The Barrytown Trilogy (65 page)

—Jesus Christ, Bimbo, d’yeh want to get us fucked ou’ before we’re even in?

—Wha’?

—Come on.

They were a right pair of bints, your women at the jacks door. Women like that didn’t need to piss; they just went in to do their make-up.

The bar was three-sided; the barmen were done up in red waistcoats and dickie-bows, the poor fuckin’ saps. It was hot. The dance-floor was over beyond the bar, not nearly as big as Jimmy Sr had imagined. The stools at the bar were all taken. Jimmy Sr led the way around the other side, nearer the dance-floor. There were tables further in, past the dance-floor; the mirrors made it hard to say how far the room went back. The only one dancing was a little daisy jumping around like her
fanny was itchy. Every couple of seconds, when you thought you were going to get a goo at her knickers, she pulled down her skirt at the sides. She was very young.

—Are yeh havin’ a pint or wha’? Jimmy Sr asked Bimbo.

Bimbo was looking at the young one dancing.

—Is there somethin’ wrong with her? said Bimbo.

Good Jesus, there was the poor young one trying to make every man watching her come in their kaks and Bimbo wanted to know if there was something wrong with her!

—A pint? said Jimmy Sr.

—Not here, said Bimbo.

Jimmy Sr agreed with him; a pint of stout in this place would leave them pebble-dashing the jacks for the rest of the weekend.

—Budweiser, said Jimmy Sr.

—Grand.

He had to shout over the music.

There were two women at the bar, not too young and just good looking enough. Jimmy Sr got in between their stools.

—Sorry, girls.

He lassoed a barman on his way past.

—Two pints o’ Budweiser, when you’re ready!

—Wine bar only.

The barman looked like he’d said this before.

—Wha’?

—No beer or spirits. We’ve a wine licence only.

—Are yeh serious?

The barman didn’t say anything; he just nodded, and went further down the bar.

—Good shite, said Jimmy Sr.

For a second he was lost. Bimbo was at his shoulder.

—Will he not serve yeh? he asked.

—He’ll serve me alrigh’, said Jimmy Sr. —Only he’s fuck all that I want.

One of the women laughed. Jimmy Sr turned to her and grinned; it was that kind of laugh.

He was away here.

—Try the wine, said the women.

Jimmy Sr stepped back a bit to let Bimbo stand beside him.

—Wha’ would yeh recommend? he asked her.

—What’s wrong? Bimbo asked him, right into his ear.

—Nothin’, said Jimmy Sr.

He tried to use his eyes to point out the women to him but it wasn’t easy.

—The house red’s very nice, the woman told Jimmy Sr.

—Is tha’ righ’? said Jimmy Sr. —Are yis drinkin’ it yourselves?

—We are, yes, she said. —Aren’t we, Anne Marie?

—Yeah, said her friend.

—That’s grand so, said Jimmy Sr. —We’ll have a drop o’ tha’.

Jimmy Sr stepped back a bit more to include the friend, the one called Anne Marie, and he had a quick look at Bimbo to see if he’d copped on, and he had. He was gawking at Anne Marie.

—I’m Jimmy, by the way, he told the girls. —An’ this is Bim —

He couldn’t remember Bimbo’s real name.

—Brendan, said Bimbo.

That was it.

—Brendan, said Jimmy Sr.

—Hello, Brendan, said the woman. —Well, my name’s Dawn. And this is Anne Marie.

—Howyis, said Jimmy Sr.

He spoke to Anne Marie.

—Two names, wha’. Is one not good enough for yeh?

She didn’t get it. He smiled to let her know he was only messing and turned back to Dawn.

—Better order the oul’ vino, he said. —The house somethin’, didn’t yeh say?

He got in closer to Dawn – great fuckin’ name, that – and gave Bimbo loads of room to manoeuvre for himself.

—The house red, said Dawn.

—Grand, said Jimmy Sr. —An’ it’s the business, is it?

—It’s quite nice, said Dawn. —I think myself anyway. And it’s quite reasonably priced.

—Never mind the price, said Jimmy Sr. —Let me an’ Bim – Brendan worry abou’ the price. Here!

He’d captured a barman.

—A bottle o’ house red wine, like a good man.

This was great. They weren’t bad-looking birds at all. Nicely done up; just the right side of brassy. Somewhere in their thirties. Dawn had the fine set of lungs on her, and her arse fitted nicely on the stool; there was nothing flowing over the sides. Her eyelashes were huge, but they looked real enough. He could see the dark roots in her hair; another couple of months and she’d look like a skunk. But she’d get her hair done again long before that happened. She took care of herself. She’d do grand.

