Roddy Doyle: The Van

— Righv, he said to the rest. — Hawaii 5–0.

He made a trumpet out of his fists and started.

— DEH DEH DEH DEH—

DEHHH DEH—

Linda, Tracy, Darren, even Veronica made trumpets and joined in. Gina danced in Sharon’s arms and forgot about screaming. Larrygogan cleaned the chips off the floor and he cleaned the plate as well.

Jimmy Sr sat watching the television. There was no sound on. The three other lads watching it all had earphones but Jimmy Sr couldn’t see another pair anywhere. He could’ve asked the young one behind the desk over there what he’d to do to get a pair of earphones for himself but he didn’t want to. She looked busy. Anyway, they mightn’t have been free. And anyway as well, what was on didn’t look that good; just fellas in togas talking; a play or something.

Jimmy Sr was in the ILAC library, in town.

It was terrific here, very nice.

He’d never been in here before. It was great. There was a lot more to it than just the books. You could get tapes or records out or even those compact discs, or just listen to them in here. He’d go over there, to the music part, after this. There was a language resource centre, a room where you could learn more than sixty languages in one of those booth things. Or you could use the computer — he looked at the brochure again — to enhance your computer literacy skills. There was even a reading machine for if you had sight problems. Having one of them beside the bed would have been very handy for when you came home scuttered at night.

He didn’t drink much any more; just the few pints twice a week.

He’d go over and have a look at the machine in a minute.

He was definitely joining. He had his application cards here. It was lovely here. You could stay here for ages and never get bored. You could even borrow pictures and bring them home.

That was a bit fuckinv stupid when you thought about it; sticking a picture up on your wall for a fortnight and then having to bring it back again; on a bus or on the DART, sitting there like a gobshite with a big picture on your lap, of a woman in her nip or something.

Still though.

It was gas watching your men here watching the telly, and not being able to hear. One of them had laughed a minute ago, like he was trying not to, but the chaps on the telly had looked deadly serious. She’d asked him — your woman at the desk — if he was a householder when he’d asked her how you joined.

He didn’t know.

He told her it wasn’t for himself he was asking, and she gave him the cards and told him that he’d have to get a householder to sign the back of them.

He sort of knew. But the problem was, he didn’t know— not exactly — if you actually had to own your house or if renting was enough. And he rented his, so if he’d said Yeah, I am a householder and he’d found out that he wasn’t one when he was filling in the card at the desk he‘d’ve felt like a right fuckin’ eejit. In front of the young one there. She looked younger than Sharon.

Bimbo, one of his mates, owned his house. Jimmy Sr’d get him to sign it, to be on the safe side.

There was a thing he’d seen downstairs in the shopping part of the ILAC on his way up here; a studio, a small one you went into and sang a song — for six quid. The twins would’ve loved that.

Maybe they wouldn’t have, but; not any more. They’d have been too embarrassed. There was a list of the songs you could sing along to. New York New York was one of them. That was his song; he always sang it at weddings and on bank holiday Mondays in the Hikers.

Six quid. Veronica would fuck him from a height if he came home with a tape of himself singing and she found out how much it’d cost.

He got up. He was going to have a look at the books. When he joined up he could take out three at a time and keep them for three weeks, but he’d only take out one or maybe two. He wasn’t that quick of a reader. And anyway, he’d want to come here more than just once every three weeks so if he took out one book at a time he could come back more often than that.

There was a sign — a handmade one — on the desk that said that you could get an Action Pack for the Unemployed but there weren’t any on the desk. You had to ask for one.

He wondered what was in them. Action Pack. Probably just leaflets.

And a compass and a fuckin’ hand grenade and one of them cyanide tablets for if you were caught behind enemy lines.

He’d ask for one the next time. The young one was dealing with some people at the desk and one of them looked like he was going to start getting snotty with her.

She was a nice-looking young one, lovely; not what you’d have expected. With a few buttons open at the front, fair play to her.

He went over to the books. He wanted to find the Sports shelf. He was thinking of getting a couple of greyhounds.

Veronica and Jimmy Sr were alone, sitting on their bed. Jimmy Sr watched Veronica putting on socks and then her boots.

— We could always get a few bob from a lender, I suppose, said Jimmy Sr.

— No, said Veronica.

— A few bob only—

— No, said Veronica.

— You’re righ’; you’re right, o’ course, Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. — We’d only be gettin’ ourselves into—

— I’d die before I’d go looking for help from one of those crooks, said Veronica.

— You’re dead right, yeah. I just thought — Will Leslie come home, d’yeh think?

Veronica didn’t want to answer this. But she did.

— I doubt it, she said.

— Yeah, said Jimmy Sr.

Les was in England, somewhere. They thought.

— What abou’ Jimmy? said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah yeah, said Veronica.

She studied the soles of the boots.

— Where else would he go? said Veronica. — If I pushed a bit harder my fingers would come through, look it.

Well, don’t push then, Jimmy Sr nearly said, but he stopped himself.

— Would he not go to — em — Aoife’s parents’ place? he said.

Aoife and Jimmy Jr were living in a bedsit in Clontarf.

— He’d better not, said Veronica. — If he does he needn’t come home for his Sunday dinner again.

She stood up.

— With his washing.

— Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. — At least we won’t have to buy anythin’ for him.

— Something small, said Veronica.

— Very small, said Jimmy Sr. — So that’s the twins an’ Gina is all we have to get presents for really. An’ Darren. An’ somethin’ small for Sharon as well. That’s not too bad.

Veronica wasn’t convinced.

— Well—, she said.

She was at the dressing-table mirror now.

— What about all the food and the drink? There’s a lot more than just the presents. And there’s other presents as well, you know. Gerry’s kids and—

— I’ll tell Gerry and Thelma and Pat they’re not to send ours any presents an’ we won’t send theirs any.

— God, said Veronica. — I never—

— Sure, they can’t afford it either, said Jimmy Sr.

He didn’t want Veronica to finish. There was no point. He’d heard it before. It only made him angry now and he’d end up shouting. It wasn’t fair.

— No one can, said Jimmy Sr.

Veronica said nothing.

— We were always broke at Christmas.

— After it though, said Veronica.

— Ah—! said Jimmy Sr.

It wasn’t fuckin’ fair.

— Ah sorry, said Veronica.

She turned to look at him properly.

— I didn’t mean anything.

— Ah, I know. — I don’t blame yeh. It’s just—

He looked at her looking at him.

— We’ll manage, he said.

— Yes, said Veronica.

— I’ll win the turkey in the pitch ‘n’ putt annyway, he said.

— You always do, said Veronica.