The Barrytown Trilogy (63 page)

That would have explained the ketchup she now saw on the ceiling.

—Ah no, look —!

—Wha’? —— Where? —— Jaysis, how did tha’ get up there?

—I don’t know what you two messers are up to —

—We’re not messin’, Veronica, Jimmy Sr assured her. —It’s business.

—Well, you can do it somewhere else, said Veronica.

She saw the carpet now.

—I don’t believe it —

And now the smell of the vinegar hit her as well.

—It’s a routine for the van, Jimmy Sr explained. —We were workin’ on it.

He followed Veronica’s eyes.

—Don’t worry abou’ them, he told her. —They’ll wash ou’.

Veronica was looking at the marks on the curtains.

—Get out, said Veronica. —Get out; go on. You bloody big eejit, yeh, she said to Jimmy Sr.

She just looked at Darren.

—Come on, Darren, said Jimmy Sr. —We’ll go ou’ the back, an’ leave Veronica alone.

Darren wanted to say something to his mother; not Sorry – he didn’t know what.

—Bring the yoke, Darren, said Jimmy Sr. —We’ll be ou’ the back, Veronica, if anyone calls. —— Will I open the windows for yeh there? It might get rid o’ the smell —

—No, said Veronica. —Go on.

Darren unplugged the twins’ ghettoblaster. He turned it on quickly to check if the batteries were working.

—
SHAKE IT TO THE
—

Yeah; they were grand.

There was only his mother in the room now, but he still couldn’t say anything. He got out the door and followed his da through the kitchen.

He’d left the cassette cover behind him, on the couch. Veronica picked it up.

Cocktail, she read. Original Motion Picture Soundtrack. There was a picture of a nice-looking lad on the front. His
mouth was shut but she was sure he had lovely teeth. She read inside to see who he was. Tom Cruise. So that was what he looked like; the twins were always going on about him.

She studied the damage again. It wasn’t too bad. The curtains needed a wash anyway. A damp cloth would get rid of the ketchup on the ceiling. Darren could do that.

She went back to the kitchen; she wanted to see what they were at.

—
FOR GOODNESS SAKE
—

I GOT THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE
—

YEAH — I GOT THE SHAKE
—

She turned on the cold tap and filled the sink although she wasn’t going to do anything with the water. She just wanted an excuse to be at the kitchen window.

—
WUUU
—

I CAN
’
T SIT STILL
—

—Vinegar!

She looked.

They were standing out there, side by side, legs apart.

—
WITH THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE
—

They caught the bottles.

—Yahaa! said Jimmy Sr.

Darren looked around to see if anyone was looking over the hedge at them, and behind him into the field. There wasn’t anyone, as far as Veronica could see. There was bound to be someone looking out a window though; there always was. Poor Darren.

—
WELL I CAN SHAKE IT TO THE LEFT
—

—Concentrate now, Darren.

—
I CAN SHAKE IT TO THE RIGHT
—

—Sauce!

—
I CAN DO THE HIPPY SHAKE-SHAKE
—

The sauce bottle hopped off Jimmy Sr’s palm but he managed to catch it before it hit the ground, then got back into place.

—
WITH ALL OF MY MIGHT
—

OOOOOHH
—

Darren was quite good at it, streets ahead of the other fool. They threw up both bottles and Darren did a complete spin, in time to catch them. His shorts fitted him as well. Jimmy Sr’s were up at the back and down at the front, holding his belly up like a sling.

She turned off the tap.

—
FOR GOODNESS SAKE
—

She lowered her arms into the water – it was nice – and looked out. She wished Sharon was here, or even the twins; they’d have loved it. Darren flipped the vinegar over his shoulder, and caught it.

—Stop showin’ off.

He saw her looking at him; Jimmy Sr did. She looked into the water. She lifted a hand and dropped it, as if she was doing something at the sink.

—
YEAH — I GOT THE SHAKE
—

I GOT THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE
—

It got darker. She looked up. She jumped back: Jimmy Sr had his face squashed up to the window. Cold water got through her blouse. She screamed, and laughed. His nose was crooked and white against the glass. He was miming to the Georgia Satellites.

—
OOOH I CAN
’
T SIT STILL
—

He kissed the glass. She saw Darren behind him, looking around to see if anyone was looking. Veronica rapped the glass.

—Go away. You’re smudging the glass.

—Ah, fuck it, said Jimmy Sr.

But he lowered himself from the ledge and backed into the garden still miming, with his hand clutching his crotch.

