A Chancer (29 page)

Aw shut up for fuck sake, muttered Tammas.

It’s fucking getting to me but.

Cause you’re letting it.

I’m no fucking letting it.

Aye you are . . . Tammas sniffed, wiped his mouth with a napkin and he swallowed some water; he lighted a cigarette and sat back on his chair. Best curry I’ve had for years! You having a
coffee or what?

Rab reached for the water jug and refilled his own glass. He gulped a mouthful immediately. He wrinkled his nose. He cleared his throat and muttered, Naw but that poor cunt down the stair man;
him that does the fucking dishes and the rest of it, having to scrape off all the fucking leftovers man, into a big fucking dustbin.

Aw Jesus Christ Rab. Tammas leaned to whisper: You fucking sound as if you’re trying to make yourself sick.

Naw. Naw, it’s no that . . . Rab rubbed his forehead, just above his eyebrows, his eyelids were shut. He opened them and smiled slightly. Sometimes I get the horrors man. I dont even know
what they are, just fucking – it’s the horrors man; I dont know, these big bins of grub man – imagine lying at the bottom of it, being fucking smothered, no being . . .

Tammas had screeched back his chair on the floor and he coughed loudly, blew his nose on the napkin. He looked at Rab.

Rab was staring at the plateful of food he still had in front of himself, then he was gripping the edge of the table with both his hands, steadying himself a moment, before pushing himself
upwards. The bill, he was saying, I need to get the bill. Fresh air man, fucking . . . better get it quick, fresh air and that man . . . He fumbled some £1 notes from his trouser pocket and
he put them on the table. He turned sideways and he peered across at the party of folk at the three tables.

You alright? Tammas frowned.

Naw I’m fucking – all wrong man. The head, spinning like fuck so it is. Hurry up and . . . Rab pointed at the money; he walked off at once, his hands at his sides, as though he was
wiping his palms on his trousers. Some of the other customers in the restaurant were watching him. A waiter signalled to the man at the cashier’s desk but Tammas called: It’s okay. And
he strode over to settle the bill.

Down on the pavement he found Rab supporting himself against the wall of the tenement building. You alright? he said.

Rab grunted in reply and he stuck his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, pushing himself away from the wall. You’ll no fucking let us down now man . . .

What?

You’ll no fucking let us down. Tammas, you’ll no fucking let us down . . . Rab stood facing him, shoulders still hunched and his hands still inside his pockets.

Course I’ll no fucking let you down.

I’m talking about best man, letting us down. We’re fucking finshed if you do man, telling ye, that’ll be that. Rab shook his head and he started walking away.

What’re you yapping about? Tammas went after him. And when he caught up to him Rab put his arm out as though to ward him off. Tammas chuckled: What is that you going to start fucking
boxing or what!

Rab kept his arm raised. I’ve known you for years man but we’re fucking finished, finished; and I’m no kidding ye.

Hey come on! Nobody’s letting you down.

I know you too fucking well man. Rab had started walking again and he almost bumped straight into a middle aged couple who had to stop and go sideways. Rab seemed not to notice. He was saying, I
dont give a fuck about things like Blackpool but this is different, this is fucking different, it’s no a fucking holiday Tammas it’s no a fucking holiday.

Christ sake Rab.

I could get other cunts to do the job but I want you.

Christ Rab . . . Tammas was shaking his head. Then he stepped forwards and grabbed him by the hand. I’m just fucking, I mean, just glad you asked me and that Christ it’s an honour,
it’s a fucking honour man. I’ll no let you down either Christ I mean I wish you hadnt fucking said that Rab, you shouldnt’ve said that.

Naw Tammas I’ve got all sorts of mates; you know that, the team and the fucking work man I’ve got all sorts – it’s no that but, I mean, Christ.

Tammas nodded. I know. I know Rab. I know that.

Aye well.

I’m just fucking – it’s an honour.

They shook hands.

Honest.

Rab nodded.

Tammas let go his hand. He turned and cleared his throat, spat into the gutter, took out his cigarettes and lighted one, chipping the match out into the street. He glanced at Rab: Dont worry
about it.

I’m no . . . Rab shrugged. It doesnt matter. As they continued walking he said, You dont have to come to the Stag Night cause there’ll be plenty there anyway – the guys from
the team and that; you dont have to bother man.

Naw but I want to come.

Aye but you dont have to, that’s all I’m saying.

I want to but.

Rab nodded. After several moments silence he said, And we’ll have the dress suits to get on the morning as well man that’s another thing.

Aye, no bother.

