The Van

by Roddy Doyle

  Bimbo told Maggie what had happened and she kind of took over that department.

  —Joint decisions, me bollix said Jimmy Sr, but he didn’t mind; he just said it to make Bimbo feel guilty, because he deserved it.

  Maggie was brilliant. She got them a cash-and-carry card, no problem to her. Fellas Jimmy Sr knew would have killed their mothers for one of those cards, to get at the cheap drink, but Maggie went off one afternoon and came back with one. She’d a great business head on her.

  —A revelation, said Bertie.

  —Ah yeah, said Jimmy Sr.—Hats off to her.

  Bimbo was chuffed.

  She found out about permits and licences and that, stuff that Jimmy Sr couldn‘t’ve been bothered looking into, and Bimbo wouldn’t’ve been able to. She said she’d organise the stock, and all they’d have to worry about was getting the van in order, and then manning it. She said she’d look after the whole legal side of the operation. It was a load off their minds, both Jimmy Sr and Bimbo agreed on that.

  —I didn’t even know yeh needed a fuckin’ licence, Jimmy Sr admitted.

  —Oh God, yeah, said Bimbo.—Yeh need a licence for nearly everythin’, so yeh do.

  Jimmy Sr supposed that it was only right; if you needed a licence for a dog or a telly it was only proper that you had to have one for a chipper van as well.

  —It’s not so much the van, said Bimbo.—It’s more what yeh do in it, if yeh get me.

  The outside of the van was looking well now. Bimbo’s brother, Victor, was a panel beater and he was going to do a job on the dints, the worst ones anyway. There were a few bald patches but a lick of paint would make them hard to find. The neighbours still stopped and looked at them working, but they’d stopped slagging them.

  —We’ve got it looking smashin’, said Bimbo.

  Jimmy Sr rubbed his fingers down the side, and there was no track left after it. He wouldn’t have been able to do that last week; his finger would’ve got stuck.

  —Now for the inside, said Bimbo.

  —Oh fuck, said Jimmy Sr.

  They all got together in Bimbo and Maggie’s kitchen. Veronica came with Jimmy Sr so there was the four of them, and Maggie’s mother. It was nice.

  —Now, said Maggie.—What I thought we’d do tonight was finalise the menu.

  —Wha’ menu? said Bimbo.

  —Yeah, said Jimmy Sr.

  He was worried; he didn’t want to be a fuckin’ waiter.

  Bimbo nearly whispered over the table to Maggie.

  —It’s only a van.

  Veronica started laughing, and Maggie did as well.

  Jimmy Sr wasn’t sure what was happening, but he couldn’t help thinking that he was being hijacked, himself and Bimbo.

  —The menu, lads, said Maggie—a bit sarcastically, Jimmy Sr thought - is the list of things that the customer chooses from.

  —Like on the wall behind the counter? said Jimmy Sr.

  —Exactly, said Maggie.

  Jimmy Sr nodded, like he’d known that all along; he was just checking.

  They got down to business. Maggie had stuff already done in under the grill, like on a cookery programme on the telly. She divided a burger in five and they each had a little bit. Jimmy Sr thought that this was a bit mean, until he tasted it.

  —Jesus!

  Enough said; they all agreed with him. Maggie had a list; she even had one of those clipboard things. She put a line through the first name.

  —Wha’ are they called an’ annyway? Jimmy Sr asked Maggie.

  —Splendid Burgers, said Maggie.

  —My God, said Veronica.

  They tasted five more. Maggie’s mother was still only on the second one when the rest of them had finished.

  —Would annyone like a glass o’ water? said Bimbo.

  —Please, said Veronica.

  —Yeah, me too, said Jimmy Sr.—I thought the third one was the nicest.

  —I don’t know if nicest is the word, said Veronica, —but—

  —What abou’ you, Bimbo? Jimmy Sr asked.

  —Yeah. I think so, he said.—Not the last one annyway; the fifth one.

  —Fuck, no.

  Maggie’s mother caught up with them.

  —What do you think, Mammy? Maggie asked her.

  —Very nice, she said.

  —Which but? said Jimmy Sr.

  —Oh, she said.—Is it a quiz?

  And Veronica kicked Jimmy Sr’s leg before he could say anything back.

