The Van

  —Come ou’ till I dry yeh.

  Larrygogan put his chin on the floor and barked at Jimmy Sr.

  Jimmy Sr always thought that that bark, the real cheeky one, sounded like Get fucked. And the way his ears jumped up when he said it—not said it, not really; just barked—but he looked like he was saying it, giving cheek to Jimmy Sr, his master. It was gas.

  —Come on ou’ here, yeh renegade, yeh.

  The dog barked again.

  —Here, Darren; go round there an’ shove him ou’ to me. Jimmy Sr stared at Larrygogan.

  —You’re fucked now, he said.

  —Stop that, said Veronica.

  —Sorry, Veronica, he said.

  He loved this.

  Darren was at the other side of the table. He got down on his knees and stretched in under the table and pushed Larrygogan - Larrygogan was chin down, arse up - but Larrygogan pushed back against Darren’s open hands. The dog’s paws slid a bit but he stayed put, and Darren had to climb in under the table. He was bursting his shite laughing now, and so was Jimmy Sr.

  —Mind he doesn’t fart on yeh, he told Darren.

  —Oh Jaysis, said Darren, and he couldn’t push properly any more because he was laughing so much.

  Larrygogan was winning.

  —Ah, leave him, said Jimmy Sr.

  He stood up.

  —Let him catch his death. He deserves to die, the fuckin’ eejit of a dog.

  Darren got out and up from under the table. They grinned at each other but then Darren sat down and started reading his book. Jimmy Sr shut the door. Larrygogan charged out to the hall.

  He still had a good breakfast these days, the fry and loads of toast and a bowl of Cornflakes as well sometimes if he still felt a bit empty. They used to have Sugar Puffs and the rest of them; every time there was a new ad on the telly the twins had to have a box of the new things. But they only had the Cornflakes now. They were the best. Tea as well, loads of it. He only had coffee later on in the day, and sometimes he didn’t bother. He didn’t need it. Tea though, he loved his cup of tea; twenty bleedin’ cups.

  He had a mug for work that he’d had for years; he still had it. It was a big plain white one, no cracks, no stupid slogans. He put two teabags into it; used to. My God, he’d never forget the taste of the first cup of tea in the morning, usually in a bare room in a new house with muck and dirt everywhere, freezing; fuck me, it was great; it scalded him on the way down; he could feel it all the way. And the taste it left; brilliant; brilliant. He always used two bags, squeezed the bejesus out of them. The mug was so big it warmed more than just his hands. It was like sitting in front of a fire. After a few gulps he’d sip at it and turn around and look at his work. He always got a few walls done before he stopped for the tea. Even if the other lads were stopping he kept going, till he felt he needed it; deserved it. He’d look around him at the plastering. It was perfect; not a bump or a sag, so smooth you’d never know where he’d started. Then he’d gulp down the rest of the tea and get back to it. The mug was outside in the shed, in a bag with his other work stuff. He’d wrapped toilet paper around it.

  —You’ll get drenched goin’ to school, Darren, he said.

  —Yeah, said Darren.

  —Still, said Jimmy Sr.—It’ll save yeh the bother o’ washin’ yourself, wha’.

  —Yeah, said Darren.

  Darren looked at the rain hitting the window.

  —Jesus, he said.

  —Stop that, said Veronica.

  —That’s the real wet stuff alrigh’, Jimmy Sr told Darren.

  —I’ve P.E. today, Darren told him.

  —Is tha’ righ’? said Jimmy Sr.—Ah, they’ll never send yeh ou’ in tha’; they couldn’t.

  —They did the last time.

  —Did they, the cunts?

  Veronica put his plate in front of him and then walloped him across the head.

  —Sorry, he said.

  He took out tenpence and dropped it in the swearbox.

  —D’yeh want a note for the teacher? he asked Darren.

  —He does not, said Veronica.

  —No, said Darren.—I don’t mind. It might stop.

  —That’s very true.

  Darren got back to his book and his breakfast. Jimmy Sr picked up his knife and fork.

  —Wha’ have we here? he said.

  Darren kept reading. Veronica was busy. So he just chopped a bit of sausage off, put it on a piece of toast, closed the toast over on it and bit into it. The marge was lovely and warm.

