Gurriers (22 page)

John and Joe had struck up a conversation about events of the previous night and Gerry was giving all his attention to something that he was doing on his seat between his legs with both hands. I actually angled my neck slightly to satisfy my curiosity about it but he looked up and I averted my eyes straight
to the floor, followed closely by a dash to the kitchen that made me feel like a schoolgirl escaping a bully.

I scolded myself for my anxiety around couriers as I put the kettle on. They were loud, rude and brash but they meant no harm: I was going to have to relax, open up and be myself around these people – and the sooner the better. Actually, now was the perfect opportunity, offer to make them tea, loud and bold from the kitchen door!

“Anyone want-” My voice was so high pitched and weak that I was wise to abort after two words, but the squeak had got the attention of the room! I coughed quickly to clear my throat, releasing a little bubble of an anxiety fart at the same time, and bellowed out the original intended statement, much too loud and deep this time, of course.

“Would anybody like a cup of tea?” The only response was a vague gesture from John at his cup. I went bright red and dissolved back into the kitchen, tut-tutting myself for such a heinous lack of confidence.

I was glad to hear the distraction of a bike pulling up outside as I approached the table with my cup of tea. I was also glad to see that it was the Gizzard, complete with an envelope, presumably for me, as he entered the canteen and made straight for the hatch.

“Who am I givin’ this to?” He demanded loudly when he was half way across the room. I resisted the urge to tell him that it was for me, afraid of making a gobshite of myself but also because he sounded angry.

There was something about his whole manner that had warning bells ringing in my head. I didn’t hear Aidan’s response but I sure as hell heard the Gizzard’s next outburst. I was glad not to have volunteered myself to take the envelope off him as a wave of icy fear washed over me on hearing.

“That’s just fuckin’ lovely tha’ is, takin’ juicy work off me to give to the fuckin’ new lad! Wha’ have ye go’ lined up for me? Probably Ra’ fuckin’ farnham or Blanch or some other fuckin’ shi’e work, is i’? Is tha’ wha’ yer goin to fuckin’ do to me?”

He was giving out about me! I lowered my eyes to the floor
and my arse into the chair, as he stomped over to the table.

“Here.”

I saw the envelope thud onto the table in front of me and slowly raised my gaze but he had continued his stomp towards the door in anger, pausing to roar back at Aidan before opening it.

“I’m goin’ ou’ to ge’ a breakfast roll,” Then mumbled loudly to himself as he swung the door open with force “Mie as fuckin’ well feed meself, givin’ my fuckin’ work to beginners.” Then he was on his bike and gone.

I was stunned, shocked and embarrassed to be the cause of such a tantrum. My gaze fixed itself on the envelope as I felt my face burn with redness.

That nagging voice of doubt piped up again in my head. “Screw this Sean – just get up and go home. Don’t say a word to anybody – put your jacket on, grab your helmet and go!”

“Now that’s how to throw a tantrum, boys!” Shay sounded amused. Of course, these animals were going to rip me to shreds now that I had been wounded. I felt alone and vulnerable as the burning of my face intensified. I couldn’t take my eyes off the envelope – rendered motionless by the terror of what I expected to happen to me for being stupid enough to give this stinking job another go.

“The Gizzard fuckin’ hates havin’ work takin’ off ‘im!” Joe said. I was surprised Joe wasn’t attacking me.

“He’s goin’ to fuckin’ flip properly when he gets back wi’ his roll an’ I ge’ me revenge for me ruined lunch on Tuesday.” Gerry was more on my side than against.

“Gerard, old cock, I would strongly advise against such antagonism of a man who is already very much freaked with his base controller.”

I managed to tear my gaze away from the envelope to look at John; such was the feeling of hope welling up inside me. The Gizzard wasn’t angry with me – he was angry with Aidan!

Shay picked up on what was going through my mind, and
was surprisingly supportive as he leaned forward and spoke in a learned tone. “I hope you don’t think he was goin’ mad with you.”

I looked at him as a lost child might look at the adult who finds him.

“He was goin’ mad with Bollicky Balls for takin’ his work off him to give to you.”

