Jimmy Sr took a run and a jump at Bimbo and Bimbo caught him.
— ONE DAVE O’LEARY—
— OLÉ—OLÉ OLE OLE
— THERE’S ONLY ONE DAVE O’LEARY—
They stood there arm in arm and watched O’Leary’s penalty again, and again.
— I’ll tell yeh one thing, said Larry O‘Rourke. — David O’Leary came of age today.
Jimmy Sr loved everyone but that was the stupidest fuckin’ thing he’d ever heard in his life.
— He’s thirty fuckin’ two! he said. — Came of age, me bollix.
— ONE DAVE O’LEEEEARY—
He hugged Bimbo again, and Bertie and Paddy, and he went over and hugged Sharon. She was crying as well and they both laughed. He hugged some of her friends. They all had their green gear on, ribbons and the works. He wanted to hug Sharon’s best friend, Jackie, but he couldn’t catch her. She was charging around the place, yelling Ole Ole Ole Ole, not singing any more because her throat was gone.
There was Mickah Wallace, Jimmy Jr’s pal, standing by himself with his tricolour over his head, like an Irish Blessed Virgin. He let Jimmy Sr hug him.
— I’ve waited twenty years for this, Mister Rabbitte, he told Jimmy Sr.
He was crying as well.
— Twenty fuckin’ years.
He gulped back some snot.
— The first record I ever got was Back Home, the English World Cup record, he said. — In 1970. D’yeh remember it?
— I do, yeah.
— I was only five. I didn’t buy it, mind, said Mickah. — I robbed it. — Tweh-twenty fuckin’ years.
Jimmy Sr knew he was being told something important but he wasn’t sure what.
— D’yeh still have it?
— Wha’?
— Back Home.
— Not at all, said Mickah. — Jaysis. I sold it. I made a young fella buy it off o’ me.
Jimmy Jr rescued Jimmy Sr.
— Da.
— Jimmy!
— I didn’t see yeh.
Jimmy Jr was in his Celtic away jersey, with a big spill down the front. He nodded at the jacks door.
— It’s fuckin’ mad in there.
They stood there.
— CEAUSESCU WAS A WANKER
CEAUSESCU WAS A WANKER
LA LA LA LA
LA LA LA — LA
— Fuckin’ deadly, isn’t it?
— Brilliant. — Brilliant.
They started laughing, and grabbed each other and hugged till their arms hurt. They wiped their eyes and laughed and hugged again.
— I love yeh, son, said Jimmy Sr when they were letting go.
He could say it and no one could hear him, except young Jimmy, because of the singing and roaring and breaking glasses.
— I think you’re fuckin’ great, said Jimmy Sr.
— Ah fuck off, will yeh, said Jimmy Jr. — Packie saved the fuckin’ penalty, not me.
But he liked what he’d heard, Jimmy Sr could tell that. He gave Jimmy Sr a dig in the stomach.
— You’re not a bad oul’ cunt yourself, he said.
Larry O’Rourke had got up onto a table.
— WHEN BOYHOOD’S FIRE WAS IH-IN MY BLOOD—
I DREAMT OF ANCIE-HENT FREEMEN—
— Ah, somebody shoot tha’ fucker!
Jimmy Sr nodded at Mickah. Jimmy Jr looked at him.
— He’ll be alrigh’ in a bit, he said. — It’s a big moment for him, yeh know.
Bimbo tapped Jimmy Sr’s shoulder.
— We’d better go, he said.
It was a pity.
— Okay, said Jimmy Sr. — Duty calls, he said to Jimmy Jr.
— How’s business?
— Brilliant. Fuckin’ great.
— That’s great.
— Yeah; great, it is. McDonalds me arse. Seeyeh. — Good luck, Mickah.
But Mickah didn’t answer. He stood to attention, the only man with plenty of room in the pub.
— Seeyeh.
— Good luck.
— A NAAY-SHUN ONCE AGAIN—
A NAAAY-SHUN ONCE AGAIN—
Bimbo gave Jimmy Sr a piggy-back to the van. There were kids and mothers out on the streets, waving their flags and throwing their teddy bears up in the air. A car went by with three young lads up on the bonnet. They could hear car horns from miles away.
It was the best day of Jimmy Sr’s life. The people he served that night got far more chips than they were entitled to. And they still made a small fortune, sold everything. They hadn’t even a Mars Bar left to sell. They closed up at ten, lovely and early, and had a few quiet pints; the singing had stopped. And then he went home and Veronica was in the kitchen and she did a fry for him, and he cried again when he was telling her about the pub and the match and meeting Jimmy Jr. And she called him an eejit. It was the best day of his life.
And then they got beaten by the Italians and that was the end of that.
They got in. Bimbo put in the key.
The van had a new engine.
— Here we go.
It went first time.
— Yeow!
They went to Howth.
— Maybe we should get music for it, said Jimmy Sr when they were going through Sutton. They’d stalled at the lights, but they were grand now, picking up a head of steam.
— Like a Mister Whippy van.
— Would tha’ not confuse people?
— How d’yeh mean?
— Well, said Bimbo. — They might run out of their houses lookin’ for ice-creams an’ all we’ll be able to give them is chips.
Jimmy Sr thought about this.
— Is there no chip music? he said. — Mind that oul’ bitch there. She’s goin’ to open the door there, look it.
— What d’yeh mean? said Bimbo.
He stopped Jimmy Sr from getting to the horn.
— Yeh should’ve just taken the door off its fuckin’ hinges an’ kept goin’, said Jimmy Sr.
— The music, said Bimbo.
— Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. — The Teddy Bears’ Picnic is the ice-cream song, righ’. Is there no chipper song?
— No, said Bimbo. — I — No, I don’t think—
— Your man, look it; don’t let him get past yeh! — Ah Jaysis. — I’m drivin’ back, righ’.
They went through Howth village and up towards the Summit to see how the van would handle the hill. They turned back before they got to the top: they had to.
— We won’t be goin’ up tha’ far ever, said Jimmy Sr.
She was going a blinder downhill.
— Not at all, Bimbo agreed with him.
— No one eats chips up there, said Jimmy Sr.
— That’s righ’, said Bimbo.
They went over a dog outside the Abbey Tavern but they didn’t stop.
— Don’t bother your arse, said Jimmy Sr when he saw Bimbo going for the brake. — We’ll send them a wreath. No one saw us.
Bimbo said nothing till they got onto the Harbour Road. He looked behind — there was no rear view mirror, of course — but there was nothing to see except the back of the van.
Then he spoke.
— Wha’ kind of a dog was it?
— Jack Russell.
— Ah, God love it.
And Jimmy Sr started laughing and he didn’t really stop till they got to the Green Dolphin in Raheny and they went in for a pint cos Bimbo was still shaking a bit.
— Served it righ’ for havin’ a slash in the middle of the road, said Jimmy Sr.
He paid for the pints.
— Can I drive her the rest of the way? he asked.
— Certainly yeh can, said Bimbo.
— Thanks, said Jimmy Sr, although he didn’t really know why; the engine was his as much as Bimbo’s. — Good man.
Maggie had bought them a space in Dollymount, near the beach, for the summer; she’d found out that you rented the patches from the Corporation and she’d gone in and done it. It was a brilliant idea, and a great patch; right up near the beach at the top of the causeway road, where the buses ended and started. It couldn’t have been better. There was a gap in the dunes there where on a good day thousands of people came through at the end of the day, sunburnt and gasping for chips and Cokes. Except there hadn’t been a good day yet.