A Chancer

by Kelman, James

  Embarassing you are they? Mr McCorquodale was gazing at Rab, and he added: Mister and Missis Jesus Christ in the corner above that sort of thing?

  What you talking about?

  Ah!

  If you’re talking about Rena’s maw and da, they’re no bothering, they’re just happy sitting.

  Mr McCorquodale shifted on the stool, he pursed his lips, raised the whisky tumbler. Bloody biblethumpers.

  Rab nodded to Tammas who walked to the doorway, and continued through.

  He paused by the living room door. A woman’s voice – not Mrs McCorquodale – singing quite quietly. He walked down the lobby into the bathroom, snibbed the door shut behind him. There was a small cabinet with a mirror door above the washhand basin. He stared into it with his two hands clasped over his nose, thumbs together beneath his chin. Then he sat on the lavatory, elbows on his knees, hands covering his nose again. He sat like this for a while. Someone chapped the door.

  It was Betty. She called, Tammas?

  Aye!

  You okay?

  Aye. Just be a minute.

  You okay?

  Aye – I was just sick there.

  What did you say?

  I was just sick there!

  Sick?

  Aye! He got up and walked to the door, unsnibbed and opened it. They looked at each other for a few moments.

  Betty said, Are you okay?

  Fine, I’m fine. I was just sick there. He sniffed, I’m going to go home.

  Home?

  Aye I’ve got a splitting head . . . He rubbed at his forehead. Will you tell Rab for me?

  Aw Tammas.

  Naw I’m eh . . . he shook his head. I’m no feeling that well; I think eh . . . He stepped to the outside door and opened it.

  Aw Tammas.

  I’m sorry Betty, I’m really no feeling well. He shook his head, stepped out and shut the door. He walked down the stairs quickly.

  •••

  Excluding expenses he had £10; not a lot to bet with but enough. The train was crowded. Even so he had found a seat by the window. He placed the Sporting Life folded on the table, began unpeeling a large orange.

  When the train arrived in Ayr Station most of the passengers disembarked and Tammas was amongst those heading to the racetrack. Eventually he started trotting. The first race was due off quite soon. And when he made it into the ground the runners were at the starting post. At the tote window he laid an outsider for 50 pence and was vaguely relieved when it did not reach the first three places. He bet another outsider in the 2nd race. Afterwards he adjourned to one of the bars.

  His nap for the day was going in the next race. Its name was Rimini.

  The probable favourite for this the feature race of the afternoon was trained in the midlands of England and had an obvious chance on form. On its last two outings the horse had won quite comfortably. Both races were fair class handicaps, and according to racecourse gossip it had not travelled north for nothing. But when the bookies marked it in as a 7/4 chance Tammas was surprised. The race was a handicap hurdle and 18 runners had been declared. No matter how far the horse had travelled this 7/4 was a bad bet. He strolled along the row of bookmakers, glancing at each of their boards. He was still a bit early and not all of the runners had a price marked against them. Rimini was in that category.

  Then he saw 14/1 being laid against it. He stepped in front of the bookmaker in question and stared at the board. It was amazing. The Sporting Life had forecast 8/1 and now here it was, 14/1. It was almost too good to be true. He had the money in his hand, he stepped up to the bookie and took it to £2.50, returned the rest of the money to his trouser pocket. He stuck the betting ticket into his inside jerkin pocket, turning his back on the bookie and heading back to the bar. He had meant to bet Rimini for more than £2.50 but 14/1 sounded a bit too good. He hesitated. But no, something about it, it was too good. And nearly quarter of an hour to go before the race even started. And then he saw 16/1 being offered. A bookie in the centre of the row up from the last. 16/1. If 14/1 was too good to be true then this 16/1 definitely smelled. Something was up. He continued on and into the bar but then he about turned and raced back to the bookie and took the 16/1 to £1.50.

  At the bar he hesitated before ordering a bottle of beer. The more he thought about it the more he knew he was right. Rimini was the one and that was that. All along he had been expecting 8/1 and hoping to catch 10’s with a wee bit of luck. Now here he was with 16/1 and reneging – just having a safe £1.50. A price like 16/1 was wrong. And the favourite was definitely a bad bet at 7/4. If Rimini was trying then – Christ; all it needed was it to be trying and it was a certainty.