There was something about Anne Marie as well though.

Bimbo edged in closer, but he wouldn’t look at her for too long. He leaned on the bar.

The barman had come back with the wine.

—Just park it there, son, Jimmy Sr told the barman.

Anne Marie was fatter than Dawn; not fat though, no way. If he’d been standing right at the bar he’d have been able to see right up to her arse the way her legs were crossed. She was smoking one of those thin cigars. Her expression; it was like she didn’t give a shite about anything. He was sure she went like a fuckin’ sewing machine, certain of it.

—He wants to know do you want to taste it first, Dawn told Jimmy Sr.

—Fuckin’ sure I do, said Jimmy Sr. —Pardon the French, Dawn.

He leaned past her, brushed against her – she didn’t move back – and picked up the glass. There was only half a mouthful in it. He put his nose to the glass, and sniffed.

—Ah, yes, he said.

Dawn laughed.

—Very ginnick, said Jimmy Sr.

He took a sip, leaned back and gargled. Even Anne Marie laughed. He swallowed.

—A-one, he said.

He gave the barman the thumbs up.

—Pour away, compadre, he said. —How much is tha’?

—Twenty-three pounds, sir.

—Wha’?

He hadn’t heard him.

—Twenty-three pounds.

——Grand —

My fuckin’ Jesus —!

He handed over a twenty and a fiver. Thank Christ, his hand wasn’t shaking.

—There yeh go, he said. —Keep the change.

—Thank you very much, sir.

—No problem.

If he didn’t get his hole after forking out twenty-five snots for a poxy bottle of wine he’d —— He looked at Bimbo; he looked like he’d got a wallop off a stun-gun. Jimmy Sr grinned and smiled at him, and winked. Bimbo smiled back. Dawn was pouring the drink. Jimmy Sr would have to go to the jacks in a bit to see how much money he’d left. It was a long walk home to Barrytown.

—Cheers, Jimmy.

Dawn was holding her glass up, waiting for the others to join in.

—Yes, indeed, said Jimmy Sr.

He picked up his glass. He had to shout over the music.

—Cheers, eh —— Dawn.

He laughed, and so did she.

They all clinked their glasses.

—Cheers, Brendan, said Jimmy Sr.

Bimbo looked to see who he was talking to, then remembered.

—Oh, thanks very much.

Twenty-five fuckin’ quid. He could probably have got a wank in a massage parlour for that, and the fuckin’ bottle was
nearly empty already. He’d have to buy another one in a minute. He put his hand against the bar, across Dawn’s back, just barely touching it. She stayed put. Anne Marie helped herself to another glass. She had the look of a dipso about her alright; another year and she’d be in rag order. The music was shite.

—Great sounds, said Dawn.

—Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. —Brilliant.

He nodded his head as he spoke cos it was very loud; the thump-thump-thump crap that young Jimmy used to play when he lived at home. She had to put her mouth up near his ear.

—Wha’? he said.

It was fuckin’ ridiculous.

—Are the two of you out on the town for the night? she asked.

She was asking him were they married, Jimmy Sr reckoned.

—Ah no, he said. —No. ——Not really. This is nothin’ special.

She nodded.

Maybe she didn’t care. He put his hand in his pocket to adjust his gooter – the way she kept putting her mouth up to his ear –. Bimbo was chatting away to Anne Marie. Fair play to him. He’d thought that Bimbo might be a liability. But no, they were nodding and yapping away; he was doing his bit. Anne Marie had her glass leaning on her bottom lip. When Dawn turned to get her glass off the bar Jimmy Sr got his hand in under his gooter and yanked it into an upright position – and Anne Marie was looking at him. He pretended he’d spilt some wine on his trousers and he was inspecting them to see if there was a stain.

—What’s wrong?

Dawn was looking at him now.

—Ah, nothin’.

He looked: Anne Marie was looking back at Bimbo, and the bulge was going. No harm. —He hoped it wasn’t the drink. He was feeling a bit pissed now alright; that wine on top of all the pints.

Dawn got to his ear.

—What do you do, Jimmy?

—When I’m not here, d’yeh mean?

She laughed, and leaned back against his arm and stayed there.

—Self-employed, he told her. —Me an’ Bren.

—Ver-y good.

—Caterin’.

—Good.

He could feel the heat coming off Dawn, he was right up against her. And there wasn’t a bit of sweat on her. He wondered how she did it.

—It’s great bein’ your own boss, said Jimmy Sr.