SHAKE IT TO THE LEFT
—

SHAKE IT TO THE RIGHT
—

DO THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE
—

He turned, and dropped his shorts and wriggled. God, he was terrible. Poor Darren was bright red.

—
WITH ALL OF YOUR MIGHT
—

—Pull up your trousers! Veronica shouted.

Darren pointed something out to her. She leaned over the sink and saw Mary Caprani, two gardens down, hanging off her clothes-line and gawking in at Jimmy Sr’s war dance. Veronica thought she’d fall, the laughing took all her strength. She was bent completely over the sink, her face was against the tap, but she couldn’t get up. The face on Mary Caprani; she’d been waiting years to see scandal like this.

Darren tapped Jimmy Sr’s shoulder and showed him Mrs Caprani.

Jimmy Sr ran for the back door and tried to rescue his shorts at the same time. He fell into the kitchen.

—Jaysis, Veronica! Did yeh see Radar Caprani lookin’ at me?

—Never mind her, said Veronica. —She’s probably just jealous.

—Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.

He was sitting on the floor. He lifted his T-shirt, pulled in his stomach and looked down at his marriage tackle.

—Maybe you’re right, he said.

Veronica’s blouse was drenched. She’d have to get out of it.

The Satellites were still blemming away outside.

Jimmy Sr grabbed the hem of her skirt when she was getting past him. He joined in with the band.

—
I CAN’T SIT STILL
—

WITH THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE
—

He put his head in under her skirt.

—Mammy, Darren’s playin’ our ghetto —

Linda ran into the kitchen.

—Jesus!

Jimmy Sr came out from under the skirt.

—Get ou’!

Linda ran, and so did Veronica.

* * *

—They didn’t understand, Jimmy Sr told Veronica.

They were in bed. The light was out. Jimmy Sr had been telling Veronica about the Cocktail routine.

—They thought we were messin’, doin’ it for a laugh.

Veronica sighed. She’d thought that as well. She had to say something.

—I’m sure they didn’t, she said.

—They did, said Jimmy Sr. —Maggie did annyway. She wouldn’t’ve just gone back into the house if she hadn’t of.

—Well, explain it to her.

—I will not. Why should I?

Veronica sighed again, harder this time; a different sort of sigh.

—It’s not my fault if she doesn’t recognise a good fuckin’ marketin’ strategy when she sees it, said Jimmy Sr.

—You’re working yourself up again, Veronica told him. —You won’t be able to sleep again.

—Ah lay off, will yeh. —— You’re as bad as she is. ——Veronica ——. ——Don’t start pretendin’ you’re asleep; come on —— Veronica? ——

* * *

—Get out o’ me fuckin’ light, will yeh, said Jimmy Sr.

Then he sort of saw himself, a narky little bollix, the type of bollix he’d always hated. But at nearly the same time he felt better, and clearer: he’d had an idea.

—D’yeh know wha’ we need, Bimbo? he said.

It was half-ten about, outside the Hikers.

He waited for Bimbo to stop what he was doing, opening bags and setting them up in little rows on the counter.

—Wha’? said Bimbo.

—A night on the batter, said Jimmy Sr.

Bimbo looked over at the pile of fish.

—Not tha’ sort o’ fuckin’ batter, said Jimmy Sr. —Tha’ just shows yeh we’ve been workin’ too hard if yeh can’t remember wha’ a night on the batter is.

Bimbo didn’t laugh.

—Are yeh on? said Jimmy Sr. —It’ll do us good. Wha’ d’yeh say?

—Righ’, Jim. Okay.

—Good man, said Jimmy Sr.

He clapped his hands.

—We’ll have a fuckin’ ball.

—That’s righ’, said Bimbo.

They both laughed now.

Jimmy Sr wanted to check that Bimbo had picked him up right.

—Just the two of us, wha’.

—That’s righ’.

—Into town, said Jimmy Sr. —Will we go into town?

—Jaysis —

—We may as well, wha’.

—Okay. —— Where in town?

—Everyfuckin’where.

They laughed again.

* * *

They wore their suits in; Jimmy Sr insisted. They were in the Barrytown DART station now. It was a horrible damp grey shell of a place with plastic wobbly glass in the doors, and a smell. He got the tickets and his change from the young fella behind the glass, a big thick-looking gobshite, and when he turned back he saw Bimbo trying to figure out the timetable on the wall.

—There’s one in a minute, Jimmy Sr told him.

