—Grand, he said.
Jimmy Sr looked at Bimbo sometimes, and he was still the same man; you could see it in his face. When he was busy, that was when he looked like his old self. Not when he was hassled; when he was dipping the cod into the batter, knowing that time was running out before the crowds came out of the Hikers. In the dark, with only the two lamps lighting up the van. A little bit of his tongue would stick out from between his lips and he’d make a noise that would have been a whistle if his tongue had been in the right place. He was happy, the old Bimbo.
That wagon of a wife of his had ruined him. She’d taken her time doing it, but she’d done it. That was Jimmy Sr’s theory anyway. There was no other way of explaining it.
—Look it, he told Bertie.—She was perfectly happy all these years while he was bringin’ home a wage.
—Si—, said Bertie in a way that told Jimmy Sr to keep talking.
—She was happy with tha’ cos she thought tha’ that was as much as she was gettin’. Does tha’ make sense, Bertie?
—It does, si. She knew no better.
—Exactly.—Now, but, now. Fuck me, she knows better now. There isn’t enough cod in the fuckin’ sea for her now. Or chips in the fuckin’ ground; Jaysis.
—That’s greed for yeh, compadre.
—Who’re yeh tellin’.
It was good talking to Bertie. It was great.
—It’s her, said Jimmy Sr.—It’s not really Bimbo at all.
—D’yeh think so? said Bertie.
—Ah yeah, said Jimmy Sr.—Def’ny.
—I don’t know, said Bertie.—Yeh might be righ’.——Would you let your mot rule yeh like tha’?
-No way.
—Why d’yeh think he does then?
—She’s different, said Jimmy Sr after a bit.—She’s pushier. She’s—It wouldn’t happen with Veronica, or Vera. He’s soft, there’s that as well—
That was what he believed; that night. You couldn’t be one of the nicest, soundest people ever born and suddenly become a mean, conniving, tight-arsed little cunt; not overnight the way Bimbo had; not unless you were being pushed. He knew what she’d said to Bimbo; he could hear her saying it,—It’s either me or him; something like that. The van or Jimmy Sr.
Bimbo was opening up chips bags, getting his fingers in, spreading them inside and flicking the opened bag off them onto the shelf above the fryer. It was tragic.
Other times, he just hated him.
He missed him.
Bertie was great company but Bertie was Bertie. Bertie didn’t need anybody. He was as hard as fuckin’ rock. Bertie could entertain you all night and listen to your troubles all night but Bertie could never have been your best friend. Bertie didn’t need a best friend.
Jimmy Sr wasn’t like that though. He wished he was, but he wasn’t. When Bertie wasn’t around - and he wasn’t around a lot—Jimmy Sr never missed him; he didn’t feel a hollow. But he missed Bimbo and the fucker was standing beside him shaking the chips.
—Yeah? said Jimmy Sr.
He put the salt and sauce to the side, out of his way.
—Eastern Health Board, said the man outside.
Jimmy Sr was bending to point him to the clinic, beyond the shopping centre, when he noticed the piece of plastic the man was holding up. It was a white identification card. Jimmy Sr didn’t take it. He stood back.
He didn’t look like an inspector. He looked ordinary.
Then Jimmy Sr remembered; he wasn’t the boss.
—There’s someone here wants yeh, he told Bimbo.
It wasn’t his problem. His heart got faster, then slowed. But his throat was very tight, like something big was coming up. It ached. His face tingled; he felt a bit guilty. That wasn’t on though; it wasn’t his problem.
Bimbo rubbed his hands on his trousers to get the flour off them as he came over to the hatch. He looked at Jimmy Sr and out at the man, then looked worried.
It was Friday evening, coming up to the Happy Hour; getting dark.
Bimbo rubbed his hands and made himself smile.
—Yes, sir? he said.—Wha’ can I do for you?
The man held up the card till Bimbo took it.
—Des O’Callaghan, he said.—I’m an environmental health officer with the Eastern Health Board.
How did you get a job like that? Jimmy Sr wondered. Again it struck him how normal Des O’Callaghan looked. Quite a young man too, for an inspector.
