You told her abou’ the fuckin’ van, that’s how.

  —What’s wrong with tha’?

  —Ah—

  Jimmy Sr didn’t know how to answer.

  Bimbo was looking at his forehead again.

  —Is it not good enough for you now? Bimbo asked him.

  —It’s not tha’—

  —It pays your wages, Bimbo told him.

  Jimmy Sr was lost.

  —If you don’t want to work in it, said Bimbo,—you can leave any time yeh want to.—An’ good riddance.

  —Ah look it - for fuck sake—

  —I’m sick o’ you an’ your bullyin’—, sick of it—

  They were sober and drunk, sober and drunk.

  —You got off with your woman an’—Sorry.

  Bimbo slumped, like he’d nothing left to hold him up. Jimmy Sr went over and put his hand on his back.

  —That’s the stupidest row we’ve ever had, said Bimbo.

  —Thick, said Jimmy Sr.—Fuckin’ ridiculous.

  —We’ll go home, will we?

  —Wha’ abou’ Anne Marie? said Jimmy Sr.

  —I don’t want—Let’s go home.

  —Okay.

  That was the best.

  —Fair play to yeh though, said Jimmy Sr.—Anne Marie an’ tha’.

  Bimbo said nothing. Lucky they’d their jackets on them; they didn’t have to go back.

  The air was nice, nice and cold. It was heavy going getting up the steps. There was a chap passed out against the railings.

  —Will yeh look at him, said Jimmy Sr.

  Bimbo said nothing.

  They walked down towards Stephen’s Green.

  —It was a terrible kip, said Jimmy Sr.—Wasn’t it?

  —They were teachers, said Bimbo.—The two o’ them.

  —Who? Dawn an’ your woman—?

  —Yeah. Teachers.—Primary.

  —That’s desperate—

  —They were married as well.

  —No.

  —Yeah.

  Jimmy Sr slipped off the path, and got back on again.

  —The filthy bitches, wha’.

  They walked on. Jimmy Sr started to sing, to save the night.

  —OHHH—

  THERE’S HAIRS ON THIS—

  AN’ THERE’S HAIRS ON THA’—

  Bimbo stopped to let Jimmy Sr come up beside him.

  —AN’ THERE’S HAIRS ON MY DOG TINE-EEE—

  Bimbo joined in.

  —AH—BUT I KNOW WHERE—

  THE HAIRS GROW BEST—

  Jimmy Sr put his arm over Bimbo’s shoulders.

  —ON THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.

  They were at the corner. There was a taxi coming round with its light on. They stood, leaning into each other, till it came up to them.

  It hadn’t been a good night at all. It had been a fuckin’ disaster. Jimmy Sr’s head was star
ting to ache on and off.

  They got into the back of the taxi.

  —Barrytown, Jimmy Sr told the driver.—Soon home, he said to Bimbo.

  —Yeah—, said Bimbo.

  He slouched down into the corner and looked out the window. Jimmy Sr did the same thing, on his side.

  There was some sort of a riot going on downstairs. He was awake now. His head was killing him. His guts were groaning; he’d be farting all day. The light behind the curtains wasn’t too strong. That was good; they probably wouldn’t be going to Dollymount in the afternoon. He needed a rest. He didn’t want to see Bimbo. He shifted over to a cool bit of the bed. That was nice.

  The racket downstairs though; they were all shouting and the dog was yipping away out of him. It didn’t sound like a fight though. Maybe there’d been an accident. No; there was laughing as well.

  He’d go down and investigate. He needed food inside him anyway if he was going to get back to sleep.

  —Oh my fuck—

  He’d never make it down to the kitchen. He sat on the edge of the bed.—Last fuckin’ night—; God, he was a fuckin’ clown. He slipped down till his head was back on the pillow and lay like that. For ages. And that was how Veronica found him.

  —Look at you, she said.

  She didn’t sound annoyed, the way she usually did when she walked into the mix of drink and farts.

  —Darren got his results, she told him.

  —What’s tha’?

  —His Leaving results, said Veronica.—He got them.

  Jimmy Sr tried to sit up.

  —Well? he said.

