A Chancer

by Kelman, James

  Okay then, said Tammas, last orders!

  Last orders! The postman grinned.

  Once he had got their orders he went to the bar and was joined soon after by Billy who was returning from the lavatory; the two of them carried the drinks back to the table. McCann had been shuffling the dominoes for a new game. And he said, Yous two playing?

  Aye . . . take some money off yous! Tammas smiled.

  Ho! Listen to the boy! Auld Roper shook his head as he reached to pick up his dominoes.

  And the game began. When they had been playing a couple of rounds the postman glanced up from the dominoes he was holding and he said to Roper: Heh auld yin, d’you mind of a horse by the name of Hotfoot? Nightingall used to train it.

  I mind of the horse, aye, but Nightingall wasnt the trainer.

  He was.

  He wasnt.

  Aye he was. Dunky Keith used to ride it and all.

  He never! Geoff Lewis rode it. And Ian Balding fucking trained it.

  Tch . . . The postman shook his head and he sighed and looked at McCann: D’you mind of it Brian?

  Nah do I fuck – I’m no an auld cunt like yous.

  Hh, cheeky bastard . . . Who’s to go?

  You, said Tammas.

  Chapping.

  We all fucking knew you were chapping! Billy laughed and leaned to play his own domino.

  Tammas was next and then McCann. Auld Roper followed, playing his last domino with a flourish. And he chuckled and reached for the empty domino box, upturned it for the five 10 pence coins. Contributions gratefully accepted, he said, contributions gratefully accepted.

  Billy grinned. At this rate you’ll be able to buy a round auld yin!

  Roper gaped at him, stuck the money into an interior pocket; he peered round at the others and said Who’s got the fags then? Eh McCann – still keeping them under lock and key!

  Shut up ya pokling bastard.

  Pokling bastard! That’s the last thing I need to do to beat you son!

  The postman laughed; he was unwrapping a fresh cigarette packet and he offered them about. Anybody got a light? he said.

  Damascus is over there! cried Roper, gesturing over his shoulder.

  Aye well I wish you’d catch a fucking train and go! McCann muttered.

  I’d go in a fucking minute if I could get away from you! And anyhow McCann . . . I thought you and Hotfoot were catching a train up to fucking Peterhead to give us all a rest down here? Eh Billy? Auld Roper winked at him.

  Billy smiled.

  McCann sniffed and glanced sideways at Tammas, and jerked his finger at the elderly man: Listen to fucking Dumbo!

  Naw but I thought you said you were.

  What’s it got to do with you?

  What’s it got to do with me? I’ll fucking tell you what it’s got to do with me . . . Roper lifted his half pint glass of lager and sipped at it, then he put it down and wiped his mouth with the cuff of his overcoat sleeve. I’ll fucking tell you what it’s got to do with me, it means I’ll have to look for a new fucking mate at dominoes!

  The postman winked at Billy: This is getting serious eh!

  Naw, said Billy, it doesnt get serious till one of them starts buying a fucking round!

  The postman laughed.

  Auld Roper raised his eyebrows and he glanced at McCann: Eh? did you hear the boy there?

  No respect for his elders.

  Exactly what I was thinking. That’s this fucking younger generation for you. That’s what happens when you start drawing a pension – every cunt’s out to stick the boot in. Fucking sad so it is.

  Aye, said McCann, and I dont see him rushing to buy a drink either!

  After a moment Billy replied, I’m skint but.

  Well so are we.

  Hotfoot’s no, grunted Roper.

  I’ll tell you something, said Tammas, this Hotfoot patter’s beginning to annoy me.

  O o. Billy glanced at the postman. Now it’s getting serious.

  Aye well no fucking wonder, said Tammas. He stood up and swallowed down the last of his beer.

  The postman looked up at him: Ah come on son it’s just a bit of fun.

  I know it’s a bit of fun but I’m just fucking sick of it. Then he smiled, Plus it’s costing me a whole round every time I want a pint!

  Ah well I was just about to buy you one back I mean I’m no fucking . . . the postman shrugged. I was going to get you one back son.

