Roddy Doyle - The Van

— What’s the sink for? Jimmy Sr wanted to know.

— For washin’ stuff, o’ course, said Bimbo.

— But there’s no fuckin’ water, said Jimmy Sr.

— Yeh’d have to have a sink, said Bimbo.

— But there’s no fuckin’ water, Jimmy Sr said again.

— Well, it’s there for somethin‘, said Bimbo. — We’ll figure it ou’.—We’ll go at it from the top down.

— Righto, said Jimmy Sr.

Bimbo was on the left wall and Jimmy Sr on the right, the one with the hatch in it. He’d skip over the hatch and finish before Bimbo and give out shite to him for being a slowcoach, for the laugh.

— Just a squirt gets the dirt, said Bimbo when they were starting.

It was a doddle compared to what they’d had to do outside.

— How much did yeh give the lads? Jimmy Sr asked Bimbo.

— Nothin’ yet, said Bimbo. — Sure, they asked me could they do it again there yesterday. They had a great time, so they did.

They laughed.

— They’ll learn, said Jimmy Sr. — Let’s get a bit o’ light in here, wha’.

He figured out how to open the hatch.

— Now.

He pushed it out, and it fell off and Jimmy Sr nearly fell out after it. It made an almighty clatter when it hit the ground. Bimbo nearly fell off his perch. He dropped his Jif into the deep fat fryer.

— God, me heart, he said.

Jimmy Sr was swinging off the counter. His legs found the floor and he felt safer.

— Fuck your heart, said Jimmy Sr. — I nearly had a shite in me fuckin’ trousers. Come here, swap sides.

— No way!

They weren’t happy with the look of the deep fat fryer. But they’d done their best with it.

— Still though, said Bimbo. — It might be dangerous.

— Not at all, said Jimmy Sr. — It’s just wear an’ tear, that’s all.

They were in Bimbo’s kitchen having their elevenses.

— The hotplate looks very well now, said Bimbo.

— It does alrigh’, Jimmy Sr agreed. — Yeh’d ride your missis on it it’s so clean.

— Shhh! said Bimbo.

Glenn was coming through with tins of pineapple rings.

— It’s the man from Delmonte, said Jimmy Sr. — Good man, Glenn.

— These’re the heaviest, Glenn told him.

— No problem to yeh, said Jimmy Sr.

Glenn ran out into the garden so he could get to the shed before he had to drop the tray of pineapple rings. They heard the clatter of tins hitting the path.

— He didn’t make it, said Jimmy Sr.

Bimbo lifted himself up to look out the window.

— No, he said. — He did.

They’d two freezers out in Bimbo’s shed — Bertie’d got them for them; grand big freezers, nearly new — and all the stuff went into them; the blocks of cod, the blocks of lard, the burgers, anything that would go bad.

The kids were bringing cartons of Twixes and Mars Bars out to Maggie now.

— I have them counted, she warned them.

Jessica went to the kitchen door and yelled out.

— There’s nothin’ left!

— Come here, said Maggie.

In a few seconds the kids came charging through with two Twixes and two Mars Bars apiece.

Bimbo made a grab at Glenn.

— Give us a Twix.

Glenn got away from him and into the hall, bursting his little shite laughing. Maggie shut the kitchen door. She threw a burger onto the table. It bounced; it was rock solid.

— What d‘you think of tha’? she said.

— It’s a bit hard, said Bimbo.

Jimmy Sr picked it up. It was the whole thing, the bun and all.

— What’s the idea? he said.

— There’s onion an’ sauce an’ a slice o’ gherkin already in there, she said. — And you can get them with cheese as well.

She sat down.

— All yeh have to do is throw it in the microwave, she said.

— That’s very good, said Bimbo.

— We don’t have a microwave, said Jimmy Sr.

— Can’t yis get—? said Maggie.

— We’ve no electricity, said Bimbo.

They looked at one another.

— Oh Christ—, said Jimmy Sr.

— Now, said Jimmy Sr. — Look at this now; there’s nothin’ to it. Anny fuckin’ eejit could do it.

They were in the Rabbitte kitchen.

He had the mixing bowl on the table in front of him. He poured water from a milk bottle into the bowl.

— Water, he said.

He sprinkled some flour from a packet in on top of the water, then got a bit braver and poured half the packet in.

— An’ flour, he said. — Yeh with me so far?

— Water an’ flour, said Bimbo.

— Good man.

He picked up the whisk.

— This is the hard part, he said. — The hard work. I’m doin’ it by hand, he explained, — cos that’s the way we’ll have to do in the van.

He attacked the mixture with the whisk, holding the bowl to him the way Veronica’d shown him.

— I’m tellin’ yeh, he said. — It gets yeh sweatin’.

He stopped and looked.

— It’s blendin’ well there, d’yeh see? he said. — We need a bit more water though, to get rid o’ the lumps.

Bimbo went to the sink and filled the milk bottle.

— Nearly there, said Jimmy Sr.

He poured in some more water, and prodded the lumps with the whisk and then his fingers.

— There’s somethin’ else supposed to go into it but I can’t remember what it is.

He started whisking again.

— Doesn’t matter though, he said. — This’ll be grand.

He stopped and showed Bimbo the result.

— There, he said. — Batter. Not bad, wha’.

It looked right.

— Is tha’ all there is to it? said Bimbo.

— That’s it, said Jimmy Sr. — Except for the thing I’m after forgettin’. Let’s see if it works now.

He’d already put an open can of pineapple rings on the table.

— Remind me to replace this one, will yeh, he said. — Veronica’ll go spare if she goes to get it on Sunday and it’s not there. — Let’s see now—

He took a ring out and let it down onto a sheet of kitchen roll.

— Yeh dry it first; that’s important.

He dabbed the top of the ring with the edge of the roll.

— Tha’ should do it.

He held up the ring and picked the bits of fluff off it.

— It’s only the paper, he said. — Harmless.

— Yeah.

— Righ’; fingers crossed.

He lowered the pineapple ring into the batter, and let it sink in completely. He got a fork and searched for the ring, and found it.

— Our father who art in heaven — Fuckin’ brilliant! Look it; completely covered.

— That’s great, said Bimbo.

— An’ all yeh do then is drop it into the fryer. — That’s great now; the batter’s just righ’. If it was too watery it wouldn‘t’ve stuck an’ if it was too thick the hole in the ring would’ve disappeared. But that’s just righ’ now. Perfect.

— We’ll cut them up into different sizes, said Jimmy Sr. — People prefer tha’.

That was what they were doing now, peeling the spuds and cutting them up and throwing them all into a big plastic bin full of water; out in the shed.

— When we’ve the money, said Jimmy Sr, — maybe we should get a chip machine like Maggie was talkin’ abou’ and just cut up a few o’ the spuds by hand an’ mix them in so people’ll think they’re all done tha’ way.

— Yeah, said Bimbo.

Jimmy Sr looked into the bucket and gave it a kick to flatten out the chips.

— There’s enough in there now, I’d say, he said.

— Good.

They took a handle each and carried the bin through the house out to the van. They’d a job getting it up the step, and in; the water made it very heavy and it was slopping over the sides. They were all set; tonight was the night. Everything in the van was gleaming; nearly everything. They’d had to buy some new equipment, some of the trays and the basket for the deep fat fryer. Bimbo bought it; Jimmy Sr hadn’t a bean to his name. They put the bin under the sink. That was the best place for it, because it got in the way anywhere else and the sink was fuck all use to them.