Roddy Doyle - The Van

— Yeh didn’t, said Paddy.

Bertie stared Paddy out of it for a second. Then he got back to Mandy.

— I opened it up at page three, righ‘, an’ I showed it to her. Tha’ should be you, I told her.

— Did she say ann‘thin’ back to yeh?

— Si. She told me to fuck off. But she was delighted, yeh could see.

— She’s a lovely-lookin’ girl alrigh’, said Bimbo.

— I made her get a packet o’ crisps for me as well, said Bertie. — I hate the fuckin’ things.

They laughed. They knew what was coming next.

— Just to get her to bend over, yeh know. Caramba, lads, I nearly broke the counter with the bugle I had on me. When she gave them to me I said Salt an’ vinegar so she had to do it again.

— She’ll be fat by the time she’s eighteen, said Paddy.

— No, said Jimmy Sr. — No, she won’t.

— Why not?

— She’s not like tha‘, said Jimmy Sr. — She’s not like those young ones tha’ look like women when they’re fourteen an’ then they’re like their mothers before they’re twenty. She’s not like tha’.

He wondered if he should have been talking like this, if he was maybe giving something away. But Bertie agreed with him.

— Si, he said.

— My twist, said Jimmy Sr.

He wanted to get up. Halfway through talking there he’d felt dirty; kind of. And then stupid. Talking about young ones like that, very young ones. But when Bertie joined in it was safe. Darren was doing lounge boy tonight though. If he heard—

He stood up.

— Same again over here, Darren, please!

— Wha’?

— Leo knows. Just tell him the same again.

It was getting crowded. Leo was skidding up and down behind the bar.

— So annyway, Bimbo, said Bertie when Jimmy Sr was sitting back down. — Compadre mio, that’s wha’ I’d do if I was you.

— How though? said Paddy.

— Wha’?

— How would yeh do it?

— The same way I’ve always done it.

— No, I don’t mean the ridin‘, Paddy explained. — I mean gettin’ her to do it. How would yeh manage tha’?

— No great problem there, compadre, said Bertie. — I’d show her the money an’ tell her I’ll give her some of it if she’ll say hello to the baldy fella; there’d be nothin’ to it.

— Ah fuck off, said Jimmy Sr.

— Wha’? said Bertie.

— Yeh can’t just do tha’.

— Why not?

— Cos the girl’s not a fuckin’ prostitute, that’s why not.

— No, Bimbo agreed.

— Listen, compadre, said Bertie. — All women are prostitutes.

— Ah now—, said Bimbo.

— Will yeh listen to him, said Jimmy Sr.

— He’s righ‘, said Paddy. — I had to buy my one a Crunchie before she’d let me ou’ tonigh’.

Bertie addressed Bimbo.

— Don’t misunderstand me, compadre, he said. — Not just women. All men are brassers as well.

— I’m no brasser, chum, said Jimmy Sr.

— Fuck up a minute, said Bertie. — Wha’ I’m sayin’ is, is tha’ everyone has his price.

— Ah, is that all? said Bimbo.

— If you think—, said Jimmy Sr.

He was talking to Bertie.

— If you think tha’ you can just walk into the shop an’ put the money on the counter there an’ Mandy will drop her—

— Watch it, Jimmy, here’s Darren.

— Here’s the cavalry, lads, said Bertie.

— Make room there, will yis, said Darren.

— Certainly, certainly.

They got all the dead glasses and put them on the table behind them, so Darren could put the tray on their table.

— D’yeh know Mandy from the Gem, Darren? said Bertie.

Jimmy Sr tried to kick him but he got Bimbo instead, but not hard.

— Yeh, said Darren. — Mandy Lawless.

— Nice, isn’t she?

— She’s alrigh’, yeah.

— Keep the change, Darren, said Jimmy Sr. — Good man. Darren took the money and counted it.

— You’re a pound short, he told Jimmy Sr.

— Is tha’ right’? said Jimmy Sr.

He’d never get rid of him before Bertie opened his mouth again. He gave Darren a fiver.

— Yeh can pay me back later, he told him.

— No, said Darren. — I have it here.

Ah sufferin’ Jesus!

But Bertie said nothing, and Paddy didn’t either. He was looking around him, looking for something to moan about.

— There y’are, said Darren.

Jimmy Sr took the notes and left the silver and copper in Darren’s hand.

— Good man.

— Thanks very much, Da.

— No problem.

— I’ll tell yis though, said Jimmy Sr when Darren was gone. — Yis should see his mot. Darren’s mot.

— Is she nice? said Bimbo.

— Lovely, said Jimmy Sr. — Fuckin’ lovely.

— Go ’way. That’s great.

— Miranda, her name is.

— Oh I like tha’, said Bertie. — Mirr-andaah. Si; very nice. Is she a big girl, Jimmy?

— She’s a daisy, said Jimmy Sr.

— An’ you’re a tulip, said Paddy.

— Fuck off, you, said Jimmy Sr.

— Lads, lads, now, said Bertie, and he leaned forward to get between Jimmy Sr and Paddy as if to break up a fight, even though there wasn’t one. — Birds in their little nest, said Bertie.

— Wha’ abou’ them? said Paddy.

— They agree, said Bertie. — Righ’?

Paddy didn’t argue with him.

— Now, said Bertie. — If yeh had, say, a thousand quid, righ’—

They sat up. They loved these ones.

— An‘, Bertie continued, — yeh knew for a fact tha’ the most gorgeousest woman — now, the best fuckin’ thing yeh’d ever seen in your life, righ’. An’ yeh knew for a fact—

Bimbo started laughing.

— Shut up, you. — Yeh knew for a fact tha’ she’d let yeh get up on her if yeh gave her it, the money. Would yis give her it?

— All of it? said Jimmy Sr.

— Si, said Bertie.

He looked around at them. They were thinking about it, even Bimbo.

— Wha’ would she give me for half of it? Paddy asked him.

They roared.

— Where is it? said Jimmy Sr.

They were outside in the carpark, watching poor Bimbo getting sick. He was finished now, for the time being anyway. But he still looked very pale around the gills.

They’d been the last to leave; out of their trees, especially poor Bimbo. He could hardly talk. Darren had been giving the air a few squirts of Pledge, to let the manager think he’d done the cleaning.

— Tan ver muh, Darr-n, Bimbo’d said, and that was as much as he could manage.

They were outside now.

— Oh God, said Bimbo again, for about the thousandth time.

— You’re alrigh’, said Bertie.

— Terrible waste o’ fuckin’ money tha’, said Paddy.

He was looking down at what had come out of poor Bimbo.

Jimmy Sr had to agree with Paddy.

— Still though, he said. — He got the good ou’ of it.

— True, said Paddy.

Jimmy Sr didn’t feel too bad at all, considering he was out of practice. He was swimming a bit. He’d had to hold on to the wall there when he thought he was going to fall. He was pleased with himself though.

Bimbo straightened up.

— Are yeh alrigh’ now, son? Bertie asked him.

— He is, o’ course, said Jimmy Sr. — Aren’t yeh?

Bimbo didn’t say anything for a bit. Then he spoke.

— Yeah. — Yeah—

— Are we goin’ or wha’? said Paddy.

The plan was, they were all going down to the seafront with a couple of sixpacks. They’d decided this after Paddy had been complaining about all the kids that were down there every night.

— All ages, he’d told them. — Polluted out of their heads.

— That’s shockin’, Bimbo’d said.

And then Bertie’d said that they should go down there themselves after they were flung out of the boozer, and that was where they were going now. So—