  The twins came in.

  —You’re to sign this, Linda told Jimmy Sr.

  -Get back upstairs and get that stuff off, said Veronica.

  —Ah, Mammy—

  —Go on!—You too, she told Tracy.

  Tracy followed Linda out into the hall.

  —It’s not fair! they heard Linda.

  —Wha’ was tha’ abou’? Jimmy Sr wanted to know.

  —They were wearing eye-shadow, said Veronica.

  —Oh.

  —They were sent home last week for having it on, said Veronica.

  —It’s crazy, said Darren.—It’s pitiful.

  Jimmy Sr wasn’t sure.

  —They’re a bit young, he said.

  —Sixth years aren’t allowed to have it on either, Darren told Jimmy Sr.

  —Ah then, said Jimmy Sr.—Then you’re righ’, Darren. That’s just stupid.

  —It’s a school rule, said Veronica.

  —That’s right as well, o’ course, said Jimmy Sr.

  Darren was standing up, putting his book marker carefully into place so it wouldn’t fall out.

  —If everybody had that attitude, he said,—nothing would ever change.

  Jimmy Sr didn’t know what to do. He liked hearing Darren talk like that, but he was being cheeky as well; to his mother. There was something about the way Darren spoke since his voice broke that left Jimmy Sr confused. He admired him, more and more; he was a great young fella; he was really proud of him, but he thought he felt a bit jealous of him as well sometimes; he didn’t know. Anyway, he wasn’t going to be let talk like that to his mother. That was out.

  But the twins were back.

  —You’re to sign this.

  Linda had spoken to him.

  —Wha’?

  —Here.

  —Yeah, said Jimmy Sr.—Why but?

  He took Linda’s homework journal from her.

  —Don’t know, said Linda.—You’re to just sign it.

  Jimmy Sr looked at the cover; Big Fun, Wet Wet Wet, Brother Beyond, Tracy loves Keith. He looked at the back; Linda loves Keith.

  —Lucky Keith, he said.—Where am I to sign?

  Linda took the journal and found the right page.

  —Here, she said.

  There was a page for each week, divided into sections for subject, homework and teachers’ comments.

  —You don’t have to read them, said Linda.

  —Homework not done, Jimmy Sr read.—Persisted in talking.—Homework not done. Cheeky. Stabbed student with compass.—Homework should be done at home.

  He looked up.

  —Fuckin’ hell, he said.—An’ that’s only Monday.

  —Let me see, said Veronica.—My God.

  Linda pointed at one of the comments.

  —I wasn’t cheeky. She just said I was but I wasn’t. An’ he—tha’ one there—he hit me with his ruler so I had to get him back but she didn’t see him hittin’ me, she on’y seen—

  —Saw, said Veronica.

  —She only saw me gettin’ him with the compass. An’ I did not stab him. I on’y—

  —Shut up! said Jimmy Sr.

  He looked at Veronica.

  —Give us a pen, he said to Linda.—Where’s your journal till I see it, he said to Tracy.

  —It’s in school, said Tracy.

  —Why’s tha’?

  —A teacher kept it.

  —Why?

  —He just did.

  Jimmy Sr looked at
Veronica again.

  —You’re grounded, he told the twins.—The two o’ yis. He saw Parent’s Signature, and signed the dotted line.

  —Till when? said Tracy.

  —Till I say so, said Jimmy Sr.—Who told yeh to get me to sign this?

  —Miss McCluskey.

  —Elephant Woman, said Darren, on his way out.

  —Don’t start now, said Jimmy Sr.

  He stared the twins out of it.

  —I’m warnin’ yis, he said.—If one o’ yis laughs I’ll tan your arses for yis.

  Tracy started; she couldn’t keep it in. And that got Linda going.

  —Here, said Jimmy Sr.

  He walloped her with the journal, but not too hard.

  —I’m checkin’ your homework every nigh’, d‘yeh hear me. An’—

  He shouted after them.

  —if I see anny more bad comments I’ll—

  The front door slammed.

  —crucify yis!—The pair o’ them’ll be pushin’ buggies before they’re fifteen.