  He struck a match and lighted a cigarette while striding back outside. There was no 16’s to be had. He strode along each row but nothing, and now 12/1 seemed the best on offer. And away along to where he had taken the 14/1 the bookie was offering 10’s. 10’s! Tammas turned and raced back down the row and grabbed the first 12/1 he could get about his remaining £5.

  That was that now. And yet it was something – win, lose or draw, he had come and done what he had set out to do. Rimini was the nap and that was it.

  While the Starter called the jockeys to the tapes Tammas manoeuvered his way up the steps of the covered Stand. The wind was sharp, stinging his ears, causing his eyes to water.

  And the field had jumped off; he could spot his horse, the amateur rider settling it down behind the leaders. He waited there until passing the Stand on the second circuit he moved it up with the leaders. Round the back straight and turning for home he kicked on and Rimini quickly opened up a gap of about four to five lengths. Approaching the second last and the horse was coming under pressure, its lead being cut back to between two and three. Going towards the last flight of hurdles a loud cheer arose from the crowd as the black and white hoops of the favourite could be seen emerging from the chasing pack. And now another horse had come from the pack and together with the favourite the two of them were just about matching strides with Rimini as they met and jumped the last. The favourite pecked on landing but within moments had regained its rhythm to go after the other two. The amateur aboard Rimini had the whip going hard and the horse appeared to shy a little but only a little and he dropped the whip immediately, keeping the horse going with hands and heels only.

  The three went past the post in a line.

  Tammas continued to stare at the post as the other horses passed. Around him the punters were discussing the outcome. A photo-finish was announced. Then the announcer added: Stewards’ Inquiry. Please retain your tickets.

  Aye I bet you there’s an objection as well! muttered a man beside Tammas.

  You think so?

  O Christ aye son. No see the way that Rimini was swerving? Favourite had to snatch up.

  Tammas nodded. He put his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders and strolled down the steps and along and into the bar. He had enough for a bottle of beer. While waiting to be served he tried to get engrossed in the form for the next race, but all about the folk were discussing the last one. He moved down nearer the end of the counter where it was a bit less noisy. Then a guy barged in past him and shouted to a barman and the barman came at once. Tammas was still holding the money in his hand without having managed to order. He watched the man turning and shaking his head at a group of people sitting at a table at the wall. And he recognised one of the men there. It was Erskine. And he was looking over; Tammas waved and he stared back, then he smiled and waved in reply, gesturing at him to come across.

  Tammas went. Hello, he said.

  Hello yourself! Erskine turned to his company: This is the guy that takes you in as partners and then turns round and beats you for plenty! Come on, sit down. You wanting a drink?

  Eh naw, no thanks. I want to find out how the objection went.

  Objection? I didnt even know there was one . . . Erskine called to the man at the bar immediately: Objection Charlie, how did it go? the result through yet?

>   The man was frowning. There wasnt any bloody objection – there should’ve been but there wasnt. Bloody disgrace so it is!

  Erskine nodded. What about the Inquiry?

  According to them it doesnt even affect the winner, it’s just to do with the second and third! Charlie shook his head and returned his attention to the bar, where his drinks were now being served by the barman.

  Tammas was chuckling. He stopped it and raised his Sporting Life as though about to read it, but he started chuckling again. Then he stopped it once more. He glanced at Erskine and shrugged: I’ve backed the winner.

  One of the women in the company grinned: Well done son.

  You backed Rimini? said Erskine.

  Aye.

  Hh!

  Form horse.

  Form horse! Erskine laughed and shook his head.

  The other man was returning from the bar with the drinks on a tray. Tammas rose from his chair. There were three women in the company, the one who had spoken plus another of a similar age; the third was much younger, probably in her early twenties. I better go and collect, he said to Erskine.

