Roddy Doyle - The Van

Then Bimbo noticed Jimmy Sr on the grass.

About fuckin’ time.

— Tha’ was great gas, wasn’t it? he said.

— Eh — yeah. Yeah.

— D‘yeh know wha’ I think? said Bimbo then.

And he waited for Jimmy Sr to give him the green light.

— Wha’? said Jimmy Sr.

— It doesn’t look nearly as bad here, away from that other place.

He was talking through his arse, of course, but Jimmy Sr gave him the answer he was dying for.

— You’re righ’, yeh know, he said.

— The more I look at it, said Bimbo, — the more I think we’re after gettin’ a bargain; d’yeh know tha’.

Ah, thought Jimmy Sr, God love him.

— Yeh might be righ’ there, he said.

— This sounds stupid now, said Bimbo.

Maggie had come over now as well.

— But I think that it’s a godsend tha’ there’s no engine in it. We got it for nothin’.

— Umm, said Maggie.

They’d got it for eight hundred quid. Maggie’d put her foot down at seven hundred and fifty until Bertie’d introduced her to the owner with one of his motherless children, the youngest, in his arms.

— Poor Jimmy looks like he could do with a drink, Maggie told Bimbo.

— He’s not the only one, said Bimbo. — Wait now till I do somethin’ first.

He went through to the back of the house and came back with two bricks and put them behind the back wheels.

— There now, he said. — She’s rightly anchored.

He tapped one of the bricks with his foot and it didn’t budge.

— Tha’ should hold it annyway, he said.

He was pleased with his work.

— I’ll put a chain on the gate later, he told Maggie. — To make sure tha’ no young fellas decide to rob it durin’ the nigh’.

— Good thinkin’ tha’, said Jimmy Sr.

There actually were a few young fellas in Barrytown that nearly would have robbed even as worthless a pile of shite as poor Bimbo’s van, just for the crack. They’d’ve robbed themselves if there was no one else, some of the little bastards around here.

Jimmy Sr was feeling normal again.

— Could yeh manage a pint, Jim? Bimbo asked him.

— It’s abou’ the only thing I could manage, said Jimmy Sr.

— Come on so, said Bimbo. — Wha’ abou’ yourself, Maggie?

— No, said Maggie. — Thirtysomething’s on in a minute.

— She never misses it, Bimbo told Jimmy Sr when they were going to the gate. — She won’t video it either. She has to watch it live.

That was when they found the window. Bimbo’s kids were inside in the van exploring and Wayne put his foot through it. Bimbo got them all out and checked Wayne’s foot. It was grand, no cuts or anything. Then he told the kids to stay out of the van cos it was dangerous until they got all the grease off the floor and, to the two youngest, that it was full of spiders that bit you and then he pretended to lock the door with one of his house keys.

He was good with the kids; they’d all listened to him.

— Now, he said when he’d done it.

He patted the door and wiped his hand on his trousers and they went up to the Hikers.

Jimmy Sr needed bubbles. Darren was working in the bar, collecting the glasses and that, and he recommended Budweiser. Jimmy Sr was looking suspiciously at the glass. He lifted it and took a sip, then a bigger one and then a much bigger one.

— It’s not tha’ bad, he said.

The seat was nice and cold against his back.

Bimbo was very giddy, looking around him all the time, shifting, waving at every wanker that walked in.

— Settle down, will yeh, said Jimmy Sr.

— Wha’?

— You’re like a performin’ flea there, Jimmy Sr told him. — You’re makin’ me fuckin’ nervous.

— Sorry, said Bimbo. — It’s just—. Ah, yeh know.

He lifted his pint.

— Well, Jim, cheers, he said for the third time.

— Yeah, said Jimmy Sr.

— Will yeh have another one? Bimbo asked him.

— There’s no—

— Go on.

— Fair enough, said Jimmy Sr. — Thanks very much; there’s no need. — Make it Guinness but, will yeh.

— Good man, said Bimbo. — Darren! Two pints o’ Guinness, like a good man, please.

— Poor Darren’ll be doin’ his Leavin’ durin’ the World Cup, Jimmy Sr told Bimbo. — Isn’t tha’ shockin’?

— Ah that’s shockin’, said Bimbo.

— Fuckin’ terrible, said Jimmy Sr.

And Darren arrived with the pints and Jimmy Sr let him take the rest of the Budweiser.

— It’s like drinkin’ fuckin’ Andrews, he sort of apologised to Bimbo.

— Not to worry, said Bimbo.

He gave Darren a big tip when he was going.

— I was thinkin’, said Bimbo. — We’ll have to have the van ready in time for the World Cup.

Jimmy Sr didn’t like the sound of that. We’ll.

He said nothing.

— The pubs’ll be jammered, said Bimbo.

He still said nothing.

— An’ there’ll be no cookin’ done, said Bimbo. — ’Specially if Ireland do well.

— They will, said Jimmy Sr. — Don’t worry.

— It’s a great opportunity, said Bimbo. — Everyone’ll be watchin’ the telly for the whole month.

— So will I, said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah, said Bimbo. — It should be smashin’.

They drank. It was good to be back on the Guinness. They’d have a chat now about the World Cup. Jimmy Sr felt good now. He sang softly.

— OLÉ—OLÉ OLÉ OLÉ—Did yeh hear tha’ song yet, Bimbo?

— Which; the Ireland one?

— The official one, yeah.

— Ah, I did, yeah, said Bimbo.

— Isn’t it brilliant? said Jimmy Sr.

— Terrific.

Jimmy Sr tried to do Jack Charlton.

— Put them uunder presheh.

— D’yeh want to be me partner, Jim? said Bimbo.

— Wha’s tha’?

He’d heard Bimbo alright but he was confused.

— Would yeh think abou’ becomin’ me partner? said Bimbo.

He looked serious in a way that only Bimbo could look; deadly serious.

— We’d make a great team, said Bimbo. — I was talkin’ to Maggie about it.

— Jaysis—, said Jimmy Sr. — Eh, thanks very much, Bimbo. I don’t know—

— Will yeh think about it annyway? said Bimbo.

— I will, Jimmy Sr assured him. — I will. — Thanks.

— No, said Bimbo. — You’d be doin’ me a favour.

— Oh, I know tha’, said Jimmy Sr.

They laughed, and that gave Jimmy Sr a chance to wipe his eyes. He said it again.

— Thanks very much.

He took a big breath.

— Fuckin’ hell, he said then. — What a day.

Wait till Veronica heard.

— McDonalds can go an’ fuck themselves, he said to Bimbo. — Isn’t tha’ righ’?

Bimbo laughed, delighted.

— That’s righ’.

They laughed again.

— Bimbo’s Burgers, said Jimmy Sr. — How does tha’ sound?

Bimbo clapped his hands.

— I knew it! he said.

He held his hand out, and Jimmy Sr took it and didn’t let go of it for ages.

Then he dropped Bimbo’s hand.

— Hang on though, he said.

He looked very worried.

— Do I have to help you clean it?

He watched Bimbo deciding if he was joking or not and then the two of them roared and shook hands again.

Veronica was lying beside him, nearly asleep, God love her; she’d been studying all night for her exams. She’d told him how to make chips and it seemed easy enough.

These were good chips, the ones he was eating now. They always were in the summer. There’d be a terrible smell of vinegar in the bedroom in the morning though.

He’d bought a sausage-in-batter tonight as well. He held it up to the light coming in where the curtain stopped short of the wall, to get a decent look at it. He looked down at Veronica.