As the going begins to get tough Vinny bares his soul to his old mate Fran

As he poked his potato-shaped head into Bubbles On The Bull launderette on Tuesday morning, the last person Vinny Fitzpatrick wanted to see behind the counter given his state of mind was Petra, the vixen of Vilnius.

The blonde six-footer once had designs on Vinny, for some unfathomable reason, and it had required all of his powers of diplomacy and restraint to keep her at arms length.

“Hey Vinny, where have you been hiding?” beamed Petra. “You did not take me to the football final this year, no? It was a cold day on Sunday; we could have kept each other warm,” she teased.

Vinny was is no mood for chit-chat even if a part of him felt for St Patrick’s Athletic after the manner of their FAI Cup loss to Derry City. He knew a cluster of lads from Conyngham Road garage who were Saints-mad and had gone to the game.

“Hi, Petra. Good to see you again. Is Fran here?” he said softly, so soft that Petra asked him to repeat his question before gesturing to the rear of the premises. “He’s in the office having another tea-break.”

As Vinny skipped past the gurgling hum of the washing machines, all sloshing around with gear from every school and sports club in Dublin 3, he considered how well Fran had done for himself.

The Bubbles operation was a serious business and Fran had money-making outlets in The Square, Liffey Valley, The Pavilions in Swords and Blanchardstown, all of which he controlled from his smallest shop, and the oldest, on the Clontarf Road.

On this morning, Fran was more interested in winning than spinning and was engrossed in the Racing Post when Vinny tapped lightly on the half-open door. “Have you got a minute?” he asked.

Without looking up, Fran stabbed a finger at the open page. “Cotton Mill for the Champion Hurdle at 33s. Now that’s what I call each-way ante-post value Vinny. Come in me ol’ mucker and fix yourself a brew,” he said warmly.

As Vinny made for the cupboard where Fran kept the mugs and endless supply of biscuits, he wondered about the sense in seeking marital guidance from a friend who had left his wife to shack up with Irma, a Lithuanian lovely, half his age.

But he and Fran went back a long way, to their school days in Joey’s, and had come through a lot of scrapes. He’d been Fran’s best man at his wedding and was godfather to one of his boys, which reminded him there was a birthday due soon.

Dunking a fig roll in a heavily sugared cuppah, Vinny puffed out his cheeks. This, he knew, wasn’t going to be easy but he’d been carrying the burden of events in Boru Betting for a week and it was time to get things off his chest.

“You okay Vinny?” enquired Fran tenderly.

“No Fran,” replied Vinny. “I’m not, not at all.”

That was as far as Vinny got before the waterworks began and his shoulders shook involuntarily.

For several minutes, Vinny blubbered like a baby, while cradled in the arms of his oldest friend.

When the sobbing finally stopped, a red-eyed Vinny opened up his heart and purged his soul of the suspicious thoughts that were keeping him awake at night.

He told Fran of his encounter with a tall, dark, stranger leaving Boru Betting, of how Angie appeared flushed when she saw him, and how her blouse was partially undone.

Since then, there had been a stony silence in Mount Prospect Avenue, punctured by occasional bouts of forced politeness. Angie had suggested Vinny sleep in the spare room as she said her hormones were out of kilter and she needed space.

For his part, Vinny had started leaving for work early and was deliberately returning late, often via Foley’s, where he had spent the two previous evenings on his own, sipping pints and nursing awful thoughts.

“The thing is Fran, if she’s having an affair, it would absolutely destroy me. But you know, a part of me wouldn’t be surprised. I mean, look at me. I’ve a face for radio and the body of Mr Blobby,” he said.

“That fellah I saw that evening leaving Boru Betting was a ringer for George Clooney. Why wouldn’t Angie fall for someone like that? I just wish she’d tell me what’s going on and put me out of my misery.

“I’m afraid of confronting her because I’m convinced she’ll tell me to sling my hook. I’ve already got my head around the probability that I’ll be back in Causeway Avenue on my own for Christmas. What am I supposed to do?”

Fran took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You seem sure that something happened between Angie and this geezer right? There’s only one thing for it, you’ve got to talk to her.

“You can’t go around ignoring one another. That’ll only wreck heads. Look, I hung around in a marriage that wasn’t working for longer than I should have.

“It’s best to bite the bullet, no matter how unpleasant the consequences. Do it right away. And whatever happens, you know that me and the other lads will be there for you, ’cos you’re our mate.”

As the last remark sank home, Vinny felt another wave of emotion course through him but he stopped short of further snivelling. It was time, instead, for action.

“You’re right Fran. I can’t hide behind a pint glass or lock myself into the spare room any more. I need to know the truth, no matter how hard it hurts,” he said with a hint of defiance.

With that, Vinny pushed back his chair, patted Fran’s silvery knot of curls and took his leave.

He avoided eye contact with Petra as he emerged on to Clontarf Road where the wind was biting. It was time to face the music, and dance.

1pt Lay Ireland to beat South Africa by 13 or more points (11/2, Paddy Power, liability 5.5pts)

1pt each-way James Driscoll in Childrens Miracle Classic (150/1, general)

2pts Celtic to draw with Barcelona in Champions League (5/1, Betfred)