  —Oh God, said Veronica.—Don’t.

  He looked at Veronica, carefully.

  —I’ll check their eccers every nigh‘, don’t worry. An’ we won’t let them out at all after their tea, an’ that’ll sort them ou’, wait an’ see, Veronica. Fair enough?

  —Okay.

  —I’ll do everythin’. I’ll even sleep in the same bed as them.

  —Jesus, said Veronica.—We’ve enough trouble in the house without that as well.

  Jimmy Sr laughed.

  —Good girl, he said.—An’ you can sleep with Darren. How’s tha’?

  He loved the breakfasts. Pity they went so quick.

  He got up.

  Where was Gina?

  —No rest for the wicked, he said.

  —They’re not real computers annyway, sure they’re not.

  —Not at all, said Veronica.—They’re only toys.

  Jimmy Sr and Veronica were doing a bit of Christmas shopping. It was Thursday morning and more than three weeks to go, so Donaghmede Shopping Centre - where they were—wasn’t too bad, not too crowded. They hadn’t really said it, but they were looking for things that looked good and cost nothing. It reminded Jimmy Sr of when he was a kid and he used to walk along with his head down and pray, really pray, that he’d find money on the path, and he’d close his eyes turning a corner and then open them and there’d be nothing on the ground in front of him.

  —And they’re very bad for your eyes, said Veronica.

  —Is tha’ righ’? said Jimmy Sr.—Oh yeah; I read somethin’ abou’ tha’ somewhere, I think.—Ah well, then. We’d be mad to get one for them.

  They’d just been looking at the computers in a window. They were for nothing, dirt cheap; great value they looked. You linked them into the telly and then you could play all kinds of games on them. Jimmy Sr had played Space Invaders once, years ago; only the once, so he hadn’t really got the hang of it, but he’d enjoyed himself. These things looked better; more colours and varieties. It would have been good to have one at home, a bit of gas. And, as well as that, it was a computer, after all; there were probably other things you could do with them, not just play games. Only they couldn’t afford one of the fuckin’ things. Last year now, last year they’d have bought—

  —Sure, who’d we give it to? said Veronica.

  —The twins. I suppose.

  —They wouldn’t be interested, said Veronica.—They’d hate you if you gave them one of them.

  She laughed.

  —I’d love to see the look on their faces if they thought they were getting a computer game for Christmas.

  Jimmy Sr laughed as well now.

  —Yeah, he said.—I just thought they looked the business, yeh know. Darren?

  —He’d be insulted.

  She was right.

  —You’d be the only one who’d use it, said Veronica.

  He made himself smile.

  —True, he said.

  —We’ll get you an Airfix instead, said Veronica.

  It was crying alright; she was crying.

  Jimmy Sr was outside Sharon’s room. He’d come up for his book.

  Sharon snuffled.

  Jimmy Sr held the door handle. He was going to go in.

  But he couldn’t.

  He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t have known what to do any more.

  He went back down to the kitchen very carefully, and stepped down over the stair with the creak in it.

  Veronica had been in already to have a look at her. It was his turn now. One, two—

  He grabbed the handle and went straight into the front room.

  —Sorry, Darren; for bargin’ in on yeh—Oh, hello.

  —Hi.

  She smiled. God, she was lovely.

  He held his hand out to her.

  —Darren’s da, he said.—Howyeh.

  She blushed a bit; lovely.

  —This is Miranda, Darren told Jimmy Sr.

  —Sorry, said Jimmy Sr.—I didn’t catch—

  —Miranda, said Darren.

  —Miranda, said Jimmy Sr.—Howyeh, Miranda.

  —Fine, thank you, said Miranda.

  —’Course yeh are, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Were yeh lookin’ for somethin’ in particular? Darren asked him.

  He had one of his smirks on him, one of his they-treat-me-like-a-kid ones. But he was chuffed as well, you could tell.

  Jimmy Sr patted him on the head.

  —I am indeed, Darren, son, he said.—I’m lookin’ for Gina.

  —She’s not here.

  —No, that’s true, Jimmy Sr agreed.—But Miranda is, wha’. Bye bye, Miranda.