Bollicky Balls was sticking his neck out for me to send me into an area that I knew! I wished momentarily that I had grown up in Rathfarnham or somewhere so that Aidan could send me there and not have to take crap off couriers for it. I felt that I owed the man a debt of gratitude; I decided not to walk out.

“Sure who does he fuckin’ think he is anyway?” Gerry was adamantly anti-Gizzard.

“New kid here’s just as entitled to the run as Gizzard – we all heard ‘I’m pickin’ up in Chapelizod for Ballsbridge’, didn’t we?”

“Oh, you’re Four Sean, yeah?”

I nodded vigorously in reply to Joe’s question, feeling better about things by the second.

“Given Barry’s number on the very day of his departure,” pontificated John, staring thoughtfully at the naked light bulb, looking like a cartoon image of an idea from where I was sitting.

Somehow John’s manner (and grammar) made me feel at ease. So much so that I actually replied to him, almost in the same language too (utilising Shay’s insult also, of course).

“On the very minute of his departure! I think Bollicky Balls was making a statement when he gave me the number four.” I would have felt more at ease had somebody spoken then but nobody did.

John’s reflective gaze moved to his cup, Gerry went back to whatever he was doing between his legs and Joe slumped back in his seat with his eyes closed. Even Shay seemed to have no reply for me. After an awkward moment’s silence that seemed to drag on for an eternity, I remembered the Danish and was delighted to have the activity of fishing it out of my bag to oc
cupy me.

“Ye’d want to watch tha’ fuckin’ bag!”

I was surprised that Shay’s warning was aimed at me and conveyed it to him with a quizzical look. He went on to explain.

“See the way the way the flap goes all the way to the bo’om? Dangerous as fuck, tha’ is! I thou’ all them old fuckin’ things had been replaced wi’ the new ones tha’ only have little flaps comin’ down to the top o’ the pouch.”

“What’s, er, what’s dangerous about that?”

“If you have tha’ bag on the tank in front of ye an’ the Velcro isn’t stuck prop’ly, the wind can catch i’ an’ blow i’ up in front of ye over yer head. Fuckin’ happened to me once years ago on the Tallaght bypass. Nearly fuckin’ killed, I was. Scary shit to be blinded goin’ along a’ speed, even for a second! I’d ask Fatso for another bleedin’ bag if I was you man!”

I didn’t want to trouble Aidan but I also wanted Shay to know that I took his advice seriously. God knows, I needed all of the advice I could get off these experienced couriers. The situation called for diplomacy.

“This was the only bag they had. Anyway, I always have it behind me when I’m driving.”

“So did I the time i’ happened to me. I was fuckin’ freezin’ so I pulled i’ around the front to scrunge in behind i’ an’ i’ nearly cost me my fuckin’ life! I use the box all the time now anyway – much handier.”

“What, to scrunge in behind when the weather’s bad?”

“This is Joe by the way – he only thinks he’s a comedian today ‘cos he was ou’ on the piss las’ nie. Usually he’s like a little fuckin’ mouse.”

“Only ‘cos I can’t ge’ a fuckin’ word in edgeways wi’ you, granda!”

“He speaketh his words of wisdom and many listen!” quoted John.

Joe reclined with a harrumph and Shay returned his full attention to me.

“It’s up to yourself, man, bu’ I’d ge’ i’ changed; won’t Barry
be handin’ in his tomorrow when ‘e gets his wages? Ye can nab tha’ one then!”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Thanks, Shay.”

“An’ ye can jus’ make sure to keep tha’ behind ye today. I’m next on tha’ Gerry, yeah?”

“Sure I won’t be getting cold today...” My voice had trailed off in shock as I looked from Shay to Gerry just in time to see him licking the paper of the joint that he had been making on the seat. I was astounded to see two people preparing to smoke a joint.

“One thinks one will partake after your good self, sir,” said John, who was now the third person about to smoke hash at eleven o’clock in the morning – at work!

“I’m alrie, boys – wouldn’t be fuckin’ able for I’.” Joe didn’t even open his eyes.