Bimbo’s fingers smudged the card so he rubbed it on his shirt, looked to see if it was clean and gave it back to Des O’Callaghan.
—Is somethin’ wrong? Bimbo asked him.
Bimbo looked like he needed company so Jimmy Sr moved over closer to him, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Bimbo would have to sort out this one out for himself.
—I’m going to have to inspect your premises, said Des O’Callaghan.
—D’yeh have a warrant? said Jimmy Sr.
Bimbo looked like he was going to fall, like he wanted to agree with Jimmy Sr but was afraid to.
—I don’t need one, Des O’Callaghan told Jimmy Sr, without even a trace of snottiness or sarcasm. He was good. Jimmy Sr was impressed, and scared.—I’m entitled to inspect these premises under the Food Hygiene Act.
Des disappeared and came in the back door.
—Wipe your feet, said Jimmy Sr.—Only coddin’ yeh.
Des got down on his hunkers and looked around. Jimmy Sr nudged Bimbo. He waited for Des to run a finger along the floor and then look at it, but he didn’t do that. Bimbo thought about getting down beside Des. He bent his knees a bit, then decided not to.
Des was looking under the hotplate now.
—The licence’s at home, said Bimbo.—D’you want me—?
It wasn’t easy talking to the back of the man’s head. Bimbo gave up.
Des stood up. He wasn’t taking notes or anything, or ticking things off. He looked into the chip bin. No harm there, thought Jimmy Sr; the chips were only in it a few minutes. Des looked at the milk bottles full of water. Then he touched something for the first time since getting in. He turned one of the taps at the sink and noticed that it was loose and not connected to anything.
—I’m gettin’ it fixed, said Bimbo.
Des said nothing.
What was he looking at now? Jimmy Sr wondered. He shifted a bit to see. The walls; he was staring at the walls.
—Is everythin’ alrigh’? said Bimbo.
Des still said nothing. Jimmy Sr decided to wipe the hatch counter, to give him something to do. His cloth was bone dry. He nearly had it in the chip bin to rinse it when he saw Des looking at him. He changed his direction just before his hand went into the bin and started wiping the outside of the bin. God, he was a fuckin’ eejit; he hadn’t thought - He whistled. He turned the bin a bit to see if he’d missed any of it, then stood up and went back to the hatch.
He almost didn’t recognise Bimbo, the way he was looking at him. He’d never seen Bimbo look that way before, cold and intelligent. He reddened; he didn’t know why. Then his mind caught up with him—
He thinks I ratted on him. He thinks I ratted on him!
He couldn’t say anything.
Then Des spoke.
—Can I see your hands, please? he said.
—Wha’?
—Your hands, said Des.—Can I see them, please?
—Why? said Jimmy Sr.
Bimbo already had his hands held out, ready to be handcuffed. Then he turned them and opened his palms. Now Jimmy Sr understood. He did the same. He tried to get Bimbo to see him, without making it obvious to the inspector. He hadn’t ratted on him. He had to let him know.
Des looked down at their palms.
—The nails, please.
They flipped their hands over. Bimbo let out a sigh. It sounded cheeky.
—Do we pass? Jimmy Sr asked Des.
If he got snotty with him Bimbo would know that he hadn’t done the dirty on him.
—I’m afraid not, said
Des.
He looked around again.
Jimmy Sr had to lean back against the counter. Oh fuck - He thought he was going to shite, a cramp ran through him: Bimbo thought it was his fault.
—’Fraid not, said Des, just short of cheerfully.
Bimbo still had his hands held out. Des nodded at them.
—I’m finished, he told Bimbo.
Bimbo put his hands into his pockets. Jimmy Sr went to put his hand on Bimbo’s shoulder, then didn’t.
—I’m going to have to close you down, lads, said Des. —I have the power.
Jimmy Sr was surprised he could talk.
—Now, hang on—
—Let me finish, said Des.—Please.—Thanks. Which one of you is the proprietor?
Jimmy Sr pointed.
—He—
—I am., said Bimbo.
Bimbo half-turned, to let Jimmy Sr know that he was to stay out of it.
—I am., Bimbo said again.
—Okay. Mister—?
—Reeves.
—Right, Mister Reeves.—have to tell you that your van poses a grave and serious danger to public health.
