Gurriers (23 page)

“That’s some healthy looking nosh, my man!” John remarked.

I could have hugged John for diverting Gizzard’s attention.

“Me little honey on Baggo’ Stree’ looks after me well.”

I was delighted to hear the Gizzard sound so much cheerier, and even more so when Joe came to life to add momentum to the discussion.

“She doesn’t fuckin’ look after anyone else though. Giz a
look. There’s four fuckin’ sausages on tha’! Four! The little fuckin’ bitch only pu’ two on mine an’ I made sure to tell her tha’ I knew you – what’s bleedin’ goin’ on there?”

“Ah, Joseph, my dear boy,” the Gizzard, both elbows on the table, seemed positively cheerful with himself as he ceremoniously positioned his trophy for the first bite. He timed his pause to perfection. “Knowin’ me and bein’ me…” He shot a self satisfied smirk at Joe before biting the end off the roll and continuing with his mouth full. “Jush nash eh ame!”

“Narcotics beckon!” John was out of his seat and at the door before it closed behind Gerry who had just come in having completed his lap of the relay race.

Joe slumped himself back into his seat defeatedly as Gerry re-occupied his.

“That’s a nice lookin’ roll, Giz! You plannin’ to enjoy i’?

I flung the last bit of my Danish into my mouth and slurped a big mouthful of tea, keeping the mug in my hand in case I had to make any sudden movements or evasive manoeuvres.

The only reply Gerry got was a frozen stare that Gizzard delivered, motionless. He had even stopped chewing.

“Cos’ it’s an awful fuckin’ shame to be enjoyin’ a bi’ o’ grub an’ have some cunt come along and ruin i’ on ye, ye know?”

The Gizzard chewed rapidly and swallowed before responding coolly, “A wise man once said,” He used a renegade morsel stuck to his tooth as his tool for this pause which was perfectly timed, of course. “That he who sets out for revenge must first dig two graves.”

“I’m no’ looking’ for revenge, Gizzard, I jus’ want you to know wha’ it’s like to-”

“I know wha’ it’s fuckin’ like, Gerry!”

The increased volume of the interruption caused Joe to sit up and pay attention.

“Bu’ I can take a fuckin’ joke as well as dish i’ ou’! Ye’ll never find me whinging or whinin’ abou’ someone playin’ a joke or havin’ a laugh a’ my expense an’ you fuckin’ know tha’ well!”

“Ye were whingein’ enough a’ new kid gettin’ tha’ fuckin’ Dun Laoghaire job off ye!”

I wasn’t too grateful to Gerry for dragging me into this discussion. He had knocked the wind out of the Gizzard’s sails though, and I wasn’t the only one to go red.

“That’s diff’rent – that’s work!

“Gizzard!” Aidan called from the hatch. Gizzard gathered his roll with exaggerated caution whilst maintaining malevolent eye contact with Gerry, who returned it unflinchingly, as the Gizzard left the table and went to the hatch – roll and all. Joe slumped back once more.

“What’s the bleedin’ problem, man?” Shay’s roar towards the hatch, heralded his return to the canteen. “Do people noh’ send stuff west anymore?”

“Come up here with yer book, Shay. I’ve two more lined up for ye.”

“Stoner!” chipped in the Gizzard before resuming his conversation with Aidan.

“Wha’ abou’ North?” Gerry asked.

“Nothin’ else for you yet, Gerry. You just sit there an’ enjoy your trip!”

“Whatcha talkin’ abou’?”

“You know fuckin’ well! Anyway Gizzard,” Aidan reverted to his lower tone.

The situation was already dissolved enough for me to risk a ritual cigarette with the last of my tea. I made sure to offer them to the whole table before taking one for myself. None of the stoners wanted one and I didn’t want to nudge Joe so I lit up one for myself, as Shay reclaimed his seat and continued the top box conversation where he had left off.

“Yeah, box an’ bungees man – ye’ll be sorted in no time! What ye do then, ye fold up yer bag an’ keep i’ in the bo’om of the box so ye have the option of carryin’ more work an’ if ye use bungees, ye have them stretched down the side for holdin’ tubes and shit. Fuckin’ amazin’ how much ye can carry on a bike if ye use yer head, man!”