I caught Gerry raising an eyebrow questioningly in my direction. I was being offered drugs at work on a morning break!

“Er…I….em…well,” The fact that my babbling was accompanied by a pointing gesture at my Danish only made him look more questioning. Again I felt myself go crimson but I managed to blurt out an effort of a negative noise to clarify my position.

Gerry put the joint in his mouth and made his way to the door.

“Relay race, yeah?” aimed back at the table.

“Roger, see ya in two,” replied Shay.

I took a bite out of my Danish, still stunned.

“Ye should ge’ yerself a top box, man – they’re the best way to do the job, an’ ye don’ have to go to all the bother of brackets an’ all tha’ shi’e either. Most bikes have bungee hooks on them. Drill a few holes in the side of a box an’ bungee i’ on to yer back sea’. Actually, I’ll tell ye now,” He jumped out of his seat, excited at his brainwave. “If ye look at the grab rails under yer seat, ye’ll see two little bits a’ moulded metal a’ the bo’om tha’ are there to hold bungees on. Paddy Murray ou’ of letter express was showin’ me on his…. Oi! Woolly willy! Fuck off!” With
that, he barged past me and out the door with a sudden unexpected burst of agility. I turned to see that a push bike courier, a boy in his late teens but rugged and rough looking already, had pulled up beside the hungrily smoking Gerry, presumably with the intention of having a smoke of the joint. Shay minced no words in explaining to him how uncool it was to skip the queue for a joint in these parts.

“Woolly willy?” I enquired.

John spoke up. “That’s what real couriers call pushbike couriers. It comes from them shoving pairs of socks down their tights to impress receptionists.”

“Tights?”

“Y’know that lycra shite that they wear, that one doesn’t, which pisses him off all the more to be called a woolly willy.”

“Do they really do that?”

“I believe one of them did once, condemning them all forever more!”

Even though the door had closed behind Shay, the volume was high enough for me to make out the content of his outburst and also to have grave concerns about doing it outside work. What if someone from the office heard him? What if Aidan heard him?

“Four Sean.” The sound of his voice just as I had been thinking about him made me jump. This initial startled momentum carried through to make my journey to the hatch a particularly awkward and clumsy one, especially under the stern gaze of Aidan who never took his eyes off me the whole bumbling way.

“When you’re finished yer tea, Coke on Baggo’ Stree’ll give ye one for Boo’erstown.”

I never brought my book up with me! I remember wondering, what will I do?

Stop looking down at your hands – you’re telegraphing your mistake to him, you clown! I thought.

“Ye can wri’e i’ down when ye ge’ back to the table. Tha’s all I have for now.”

I was sure that there was an edge to his voice, as if he was
asking himself a question about me. As I turned to go back to the table, it hit me like a sledgehammer that he could have been wondering whether or not I was stoned. I imagined a gaze from him burning into my back all the way back to the table.

Just walk normally, Sean, I told myself, nice and steady. Naturally I clumped every step of the way as if I was wearing deep-sea diving boots, swinging my tense shoulders as if they had a plank nailed across them and with a face so red that I was concerned about Aidan catching a reflection from the window, even though it was broad daylight outside. I vowed that if I ever saw an ad for self composure lessons somewhere I would book myself in for five courses!

I took out my book as soon as I got back to the table and had just started writing when I heard a bike pull up to the window behind me. I knew that this was the Gizzard returning with his breakfast roll. I cringed and accelerated my writing simultaneously to try to get the job written in and the book closed before he came into the canteen. I failed. To make matters worse when he did barge in, he made straight for the chair vacated by Shay right beside me – giving him the perfect angle at the perfect time to read my scrawl just as I finished it.

“Mmm…Boo’erstown,” he commented as he sat down. I never felt so ill at ease in my life. I had no idea what to say or do or even think. I felt like an intruder who was taking the bread away from this man’s table – just as I was supposed to feel.

This time I had a good reason to be delighted to have the distraction of the Danish to focus my attention on. I nibbled away like a mouse awkwardly while woolly wily burst in, dropped two envelopes on the hatch and barged out again.