A Chancer (12 page)

Thanks for letting us in, he said to the doorman.

No bother son.

This is eh . . . Tammas gave him £5 and walked off but when the door shut he began trotting. And when the reached the end of the lane he started to run quite fast, not stopping till he saw
a taxi for hire, and he signalled the driver.

•••

He woke up suddenly. The curtains were not drawn and the room was bright. The alarm clock had stopped. He got out of bed, crossed to the window and peered out. Quite a few folk
were on the street. He turned to the cupboard, tugged on the bottom drawer. The thick wad lay in the corner beneath his socks. He took it out and counted it, threw it on the bed; he dressed in
moments, grabbed the money and raced downstairs and along to the betting shop. It was approaching 1.30. The first race of the day was about to begin. Tammas scanned the board, strode to the wall to
study the formpages; but when the next show of betting came through he went to the side of the counter and beckoned across Phil, the elderly man who worked there as cashier on Saturdays.

I want the second best to eighty quid, he said quietly.

Phil nodded. He walked off behind the partition to where the manager was. When he returned he accepted the money without comment. Tammas strolled to a radiator to stand. A guy he knew approached
and started to chat about the race. He had stuck 50 pence on the same horse. Tammas nodded when he told him this, then he shook his head and stared at the floor. Before the race was due off he left
the place and trotted along the couple of blocks to another bookie. The race was over when he arrived. The favourite had won and his selection was not in the first three. The boardman ripped the
page down and stuck up the next. Tammas called: Hey what happened to the second best there?

The boardman shook his head, spat onto the floor. Never in the hunt, he said.

Tammas lighted a cigarette. Another show of betting began and he went to one of the formpages but without looking at it he turned away and left, and he hailed the first available taxi.

John was still in bed; his mother led Tammas into the living room. About five minutes later John entered, wearing a dressing gown; he slumped onto an armchair, swung his legs
over its side. Tammas threw him a cigarette, gave him the burning matchstick.

John coughed on the smoke. He groaned and inhaled again. Cheer up, said Tammas, taking the wad from his pocket. He began dividing it into equal piles on the rug in front of the fireplace . . .
One to you and one to me, two to you and two to me, five to you and five to me . . .

John’s eyelids parted more widely and he gaped at the money, sitting upright on the chair now and with his arms tensed. For fuck sake, he was saying.

. . . and one to you and one to me. And Tammas continued counting. While he was doing so he started detailing the events of the night. Finally he sat back, smiling. I told you man. I knew
we’d knock it off. A wee bit of patience.

John was nodding.

I’ve never felt anything like it man, No kidding ye it was fucking – Christ! You should’ve been there to see it.

John nodded. Then he frowned at Tammas for a moment. He said, Eh . . . see that you were saying there man . . . was that no – what you were saying, were you no saying it was more than two
hundred quid?

What?

Naw I mean at the chemmy, when you won that last yin, was it no for two hundred quid or something?

Two hundred and twenty. Tammas nodded, he glanced at the two piles on the floor. By the time I gave out tips and that, and eh . . . aye, I stuck a few on a fucking mule – finished
third.

How much?

Eighty. Eighty quid.

Eighty quid! Eighty quid! John had sat forwards on his chair and now he sat back the way, leaning against the side. Fuck sake Tammas! Eighty quid!

Okay.

Naw I mean Christ that’s fucking – I mean it wasnt your fucking money. John sat forwards again and he pointed at the money on the floor: Fifty two and a half quid each you’re
saying?

Aye, fifty two and a half each, aye.

Fuck sake.

What?

What! Christ sake Tammas it wasnt your fucking money to stick on a horse, it was mine, it was the two of us, it wasnt just fucking yours – I mean that should be a fucking hundred I’m
getting. I know it was you that won it and all that, but eighty quid on a horse! A tenner aye but eighty! I mean that’s fucking . . .

Tammas looked at him. Then he shook his head and he bent to lift one of the wads which he folded and thrust in his trouser pocket. He walked to the door. I’ll see you, he said.

Tch Tammas, wait a minute.

Nah.

Och come on for fuck sake! John was off the armchair and coming towards him with his hands raised palms upwards.

