When Vinny Fitzpatrick appeared in the canteen at Clontarf bus garage on Monday morning, his fellow workers stood to their feet and applauded loudly.

The longest-serving driver on the northside beat was to be a poster boy for a Dublin Bus advertisement campaign, and everyone wanted to shake his hand, from the mechanics on the factory floor to Socket Twomey, the garage controller.

From December 1st, Vinny’s mug would be plastered on buses, shelters and billboards, on all routes served by Clontarf.

He was being labelled ‘The Terminator’ for terminating the length of time folk wait in the dark at bus stops.

Thanks to Vinny’s work, the Real Time Passenger Information service was proving a huge hit for passengers across the city, as everyone knew, to the minute, when the next bus was due.

It was Socket Twomey who ushered Vinny into the canner, and then called for “some ciunas” as he addressed the throng.

“Lads, this is a red-letter day for our garage, and for one of our own, Vinny Fitzpatrick,” he said, to much acclaim.

“Vinny has been with us for more years than he cares to remember and, touch wood, he’ll be with us for a wee while yet,” quipped Socket.

"As you know, Vinny was in at the cutting edge of RTPI and what he has done for passenger service compares to what Dr Frank Stableford did for the golf scoring system."

As the acclaim echoed around him, Vinny did his best to put on a brave face. In truth, his mind was miles away, as was his heart.

For starters, he had no desire to see his fat ugly mug plastered all over De Nortside, as he always preferred to avoid fanfare and fuss.

Secondly, and this was the nub of his mood, he only had thoughts for Angie, and what she was going through. Everything else was irrelevant.

“They could give me tickets to the match tonight and I couldn’t give a fig,” he thought to himself.

At that, Socket Twomey flourished an envelope from inside his jacket and said aloud. “Vinny, as a token of our gratitude for what you’ve done for this garage, here’s four West Stand tickets for Ireland’s play-off game.

“Take the rest of the day off and bring a fourball to the Aviva.”

At that, there was another roar of approval from the mob. "You'll never beat the Vinny," they sang out.

When things calmed down, one of the newer lads, who was as gay as Christmas, said in a high-pitched voice, “I’m free”.

Vinny raised his hands and forced himself to say cupla focail.

“Socket, lads,” he said. “I’m overwhelmed by all this.”

“As yiz know, all I’ve ever wanted to do was to help out our passengers, whose fares pay our wages. I’m not into any ballyhoo but, you know what? I’ll give these tickets a good home.”

A mammogram

With that, he made his way out of the canteen, across the forecourt, and out on to the Clontarf Road.

His thoughts were of Angie, not the Aviva, of her health, not that of the Irish national team, whose fortunes he had followed closely for donkey’s years.

The previous Friday, they'd held hands as Angie went for a mammogram in Beaumont Hospital; Angie was scared stiff but her upper lip stayed stiff.

When it was over, the kindly nurse in charge marked Angie’s card by saying something had shown up on the scan but it was best to see the doctor to get the full picture.

They had an appointment with the top cancer doc next Friday at Beaumont where all would be revealed. Vinny had insisted that Angie stay positive, that no news was good news.

Privately, he was braced for the worst, for surgery, the chemo, radiation, and all the dark stuff that goes with it.

Whatever happened, he would not leave his wife’s side. Not today, this week, not ever.

Foley’s was already on the back burner, but then everything was.

Vinny had pulled out of a trip to Goodison next month for Everton’s game against Crystal Palace.

And he'd also skipped the timesheet for the Turkey Shoot at St Anne's on December 14th with the Soiled and Ancient Golf Society.

These sacrifices were mere trifles as they meant nothing, whereas Angie meant everything.

If the wider world was a scary place right now, in Vinny’s world he could only look out for his own, and no one mattered more than Angie.

It was a short stroll from the garage to Mount Prospect Avenue and the walk took Vinny close to Green Lanes National School, where he once played footie on the billiard-like pitch.

Two kids

He caught up on two kids making their way home at lunchtime. As they dawdled, he could hear scraps of their conversation. “

Ireland

have a big game tonight. They’re playing Bosnia Herzy, Bosnia Hervo, Bosnia Hairgo,” said one of the chisellers, before giving up.

At that Vinny coughed loudly, so loud the kids turned around. “It’s Bosnia-Herzegovina, lads. The longest named country in Europe, with the shortest shoreline – you can tell your teacher that.

“You can also take these,” he said, reaching for Socket’s envelope. “Go home to your Ma and tell them you’re going to the match. If she asks where they came from, just say they were a present from, er, ‘The Terminator’.