  Naw I know Freddie, sorry . . . I’m no meaning anything. Naw, I just want to go take a walk down the betting shop. Tammas sniffed and glanced at Billy: You coming man?

  Eh aye . . . Billy had hesitated but now was reaching for his pint and drinking a large mouthful in a gulp, and standing up, taking his jerkin from the back of the chair.

  McCann shifted on his seat, and he stared up at Tammas: If I’d had enough fucking money I’d have bought you a drink back as well, dont worry about that.

  Tammas nodded. I know.

  Aye well dont fucking start that with me then.

  Start what? I’m no starting anything.

  McCann was staring at him. Then he sniffed. I dont like the way you said that, that’s all. You knew we were fucking skint. No cunt was fucking forcing you to buy us anything.

  I know.

  Aye well dont fucking start then that’s all I’m saying.

  I’m no fucking starting.

  I mean ya cunt ye two fucking hundred quid you win and you worry about buying us a pint! Jesus Christ Almighty.

  Ssshhh. Auld Roper patted McCann on the wrist.

  Well no fucking wonder, that’s fucking out of order!

  He’s just a boy, muttered the elderly man.

  Ah fuck sake but . . . McCann shook his head. There’s no need for that. As if we were reneging on the fucking company man I mean Jesus Christ – eh! McCann sat back round and he glared at Tammas: I mean what’s the fucking score at all eh! starting that kind of fucking patter with me and the auld yin! Eh? Giving us a fucking showing up like that!

  I’m no giving yous a showing up.

  You fucking are giving us a showing up!

  Billy was now onto his feet, his hands held palms upwards and saying: Come on Brian eh? come on . . .

  Naw fuck sake Billy! McCann waved him away. That’s fucking out of order!

  Okay. Tammas said, I’m sorry.

  You’re sorry.

  Aye, I’m sorry. I’ve bought yous a drink as usual but I’m fucking sorry.

  McCann bounced up onto the floor and grabbed Tammas by the neck and marched him backwards about four yards and he yelled: Ya wee fucking bastard ye ya wee fucking bastard I’ll fucking murder ye man here and now, I’ll fucking murder ye.

  Tammas was choking and he staggered but had gripped onto McCann’s wrist while stepping back the way. McCann let him go, and he stepped back another yard, rubbing his neck and coughing. A lot of the people in the pub were talking at once. And Billy had jumped round the side of McCann and was shouting: Dont fucking start that with Tammas ya cunt or you’re in fucking trouble man, you’re in fucking trouble . . .

  But McCann had caught him by the shoulder and was pushing him on the way and he went staggering a couple of paces, catching onto a table, and two men who were sitting at it jumped quickly back out the road.

  McCann stood staring at Tammas, his arms at his sides, both of his fists flexing open and shut, and his shoulders moving, and he raised his right hand, wagged the forefinger at Tammas: Dont you ever fucking do that again to me. Right!

  Tammas said nothing.

  I’m fucking warning you Tammas; dont you ever fucking do that to me again. Or you’re fucking dead. Ye listening? D’you know what I’m talking about? You’re fucking dead!

  Tammas was gazing at him.

  You hear what I’m saying?

  Tammas made no answer.

  Eh?

  And Billy was now tugging at him on the elbow. Hey man hey come on, let’s go, let’s go man, let’s go – out of this fucking place man
, fucking bastards, let’s go . . .

  Tammas rubbed at his neck again and coughed. Over McCann’s shoulder he could see Auld Roper making signs, gesticulating, pointing at the exit . . . He made no acknowledgment but continued gazing in the direction of McCann.

  McCann was staring back at him.

  And now Billy’s hand was on his shoulder and pulling him backwards and he said, Aye, aye, I’m coming . . . And he saw the barmen staring at him and also a couple of guys standing up by the bar, all staring at him.

  Outside on the pavement Billy took him by the arm. Tammas was shaking his head, still rubbing at his neck, Come on man . . . Billy was patting him now on the shoulder.

  Fucking bastard, said Tammas, fucking bastard.

