A Chancer

by Kelman, James

  You’ve said that.

  Hh! He chuckled. Ah! He gazed at the ceiling: Ya beauty! Ya beauty! Then he clenched his right fist and began punching the air and grunting: Pow pow pow, pow pow pow.

  Both Kirsty and Vi were watching him. Vi was smiling.

  Look Vi, would you really consider coming with me? I mean really – once I’d got settled in and that, once I’d got a place?

  Would I consider it?

  Aye.

  She nodded.

  You would consider it?

  Aye, okay.

  Honest?

  Honest – aye, okay.

  Christ.

  I’m just saying I’d consider it but Tammas, that’s all I’m saying, I would consider it.

  Aye, Christ . . . he grinned and kissed her on the forehead.

  •••

  £65 was left in the bank account. He withdrew twenty one of it and stopped in at the newsagent to buy 20 cigarettes; there was a spare Sporting Life on the counter. When he returned upstairs Robert was still in the house, sitting reading a book in the living room. Tammas made a pot of tea and took him ben a cupful. Thanks, he said, barely glancing away from his page.

  Tammas nodded. Through in his own room he spread the Life across the bed. He had just lighted a cigarette when Robert could be heard coming out and down the lobby, and chapping the door: Hey Tammas! Can I come in a minute?

  Aye.

  He remained in the doorway with his hand on the door handle. Naw, he said, just to tell you, that fellow McCann, he was up at the weekend there.

  Tammas did not answer.

  Saturday it was, just after teatime.

  Tammas dragged on the cigarette. He had been lying on his side and now he sat up and swivelled to tap ash into the ashtray on top of the cupboard, facing away from his brother-in-law. And his brother-in-law was yawning and saying, You still thinking in terms of Peterhead?

  Aye. Tammas sniffed; he cleared his throat while turning to look at him. Maybe next week; I’m no sure.

  Good, good for you; I really think you’re doing the right thing. That’s eh . . . I was wanting to say, just that I mean this room and that, it’s yours, if the job maybe doesnt work out, you know, it’s here for you, it’ll be here for you – when you come back and that I mean you knew that anyway I hope.

  Aye, thanks.

  Well God sake it’s your room! Robert grinned. We’ll no take in any lodgers, it’s alright!

  Tammas smiled, he inhaled on the fag and flicked ash over into the ashtray again. Robert was smiling too. Then he glanced at his wristwatch and shook his head: Soon be time soon be time!

  Backshift eh!

  Aye, tch – I even prefer nightshift! Robert raised his eyebrows and grinned, his hand still on the doorhandle. He indicated the Life: Still punting the horses!

  Aye.

  By the way! That was a good score for Hull! Three nothing?

  Aye, great.

  Probably Rab got the hat-trick!

  Aye. Tammas smiled, dragged on the cigarette and exhaled, and he said: Even if he was just playing but – in the first team.

  Aye. Robert nodded. You’re no kidding. Anyway – see you later eh! He closed over the door, clicking it shut.

  Tammas glanced at the door for a moment and then at the window, and to the cupboard. The alarm clock was not going. He wound it up and set it to the time on his watch, and got up and walked to the wardrobe. He opened it, gazed inside and to the bottom, at his boots. The cigarette was in his mouth and he withdrew it without inhaling, drawing the knuckle of his right forefinger across the corners of his mouth. He went to the window, seeing the close opposite where two old men were standing chatting just out from the entrance; one of them with his hand on the other’s elbow, his head tilted, listening; he looked to be laughing. Both of them wearing bunnets and overcoats and the one doing the laughing wearing a tartan scarf. And now a woman appeared from the close, bare arms folded and peering from left to right along the street, the men remarking something to her and her shake of the head, returning back inside.

