by Roddy Doyle
DO THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE—
He turned, and dropped his shorts and wriggled. God, he was terrible. Poor Darren was bright red.
—WITH ALL OF YOUR MIGHT—
—Pull up your trousers! Veronica shouted.
Darren pointed something out to her. She leaned over the sink and saw Mary Caprani, two gardens down, hanging off her clothes-line and gawking in at Jimmy Sr’s war dance. Veronica thought she’d fall, the laughing took all her strength. She was bent completely over the sink, her face was against the tap, but she couldn’t get up. The face on Mary Caprani; she’d been waiting years to see scandal like this.
Darren tapped Jimmy Sr’s shoulder and showed him Mrs Caprani.
Jimmy Sr ran for the back door and tried to rescue his shorts at the same time. He fell into the kitchen.
—Jaysis, Veronica! Did yeh see Radar Caprani lookin’ at me?
—Never mind her, said Veronica.—She’s probably just jealous.
—Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.
He was sitting on the floor. He lifted his T-shirt, pulled in his stomach and looked down at his marriage tackle.
—Maybe you’re right, he said.
Veronica’s blouse was drenched. She’d have to get out of it.
The Satellites were still blemming away outside.
Jimmy Sr grabbed the hem of her skirt when she was getting past him. He joined in with the band.
—I CAN’T SIT STILL—
WITH THE HIPPY HIPPY SHAKE—
He put his head in under her skirt.
—Mammy, Darren’s playin’ our ghetto—
Linda ran into the kitchen.
—Jesus!
Jimmy Sr came out from under the skirt.
—Get ou’!
Linda ran, and so did Veronica.
—They didn’t understand, Jimmy Sr told Veronica.
They were in bed. The light was out. Jimmy Sr had been telling Veronica about the Cocktail routine.
—They thought we were messin‘, doin’ it for a laugh.
Veronica sighed. She’d thought that as well. She had to say something.
—I’m sure they didn’t, she said.
—They did, said Jimmy Sr.—Maggie did annyway. She wouldn’t’ve just gone back into the house if she hadn’t of.
—Well, explain it to her.
—I will not. Why should I?
Veronica sighed again, harder this time; a different sort of sigh.
—It’s not my fault if she doesn’t recognise a good fuckin’ marketin’ strategy when she sees it, said Jimmy Sr.
—You’re working yourself up again, Veronica told him. —You won’t be able to sleep again.
—Ah layoff, will yeh.—You’re as bad as she is.— Veronica—.—Don’t start pretendin’ you’re asleep; come on Veronica?—
—Get out o’ me fuckin’ light, will yeh, said Jimmy Sr.
Then he sort of saw himself, a narky little bollix, the type of little bollix he’d always hated. But at nearly the same time he felt better, and clearer: he’d had an idea.
—D‘yeh know wha’ we need, Bimbo? he said.
It was half-ten about, outside the Hikers.
He waited for Bimbo to stop what he was doing, opening bags and setting them up in little rows on the counter.
—Wha’? said Bimbo.
—A night on the batter, said Jimmy Sr.
Bimbo looked over at the pile of fish.
—Not tha’ sort o’ fuckin’ batter, said Jimmy Sr.—Tha’ just shows yeh we’ve been workin’ too hard if yeh can’t remember wha’ a night on the batter is.
Bimbo didn’t laugh.
—Are yeh on? said Jimmy Sr.—It’ll do us good. Wha’ d’yeh say?
—Righ’, Jim. Okay.
—Good man, said Jimmy Sr.
He clapped his hands.
—We’ll have a fuckin’ ball.
—That’s righ’, said Bimbo.
They both laughed now.
Jimmy Sr wanted to check that Bimbo had picked him up right.
—Just the two of us, wha’.
—That’s righ’.
—Into town, said Jimmy Sr.—Will we go into town?
—Jaysis—
—We may as well, wha’.
—Okay.—Where in town?
—Everyfuckin’where.
They laughed again.
They wore their suits in; Jimmy Sr insisted. They were in the Barrytown DART station now. It was a horrible damp grey shell of a place with plastic wobbly glass in the doors, and a smell. He got the tickets and his change from the young fella behind the glass, a big thick-looking gobshite, and when he turned back he saw Bimbo trying to figure out the timetable on the wall.
