Billy grinned. Dont worry John, we’re certainties anyway.
Aye but that’s no the point. I mean I’m no caring one way or the other. I just like to know what’s happening.
Aw John . . . Donnie put his hand back onto his forehead again. I’ve had a hard day – eh? going to fucking give us a bit of peace? Eh? Please?
Aye but all I’m saying . . .
Shut your fucking mouth!
John looked at him.
Donnie smiled in reply.
When he entered the close he paused to position himself in the middle of the way, then continued, walking in a straight line. Going up the stairs he canoned off the wall and halted, steadied himself.
Margaret came from the living room. You wanting a sandwich?
Aye. Hh . . . he smiled at her, carried on down to the bathroom. After urinating he filled the washhand basin and dunked his head in it twice, the second time keeping it submerged for a count of ten seconds.
A slice of square sausage was sizzling in the frying pan, the kettle of water almost boiling. Margaret had put it on for him. He got a slice of bread from the bin, spread the margarine on.
In the front room Robert was on his armchair and Margaret was on the settee. Tammas closed the door, carried his tea and the teaplate to sit down next to her. He had the sandwich in his mouth and he bit a big chunk off before taking it out. Anything good been on? he asked.
Earlier. A play, quite good – wasnt it Bob?
Robert did not respond. He had the newspaper on his lap.
Tammas moved his head a little and grinned, covering his face with his hand.
Margaret said, Did you go to the job centre?
No, I was a bit late.
Late?
Aye, I was a bit late. Hell of a long walk.
You’re a lazy bugger!
Robert grunted something.
Tammas paused before saying: I’ll go the morrow, I’ll be fine the morrow. Aye, different story then, get the giro and that, be able to take a bus.
Okay! Robert had swivelled round on his seat to gaze at him. What is it? If you’ve got something to say say it!
Tammas sniffed. I’ve no got anything to say.
Bloody liar – he tried to tap me for a pound on Tuesday morning Margaret. You were wondering what was up with me, mind? Right? That’s what was up with me. He tried to tap me for a pound and I wasnt having any. That’s it Tammas eh!
No.
Ah ya liar ye! Robert sat back forwards again, the newspaper falling from his lap.
These things dont bother me.
Robert glared round at him but said nothing for a few moments. No, he went on, these things dont worry you – wee things, like money, they dont bother you, Only when you come trying to tap me or your sister.
I wish you’d get your facts straight Robert. I think about once in the past two years or something, that’s the number of times I’ve tried to tap you.
Listen son . . .
Margaret interrupted. Why dont the two of you stop it! I wish you would just stop it.
Well, cried Robert, I dont know how many times he’s taken it from you!
That’s rent money, said Tammas.
Rent money!
He always pays it back, said Margaret.
Robert was saying: What d’you mean rent money? It’s our money, it belongs to me and your sister. So never mind what the hell you call it. And as far as I’m concerned when you dont come up with that on a Friday night then it’s a hell of a sight worse than borrowing. And what about that bloody meter bowl? Never a bloody tosser in it once you get through with it. You couldnt care less whether we’ve got enough electricity or no. O naw, nothing like that bothers you. Just wee minor details!
Aye. Tammas leaned to lay the unfinished sandwich on the teaplate, and he looked about for his cigarettes and matches. He saw the packet beneath the corner of the settee and soon was smoking; he exhaled at the ceiling. It’s all coming out the night, he said.
Aye and high time too if you ask me . . . Robert shook his head at Margaret: Look at the state of him! He tries to tap me for a pound and then he can still come marching in here half drunk and looking for you to make his bloody supper!
I didnt look for Margaret to make my supper at all.
Ah!
Tammas inhaled deeply and he exhaled before continuing. And if you’re wanting to know about the money, somebody gave me it – no loaned me it, gave me it – and I never asked, never bloody asked, he just gave me it.
