Mr. Hunter blinked and took the strong box with a convulsive movement of his arm and addressed Majella’s right ear.—Errrrm. Thank you, Majella. Ah-herrrrrm. Thank you.
Unlike PissNI, Majella did not have a list of suspects for the attack on her granny. But if she had, Mr. Hunter would not be at the top of the list.
fivedubblechickenburgurzzanfivefuckenchipzanfivetubsofgarlicmayoannatwoliterbottleaCokewhenyourereadyjellybelly
The Daly brothers were in. Majella knew without turning who had shouted the order: Charley, the oldest. She also knew that all five of the Daly brothers were someplace close to the top of quite a few PissNI lists, including those related to racketeering, drugs, traffic offenses and domestic abuse. And yet nothing had ever been pinned to them. Majella waited until Mr. Hunter had left by the side door before tugging her overalls loose from her hot oxters. She wiped her face blank and turned around to deal with the Daly brothers.
1:00 a.m.
Item 7: Sweating
Majella’s feet were drowned in sweat. The walls of the chipper were wet with condensation and the air was thick with smoke from the fryers. Marty bagged up the last order of chips and passed it to Majella, who dropped it into a plastic bag and gave it to Joanne Keane, who slurred thanksamillion. Marty stood by Majella’s side and together they stared at the collection of drunks that had piled up in the chippie. Marty pushed the first button, closing the window shutters. Then he hit the second button and moved the door shutters a quarter of the way down. Some customers took the cue and left: the rest stayed put. This behavior had confused Majella when she had started in the chipper. She knew that the lowering of the shutters was a clear signal that the chipper was closing, the same way as the final blessing in Mass was the signal that the end was near. But she’d learned that people didn’t always notice signals or heed rules like opening and closing times. Marty looked at the stragglers, then heaved a sigh.
— Ah’ll get them lot cleared out.
He lifted the counter and stepped into the shop. Majella watched as Marty woke Monkey Keane and Mickey the Stool, who had fallen asleep on the window ledge. They took a few seconds to cop onto where they were, but soon gathered up their food and cans and stumbled out the door. Then Terry McGocks came up to the counter and leaned over to Majella.
— Bag a chips ann red sauce, Jelly.
Majella looked past his bloodshot eyes and focused on his left ear.
— Sorry, Terry. We’re done for the night.
Majella knew that Terry McGocks wasn’t going to be impressed with them being done for the night. She’d seen him in action a few times in the pubs. She knew he’d a reputation for not taking no for an answer.
— What the fuck’s this shite about being closed? Fucken fuckers fucken . . .
Majella stepped away from Terry McGocks and began to clear the buckets of mayonnaise and tubs of coleslaw to the back room. McGocks shouted and pounded the counter, but Majella kept on clearing up, ignoring his shouts for wan more bag a chips g’wan for fuck’s sake. The best part of Majella’s night was the clean-up. She’d always liked clean-ups.
Marty was struggling to get Terry McGocks out the door. Majella came to the counter and kept an eye on the pair of them, ready to help Marty if he needed a hand. But after a few seconds, Marty tossed Terry into the street and ducked back under the shutter. Majella hit the CLOSE button and the shutter screeched down towards the ground. Marty shut the inside door and they had the place to themselves. Outside, Terry McGocks was roaring. Majella’s eyes were tired. The fish on the wall seemed to be moving in the fluorescent light. Then she noticed someone had drawn eyelashes, lipstick and a fanny on one of the fish. Someone else had drawn a big hairy cock on the other one. It was funny, but Majella didn’t smile. She reached into the bag Iggy Connolly had brought and found a Dairy Milk bar. She unwrapped it, broke off a chunk and crammed it in her mouth. She waved the chocolate over at Marty, who shook his head.
— Naw, you’re all right. Ah’ll just get our suppers on.
Majella watched Marty lower a basket for the last fry of the night. Food was part of the deal. They were allowed to take home a supper of their choice—nothing extra. Majella shoved the last few chunks of Dairy Milk into her mouth and wiped her fingers down her overalls. She lifted the J-cloth and started to clean. Marty joined in. He only gave the place a cat’s lick. It made Majella’s fingers itch, but she had learned a long time ago to leave well alone, and not go over what he’d wiped, for it drove him mad because he didn’t see the sense in doing more than would keep Cunter off their backs. Marty didn’t understand that Majella didn’t clean to please Cunter. She was pleasing herself. When she’d started, the takeaway had been crusty with the dirt of years. She’d spent a satisfying month scraping muck off the counters and digging it out of crevices and cracks. Now the shop gleamed. They worked in silence, both pausing from time to time to wipe sweat from their faces. When they were done, Majella cleared the till. It had taken three years for Cunter to trust Majella with the takings. Since then she no longer turned up last thing at night to collect them, which was a relief for both Marty and Majella. When she came back to the counter she saw that Marty was finished up. They stripped off their overalls beside the heat of the fryers. Then Majella pulled off the cap and loosened her hair from the net. In Majella’s head, this marked the end of the night. She was off duty and could relax. Some nights Marty and Majella shagged in the storeroom. Majella never knew when the notion would take Marty. She never said no to a shag. She liked the way that they sometimes had sex just because they both happened to be there. She didn’t fancy Marty, not really. It was different when she’d first started in the chipper, nine years ago. He’d been engaged to Philomena at the time, not yet married, and he wasn’t one bit interested in Majella. She’d been at her skinniest ever—just after quitting her A levels, with no idea what to do with the bones and curves that had surfaced from underneath the layer of fat that had kept her warm from birth. So she hid herself under cardigans or in her overalls. But after a few months of chipper food, the fat started to fold around her limbs, thickening her legs and arms, widening her face and arse. She was relieved that this made her more invisible to most men, and interested that it was only then that Marty had wanted her. The first time he’d come after her she’d been in the storeroom checking the stock before they opened the chipper. She was squeezed into her second set of overalls but already needed a bigger size. She had heard Marty walk into the storeroom, then stop and stand behind her. Her chest had tightened and she’d turned around. Neither of them spoke. Marty’d fucked her in the storeroom, against the wall, under the fluorescent lights and beside the boxes of chicken nuggets, Daddy burgers and fish fillets, all the time telling her how much he liked big girls, real girls, girls you could get a hold of. Majella wasn’t keen on all the talk—she’d trained him out of it eventually. After they’d come, he’d reached down and cupped his hand firmly between her legs. He’d pressed the heel of his hand into her pubic bone, into the afterheat, and brought his mouth close to her ear, his stubble grazing her wet neck.
— You’ve a cunt like a Hovis loaf. Ah could eat you alive.
From time to time at work, Majella remembered his words and hot waves would travel her through her body, making her face glow under the sweat.