  —Will we go for the Champion Burger so? said Maggie.

  —Is tha’ the third one? said Jimmy Sr.

  —Yeah.

  —Def’ny then, said Jimmy Sr.—They were bigger as well.

  —That’s only because o’ the way I cut it, said Maggie. —I gave you the biggest bit.

  —Still though, said Jimmy Sr.—I thought it was head an’ shoulders above the others.

  —Champion? said Maggie.—Goin’ once—twice—Champion, it is.

  Jimmy Sr was delighted; he’d won. He knocked back his water and got up to get more.

  —What’s next? said Bimbo.

  —Spice-burgers, said Maggie.

  Herself and Veronica started laughing again.

  They were all feeling a bit queasy by the time they’d finished—very fuckin’ queasy actually—but it was great crack all the same. Fresh cod-in-batter, small bricks of the stuff, was next, followed closely by smoked cod-in-batter.

  —It’s not really smoked cod at all, yeh know, Maggie told them.—It’s black mullet.

  Veronica took her bit out of her mouth when she heard that but Jimmy Sr thought it was grand. His philosophy was that he didn’t give a shite what it was so long as it tasted alright, and he made that point to the rest of them. Bimbo didn’t agree with him.

  —I don’t think yeh should sell somethin’ if it’s really somethin’ else, he said.

  —Fair enough, said Jimmy Sr.—Put Black mullet-in-batter up on the, eh, menu an’ see how many yeh sell.

  —Maybe if we can’t get real smoked cod we shouldn’t sell it at all.

  —Yes, said Veronica.

  —People like smoked cod! said Jimmy Sr.—I love a bit o’ smoked cod.

  —But it isn’t really smoked cod.

  —So wha’?

  Veronica wanted to say something.

  —Does it have to be all these processed things? she asked.—Could you not get your fish in Howth and prepare it yourselves.

  —Too dear, I’m afraid, said Maggie.

  She consulted her clipboard.

  —An’ anyway, said Jimmy Sr.—As well as tha’, how would we smoke the cod an’ tha’? We don’t know how. We’re not—fuckin’ Amazon tribesmen or somethin’.

  He took another hunk of the mullet and chewed fuck out of it.

  —Well, I think it’s fuckin’ lovely, he said.

  And bloody Veronica started laughing again.

  Maggie was gas once she had a few scoops inside in her. She made her mother try out two different types of ketchup.

  They watched her putting a little fingerload of the second ketchup onto her tongue.

  —Now, Mammy, said Maggie.—Was tha’ one any less disgustin’ than the last one?

  —Oh yes, she said.—Definitely.

  They’d polished off the few cans that Bimbo had hidden under the stairs (—I‘d’ve sworn tha’ there was more in there), so they went for a few pints before closing time, to get rid of the taste of all the gunge and shite they’d been experimenting with all night.

  Maggie’s mother stayed at home.

  —I think the last spice-burger must’ve floored her a bit, said Bimbo.

  —Ah yeah; God love her, said Jimmy Sr.

  Veronica burst her hole laughing when he said that. She was really enjoying herself. Jimmy Sr held her hand for a bit when they were going up the road.

  They were both nervous going in. The World Cup was only two and a bit weeks away now. They climbed in and stood there, sweating already before they
’d done anything. They breathed through their mouths, air that hadn’t been used in months; it smelt a bit like old runners, but far worse than that.

  —No rust, said Bimbo, after a fair while.

  —Everythin’ else though, said Jimmy Sr.

  —How’ll we manage it? said Bimbo.

  Jimmy Sr had an idea; he’d had it since he’d started sweating.

  —A couple o’ kids would be better in here than us, he said.—Much more effective.

  Bimbo didn’t look too keen.

  —We’d just get them to take off the first layer, Jimmy Sr explained.—An’ then we can do the rest ourselves easily. We won’t be gettin’ in each other’s way.

  It was Saturday; no school.

  —I’ll get Wayne up, said Bimbo.

  —Good man, said Jimmy Sr.—Bribe him.

  —I’ll have to, said Bimbo.—Wayne loves his bed.