  He shut the door after him. She was a cracker alright. Veronica’d said she was lovely but women always said that other women were lovely and they weren’t; they hadn’t a clue. Miranda though, she was a—

  A ride; she was. It was weird thinking it; his son was going out with a ride; but it was true. He could’ve given himself a bugle now, out here in the hall, just remembering what she was like and her smile; no problem.

  He’d never gone out with a young one like that.

  He went back into the kitchen to tell Veronica he liked her.

  There were days when there was this feeling in his guts all the time, like a fart building up only it wasn’t that at all. It was as if his trousers were too tight for him, but he’d check and they weren’t, they were grand; but there was a little ball of hard air inside in him, getting bigger. It was bad, a bad sort of excitement, and he couldn’t get rid of it. It was like when he was a kid and he’d done something bad and he was waiting for his da to come home from work to kill him. He used to use his belt, the bollix. He didn’t wear a belt; he only kept it for strapping Jimmy Sr and his brothers; under the sink he kept it, a big leather thing; he’d take ages bending over, looking for it and then testing it on the side of the sink and saying Ah yes as if he was pleased with it; and he’d stare at Jimmy Sr and make him stare back and then Jimmy Sr’d feel the pain on the side of his leg and again and again and it was fuckin’ terrible and it was worse if he took his eyes off his da’s eyes, the fuckin’ sadistic cunt, so he had to keep staring back at him; it was agony, but not as bad as the waiting. Waiting for it was the worst part. If he did something early in the day and his mother said she was going to tell his da, that was it; she never changed her mind. He’d go through the whole day scared shitless, waiting for his da to come home, praying that he’d go for a pint first or get knocked down by a car or fall into a machine at work or get a heart attack, any fuckin’ thing.

  And that was how he sometimes - often - felt now, scared shitless. And he didn’t know why.

  —Did yeh ever read David Copperfield, Veronica? said Jimmy Sr.

  —No, said Veronica.

  She was reading Lord of the Flies at the kitchen table.

  —Did yeh not? said Jimmy Sr.—Ah, it’s very good.

  The best thing he’d ever done was give
up on that Man in the Iron Mask fuckology.

  —Look at the size of it but, he said.—Eight hundred pages. More. Still though, it’s the business. There’s this cunt in it called Mr Micawber an‘, I’m not jokin’ yeh—D’yeh want to read it after me, Veronica?

  Veronica finished the note she was taking, about: Piggy getting his head smashed. She knew what he wanted her to say.

  —Okay, she said.

  —Do yeh? said Jimmy Sr.—Fair enough. I’d better finish it quick so. I’ve to bring it back to the library on the twenty-first of December.

  He checked the date.

  —Yeah, he said.

  —We’ve loads of time, said Veronica.

  —’Course we have, said Jimmy Sr.

  He was delighted. He didn’t know why, exactly.

  —Do you want this one when I’m finished with it? Veronica asked him.

  —Okay, said Jimmy Sr.—That’s a good idea. A swap, wha’.

  —Yes, said Veronica.

  He looked at her reading and stopping and taking her notes. He wondered if maybe he should take notes as well. He sometimes forgot what—

  No; that would just have been thick; stupid.

  —I’ll go up an’ get a few more chapters read before the tea, he told Veronica.

  —Grand, said Veronica.

  —They’re stupid fuckin’ things annyway, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Ah—I know, but—

  Veronica wasn’t convinced.

  Jimmy Sr picked up one of the cards.

  —For instance, he said,—look at this one, look it. Dessie an’ Frieda; they only live around the fuckin’ corner, we see them every fuckin’ day!

  Veronica’s face was the same.

  —Annyway, said Jimmy Sr.—It’s you says tha’ we can’t send any, not me.

  Veronica’s face hardened. Jimmy Sr got in before she could.

  —You said we can’t afford them, he said.—I don’t mind.

  —We can’t afford them, said Veronica.

  —There, said Jimmy Sr.—Yeh said it again. We can’t afford them. So we won’t send any.—So wha’ are yeh whingin’ abou’? It’s your idea.

  Veronica sighed. She just looked sad again.