A Chancer

by Kelman, James

Tammas nodded, pursing his lips. And after a few moments McCann went on, That’s how I was wanting a word with you, about that other thing, that bit of business I was telling you about.

  Tammas glanced at him. McCann had slowed his pace a little and now he paused and stopped outside a newsagent whose side window was full of advertisements written in ink on the backs of postcards. Naw it’s just eh . . . McCann lowered his voice, It’s just the fucking debt and that Tammas. I wouldnt want to fuck off out the road and leave her having to face it all on her tod. She’d wind up getting hit for plenty, and I’m no kidding ye.

  You’ll be sending her money but surely?

  O aye fair enough but by the time you get settled in and all that. You’ll have your fucking lying time, paying off your subs – takes a while to get sorted out I mean fuck sake Tammas it’s no just a case of walking in and that’s you.

  Aw I know that.

  Ah well . . . McCann shrugged.

  Tammas cleared his throat, he turned slightly, dropping a mouthful of spit to the pavement, rubbing on it with his shoe. They continued looking at the advertisements for a while, until McCann muttered, I’m getting wet . . . and they carried on walking. Both had their hands in their pockets, shoulders hunched, occasionally parting company to keep from obstructing oncoming pedestrians. It was Tammas who broke the silence. There’s a cunt owes me a score, he said.

  Eh?

  Aye, bastard; owed me it for fucking ages so he has. I cant get it off him at all – pleads poverty every time I see him.

  McCann nodded.

  The last job I was in – that factory, we used to play cards on the nightshift, Fridays it was for dough, we all had the wages and that, pontoons, fucking great man, once we had done the quota and cleaned the machines, out came the cards – and you could fucking win a few quid as well! Tammas had turned to glance at McCann as they walked: And I’ll tell you something man, if it hadnt’ve been for that fucking – the cards man, if it hadnt’ve been for the cards . . . Hh!

  McCann nodded and chuckled. Peterhead’ll definitely suit you then Tammas, the fucking cards up there!

  Aye, you were saying.

  Fuck! they’re mad – crazy! you know what like it is in the building game! Plus cause they’re all staying in these fucking dormitories Tammas they’re all just sitting there, the wages in the pockets and all that, trying to stay out the boozers. No wanting to wind up fucking alkies so out comes the fucking cards and all that – all sorts of schools, brag and poker and fucking ponnies. You name it. Big money too. You’ve got to be fucking careful but, a lot of sharks so there are, cut your bolls off if they catch you pokling.

  What?

  No holds barred, anybody they catch at the pokle Tammas.

  Aw thanks!

  Naw, what I mean, even a cunt like Auld Roper, snatching a wee look at your dominoes – he’d get that fucking stick of his broke over his head!

  Ah come on!

  Naw, Christ Almighty, it’s fucking serious stuff.

  Hh!

  And I’m no fucking kidding ye!

  Tammas nodded.

  They had reached a junction beyond where McCann normally split off to travel to his own street. As the lights changed and they crossed he sniffed and said, Fancy a coffee?

  A coffee?

  A coffee, aye, up in my house – the wife’ll have brought in some fags; she’ll have been at the post office.

  Aw.

  Aye so . . . you’re welcome.

  Tammas shrugged. I’ve got a message to go, otherwise I . . . thanks but.

  Naw, it’s only I was wanting to have a wee word with you and that.

  Aw aye.

  About that other thing.

  Tammas nodded.

  I mean, you’ve got to think about it.

  I know – Christ, I have, I have been.

  McCann sniffed. He glanced to the side, cleared his throat, then indicating the nearest close he started heading towards it, and Tammas followed a moment later. Naw, he said, that guy I’m talking about, Kenny, he’s gen, straight down the line. And it’s me and you and him just, the three of us, and he says its about fifteen hundred. I mean – it’s good dough Tammas.

  Aw I know, I know that.

  See that’s how . . . McCann stopped. He frowned: You worried about it?

  Aye, fuck, hh.

  Well you dont have to be.

  Tammas shifted his stance, he stared out the close.