Naw. Tammas continued on down the lobby. I’ll see you later, he said and he opened the outside door and stepped out and closed it behind himself immediately.

•••

Two guys were sitting on the second bottom step of the flight up to the labour exchange, one held a bottle of wine and was wiping his lips when Tammas got out of the taxi. He
paid the driver. They watched him as he approached, and continued watching him as he stepped roundabout, and on up into the place. He joined the queue at his box number, taking the newspaper from
his side pocket and unfolding it.

When it came his turn to sign the clerk told him nothing had come through yet and asked if he wanted a B1 form for the social security office.

No, ta.

Along the street he met Brian McCann, a regular from
Simpson’s
who was heading down to the job centre. It was crowded inside. McCann went directly to the vacancy board while Tammas
walked over to the thick, upholstered seats near one of the interviewer’s desks and he sat there reading the newspaper. McCann called him eventually and they left. On the pavement McCann
muttered, Fuck all – unless you want to count Welwyn Garden City.

Hh. Tammas gave him a cigarette and paused to strike a match.

They’re wanting electricians but. McCann smiled briefly; he bent to take a light; he exhaled. Aye, I’ll tell the wife to pack this afternoon.

Tammas grinned. He stopped walking at the bus stop but McCann hesitated. Dont worry about it, said Tammas, patting his pocket.

McCann shrugged. He nipped his cigarette and stuck it behind his ear.

Tammas was pointing to one of the day’s runners on the racing page of the newspaper. That Mint Julep, he said, I fancy it quite strongly.

Mm, aye.

If I mind right it won a handicap up at Haydock a month or so ago, eh?

I think so. McCann nodded, looking up the road. He brought the half cigarette from behind his ear and gestured with it to Tammas who handed him the box of matches. Ta . . . eh . . . He sniffed:
Eh Tammas, any chance of a pound till the weekend?

Aye Christ fuck here. Tammas got one out and gave him it. Course, dont be daft.

Naw it’s just for a packet of fags and that.

Christ. Tammas shook his head. Not at all man, hh, a pound! He inhaled deeply, looked back at the racing page. Naw, he said, I think I’ll leave them alone the day – maybe go to the
pictures or something, stay out the road.

McCann chuckled. He cleared his throat and spat into the gutter. No seen Billy this morning?

Naw, I waited for him as well; must’ve slept in – unless he signed early or something.

They dont usually allow you to – fucking strict about things like that; in case you’ve got a casual or something.

Aw aye.

Which in his case is fucking right anyway! McCann laughed: Lucky wee bastard so he is, I wouldnt mind the chance of marking a board myself!

Trouble is he’s no lifted a full fucking wage since he started!

Tch, is he still punting? I told him to screw the fucking nut about that. I mean a job like he’s got! You’d just wind up working for nothing if you werent careful.

That’s what he’s doing. He’s no backed a winner for weeks.

Mad! McCann shook his head, he looked back up the road. There was a bus in sight. Come on we’ll walk, he said.

What?

Mon we’ll walk . . .

Walk?

Aye. McCann upturned the collar of his jacket and set off without further comment.

Okay.

They walked steadily. After ten minutes a drizzle started and they quickened the pace. When they approached the corner of the street where
Simpson’s
was Tammas said, Fancy a
pint?

Eh – I’ve to meet the wife at the Post Office.

You sure?

Aye.

Honest?

Aye. Fuck sake. McCann was frowning at him.

Naw I mean if it was just cause of the dough and that . . .

Naw.

Tammas nodded.

McCann continued on by himself.

•••

I bumped into that girl earlier on.

What was that?

Margaret shook her head. You never told me you’d stopped seeing her.

Are you talking about Betty?

Well I didnt know you were seeing anybody else!

Mm . . . Tammas looked away. His cigarette was lying smouldering in the ashtray; he puffed twice on it, before stubbing it out and swallowing what was left of his coffee. He returned his
attention to the television.

I dont think it’s right.

He made no response.

Tammas, I dont think it’s right. Surely you could at least see her and tell her if you dont want to go out with her. I mean she was upset the girl, it’s no fair.

Margaret, God sake.

Well you dont treat people like that.

He turned his face to her: Like what? I’ve no done anything.