—I’d say you’re a tough boss to work for, Jimmy.

—No, said Jimmy Sr. —Not really now. I’m reasonable enough.

Dawn nodded.

—I don’t take shite from annyone, Jimmy Sr told her. —But once that’s established ——yeh know.

The DJ was taking a breather, thank fuck. He’d put on a tape, but the noise wasn’t half as bad. They could have a chat altogether now, and Jimmy Sr could keep an eye on Bimbo.

—Here!

—Yes, sir? said the barman.

—Another bottle o’ house red wine, said Jimmy Sr. —How’s it goin’? he asked Bimbo and Anne Marie.

—There y’are, said Bimbo.

Anne Marie was staring at Jimmy Sr, right into his face. He pretended she wasn’t. Bimbo was grinning, like he always did when he’d more than ten pints inside in him, and swaying a bit, but not dangerously. The suit made him look less pissed than he was.

Jimmy Sr looked again. Your woman, Anne Marie, was still looking at him.

Then she spoke.

—Your complexions are very good, she said. —Considering.

—Considering what, Anne Marie? said Dawn.

—Where they work.

Bimbo! The fuckin’ eejit!

—Where do they work? said Dawn.

—In a van, said Anne Marie.

He’d fuckin’ kill him. Grinning away there!

He stayed close up to Dawn —— just to remember how it felt.

—Here’s the wine, said Bimbo. —My twist. Twenty-three quid, isn’t that it?

—They have a chipper van, said Anne Marie.

—That’s righ’, said Bimbo.

—Brendan’s Burgers, said Anne Marie.

Bimbo and Anne Marie were holding hands.

—We’re buildin’ up a fleet o’ them, Jimmy Sr told Dawn. —Wha’ d’yeh do yourself, Dawn?

—Do you bring it to football matches and that sort of thing?

She sat up, but she didn’t seem to be trying to get away from him. Maybe it would be alright. He was still going to kill Bimbo though, the stupid cunt.

—Sometimes, said Jimmy Sr. —We stay local most o’ the time. Our market research has shown tha’ reliability is important.

He pushed Dawn’s back with his arm, trying to get her to settle into him.

—The punters like to know tha’ if they want a single o’ chips all they have to do is go out their doors an’ we’ll be there outside to give them their chips.

—And do you actually make the chips and the burgers yourself?

—Sometimes, said Jimmy Sr, —yeah.

If he pushed against her back any more he’d shove her off the stool.

—Strange thing to do for a living really, isn’t it?

—Not really, said Jimmy Sr. —I suppose it might ——eh —

This was fuckin’ desperate; he was getting nowhere. He’d lose the rag in a minute.

Oh good shite! Bimbo was kissing Anne Marie! It wasn’t fuckin’ fair. Right up against her, her arms around him, moving up and down his back, then her hands into his hair.

He put his mouth up to Dawn’s. She drew back.

—Now now, she said.

Like she had to cope with this all the time.

——Sorry —

Fuck it, he was a fool.

Bimbo and Anne Marie were chewing the faces off each other.

He wanted to cry, and go home. He pointed to Bimbo.

—His nickname’s Bimbo, he told Dawn.

He felt really rat-arsed now. He nearly fell over. The arm behind Dawn was killing him but if he took it away that was it, over. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t think. Something funny, anything. The taste of the Guinness was coming up his throat. Anne Marie bit Bimbo’s ear.

Jimmy Sr went in on Dawn’s mouth again.

—Stop that!

—Come on, said Jimmy Sr.

She pushed him away, well able for him; he was fuckin’ hopeless.

Bimbo was going to the jacks. Anne Marie held him back and straightened his tie. Then he was gone, past Jimmy Sr.

Dawn didn’t look angry or indignant, or anything. Like nothing had happened. She even smiled at him, the bitch.

He moved in again, and she pushed him away again. She pushed him back and picked up her glass at the same time.

—Fuck yeh! said Jimmy Sr, and he went after Bimbo.

The jacks was out the way they’d come in. Jimmy Sr shoved someone out of his way at the door and went in. He fell against the wall inside the door. There was another door. He got that open and there were four sinks and a big mirror in front of him. There was no one at the urinal. Bimbo must have been in one of the cubicles, getting sick with any luck. There
were three of them, two of them shut. He got over there and walloped both doors.

—Come ou’, yeh cunt yeh!

One of them opened a bit when he thumped it. It wasn’t shut at all; there was no one in there. Bimbo was in the middle one so.

—Come on; I know you’re in there —

He gave the door a kick. Wood cracked.