  Come on we’ll go for a coffee . . .

  Naw honest Brian, I’ve got that message, it’s for the sister.

  McCann shrugged: Suit yourself cause I mean the wife’ll have been out to the post office and all that.

  Tammas nodded. Naw, he said, I really better eh . . .

  Fine; nobody’s forcing you Tammas.

  Aw it’s no that man it’s just the sister and that she’s expecting me back I mean Christ, otherwise . . .

  No problem; no problem. McCann had nodded, then he went on quickly: See it’s just the debt and all that Tammas normally I’m fucking – no kidding ye! but see this past while? Naw, once you get married and all that. The fucking weans too! And the way I’m thinking – straightforward, just fucking – get a few quid, just fucking get a few quid, pay off the debt, get a bit of gear the gether, then off up north, Peterhead, no worries – no worries Tammas, the wife and the weans and that, fine. See I mean that guy I was telling you about he’s gen, he’s gen; I’m no kidding ye – I used to work beside him in the yards. Gen, he’s fucking, straight down the line.

  Tammas nodded.

  Cause I’ll be honest with you – and I mean it Tammas – if I could get this debt cleared off I’d be away the morrow morning, the morrow morning.

  Mm.

  McCann was looking at him.

  I dont know man, I dont know. I just eh . . .

  Look, every cunt gets worried about something like this. But when the time comes you’re fine, you fucking handle it I mean, Tammas, I’m no fannying you.

  Aw I know, I know that; but it’s just – I dont know man.

  What? What d’you mean?

  Naw, just . . .

  What? What you thinking? Tell us.

  Tammas nodded then he sniffed.

  Come on, tell us.

  Aw Christ man I dont know.

  Is it just cause it’s thieving and that? Is that what it is? Because it’s thieving?

  O! Aye, Christ, I mean, I’ve never fucking done anything like that before I mean Christ screwing a place man, never. Hh! Tammas laughed briefly. He shook his head, cleared his throat. And he stepped to the closemouth to peer outside, before taking a deep breath and blowing the spittle right out towards the gutter. He cleared his throat again, glanced back at McCann . . . Did you no think of asking Billy?

  Billy?

  Aye.

  Naw, no really.

  O fuck!

  Dont worry about it.

  Naw it’s no that man I’m . . . He shivered suddenly. Wish to fuck I had a smoke!

  That’s what I’m telling ye Tammas the wife’ll have some up the stair.

  Mm. He began shivering again, and his teeth then chattering till he had to shut his mouth, and he laughed in a sort of fit of gasps for some seconds. He walked a few paces down the close, stopped and turned, shrugging.

  McCann said, Be a lot of dough as well Tammas; maybe the five hundred apiece.

  Hh.

  McCann nodded, looking at him.

  Mm.

  Good dough.

  Aye.

  I mean I’ll be frank with you Tammas I’m giving you the option cause we’re supposed to be going up to fucking Peterhead the gether – to give us a fucking start – that’s what I’m talking about, to give us a start.

  Tammas nodded.

  I mean fuck sake, I could go walking into Simpson’s right now and pick any one from ten. Eh – I mean you know what I’m saying?

  Aye.

  Aye . . . McCann stared at him, then he turned and spat to the front of the clos
e.

  Tammas coughed, he rubbed his hands together with a slapping sound, his shoulders moving in a circular manner. Then McCann glanced at him and asked, Well?

  What?

  Well. What d’you say?

  How d’you mean like?

  Tch. McCann shook his head and turned away.

  Naw I mean eh just – can I think about it?

  Aye but fuck sake Tammas I told you about it a while ago.

  Tammas nodded.

  McCann held his hands out the way, palms upturned. Know what I mean?

  Aye.

  Aye – hh! McCann shook his head.

  I’ll tell you soon.

  Aye well fuck, Tammas, it’ll have to be – otherwise . . . He shrugged.

  Tammas nodded.

