A Chancer (27 page)

It’s okay, she said, just stay in bed – I’m going to get Kirsty.

Vi had on her coat and she was all set to go out, now lifting her bag from the kitchen table.

When’ll you be back?

Soon! She smiled across at him, then came over.

Soon . . . he nodded, sitting up and putting his arm round her waist. She leaned to kiss him and he raised himself up further.

That’s enough, I’ve got to go.

So what time’ll you be back?

Soon I said – and you need a shave, desperately.

Hh! He rubbed his chin, grinned at her. Take a taxi.

A taxi!

Aye, I’m no kidding, both ways as well Vi.

Ha ha. Think I’m made of money! She had walked to the door and she swung her bag in a circular movement.

Naw! Honest! It’s alright Vi – I’ve got it . . .

She had opened the kitchen door and she called: I’ll no be long!

Then the outside door opened and shut.

Tammas continued to sit for a time, before lying down, his hands behind his head on the pillow. He stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was greyish. It could have done with a lick of paint. And
too above the window and sink and oven, it was a kind of yellowish – plus the woodwork. A fresh white right across the whole lot. The walls themselves needed something. The one where the fire
was had been done in a lightish brown and the others had a striped wallpaper while in the recess where the bed was the walls were painted in a blue colour to make it look like a different room. But
the blue did not make it look different at all. In fact it did not look very good, it looked wrong – better to have done the whole thing in a fresh white and that would make it nice and airy
looking. No venetian blind either. That just stopped the light coming in the window. The whole place could have done with a different arrangement. There was no dressing table. All of Vi’s
stuff seemed to be standing along the big old fashioned mantelpiece or jammed together on top of the tallboy. A mirror was there, a small adjustable one and next to it a framed photograph of the
wee girl when she was a baby. No other photographs at all. None. The whole room including the ceiling done in a fresh white paint and all the woodwork done in a fresh white gloss; that would be
fine, it would make a big difference to the place.

He got out of bed. A carton of milk was over near to the window and he drank a couple of mouthfuls straight from it. His cigarettes and matches were on top of the electric fire, and so were his
socks, which Vi had washed for him. He switched on the fire and turned, glancing at the jumper on the back of the settee. It had a sweetish smell about it and it was a bit tight. His shirt had been
sweaty and Vi had given the jumper to him although he had said no, he would have preferred not to put it on; but eventually he had to put it on. There seemed to be no other men’s clothes in
the place. And there was no shaving stuff. He rubbed his chin again and he lifted his cigarettes, lighted one and returned to bed, bringing the ashtray with him. He propped the two pillows together
so that he could sit up against them, drawing the blankets and sheets upwards.

The television was on but he was watching Vi feed the wee girl her evening meal. The two of them were laughing. It was a game: Vi trying to put the spoonful of food into her
mouth while the girl would snatch away her head, causing the food to bang against her cheeks or the sides of her lips. Vi was holding the spoon in her right hand and her left grasped Kirsty by the
back of her head and neck and probably she could have forced her into keeping her mouth in the correct position. When she noticed him watching she said: Spoiled daft so she is.

Tammas smiled.

Vi frowned briefly. It’s because it’s just the two of us. I mean just because it’s only the two of us. Tch! She shook her head. What I mean is that if I started to get angry
with her I’d just end up feeling stupid. Is that right you? she said to Kirsty. And then held the girl’s head a bit more firmly so that the spoonful of food went into her mouth.

I know what you mean.

Vi nodded. She glanced at him: How do you find it with your sister? do you find yous do a lot of arguing the gether or d’yous manage to avoid it?

He shrugged.

She probably stops herself.

He shrugged again.

No think so?

Maybe.

Probably she does! Vi grinned: Because you’re her wee brother and she’s got to look after you!

Tammas looked at her.

I’m only kidding, said Vi. She had dipped the spoon back into the bowl of food and she fed it to Kirsty, and went on: Does she do all your laundry?

My laundry. Aye . . . He reached for his cigarettes and he sniffed before withdrawing one from the packet and then striking a match on the box. She does it when she’s doing her own, hers
and her husband’s.