  He sniffed and moved back to the bed, shifted the newspaper, making space to lie stretched fully out, crossing his feet at the ankles, left hand behind his head. Then he raised himself up a bit and got his tea from the top of the cupboard; it was lukewarm and he swallowed it down. He manoeuvered the money out of his pocket, the four £5s. They were crumpled and he smoothed them out and placed them flatly, next to the alarm clock. He got up and returned to the window but then came back again and sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the Life and turned to the results from Saturday. The dog he had napped at Shawfield had won at 2/1. 2/1 was a good price and it would have been worthwhile making the journey for it alone. In that morning’s Daily Record they had forecast 5/1 but Tammas had known it would never have been that – 2/1 was much more like it. Although of course if he had of made the journey it would probably have got beat. Nothing surer. That was the way things happened. There again, he had been skint on Saturday and the bank was shut. That was one of the inconveniences about banks – just like if you needed dough and it was after 3.30 in the afternoon. Or if you had left the bankbook in the house by mistake.

  Some ash fell onto the page and as he made to lift it it rolled onto the bedclothes.

  Monday was nearly always a bad day for betting; generally speaking the racecards were second-rate efforts – a bit like the opening race at a greyhound meeting, a time for looking on and taking notes, not for getting the money down. But it was still possible to back a winner. He continued studying the form till approaching half past one. He found two horses he fancied quite strongly and a third which had a reasonable chance. But nothing worthy of going nap on. It was probably a day to go to the pictures.

  On his way out he made a piece on jam and he ate it while walking downstairs and along the street to the betting shop. He knew the boardman and they exchanged hullos. The boardman was eating a sandwich and drinking tea and he offered Tammas a mouthful. Naw, no thanks. Tammas said, Auld Phil no in the day?

  Naw. He was in on Saturday.

  Tammas nodded, strolled to a wall to read a formpage. It was from the Sporting Life and he had read it many times already. He was going to stick to the three he had selected upstairs, and back them in 3 x £1 doubles and a £1 treble, and also back the two he fancied strongly in singles. He had £20 and £4 away left £16 – unless he paid tax in advance. Sometimes he did and other times not. It just depended on the dough he had in his pocket, on whether the sum was round or not. And £16 was round; it gave eight on each single, or less, if he wanted to keep a couple of bob for a pint later on. There again, it might have been worthwhile considering doing single bets on all three. That meant £15 would be round, three bets at a fiver each. One thing was sure, if he backed two out the three the only winner would be the third, the one he did not back. Plus of course if he only backed the third the other two would win. That was why it was usually best to get the one, to select the nap and stick to it, and if it lost there was always tomorrow. But none of the three was worthy of the nap. Maybe it was best just doing the doubles and the trebles and leaving the singles alone altogether – do the 3 x £1s and the £1 treble, and just go up the town to the pictures.

  The first of the three runners was going in the 1.30 at Wolverhampton, a race for 4 year old novice hurdlers. He moved to a different wall to have a look at the formpage here, it was from the Express and did not give the actual form, only what the tipster had to say about it. But Tammas knew its form inside out anyway and the main thing was that it would win or it would lose. Or it could be placed. There were eight runners and its price was forecast at 6/1. 6/1 represented good each way value. Maybe the best thing was to stick the whole score down as a tenner each way, the safety first bet – and even if it finished third he would still be a winner, he would still be receiving cash in exchange for the betting receipt. Although there again, if he backed it each way the only certainty was that it would finish fourth. Or else win maybe
. He was probably best just sticking the lot on as a win. But that was daft because it was not a nap. He did not fancy it as strongly as all that. And yet either it would win or it would lose and even if it did lose he still had £44 in the bank. Which was not a lot. But it had come from nothing and it was a mistake even thinking like that. £44 was fine. Plus he still had the twenty in his pocket. And he was backing three horses. Win lose or draw. He fancied three, and two better than one; and he would back these two as singles as well as in the doubles and treble. And even if they all lost he would still have a few quid in the bank. Although probably he would have the one winner, the one he had not backed singly. But it was not possible to do everything. You had to make your selection and stick to it. There was nothing else you could do. There was nothing else, nothing at all. A mistake to even think like that.

  A show of betting came through on the speaker and he turned to watch the boardman mark up the prices. Then the door opened and in came Billy. He stood for a moment before spotting Tammas, then he stepped back a yard and pointed his finger at him, and strode across with his right arm aloft, and slapped him on the shoulder: Ya sneaky bastard ye where’ve you been hiding!

  Tammas laughed loudly.

