Roddy Doyle - The Van

— We should just pull it ou’ altogether, said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah no, said Bimbo. — Not now annyway.

The thing got on Jimmy Sr’s wick, a sink with no water; it was about as useful as an arse with no hole. He let it go though. They’d other things to do today.

— Will we put the rest of the stuff in? said Bimbo.

— We might as well, said Jimmy Sr.

They didn’t want to leave anything in the van for too long. Some of the stuff from the freezers would go soft or even bad if they took it out too early. The timing was vital.

— The difference between a satisfied customer and a corpse, Jimmy Sr’d said.

They’d laughed, but it wasn’t funny.

They got out, and stopped to look at the burger on the side of the van again. It was a huge big burger, a bunburger with BIMBO’S BURGERS above it and TODAY’S CHIPS TODAY under it.

The bottom bit was Maggie’s idea.

— I still don’t like tha’ ketchup, said Jimmy Sr. — It’s too like fuckin’ blood. It’ll put people off.

— Ah no, said Bimbo. — It’s nice an’ bright.

Maggie’s brother’s kid, Sandra, had done it; she went to some painting college or something.

— The bit o’ meat stickin’ ou’ as well, said Jimmy Sr.

He pointed to it.

— It’s like a fuckin’ tongue hangin’ ou’.

— Well, to be honest with yeh, Jimmy, said Bimbo. — I’ve never seen a tongue made o’ mince.

— It’s the same colour as—

— Look it, said Bimbo. — She put all those little black speckles on it to make it look like mince.

He went over and touched them, showing them to Jimmy Sr.

— They just make it look like it’s gone off, said Jimmy Sr.

— It was your bloody idea in the first place, said Bimbo.

— D‘yeh want to know why I don’t like it? said Jimmy Sr. — An’ annyway, I do like it. It’s just the colours I don’t like. D’yeh want to know why?

— Why then?

— Cos the young one tha’ done it is a vegetarian, that’s why.

He had him now. Sandra’d told him that, when he was talking to her while she was painting; a lovely-looking girl, she was, but a bit snotty; a good laugh though.

Bimbo looked lost.

— Sabotage, yeh dope, said Jimmy Sr.

— Wha’?

— Sabotage, said Jimmy Sr. — Animal rights.

— Wha’ d’yeh mean?

— Is it not fuckin’ obvious?

— Eh — no.

— A vegetarian, righ‘, paints a picture of a burger an’ wha’ does she do? — She paints it horrible colours to put people off buyin’ anny.

— Sandra?

— They’re all the same, said Jimmy Sr. — Fanatics, for fuck sake. Sure, they’re puttin’ bombs under people’s cars over in England, just cos they experiment with animals.

— Hang on now, said Bimbo. — We’re not experimentin’ with animals.

— No, said Jimmy Sr. — But we’re slappin’ them up on the hot plate an’ fryin‘ fuck ou’ o’ them. An’ then gettin’ people to eat them.

Bimbo gave this some thought. He looked at the burger.

— Ah, I don’t think so, he said.

— Please yourself, said Jimmy Sr. — It’s your fuckin’ money. Come on or we’ll be late.

They put the cartons of Twixes and Mars Bars in under the hot plate, and the cans of Coke and 7-Up. They put piles of spice-burgers on the shelf over the fryer. They had the flour and a line of milk bottles full of water for the batter, at the ready on the shelf beside the sink; they’d had to go scouting for real glass bottles. They’d a box for the money. Bimbo put the big red Kandee sauce bottle and the salt and vinegar on the counter. They had ten packs of Bundies. Maggie’d got them in Crazy Prices. Jimmy Sr opened a pack and took one out.

— These are the nicest part o’ the burger, he said. — Aren’t they?

— They’re lovely alrigh’, said Bimbo, and he took one as well. — We’d better not eat all of the supplies though.

— An army marches on its stomach, Jimmy Sr told him.

There was a ream of small bags on a piece of string, for the chips, and Jimmy Sr hung that on a hook beside the fryer, and put a pile of big brown bags on the counter. Bimbo folded up their aprons nice and squarely and put them on the counter beside the brown bags.

— It’s not a fuckin’ pinnie, Jimmy Sr’d said when Veronica caught him trying his one on up in the bedroom. — It’s an apron, righ’.

Maggie’d got the aprons, World Cup ones. It was good thinking, and a lot better than those ones with recipes printed on them or something. These just had Italia 90 on them, and the cup.

— It’s not a cup but, said Bimbo. — It’s a statue. I never noticed that before.

— Look it, said Jimmy Sr. — Which sounds better; World Cup or World Statue?

— I get yeh, said Bimbo.

They kept the fish in the freezer till the last minute. If you didn’t dip the cod in the batter when it was still like a piece of chipboard you ended up with a fuckin’ awful mush that floated on the top of the cooking oil. They piled the rectangles of cod and black mullet onto the aluminium trays.

— Yeh’d nearly need gloves for this, said Jimmy Sr. — These things are fuckin’ freezin’.

He walloped a piece of cod against the side of the freezer and examined it: there wasn’t a mark on it.

— That’s a good piece o’ fish, tha’, he said. — It won’t let yeh down.

The trays were cold, but not that heavy. Still, they rushed through the house so they could put them down in the van and blow on their hands.

— Beep beep, said Bimbo, to get Maggie’s mother out of his way as he barrelled through the kitchen, trying to carry his tray without having to use too firm a grip. He rested it against his chest and his shirt was getting wet.

Maggie followed them out.

— Good luck now, she said.

Jimmy Sr climbed up into the driver’s seat. The van was hitched up to the back of Bimbo’s jalopy with a bit of rope, in the driveway and halfway out onto the path. Bimbo had wrapped an old cardigan around his bumper, for a buffer. He’d wanted to use Wayne, with one foot on each bumper, but Maggie wouldn’t let him. Bimbo got in and started the car. Maggie put her head down to him, he rolled down the window and she gave him a kiss.

— Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr, softly. — Come on, come on.

They were off.

Bimbo’d only gone a couple of feet and he had to stop cos there were two cars passing. The van rolled into the back of him, but only gently. Then they were out on the road, heading up to the Hikers. A couple of kids ran beside him, and one of them kicked the van. They disappeared; Jimmy Sr knew they were scutting on the back, the fuckers.

There was an awkward bit coming up, a bit of a dip just before they got onto the main road, Barrytown Road. If there was traffic coming Bimbo would have to stop for it and Jimmy Sr would go into him; it couldn’t be helped. That was what happened, except it was worse. There was nothing coming so Bimbo kept going out across the main road turning to the right but this fuckin’ eejit on a motor bike came out of nowhere from behind a parked van and Bimbo had to brake and Jimmy Sr couldn’t brake, of course, so he went into Bimbo, and he heard stuff falling off the shelves behind him.

— Fuck it!

He listened.

Nothing else fell. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

Bimbo got going again and they made it to the Hikers without anything else happening. He started stopping about fifty yards before the Hikers, so that when he stopped he’d nearly stopped already anyway, going so slow that the van didn’t bump into him at all this time.

Jimmy Sr listened to hear if there was anything rolling around inside in the back. He couldn’t hear anything.

Bimbo got the bricks out from the back seat of the car and put them behind the wheels of the van. Jimmy Sr opened the door at the back.