—There’s one in a minute, Jimmy Sr told him.
—No, said Bimbo.—It’s the last one I’m lookin’ for, to see wha’ time it is.
—Never mind the last one, said Jimmy Sr.
He got Bimbo and shoved him through the door out onto the platform.
There was a fair gang on the southbound platform; a bunch of young fellas near the end probably dodging their fare, a few couples, a family that looked like they were going to visit someone in hospital.
—There’s a fine thing over there, said Jimmy Sr.—Look it.
There was a young one by herself on the northbound with a red mini-skirt and a tan and hair that made her head look three times bigger than it should have been.
—Oh yeah, said Bimbo.
—She must be goin’ ou’ to Howth, said Jimmy Sr.
—Wha’ for? said Bimbo.
—The fish, said Jimmy Sr.
There were some things that Bimbo hadn’t a clue about. Jimmy Sr could see him deciding if she was really going out to Howth to buy fish.
—I’d say she’s meetin’ her boyfriend or somethin’, said Bimbo.
—Maybe he’s a fisherman, said Jimmy Sr.
The DART was coming.
—Here we go, said Jimmy Sr.—Is there a duty-free shop in the last carriage?
Bimbo laughed.
Thank fuck, Jimmy Sr said to himself. He’d been starting to think that Bimbo had lost his sense of humour from leaning over the deep fat fryer for too long.
The trip into town was grand. A scuttered knacker and a couple having a row kept them entertained as far as Connolly. Their carriage was full of dolled-up young ones. And Bimbo began to get more relaxed looking. Things were looking up.
—What’s keepin’ the cunt? said Jimmy Sr when the train stopped for a minute at the depot behind Fairview Park. —Me mouth’s beginnin’ to water.
—So’s mine, said Bimbo.—There’s a few people are goin’ to have to go without their chips tonigh’, wha’.
—No harm, said Jimmy Sr.
The train staggered, and got going again.
—We’re off again, said Jimmy Sr.—‘Bout fuckin’ time.
It was going to be a great night; he could feel it now. He was liking Bimbo again, and Bimbo liked him. He was leaning in closer to him, shoulder to shoulder, the two of them together. Away from the van, and Maggie, and the pressure and the rows and all the rest of the shite, they’d have their couple of pints and a good laugh, get locked, and they’d be back to normal, the way they used to be; the way they’d stay.
Bimbo started to get up when the train crept into Connolly.
—Sit down there, said Jimmy Sr.
—Wha’?
—We’re gettin’ off at Tara.
—Oh.
—We’ll have a few in Mulligans first, Jimmy Sr told him.
—Oh, very good.
—The best pint in Dublin.
—So I’ve heard.
Jimmy Sr knew where he was bringing them; he had a kind of a plan.
By the time they got past the ticket collector they were really excited and they ran around the corner to Mulligans, pushing each other for the mess, and they nearly got knocked down by a fire engine when they were legging it across Tara Street.
—Ri
ng your fuckin’ bell! Jimmy Sr yelled after it, and he ran after Bimbo, into Mulligans.
There were two women climbing off their stools when Jimmy Sr found Bimbo at the bar.
—Were yeh keepin’ them warm for us, girls? said Jimmy Sr.
One of them stared at him.
—We’re not girls, she said.
—That’s true, said Jimmy Sr when she’d gone past him.
They got up on the stools. Jimmy Sr rubbed his hands.
—Hah hah!
—Here we are, said Bimbo.
—That’s righ‘, said Jimmy Sr.—An’ here’s the barman. Two pints, please.
It was a bit awkward sitting in the suits. You had to sit up straight; the jackets made you. And you couldn’t just park your elbows and your arms on the counter when you were wearing your good suits; they made you kind of nervous. Still though, they’d need them for later.
—Wha’ did you think of your women? said Jimmy Sr.
—Eh—
—Lesbians, I’d say.
—Ah, no.
—I’d say so. Did yeh hear her? We’re not girls.