  —Seven honours, said Veronica.—Isn’t that marvellous?

  —Seven!?

  —Yes!

  —How many subjects was he doin’, again?

  —Guess, said Veronica.

  —Seven, said Jimmy Sr.—Jesus, that’s brilliant.——Seven. He must’ve been the best in the school, was he?

  He wished he felt better. Darren deserved better; the first Rabbitte to do his Leaving and his father couldn’t even get up out of bed properly.

  —Is he downstairs, is he?

  —Yes. He’s down there making coffee like nothing had happened, special.

  —That’s Darren. Cool as a—

  He couldn’t think—

  —I’d better go down an’ congratulate him—

  He stood up and held onto the dressing table.

  —I got mine as well, Veronica told him.

  That took a while to get through.

  —Your results, said Jimmy Sr.—You did the Leavin’ as well.

  —I know, said Veronica.

  —Yeh passed?

  —Of course, said Veronica.—C in Maths and a B in English. Honours English, that is.

  —Ah Veronica, he said.—That’s brilliant.

  —I’m thrilled.

  —So am I, said Jimmy Sr.—I’m very fuckin’ hungover as well.

  —You should be ashamed of yourself, said Veronica, but she didn’t mean it—and that made it worse.

  —We’ll have to go ou’ tonigh’, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Will you live that long? said Veronica; then—That’d be nice. What about your work?

  —Fuck my work. I couldn’t look at a chip. Sharon can fill in for me.

  He got back to the bed.

  —I’ll have to congratulate Darren later, he said.—Sorry.

  Veronica even made sure that the door didn’t slam when she was leaving. He wouldn’t sleep. There was too much——Darren would be going to university now. He’d applied for Trinity, Jimmy Sr thought it was, to do something or other. University. For fuck sake. And Veronica—And he couldn’t even get up to congratulate them. And last night He was a useless cunt. He groaned—A complete and utter cunt—

  He’d bring Veronica out for a nice meal somewhere, the works; a bottle of house red wine and all.

  He was still a cunt.

  —It’s for the best, Bimbo explained.—It’s too messy the other way, so—em; okay?

  —Okay, said Jimmy Sr.

  He shrugged. He was afraid to say anything else. He didn’t think he’d get through it.

  —Okay.

  Bimbo had just told him that from now on he’d be paying Jimmy Sr a wage. On Thursdays. Instead of the old way, the fifty-fifty arrangement.

  —Will yeh have another pint? said Bimbo.

  —No.—No, thanks.

  —Come on, yeh will. We’re in no hurry. We’ve time for one more.

  —Okay.

  —Good man.

  He should have told him to stick his wages up his hole, that was what he should have done.

  Veronica was fast asleep beside him, the selfish bitch.

  No, that wasn’t fair. She’d listened to him. She’d even told him to give up the van if he wanted to, she wouldn’t mind.

  He wouldn’t do that though. He couldn’t go back to what it had been like before they’d bought the van—before Bimbo had bought the fuckin’ van. He couldn’t do that; get rid of the video again, stop giving the twins proper pocket money and a few quid to Sharon, and everything else as well—food, clothes, good jacks paper, the few pints, even the dog’s fuckin’ dinner; everything. There was Darren as well now. How many kids went to university with fathers on the labour? No, he’d stick at it.

  That was probably what Bimbo wanted him to do; give up. He probably had a cousin of Maggie’s or somebody lined up to take over from him. Well, he’d be fuckin’ waiting. He’d have to sack him first.

  He wasn’t going to call him Bimbo any more. Veronica was right; it sounded too cosy.

  It was his own fault in a way; some of it. He should have bought the half of the van when he’d thought about it. Months ago. He’d thought he was cute, deciding not to bother; there was no need. He’d just been greedy. And now he was working in someone else’s chipper van, like working in McDonalds or Burger King. Maggie was probably up at her sewing machine making one of those poxy uniforms for him.

  He tried to laugh, quietly.

  —Yes, sir, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Ah stop tha’, said Bimbo,—will yeh.

  —Stop wha’, sir? said Jimmy Sr.

