The Barrytown Trilogy (58 page)

Darren was a broke vegetarian.

—Okay, he said. ——Eh —— okay.

—Sound, said Jimmy Sr.

They shook on it. That was great. It would be terrific having Darren working beside him, fuckin’ marvellous.

—Wha’ abou’ burgers? said Jimmy Sr.

Darren didn’t look happy.

—There’s fuck all meat in them, Jimmy Sr assured him.

—No.

—Fair enough, said Jimmy Sr.

He liked the way Darren had said no.

—I was just chancin’ me arm, he said. —How’s Miranda?

—Okay, said Darren.

—Good, said Jimmy Sr. —She’s a lovely-lookin’ girl.

Darren wanted to escape but what his da had said there needed some sort of an answer.

—Thanks, he said. —Yeah; she’s fine. Someone ran over her dog a few weeks ago, and she was a bit—, but she’s alrigh’ now.

—Where was tha’? said Jimmy Sr.

—Howth.

—A Jack Russell?

——Eh, yeah. How did yeh know?

—I didn’t, Jimmy Sr told him. —It’s just, nearly all the dogs yeh see dead on the road seem to be Jack Russells. Did yeh ever notice tha’ yourself?

—No.

—Keep an eye ou’ for them an’ yeh’ll see what I mean.

* * *

The weather picked up. There were a few good, sunny days on the trot and suddenly everyone was going around looking scalded.

—Thunderbirds are go, said Jimmy Sr.

They got to Dollymount at half-three. Sharon was with them. There was a Mister Whippy on their spot. Bimbo had a photocopy of the Corporation permit in his back pocket. Jimmy Sr took it and went up to have it out with Mister Whippy. He got in the queue, with Sharon. Bimbo stayed with the van. The kid in front of Jimmy Sr ran off with his two 99s to get back to the beach before they melted, and Jimmy Sr was next.

—Yeah? said Mister Whippy. Jimmy Sr looked up at him.

—What d’yeh want? said Mister Whippy.

—Justice, said Jimmy Sr.

He held out the permit and waved it.

—Have a decco at tha’, he said.

Mister Whippy, a spotty young lad, looked scared.

—What is it? said the young fella.

—Can yeh not read? said Jimmy Sr.

—It’s a permit, said Sharon.

—That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr. —My glamorous assistant, Sharon, is quite correct there.

Young Mister Whippy was still lost but he was braver as well.

—So wha’? he said.

—So fuck off, said Jimmy Sr.

He took back the permit.

—It’s ours, he said. —We paid for this patch here, where you are. We did, you didn’t. You’ve no righ’ to be here, so hop it; go on.

Mister Whippy couldn’t decide what to do.

—Go on, said Jimmy Sr. —Yeh can go over to the other side o’ the roundabout.

—No one’ll see me there.

—We’ll tell them you’re there, said Jimmy Sr. —Won’t we?

—Yeah, said Sharon.

—An’ anyway, said Jimmy Sr. —Yeh can play your music an’ they’ll hear yeh.

Mister Whippy still didn’t look too sure.

—Listen, said Jimmy Sr. —Shift now or we’ll fuckin’ ram yeh.

He stepped back from the van and shouted.

—Rev her up there, Bimbo!

Bimbo turned the key and then Mister Whippy got behind the wheel and did the same thing, and moved away around to the far side of the roundabout, away from the dunes.

—Seeyah, said Sharon and she waved.

Bimbo brought the van up to them.

Mister Whippy turned on The Teddy Bears’ Picnic.

—They’re playin’ our song, Jimmy Sr told Bimbo.

For about a week the weather stayed that way, grand and hot, no sign of a cloud. They came down to Dollier at half-three or so and stayed till half-six and went home with a clatter of new pound coins jingling away in their money box. It was easy enough going; didn’t get hectic till after five. Sharon went over to the beach and got some sun and Jimmy Sr and Bimbo hung around the van and watched the world go by. Then coming up to teatime they’d climb into the van and stoke up the furnace. Then the crowds came up over the dunes and the smell hit them, and no one can resist the smell of chips.

The only bad thing was having to stare down at all those peeling faces staring up at you outside the van. Noses, arms, foreheads; it was fuckin’ revolting. Red raw young ones with shivery legs would take their bags of stuff and give you their money, turn around to get away from the van and they’d be white on the other side. Sharon wasn’t like that; she’d more sense. She did herself front and back and the sides as well, even.

—Like a well-cooked burger, Jimmy Sr told her.

