The Barrytown Trilogy (54 page)

—We need more water, love, he told her.

Sharon was lost.

—Pop over the road an’ she’ll fill them for yeh, Bimbo told her. —Rita Fleming; Missis Fleming. D’yeh know which house she’s in?

——Yeah.

She didn’t do anything yet though. She thought she’d been told to go over to the Flemings with two milk bottles and ask Missis Fleming to fill them for her, but she wasn’t sure.

—I asked her earlier, said Bimbo. —There’s no problem. So long as it’s not too late.

—Can I not just run home —

—Do wha’ you’re told, said Jimmy Sr.

—Who rattled your cage? said Sharon.

—Customers! said Bimbo. —Quick, love; off yeh go.

He said it just when Jimmy Sr got the last lump of burger off the hotplate; his timing couldn’t have been better.

—Great stuff, said Jimmy Sr.

Sharon looked out the back door, and there was a gang of women coming towards the van, getting their money out of their handbags.

—There’s loads of them, she said, and she ran across the road to Flemings.

Jimmy Sr got the basket of chips – he’d been waiting all night to do this – and dropped it into the oil, and nearly fuckin’ blinded himself.

—Ahhh!!! —— Jaysis!! —— Me fuckin’ ——

He thought he was blinded. Little spits of fat stung all his face; he kept his eyes clamped shut.

—Are yeh alrigh’?

Bimbo didn’t sound all that worried.

—Me eyes, said Jimmy Sr.

—Oh, that’s shockin’, said Bimbo. —Here, he said. —Wash them.

He handed Jimmy Sr one of the milk bottles.

—Jesus, said Jimmy Sr.

He poured a small amount of water into his palm and gave his face a wipe. That was better. The stinging was gone. It was no joke though; he’d have to be careful. He didn’t want to end up like the Phantom of the fuckin’ Opera.

He was ready. He lifted the basket and shook it, and carefully dropped it back in; he wasn’t sure why but he’d seen it being done all his life; to check if the chips were done, he supposed.

—Nearly ready over here, he told Bimbo. —Action stations, wha’.

Sharon was back with the milk bottles, full.

—Good girl, said Jimmy Sr. —Yeh missed me accident.

—They’re takin’ their time, said Sharon.

She was talking about the women outside, who were still approaching the van very slowly.

—Oul’ ones are always like tha’, said Jimmy Sr. —Yeh’d swear it was fur coats they were buyin’.

—What’ll I do now? Sharon asked.

—Help Bimbo with the orders, said Jimmy Sr. —I’d say. We’ll have to play it by ear.

She nearly pushed him up on to the hotplate getting her apron on, but he said nothing.

—How’re yis all? Bimbo said out the hatch, and Jimmy Sr went over to have a look at the oul’ ones himself.

There was a big crowd of them alright, a good few quid’s worth, if they ever made their fuckin’ minds up. He could tell; they were coming home from bingo. They were real diehards.
Imagine: going to bingo on the night Ireland were playing their first ever World Cup match, and against England as well.

—Wha’ are yis havin’, girls? said Jimmy Sr.

No joy; they were still making their minds up. Jimmy Sr got back to his post. The chips were done. He gave the basket a good fuckin’ shake, and another one for good measure, and emptied the chips into the tray. He’d another basket ready with more chips and he lowered that into the fryer, but he stood well back this time. The going was getting very hot though.

The women were up at the counter now.

—A fresh cod, Sharon called back to him.

—Yahoo! said Jimmy Sr, and he slipped the cod into the fryer. Jesus, the noise; like having your ear up to a jet engine.

—Another one.

—A smoked, said Bimbo.

They were in business now alright.

Another five cods, three smoked ones, a spice-burger and an ordinary burger; now they were working.

—Chips just, said Sharon.

—Comin’ up.

He got the scoop in under the chips and got a grand big load into the bag, filled it right up. Good, big chips they were, and a lovely colour, most of them; one or two of them were a bit white and shiny looking.

—There yeh go.

He held them out for Sharon, and she dropped them.

—Not to worry, he said.

He filled another bag.

Bimbo was still taking orders.

—Three spice-burgers, two smoked cod —

Jimmy Sr sang.

—AN’ A PAR-TRIDGE IN A PEAR TREE
.

The fryer was getting very full now. Some of the yokes at the top were hardly in the cooking oil at all. He skidded on the chips Sharon had dropped and nearly went on his arse. He kicked them out the back door but some of them were stuck
to the floor. The fuckin’ heat, the sweat was running off him. There was too much for one man here.