  Naw but where the fuck have you been?

  Ah skint man, skint – keeping out the road! Hey what’s up you’re no at work.

  I chucked it! Honest, I backed a winner and handed in my notice!

  Ha ha, said Tammas.

  Billy laughed and slapped him on the shoulder again. Hey, by the way, they’re still talking about it in there! Naw – no kidding ye man – they are! They’re fucking wanting me to get your autograph!

  Tammas laughed.

  Ya cunt ye how did you no wait for me that day? Or else come up and take me out for a pint later on! Eh? Fucking terrible man!

  Ah sorry.

  Naw no kidding but I mean fuck sake – two hundred quid man and you dont even take your mate for a bevy! I’ve been sitting in the house for a fortnight!

  You’re right man sorry, I should’ve.

  Fucking think so too! And Christ sake you’re no telling me you’re skint? Fucking two hundred quid!

  Sssh . . . dont tell every cunt.

  Okay. Okay. Billy grinned and went on: So what’re you taking me for a pint or what?

  You taking me for one?

  Christ – Tammas, you’ve no lost it all back already, eh?

  Tammas looked at him. Then he smiled: Come on ya bastard! He took his cigarettes out as he walked to the door and he handed one to him and struck the match. When they were both smoking Billy said, You putting a line on?

  Eh naw, I’m no going to bother. Bad race for betting. What about you?

  Ah fucking skint man. Serious, I just looked in to see if anybody was here.

  Hh! And you found me ya cunt!

  Billy laughed and pulled open the door, standing aside to let Tammas exit first. And out on the pavement Tammas started walking in the direction opposite where Simpson’s lay. I’m fucking sick of Simpson’s, he said.

  Ach come on! Billy smiled. We’ll get a game of doms. Auld Roper’s in – I saw him fucking limping along ten minutes ago. And McCann’ll be there as well.

  Nah I dont fancy it man.

  Ye kidding? What’s up?

  Fuck all up.

  Well come on then!

  Look Billy it’s me that’s fucking buying the drink . . . Tammas shook his head and turned away, inhaling on the cigarette.

  Billy sniffed. He stepped to the edge of the pavement and spat into the gutter. He returned the cigarette to his mouth and put his hands in his jeans’ pockets. Going to tell me something, he said, is this to do with McCann?

  McCann?

  Is that how you dont want to go into Simpson’s?

  Naw, fuck. Naw.

  You sure?

  Aye Christ – how?

  Cause he thinks you’re fucking avoiding him.

  What?

  Aye I’m no fucking kidding ye man, every time I bump into him, he’s wanting to know if I’ve seen you!

  If you’ve seen me?

  Aye.

  Hh, Christ sake.

  Billy dragged on the cigarette and asked, Is it cause of Peterhead?

  Peterhead. What d’you mean?

  Billy shrugged. I dont know. Just cause you never went . . .

  Never went! Fuck sake Billy it was me waiting for him, no the other way about. That’s how I ended up taking the start in your auld man’s place. Christ, I was getting sick of fucking hanging around.

  Aw thanks!

  Naw, sorry man nothing against the job or fuck all.

  Billy smiled.

  Naw, honest Christ I would’ve stuck it I mean . . . Tammas shrugged. It was just cause, ach, I dont know Billy I’m just getting fucking sick of factories, getting stuck inside all day. That’s how Christ, Peterhead and that man I really fancy it – I do . . . Tammas had been about to add something but he stopped and moved out the way of a man who was hurrying into the betting shop. And he glanced along the road. Naw, he said, it’s me that fucking wants to go but he keeps saying it’s too soon.

  Aye well maybe that’s what it’s about then, maybe it’s time now.

  Tammas nodded.

  I mean he’s saying he doesnt even see you at the broo whereas yous used to always go the gether.

  Hh! Fuck sake. Tammas shook his head: I’m no even getting broo money.

  Aye but you’re signing on.

  Aye, Christ but I’m no getting fuck all cause of that six week rule about chucking your job.

  Aye fair enough but I mean . . . Billy shrugged.

  I’m no even getting social security money.

  Hh; how no?

