The Barrytown Trilogy (44 page)

He’d made a list of things to do in the house and he was doing one a week. He’d fixed the jacks yesterday, for example; tightened the handle. It was working grand again now. That sort of thing. But nothing mad. He wasn’t going to become one of those do-it-yourself gobshites, fixing things that didn’t need fixing, and then invading the neighbours and fixing their stuff as well, and probably making a bollix of it. Once the weather got better and the days got a bit longer, he’d be out there in the garden, ah yes; he wouldn’t notice the days flying past him then. He had plans.

He had loads of things to keep him going. The money was the only thing. He’d be going past a pub in town and he’d have the gum for a pint – he always did when he heard the
voices and the telly on – just one pint, but he couldn’t go in; he couldn’t afford it. Or he couldn’t buy an ice-cream for Gina when they were out, not that he’d let her have an ice-cream in this weather, but that kind of thing; it was irritating. It was humiliating.

Still though, money wasn’t everything. He was happy enough.

* * *

Bimbo was crying.

Jaysis.

Bimbo; of all —

—What’s up? said Jimmy Sr.

But that sounded bad, like nothing big was happening. The man was crying, for fuck’s sake.

—What’s wrong with yeh?

That was worse.

—Are yeh alrigh’?

Better.

He sat down, in front of Bimbo, at the other side of the table. He blocked Bimbo from the rest of the bar so no one could see him, unless they were looking.

—Ah, I’m —

Bimbo tried to smile. He wiped his cheeks with the outside of his hand.

—I’m grand.

It was like Bimbo remembered where he was. He sat up and lifted up his pint. Jimmy tasted his; it was fine, the first in five days.

—I got a bit o’ bad news earlier, said Bimbo. —It knocked me a bit.

He shrugged.

Bimbo’s parents were already dead. Jimmy Sr knew that because he remembered that they’d died very close to each other, a couple of weeks between them only. Maybe Maggie’s mother had snuffed it but – Bimbo was a bit of a softy but he wouldn’t break out crying in his local for Maggie’s mother;
she’d been as good as dead for fuckin’ years. One of the kids —

Oh fuck. He wished Bertie was here.

Bimbo spoke.

—I was let go this mornin’.

—Wha’?

—Let go. ——I’m like you now, Jimmy, wha’. A man o’ leisure.

—You were —?

—Yeah; gas, isn’t it?

He could see Bimbo’s eyes getting watery again. Poor Bimbo.

—How come? said Jimmy Sr, hoping that it might get Bimbo talking instead of crying.

—Oh. Ten of us got letters. The oldest, yeh know. In the canteen, on our way ou’.

Bimbo was a baker.

—The chap from the office said tha’ they had to compete with the big boys. That’s wha’ he called them, the big boys. ——The fuckin’ eejit.

Bimbo hardly ever said Fuck.

—They need our wages to compete with the big boys ——wha’.

——That’s shockin’, said Jimmy Sr.

Bimbo was twirling the stout in his glass; he didn’t know what he was doing.

—Any chance they’ll take yeh back when they’ve ——yeh know?

—He said Yeah, the young fella from Personnel tha’ gave us the letters. I didn’t believe him though. I wouldn’t believe him if he ——Tha’ sort o’ fella, yeh know.

Bimbo sat up straight again.

—Ah sure —

He grinned.

—We’ll keep each other company anyway, wha’.

—Ah yeah, said Jimmy Sr. —Fuckin’ sure.

There was that about it. He stopped himself thinking that this was good news, but he nearly couldn’t help it.

It was shocking though. Bimbo was younger than him and he was being fucked out on his ear because he was too old.

—My father, God rest him, got me in there, said Bimbo.

—That’s righ’.

—His brother, me Uncle Paddy, he worked there.

—Yeah.

—I’ll never forget comin’ home the first week with me first wage packet. I ran all the way, nonstop all the way with me hand in me pocket to stop me money from fallin’ ou’. An’ a bag o’ cakes tha’ had been sent back. Fruit slices. Fly cemeteries. I was more excited abou’ the cakes than I was abou’ the money, that’s how young I was. I knew I’d be king o’ the castle when me sisters saw the fruit slices. Marie’s little one has epilepsy, did I tell yeh?

Marie was one of Bimbo’s sisters, the one Jimmy Sr liked.

—No; is tha’ righ’?

—Yeah; Catherine. She’s only six. Sad, isn’t it?

—Jesus, yeah. ——Six?

Bimbo started crying again. His face collapsed. He rubbed his nose. He searched for a hankie he didn’t have. He gulped. He smiled through it.

—What am I goin’ to do, Jimmy?

* * *

They got locked, of course. Bertie was great when he arrived.

—That’s great news, compadre, he told Bimbo. —You were always a poxy baker anyway, wha’.