Tch! You walked away and left her standing in the middle of the street.

Did she tell you that?

Yes, who else? you never say a word.

Tammas sniffed.

Did you?

What?

Just leave her? in the middle of Renfield Street?

Look Margaret I mean what is this at all . . . He resumed watching the television.

After several seconds she said: Well will you at least see her?

He nodded slightly.

Really?

I was going to anyway.

Were you?

Margaret, God sake.

Well if Robert had ever treated me like that!

Like what? I mean Margaret . . . He groaned and got up off the settee. Shaking his head he grabbed his cigarettes and matches from the coffee-table and he frowned at her while passing on his way
ben the room.

•••

In
Simpson’s
bar Auld Roper was scowling at McCann. That’s us having to avoid a granny! he said, A granny!

Ach stop your moaning for fuck sake. Shuffle the doms. Anyhow ya silly auld cunt ye, if you hadnt hung on to that double blank we wouldnt fucking be in this fucking position. McCann glared at
him and raised his pint glass to his mouth, sipped at the lager. He glanced at Tammas and winked: Eh? Want to swop mates?

Ho!

It’s they auld yins, laughed Billy, they never fucking learn!

Never fucking learn! What you fucking yapping about? Auld Roper shook his head: The luck yous two are carrying! Jesus Christ Almighty I wish yous’d fucking fill in my coupon – eh!
Lucky pair of . . . ! He sniffed and reached for his tumbler.

Skill, said Tammas.

Skill! Skill! That’s a bloody good yin right enough. Eh McCann? D’you hear him? Skill for fuck sake! He wouldnt know what skill was if it jumped up and punched him one on the fucking
chin!

The other three laughed.

Come on, shuffle the doms!

It’s your turn, replied McCann.

Auld Roper turned to him: I’m going for a fucking pish – if it’s alright with you that is . . . And he moved his chair backwards, rising with the aid of his stick. Tammas also
got up and went to the bar to order a round. The argument had resumed by the time he carried the pints across. Auld Roper had also returned; he grinned at him and pointed at McCann. He’s away
in the fucking cream puff! Imagine that? At his time of life.

My time of life! Ya auld cunt, what you blethering about!

The elderly man shook his head; he leaned back the way to put his hand into his side pocket and bring out his cigarettes. He took one out, lighted it, put the packet away again. McCann was
frowning at him. So generous, he said, so fucking generous.

Well what am I supposed to do! Hand them round the bloody pub!

I’m just after buying you a pint! said Tammas.

Auld Roper looked at him. I said thank you . . . His gaze was on the dominoes he had lifted; he was sorting through them, the cigarette in his mouth, his eyelids blinking occasionally to avoid
the smoke. Then he muttered, This is a terrible hand this. Ah well McCann, prepare yourself for a granny, we’ve no chance!

Lying auld bastard, said Billy.

I’m no lying son; the worst hand I’ve seen for twenty years – tell you something but, we’ll still fuck yous! Eh McCann?

Shut up and play your doms.

Aw give us peace ya crabbit swine ye!

Billy said to Tammas: Just let them fight among themselves.

Tammas smiled. He had been studying his own dominoes. He laid them on the table and ripped open the cellophane on the new cigarette packet, offered it about. Then the game continued. Towards the
close McCann put the two pieces he had left on the edge of the table. He waited a moment before saying, That’s me finito, no fucking point.

You have to play it out, said Tammas.

McCann was staring at Auld Roper: How come you cut the fives? A simple question, there you are. I mean you must’ve fucking known I was holding the double. You must’ve, surely?

Auld Roper drank beer.

A simple question, come on.

Auld Roper looked roundabout and began to whistle quietly between closed teeth, then he studied his own dominos. And Billy said to McCann: You’ve got to finish the game.

I’m giving yous it, I’m surrendering.

Surrendering fuck all! shouted Auld Roper. There’s two of us here! Just play your doms like a man. Come on!

I’m chapping ya fucking pest.

Chapping? Hh. Might’ve known, it’s all you’ve done all morning.

Tammas was next in line and he played a domino, followed by the elderly man then Billy. Back to McCann who banged the board with his fist, causing several pieces to jump out of order. Chapping,
he said.