  By the time he had been to the last bookie betting on the following race was well under way but Tammas was leaving it alone. A novice chase; the favourite would be backed odds on. Not a race to bet on at all. When he returned to the bar most of the customers had gone. Erskine’s table was empty. Tammas bought a packet of nuts & raisins to accompany the bottle of beer, and he spread the Sporting Life on the table. Eventually he heard the roars, heralding the start of the race, but he continued to sit there, sipping the beer, smoking a cigarette. He checked through the wad of notes he had, went up to the bar for another packet of nuts & raisins. Hardly anyone was about.

  Erskine was one of the first to arrive. The race had not finished. I dont know what the punters’re still hanging about for! The favourite’s gubbed. Down the field. Three fences to go and it’s got no chance, no chance at all.

  Hh.

  Odds on too and you want to have seen it jumping! Hardly looks as if it’s ever been schooled.

  Bad race.

  Aye you’re no kidding. What about yourself, d’you no have a bet?

  Naw. Want a drink?

  Eh aye, okay son I’ll have a wee brandy. By the way, my name’s Joe.

  Joe. I’m Tammas.

  Right son, fine. A wee drop of water in the brandy.

  Tammas moved to the bar quickly as more customers began arriving. Soon it was as busy as before and Joe’s company had returned led by Charlie, who seemed angrier now. When Tammas put the glasses on the table he was grumbling about the favourite; it had finally finished 2nd after the horse that had been leading fell at the last fence. Tammas waited a moment, not sitting down, and he asked, Anybody want a drink?

  One of the women began declining but Joe grinned: It’s alright, he’s winning a fortune!

  Charlie muttered. Dont tell me he backed that bloody winner as well.

  I didnt have a bet.

  Joe was still grinning: He says it was a bad race Charlie.

  They’re all bad races, replied the woman.

  Charlie looked at her. The woman’s name was Ann; the other woman of the same age was called Milly and the youngest of the three was known as Vi. The third man in the group sat beside her; he did not speak, his name was Stan.

  Sure yous dont want a drink? asked Tammas.

  Ah go on then, said Milly.

  Joe laughed: three bacardis and coke, and two whiskies.

  That’s no fair! Ann said, Are you sure it’s okay son?

  Tammas nodded and shrugged. Up at the bar he bought another beer for himself; as an afterthought he bought four packets of potato crisps. When he was taking the things from the tray and laying them out he put the crisps into the centre of the table and muttered, Crisps if anybody wants them . . . And he sat down and took out his cigarettes.

  Charlie was looking at him. You trying to tell me you thought Rimini was form horse?

  Tammas sniffed.

  Granted it had a chance but God sake, if you’re going to try and tell me it had the beating of the favourite on the book then ha ha, I dont know, I just dont know . . . He shook his head; he put a cigarette in his mouth and craned his neck, to take a light for it from Stan.

  Is it okay if . . . ? The youngest of the women, Vi, was speaking to Tammas. She pointed at the crisps.

  Aye, Christ . . .

  I mean it was never form horse!

  Och! Tammas shrugged. Vi was looking at him. Aye, he said, it depends.

  Depends! Charlie took a mouthful of the brandy.

  I mean I mind him winning a 3 mile handicap hurdle at the end of last season – Haydock or someplace. Good class it was as well.

  Last season but, aye.

  And look who they’ve stuck on him the day, that amateur – 7lb he’s claiming. And he’s no bad I mean he’s won a couple of hard yins I’ve seen on the telly.

  Aye but you’re still no going to tell me that makes it form horse I mean fuck sake son! Charlie turned to Joe and frowned.

  Come on you less of that language, muttered Ann. She turned to Milly and shook her head. If he doesnt back a winner quick it’s going to be terrible listening to him.

  Charlie glared at her.

  Well you’re a crabbit so and so, she said, you’re picking on the boy just because he’s winning and you’re no.

  What! He glared at her again. What you talking about? I’m just bloody asking him a bloody question, what you on about?

  Tch! Ann shifted on her chair, to be facing Vi. And I’m freezing as well! Standing about watching these bloody stupid horses – we’d have been better off going to the bingo.

  Hey Ann! Joe smiled at her. This is supposed to be a happy day out among friends. Come on!

  Well Joe look at him, look at his face . . . Ann turned and shook her head at Charlie. Make you greet to see him so it would.