Bimbo looked at the floor. Jimmy Sr did too.
—I’m closing you down now, said Des.
—What abou’ our fuckin’ jobs? said Jimmy Sr.
—I haven’t finished speaking yet, said Des.
Bimbo spoke to Jimmy Sr for the first time since this had started.
—Shut up, will yeh.
He didn’t bother looking at him when he said it.
—You close down now, said Des to Bimbo.—The walls are filthy, the floor is filthy, there’s no water supply—
—We’re gettin’ tha’ fixed, he told yeh—
—the foodstuffs aren’t properly covered and stored, the hotplate is dangerous, the oil in the fryer is - I don’t have to tell you. You are personally unclean, especially your colleague behind you. I’m sorry but I’m empowered to make these observations. I’ve no wish to hurt your feelings.
Jimmy Sr shrugged.
—Your clothes are unsafe and your fingernails are what my mother would call a disgrace.
No one laughed.
—Your hair, both of you, is a threat to public health. I could go on all night.—There are enough breaches of the food hygiene regulations in here to land you a hefty fine and even a custodial sentence.
My fuck—
Des let that sink in.
—Jail, d’yeh mean? said Jimmy Sr.
This was crazy.
—I’m afraid so, yes.
—You’re jestin’! Pull the other one, will yeh.
—Shut up, you, said Bimbo.—You’ve done enough already.
—You’re the one goin’ to jail, Jimmy Sr told him.
—Just shut up—!
Bimbo looked around the van.
—It’s not tha’ bad, he said.
—Yes, it is, said Des.—It’s worse.
Fair play to yeh, Jimmy Sr thought. Jimmy Sr liked Des.
—We clean it, Bimbo told him.
Des scratched his ear.
—Will I have to go to court? said Bimbo.
—A week, Mister Reeves, said Des.—What I’m going to do is—
He waited a bit.
—I’m going to give you a week to bring your premises into line with Health Board requirements. I’ll provide you with a list of what you’ll have to do. I’ll come back in a week and if I see that you’ve done your homework we’ll forget that I was here this week.
He smiled, then snapped it back.
—It’s going to be a busy week, Mister Reeves.
Des was great.
Before Bimbo could thank him he started again.
—However, Mister Reeves, I have to warn you—If you fail to carry out even one of the demands on the list I’ll have to close you down. On behalf of the Minister for Health.
Now Bimbo could talk.
—Thanks very much.
Des took a pen and some papers out of his jacket pocket. He clicked the pen and went over to the counter. Jimmy Sr got out of his way. Bimbo followed him. It was some sort of a list; Jimmy Sr couldn’t see it properly. Des put a tick beside nearly everything on it.
Would they have to shave their heads? Jimmy Sr wondered. He was feeling good now; he needed deep breaths.
—I’ll have to get you to sign this for me, Des told Bimbo. —Just there.—That’s right; thank you.—And this one—
He gave Bimbo one of the sheets of paper.
—That’s for you, Mister Reeves, he said.
He clicked his pen again and put it back into his pocket with the other papers.
—Well—, he said.—Next week so—
—Yeah, said Bimbo.—I‘H get goin’ on tha’. All the things—Thanks very much.
—Goodbye, said Des.
—Cheerio, said Jimmy Sr.
—Goodbye, he said to Bimbo.
—Bye bye now, said Bimbo.
Des hopped down the steps, not a bother on him.
—Nice fella, said Jimmy Sr.
—Well—, said Bimbo—I hope you’re happy now, that’s all I can say.
Jimmy Sr had forgotten.
—Wha’? he said.
It was too early to deny anything.
—You know, said Bimbo.
Bimbo wouldn’t look at him.
—No, said Jimmy Sr.—Sorry; I don’t know.
Bimbo scoffed. He moved for the first time since Des had gone, and turned off the fryer and the hotplate. He hesitated a bit before he turned the dial under the plate, then he did it. He took the baskets out of the fryer.
—Large an’ a cod, please.
There was a young one at the hatch.
—We’re closed, said Bimbo.
—We may as well get rid o’ wha’ we have, said Jimmy Sr.
—We’re closed, said Bimbo.