  Wayne grew up that day; he earned his first day’s wages. God, he was great. Early on, only a little while after he’d started, he got out of the van and got sick, and climbed back in again, not a bother on him. He didn’t even want a glass of water when Bimbo said he’d get one for him. Bimbo got another of his young fellas, Glenn, when he came home from his football and that made two of them inside and Bimbo and Jimmy Sr outside handing buckets of hot water into them. It was a lovely day, the sun was powerful and a nice breeze as well. Wayne was small and Glenn was tiny.

  —Made for this kind o’ work, said Jimmy Sr.

  Bimbo agreed with him.

  —They’re good in school as well though, Jimmy, he said. —Glenn is tops in his class.

  —Yeh can see that alrigh’, said Jimmy Sr.—He’s a man’s head on him.

  He looked in at them again.

  —D‘yeh know wha’? he said.—If they’d been around a hundred years ago they‘d’ve spent all their time up fuckin’ chimneys.

  Bimbo looked in as well; he couldn’t help laughing, but he was beaming, delighted with himself.

  —Now now, lads, he said.

  They were throwing water at each other.

  —D‘yeh know what I was thinkin’? said Jimmy Sr.

  They were sitting on the grass, keeping an eye on the lads.

  —Wha’?

  —We should have a big paintin’ there beside the hatch, said Jimmy Sr.—An’ another one to match it on the other side.

  —What sort of a paintin’? said Bimbo.

  —I don’t know, said Jimmy Sr.—A burger or somethin‘, an’ a few chips beside. Like an ad. Not a painting paintin’ like the Mona Lisa or annythin’. A sign.

  Glenn slid out of the van headfirst but he was going fast enough to miss the path and land on the grass. He laughed and got up to do it again. Bimbo grabbed him by the kaks; he was only wearing his runners and his underpants.

  —No messin’ now, Glenn.

  But they were sliding around like Torvill and Dean in there, not on purpose; they couldn’t help it. Then Bimbo had a brainwave. He got sheets of sandpaper - he had loads of them, of course—and tied them to the soles of their runners, and it worked.

  He kept looking in at them and their feet.

  —Take it easy, Bimbo, will yeh, said Jimmy Sr.—You’re not after inventin’ fuckin’ electricity.

  —You’re only jealous, Bimbo told him.

  —Fuck off, will yeh.

  By the end of the day the two lads were shagged but they’d done a great job. Maggie gave out shite; she said she’d never be able to get the rings off the bath. She’d soaked the two of them till their skin was wrinkly and they still looked grey.

  —Take a look at wha’ they did though, said Bimbo.

  Maggie looked into the van. And she had to admit it; they’d done a great job.

  They climbed into the van.

  —They did a smashin’ job, didn’t they? said Bimbo.

  It was Monday morning, bright and early.

  It was still manky, there was still a very funny smell—it was worse now that the van was much cleaner; more out of place - but it looked a hell of a lot better than it had two days ago.

  The door was at the back of the van. The driver and passenger seats were separate; you had to get out and walk round to the back to get into the van bit. There was a step up to the door. When you came in the hatch was on your right. It was wide enough for two using their arms and elbows, with a good wide counter, although you’d have to lean out a bit to get the money. The door of the hatch was like the emergency exit at the back of a double-decker bus, but without the glass. You pushed it out and up. The hotplate and the deep fat fryer were behind the hatch, on the other side of the van. There was a small window above them, without the glass since Wayne had put his foot through it. There was a sink at the back and not a lot else; a few shelves and ledges. The sink was behind where the passenger seat was.

  —What’s the sink for? Jimmy Sr wanted to know.

  —For washin’ stuff, o’ course, said Bimbo.

  —But there’s no fuckin’ water, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Yeh’d have to have a sink, said Bimbo.

  —But there’s no fuckin’ water, Jimmy Sr said again.

  —Well, it’s there for somethin‘, said Bimbo.—We’ll figure it ou’.—We’ll go at it from the top down.

  —Righto, said Jimmy Sr.

  Bimbo was on the left wall and Jimmy Sr on the right, the one with the hatch in it. He’d skip over the hatch and finish before Bimbo and give out shite to him for being a slowcoach, for the laugh.

  —Just a squirt gets the dirt, said Bimbo when they were starting.

  It was a doddle compared to what they’d had to do outside.

  —How much did yeh give the lads? Jimmy Sr asked Bimbo.