And Bimbo burst his shite laughing; he was delighted. And Bimbo’s laugh; when Bimbo laughed everyone laughed. Veronica always said that Bimbo’s laugh lassoed you.

—Three nice pints, por favor, Bertie roared across to Leo, the barman. —An’ John Wayners, lads?

—Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr.

He hadn’t much money on him. Still though —

—Fair enough, he said.

—Okay, said Bimbo. —Me too.

—Good man, said Bertie. —An’ Leo? he roared. —Three Jamesons as well.

And then Paddy turned up.

—How much of a lump sum will yeh be gettin’? Paddy asked Bimbo when he came in.

—Jesus Christ, said Jimmy Sr. —He isn’t even sittin’ down yet an’ he wants to know how much money you’re gettin’.

Bimbo laughed.

—I couldn’t give a shite how much he’s gettin’, said Paddy.

—Then wha’ did yeh ask him for then?

—I only asked him, said Paddy. —Fuck off.

—A couple o’ thousand, said Bimbo.

—Don’t tell him, said Jimmy Sr.

—Around three, said Bimbo. —I don’t know. They’re tellin’ us on Monday.

—We’ll meet up here at teatime on Monday so, said Bertie.

—Ah yeah, Bimbo assured them. —We’ll have to have a few pints out of it alrigh’.

—You’ll go to pieces without somethin’ to do, Paddy told Bimbo.

—Shut up the fuck! said Jimmy Sr.

He gave Bimbo a quick look, but Bimbo didn’t mind.

—You’d make a great doctor, Bertie told Paddy, —d’yeh know tha’. I can just see yeh. You have cancer, missis, your tit’ll have to come off.

—Oh Jesus, said Bimbo.

—Yeah, said Jimmy Sr, when he’d stopped laughing. —Will he be alrigh’, Doctor? No, missis, he’s fucked.

They laughed again.

—Wha’ will yeh do but? Paddy asked Bimbo.

—There’s loads o’ things he can do, said Jimmy Sr.

—Like?

—Doin’ up his house, eh —

—His house is already done up, said Bertie. —It’s already like Elvis’s gaff; what’s it – Graceland.

Bimbo laughed at that, but he was pleased.

—His garden, said Jimmy Sr.

—His garden’s like —

—It’s not like a human garden at all, said Bertie.

—There’s loads o’ things he can do, Jimmy Sr insisted.

—Yeah, said Paddy. —I’m sure there is. Wha’ though?

—He can clean the church on Monday mornin’s, said Bertie.

They roared.

—Some oul’ one tried to get Vera to start doin’ tha’, said Bertie. —Help cleanin’ the fuckin’ church on Monday mornin’s.

—I wouldn’t say that’d be Vera’s scene exactly, said Jimmy Sr.

—Not at all, said Bertie. —She doesn’t even help to dirty the fuckin’ place on Sunday morning’s.

Bertie knocked back half of his pint.

—Ahh, he said.

—My turn, said Bimbo.

—The first of many, said Bertie.

—Leo, Bimbo shouted. —When you’re ready. Three —

—Four, said Paddy.

—Four pints an’ four small ones like a good man, please!

They said nothing for a bit.

—Ah yes, said Bertie.

He was getting them ready.

—I know wha’ I’d do if I got a lumpo sum like Bimbo’s gettin’, he said.

One of them had to say it. So —

—Wha’? said Jimmy Sr.

—I’d bring it into the Gem, righ’.

—Eh —, righ’.

—An’ I’d wave it under Mandy’s nose an’ let her sniff it a bit.

Jimmy and Paddy started laughing.

—Then I’d bring her round the back, behind the fridge, righ’.

—Oh God.

Bimbo started laughing now.

—An’ I’d ——die happy.

They laughed on top of what they were laughing already; Bertie sounded so sincere.

—My Jaysis, compadres, said Bertie when he’d recovered a bit, —I’m not jokin’ yis.

Paddy nodded. He liked Mandy from the Gem as well.

They all liked Mandy.

—You’re a dirty fucker, Jimmy Sr told Bertie.

—I said nothin’ tha’ yis don’t all think when yis go into tha’ shop. Tha’ signorita. My fuckin’ Jaysis.

—She’s only sixteen, abou’, said Bimbo.

—So?

Bimbo shrugged. It didn’t matter; they were only messing.

—I was in there this mornin’, said Bertie. —She is unfuckinbelievable; isn’t she? I was gettin’ me Sun. She’s as good lookin’ as anny of them Page Three brassers.

—She’s better lookin’, said Jimmy Sr.

—Si, said Bertie, —She fuckin’ is. I said it as well; I told her.

—Yeh didn’t, said Paddy.

Bertie stared Paddy out of it for a second. Then he got back to Mandy.

