Roddy Doyle - The Van

He looked: Anne Marie was back looking at Bimbo, and the bulge was going. No harm. — He hoped it wasn’t the drink. He was feeling a bit pissed now alright; that wine on top of all the pints.

Dawn got to his ear.

— What do you do, Jimmy?

— When I’m not here, d’yeh mean?

She laughed, and leaned back against his arm and stayed there.

— Self-employed, he told her. — Me an’ Bren.

— Ver-y good.

— Caterin’.

— Good.

He could feel the heat coming off Dawn, he was right up against her. And there wasn’t a bit of sweat on her. He wondered how she did it.

— It’s great bein’ your own boss, said Jimmy Sr.

— I’d say you’re a tough boss to work for, Jimmy.

— No, said Jimmy Sr. — Not really now. I’m reasonable enough.

Dawn nodded.

— I don’t take shite from annyone, Jimmy Sr told her — But once that’s established — yeh know.

The DJ was taking a breather, thank fuck. He’d put on a tape, but the noise wasn’t half as bad. They could have a chat altogether now, and Jimmy Sr could keep an eye on Bimbo.

— Here!

— Yes, sir? said the barman.

— Another bottle o’ house red wine, said Jimmy Sr. — How’s it goin’? he asked Bimbo and Anne Marie.

— There y’are, said Bimbo.

Anne Marie was staring at Jimmy Sr, right into his face. He pretended she wasn’t. Bimbo was grinning, like he always did when he’d more than ten pints inside in him, and swaying a bit, but not dangerously. The suit made him look less pissed than he was.

Jimmy Sr looked again. Your woman, Anne Marie, was still looking at him.

Then she spoke.

— Your complexions are very good, she said. — Considering.

— Considering what, Anne Marie? said Dawn.

— Where they work.

Bimbo! The fuckin’ eejit!

— Where do they work? said Dawn.

— In a van, said Anne Marie.

He’d fuckin’ kill him. Grinning away there!

He stayed close up to Dawn — just to remember how it felt.

— Here’s the wine, said Bimbo. — My twist. Twenty-three quid, isn’t that it?

— They have a chipper van, said Anne Marie.

— That’s righ’, said Bimbo.

— Brendan’s Burgers, said Anne Marie.

Bimbo and Anne Marie were holding hands.

— We’re buildin’ up a fleet o’ them, Jimmy Sr told Dawn. — Wha’ d’yeh do yourself, Dawn?

— Do you bring it to football matches and that sort of thing?

She sat up, but she didn’t seem to be trying to get away from him. Maybe it would be alright. He was still going to kill Bimbo though, the stupid cunt.

— Sometimes, said Jimmy Sr. — We stay local most o’ the time. Our market research has shown tha’ reliability is important.

He pushed Dawn’s back with his arm, trying to get her to settle into him.

— The punters like to know tha’ if they want a single o’ chips all they have to do is go out their doors an’ we’ll be there outside to give them their chips.

— And do you actually make the chips and the burgers yourself?

— Sometimes, said Jimmy Sr, — yeah.

If he pushed against her back any more he’d shove her off the stool.

— Strange thing to do for a living really, isn’t it?

— Not really, said Jimmy Sr. -1 suppose it might — eh—

This was fuckin’ desperate; he was getting nowhere. He’d lose the rag in a minute.

Oh good shite! Bimbo was kissing Anne Marie! It wasn’t fuckin’ fair. Right up against her, her arms around him, moving up and down his back, then her hands into his hair.

He put his mouth up to Dawn’s. She drew back.

— Now now, she said.

Like she had to cope with this all the time.

— Sorry—

Fuck it, he was a fool.

Bimbo and Anne Marie were chewing the faces off each other.

He wanted to cry, and go home. He pointed to Bimbo.

— His nickname’s Bimbo, he told Dawn.

He felt really rat-arsed now. He nearly fell over. The arm behind Dawn was killing him but if he took it away that was it, over. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t think. Something funny, anything. The taste of the Guinness was coming up his throat. Anne Marie bit Bimbo’s ear.

Jimmy Sr went in on Dawn’s mouth again.

— Stop that!

— Come on, said Jimmy Sr.

She pushed him away, well able for him; he was fuckin’ hopeless.

Bimbo was going to the jacks. Anne Marie held him back and straightened his tie. Then he was gone, past Jimmy Sr.

Dawn didn’t look angry or indignant, or anything. Like nothing had happened. She even smiled at him, the bitch.

He moved in again, and she pushed him away again. She pushed him back and picked up her glass at the same time.

— Fuck yeh! said Jimmy Sr, and he went after Bimbo.

The jacks was out the way they’d come in. Jimmy Sr shoved someone out of his way at the door and went in. He fell against the wall inside the door. There was another door. He got that open and there were four sinks and a big mirror in front of him. There was no one at the urinal. Bimbo must have been in one of the cubicles, getting sick with any luck. There were three of them, two of them shut. He got over there and walloped both doors.

— Come ou’, yeh cunt yeh!

One of them opened a bit when he thumped it. It wasn’t shut at all; there was no one in there. Bimbo was in the middle one so.

— Come on; I know you’re in there—

He gave the door a kick. Wood cracked.

— What’s wrong with yeh? Bimbo said.

Jimmy Sr heard a zip going up and then the flush. He pushed against the door before Bimbo had it properly open. Bimbo didn’t fall back, like Jimmy Sr’d wanted; he could do nothing right tonight. He kicked the door again.

— Get ou’!

— I’m tryin’ to—

He saw half of Bimbo’s face behind the door. He threw everything against it and it smacked Bimbo’s face, and all of the violence went out of him.

He’d hurt Bimbo.

He wanted to lie down on the floor.

Bimbo came out and went over to the mirror. He had his hands over his forehead. Jimmy Sr followed him.

— Are yeh alrigh’?

Bimbo didn’t answer.

He studied his forehead. There was a graze, and there’d be a lump. But there was no real damage.

— Sorry, Bimbo — righ’?

Bimbo still didn’t say anything.

— Are yeh alrigh’?—Are yeh?

It’s no thanks to you if I am.

— Ah look it; sorry, righ’.—I just lost the head—

Just now, that second, he couldn’t even remember why. Then it came back.

— Wha’did yeh go an’ tell them abou’ the van for?

— Why shouldn’t I have? She asked me what I did for a livin’, so I told her.

— Well, yeh messed it up for me with your woman—

— How did I? said Bimbo. — You messed it up yourself. It’s not my fault if — if she didn’t like yeh, is it?

— I was away on a hack until you opened your fuckin’ mouth—

— How did I?

— You told her abou’ the fuckin’ van, that’s how.

— What’s wrong with tha’?

— Ah—

Jimmy Sr didn’t know how to answer.

Bimbo was looking at his forehead again.

— Is it not good enough for you now? Bimbo asked him.

— It’s not tha’—

— It pays your wages, Bimbo told him.

Jimmy Sr was lost.

— If you don’t want to work in it, said Bimbo, — you can leave any time yeh want to. — An’ good riddance.

— Ah look it — for fuck sake—

— I’m sick o’ you an’ your bullyin’—, sick of it—

They were sober and drunk, sober and drunk.

— You got off with your woman an’—Sorry.

Bimbo slumped, like he’d nothing left to hold him up. Jimmy Sr went over and put his hand on his back.