  —Nothin’ yet, said Bimbo.—Sure, they asked me could they do it again there yesterday. They had a great time, so they did.

  They laughed.

  —They’ll learn, said Jimmy Sr.—Let’s get a bit o’ light in here, wha’.

  He figured out how to open the hatch.

  —Now.

  He pushed it out, and it fell off and Jimmy Sr nearly fell out after it. It made an almighty clatter when it hit the ground. Bimbo nearly fell off his perch. He dropped his Jif into the deep fat fryer.

  —God, me heart, he said.

  Jimmy Sr was swinging off the counter. His legs found the floor and he felt safer.

  —Fuck your heart, said Jimmy Sr.—I nearly had a shite in me fuckin’ trousers. Come here, swap sides.

  —No way!

  They weren’t happy with the look of the deep fat fryer. But they’d done their best with it.

  —Still though, said Bimbo.—It might be dangerous.

  —Not at all, said Jimmy Sr.—It’s just wear an’ tear, that’s all.

  They were in Bimbo’s kitchen having their elevenses.

  —The hotplate looks very well now, said Bimbo.

  —It does alrigh’, Jimmy Sr agreed.—Yeh’d ride your missis on it it’s so clean.

  —Shhh! said Bimbo.

  Glenn was coming through with tins of pineapple rings.

  —It’s the man from Delmonte, said Jimmy Sr.—Good man, Glenn.

  —These’re the heaviest, Glenn told him.

  —No problem to yeh, said Jimmy Sr.

  Glenn ran out into the garden so he could get to the shed before he had to drop the tray of pineapple rings. They heard the clatter of tins hitting the path.

  —He didn’t make it, said Jimmy Sr.

  Bimbo lifted himself up to look out the window.

  —No, he said.—He did.

  They’d two freezers out in Bimbo’s shed - Bertie’d got them for them; grand big freezers, nearly new - and all the stuff went into them; the blocks of cod, the blocks of lard, the burgers, anything that would go bad.

  The kids were bringing cartons of Twixes and Mars Bars out to Maggie now.

  —I have them counted, she warned them.

  Jessica went to the kitchen door and yelled out.

 
—There’s nothin’ left!

  —Come here, said Maggie.

  In a few seconds the kids came charging through with two Twixes and two Mars Bars apiece.

  Bimbo made a grab at Glenn.

  —Give us a Twix.

  Glenn got away from him and into the hall, bursting his little shite laughing. Maggie shut the kitchen door. She threw a burger onto the table. It bounced; it was rock solid.

  —What d‘you think of tha’? she said.

  —It’s a bit hard, said Bimbo.

  Jimmy Sr picked it up. It was the whole thing, the bun and all.

  —What’s the idea? he said.

  —There’s onion an’ sauce an’ a slice o’ gherkin already in there, she said.—And you can get them with cheese as well.

  She sat down.

  —All yeh have to do is throw it in the microwave, she said.

  —That’s very good, said Bimbo.

  —We don’t have a microwave, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Can’t yis get—? said Maggie.

  —We’ve no electricity, said Bimbo.

  They looked at one another.

  —Oh Christ—, said Jimmy Sr.

  —Now, said Jimmy Sr.—Look at this now; there’s nothin’ to it. Anny fuckin’ eejit could do it.

  They were in the Rabbitte kitchen.

  He had the mixing bowl on the table in front of him. He poured water from a milk bottle into the bowl.

  —Water, he said.

  He sprinkled some flour from a packet in on top of the water, then got a bit braver and poured half the packet in.

  —An’ flour, he said.—Yeh with me so far?

  —Water an’ flour, said Bimbo.

  —Good man.

  He picked up the whisk.

  —This is the hard part, he said.—The hard work. I’m doin’ it by hand, he explained,—cos that’s the way we’ll have to do in the van.

  He attacked the mixture with the whisk, holding the bowl to him the way Veronica’d shown him.

  —I’m tellin’ yeh, he said.—It gets yeh sweatin’.

  He stopped and looked.

  —It’s blendin’ well there, d’yeh see? he said.—We need a bit more water though, to get rid o’ the lumps.

  Bimbo went to the sink and filled the milk bottle.

  —Nearly there, said Jimmy Sr.

  He poured in some more water, and prodded the lumps with the whisk and then his fingers.