—Tha’ doesn’t mean—
—Not just tha’. Drinkin’ in here, by themselves yeh know. Like men. Here’s the pints, look it.
The pints arrived, and Jimmy Sr had an idea. He stood up and got his jacket off and folded it, put it on the stool and carefully sat on it.
—That’s better. My God, that’s a great fuckin’ pint.—Isn’t it?
Most of Bimbo’s was gone.
—Lovely.
—A great fuckin’ pint.
—Lovely.
They had two more great fuckin’ pints, then Jimmy Sr got them up and out before they got too comfortable in there. They put their jackets back on, went for a slash (—The first one’s always the best) and headed off for somewhere new.
—Where? said Bimbo.
Doyle’s, Bowe’s, the Palace; two pints in each of them. They were new places to Bimbo, and to Jimmy Sr although he’d walked past them and had a look in. He’d promised himself that if he ever had any money again he’d inspect them properly. And here he was.
—Good consistent pints, he said.—So far anyway.
—Very good, yeah.
They were in the Palace, standing up against the wall, near the door cos there was no room further in. The women were a disappointment, not what he’d imagined. They were hippyish, scrawny women. He’d expected a bit of glitter; not in Mulligans—they’d gone in there strictly for the pints —but in the other ones. That was why they were in the Palace now, in town, in their suits. Jimmy Sr wanted something to happen. Maybe they should have gone to Howth. Still though, it was good to be just out, with Bimbo, away from everything.
—Yeh finished? he said to Bimbo.
—Are we goin’ already?
—This place isn’t up to much. Yeh righ’?
—Okay, said Bimbo.—You’re the boss.
That’s right, Jimmy Sr thought while he waited for Bimbo to get the last of his pint into his mouth; I am the boss.
It had always been that way.
They went outside and it was nice and cool.
—This way, said Jimmy Sr.
Jimmy Sr had always been the one who’d made the decisions, who’d mapped out their weekends for them. Jimmy Sr would say, See yeh in the Hikers after half-twelve mass, and Bimbo would be there. Jimmy Sr would put down Bimbo’s name to play pitch and putt and Bimbo would go off and play. Jimmy Sr had rented the pair of caravans in Courtown a couple of years back and the two families had gone down in a convoy and stayed there for the fortnight.
—Where’re we goin’ now? said Bimbo.
—Somewhere different, said Jimmy Sr.—Wait an’ see.
—I’m dyin’ for a piddle.
—Fuck off complainin’.
There were huge crowds out, lots of kids—they were on Grafton Street now—big gangs of girls outside McDonalds. Not like the young ones in Barrytown; these young ones were used to money. They were confident, more grown up; they shouted and they didn’t mind being heard—they wanted to be heard. They had accents like newsreaders. They’d legs up to their shoulders. Jimmy Sr did a rough count; there were only about three of them that weren’t absolutely gorgeous.
This was more like it.
—There aren’t any pubs up here, are there?
—Shut up.
Bimbo wanted to get out; Jimmy Sr could tell. He was murdering the Budweiser, guzzling and belching at the same time to get rid of it so they could go. Jimmy Sr wasn’t going anywhere yet though. He hated this place, and liked it. It was crazy; himself and Bimbo were the only two men in here who needed braces to hold up their trousers and they were the only two not wearing them. They were also the only two that weren’t complete and utter fuckin’ eejits, as far as he could see. There was lots of loud laughing, at fuck all. The women though—not all of them that young either.
The crowd kind of shuffled and there was a pair of women beside Bimbo and Jimmy Sr, by themselves. Jimmy Sr nudged Bimbo.
—I don’t like your one, he told Bimbo, although he did like her.
—Wha’? said Bimbo.
—Your women there, said Jimmy Sr.
—What abou’ them?
—Back me up, said Jimmy Sr.—Howyeh, he said to the one nearest him.
—Oh, she said.—Hi, and they climbed back into the crowd, the two of them, the wagons.
—Stuck-up brassers, said Jimmy Sr.—One o’ them was as bandy as fuck, did yeh notice?
But it was a start; he felt great.
He grinned at Bimbo.
—Wha’ did yeh think of your women? he said.
—Wha’d’yeh mean?