  Make you greet! I’ll bloody make you greet! Charlie got up from his chair and he strode off and out the bar.

  After a moment Ann shrugged.

  Then Joe began whistling. He stopped and smiled. I better go and see if I can catch him!

  Leave him go!

  Think we should?

  Och, tch, I dont care. Ann rose from her chair. I’m going to the Ladies.

  Milly also rose: I’ll come with you.

  When they had gone Joe glanced at Vi and the man with her. He grinned: Some day out eh!

  The man shrugged.

  Charlie’s awful bad tempered, said Vi.

  Aye but do you no think she’s needling him too much?

  I dont, said Vi and she added: Not really. She sniffed very slightly and opened her handbag, brought out a paper tissue and dabbed round her nose. And she’s dead right about it being freezing.

  Well we’re going for a meal in a minute – eh Stan?

  Suits me.

  Vi was gazing about her. The bar was still crowded with folk discussing the last race and the one to come. She said to Joe: Even a bit of music would liven the place up. I mean it’s so boring.

  Joe glanced at Tammas and raised his eyebrows.

  I saw you, she said, reaching for another packet of crisps.

  Apologies. Apologies. Joe smiled.

  But everybody here’s only really come for the horses anyway, said Tammas, I mean they’re no really bothering about other stuff.

  She looked at him.

  Joe was nodding. He lifted his tumbler, swallowed all of the brandy that was left. I’m going to find Charlie, he added.

  Tammas continued to sit there. He drank his beer steadily. Soon the bar was becoming less busy and he stood up, nodding in the direction of the exit . . . Going to see the race.

  The horse he fancied finished third. He was watching the race from the side of the stand and he could see Joe and Charlie about 30 yards away. During the race, especially towards the closing stages, Charlie’s voice had increased in volume as he roared on his selection and it sounded as i
f he had backed the winner, but he had not, he had backed the second. Tammas arrived at the foot of the steps ahead of them and he shrugged. Beat!

  And us, said Joe.

  Charlie muttered, Fucking favourites; you never learn at this place, I’m no coming fucking back.

  Joe chuckled.

  They continued on through to the bar and along to their table. Joe was about to order a round of drinks but Milly said, To be honest Joe, I think we’re really feeling like going into Glasgow now.

  Well . . . he nodded.

  Charlie shrugged.

  Fine then, we’ll go and eat. Joe stepped aside to allow Milly and Ann stand up from their chairs and he said to Tammas: We’re no waiting for the last race son we’re just going for a meal and then I dont know, going up a casino or something – you’re welcome to tag along if you like, eh Charlie?

  Aye. Charlie shrugged, stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and he turned, headed the group towards the exit.

  Tammas followed at the rear.

  Little was said during the walk to the cars. There were two, driven by Joe and Charlie, parked in a side street off the main Glasgow road. After a moment’s discussion Joe waved Tammas into his car, into the rear while Milly got into the passenger’s seat. Vi was first into Charlie’s car, with Charlie holding the door for her. Joe waited for the other to drive off and he said to Milly: We’ll no see him now, no till we reach the restaurant!

  Milly chuckled.

  From the back seat Tammas reached across with his cigarettes and when Joe slowed to a halt at the junction of the main road he struck a match and they each got a light. Joe said, Eh son if you’re fancying coming along to the casino with us you’ll need to get a shirt and a tie. He laughed briefly: It’s no like eh . . . He cleared his throat in a significant way.

  Tammas had given Joe instruction on reaching his street. He raced upstairs and put on his good suit and a shirt and tie and he called a cheerio to Margaret who had just returned home from work. Dont make me any tea, he said as she looked out from the kitchen.

  She raised her eyebrows but then smiled. He closed the door, trotted back down the stairs and out through the close. Joe had kept the engine ticking over.

  The other group had almost finished eating when they arrived. It was at an Indian restaurant on Sauchiehall Street. From there they strolled along to a lounge bar. An hour later they were walking upstairs and into the Royal casino. Tammas had to sign his name and enter his address in a big book that lay open on a table in the entrance lobby. The doorman wore a tuxedo and watched him write.