—We’re shut, love, Jimmy Sr told the young one. —Come back next week, he said loud enough for Bimbo to hear.
Bimbo scoffed again, and this time Jimmy Sr wanted to give him a boot up the hole; he was arguing like a woman. He let the hatch door down and it was dark except for the light coming through the back door.
—I had nothin’ to do with this, said Jimmy Sr.
Bimbo said nothing.
—I didn’t, Bimbo; I swear.
—Yeah—, said Bimbo.
He went out and lifted the gas canister up into the van.
—I didn’t, Jimmy Sr told him.—Des just—
—Des—, said Bimbo.
—I never saw or heard of him before today, said Jimmy Sr.
Bimbo said nothing. He made noises like a strangled laugh, but Jimmy Sr couldn’t see his face properly.
—Ah, this is fuckin’ crazy, said Jimmy Sr.—Look it, for fuck sake, it had nothin’ to do with me—
—So yeh said, said Bimbo.
Jimmy Sr could see enough of him to grab him. He pushed him back; Bimbo fell against the chip bin and the shelf behind him stopped him from going back further. The bin went over and there was water everywhere. His legs were soaked but Jimmy Sr ignored it. He had Bimbo by the shirt, and he was up over him because Bimbo’s legs had slipped. He shook him.
—Are yeh listenin’ to me!?
He shook him again. One of the buttons went.
—Are yeh!?
Bimbo slid back more. He was kneeling in the water. Jimmy Sr could have kneed his thick face for him. He took one hand off the shirt and grabbed hair.
—Let me up—!
—I will. I will. Just listen!—
Jimmy Sr had to calm himself. He was all set to pulverise Bimbo. If Bimbo said one thing wrong he’d destroy him. Bimbo stayed still.
—Now—Your man comin’ here—it had nothin’ to do with me, righ’. I didn’t rat on yeh—
He didn’t want to kill him now. He stepped back to give Bimbo room. He held out his hand to help Bimbo up. Bimbo pushed it away.
—I can manage meself.
He could
hear Bimbo grabbing air, like he’d been running. There was a growl in his breathing as well. Jimmy Sr was the same.
—D’yeh believe me? he said.
Bimbo began to lift the bin, then let it go.
—Yeah, he said.—Yeah. I believe yeh.
Sorry—for—
—Forget it, forget it.—Forget it.
Jimmy Sr was exhausted.
—We’ll fix it up, don’t wo-
Jimmy Sr was knocked back before he realised he’d been hit. It wasn’t hard enough to throw him back against the counter but he slid before he steadied himself. Bimbo had thumped him, hard on the chest; but it made more noise than pain. His knuckles would be killing him.
This was terrible. They were coming up to the end. Jimmy Sr gasped a few times and massaged his chest. He was close to crying. And wrecking the place.
—If—, Bimbo started.
He was the same as Jimmy Sr, nearly crying.
—If it hadn’t been your man, he said,—it would’ve been somethin’ else.
—What’s tha’ supposed to mean?
Bimbo didn’t say anything for a while; ages. Jimmy Sr could hear him breathing, and himself; and his heart.
A stone hit the outside of the van. They both jumped.
—Fuck—
Jimmy Sr tried to laugh but only a croak came out. Another stone walloped the wall behind Bimbo.
—Yeh were goin’ to get me anyway, said Bimbo then.—Weren’t yeh?
—Wha’ d’yeh mean—?
—One way or another.
Another stone. It rolled over the roof.
—You were goin’ to get me—
—Fuck off, will yeh.
—The union—
—Fuck off; Jaysis.
—Anythin’ to get at me—
—Shut up.
—Even spreadin’ rumours abou’ me an’ tha’ woman—
—Shut fuckin’ up!
—Make me.
He heard Bimbo move closer to him.
—I said nothin’ about yeh.
—Yeh did.
—I didn’t.
—You were the only one tha’ seen me!
—Well, it wasn’t me, righ’!
Bimbo’d stopped.
Just as well for himself.
He heard Bimbo giggle, forcing himself.
—Am I tha’ bad? he said.
The air seemed wet.
—Yeah, said Jimmy Sr.
He wiped his nose.