—I opened it up at page three, righ’, an’ I showed it to her. Tha’ should be you, I told her.

—Did she say ann’thin’ back to yeh?

—Si. She told me to fuck off. But she was delighted, yeh could see.

—She’s a lovely-lookin’ girl alrigh’, said Bimbo.

—I made her get a packet o’ crisps for me as well, said Bertie. —I hate the fuckin’ things.

They laughed. They knew what was coming next.

—Just to get her to bend over, yeh know. Caramba, lads, I nearly broke the counter with the bugle I had on me. When she gave them to me I said Salt an’ vinegar so she had to do it again.

—She’ll be fat by the time she’s eighteen, said Paddy.

—No, said Jimmy Sr. —No, she won’t.

—Why not?

—She’s not like tha’, said Jimmy Sr. —She’s not like those young ones tha’ look like women when they’re fourteen an’ then they’re like their mothers before they’re twenty. She’s not like tha’.

He wondered if he should have been talking like this, if he was maybe giving something away. But Bertie agreed with him.

—Si, he said.

—My twist, said Jimmy Sr.

He wanted to get up. Halfway through talking there he’d felt dirty; kind of. And then stupid. Talking about young ones like that, very young ones. But when Bertie joined in it was safe. Darren was doing lounge boy tonight though. If he heard —

He stood up.

—Same again over here, Darren, please!

—Wha’?

—Leo knows. Just tell him the same again.

It was getting crowded. Leo was skidding up and down behind the bar.

—So annyway, Bimbo, said Bertie when Jimmy Sr was sitting back down. —Compadre mio, that’s wha’ I’d do if I was you.

—How though? said Paddy.

—Wha’?

—How would yeh do it?

—The same way I’ve always done it.

—No, I don’t mean the ridin’, Paddy explained. —I mean gettin’ her to do it. How would yeh manage tha’?

—No great problem there, compadre, said Bertie. —I’d show her the money an’ tell her I’ll give her some of it if she’ll say hello to the baldy fella; there’d be nothin’ to it.

—Ah fuck off, said Jimmy Sr.

—Wha’? said Bertie.

—Yeh can’t just do tha’.

—Why not?

—Cos the girl’s not a fuckin’ prostitute, that’s why not.

—No, Bimbo agreed.

—Listen, compadre, said Bertie. —All women are prostitutes.

—Ah now—, said Bimbo.

—Will yeh listen to him, said Jimmy Sr.

—He’s righ’, said Paddy. —I had to buy my one a Crunchie before she’d let me ou’ tonigh’.

Bertie addressed Bimbo.

—Don’t misunderstand me, compadre, he said. —Not just women. All men are brassers as well.

—I’m no brasser, chum, said Jimmy Sr.

—Fuck up a minute, said Bertie. —Wha’ I’m sayin’ is, is tha’ everyone has his price.

—Ah, is that all? said Bimbo.

—If you think —, said Jimmy Sr.

He was talking to Bertie.

—If you think tha’ you can just walk into the shop an’ put the money on the counter there an’ Mandy will drop her —

—Watch it, Jimmy, here’s Darren.

—Here’s the cavalry, lads, said Bertie.

—Make room there, will yis, said Darren.

—Certainly, certainly.

They got all the dead glasses and put them on the table behind them, so Darren could put the tray on their table.

—D’yeh know Mandy from the Gem, Darren? said Bertie.

Jimmy Sr tried to kick him but he got Bimbo instead, but not hard.

—Yeh, said Darren. —Mandy Lawless.

—Nice, isn’t she?

—She’s alrigh’, yeah.

—Keep the change, Darren, said Jimmy Sr. —Good man.

Darren took the money and counted it.

—You’re a pound short, he told Jimmy Sr.

—Is tha’ righ’? said Jimmy Sr.

He’d never get rid of him before Bertie opened his mouth again. He gave Darren a fiver.

—Yeh can pay me back later, he told him.

—No, said Darren. —I have it here.

Ah sufferin’ Jesus!

But Bertie said nothing, and Paddy didn’t either. He was looking around him, looking for something to moan about.

—There y’are, said Darren.

Jimmy Sr took the notes and left the silver and copper in Darren’s hand.

—Good man.

—Thanks very much, Da.

—No problem.

—I’ll tell yis though, said Jimmy Sr when Darren was gone. —Yis should see his mot. Darren’s mot.

—Is she nice? said Bimbo.

—Lovely, said Jimmy Sr. —Fuckin’ lovely.

—Go ’way. That’s great.

—Miranda, her name is.

—Oh I like tha’, said Bertie. —Mirr-andaah. Si; very nice. Is she a big girl, Jimmy?

—She’s a daisy, said Jimmy Sr.

—An’ you’re a tulip, said Paddy.

—Fuck off, you, said Jimmy Sr.