The Barrytown Trilogy (52 page)

—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 of 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.

—There’s somethin’ else supposed to go into it but I can’t remember what it is.

He started whisking again.

—Doesn’t matter though, he said. —This’ll be grand.

He stopped and showed Bimbo the result.

—There, he said. —Batter. Not bad, wha’.

It looked right.

—Is tha’ all there is to it? said Bimbo.

—That’s it, said Jimmy Sr. —Except for the thing I’m after forgettin’. Let’s see if it works now.

He’d already put an open can of pineapple rings on the table.

—Remind me to replace this one, will yeh, he said. —Veronica’ll go spare if she goes to get it on Sunday and it’s not there. ——Let’s see now—

He took a ring out and let it down onto a sheet of kitchen roll.

—Yeh dry it first; that’s important.

He dabbed the top of the ring with the edge of the roll.

—Tha’ should do it.

He held up the ring and picked the bits of fluff off it.

—It’s only the paper, he said. —Harmless.

—Yeah.

—Righ’; fingers crossed.

He lowered the pineapple ring into the batter, and let it sink in completely. He got a fork and searched for the ring, and found it.

—Our father who art in heaven ——Fuckin’ brilliant! Look it; completely covered.

—That’s great, said Bimbo.

—An’ all yeh do then is drop it into the fryer. ——That’s great now; the batter’s just righ’. If it was too watery it wouldn’t’ve stuck an’ if it was too thick the hole in the ring would’ve disappeared. But that’s just righ’ now. Perfect.

* * *

—We’ll cut them up into different sizes, said Jimmy Sr. —People prefer tha’.

That was what they were doing now, peeling the spuds and cutting them up and throwing them all into a big plastic bin full of water; out in the shed.

—When we’ve the money, said Jimmy Sr, —maybe we should get a chip machine like Maggie was talkin’ abou’ and
just cut up a few o’ the spuds by hand an’ mix them in so people’ll think they’re all done tha’ way.

—Yeah, said Bimbo.

Jimmy Sr looked into the bucket and gave it a kick to flatten out the chips.

—There’s enough in there now, I’d say, he said.

—Good.

They took a handle each and carried the bin through the house out to the van. They’d a job getting it up the step, and in; the water made it very heavy and it was slopping over the sides. They were all set; tonight was the night. Everything in the van was gleaming; nearly everything. They’d had to buy some new equipment, some of the trays and the basket for the deep fat fryer. Bimbo bought it; Jimmy Sr hadn’t a bean to his name. They put the bin under the sink. That was the best place for it, because it got in the way anywhere else and the sink was fuck all use to them.

—We should just pull it ou’ altogether, said Jimmy Sr.

—Ah no, said Bimbo. —Not now annyway.

The thing got on Jimmy Sr’s wick, a sink with no water; it was about as useful as an arse with no hole. He let it go though. They’d other things to do today.

—Will we put the rest of the stuff in? said Bimbo.

—We might as well, said Jimmy Sr.

They didn’t want to leave anything in the van for too long. Some of the stuff from the freezers would go soft or even bad if they took it out too early. The timing was vital.

—The difference between a satisfied customer and a corpse, Jimmy Sr’d said.

They’d laughed, but it wasn’t funny.

They got out, and stopped to look at the burger on the side of the van again. It was a huge big burger, a bunburger with
BIMBO’S BURGERS
above it and
TODAY’S CHIPS TODAY
under it.

The bottom bit was Maggie’s idea.

—I still don’t like tha’ ketchup, said Jimmy Sr. —It’s too like fuckin’ blood. It’ll put people off.

—Ah no, said Bimbo. —It’s nice an’ bright.

Maggie’s brother’s kid, Sandra, had done it; she went to some painting college or something.

—The bit o’ meat stickin’ ou’ as well, said Jimmy Sr.

He pointed to it.

—It’s like a fuckin’ tongue hangin’ ou’.

—Well, to be honest with yeh, Jimmy, said Bimbo. —I’ve never seen a tongue made o’ mince.

—It’s the same colour as—

—Look it, said Bimbo. —She put all those little black speckles on it to make it look like mince.

He went over and touched them, showing them to Jimmy Sr.

—They just make it look like it’s gone off, said Jimmy Sr.

—It was your bloody idea in the first place, said Bimbo.

—D’yeh want to know why I don’t like it? said Jimmy Sr. —An’ annyway, I do like it. It’s just the colours I don’t like. D’yeh want to know why?

—Why then?

—Cos the young one tha’ done it is a vegetarian, that’s why.

He had him now. Sandra’d told him that, when he was talking to her while she was painting; a lovely-looking girl, she was, but a bit snotty; a good laugh though.

Bimbo looked lost.

—Sabotage, yeh dope, said Jimmy Sr.

——Wha’?

—Sabotage, said Jimmy Sr. —Animal rights.

—Wha’ d’yeh mean?

—Is it not fuckin’ obvious?

—Eh ——no.

—A vegetarian, righ’, paints a picture of a burger an’ wha’ does she do? ——She paints it horrible colours to put people off buyin’ anny.

—Sandra?

—They’re all the same, said Jimmy Sr. —Fanatics, for fuck sake. Sure, they’re puttin’ bombs under people’s cars over in England, just cos they experiment with animals.

—Hang on now, said Bimbo. —We’re not experimentin’ with animals.