  Bimbo didn’t answer. He lifted the chip basket out of the fat, shook it and dropped it back in.

  Thursdays, he got paid. Like everyone else.

  The second Thursday his pay was in one of the little brown envelopes wages always came in. He looked at it. His name was written on it.

  —Where did yeh get the envelope? he asked.

  —Easons, said Bimbo.

  —Good man, said Jimmy Sr.

  But Bimbo was busy in his corner mixing the batter.

  Jimmy Sr stuck the envelope into his back pocket.

  Bimbo was manning the hatch, and sweating.

  —Two cod, two large! he shouted again.

  He turned and saw Jimmy Sr, leaning against the shelf, pouring himself a cup of tea from his new flask. He was holding a sandwich between his teeth.

  —Jimmy! said Bimbo.—For God sake—

  Jimmy Sr put down the flask and screwed the top back on it. Then he took the sandwich out of his mouth.

  —I’m on me break, he told Bimbo.

  Bimbo looked the way he did when he didn’t know what was going on.

  —I’m entitled to ten minutes’ rest for every two hours that I work, said Jimmy Sr.

  Bimbo still looked lost.

  —I looked it up, said Jimmy Sr.

  He saw that Bimbo’s face was catching up with his brain.

  Bimbo stood back from the hatch. Jimmy Sr took a slug of the tea.

  —I needed tha’, he said.

  —Stop messin’, will yeh, said Bimbo.

  —I’m not messin’, said Jimmy Sr.—I’m entitled to me break.

  —Sure Jaysis, said Bimbo,—we did nothin’ all nigh’ except for a few minutes ago.

  —Not the point, said Jimmy Sr.—Not the point at all. I was here. I was available to work.

  —Hurry up, will
yis!

  That came from outside.

  —I’ve five minutes left, Jimmy Sr told Bimbo.—Then I’ll sweat for yeh.

  —Just get us me fuckin’ cod an’ chips, will yeh!

  Bimbo glared at Jimmy Sr.

  Jimmy Sr looked back at him, through the steam coming up off his tea.

  Bimbo went over and filled two bags with chips and got two cod out of the fryer. Jimmy Sr raised his arm to the small crowd outside and clenched his fist. But no one cheered or clapped or said anything. It was too cold and wet.

  Jimmy Sr and Veronica had the front room to themselves. Jimmy Sr’d just been watching the News. Saddam Hussein was still acting the prick over in Iraq. Veronica had her coat on. She’d just come in; she’d been up at the school registering for more night classes—Leaving Cert History and Geography this time.

  —Geography? Jimmy Sr’d said when she’d come in. —That’s great. You’ll be able to find the kettle when you go into the kitchen.

  —Humour, said Veronica, imitating Darren.

  —Fair play to yeh though, he’d said.—I should do somethin’ as well.

  They were talking about something different now though. Jimmy Sr was going out to work in a few minutes.

  —It’s not too bad now, Jimmy Sr told Veronica.

  —Good, said Veronica.

  —I’m callin’ him Bimbo again, said Jimmy Sr.

  Veronica smiled.

  —I still take me breaks though, said Jimmy Sr.—If I’m goin’ to be just a wage earner—

  —You’ll never be Just anything, Jimmy, don’t worry.

  —Ah Veronica, said Jimmy Sr.—You say lovely things sometimes.

  —Ah—

  —Twice a year, abou’.

  Veronica slapped him. Jimmy Sr leaned over and kissed her cheek. It was still cold, from outside.

  —I’m glad it’s better, said Veronica.—It’d be a shame.

  Jimmy Sr nodded and sighed.

  —I can’t get over it though, he said.—I wouldn’t mind—

  He’d been telling her this for weeks now. She didn’t mind though; he was entitled to feel sorry for himself.

  —but it was his idea in the first fuckin’ place. To be his partner - But there’s no point in-It’s done, wha’.

  Veronica could still get upset thinking about him roaming around the house, stooped and miserable, with nothing to do; trying to smile at her; sitting on the front step watching the girls go by and not even bothering to straighten up for them. Only a few months ago. Waiting for him to creep over to her side of the bed.