Sky News was good, better than their other poxy channel, Sky One. But he wouldn’t pay for it when they had to start paying for it later in the year sometime. It wasn’t worth it, although he didn’t know how much they were going to charge. And that reminded him: there’d been a bill from Cablelink stuck up on the fridge door for weeks now. It could stay there for another few; fuck it.
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 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 from 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.