A Chancer (13 page)

You’ve no even looked, muttered his partner.

I dont have to fucking look, I know what I’ve fucking got.

Ach! Auld Roper shook his head and he threw his dominoes onto the table. I’m no fucking playing!

McCann laughed.

Aye, that’s all you’re good for. You’re a joke ya cunt. First granny I’ve suffered in years and it just had to be with you.

Ho, listen to that! McCann glanced at the other two. The trouble with this auld cunt is he’s fucking senile.

Billy had turned their dominoes face up and he said: Yous were beat anyhow . . . He started shuffling them.

Aye, said Tammas, tapping a finger on the edge of the table. And we’re still waiting for our ten pence.

Ten pence! What d’you mean ten pence? That game was a bogey. Pub rules son, if a game doesnt get finished all bets are cancelled. Eh McCann?

Aye, course. Tell you what but we’ll give yous a double or clear.

Aye, said Auld Roper, starting to shuffle the domino pieces. Twenty pence or clear. That’s just fair.

Cheating bastards, said Tammas. He leaned forwards and helped the other shuffle.

But Billy said: I better get going to my work – only half an hour to the 1st race . . . He raised the beer to his mouth, glanced at Tammas. You coming with me or what?

Eh . . . he shrugged, might as well. Naw, fuck it, on second thoughts.

Wise man, said Auld Roper.

Billy was nodding. He began swallowing down the beer, getting up off his seat.

I’ll see you the night, added Tammas.

•••

He was one of the last to enter the dressing room. He sat down immediately on the end of the bench, just inside from the door. Most of the team had been playing the other time
he had come and a couple nodded to him. Donnie was injured and unable to play; but he was assisting the man in charge. The two of them arrived later, carrying in the big travelling bag between
them. They distributed the jerseys, stockings and pants to each of the team. Tammas was thrown the number 2. The guy sitting next to him asked: You Donnie’s mate?

Aye.

Paul’s the name.

Tammas.

Tammas?

Aye . . . he leaned down to take off his shoes and socks, leaving his cigarette balanced on the edge of the bench. Then dragging deeply on it he stubbed it out and undressed quickly. Members of
the team were heading to the door now, laughing at something, the studs on their boots making skliffing sounds across the concrete floor. Somebody pushed the guy in front and he lurched forwards,
and Tammas had to jerk sideways to avoid being struck into. One of the team cried: Foul, referee!

Right yous! The man in charge said, No wanting any blooming injuries before we get out onto the park!

The door banged open and shut and open and shut, rocking on its hinges.

Noisy bastards, muttered Paul.

Watch the language! called the man in charge. It’s Mathieson reffing!

A few groans in reply to this.

Tammas waited for Donnie. The two of them followed out the man and just before leaving the building he passed Donnie a cigarette and whispered: Half time . . .

Donnie palmed it at once. Then he pointed to Tammas’s right boot. Its lace was trailing.

The wind was quite strong and he knelt on the gravel path. It had been raining earlier, a few puddles had gathered here and there. He knotted the laces and walked after Donnie. He had begun to
shiver, and soon his teeth were chattering uncontrollably. He turned side on into the wind as he went, clenching the cuffs of each sleeve in his fists. There was a game of football in progress, the
average player seemed about 14 years of age. He hunched his shoulders and folded his arms, watching the play while walking.

Donnie stopped to wait. You’re chittering!

Aye well it’s fucking freezing.

No that much man it’s nerves.

Is it fuck nerves.

Aye it is! Donnie grinned. Dont worry but – it’s supposed to be a good sign!

Fuck off.

Keep moving, get the blood going.

Tammas glared at him but he started trotting, keeping his arms folded, his shoulders still hunched up. When he reached the field they were due to play on he slowed to a walk, and he halted near
the 18 yard line. The ball came towards him and he attempted a first time shot at goal but miskicked and it went bouncing off onto the neighbouring pitch. While it was being collected he turned his
back to the others; he began jumping on the spot, fists clenched on the cuffs of each sleeve again; his teeth resumed chattering and he was making loud shivering sounds.

