— And onion rings, Darren reminded him.
— Oh, that’s righ’. Mona said she’d go a couple of onion rings as well.
— Jaysis, said Jimmy Sr. — They’ll keep her up all night if Larry doesn’t.
He dropped the orders into the fryer, except the pineapples; they only took a few seconds or they’d turn to mush.
— Do they want wine? said Jimmy Sr when he’d everything else in order.
— Yeah, said Darren.
— Black or blue?
— Blue.
Jimmy Sr ducked in under the hot plate and got out a bottle of Blue Nun.
— Do the business with tha’, he said to Darren, and he held the bottle out to him.
— I’d better get back for their sweets, said Darren.
Jimmy Sr turned to Bimbo.
— There, he said. — Suck the cork ou’ o’ tha’.
Bimbo got working on the bottle with the corkscrew and Jimmy Sr put the two plates on the hatch counter and made a hill of chips on each of them.
— There’ll be no complaints abou’ the quantity annyway, wha’, said Jimmy Sr. — Give someone more than they think they’re entitled to and yeh have a friend for life.
— Cos they know we give value for money, said Bimbo.
— Cos they think we’re fuckin’ saps, said Jimmy Sr.
— The cork’s after breakin’ on me, said Bimbo.
— Shove it into the bottle.
The plates were full now, too full. Jimmy Sr took some of the chips off and pushed the fish further in, under the chips.
— There, he said. — Can yeh manage?
— No problem, said Bimbo. — I’ll have to come back for the wine.
— I’ll bring it as far as the door for yeh, said Jimmy Sr.
— Good man; thanks.
Jimmy Sr knew that Bimbo thought he meant O’Rourke’s front door but he was only going to go to the van door, for the laugh.
Bimbo wasn’t impressed when he got back.
— Very funny, he said.
— Ah, cop on, said Jimmy Sr.
They said nothing for a bit. Then—
— They’re havin’ a row inside, Bimbo told Jimmy Sr.
— Fuckin’ great, said Jimmy Sr. — What abou’?
— Couldn’t tell yeh, said Bimbo. — I just gave them their dinners an’ got ou’.
— Ah, you’re fuckin’ useless.
He handed the Blue Nun to Bimbo.
— Go back an’ find ou’ wha’ they’re rowin’ abou’.
— Who d‘yeh think you’re orderin’ around—?
Darren was back with the jelly and ice-cream.
— Hey, Darren; go in an’ see what Larry an’ Mona are rowin’ abou’.
— Go in yourself.
— Jesus, said Jimmy Sr. — What a staff; such a pair o’ fuckin’ wasters I’m lumbered with.
He turned to Bimbo and he was glaring at Jimmy Sr; he didn’t have time to change his face. It surprised Jimmy Sr.
Eh — are they in the front room or the kitchen or wha’?
— The kitchen, said Bimbo, back to normal.
— Fuck. We could’ve crept up under the window — Larry O’Rourke came charging out of the house, trying to get into his jacket. He didn’t slam the door.
— How was the cod, Larry? Jimmy Sr asked him.
— Fuck the fuckin’ cod, said Larry.
He headed down the road, in a Hikers direction.
— Your jelly an’ ice-cream, Larry!
— Fuck the jelly an’ the fuckin’ ice-cream, they heard.
He turned back to them.
— She can fuckin’ eat them! Her mouth’s fuckin’ big enough!
— Will yeh look who’s talkin‘! Bimbo said to Jimmy Sr and Darren. — Who’s goin’ to pay for the dinners?
— Eh — I suppose—
Bimbo looked down the road, then at the house.
— It was Mona phoned Maggie.
— Righ’, said Jimmy Sr.
He went up the path, and into the house, with the wine.
Bimbo and Darren waited for him.
Jimmy Sr came back out.
— She wants her jelly.
Darren handed him a bowl.
— Better give her the both o’ them, said Jimmy Sr. — She’s payin’ for them.
— Is she? said Bimbo.
— Fuckin’ sure she is.
He went back into the house. Darren and Bimbo got the gas canister back into the van and wiped the shelves. Bimbo mixed some more batter for later that night and Darren fished some loose bits of batter out of the oil in the fryer.
— Maybe she’s seducin’ him, said Darren.
— Ah no.
They were shutting the back door when Jimmy Sr came out.
— Wha’ kept yeh?
— I was havin’ a glass o’ wine with Mona.
— Is she alrigh’?
— She’s grand; not a bother on her.
He waved two tenners at them.
— How’s tha‘, he said. — An’ this as well.
He held out a pound coin for Bimbo.
— Your tip, he said. — She says thanks very much. Go on; take it. — D‘yis know wha’ the row was abou’? said Jimmy Sr when they were all in the van, heading home.
— Wha’?
— His pigeons shitein’ on her washin’, said Jimmy Sr.
— Ah, is that all?
— She’s not a bad-lookin’ bird, Mona, said Jimmy Sr. — If she tidied herself up a bit. Sure she’s not?
Bimbo and Darren didn’t say anything. Jimmy Sr wished he’d kept his stupid mouth shut. Darren was blushing beside him; he could nearly feel the heat off him, and he was blushing now himself was well. Bimbo had his mouth in a whistle but there was no noise coming out.
Although they never ran out of ways of flogging their chips and stuff, closing time outside the Hikers was still their bread and butter. Dollymount was grand on a good, sunny day but on a rainy day or even just a cloudy one there wasn’t a sinner down there to sell a chip to. And there were never going to be too many good, sunny days in an Irish summer; there was always rain coming at you from somewhere. But people coming out of the pub after a few jars didn’t give a shite what the weather was like, they just wanted their chips and maybe a bit of cod with a nice crispy batter on it. Anyway, rain was never that wet when you were half scuttered.
The dinners-for-two with candles and wine hardly paid for themselves. They did them for the crack more than anything else. Bimbo did them to please Maggie, because the idea had been her brainwave, and Jimmy Sr went along with Bimbo.
Only she was always having brainwaves. Sometimes Jimmy Sr felt like telling her to give her fuckin’ head a rest.
They came back from Dollier on a Monday late in July covered in sand and with damn all in the money box because there’d been showers on and off all afternoon, and she was there waiting for them, swinging off the front door, with her latest: breakfasts on the Malahide Road.
— You’re jokin’, said Jimmy Sr, once he knew what she was on about.
She wanted them to park the van at the crossroads in Coolock every morning and make rasher sandwiches for people driving to work.
— Wha’ time?
— Half-seven.
— Jaysis—!
— Eight then; it doesn’t matter. Durin’ the rush hour.
— Look it, said Jimmy Sr. — Maggie. If they’re in such a rush they’re not goin’ to be stoppin’ for a rasher sandwich. Or even a rasher an’ dunphy sandwich.
— There’s plenty of people would love a rasher sandwich on their way to work, said Maggie.
— I know tha‘, said Jimmy Sr. — But they’ll be goin’ by us on the bus or they’ll be at home in bed cos they’re on the dole.
Bimbo was staying a bit quiet, Jimmy Sr thought; very fuckin’ quiet.
— The only people who’d drive past that way, said Jimmy Sr, — is the yuppies. An’ they can make their own fuckin’ breakfasts as far as I’m concerned.