—Gis a hand here, Sharon.

Sharon left Bimbo at the counter.

—Righ’, Bimbo, shout ou’ those orders again till we get them sorted ou’.

He heard Bimbo.

—Wha’ was it you ordered, love?

—I told yeh, said some oul’ wagon. ——A cod an’ a small chips.

—Got yeh, Jimmy Sr called back. —Hope she fuckin’ chokes on them, he said to Sharon.

Sharon was managing the chips and Jimmy was taking the other stuff out of the fryer. He had one of those tongs yokes but you had to be careful with it cos if you held the fish too tight it fell apart on you and if you didn’t it dived back into the fryer and you had to jump back quick or suffer the fuckin’ consequences. But he thought he had the knack of it. He dropped the cod into a small greaseproof bag and Sharon took it and put it into the big brown bag, along with the chips. They worked well together, Sharon and Jimmy Sr. They didn’t bump into each other. It was like they were two parts of the same machine.

The only problem now was Bimbo. He was good with the oul’ ones and he handled the salt and vinegar like a professional, but he couldn’t count for fuck.

—A cod an’ a small ——. Eh, ——that’s, eh —

—One sixty-five, Sharon called back to him.

—Good girl, said Jimmy Sr.

They were nearly through with the oul’ ones; there were no more orders coming in. It was coming up to closing time though and then there’d be murder, with a bit of luck.

—One eighty, Sharon called.

She was sharp, that girl. She didn’t even have to think first.

He couldn’t make up his mind if the last spice-burger was done yet. He blew on it and poked it with a finger; it left a mark.

—Grand.

He dropped it into its bag and gave it to Sharon.

—I’ll give poor Bimbo a hand, he said.

Most of the women were still out there but away from the counter, up against the carpark wall eating their stuff. There were only a few left at the counter.

—Wha’ was yours? he asked one of them.

—A chips an’ a spicey burger.

She was tiny. He nearly had to climb out over the counter to see her.

—Large or small? said Jimmy Sr.

—Large, she said.

—An’ why not, said Jimmy Sr.

This was good crack. Sharon handed him the bag.

—The works?

—Oh yes.

He did the salt first, shook the bag to make sure it went well in. He looked at the women. They were real bingo heads alright; all the same, like a gang of twenty sisters.

—That’s enough, said the little woman.

He showed her the vinegar bottle.

—Say when, he said.

She had a nice enough face, he could see now.

—There y’are now, he said, and he held the bag for her to collect.

—Thanks v’ much. How much is tha’?

—Eh —

—One twenty-five, said Sharon.

—One twenty-five, said Jimmy Sr.

He waited while she put tenpences and twentypences up on the counter.

—Sorry —

—No no, said Jimmy Sr. —Take your time.

—I want to get rid of my change.

—Well, yeh came to the righ’ place, love.

There was a nice breeze coming in. Jimmy Sr held his arms out a bit, but nothing too obvious.

Bimbo was nearly having a row with the last of the women.

—D’you take butter vouchers? she asked him.

—No, he said. —God, no.

—They take them in the newsagents, she told him.

You couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She’d probably held back till the end so the other women wouldn’t hear her. Still though, they weren’t running a charity.

—Only money, Bimbo told her.

—Or American Express, said Jimmy Sr, and he gave Bimbo a nudge. —We’ll give yeh a shout when we start sellin’ butter, he told the woman, for a joke. She didn’t laugh though, and he felt like a prick. His face was hot and getting hotter. Still, if she could afford to go to bingo then she could afford to pay for her supper.

That was it. They’d all been served, and they were all stuffing their faces, beginning to move away. Jimmy Sr, Bimbo and Sharon watched them.

—Tha’ was grand, said Bimbo. —Wasn’t it?

—Money for jam, said Jimmy Sr.

They looked around. The place was in bits already.

—I’ll do more batter, said Bimbo.

—Good man, said Jimmy Sr. —But make it a bit stronger, will yeh. It keeps comin’ off the fish.

Sharon got down and started wiping the mushed-up chips off the floor. One of the bingo women came back.

—Yes, Missis? said Jimmy Sr.

—D’yeh sell sweets? she asked him.

She was one of those culchie-looking women, roundy and red.

—Mars or Twix just, Jimmy Sr told her.

—A Twix.

—Comin’ up, said Jimmy Sr.

He got the Twix out from under the hotplate and wiped the grease off it with his apron.

—There y’are, he said. —Best before April ’92. You’ve loads o’ time, wha’.