—Don’t start. Did yeh like them?
Bimbo was squirming.
—Did yeh?
—Eh—they were nice enough—
—Nice enough? If—if Sophia Loren came up to yeh an’ stuck her diddies in your face would you say tha’ she was nice enough?
But he was happy enough.
A woman about his own age bumped into him.
—Mind yourself, love, he said.
—Sorry.
—No problem.
And she was gone but no matter. All he needed was a bit of practice. If she came back in an hour or so he’d get off with her no problem. Not that he’d want to get off with her. Or anyone really. He was just messing; seeing if he could click with a woman if he wanted to. He looked around.
—Over here, he said to Bimbo.
—Why? said Bimbo, but he followed Jimmy Sr. He didn’t want to be left alone.
If all Jimmy Sr’d wanted to do was get a woman behind a wall and feel her up or even ride her he wouldn’t have come all the way into town; there were plenty of women in Barrytowm who’d have come behind the clinic with him; all he’d have to have done was buy them a few bottles of Stag and listen to their problems for a while and tell them that they were still good-looking women when they started crying. He knew them all, and some of them were still good-looking women. But he’d never even been tempted, and not because he’d have been afraid of being caught.
They were in the middle of the crowd now, not at the edge.
What he wanted was to see if he could manage a young one or one of these glamorous, rich-looking, not-so-young ones. He’d back off once he knew it was on the cards; actually getting his hole wasn’t what he was after at all - he just wanted to know if he could get his hole.
—D’yeh want another drink, here, Jimmy? Bimbo asked him.
Maybe just the once he’d like to get the leg over one of these kind of women, only the once, in a hotel room or in her apartment, and then he’d be satisfied. Jimmy Sr had never been in a hotel room.
—’Course I do, Jimmy Sr said to Bimbo.
—Here though?
—Yeah, here.—Only one more, righ’?
Bimbo nodded and slipped through to the bar.
Jimmy Sr smiled at a woman, over a little fella’s shoulder
. She smiled back quickly, just in case she knew him. Jimmy Sr waited for her to look over his way again, but she didn’t. She was about forty but she was wearing a mini-skirt. The little fella must have been worth a fortune.
Bimbo was back.
—It’s robbery in here, he said.
—You pay for the style, Jimmy Sr told him.
—Not after I’ve finished this I don’t.
—Okay, okay.—Watch it; brassers at six o’ clock!
—Wha’?
—Howyeh, girls. D’yis need a drink?
They walked straight past him. They mustn’t have known he was talking to them. They must have though; he spoke straight at them.
—Fuckin’ bitches, he said.—Look at her. Her; your woman. With your man over there.
—Oh yeah.
—She’s fuckin’ gorgeous, isn’t she?
—Yeah.
—She’s got real bedroom eyes, said Jimmy Sr.
She was lovely looking alright.
—Yeah, said Bimbo.
—Bedroom eyes, said Jimmy Sr again.—An’ a jacks mouth.
They laughed.
Bimbo’s Budweiser was nearly gone.
—Are we goin’? he said.
—Yeah, said Jimmy Sr.—Okay.
Bimbo looked at his watch. It was after eleven.
—I could do with a proper pint, he said.
—Good thinkin’ Batman, said Jimmy Sr.—Come on.
—D‘yeh know how yeh click with women like tha’? said Jimmy Sr.
—How?
—Money.
—Ah yeah.
It was good to be back in a real pub.
Bimbo got two very healthy-looking pints and Jimmy Sr got two more immediately because it was coming up to closing time and Jimmy Jr had warned him that the city centre pubs were fuckers for shutting down on the dot of half-eleven.
They took over two low stools at a table.
—Yeah, said Jimmy Sr.—Nine ou’ o’ ten women, if they had the choice between money an’ looks, they’d go for the money.
—What abou’ Maggie an’ Veronica?
—Not women like Maggie an’ Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. —I’m not talkin’ abou’ women like tha’. Ordinary women, if yeh know what I mean.
He waited for Bimbo to nod.
—I mean the kind o’ women we saw in tha’ place back there. Stylish an’ glamorous—
—I think Maggie an’—