—Jesus!

—It’s a compliment, it’s a compliment.

—Thanks!

The only other bad thing about the beach business was the sand. It got into everything. Even with no wind to blow it they’d find a layer of it on the hatch counter, on the shelves, grains of it floating on top of the cooking oil before they lit the
burner; everywhere. Jimmy Sr did a burger for himself and when he bit into it, before his teeth met, he could feel the sand in the bundie. He chewed very carefully. When they got the van back to Bimbo’s they had to get damp cloths and go over everything with them, to pick up the sand, but they never got all of it. Jimmy Sr always had a shower before he went out again to do the closing-time business and there was enough sand up his hole and in his ears to build a block of flats. He couldn’t understand it because he never went down to the beach, except once or twice to see if there was anything worth looking at; and there never was, hardly ever. He’d keep his eyes on the ground till he got to the beach and then he’d look around him, hoping, and all he ever saw was scorched gobshites getting more scorched. And white lines where bra straps got in the way of the sun. Dollier definitely wasn’t like the resort in some island in Greece or somewhere he’d seen in a blue video Bertie’d lent him a few years ago; my Jaysis, the women in that place!; walking around with fuck all on, not a bother on them. Climbing out of the pool so that their tits were squeezed together; bending over so he could see the water dripping off their gee hairs. There were no women like that in Dollymount. It was mostly mammies with their kids. Still though, they were good for business. There was nothing like a screaming kid to get a ma to open her purse. He couldn’t see the brassers in that video going mad for chips; and, anyway, they’d probably have wanted them for nothing.

* * *

It was busy, getting dark; the Living Dead were out there somewhere. Bimbo had had to dash home for a shite, so Jimmy Sr was by himself at the hatch, taking the orders. And he’d three burgers doing on the hotplate and he asked Darren to turn them for him, and he wouldn’t do it.

—I’m not askin’ yeh to eat them, said Jimmy Sr, trying not to sound too snotty in front of the customers. —I only want yeh to turn them fuckin’ over.

Darren said nothing, and he didn’t do anything either.

—Darren? said Jimmy Sr.

But Darren just started filling the bags with chips.

—Fuck yeh, said Jimmy Sr and he got back to the hotplate and picked the fish slice up off the floor.

The burgers were welded to the plate; they were part of the plate.

—Look wha’ you’re after doin’, said Jimmy Sr.

Darren said nothing.

One of the punters outside spoke up.

—If that’s my burger you’re messin’ with there I’m not takin’ it, he told Jimmy Sr.

Jimmy Sr had had enough.

—Righ’, he said. —Fuck off then. An’ get your burger somewhere else. ——Annyone else want to complain?

But Bimbo came back and took over at the hatch. And with Bimbo blocking the view Jimmy Sr was able to get the burgers off the hot plate and into their bundies without doing too much damage to them. He dipped them into the deep fat fryer to make them juicy and then trapped them in the bundies before they dripped or fell apart.

—There, he said. —No help to you.

Darren said nothing.

Dunphies were out of the question as well as far as Darren was concerned and they had to go into the deep fat fryer with the fish, so Darren would stand back and get out of Jimmy Sr or Bimbo’s way while they fished out the dunphies. It was stupid. Still but, they had to respect Darren’s beliefs. Jimmy Sr told that to Maggie after Bimbo had told her about Darren and his vegetarianism.

—At least he has the courage of his convictions, he said.

He wasn’t really sure what that meant but it shut Maggie up. Not that she’d been giving out or anything; she’d just thought it was funny that someone called Rabbitte was a vegetarian. Jimmy Sr couldn’t see anything particularly funny about that.

Where Darren was way out of line, way out – just the once – was when he objected to the dunphies going into the same cooking oil as the fish.

—Wha’!?

—Part of the meat is left in the oil.

—So?

—It gets into the fish.

—It does in its hole. Nothin’ would get through tha’ batter. Bimbo made it.

Darren laughed but he kept going on all night about contaminating the oil and he put a face on him every time Jimmy Sr leaned over and dropped a dunphy into the fryer; he got on Jimmy Sr’s wick.

No one had ordered a dunphy; he just did it to annoy Darren; he deserved it.

—’Xcuse me, Darren, till I drop this into the holy of holies.

He blessed the dunphy as it sank down and bobbed up again between two pieces of cod.

—Make sure they don’t touch there, said Jimmy Sr. —We don’t want any bits o’ cod gettin’ into the dunphy an’ poisonin’ someone.