She laughed, and then Jimmy Sr saw it.

—Oh good shite.

It was a stampede, that was what it was, coming out of the Hikers.

—Yeh’d better be quick with tha’ batter, he said to Bimbo.

—Why’s tha’? said Bimbo, and he looked out.

—Oh, mother o’ God.

Sharon looked.

—Jesus, she said. —I’m scarleh.

Jimmy Sr gave the woman her threepence change.

—Yeh’d want to get out o’ the way there, he told her. —You’ll be fuckin’ trampled on.

The woman did a legger.

There was an almighty crowd coming out, pouring out of the place, still going Olé olé olé olé. It was mostly the younger ones. There was suddenly a couple of hundred people in the carpark, and then one of them saw the van.

—Yeow!!

They stopped Oléing and looked at the van.

—Charge!

—Oh my fuck —, said Jimmy Sr. —Red alert; red alert.

It was like Pearl fuckin’ Harbor. Jimmy Sr had half said —Form a queue there, when they hit the van.

—Oh, mother o’ shite!

It hopped; they lifted it up off the road. One of the bars holding up the hatch skipped and Jimmy Sr just caught it before it fell and skulled someone outside.

—A cod an’ a large!

—Curry chips, Mister.

—Howyeh, Sharon!

—
OLÉ——OLÉ OLÉ OLÉ

—I was first!

—Are yis Irish or Italians or wha’?

—Yeow, Sharon!

—Sharon; here! We’re first, righ’.

—Give us a C!!

Bimbo was covered in batter. Sharon was trying to get the spilt fat off her shoes.

—Give us a H!!

It was madness out there; pande-fuckin’-monium.

—Give us an I!!

There was a young one being crushed against the van. Her neck was digging into the counter.

Bimbo joined Jimmy Sr at the hatch.

—Back now! he roared. —Push back there! There’s people bein’ crushed up here!

—Fuck them!

Jimmy Sr pointed at the young fella who’d said that.

—You’re barred!

They cheered, but they quietened after that.

—Give us a P!

The young one was rubbing her neck but she was alright. Jimmy Sr served her first.

—Wha’ d’yeh want?

—Give us an S!

Jimmy Sr looked out over the crowd.

—Will somebody shut tha’ fuckin’ eejit up! he roared.

—Yeow!!

They cheered and clapped, and Jimmy Sr started to enjoy himself. He lifted his arms and acknowledged the applause —Thank you, thank you – and then got back to business.

—Wha’ was tha’? he asked the young one.

—Curry chips, she said, raising her eyes to heaven.

—No curry chips, Jimmy Sr told her.

—Why not?

—Cos we’re not fuckin’ Chinese, said Jimmy Sr. —This is an Irish Chipper.

—That’s stupih, said the young one.

—Next!

—Hang on, hang on! A large single an’ – an’ –

—Hurry —

—A spice-burger.

—A large an’ a spice, Sharon, please!! Jimmy Sr roared over his shoulder. —Next. —You with the haircut there; wha’ d’yeh want?

—World peace.

—You’re barred. Next!

Sharon had a complaint.

—I can’t do it all on me fuckin’ own!

—Hold the fort there, Bimbo, said Jimmy Sr, and he went back to give Sharon a hand.

It was like that for over an hour after that. They got into a flow; Bimbo would shout back the order and Jimmy Sr and Sharon would pack it, and Bimbo would repeat the order out loud and Sharon would tell him how much it cost, and that way they started flying. The heat though; they were sorry now they’d got Victor, Bimbo’s brother, to block up the window. They had to go to the door now and again, Jimmy Sr and Sharon – Bimbo was alright; he had the hatch – and get some proper air. That was how Jimmy Sr caught a kid trying to disconnect the gas. Such a kick he sent at him, he was blessed that it had missed because he’d have killed the poor little fucker.

When the going got rough up at the hatch one of them would go up and help Bimbo, and when it got rough back at HQ one of them would come back from the hatch: they took turns. The only thing was the heat: Jimmy Sr’s throat was dry and he didn’t have time for a can of 7-Up. Anyway, there wasn’t enough room to drink it comfortably; he’d have got an elbow in the neck. Jimmy Sr took off his apron, then his T-shirt, and put the apron back on.

—You should do this, Sharon, look.

—Ha ha.

He checked to make sure that his knickers were well into his trousers and then he was back to work, throwing the burgers onto the hotplate like there was no tomorrow. It didn’t work though, taking the T-shirt off, not really; it just gave the flying fat more places to hit.