In the centre circle the referee now stood with a ball tucked beneath one elbow. The captains were with him, one calling the toss when the coin was flipped into the air. The other team won it
and their captain chose ends, selecting the one opposite where the teams were now positioned; this meant each set of players having to walk down to the other half of the field. Tammas passed their
number 11, he looked to be well over 6 feet tall and was very skinny, his socks seemed scarcely to reach above his ankles.

Soon the whistle was blown and the ball kicked off. One of the opposition lunged at it, booted it high into the air. The ball travelled right down and over the touchline for a goal kick. When it
had been positioned the keeper turned his back to measure the run then he turned sharply and signalled to Tammas and kicked the ball to him. He raced in to trap it but was a yard short in meeting
it, it canoned off his knee. He chased after it, just failing to stop it crossing the line for a throw in.

While one of the other team’s players gathered the ball Tammas looked for the number 11 and marked him. When the throw was taken the ball was shied to the tall fellow and he tried to flick
it on as he turned but Tammas was right behind him and his studs caught in the guy’s sock, taking the foot from under him and he went crashing down, the ball returning out for another throw
in. Tammas reached to help him up but he shook off his hand and muttered: That was fucking ridiculous.

I didnt mean it, replied Tammas.

The winger ignored him; he was rubbing the side of his back and shaking his head.

Tammas walked to his side, almost behind him completely, his hands on his hips and breathing quite harshly. The ball was shied in almost the same way as the last time but just as the winger
trapped it Tammas stuck his boot between his feet and managed to deflect it out for a further throw in. The winger grunted unintelligibly; he strode down the park some 20 or so yards, keeping
nearby the touchline. Tammas went after him. The winger stared away from him, keeping his gaze to the player shying the ball, then he signalled to him in some way Tammas was not able to see. And
the ball arrived about 3 yards short. As the winger moved forwards to get it Tammas slid in from behind, upending him. The guy landed back the way, right on top of Tammas; he rolled off at once.
Fucking hell, he cried, I wish you’d keep out the fucking road.

What you talking about!

You’re fucking . . . ! The winger shook his head and trotted off down the touchline.

Tammas trotted after him. But this time the player taking the throw in shied the ball towards the middle of the park. From the touchline Donnie called: No bother Tammas!

Tammas made no response. His breath was coming in short gulps. He coughed to clear his throat and spat while breathing out. He put his hand to his chest and coughed again. The ball was with the
forwards in his team and he set off trotting as far as the halfway line where he stopped and looked on. The ball had gone for a goal kick. The opposing left back booted it out and down the middle,
where it was booted straight into the path of the big left winger who raced onto it at once, arms flailing and head downwards. Tammas was across to meet him immediately. Some yards from him the
winger looked up but he kept on running as though to go right over the top of him but at the last moment he flicked the ball inside and made to carry round Tammas on the outside but Tammas went in
the same direction and took the full force of the winger crashing into him. They both fell heavily and Tammas lay winded for quite some time.

The referee had blown for a foul against him. The man in charge came on with Donnie and soaked Tammas’s neck and forehead with a wet sponge. Unlucky there son, he was saying.

Tammas nodded, easing his breathing as Donnie placed his hands on his chest and counted slowly. When the man had returned to the touchline Tammas gasped: I’m fucked.

Donnie shook his head. You’ll be alright man, just get your second wind.

Tammas looked at him; then he moved his head to see the big winger hobbling into position for the free kick. Donnie helped him to his feet before returning to the touchline. Tammas walked after
the winger, studying his right thigh as he went; it was bruised quite noticeably and some gravel seemed to be stuck in it.

The winger had his hands on his hips, he did not look in Tammas’s direction, keeping his attention on the player taking the throw in.

The ball was shied to the rear and one of the opposition struck it high into the air, away to the far wing.

At half time he lay at the touchline with his hands clasped behind his head, a few yards away from the rest of the team. Donnie handed him the cigarette but he had no matches
and Donnie had none either. He got up, he walked down to the other team; one of their supporters was smoking; Tammas received a light from him.

When he returned the guy called Paul passed him a piece of orange and asked, How’s it going?

Ah okay.

