Roddy Doyle - The Van

— That’s the stupidest row we’ve ever had, said Bimbo.

— Thick, said Jimmy Sr. — Fuckin’ ridiculous.

— We’ll go home, will we?

— Wha’ abou’ Anne Marie? said Jimmy Sr.

— I don’t want — Let’s go home.

— Okay.

That was the best.

— Fair play to yeh though, said Jimmy Sr. — Anne Marie an’ tha’.

Bimbo said nothing. Lucky they’d their jackets on them; they didn’t have to go back.

The air was nice, nice and cold. It was heavy going getting up the steps. There was a chap passed out against the railings.

— Will yeh look at him, said Jimmy Sr.

Bimbo said nothing.

They walked down towards Stephen’s Green.

— It was a terrible kip, said Jimmy Sr. — Wasn’t it?

— They were teachers, said Bimbo. — The two o’ them.

— Who? Dawn an’ your woman—?

— Yeah. Teachers. — Primary.

— That’s desperate—

— They were married as well.

— No.

— Yeah.

Jimmy Sr slipped off the path, and got back on again.

— The filthy bitches, wha’.

They walked on. Jimmy Sr started to sing, to save the night.

— OHHH—

THERE’S HAIRS ON THIS—

AN’ THERE’S HAIRS ON THA’—

Bimbo stopped to let Jimmy Sr come up beside him.

— AN’ THERE’S HAIRS ON MY DOG TINE-EEE—

Bimbo joined in.

— AH — BUT I KNOW WHERE—

THE HAIRS GROW BEST—

Jimmy Sr put his arm over Bimbo’s shoulders.

— ON THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.

They were at the corner. There was a taxi coming round with its light on. They stood, leaning into each other, till it came up to them.

It hadn’t been a good night at all. It had been a fuckin’ disaster. Jimmy Sr’s head was starting to ache on and off.

They got into the back of the taxi.

— Barrytown, Jimmy Sr told the driver. — Soon home, he said to Bimbo.

— Yeah—, said Bimbo.

He slouched down into the corner and looked out the window. Jimmy Sr did the same thing, on his side.

There was some sort of a riot going on downstairs. He was awake now. His head was killing him. His guts were groaning; he’d be farting all day. The light behind the curtains wasn’t too strong. That was good; they probably wouldn’t be going to Dollymount in the afternoon. He needed a rest. He didn’t want to see Bimbo. He shifted over to a cool bit of the bed. That was nice.

The racket downstairs though; they were all shouting and the dog was yipping away out of him. It didn’t sound like a fight though. Maybe there’d been an accident. No; there was laughing as well.

He’d go down and investigate. He needed food inside him anyway if he was going to get back to sleep.

— Oh my fuck—

He’d never make it down to the kitchen. He sat on the edge of the bed. — Last fuckin’ night—; God, he was a fuckin’ clown. He slipped down till his head was back on the pillow and lay like that. For ages. And that was how Veronica found him.

— Look at you, she said.

She didn’t sound annoyed, the way she usually did when she walked into the mix of drink and farts.

— Darren got his results, she told him.

— What’s tha’?

— His Leaving results, said Veronica. — He got them.

Jimmy Sr tried to sit up.

— Well? he said.

— Seven honours, said Veronica. — Isn’t that marvellous?

— Seven!?

— Yes!

— How many subjects was he doin’, again?

— Guess, said Veronica.

— Seven, said Jimmy Sr. — Jesus, that’s brilliant. — Seven. He must’ve been the best in the school, was he?

He wished he felt better. Darren deserved better; the first Rabbitte to do his Leaving and his father couldn’t even get up out of bed properly.

— Is he downstairs, is he?

— Yes. He’s down there making coffee like nothing had happened, special.

— That’s Darren. Cool as a—

He couldn’t think—

— I’d better go down an’ congratulate him—

He stood up and held onto the dressing table.

— I got mine as well, Veronica told him.

That took a while to get through.

— Your results, said Jimmy Sr. — You did the Leavin’ as well.

— I know, said Veronica.

— Yeh passed?

— Of course, said Veronica. — C in Maths and a B in English. Honours English, that is.

— Ah Veronica, he said. — That’s brilliant.

— I’m thrilled.

— So am I, said Jimmy Sr. — I’m very fuckin’ hungover as well.

— You should be ashamed of yourself, said Veronica, but she didn’t mean it — and that made it worse.

— We’ll have to go ou’ tonigh’, said Jimmy Sr.

— Will you live that long? said Veronica; then — That’d be nice. What about your work?

— Fuck my work. I couldn’t look at a chip. Sharon can fill in for me.

He got back to the bed.

— I’ll have to congratulate Darren later, he said. — Sorry.

Veronica even made sure that the door didn’t slam when she was leaving. He wouldn’t sleep. There was too much — Darren would be going to university now. He’d applied for Trinity, Jimmy Sr thought it was, to do something or other. University. For fuck sake. And Veronica — And he couldn’t even get up to congratulate them. And last night He was a useless cunt. He groaned — A complete and utter cunt—

He’d bring Veronica out for a nice meal somewhere, the works; a bottle of house red wine and all.

He was still a cunt.

— It’s for the best, Bimbo explained. — It’s too messy the other way, so — em; okay?

— Okay, said Jimmy Sr.

He shrugged. He was afraid to say anything else. He didn’t think he’d get through it.

— Okay.

Bimbo had just told him that from now on he’d be paying Jimmy Sr a wage. On Thursdays. Instead of the old way, the fifty-fifty arrangement.

— Will yeh have another pint? said Bimbo.

— No. — No, thanks.

— Come on, yeh will. We’re in no hurry. We’ve time for one more.

— Okay.

— Good man.

He should have told him to stick his wages up his hole, that was what he should have done.

Veronica was fast asleep beside him, the selfish bitch.

No, that wasn’t fair. She’d listened to him. She’d even told him to give up the van if he wanted to, she wouldn’t mind.

He wouldn’t do that though. He couldn’t go back to what it had been like before they’d bought the van — before Bimbo had bought the fuckin’ van. He couldn’t do that; get rid of the video again, stop giving the twins proper pocket money and a few quid to Sharon, and everything else as well — food, clothes, good jacks paper, the few pints, even the dog’s fuckin’ dinner; everything. There was Darren as well now. How many kids went to university with fathers on the labour? No, he’d stick at it.

That was probably what Bimbo wanted him to do; give up. He probably had a cousin of Maggie’s or somebody lined up to take over from him. Well, he’d be fuckin’ waiting. He’d have to sack him first.

He wasn’t going to call him Bimbo any more. Veronica was right; it sounded too cosy.

It was his own fault in a way; some of it. He should have bought the half of the van when he’d thought about it. Months ago. He’d thought he was cute, deciding not to bother; there was no need. He’d just been greedy. And now he was working in someone else’s chipper van, like working in McDonalds or Burger King. Maggie was probably up at her sewing machine making one of those poxy uniforms for him.

He tried to laugh, quietly.

— Yes, sir, said Jimmy Sr.

— Ah stop tha’, said Bimbo, — will yeh.

— Stop wha’, sir? said Jimmy Sr.

Bimbo didn’t answer. He lifted the chip basket out of the fat, shook it and dropped it back in.