Roddy Doyle - The Van

— Veronica? he whispered.

He didn’t want to talk to her unless she was awake anyway.

— Mmmm? said Veronica.

— Are yeh awake?

— What?

— Only if you’re awake.

— Go on, said Veronica.

— How do they make these? said Jimmy Sr.

He brought the sausage down to the pillow so she could see it properly.

Veronica snorted, kind of.

— I don’t know, she said. — I don’t think they make them. I think they just find them.

She found his knee and gave it a squeeze.

There was only a month to go to the start of the World Cup so, as Bimbo said, they had it all to do. It wasn’t even a full month, a bit less than four weeks.

They walked around the van again.

— Righ‘, said Bimbo. — We’ll never get it cleaned up by just lookin’ at it.

So he went through the house to the back and got his hose and rigged it up to the tap in the kitchen and brought the hose out to the front through the hall.

— Wha’ colour is it annyway? Jimmy Sr asked.

— White! said Bimbo.

— How d’yeh know?

— All chipper vans are whi’e, said Bimbo. — Stand back there, Jimmy.

He roared into the hall.

— Righ’! Turn her on.

Someone inside turned on the cold tap and Bimbo pointed the hose at the side of the van. The water came out in two gushes and then in a steady stream and Bimbo went up close so the water would drum against the wall of the van. It made an impressive sound, and brought some of the neighbours out to watch. Bimbo sprayed right across; he put his thumb to the nozzle and aimed at one spot and held the jet of water at it for ages — but he might as well have been pissing at it for all the good it did.

— Okay! Turn her off! — Turn her off!!

He sounded annoyed.

The water slowed down and stopped altogether.

— Will yeh switch it on to the hot tap!? Bimbo yelled.

Maggie answered.

— I used up all the hot doin’ the clothes.

— Ah, God almighty, Bimbo said quietly.

He let the hose drop. They studied the side of the van.

The dirt was still there, solid as ever, only shinier now because of the water. It looked even worse that way, almost healthy and alive.

— How did it get greasy on the fuckin’ outside? Jimmy Sr asked.

— God knows, said Bimbo.

— Yeh could understand the inside, said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeah, said Bimbo. — Yeah.

— What’ll we do now? Jimmy Sr wanted to know.

Bimbo scraped a clot of grease off with his fingernail.

— It does come off, he said.

Jimmy Sr did the same.

— Yeah, he said. — Fuckin’hell though, Bimbo. It’s goin’ to take fuckin’ years.

— Not at all, said Bimbo.

They got paint scrapers, five of them, from Barney’s Hardware and attacked the van with them, and then they started getting somewhere. Once you got the blade in under the grease and the dirt it came away easily enough. It was a little bit disgusting alright but at least they could see that it was working, the grease was coming off, and that made up for it. But the feel of it was horrible, and the smell; it was hard to describe, fuckin’ terrible though. Jimmy Sr could smell it on his hands even after putting some of Veronica’s Oil of Ulay all over them. And his clothes; he’d have roasted himself if he’d sat too close to the fire after a day’s work. Veronica said she’d never seen dirt like it; she said it the first four days he came home, but she didn’t say it like she was annoyed, more like she was fascinated.

They concentrated on the outside. They were both too scared to look carefully inside, but they didn’t say anything. They just did their work. They scraped all day and when they started sliding because of the grease on the ground they stopped and hosed the path and went at it with the yard brush. Bimbo got sawdust from the butchers and sprinkled it on top of the grease and that way they didn’t have to interrupt the work too often. It was manky work though, messy and slow. But Maggie said it wouldn’t go on for ever and she was right; it just felt that way. He’d get up at eight and go down to Bimbo’s and look at the bit he’d done the day before and it was like he’d never touched it; it was still filthy and shiny. But, then again, he’d be scraping away, breathing through his mouth, listening to the radio or chatting with Bimbo, and he’d see that there was no more grease to scrape off in this part; he’d reached the end, there was just white paint, a small island of it.

He felt brilliant the first time that happened and he didn’t stop working till eight o’clock.

They were getting there.

There was more than just the cleaning of the van, of course. They had to become chefs before the end of the month, which was no fuckin’ joke. The first time he made chips, at home, he put far too much oil into the pan and nearly set fire to the fuckin’ kitchen when he lowered the chips into it. It frightened the shite out of him. But Veronica was a good teacher, very patient; she even let him make the dinner one night, which was very decent of her. He made a bit of a bollix of it — burnt fuck out of the burgers; it was like eating little hubcaps — but no one complained. She showed him how to peel spuds without peeling the skin off your hands as well, how to always peel out, away from your body, so you didn’t stab yourself.

He cut his wrist the first time he did it; not cut it exactly, more scraped, but it was very fuckin’ sore all the same. He nearly went out the window when Veronica put Dettol on it but they laughed later in bed, imagining trying to kill yourself with a potato peeler scraping away till you hit an artery, and then start on the other wrist, quick before you fainted. They hadn’t laughed together like that in ages. She’d a good sense of humour, Veronica had. The only time she got annoyed was when he peeled all the potatoes in the house, practising. He didn’t blame her but, like he told her, they were running out of time. Another thing she showed him that he’d never known before; you put the chips you didn’t want to use immediately in water to keep them fresh and the right colour.

— God, he said. — The simple things are the most ingenious, aren’t they?

He caught Sharon grinning at him when he was practising his peeling.

— Fuck off, you, he said.

And he brought the bucket and the spuds up to the bedroom so he could do his practice in peace. Later on, Sharon asked him if she could work in the van some nights, when it was on the road. And he said Yeah.

It would do her good.

— She’d be a good worker, said Jimmy Sr.

He wanted to clout Bimbo, the way he was looking at him, like he’d farted at mass during the Offertory; that sort of look.

— I know tha’, said Bimbo. — I never said different, Jimmy, now.

— Well then—?

— Staff appointments should be a joint decision, Jimmy. Between the two of us.

— It’s only Sharon, for fuck sake.

— Still, though—

He was right really. But—

— D‘yeh want me to sack her, is tha’ it? Before she’s even started.

— Ah, Jimmy—

— Ah, me arse.

But Bimbo was right, Jimmy Sr could see that. He just hated losing.

— I’ll tell her we don’t want her, Jimmy Sr told Bimbo, like he was giving in to him.

— Not at all, said Bimbo. — No way.

— Wha’ then? said Jimmy Sr. — I’m fuckin’ lost.

— Just, in future we’ll make these decisions together, said Bimbo. — Is tha’ alrigh’?

— Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. — No problem. Sorry abou’—

— Ah no, said Bimbo. — No. No.

They got back to work and didn’t say anything to each other for a good while.

The roof wasn’t as bad as the sides but it was very tricky. There was no grease up there but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t fall off. Bimbo did fall off but he landed on the grass, so it wasn’t too bad; there was no real damage done. Still, the noise he made when he hit the ground was terrifying, like a huge thump. Jimmy Sr was on his hands and knees up there, afraid to budge. Maggie felt Bimbo hitting the ground from where she was in the house and she came out and got him up on his feet and gave out shite to him once she knew that he wasn’t dying on her. Poor oul’ Bimbo was a bit shook after it, so they called it a day. The only problem was getting down off the fuckin’ roof. Jimmy Sr’s leg couldn’t find the ladder and he was shaking like fuck, but he got down eventually and he took Bimbo off for a pint. They took a look back at the van when they got out to the path, just to see what it looked like from a distance, and it didn’t look too bad at all; it wasn’t as white as it could’ve been, like new teeth, but it was definitely white.