  I know man I know he’s a fucking, a fucking bastard man a bastard, you dont worry about him man a cunt like that, you dont worry about cunts like that man dirty fucking bastard.

  Whhh Jesus . . . Tammas shook his head from side to side, making a grunting blowing noise, his eyelids shut and with his shoulder now leaning against the tenement wall; then he was seeing an old woman staring at him – she was standing some yards away at a bus stop, standing staring at him. He turned his head, putting his hand over his eyes, and walked on, Billy going with him.

  They were walking in the direction of where Billy lived, neither speaking, not looking at each other till eventually Tammas paused a little bringing out the cigarettes, and they got them lighted, and then he led the way across the road and round the next corner. And Billy said, Going to the betting shop?

  Aye. Tammas sniffed. A horse I fancy in the next.

  You alright?

  Aye.

  Neck?

  Aye, okay . . . Fucking nearly strangled me so he did.

  Billy nodded. As they entered the doorway of the betting shop Tammas palmed him a £5 note but he frowned and muttered, What the fuck’s this for?

  Tammas shrugged.

  I dont want it . . . Billy held it upwards as though to return it.

  Och stick it in your pocket man it’s just to have a bet.

  Billy shook his head but he took the money and he followed Tammas into the shop.

  It was very busy inside and each went to different formpages. Then Tammas checked the previous races’ results. Neither of the first two runners of the three he fancied earlier had managed to gain even a place. He counted the money he had left and then stuck it all onto the third one. When he was writing out the line he saw Billy across the room, also writing out a line. They went to different pay-in windows, then stood together to hear the commentary. The horse Tammas had backed fell at the 2nd fence. But neither he nor Billy had mentioned their selections to the other, and after a moment he muttered, I need a slash man . . . And he crossed in the direction of the lavatory, leaving Billy engrossed in the commentary. Outside he began running. It was after 3 o’clock. He ran over the road and cut through the back of a close, crossing backcourts to avoid passing Simpson’s, and on to his own street and up the stairs to collect the bankbook.

  The bank was almost empty. He scribbled a withdrawal slip for the £44. The clerk gazed at it and at the figures in the bankbook. Is that you closing the account altogether? he asked.

  Well eh . . . Tammas sniffed. Naw, just give me the forty three.

  The clerk nodded. But you’ll need to alter it and initial it . . . and he returned him the slip.

  Billy signalled to him when he arrived back in the bookmaker’s. D’you catch it?

  Nah.

  Billy nodded. No me either! First favourite of the day as well! Could’ve been backed.

  Mm . . . Tammas had taken out his cigarettes; he offered Billy one but he declined.

  I’m smoking too much these days, he said. And he glanced at Tammas’s neck and pointed at it: Alright man? Looks hell of a red.

  Tammas nodded. A wee bit sore.

  Fucking McCann! Billy shook his head, he cleared his throat and spat in between his feet, scraping his shoe over it. And when Tammas did not reply he added, Now I know how you were wanting to give it the go bye!

  Tammas looked at him.

  Naw I mean . . . Billy smiled. You werent wanting to go in the first place man it was me fucking dragged you – Simpson’s I’m talking about.

  Aw aye, hh. Tammas inhaled on the cigarette and a moment later he walked to a wall to look at one of the formpages.

  •••

  The bedroom door being opened roused him but the light was not switched on and he kept his eyelids shut and stayed in the same position, and soon the door closed, clicking shut.

  Later on Margaret entered, she walked straight in and put her hand onto his shoulder, and he turned over to lie on his back. I didnt want to waken you, she said, but I know you never took your tea; and me and Robert’s just about to have some supper.

  Mm.

  It’s nearly midnight.

  He sniffed and squinted at the alarm clock, raising himself onto his elbows.

  You’ve been sleeping for ages Tammas.

  Aye; I was tired.

  She smiled. When he squinted over at the clock again she said, Will I put on the light?

  Nah, I think I’ll just stay here . . . He lay down and tugged the blankets up to his chin.

  Are you okay?