—No, said Jimmy Sr. —But we’re slappin’ them up on the hot plate an’ fryin’ fuck ou’ o’ them. An’ then gettin’ people to eat them.

Bimbo gave this some thought. He looked at the burger.

——Ah, I don’t think so, he said.

—Please yourself, said Jimmy Sr. —It’s your fuckin’ money. Come on or we’ll be late.

They put the cartons of Twixes and Mars Bars in under the hot plate, and the cans of Coke and 7-Up. They put piles of spice-burgers on the shelf over the fryer. They had the flour and a line of milk bottles full of water for the batter, at the ready on the shelf beside the sink; they’d had to go scouting for real glass bottles. They’d a box for the money. Bimbo put the big red Kandee sauce bottle and the salt and vinegar on the counter. They had ten packs of Bundies. Maggie’d got them in Crazy Prices. Jimmy Sr opened a pack and took one out.

—These are the nicest part o’ the burger, he said. —Aren’t they?

—They’re lovely alrigh’, said Bimbo, and he took one as well. —We’d better not eat all of the supplies though.

—An army marches on its stomach, Jimmy Sr told him.

There was a ream of small bags on a piece of string, for the chips, and Jimmy Sr hung that on a hook beside the fryer, and put a pile of big brown bags on the counter. Bimbo folded up their aprons nice and squarely and put them on the counter beside the brown bags.

—It’s not a fuckin’ pinnie, Jimmy Sr’d said when Veronica caught him trying his one on up in the bedroom. —It’s an apron, righ’.

Maggie’d got the aprons, World Cup ones. It was good thinking, and a lot better than those ones with recipes printed on them or something. These just had Italia 90 on them, and the cup.

—It’s not a cup but, said Bimbo. —It’s a statue. I never noticed that before.

—Look it, said Jimmy Sr. —Which sounds better; World Cup or World Statue?

—I get yeh, said Bimbo.

They kept the fish in the freezer till the last minute. If you didn’t dip the cod in the batter when it was still like a piece of chipboard you ended up with a fuckin’ awful mush that floated on the top of the cooking oil. They piled the rectangles of cod and black mullet onto the aluminium trays.

—Yeh’d nearly need gloves for this, said Jimmy Sr. —These things are fuckin’ freezin’.

He walloped a piece of cod against the side of the freezer and examined it: there wasn’t a mark on it.

—That’s a good piece o’ fish, tha’, he said. —It won’t let yeh down.

The trays were cold, but not that heavy. Still, they rushed through the house so they could put them down in the van and blow on their hands.

—Beep beep, said Bimbo, to get Maggie’s mother out of his way as he barrelled through the kitchen, trying to carry his tray without having to use too firm a grip. He rested it against his chest and his shirt was getting wet.

Maggie followed them out.

—Good luck now, she said.

Jimmy Sr climbed up into the driver’s seat. The van was hitched up to the back of Bimbo’s jalopy with a bit of rope, in the driveway and halfway out onto the path. Bimbo had wrapped an old cardigan around his bumper, for a buffer. He’d wanted to use Wayne, with one foot on each bumper, but Maggie wouldn’t let him. Bimbo got in and started the car. Maggie put her head down to him, he rolled down the window and she gave him a kiss.

—Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr, softly. —Come on, come on.

They were off.

Bimbo’d only gone a couple of feet and he had to stop cos there were two cars passing. The van rolled into the back of him, but only gently. Then they were out on the road, heading up to the Hikers. A couple of kids ran beside him, and one of
them kicked the van. They disappeared; Jimmy Sr knew they were scutting on the back, the fuckers.

There was an awkward bit coming up, a bit of a dip just before they got onto the main road, Barrytown Road. If there was traffic coming Bimbo would have to stop for it and Jimmy Sr would go into him; it couldn’t be helped. That was what happened, except it was worse. There was nothing coming so Bimbo kept going out across the main road turning to the right but this fuckin’ eejit on a motor bike came out of nowhere from behind a parked van and Bimbo had to brake and Jimmy Sr couldn’t brake, of course, so he went into Bimbo, and he heard stuff falling off the shelves behind him.

—Fuck it!

He listened.

Nothing else fell. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

Bimbo got going again and they made it to the Hikers without anything else happening. He started stopping about fifty yards before the Hikers, so that when he stopped he’d nearly stopped already anyway, going so slow that the van didn’t bump into him at all this time.

Jimmy Sr listened to hear if there was anything rolling around inside in the back. He couldn’t hear anything.

Bimbo got the bricks out from the back seat of the car and put them behind the wheels of the van. Jimmy Sr opened the door at the back.

—Ah, Christ.

Water fell onto his shoes, not much of it; most of it was at the back, on the floor, along with some of the spice-burgers and the fish. The bin hadn’t turned over but there was an awful lot of water there, too much to call a puddle. The spice-burgers were the worst; the water had made them soggy and they were falling apart; they’d have to throw them out. The fish, though, weren’t too bad.

They got the cartons up off the floor before the water could get at them. There was no other damage.

Still though, it was depressing.

Jimmy Sr leaned over and poked one of the fish with a finger. It was still good and hard.

——We need a mop, said Bimbo.

—We need a fuckin’ engine, said Jimmy Sr. —Come on. We’ll clean it up an’ go in an’ watch the match.