  •••

  Eventually the outside door banged shut. Margaret was off to work. Once he had dressed he switched the radio on ben the kitchen, but not to play too loudly, and he sat at the table drinking tea and reading last night’s Evening Times, the racing page. Then the footsteps on the landing and he was onto his feet and into the lobby as the mail came flying through the letterbox. Two of them; his giro plus an electricity bill addressed to Robert.

  In the bedroom he checked the pawn tickets in the corner of the bottom drawer in the cupboard but he left them there. On his way out he emptied the last 10 pence coin from the meterbowl. It was just after 8.30 am and the cafe would not open for a while yet. He went to a general stores a couple of streets away, bought a single and a box of matches; and he was striking the match and lighting up before being returned his change from the man behind the counter. He stood in the doorway outside for some moments, watching a group of primary schoolchildren pass by; and then two women, one of whom he knew. They exchanged Good mornings. He walked along to join the queue at the sub post office and once the cheque was cashed he bought a copy of the Sporting Life and a packet of cigarettes from the newsagent in his own street, getting an extra £1’s worth of 10 pence coins in the process, before going home.

  •••

  This hammering, it seemed to have been going on for ages. Moving onto his side again he tugged the blankets over his head, then he moved onto his front, face down on the pillow, closing its material over his left ear and a loud roaring noise like listening to a shell at the seaside. He only stayed on his front for a few moments after the hammering had stopped.

  He sat up with his back against the bedhead, reached to the cupboard for the book and the cigarette packet, blinking into the bedside light. A piece of silver paper was marking his place and he turned the pages to it, looked at it a moment; he took out a cigarette, leaving two inside. The hammering resumed. It seemed to be coming from through the wall, from the adjacent flat up the next close. He gazed at the wall. He looked back to the book, and then returned it onto the cupboard, returned the cigarette to the packet and laid it on top of the book, and reached to switch off the light. He was lying on his side with the blankets to his chin when he heard footsteps in the lobby: Robert – going to the bathroom. Soon the cistern was emptying, refilling, and then a creak outside the door and Robert chapped and called: Heh Tammas!

  Aye?

  Okay?

  Aye!

  Can I come in?

  Just a minute! He slid out of bed and pulled on his jeans and socks and was tugging down his jersey while going to the door. I was just reading, he said.

  Robert nodded.

  Tammas jerked his head in the direction of the bedside lamp: I just put the light out a minute ago.

  Aye. Robert sniffed: Just making a bit of supper and that you coming ben?

  Eh . . .

  The football’s coming on the telly.

  O aye, aye. Hey d’you hear the hammering?

  Ah it’s only the house falling down!

  Hh.

  Dont worry but it’s no serious.

  Tammas grinned.

  Hey how did Hull do by the way I never heard the results?

  Two each.

  Aw good – away from home too?

  Aye. Tammas nodded. Trouble is you dont even know if Rab’s playing cause there’s no reports.

  Och he’ll be playing!

  You never know right enough.

  Come on. Robert paused a moment then turned to leave, adding: Beans and toast in five minutes.

  Tammas called: Dont burn it!

  You’re worse than your sister!

  •••

  Billy came up for him at 10 minutes to 7 on the Monday morning. Tammas was already up and in the kitchen, eating the bowl of porridge Margaret had made for him. She offered Billy one but he shook his head. I’m on a diet, he said.

  Ha ha! Margaret raised her eyebrows. If I was as skinny as you!

  Billy laughed, sitting down opposite Tammas, and he said: It’s nothing personal by the way, coming up as early as this man!

  But you’re quite right, replied Margaret. If I hadnt been here he’d have slept in.

  Tammas continued eating, adding more milk to the bowl.

  And are they sticky about time? asked Margaret.

  No half! 3 minutes and you’re quartered – an hour and you’re sent home.

  Honestly?

  Aye. I was late twice that first week – gave the auld man a right showing up – he’s no been quartered for twenty years!

  Margaret smiled; she was pouring tea, getting out an extra cup for him. And later, when they were set to leave, she palmed Tammas a pound note. The front door was open and Billy had stepped out onto the landing. Tammas whispered, Aw thanks Margaret.

  She shook her head slightly, frowning.

  Naw, he said, thanks.

  She closed over the door.