Darren had one last bash at explaining osmosis to Jimmy Sr. He was halfway through it when Jimmy Sr turned on him.

—Spare me the fuckin’ lecture, righ’, an’ just do your fuckin’ job.

He flicked a dunphy into the fryer so that it would send some oil flying in Darren’s direction. Darren got some of it on his arms. He said nothing but he went outside.

Jimmy Sr’s ears hummed while he waited for Darren to come back. He prayed for him to come back but he wouldn’t go to the door to look out; he wouldn’t even look at it.

He felt Darren going past him, on his way back to the fryer.

—Sorry, he said.

He looked at Darren: he looked fine.

——Okay? said Jimmy Sr.

——Yeah.

—Grand; —— sorry.

* * *

They were all set to move out. It was the hottest day yet, Jimmy Sr reckoned. All they were waiting for now was Sharon.

—What’s she at? said Jimmy Sr. —Jesus tonigh’.

She had Gina with her, in the buggy.

—Mammy can’t mind her, she said before Jimmy Sr could ask her. —An’ the twins won’t.

—Yeh can’t bring the baby —

—Give us a hand, said Sharon.

She went round and opened the back door. She climbed in.

—Jesus!

The heat hit her.

Jimmy Sr picked up the buggy with Gina still in it and passed it in to Sharon.

—It’s fuckin’ dangerous—, he said.

—We’ll be grand, said Sharon. —Won’t we, Gina?

Gina was looking around. She liked what she saw. She tried to free herself. Sharon sat up on the hatch counter and held the buggy close to her, between her legs.

—I don’t know —, said Jimmy Sr.

He shut the door.

Bimbo went very carefully. An oul’ one on crutches could have gone faster.

—It’ll be fuckin’ dark by the time we get there, said Jimmy Sr.

—I don’t want to be responsible for an injury, Bimbo told him. —’Specially to a baby.

But they got there. Jimmy Sr got Gina to sit on a shelf and gave her a Twix to keep her quiet for a bit and Sharon folded the buggy and put it in on top of the driver’s seat. It wasn’t too bad that way. Bimbo showed Gina how to make batter and he got her down off the shelf and let her dip a slab of cod into it. That was a mistake because now she had to dip everything into it, including herself. But it was nice having her in the van there; it was kind of exciting, as if they were performing for her. Bimbo put her back up on the shelf out of harm’s way, and Jimmy Sr gave her the other half of the Twix.

But she nearly fell into the deep fat fryer. She’d crawled nearer to it and she was leaning over to look at the bubbles and the smoke when Jimmy Sr saw her, roared and caught her. He didn’t really catch her, cos she wasn’t falling, but he told Sharon he did. The poor little thing was wringing with the sweat, so Jimmy Sr put her on the hatch counter to dry. She knocked the salt and pepper and a load of bags out onto the path. A load of young ones saw her and came over to look at her and say hello and wave at her but they didn’t buy anything, of course.

—Get us the salt an’ pepper there, will yeh, love, Jimmy Sr asked a young one.

—Get it yourself, she said.

They all walked off, laughing.

—Hope yeh got skin cancer! Jimmy Sr roared after them.

—Jesus, Daddy!

—Bitches.

—Bitis! said Gina after them.

—Good girl yourself, said Jimmy Sr.

They couldn’t keep her on the counter because she’d get in the way and she was bound to fall out so what Jimmy Sr did was, he went into the dunes and found a plank. He brought it back to the van and gave it a good wipe and used up most of the milk bottle of water to clean it. It was long enough to go over the top of the chip bin and that made a seat for Gina, in the corner, away from danger. She complained a bit; the plank was wet. Bimbo put a cloth under her.

Serving was easier here than at closing time cos there wasn’t a mad rush of people. It was good, a gradual, steady flow of customers. Jimmy Sr liked it. It was a good way to start the working day.

—Have yeh anny spicey burgers, Mister?

—They’re on the menu, said Jimmy Sr, but not in a snotty way.

—Oh yeah, said the young fella. —How much are they?

Jimmy Sr pointed at the price on the board.

—There; look it.

—Oh yeah.

The kid was a bit simple, he could tell; the way his mouth hung open.

—D’yeh want chips as well? he asked him.

—Yeah.

—Have yeh the money on yeh?

—Me ma’s comin’, said the kid.

—Fair enough, said Jimmy Sr. —Will she want annythin’ herself, would yeh say?

—Wha’?

—Will she be long?

—She’s comin’.

—Okay, said Jimmy Sr.