  Dont know man – it’s just no coming through or something.

  Mm. Billy nodded. He glanced sideways and sniffed. Where d’you fancy going then? The Inn?

  Nah.

  Where?

  Tammas shrugged. I’m no bothered. If you really want to go to Simpson’s then we’ll fucking go to Simpson’s.

  Well I’m no desperate.

  Naw but if you want to go we’ll go.

  It’s alright.

  You sure?

  Billy shrugged. It’s your fucking cash.

  We’ll go.

  I’m no bothering but, honest.

  I’m no bothering either. Tammas shrugged. It was just a change; I just felt like a change.

  Aye fair enough. Billy stepped aside as another guy came rushing up and into the betting shop, and as the door banged open and shut the voice from the extel speaker was quite audible; the runners for the 1.30 race were coming under orders.

  Come on, muttered Tammas, I dont want to hear this commentary.

  Billy smiled.

  •••

  McCann was in. He was sitting at one of the rear tables, not far from the darts’ area. Auld Roper was beside him; also a postman by the name of Freddie; and the three of them were playing dominoes. Tammas paused at the head of the bar to order the drinks but Billy continued on.

  A moment later came the cry: Hey Hotfoot!

  Tammas ignored it. The cry was repeated. It was Roper who was responsible. And when he arrived at the table with the two pints of heavy the elderly man again cried: Hey Hotfoot!

  He laid down the pints and glanced at Billy: Thanks for telling every cunt in Glasgow.

  Billy laughed.

  Is that how you’ve stopped coming in? cried Roper. You’ve been feart to show your face!

  Show his feet’s more like it! The postman laughed and leaned over the table to see down at them. Are they recuperating?

  Fucking patter! said Tammas. He rubbed his hands as he sat down on a spare chair.

  Aye! Auld Roper pursed his lips and shook his head, he raised his half pint of lager and muttered, The copper works – no an easy job eh!

  The postman nodded. I’ve heard that myself.

  Billy grinned.

  Then McCann was tapping the edge of the table
and saying, Are we supposed to be playing fucking dominoes here!

  Hh! Roper shook his head: Listen to moaning face.

  Aye well I’ve fucking forgotten who’s turn it is there’s been that much fucking yapping!

  Me it is . . . The postman leaned to study the dominoes already lying on the board.

  Tammas swallowed a mouthful of beer and sat back on his chair; he glanced at McCann and lifted his beer again, and he said, How’s it going Brian?

  Ah no bad Tammas no bad – yourself?

  Aye, okay.

  Nice wee turn you had the other week.

  Aye.

  And kept out of every cunt’s road till he’d spent the money! grunted Auld Roper to the postman.

  Ah well you couldnt blame him for that, replied McCann. No with a bunch of begging bastards like you going about!

  Hh! Will you listen to who’s talking! Ya cunt ye McCann the next time you buy anybody a drink’ll be the first time. Eh? The elderly man glanced round the table at the others.

  Billy grinned: This is getting serious.

  You shut up and all, muttered Roper, taking days off your work when half the country cant fucking get any! Eh Freddie? The postman shook his head. Keep me out it, I’m neutral.

  Neutral! Hh! Roper reached for his half pint of lager and sipped from it.

  After a moment McCann asked, Who’s to fucking go?

  Me, said Freddie.

  Aw you’re chapping ya cunt give us peace!

  How d’you know?

  Cause I fucking looked at your hand.

  Aw, okay.

  Auld Roper sighed and tapped his fingers on the edge of the table Going to get this fucking game moving eh! my rent’s bloody due next week.

  Tammas had grinned; he pushed back his chair and stood up swallowing down most of the remainder of his beer. What yous wanting? he asked.

  Pardon?

  What did he say?

  Heh McCann . . . Auld Roper frowned: Did you hear that nice boy speaking there? I’m no sure if my ears were open or what?

  Ears ya cunt? McCann cried: You’ve got fucking ears like Dumbo the elephant.

  Auld Roper burst out laughing. Eventually he had to reach into his coat pocket and extract a big handkerchief and use it to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. The others, including McCann, were also laughing and some of the folk at other tables were looking across and smiling.