O goody, it’s always nice to know people who give you their money. I’ve always thought that myself – eh Margaret? Nice that isnt it! People who go about dishing out their money every time you’re skint. Wish to heaven he’d stick down their names and addresses so we could get paying off the mortage on this bloody house!
Margaret was staring at the television.
After a moment Tammas said: People like him dont give money to anybody Robert; sometimes they dont even speak to people.
Ah . . . fine . . . Robert was silent. Eventually he nodded. Well Margaret, I think he must be talking about the big timers. Eh son? Is that who you’re talking about? The big timers?
Exactly. Aye – he used to be. Won and done more cash than you’ll ever see anyhow!
Right then that’s enought! cried Margaret.
Naw it’s alright. Robert had raised his hand and he smiled. I want to hear about the people that give away their money.
I’m talking about auld Phil over the road in the betting shop. He doesnt have to work in there you know he just likes to do it, to keep in touch with the game.
O, I see.
Aye, he doesnt need to work.
Mm, just like you . . . Robert frowned and he shifted round on his seat to be facing away from him. Away and grow up son.
I might and I might no – have to watch it in case I turn out like you.
Tammas! Margaret was staring at him.
Robert held his hand up to her. It’s alright Margaret . . . He glanced at Tammas: I’ve got one thing to say to you: why dont you pack your bags and go. The trouble is you have grown up, you are a big boy. You just dont act like one. And I think it’d be best if you went, and I mean that.
Aye. Dont worry about it. Tammas was getting onto his feet, gathering his cup and plate and the cigarettes and matches. Soon as the time comes I’ll be off, away, dont worry about that. He was at the door and he paused to add, Goodnight folks, pleasant dreams.
Robert shook his head. God, you give me a pain in the neck, so you do.
•••
The cubicle door banged shut behind him. He read what it said on the receipt then stuck it into his pocket along with the £6. A small woman appeared from through the close, she bustled past him, carrying a baby in the crook of an arm, a bundle of LP records under the other.
Outside was cold and foggy. He walked quickly along to Simpson’s where he stood with his pint, near to the gasfire at the wall, reading a morning newspaper. Racing had been abandoned, waterlogged; and there were no dog meetings scheduled for the afternoon. Billy came in shortly before 1 o’clock. He was skint. Tammas bought him a pint of lager. Gulping the first mouthful he backed in as near as possible to the fire, placed the pint on the mantelpiece and rubbed his hands together. Fuck this for a game, he muttered, I’m definitely searching for a job man. This no racing no wages is murder. Freezing too – you’d think it was the middle of fucking winter!
Tammas nodded.
You holding?
A few bob.
Ach! Billy shook his head. What a life. I’m fucking sick of these horses man I’m no kidding ye, honest, fucking terrible. That bastard Donnie as well; couple of weeks and he’ll be lapping up that sun – fucking bastard! Naw, I’m definitely going after a full time job. A nice warm factory or something.
Ha ha.
Naw I’m no kidding ye Tammas you were mad jacking yours.
Shite.
Naw, honest. Hey, something else man, that auld man of
mine’s – he was telling me they’re going to be starting people in the copper works after Christmas. I think I’ll apply. Eh? Fancy it? He’ll stick your name down as well.
D’you think there’s any chance like?
I dont know, according to him. Sometimes he rabbits on but. Hey, that place you were in – would they no let you back if you asked nicely?
Would they fuck.
Maybe they’d start me.
Not at all man they were speaking about redundancies the last I heard.
Aye but things fucking change.
Tammas shrugged. Drink up and we’ll go a walk.
A walk!
Aye, up the town, maybe get a game of snooker or something. I’ll stick you in for a game. Eh, see if you can win us a few quid!
No danger . . . Billy grinned.
