Roddy Doyle - The Van

First thing, after he had a piss, he sneaked into Sharon’s room and took Gina out of her cot. She’d be waiting for him. It was thick, but he held his breath when he was opening the door until he saw that she was still alive. Every morning; he couldn’t help it. She grabbed his neck and the two of them sneaked back out of the room because they knew that they weren’t to wake Sharon.

Then they’d hit the twins’ room. Veronica stuck her head in and roared at them on her way down to the kitchen and his and Gina’s job was to follow Veronica and make sure that they were getting up.

— Yis up, girls?

It was a stupid question because they never were. He’d put Gina down on the bed and she jumped on them and that made them stop pretending that they were still asleep. It was like having a bag of spuds hopping on you. Once, Gina’s nappy had burst, and that had got them up quick. When he heard Linda or Tracy telling Gina to stop he got out of the room because they didn’t like him to be there when they got out from under the blankets.

He went downstairs by himself. He looked into the front room to see that Darren was up. He didn’t look in really; he just knocked. Darren had been sleeping in the front room since they’d decided that Sharon needed a room of her own, for Gina. It was terrible; there were two less in the house — Jimmy Jr and Leslie — and still poor Darren had to sleep on the couch. They’d been going to build an extension in the back; he kept meaning to find out if the Corporation would do it.

This morning Darren was coming out when Jimmy Sr got to the door.

— Howyeh, Darren.

— Howyeh.

— Y‘alrigh’?

— Yeah.

— Good. Did yeh tidy up the blankets an’ stuff yet?

— Yeah.

— Good man.

He got out of Darren’s way and let him go into the kitchen first. Next he unlocked the back door and let Larrygogan in. The fuckin’ hound had a hole bored through the door nearly, from scraping at it every morning to get in, and whining. But Veronica never let him in; she didn’t seem to hear him. Jimmy Sr had watched her sometimes when the dog was crying and whining outside — it was fuckin’ terrible, like a baby being tortured or something — but Veronica didn’t notice it; he’d watched her.

When he opened the door the dog was all over him, hopping around him; thanking him, Jimmy Sr sometimes thought. The dog was no thick. He could nearly talk, the noises he made sometimes when he wanted a biscuit or a chip. He didn’t just growl; he had different growls that he used, depending on how badly he wanted something, and whimpers and other stuff as well. And sometimes he just looked at you — just looked — and you couldn’t help thinking of one of those starving kids in Africa. He was a great oul’ dog, Larrygogan was.

— Ah Christ!

His fuckin’ paws were wet, and dirty. He jumped at Jimmy Sr again. Jimmy Sr grabbed the dog’s legs just before they landed on his trousers.

— Get his towel, Darren, will yeh.

— Okay, said Darren.

Jimmy Sr looked out the open door while Darren was getting him the dog’s towel from under the sink. It was pissing out there, and cold. Not real wintery cold, but the stuff that got inside you and made every room in the house seem miserable, except the kitchen when it was full. The poor dog was wringing, like a drowned rat; half his normal size because his hair was all stuck to him. He barked. Then he shook himself. His back paws started slipping on the lino, so Jimmy Sr let go of his legs.

— Here.

Darren threw the towel to Jimmy Sr.

— Good man, said Jimmy Sr.

He opened the towel — it was manky but dry — and got ready to dry the dog’s back, and this was the bit the dog loved. Jimmy Sr dropped the towel and missed Larrygogan by a mile because Larry was in under the kitchen table, sliding and barking.

— Come ou’ till I dry yeh.

Larrygogan put his chin on the floor and barked at Jimmy Sr.

Jimmy Sr always thought that that bark, the real cheeky one, sounded like Get fucked. And the way his ears jumped up when he said it — not said it, not really; just barked — but he looked like he was saying it, giving cheek to Jimmy Sr, his master. It was gas.

— Come on ou’ here, yeh renegade, yeh.

The dog barked again.

— Here, Darren; go round there an’ shove him ou’ to me. Jimmy Sr stared at Larrygogan.

— You’re fucked now, he said.

— Stop that, said Veronica.

— Sorry, Veronica, he said.

He loved this.

Darren was at the other side of the table. He got down on his knees and stretched in under the table and pushed Larrygogan — Larrygogan was chin down, arse up — but Larrygogan pushed back against Darren’s open hands. The dog’s paws slid a bit but he stayed put, and Darren had to climb in under the table. He was bursting his shite laughing now, and so was Jimmy Sr.

— Mind he doesn’t fart on yeh, he told Darren.

— Oh Jaysis, said Darren, and he couldn’t push properly any more because he was laughing so much.

Larrygogan was winning.

— Ah, leave him, said Jimmy Sr.

He stood up.

— Let him catch his death. He deserves to die, the fuckin’ eejit of a dog.

Darren got out and up from under the table. They grinned at each other but then Darren sat down and started reading his book. Jimmy Sr shut the door. Larrygogan charged out to the hall.

He still had a good breakfast these days, the fry and loads of toast and a bowl of Cornflakes as well sometimes if he still felt a bit empty. They used to have Sugar Puffs and the rest of them; every time there was a new ad on the telly the twins had to have a box of the new things. But they only had the Cornflakes now. They were the best. Tea as well, loads of it. He only had coffee later on in the day, and sometimes he didn’t bother. He didn’t need it. Tea though, he loved his cup of tea; twenty bleedin’ cups.

He had a mug for work that he’d had for years; he still had it. It was a big plain white one, no cracks, no stupid slogans. He put two teabags into it; used to. My God, he’d never forget the taste of the first cup of tea in the morning, usually in a bare room in a new house with muck and dirt everywhere, freezing; fuck me, it was great; it scalded him on the way down; he could feel it all the way. And the taste it left; brilliant; brilliant. He always used two bags, squeezed the bejesus out of them. The mug was so big it warmed more than just his hands. It was like sitting in front of a fire. After a few gulps he’d sip at it and turn around and look at his work. He always got a few walls done before he stopped for the tea. Even if the other lads were stopping he kept going, till he felt he needed it; deserved it. He’d look around him at the plastering. It was perfect; not a bump or a sag, so smooth you’d never know where he’d started. Then he’d gulp down the rest of the tea and get back to it. The mug was outside in the shed, in a bag with his other work stuff. He’d wrapped toilet paper around it.

— You’ll get drenched goin’ to school, Darren, he said.

— Yeah, said Darren.

— Still, said Jimmy Sr. — It’ll save yeh the bother o’ washin’ yourself, wha’.

— Yeah, said Darren.

Darren looked at the rain hitting the window.

— Jesus, he said.

— Stop that, said Veronica.

— That’s the real wet stuff alrigh’, Jimmy Sr told Darren.

— I’ve P.E. today, Darren told him.

— Is tha’ righ’? said Jimmy Sr. — Ah, they’ll never send yeh ou’ in tha’; they couldn’t.

— They did the last time.

— Did they, the cunts?

Veronica put his plate in front of him and then walloped him across the head.

— Sorry, he said.

He took out tenpence and dropped it in the swearbox.