Roddy Doyle - The Van

That was it. They’d all been served, and they were all stuffing their faces, beginning to move away. Jimmy Sr, Bimbo and Sharon watched them.

— Tha’ was grand, said Bimbo. — Wasn’t it?

— Money for jam, said Jimmy Sr.

They looked around. The place was in bits already.

— I’ll do more batter, said Bimbo.

— Good man, said Jimmy Sr. — But make it a bit stronger, will yeh. It keeps comin’ off the fish.

Sharon got down and started wiping the mushed-up chips off the floor. One of the bingo women came back.

— Yes, Missis? said Jimmy Sr.

— D’yeh sell sweets? she asked him.

She was one of those culchie-looking women, roundy and red.

— Mars or Twix just, Jimmy Sr told her.

— A Twix.

— Comin’ up, said Jimmy Sr.

He got the Twix out from under the hotplate and wiped the grease off it with his apron.

— There y‘are, he said. — Best before April ’92. You’ve loads o’ time, wha’.

She laughed, and then Jimmy Sr saw it.

— Oh good shite.

It was a stampede, that was what it was, coming out of the Hikers.

— Yeh’d better be quick with tha’ batter, he said to Bimbo.

— Why’s tha’? said Bimbo, and he looked out.

— Oh, mother o’ God.

Sharon looked.

— Jesus, she said. — I’m scarleh.

Jimmy Sr gave the woman her threepence change.

— Yeh’d want to get out o’ the way there, he told her. — You’ll be fuckin’ trampled on.

The woman did a legger.

There was an almighty crowd coming out, pouring out of the place, still going Ole ole ole ole. It was mostly the younger ones. There was suddenly a couple of hundred people in the carpark, and then one of them saw the van.

— Yeow!!

They stopped Oléing and looked at the van.

— Charge!

— Oh my fuck—, said Jimmy Sr. — Red alert; red alert.

It was like Pearl fuckin’ Harbor. Jimmy Sr had half said — Form a queue there, when they hit the van.

— Oh, mother o’ shite!

It hopped; they lifted it up off the road. One of the bars holding up the hatch skipped and Jimmy Sr just caught it before it fell and skulled someone outside.

— A cod an’ a large!

— Curry chips, Mister.

— Howyeh, Sharon!

— OLÉ—OLÉ OLE OLE

— I was first!

— Are yis Irish or Italians or wha’?

— Yeow, Sharon!

— Sharon; here! We’re first, righ’.

— Give us a C!!

Bimbo was covered in batter. Sharon was trying to get the spilt fat off her shoes.

— Give us a H!!

It was madness out there; pande-fuckin’-monium.

— Give us an I!!

There was a young one being crushed against the van. Her neck was digging into the counter.

Bimbo joined Jimmy Sr at the hatch.

— Back now! he roared. — Push back there! There’s people bein’ crushed up here!

— Fuck them!

Jimmy Sr pointed at the young fella who’d said that.

— You’re barred!

They cheered, but they quietened after that.

— Give us a P!

The young one was rubbing her neck but she was alright. Jimmy Sr served her first.

— Wha’ d’yeh want?

— Give us an S!

Jimmy Sr looked out over the crowd.

— Will somebody shut tha’ fuckin’ eejit up! he roared.

— Yeow!!

They cheered and clapped, and Jimmy Sr started to enjoy himself. He lifted his arms and acknowledged the applause — Thank you, thank you — and then got back to business.

— Wha’ was tha’? he asked the young one.

— Curry chips, she said, raising her eyes to heaven.

— No curry chips, Jimmy Sr told her.

— Why not?

— Cos we’re not fuckin’ Chinese, said Jimmy Sr. — This is an Irish Chipper.

— That’s stupih, said the young one.

— Next!

— Hang on, hang on! A large single an’—an’—

— Hurry—

— A spice-burger.

— A large an’ a spice, Sharon, please!! Jimmy Sr roared over his shoulder. — Next. — You with the haircut there; wha’ d’yeh want?

— World peace.

— You’re barred. Next!

Sharon had a complaint.

— I can’t do it all on me fuckin’ own!

— Hold the fort there, Bimbo, said Jimmy Sr, and he went to back to give Sharon a hand.

It was like that for over an hour after that. They got into a flow; Bimbo would shout back the order and Jimmy Sr and Sharon would pack it, and Bimbo would repeat the order out loud and Sharon would tell him how much it cost, and that way they started flying. The heat though; they were sorry now they’d got Victor, Bimbo’s brother, to block up the window. They had to go the door now and again, Jimmy Sr and Sharon — Bimbo was alright; he had the hatch — and get some proper air. That was how Jimmy Sr caught a kid trying to disconnect the gas. Such a kick he sent at him, he was blessed that it had missed because he’d have killed the poor little fucker.

When the going got rough up at the hatch one of them would go up and help Bimbo, and when it got rough back at HQ one of them would come back from the hatch: they took turns. The only thing was the heat: Jimmy Sr’s throat was dry and he didn’t have time for a can of 7-Up. Anyway, there wasn’t enough room to drink it comfortably; he’d have got an elbow in the neck. Jimmy Sr took off his apron, then his T-shirt, and put the apron back on.

— You should do this, Sharon, look.

— Ha ha.

He checked to make sure that his knickers were well into his trousers and then he was back to work, throwing the burgers onto the hotplate like there was no tomorrow. It didn’t work though, taking the T-shirt off, not really; it just gave the flying fat more places to hit.

They’d serve two people and get them out of the way and three more would come out of the pub. It was a killer. Still though, this was what they’d wanted. There was money being made.

— Here! a young fella outside shouted. — These chips are raw!

— Yeh never said yeh wanted them cooked! said Jimmy Sr, and he dashed back to turn the burgers.

He was enjoying himself; the three of them were.

The older lads came out later, Bertie and Paddy and them, and it was more relaxed, a good laugh. It was nearly one o’clock. Jimmy Sr had lost weight, he could tell. He put his hand down the back of his trousers and there was much more room than usual, even with no shirt or vest in there. It was like working in a sauna. He liked the idea of losing a few pounds. He’d say nothing yet to Veronica about it, not for a few days. He’d do a twirl in front of her and see if she noticed.

The place was a mess, and getting dangerous. Sharon had fallen and Bimbo had scorched two of his fingers. It served him right for trying to pick up the burger with his hand cos Jimmy Sr was using the fish slice.

— Night nigh’, compadres.

— Good luck, Bertie.

There was no one left. Jimmy Sr closed the hatch. He could see another gang coming up the road and he didn’t want to have to start all over again. Anyway, they’d hardly anything left. There were a few chips in the bottom of the bin but they were a bit brown looking. Most of the water was on the floor. It could stay there. They were too shagged to do any cleaning. They made room for themselves on the ledges and shelves and sat up or leaned against them.

— Fuck me, said Jimmy Sr.

— Look at me shoes, said Sharon.

— Buy a new pair.

— Wha’ with?

— This, said Bimbo.

He held up a handful of notes, then put them back in the box. He showed them the rest of the cash in the box. He had to squash it down to keep it from falling out; not just green notes either, brown ones as well, and even a couple of blueys.

— Fair enough, wha’.

Someone hit the hatch a wallop.