“For fuck’s sake, man,” Gizzard announced his approach to the table. “Wha’ d’ye think he is, bleedin’ eight or sum’in’?”

“He’s bran’ new, Gizzard!”

“Oh!” I was complimented to receive a surprised look from the Gizzard. “Fatso’s ready for ye, Shay.” Gizzard went straight into the seat the very second Shay was out of it. Shay shot him an irked expression but made his way to the hatch without comment. I was surprised to be addressed by the Gizzard almost immediately in a loud and friendly tone.

“Y’know if yer gonna ge’ a top box ye be’er make sure to ge’ a cuntfor!”

He took a big bite out of his roll as my over eager brain hurriedly sorted out the information he had given me to ensure a prompt reply,

“Whats a cuntfor?” I even waited for him to loudly swallow some food before replying (without realising what I had said).

“If yer sex education teacher didn’t teach ye tha’ a’ school I’m noh gonna fuckin’ tell ye now!”

Everybody at the table joined Gizzard in raucous laughter as my face burned brightly once more.

I stayed quiet for the rest of that visit to the canteen. Shay left the hatch at a gallop and was geared up and gone before I took two drags from my cigarette. John and Joe resumed their conversation about events of the previous evening, Gizzard gave the breakfast roll his full attention and Gerry just stared at the wall. I smoked my cigarette staring down at the table, straining to pick up tidbits of John and Joe’s conversation and vowing to think before speaking at all times.

The cigarette wasn’t long out when I was beckoned to the hatch once more.

I made sure to bring my book this time.

“ESB on Fitzwilliam Stree’ – post room door, not the main door. There’ll be one there for BIM in Dun Laoghaire comin’ from someone called Adrian. Ye be’er ge’ crackin’, Sean. Ye have tha’ Ballsbridge on board an hour now.”

I paused while I finished writing and then answered, “Roger.” I was turning to go when Aidan called me back.

“And, Sean, don’t be worryin’ abou’ the Gizzard – I had a little word wi’ him. He’s cool anyway bu’ now he’s wide.”

“Thanks.” I wasn’t exactly sure what the Gizzard was wide to but it felt comforting to be assured about it, especially since I was still smarting from the effect of the joke. Why hadn’t I just thought before blurting out exactly what he had wanted to trick me into saying? Silly me!

I got my two pick- ups on board without delay or mishap and was instructed to “header on.” The drop in Ballsbridge was a tricky one, however, being addressed as Shelbourne Road but actually on a little slip road off it. I wasted ten minutes of my time before I finally located it with some help from Aidan. I had just left the building and had my map out to see exactly where Beech Grove was in Booterstown when I heard Aidan call the Gizzard. After the standard pause I heard,

“When ye have those two on board nip around to the business desk in Anglo Irish an’ ge’ one for Foxrock.”

Foxrock. Beside Dun Laoghaire. The Gizzard was going south too. I tuned my ear to listen to the radio every time I heard the Gizzard called as well as my own number. By the time I dropped Booterstown, he had had three more jobs dispatched to him going to Sandyford, Stillorgan Industrial Estate and Bray. When I radioed in I was told to call him when I was free in Dun Laoghaire. I had dropped BIM and was driving slowly along the seafront looking for somewhere called Marine Terrace when I heard the Gizzard being told to start moving with what he had. I was more than a little bit surprised at how quickly he had gotten so much work on board, although I had no idea how far apart the pick –ups were since Aidan only gave the company name when dispatching work to the Gizzard. For all I knew they were right beside each other.

As I was chastising myself for my tone of begrudgery, I spied the sign on the end house of a terrace of Georgian houses denoting that this was Marine Terrace. I braked a little too hard without properly looking in my mirrors and was startled to hear a short screech of tyres uncomfortably close behind me. Knowing that I had been in the wrong, I turned to wave an apology to be faced with the sight of an angry balding middle-aged, red faced,
grey moustachioed man wearing a bright yellow golf jersey who had stuck his head out of the driver’s window of his Mercedes to hurl abuse at me.

“You idiot, what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? Do you think you own the bloody road? Get out of my bloody way!”

