— Yeh can’t bring the baby—
— Give us a hand, said Sharon.
She went round and opened the back door. She climbed in.
— Jesus!
The heat hit her.
Jimmy Sr picked up the buggy with Gina still in it and passed it in to Sharon.
— It’s fuckin’ dangerous—, he said.
— We’ll be grand, said Sharon. — Won’t we, Gina?
Gina was looking around. She liked what she saw. She tried to free herself. Sharon sat up on the hatch counter and held the buggy close to her, between her legs.
— I don’t know—, said Jimmy Sr.
He shut the door.
Bimbo went very carefully. An oul’ one on crutches could have gone faster.
— It’ll be fuckin’ dark by the time we get there, said Jimmy Sr.
— I don’t want to be responsible for an injury, Bimbo told him. — ’Specially to a baby.
But they got there. Jimmy Sr got Gina to sit on a shelf and gave her a Twix to keep her quiet for a bit and Sharon folded the buggy and put it in on top of the driver’s seat. It wasn’t too bad that way. Bimbo showed Gina how to make batter and he got her down off the shelf and let her dip a slab of cod into it. That was a mistake because now she had to dip everything into it, including herself. But it was nice having her in the van there; it was kind of exciting, as if they were performing for her. Bimbo put her back up on the shelf out of harm’s way, and Jimmy Sr gave her the other half of the Twix.
But she nearly fell into the deep fat fryer. She’d crawled nearer to it and she was leaning over to look at the bubbles and the smoke when Jimmy Sr saw her, roared and caught her. He didn’t really catch her, cos she wasn’t falling, but he told Sharon he did. The poor little thing was wringing with the sweat, so Jimmy Sr put her on the hatch counter to dry. She knocked the salt and pepper and a load of bags out onto the path. A load of young ones saw her and came over to look at her and say hello and wave at her but they didn’t buy anything, of course.
— Get us the salt an’ pepper there, will yeh, love, Jimmy Sr asked a young one.
— Get it yourself, she said.
They all walked off, laughing.
— Hope yeh got skin cancer! Jimmy Sr roared after them.
— Jesus, Daddy!
— Bitches.
— Bitis! said Gina after them.
— Good girl yourself, said Jimmy Sr.
They couldn’t keep her on the counter because she’d get in the way and she was bound to fall out so what Jimmy Sr did was, he went into the dunes and found a plank. He brought it back to the van and gave it a good wipe and used up most of a milk bottle of water to clean it. It was long enough to go over the top of the chip bin and that made a seat for Gina, in the corner, away from danger. She complained a bit; the plank was wet. Bimbo put a cloth under her.
Serving was easier here than at closing time cos there wasn’t a mad rush of people. It was good, a gradual, steady flow of customers. Jimmy Sr liked it. It was a good way to start the working day.
— Have yeh anny spicey burgers, Mister?
— They’re on the menu, said Jimmy Sr, but not in a snotty way.
— Oh yeah, said the young fella. — How much are they?
Jimmy Sr pointed at the price on the board.
— There; look it.
— Oh yeah.
The kid was a bit simple, he could tell; the way his mouth hung open.
— D’yeh want chips as well? he asked him.
— Yeah.
— Have yeh the money on yeh?
— Me ma’s comin’, said the kid.
— Fair enough, said Jimmy Sr. — Will she want annythin’ herself, would yeh say?
— Wha’?
— Will she be long?
— She’s comin’.
— Okay, said Jimmy Sr.
Poor little sap; he’d give him the order even if his ma didn’t come. He turned to get a spice-burger.
— Wha’ the fuck—
— What’?
— Yeh can’t fuckin’ do tha’ in here!
Sharon was changing Gina’s nappy.
Jesus; if a health inspector or a guard was passing and looked in and saw the baby’s little arse pointing out at him they’d be rightly fucked. Or Mister Whippy over the other side of the roundabout; if he saw what Sharon was doing he’d race down to Raheny station and report them, and he’d play the Teddy Bears’ Picnic all the fuckin’ way.
Jimmy Sr slammed down the hatch.
— Back in a minute, he told the kid waiting outside.
— Quick! he said. — Hurry up. An’ mind nothin’ drops into the chips.
Sharon giggled. Bimbo was battering away. It wasn’t dark exactly; you could see everything. It was quite nice really.
— Are yeh finished? said Jimmy Sr.
— Nearly.
Sharon put the old nappy into a plastic bag and put that bag into her proper bag.
— Pity the poor fucker tha’ robs your handbag, said Jimmy Sr.
They laughed, and Jimmy Sr opened the hatch. The kid was still there.
— Still here, said Jimmy Sr.
— Me ma’s comin’, said the kid.
— She’s a lucky woman, said Jimmy Sr.
— Daddy!
Jimmy Sr slid the spice-burger into the cooking oil.
— Now.
He put a few chips into a bag, nice big ones, and handed them out to the kid.
— Have them while you’re waitin’, he said.
— A one an’ one there, please.
Jimmy Sr looked to see who’d said that. It was a man about his own age, wearing a Hawaii 5–0 shirt and a Bobby Charlton haircut. Bimbo sank the cod into the fryer.
— Grand day again, said Jimmy Sr to the man.
— We’re spoilt, said the man.
— What’s the water like today? said Jimmy Sr.
— Shockin’, said the man. — Filthy dirty, it is. Yeh wouldn’t make your worst enemy swim in it.
— Yes, I would, Jimmy Sr told him. — Won’t be a minute here.
— No hurry.
Sharon handed out the spice-burger and chips to the young fella. He didn’t take them.
— Me ma’s comin’, he said.
— You’re alrigh’, said Jimmy Sr. — Go on. She can pay us when she comes; go on.
Gina started singing.
— OLÉ—OLÉ OLÉ OLÉ—
They all joined in.
Jimmy Sr got the cod out the fryer, shook the drops off it and put it in its bag and put that into the brown bag; a grand big piece of fish it was too. Sharon gave him the bag of chips and he slid that in alongside the cod.
— OLÉ—OLÉ OLÉ OLÉ—The works? he asked the man.
He held the salt over the bag.
— Fire away, said the man.
— Righto, said Jimmy Sr. — Say when.
The man took the bag. He handed two of the new pound coins to Jimmy Sr but stopped just short of Jimmy’s reach.
— Me ma’s comin’, he said.
They laughed and he gave the money to Jimmy Sr. Jimmy Sr gave him his change and that was that.
— Good luck now, said Jimmy Sr. — Enjoy your meal.
— Cheerio, said the man.
Jimmy Sr watched him trying to wheel his bike and eat his chips at the same time. There was a woman outside now, trying to get her shower of kids to make up their minds what they wanted.
— Milkshake! said one of them.
They were all over her; it was hard to be sure how many kids she had with her; about six, and another on the way, now that Jimmy Sr looked at her properly.
— It isn’t McDonald’s, she told the milkshake kid.
— Wha’ is it? said the kid.
— It’s a lurry! said his sister, and she gave him a smack in the mouth, and legged it.
— Look at this, Jimmy Sr said to Sharon.
— Six singles, said the woman when she made it to the counter. — No; seven. Me as well.
— I don’t want chips, said one of the boys.