The Barrytown Trilogy (60 page)

That was what they said, on nice blue paper.

—Four-course meals? said Jimmy Sr when she was telling them about it. —How’ll we fuckin’ manage tha’?

—Easy, said Maggie.

She’d stick the melon into the fridge in the afternoon so it would be still nice and cold when Bimbo and Jimmy Sr delivered it. They’d use a flask if it was soup; just pour it into the bowls and get it into the houses and onto the tables while there was still steam coming up off it. The main course was no bother because that was what they made all the time anyway.

—What abou’ the sweet but? said Jimmy Sr. —The ice-cream’ll be water by the time they’ve got through their main stuff.

He wasn’t against the idea; he just saw problems with it.

—Well, said Maggie. —You could keep chunks of ice-cream in a flask as well —

—Wha’; with the soup?

—There’s bound to be a mix-up, said Bimbo. —Somewhere along the line.

What they decided on was, one of them would do a legger back to Bimbo’s while the customers were laying into the main course and get the ice-cream out of the fridge and hoof it back. That was Darren’s job. He didn’t mind; he got an almighty slagging from the lads when they saw him running across the Green with a bowl of jelly and ice-cream in each hand but it was better than having to go into the house and
serving the customers, like a bleedin’ waiter. That was Bimbo’s job.

Jimmy Sr shook the flask over the bowl and the last bits of potato slid out and dropped into the soup.

—There now —

There was nothing like a few big chunks of vegetable to make packet soup look like the real thing.

—That’s great lookin’ soup, said Jimmy Sr. —Wha’.

—Lovely, said Bimbo.

—It’s wasted on those fuckers.

—Ah now, said Bimbo.

They were feeding the O’Rourkes tonight, Larry and Mona; their twenty-third wedding anniversary.

—We should make them cough up before we hand over the grub, said Jimmy Sr. —Fuckin’ Larry wouldn’t give yeh the steam off his piss if you were dyin’ o’ dehydration.

He took two small pieces of parsley from the bag Maggie’d given him, aimed and dropped one onto the soup in each bowl.

—Nice touch, tha’, he said.

Bimbo got into his jacket.

—How’s the back, Darren? he asked.

Darren rubbed down Bimbo’s back, getting rid of the creases.

Bimbo put the tea-towel over his arm.

The jacket Maggie’d got Bimbo was the stupidest thing Jimmy Sr’d ever seen. He felt humiliated just looking at Bimbo in it. It was white, with goldy buttons, and the sleeves were too long. But it didn’t bother Bimbo; he thought he was Lord fuckin’ Muck in it – the man in charge.

—Away we go so, said Bimbo.

He checked his watch again.

—Yeah, he said. —They were told to have the table set for half-seven.

He picked up the bowls, using the cuffs to mind his fingers.

—Ring the bell for me, Darren.

—Okay.

—Good lad. Bring the candles as well, will yeh.

—Ah fuck —

—Go on, Darren, said Jimmy Sr. —You’re alrigh’; they’re vegetarian candles.

—Humour, said Darren.

Bimbo climbed carefully out of the van.

—Get back quick with the main order, Jimmy Sr said after them.

—Will do.

The chips were a definite so Jimmy Sr lowered the basket into the fryer. Larry and Mona wouldn’t be long getting rid of the soup. Mind you, they mightn’t know what it was. They put water on their cornflakes in that house; so everyone said, anyway.

Bimbo and Darren were back.

—How’d it go?

—It was embarrassin’, said Darren.

—How was it? Jimmy Sr asked him.

—He started singin’.

—He’s always singing’.

Bimbo took over.

—The minute he saw the candles he started singing to Mona. Tha’ one, I Can’t Help Failin’ In Love With You.

—Wha? —
WISE MEN SAY
—

ONLY FOO-ILS RUSH IN
— Tha’ one?

—Yeah.

—Jaysis. He’s gettin’ worse. Did they like their soup?

—Stop it, said Bimbo. —Their spoons were clackin’ off the bowls. He was singin’ an’ drinkin’ at the same time.

—They didn’t think much o’ the parsley though, Darren told his da.

—Now there’s a surprise, said Jimmy Sr.

—He said if he’d wanted weeds in his dinner he’d’ve gone ou’ the back an’ got some of his own.

—Tha’ sort o’ thing is wasted on shite-bags like them, said Jimmy Sr.

Back to business.

—What’s the main course?

—Smoke cod for Larry an’ the same for Mona, said Bimbo. —An’ they both want a few pineapple fritters as well.

—And onion rings, Darren reminded him.

—Oh, that’s righ’. Mona said she’d go a couple of onion rings as well.

—Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr. —They’ll keep her up all night if Larry doesn’t.

He dropped the orders into the fryer, except the pineapples; they only took a few seconds or they’d turn to mush.

—Do they want wine? said Jimmy Sr when he’d everything else in order.

—Yeah, said Darren.

—Black or blue?

—Blue.

Jimmy Sr ducked in under the hotplate and got out a bottle of Blue Nun.

—Do the business with tha’, he said to Darren, and he held the bottle out to him.

—I’d better get back for their sweets, said Darren.

Jimmy Sr turned to Bimbo.

—There, he said. —Suck the cork ou’ o’ tha’.

Bimbo got working on the bottle with the corkscrew and Jimmy Sr put the two plates on the hatch counter and made a hill of chips on each of them.

—There’ll be no complaints abou’ the quantity annyway, wha’, said Jimmy Sr. —Give someone more than they think they’re entitled to and yeh have a friend for life.

—Cos they know we give value for money, said Bimbo.

—Cos they think we’re fuckin’ saps, said Jimmy Sr.

—The cork’s after breakin’ on me, said Bimbo.

—Shove it into the bottle.

The plates were full now, too full. Jimmy Sr took some of the chips off and pushed the fish further in, under the chips.

—There, he said. —Can yeh manage?

—No problem, said Bimbo. —I’ll have to come back for the wine.

—I’ll bring it as far as the door for yeh, said Jimmy Sr.

—Good man; thanks.

Jimmy Sr knew that Bimbo thought he meant O’Rourke’s front door but he was only going to go to the van door, for the laugh.

Bimbo wasn’t impressed when he got back.

—Very funny, he said.

—Ah, cop on, said Jimmy Sr.

They said nothing for a bit. Then —

—They’re havin’ a row inside, Bimbo told Jimmy Sr.

—Fuckin’ great, said Jimmy Sr. —What abou’?

—Couldn’t tell yeh, said Bimbo. —I just gave them their dinners an’ got ou’.

—Ah, you’re fuckin’ useless.

He handed the Blue Nun to Bimbo.

—Go back an’ find ou’ wha’ they’re rowin’ abou’.

—Who d’yeh think you’re orderin’ around —?

Darren was back with the jelly and ice-cream.

—Hey, Darren; go in an’ see what Larry an’ Mona are rowin’ abou’.

—Go in yourself.

—Jesus, said Jimmy Sr. —What a staff; such a pair o’ fuckin’ wasters I’m lumbered with.

He turned to Bimbo and he was glaring at Jimmy Sr; he didn’t have time to change his face. It surprised Jimmy Sr.

Eh ——are they in the front room or the kitchen or wha’?

—The kitchen, said Bimbo, back to normal.

—Fuck. We could’ve crept up under the window —

Larry O’Rourke came charging out of the house, trying to get into his jacket. He didn’t slam the door.

—How was the cod, Larry? Jimmy Sr asked him.

—Fuck the fuckin’ cod, said Larry.

He headed down the road, in a Hikers direction.

—Your jelly an’ ice-cream, Larry!

—Fuck the jelly an’ the fuckin’ ice-cream, they heard.

He turned back to them.

—She can fuckin’ eat them! Her mouth’s fuckin’ big enough!

—Will yeh look who’s talkin’! Bimbo said to Jimmy Sr and Darren. —Who’s goin’ to pay for the dinners?

—Eh ——I suppose —

Bimbo looked down the road, then at the house.

—It was Mona phoned Maggie.

—Righ’, said Jimmy Sr.

He went up the path, and into the house, with the wine.

Bimbo and Darren waited for him.

Jimmy Sr came back out.

—She wants her jelly.

Darren handed him a bowl.

—Better give her the both o’ them, said Jimmy Sr. —She’s payin’ for them.

—Is she? said Bimbo.

—Fuckin’ sure she is.

He went back into the house. Darren and Bimbo got the gas canister back into the van and wiped the shelves. Bimbo mixed some more batter for later that night and Darren fished some loose bits of batter out of the oil in the fryer.

—Maybe she’s seducin’ him, said Darren.

——Ah no.

They were shutting the back door when Jimmy Sr came out.

—Wha’ kept yeh?

—I was havin’ a glass o’ wine with Mona.

—Is she alrigh’?

—She’s grand; not a bother on her.

He waved two tenners at them.

—How’s tha’, he said. —An’ this as well.

He held out a pound coin for Bimbo.

—Your tip, he said. —She says thanks very much. Go on; take it. ——D’yis know wha’ the row was abou’? said Jimmy Sr when they were all in the van, heading home.

—Wha’?

—His pigeons shitein’ on her washin’, said Jimmy Sr.