They travelled by bus. The tables were full when they arrived, with a large crowd queuing. At the top end most of the spectators were watching a tournament involving about eight players; each game used three reds and all the colours. Billy and Tammas settled on a ledge, until eventually the winner had been decided. The entry fee was 50 pence and Tammas dropped it into an empty tobacco tin. Somebody placed the tin on top of the shade above the table. When the lights went out the electric meter would be fed by one of the coins from the tin.
Billy got knocked out in the first round of both this and the following tournaments. Tammas dropped in the third 50 pence and told him it was the last. Billy won his way through to the final. There were ten players which meant a kitty of £5, less electricity. The guy he was playing against looked about 30 years of age. After they had tossed for break and one of the losing players was setting the balls Tammas lighted a cigarette and stepped nearer to the man and said quietly: Want to save a pound?
You kidding! Hh. The man shook his head and walked off to the end of the table; he began chalking his cue. He potted the first red and took the blue with it, but he missed the next red and Billy got it, taking a pink and then the last red with a black; then he missed the yellow after having positioned himself quite well on it. He shrugged at Tammas. Tammas looked away.
His opponent potted the yellow, the green, the brown, and he left the blue on the dyke. Billy came to the table and without hesitation slammed the ball very hard, it flashed off three sides into the middle bag opposite, his cue-ball following through to allow him a reasonable shot at the pink into the other middle bag. He potted it smoothly then reached for the tin containing the money.
The defeated player passed Tammas on his way to return the cue to its case. Tammas muttered, On you go!
What was that?
Nothing.
Did you say something there?
Naw, no me.
The man stood watching him. Then Billy came across and he said, Hard lines.
The next tournament was being prepared for. The man glanced at Tammas. Okay, he said, you still wanting a bet?
I wasnt wanting a bet the last time. I was just wanting to save a pound – know what I mean?
Aye, I know what you mean.
Tammas nodded.
Billy was looking from one to the other. What’s up? he asked
Misunderstanding, said the guy. And then to Tammas: You still wanting a bet but?
Suit yourself.
Two quid says I go further than your mate.
You’re on.
My mate’ll hold the money . . . He gestured to one of the onlookers.
Tammas shrugged.
When the bet had been struck Billy and the other player joined the rest and soon the tournament was under way. The other player got knocked out in the first round. Tammas collected the £4 from his mate.
Eventually Billy got through to the final and he won again.
•••
From where he stood high in the stand he was in direct line with the finishing post. He looked on at the 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th races without laying a bet. During the intervals he drank bottled beer in the bar below, marking the form of each race once it had ended. He had come to back dog 4 in the 5th. Both it and the one out of trap 5 were set to receive 10 metres from the scratch dog. This scratch dog – trap 1 – was a good racer; it had to be fast otherwise it would not have been giving away such big starts. But as far as Tammas was concerned it was a two dog race, traps 4 and 5. If 4 trapped well enough to lead at the first bend then he reckoned he could start walking to head the queue at the bookie’s pay out. But if 5 got out and managed to hold off 4 to the first then he could leave the track immediately, because 4 would have no chance. When 5 dog got its head in front round the first bend very few dogs could ever pass it – but its starting ability was notorious, it usually required a couple of yards before it began to race.
Dog 4 did look good.
And according to the betting market most people at the track had reached the same conclusion, the bookies were laying the dog at 6/4. The scratch dog was next in at 5/2. The dog out of trap 5 stood at 7/1. Tammas was surprised. All it needed was a fast trap and he would not have minded having a couple of quid down on it to stay in front to the line. But it usually trapped really badly.
He edged his way forwards, to the head of the crowd waiting beneath the row of bookmakers; he was gripping the £30 wad in his right trouser pocket.
Nobody seemed interested in the favourite. Each bookie showed 6/4. Occasionally they would glance along the line at each other, then call out the odds. One of them knocked the 1 dog out to 11/4 and quite a few punters rushed in to take it. But the main body still watched and waited, one or two turning to note what the tic-tac men were signalling from their positions at the barrier.
The vet was checking the runners’ girths. The handlers preparing to walk them to the boxes and begin the loading up.