It’s still good of her.

He exhaled smoke and nodded, looking at the television. The next time he raised the cigarette to his mouth he yawned.

He shook his head, gazing in the direction of the screen. Tired, he said.

When Vi did not respond he glanced over. She was involved in cleaning the wee girl’s mouth, dabbing at the corners of it with a cloth.

Vi.

Mm . . . she turned her head to look at him, a very slight frown on her face.

After a moment he said, Would it be okay if I stayed the night as well?

The night?

Aye, would it be okay?

She nodded.

I’ll go first thing in the morning.

She smiled. It’s okay Tammas.

Naw I mean . . . he nodded, and shrugged.

•••

It was just after midday and he was eating a mince pie and beans in a pub down the street from the snooker hall; a pint of heavy at his elbow and he had the
Sporting Life
spread on the table.

The bar began filling up and when two men in dungarees sat by him he lifted the newspaper so they could put down their pints. He folded it and stuck it into his side pocket. Downstairs at the
snooker hall the
full up
notice was hanging on the inside of the swing doors and when he pushed his way inside the elderly attendant grunted, Can you no fucking read?

I’m just looking for my brother – I’ve got a message for him.

You better be fucking snappy then.

Tammas continued on in between the row of men and youths whose names were down on the waiting list for a game. At one of the top tables a three-red tournament was in progress. He walked behind
it, into a corner, and he sat on the ledge there, yawning as he brought out the
Life
and squinted at it in the light filtering from the strip beneath the shade of the nearest tables. He
turned the page to the racing card for the day’s only meeting not postponed because of waterlogging. He had his nap picked out but also fancied a couple of others. He trapped the paper
between his elbow and his right knee while lighting a cigarette.

Hey john . . . A guy had approached him: Fancy a game? I’ve got a table booked; I think I’m next on.

Naw man sorry I’ve eh – I’m just passing the time.

It’s no for money or anything, just a game.

Nah – actually I’m going up the betting shop in a minute.

The guy nodded and moved off to somebody farther along the ledge. About quarter of an hour later Tammas was getting down off the ledge and heading for the exit. The elderly man was still
attending the door but he ignored him as he pushed out.

He had less than £40 in his trouser pocket. The horse he fancied was paper favourite and it appeared as favourite when the actual betting started. He was going to do it for £5 but
when he wrote out the line he had written it for £20; and when he passed it beneath the grille he paid the additional £2 tax in advance.

On the
off
they were laying 11/4 against the favourite. It was a race for novice chasers over a trip of two miles. The favourite jumped off in the lead and was still showing ahead when
the others closed to challenge between the last two fences. But over the last and on the run in the horse steadily drew further and further away, eventually winning by some dozen or so lengths.
There was no objection lodged by the runners-up and there was no inquiry by the stewards; and then the jockeys had weighed in and Tammas was at the pay-out window to receive the £75.

He studied the other newspapers tacked on the wall for the coming race. The opening show had the favourite in at even money and it was quickly taken down to 4/6; scribbling out his line he
rushed across to the counter and asked for the board price to £90.

The
full up
sign no longer hung inside the swing doors. He pushed them open and entered. At the top table the tournament had ended but he recognised two good players at another table and
he walked to join the small group of guys watching. It happened that if these two went into one of the tournaments a couple of other players would immediately withdraw. Tammas knew their first
names, as did most of those watching and some bantering took place. The pair never seemed in earnest when against each other, kept looking to see who else was around. After a few minutes he went to
the lavatory for a piss. He ran the tap at the sink then drank some water. He checked the cash in his trouser pocket; less than two pounds.

Upstairs in the bookie’s a group of folk had gathered at the results’ sheet. He peered over a man’s shoulder and saw that the favourite had won. He nodded and smiled very
slightly, took his cigarettes out and struck a match and got it lighted, while walking to the small queue at the pay-out window. The man in front turned and said, You got a fag jimmy?

Aye.