—Ah, is that all?

—She’s not a bad-lookin’ bird, Mona, said Jimmy Sr. —If she tidied herself up a bit. Sure she’s not?

Bimbo and Darren didn’t say anything. Jimmy Sr wished he’d kept his stupid mouth shut. Darren was blushing beside him; he could nearly feel the heat off him, and he was blushing now himself as well. Bimbo had his mouth in a whistle but there was no noise coming out.

* * *

Although they never ran out of ways of flogging their chips and stuff, closing time outside the Hikers was still their bread and butter. Dollymount was grand on a good, sunny day but on a rainy day or even just a cloudy one there wasn’t a sinner down there to sell a chip to. And there were never going to be too many good, sunny days in an Irish summer; there was always rain coming at you from somewhere. But people coming out of the pub after a few jars didn’t give a shite what the weather was like, they just wanted their chips and maybe a bit of cod with a nice crispy batter on it. Anyway, rain was never that wet when you were half scuttered.

The dinners-for-two with candles and wine hardly paid for themselves. They did them for the crack more than anything else. Bimbo did them to please Maggie, because the idea had been her brainwave, and Jimmy Sr went along with Bimbo.

Only she was always having brainwaves. Sometimes Jimmy Sr felt like telling her to give her fuckin’ head a rest.

They came back from Dollier on a Monday late in July covered in sand and with damn all in the money box because there’d been showers on and off all afternoon, and she was there waiting for them, swinging off the front door, with her latest: breakfasts on the Malahide Road.

—You’re jokin’, said Jimmy Sr, once he knew what she was on about.

She wanted them to park the van at the crossroads in Coolock every morning and make rasher sandwiches for people driving to work.

—Wha’ time?

—Half-seven.

—Jaysis —!

—Eight then; it doesn’t matter. Durin’ the rush hour.

—Look it, said Jimmy Sr. —Maggie. If they’re in such a rush they’re not goin’ to be stopping for a rasher sandwich. Or even a rasher an’ dunphy sandwich.

—There’s plenty of people would love a rasher sandwich on their way to work, said Maggie.

—I know tha’, said Jimmy Sr. —But they’ll be goin’ by us on the bus or they’ll be at home in bed cos they’re on the dole.

Bimbo was staying a bit quiet, Jimmy Sr thought; very fuckin’ quiet.

—The only people who’d drive past that way, said Jimmy Sr, —is the yuppies. An’ they can make their own fuckin’ breakfasts as far as I’m concerned.

—You just don’t want to get up early, said Maggie.

Jimmy Sr ignored this; he wasn’t finished.

—Sure, Jaysis, he said. —No yuppie’d be caught dead eatin’ a rasher sandwich on his way to work. Think about it.

——You could give it a try, Maggie said to both of them, but especially Bimbo.

—Hang on, said Jimmy Sr.

He wasn’t dead yet; and he wasn’t getting up at half-six in the morning.

—How far is it from Malahide to town? he asked them. —Abou’?

—Five miles, said Bimbo.

—Abou’?

—Yeah.

Jimmy Sr looked to Maggie to give her a chance; she agreed with Bimbo.

—Five miles so, said Jimmy Sr. —A bit more maybe. It’s not very far, is it now? You’re not goin’ to get hungry travellin’ five miles only. Unless you’re goin’ on your hands an’ knees.

—The airport road then, said Maggie. —That’d be better.
They’d be comin’ from much further on tha’ one. Drogheda, and Dundalk – and —

—Belfast, said Bimbo.

—That’s righ’, said Maggie. —Well —?

——I’m on, said Bimbo. —Jim?

He’d no choice.

—Okay. —— Just promise us one thing, he said. —If it works, don’t make us go ou’ later an’ make their fuckin’ tea for them as well.

* * *

It didn’t work. Jimmy Sr made sure it didn’t.

—Come here, he said to Bimbo.

They were on the new airport road. It was seven o’clock.

—D’you want to do this every mornin’?

—Wha’? said Bimbo.

—Don’t start, said Jimmy Sr. —Do yeh?

—Wha’?

—Want to get up before the fuckin’ seagulls every mornin’. Do yeh?

——No.

—Righ’; park over there then.

—Where?

—There.

—Under the bridge?

—Yeah.

They stayed there on the motorway, under the flyover, for an hour and a half. They opened the hatch and all; they didn’t cheat. They made three rasher sandwiches, and Jimmy Sr ate two of them and Bimbo ate the other one, and a Twix each as well. They shouldn’t have been there but the guards never came near them. They leaned out over the hatch and watched the cars and the trucks blemming past. Then they shut the hatch and went home.