  For the first six weeks he would be training on the job and if proving satisfactory he would be given a place on the line. Until then he was to be kept on constant dayshift. Billy had started the fortnight before but in a different section. You’re in the rolling mill, he said, it’s supposed to be a bit of a bastard.

  Tammas followed him into the factory and on to where the gaffer of the rolling section had his office. Billy grinned and left him standing at the door. See you at the canteen!

  Tammas watched him walk quickly off and round a corner. It was quite a few minutes till the gaffer came out and opened the door, beckoning him to come in. He explained briefly what the job was about then led him to the floor where the rolling machine was situated. Hey Peter! he shouted to a man. The man came across. This is the new fellow . . . The gaffer nodded at Tammas and went away.

  Tammas followed Peter to behind the roller. Peter indicated where he wanted him to stand and he said: Stay there and keep your eyes open. And I might as well tell you, they shoes you’re wearing, they’re fucking no good. Surprised the gaffer didnt tell you.

  He never mentioned it.

  While he was talking Peter had picked up an enormous pair of heavy-duty clamps, positioning himself at a point to the side of the roller. There was a younger guy now standing on the other side of it. Tammas could see his head on occasion, bobbing about. A banging sound from the roller. Peter was now crouching. A white hot copper bar of around 6’ in length and maybe 8” thick issued from it. Peter caught the end of it with the clamps, brought it forwards to the edge of the machine; he allowed it to drop a short way onto a wee mobile iron trolley. He steadied it, still gripping the clamps at its tip, and swung it sideways a little, pushed it into another part of the roller. Then he moved a couple of yards to his left and waited. The banging sound. He crouched, he was farther back from the machine than previously. The copper bar issued. It was now about 12’ in length and maybe 4” thick, and was an orange colour. Peter repeated the process with the wee trolley. And once he had pushed the bar back into the roller he turned to Tammas, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his right wrist, but said nothing. He lifted a smaller pair of clamps and stood as before, though farther back again. The bar was much longer now, a grey red in colour, and he used a much smaller trolley
to manoeuvre it back in. For the next stage he went right up close to the machine and stood facing away from it, but looking down to between his knees, to where he was holding the clamps apart, just out from a wee hole the diameter of a golf ball. He glanced at Tammas just as another banging sound came and suddenly he had clamped onto the end of the issuing copper wire and was running with it, heading diagonally, making towards a thing like a kerb across the width of the floor, and behind him the wire still issuing, and he was shifting a bit as he ran, and steadying the clamps, to go thrusting the end of the copper wire straight into a narrow gap tunnelled through the kerb. And as he thrust it in Peter was jumping over the kerb. The gap was angled so that the wire darted out directly in line to a guy who was working a different sort of machine away up in the corner, a big circular device with a sort of cranking handle attached.

  Peter stepped back over the kerb, putting the clamps in their place. Wiping his brow he said to Tammas, It might look easy but it isnt.

  Tammas nodded. Peter was taking out his cigarettes and he lighted one for himself, tossed the packet onto an upturned oil drum near the wall. He asked, You done anything like it before?

  Naw, no really.

  Tch. Peter shook his head, and he walked to the machine and picked at something; he bent to lift the heavy-duty clamps, positioned them upright at the point where the bar would issue firstly. He called: I’ll give you a shot before the break. Just watch till then. Where’s your gloves?

  Gloves?

  Jesus Christ. You cant expect to work the fucking clamps without them – I do it but I’m fucking used to it I mean it takes a fucking while to get the heat. You’ll no manage without a pair in the beginning.

  He never mentioned it.

  Peter shook his head. He went behind the roller and began to speak to the other guy. The two of them returned. Tell him, said Peter.

  What?

  Tell him, about the gloves and that.

  Naw just, the gaffer, no mentioning them.

  Fuck me!

  And the helmet, muttered Peter, tell him about the helmet.

  Aye, he never mentioned it either. And the shoes, nothing about them. Tammas sniffed, he took his cigarettes out and lighted one.

  The other guy said, Might be a spare pair in the locker-area.

  Boots?