Even though I had been in the wrong I felt my blood boil. I felt like shouting,

“How would you bloody like a bloody nose, you bloody nasty little man?” but I didn’t.

After waiting for a car travelling the other way to pass, I timidly turned right onto the slip road that ran along Marine Terrace. Nasty Mercedes man accelerated angrily on his way, leaving me to bottle up the rage with “should have” imaginary actions.

“Four Sean.”

“Go ahead, Sean.”

“I’m free now in Dun Laoghaire.”

“Roger Sean – have a smoke there an’ we’ll see wha’ we can get ye.”

Before I had finished my cigarette I heard Aidan despatch a pickup in Cabinteely to the Gizzard. I felt hard done by – being free in Dun Laoghaire and having a job that was hardly two miles away given to somebody that had loads of work to do. So that’s what Aidan meant when he said he put the Gizzard wide – he gets all the work. I felt a bit like a sullen child as I wondered, yet again, if this job was really for me.

“Four Sean.” Aidan startled me out of my reverie

“Go ahead.”

“Pick up at the foreign exchange in the Ulster Bank on Main Street Blackrock for College Green and return.”

“Roger.” That felt better. At least I wasn’t being totally ignored while somebody else did everything.

As I pulled up outside the bank it dawned on me that all of the jobs given to me fell along or close to the coast road while the Gizzard’s were all around the Stillorgan road. That’s why the Gizzard was getting all the work – it was all on his turf. I
skipped into the bank, enlightened by the fact that I wasn’t being unfairly treated.

I was told to head in as soon as I had it on board but had picked up in the IDA Centre on Pearse Street for Monkstown to go with the return by the time I got to the Ulster Bank on College Green. It was twenty to one and I was beginning to feel pangs of hunger. I was eager to get the return on board and get to the base for lunch. I was about to scale the steps up the bank’s front door when I was called.

“Go ahead.”

“How ye gettin’ on, Sean?”

“Just going into the bank on College Green.”

“Did ye pick up Pearse Street?”

“Roger.”

“Okay, when ye ge’ the return on board I want ye to head strai’ round to IT Solutions on Fitz’ Square – number 91, ye were there the other day, an’ ge’ a screamer for Deans Grange. I want ye to head strai’ there as soon as ye ge’ it on board. Let me know if ye’re delayed in College Green an’ I’ll ge’ onto them.”

“Er…Roger.” I wasn’t too happy about this run because I wanted to have lunch and now knew that I wouldn’t be able to have some for a while.

Forty minutes later, I called in free in Blackrock and was told to have lunch where I was to give him cover on the Southside. I didn’t even have the option of calling to my parent’s house to eat since nobody was there.

Lunch alone in McDonald’s was uneventful and almost tearful, as I dwelled too much on my personal situation. As I stood to go out for a smoke, I caught myself longing for the excitement and eventfulness of the canteen. For the first time ever, I was wishing for the company of my new workmates.

Upon radioing in when I had finished my lunch I was sent on what turned out to be my next big challenge – Sandyford Industrial Estate. Aidan despatched a pick-up to me in a place called Falco Packaging, which was apparently on 3 Rock Road in a little unit situated between two unmarked buildings opposite the Dunlop factory. He told me that there was a map on my left as I entered the estate from the Leopardstown end.

I knew how to get to Sandyford – it was so big that few people didn’t – but I had only actually driven through the place a couple of times en route to Dundrum and only at night when the place had been practically deserted.

Driving into it at the busiest time of day was a real eye opener. The dull, lifeless blocks of factories, warehouses, superstores, builders’ suppliers and various other businesses were now bustling hives of activity. And there was traffic. Big traffic! Cars, vans, trucks, articulated lorries, construction traffic (there is always something being built in Sandyford) buses, motorbikes and cyclists clamouring the restricted road space for the speed-ier pursuit of their own particular industry.

I was so gobsmacked by the effect of the estate that I almost
drove past the map. I had to brake hard and swing over to the kerb simultaneously, which got me beeped by a van claiming to be engineering support services of some sort or another who had been driving too close behind me for the speed we were doing. This time I stuck up my two fingers as he accelerated away and roared, “fuck you” before giving my full attention to the map or, more precisely, what was left of the map.