Then a bookie called: I’ll lay 10’s the bottom! 10’s the bottom!
Dog 5 at 10/1. It was a great bet. Tammas shook his head. All it had to do was trap properly and it would lead from there to the line. 10/1 was a great bet. And suddenly some muttering began and one of the bookies had scrubbed the 6/4 away altogether and was glancing about and now marking in 5/4, 5/4 from 6/4. And another bookie was scrubbing out the 6/4. And now the rush was on, the punters crushing forward onto those bookmakers still offering 6/4. Tammas was carried along to one who had wiped out the 6/4 but without marking in anything else and he was frantically accepting the bets of those directly beneath his stool. Then he stopped and shook his head. No more! he cried. The 6/4’s away, it’s away! Tammas flung himself forwards, almost over the shoulders of a wee man standing in front of him, and he thrust the thirty pounds into the bookie’s face. To thirty quid: he shouted.
6/4’s away son, it’s away!
But while he was saying it he had taken the £30 and was dropping it into the satchel and muttering to the clerk: Down to the boy thirty quid, one and a half.
Ta Sid . . .
He walked quickly away, trying to reach his place in the stand before the race started. He overheard somebody saying the favourite had further shortened to 4/5.
He arrived just before the off. He rubbed his hands, brought out a cigarette. Around him men of all ages were hunching their shoulders and stamping on the spot, hands in their pockets and cigarettes clamped in their mouths. It was a cold and damp night and a quite heavy mist had arisen; when the stadium lights dimmed and the floodlighting round the track came on the whole area seemed enclosed in it. Yet on the actual track the green of the grass and the muddy brown at the inside rail were distinct.
And the hooter sounding. In the silence that followed the whirr of the mechanical hare was quite loud as it staggered into motion, to go lurching along the outside rail. It gained momentum rapidly till when it rounded the final bend it was hurtling on to the traps, and the bang of them opening, and dog 4 had a flier, a flier. Tammas had cupped his hand to his mouth and was roaring EEeeeesssaaaayyyyy!
•••
He had rung the bell. When the doorman opened he said, How’s it going son?
No bad.
Nothing’s started yet.
Ah well. Tammas followed him along and into the snacks’ room. He ordered a coffee and a roll and sausage, and sat down at one of the empty tables, reading the next morning’s Daily Record. At the far end of the counter, near to the door into the gaming room, the dealer was standing chatting to a couple of folk. And the television was on, its volume quite high, being watched by some of the women.
Getting on for 11 o’clock more men had arrived, some entering the gaming room, others ordering food and drinks at the counter. Then the gaming room door opened and three young guys came out. One of them asked loudly: When does the chemmy start in this place?
The dealer glanced at him. He sniffed and continued listening to what somebody in his group had been saying. But moments later he swallowed what was left in the cup he was holding and strolled to the door into the other room. Many of the men followed but Tammas was amongst those who remained. He was still eating his roll and sausage. Two men were now at his table and were discussing the evening’s results at Shawfield with a couple of other guys at the neighbouring table. One of them was saying: Five favourites! Punters must’ve done okay.
Aye but three of them were the last three races, half the punters would’ve been fucking skint by that time!
True, true.
Tammas glanced across at them. A couple of other winners were well fancied but.
Mmm.
Were you over bye like yourself son? asked one of them.
Tammas nodded. I left early right enough.
Aw, like that was it!
Naw. I had my one and it won; I just came away.
Aw. Good. The man nodded, That’s the way to do it. He looked at the man next to him: What am I always telling you eh? Back your winner and then get home, just like the boy here. All you need’s a bit of will power. There’s always another night.
Every cunt knows that!
So what?
So fuck all. I’m just telling you; we all know you need a bit of fucking will power. So fucking what? What does that mean? That means fuck all. The man glanced at the others in the company.
Because we all know it doesnt mean it isnt fucking right, said one of them.
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