When Tammas had given him it and the matches the man nodded as he inhaled the first puff of smoke, passing him the matches back. Good favourite, he said.

Aye. Tammas opened the
Life
, gazed at the declared runners on the next race. The horse he fancied was listed at 6/1 in the forecast betting. On the ledge of the pay-out window lay a pile
of betting slips. He reached to take one and he wrote out the name of the horse and then he made the bet out to £135. The female cashier had begun paying the winners and when she gave him his
£135 in exchange for the receipt he went immediately to one of the pay-in windows and handed it and his betting line straight across. It was another woman cashier and she peered at the line
and at the stack of notes and replied, Hang on a minute son. And she got down off her stool and carried it through to where the settler worked behind a partition. The settler came out and looked at
Tammas for a moment. Then the woman returned; she checked the stack of notes and issued him with the receipt, which he checked, before folding it away into his trouser pocket.

6 5’s 30 and 3’s 18; 18 and 3 21; 6 1’s 6 and 2’s 8; 810, eight hundred and ten quid; plus the stake, equals 945. £945 less tax.

One more point and the return amounted to one thousand and eighty, one thousand and eighty quid. A grand. All it required was one more point. 7/1.7 to 1 to the 135. £1080, less tax. Even
better with the 15/2, that extra half point making sure it was more than the grand even after tax. One thousand pounds.

He checked the time through shop windows while he walked. He was walking at a steady pace. He passed other betting shops. He kept walking until he arrived at where he lived but he continued past
the shop old Phil worked in, to a shop he only went into now and again. He glanced up at the board, the boardman was chalking in figures on the next race. His nap had finished third at 4/1. 4 to 1.
His nap had finished third at four to one. Third at four to 1. Even if it had won he would not have reached the grand – nowhere near it, five hundred and thirty fives, it did not matter.
£700 though. That would have been fine. Seven hundred quid. Six hundred. 675. Less tax, six hundred and seventy five ten pences.

He was walking in the direction of his own street but he remained on the main road and he walked back up the town and into a picture house.

•••

A couple of girls glanced at him. At the counter he ordered a roll and sausage and a cup of tea, and was given the tea immediately. He sat at one of the empty tables. There were
four girls in the room, sitting beside each other. A man was snoring at another table, his head cradled on his crossed forearms, snoring quietly. Otherwise the club was deserted, the room where the
chemmy took place in total darkness. He lighted a cigarette and stood up, and said to the girls: Fancy the telly on?

If you like.

He pulled a chair to the side of the counter and climbed onto it, reaching to switch it on. Later the woman came from the kitchen with his roll and sausage; he ordered another tea.

A play had begun on the television and he was watching it along with the girls and the woman. The doorbell rang. It rang again and the woman muttered, Tch, bloody door . . . And she left to
answer it. Moments afterwards she was followed in by four men, two going straight into the card room and then the kitchen. One of the other two said: Anybody seen Frank Callaghan?

No one replied. Tammas and the four girls continued staring at the television screen; the man at the table was still asleep, still snoring.

The other two men came from the kitchen with the woman. They had been speaking with her and now they walked back out again, going quite quickly. The one who was talking said to Tammas, How long
you been here son?

About an hour.

The man sniffed and nodded. When did Frank go out?

Tammas shrugged.

He was here but?

I dont know.

The man took a handkerchief from his pocket and he blew his nose. He said to the girls: What about yous – you seen him?

No, replied one.

Then the man glanced at Tammas again: You a member of this club?

Who me? aye.

Glad to hear it. The man nodded, then nodded at his companion. He indicated the guy who was asleep, pursed his lips and shook his head. A moment later they had gone.

One of the girls called: That’s Frank then Alice eh!

The woman behind the counter nodded in reply. She was smoking a cigarette, holding it to her mouth in her right hand, her left forearm resting beneath her breasts. She stared at the television.
But suddenly she moved: she shook her head and she stuck the cigarette into her mouth and she turned and said, I’m bloody sick of this. She strode round into the room and over to the man at
the table, shook him by the shoulder. Away you go, she said, I’m sick of your damn snoring.