Quite a hard game.

Aye.

Paul grinned at the cigarette: Give us a drag eh?

Tammas handed him it then he lowered down to sit on his heels, he ate the orange.

Donnie came over. How you doing?

Tammas shrugged.

That winger’s no going near you now!

Naw.

See if we can keep it nothing each . . . ! Donnie laughed briefly. They’ll be asking you to turn professional!

Hh. Tammas turned his head, glanced at the other player who had a last puff on the fag before giving him it back.

•••

He was limping slightly when he arrived in the lounge bar that evening. Rab and Rena and Betty were sitting waiting on him. Betty smiled and pointed at Rab: That’s the two
of you – he hurt his knee!

Aye, said Rab.

Tammas grinned. He remained standing, his hands on the edge of the table. I saw your result in the paper – hard lines.

You no sitting down? asked Betty.

Eh . . . he frowned. We dont have that much time.

Rena laughed: I’m really excited!

So she is! chuckled Rab. Then he glanced at his wristwatch: Sure you cant have a pint?

Eh . . .

Go on, said Rena. I feel like another martini. So does Betty.

Aye okay then.

Tammas had sat down on the spare seat beside Betty but when Rab rose to get the drinks he went to the bar with him. Thanks for coming, he said.

Aye, it’s a real chore.

Naw man, serious.

Dont be fucking daft.

Tammas sniffed. I’ll just have a half pint . . .

Rab looked at him. The barmaid was serving someone else and he had yet to give the order. We dont have to have one at all, he said.

Ah well . . .

Rab turned, strolled to the table: Okay girls, let’s go.

We no having another drink?

Tammas shrugged. We’ll get one at the track.

O! I didnt know they had a bar, said Betty.

Aye, Christ, all the mod cons!

At the large carpark outside the stand the taxi stopped and a wee boy pulled open the door. Ta son, said Tammas and tipped him 10 pence. When he had paid the driver he guided
the others across to the entrance, buying two
Advisers
on the way, one of which he gave to Rab. He bought two pencils from the old woman at the turnstiles. She’s a millionaire, he
said, but never mind!

He went through the gate after them, pushing Rab on to stop him paying the entrance money. I told you, he said, I’m getting it.

Dont be daft man.

Naw, replied Tammas. He passed the money across the counter to the man and received the four programmes in return.

In the upstairs lounge bar overlooking the track they managed to squeeze in at a table close by the tote grid. He handed £2 to Betty. This is to have a go – you and Rena.

I’ve got my own money! answered Rena. She grinned pointing at Rab: His!

Well I’m no putting two pound on a dog! Betty said, Definitely not!

Tammas smiled. It’s to last you the whole bloody night!

Heh. I thought we were only staying till the 5th race? Rab was frowning.

We are. Tammas sniffed; he brought out his cigarettes, lighted one.

I would stay later, said Rena after a moment.

Naw, said Tammas, I’m no bothering.

Rab shook his head: Christ I’m no bothering either man, whatever you like . . .

Tammas grinned. Probably be skint by then anyhow!

It was not until the 4th race that he left the lounge. He had been betting in small amounts only, and doing it via the tote. But he had one he quite fancied now and he wanted
to see how it figured in the ring. While he stood watching the bookmakers as they watched the punters and each other he suddenly spotted Deefy, the worker from the club; he was wearing the fedora
hat, standing amongst the crowd below the row. And then he strode away to the side, to the second last bookmaker, and he handed him what looked like a thick wad. And the bookmaker accepted it
without returning Deefy a receipt, and scored out the 5/1 price of the 2 dog. The other bookmakers were offering 4/1. But instead of marking up 4/1 the fellow left it blank, and then marked in 3/1.
Immediately Tammas trotted up to the nearest bookmaker and backed the 2 dog at 4/1.

The dogs were being loaded into the traps as he left the betting enclosure and he started running up the stairs. In the lounge Rab was standing near to the window to see the race. Tammas joined
him.

Then the hooter sounded and the lights round the stadium were extinguished, leaving the track brightly lit. When the hare flashed past the traps Tammas said, On you go the 2 dog!