—No, said Bimbo. —It’s the last one I’m lookin’ for, to see wha’ time it is.

—Never mind the last one, said Jimmy Sr.

He got Bimbo and shoved him through the door out onto the platform.

There was a fair gang on the southbound platform; a bunch of young fellas near the end probably dodging their fare, a few couples, a family that looked like they were going to visit someone in hospital.

—There’s a fine thing over there, said Jimmy Sr. —Look it.

There was a young one by herself on the northbound with
a red mini-skirt and a tan and hair that made her head look three times bigger than it should have been.

—Oh yeah, said Bimbo.

—She must be goin’ ou’ to Howth, said Jimmy Sr.

—Wha’ for? said Bimbo.

—The fish, said Jimmy Sr.

There were some things that Bimbo hadn’t a clue about. Jimmy Sr could see him deciding if she was really going out to Howth to buy fish.

—I’d say she’s meetin’ her boyfriend or somethin’, said Bimbo.

—Maybe he’s a fisherman, said Jimmy Sr.

The DART was coming.

—Here we go, said Jimmy Sr. —Is there a duty-free shop in the last carriage?

Bimbo laughed.

Thank fuck, Jimmy Sr said to himself. He’d been starting to think that Bimbo had lost his sense of humour from leaning over the deep fat fryer for too long.

The trip into town was grand. A scuttered knacker and a couple having a row kept them entertained as far as Connolly. Their carriage was full of dolled-up young ones. And Bimbo began to get more relaxed looking. Things were looking up.

—What’s keepin’ the cunt? said Jimmy Sr when the train stopped for a minute at the depot behind Fairview Park. —Me mouth’s beginnin’ to water.

—So’s mine, said Bimbo. —There’s a few people are goin’ to have to go without their chips tonigh’, wha’.

—No harm, said Jimmy Sr.

The train staggered, and got going again.

—We’re off again, said Jimmy Sr. —’Bout fuckin’ time.

It was going to be a great night; he could feel it now. He was liking Bimbo again, and Bimbo liked him. He was leaning in closer to him, shoulder to shoulder, the two of them together. Away from the van, and Maggie, and the pressure and the rows and all the rest of the shite, they’d
have their couple of pints and a good laugh, get locked, and they’d be back to normal, the way they used to be; the way they’d stay.

Bimbo started to get up when the train crept into Connolly.

—Sit down there, said Jimmy Sr.

—Wha’?

—We’re gettin’ off at Tara.

—Oh.

—We’ll have a few in Mulligans first, Jimmy Sr told him.

—Oh, very good.

—The best pint in Dublin.

—So I’ve heard.

Jimmy Sr knew where he was bringing them; he had a kind of a plan.

By the time they got past the ticket collector they were really excited and they ran around the corner to Mulligans, pushing each other for the mess, and they nearly got knocked down by a fire engine when they were legging it across Tara Street.

—Ring your fuckin’ bell! Jimmy Sr yelled after it, and he ran after Bimbo, into Mulligans.

There were two women climbing off their stools when Jimmy Sr found Bimbo at the bar.

—Were yeh keepin’ them warm for us, girls? said Jimmy Sr.

One of them stared at him.

—We’re not girls, she said.

—That’s true, said Jimmy Sr when she’d gone past him.

They got up on the stools. Jimmy Sr rubbed his hands.

—Hah hah!

—Here we are, said Bimbo.

—That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr. —An’ here’s the barman. Two pints, please.

It was a bit awkward sitting in the suits. You had to sit up straight; the jackets made you. And you couldn’t just park your elbows and your arms on the counter when you were wearing your good suits; they made you kind of nervous. Still though, they’d need them for later.

—Wha’ did you think of your women? said Jimmy Sr.

—Eh —

—Lesbians, I’d say.

—Ah, no.

—I’d say so. Did yeh hear her? We’re not girls.

—Tha’ doesn’t mean —

—Not just tha’. Drinkin’ in here, by themselves yeh know. Like men. Here’s the pints, look it.

The pints arrived, and Jimmy Sr had an idea. He stood up and got his jacket off and folded it, put it on the stool and carefully sat on it.

—That’s better. ——— My God, that’s a great fuckin’ pint. —Isn’t it?

Most of Bimbo’s was gone.

—Lovely.

—A great fuckin’ pint.

—Lovely.

They had two more great fuckin’ pints, then Jimmy Sr got them up and out before they got too comfortable in there. They put their jackets back on, went for a slash (—The first one’s always the best) and headed off for somewhere new.