  Okay? Aye.

  Are you sure?

  Aye, fine.

  You dont seem fine.

  Well I am.

  She nodded.

  Honest. Honest Margaret.

  It’s toast and cheese we’re having if you’re interested.

  Eh – naw, ta, I’ll no bother.

  Tch, Tammas.

  Honest Margaret I’m just no hungry.

  Well you’ll take a cup of tea surely!

  Aye.

  Well thank goodness for that!

  Once she had gone he waited a moment then sat up and reached to switch on the bedside lamp. He lifted the cigarette packet; only one remained inside. He left it on top of the packet and lay down again, but only for a brief period, then he got up out of bed and pulled the curtains open about a foot in width. Margaret’s footsteps in the lobby. He jumped back into bed and tugged up the blankets. When she came in she was carrying a teaplate with a slice of toast and cheese on it, as well as a cup of tea. Dont eat it if you dont feel like it, she said.

  He nodded. Thanks.

  She paused by the door. Goodnight.

  Goodnight.

  She shut the door. Tammas sat up, punched the pillow in at his back, lifted over the teaplate.

  •••

  He was awake before the alarm went off. It was 5 am and some birds had been whistling for maybe twenty minutes although it still seemed dark outside. He waited until the click occurred just prior to the bell and quickly stretched across and tapped down the button, and he got out of bed immediately. Once he had dressed he opened the wardrobe door and took out his big travelling bag. It was already packed. He laid it on the bed. Beside it he laid the bankbook, the UB40, the cigarette and box of matches. He took his boots from the bottom of the wardrobe and placed them on the floor down from the bag, lifted his jerkin from its hanger and folded it next to the bankbook. Then he knelt and looked beneath the bed, and stood up and looked about the room, going into the drawers in the cupboard and checking along the window-sill and all other places where things could be lying.

  And afterwards, he went into the bathroom for a piss and then washed and collected his toothbrush and shaving gear, and back in the bedroom he unzipped a side pocket in the travelling bag and stuffed them in.

  There was enough milk for a bowl of cornflakes. But he did not make coffee or tea. He margarined a slice of bread then put some jam on it. He found a plastic wrapper to stick it into. Back in the bedroom he unzipped the side pocket once more and stuffed it in. He stepped to the window and stared out for a time.

  It was cold but dry, and there was only a breeze. At the closemouth he struck a match and lighted the cigarette. He swung the bag up on his shoulder while
stepping out onto the pavement. There had been eleven 10 pence coins in the meterbowl, plus some coppers in change lying on the mantelpiece. He had taken the lot and left a note for Margaret.

  When he reached the corner of the street a bus approached. He carried on walking, heading along towards Argyle Street. He kept on walking, passing through the centre of the city, on along to Bridgeton Cross, passing the turnoff to Shawfield and on towards Celtic Park. A transport cafe had lights on inside but its doors were still locked shut. He walked maybe two hundred yards beyond the Auchenshuggle terminus, and then put down the travelling bag and lowered himself down next to it.

  A car was coming. He watched it pass, seated on the heels of his boots. And another was coming. He watched it too. Then a big lorry in the distance and he got up smartly, grabbing the bag and striding on, the thumb out. But the lorry did not pause at all. The next one did, it slowed to a stop some fifty yards ahead and Tammas started trotting after it, the bag swinging at his side. A big articulated lorry. He opened the cabin door and the driver nodded. Thanks a lot, he said. And he gripped the bar by the door and climbed the couple of steps up and in.

  The driver was moving on now, his gaze to the rearview mirror. And as he increased the speed he was reaching into the top pocket of his shirt and bringing out a packet of cigarettes . . . Smoke?

  Aye. Thanks.

  The driver passed him one and lighted his own with a gaslighter. Tammas struck a match for his. The driver glanced at him: Going far?

  Eh, how far you going yourself?

  Me Jock? London.

  London?

  Yeh . . . The driver nodded, his gaze returning to the road. Yeh, home and see the kiddies. Four days I been away Jock, four days – four days too long!

  Tammas nodded.