•••

The meter-bowl contained one 10 pence coin and he replaced it on the mantelpiece, going from there to another bowl on top of the display cabinet; it too was empty. He looked
along the window sill and other parts of the room and then he went into the kitchen and searched there, but he found nothing. He returned to the living room and lifted the cup of coffee from the
arm of the settee. On the floor, in the ashtray, were the dowps of four cigarettes. He picked one out. He straightened it, smoothing the tip and the fraction of unsmoked tobacco. His matches were
on the floor. He struck one, angling his head to avoid the flame of the burning match; and he had it alight in two puffs. Another two puffs and it was finished. He straightened the other three,
positioning them along the rim of the ashtray, swallowed down the remainder of the coffee and got up onto his feet, and he walked into the lobby. He stood at the door of Margaret and Robert’s
bedroom; he clicked it open, moved his head to peer inside. The curtains were still closed but it was fairly bright, this room obtaining the sun for a good part of each morning. The bed was unmade.
When he entered he kept the door open wide. On the dressing table a tidy assortment of articles belonging to Margaret, one a box with a cluttered pile of beads and necklaces; hanging from the top
of one of the wardrobe doors a folded shirt and a striped tie, and other clothes over the back of the only chair in the room. Between the chair and the bed were a radio and cassette recorder plus a
couple of paperback books and magazines. Tammas continued to stand not far from the door and then he went back out again, closing it behind himself, returning ben the living room. He smoked the
largest of the three dowps. About quarter of an hour later he collected his good suit from the bedroom and folded it into a plastic bag.

•••

McCann had laid his dominoes face down on the board and he glanced at Tammas and indicated Auld Roper, tapping the side of his head with his right forefinger.

The elderly man was rising from his seat with the help of his walking stick and he began moving in the direction of the lavatory, looking back and waving the stick as a mock threat.

Tammas started shuffling the pieces but McCann said, Dont bother.

Tammas shrugged, he lifted his cigarette packet, took two and handed one to him; he struck the match. McCann exhaled, saying: You think about what I was saying?

Eh.

I’m no rushing you.

Naw it’s just . . . Tammas looked at him. I dont know man. I’m no sure.

Naw . . . McCann nodded, he stared towards the television. It’s a thought but.

Aye.

That guy I was telling you about, he says it’s a certainty.

Tammas nodded, raised his pint glass and he swirled about the small drop of beer at the bottom. What about Peterhead? he said. Have you heard anything more?

Naw no really – except they’ll be taking on all sorts. Different contractors involved; it’s a really big fucking job.

I think I’d be interested and that if eh . . .

But no the other thing?

Naw, I’m no saying that.

Are you worried about it?

What?

McCann nodded. You dont have to be. Kenny, he’s alright, he knows the game.

Tammas looked at him and then at his pint glass, swirling the liquid about. He dragged on his cigarette, nipped the burning tobacco into the ashtray and wedged the remainder behind his right
ear.

Be more than a grand there he says. McCann raised his eyebrows, sipped at his beer, observing Tammas over the rim of the glass.

Tammas shrugged.

Think about it anyhow, added McCann, then he sat back on his chair.

Auld Roper had returned with a glass of sherry which he set on the table at his place while exchanging greetings with two elderly guys sitting nearby.

We no best to get up there quick? asked Tammas.

Maybe.

Auld Roper glanced at them as he sat down: What yous talking about?

Peterhead.

Aw aye. The old man nodded, he sipped at his sherry.

I’m saying to Tammas they’ll be starting to clear the site soon.

Auld Roper frowned at him: Then yous better get up there quick then! Jesus Christ McCann, once they stick these notices into the job centres the cunts’ll be coming from all over the shop!
Telling ye son yous better no fucking hang about.

No sweat auld yin, no for a wee while yet.

Roper shook his head and he said to Tammas: Peterhead’s nothing nowadays. Fucking Lapland they’d go to if the money was there.

Tammas smiled.

I’m no fucking kidding ye son.

Well it’s him . . . Tammas pointed at McCann: I’m just waiting for him to say the word!

He’ll no say the word, no him.

McCann grimaced.

He’ll no leave Glasgow.

Dont be so fucking daft, I’ve been out of Glasgow dozens of times.

Aye have you! Roper sipped at his sherry again, took out a cigarette and fiddled with his matchbox. After a few moments he glanced at Tammas: What about that mate of yours in New Zealand son you
ever hear anything?

Naw.

No even a Christmas card?

Naw, nothing.

He was a good boy that.

Donnie, aye, he was good . . . McCann nodded, inhaled on his cigarette and he glanced around the pub interior.

He didnt want to go, said Tammas.

Auld Roper frowned: If he didnt want to go he wouldnt’ve fucking went.

Tammas shrugged.

I mean nobody fucking forced him son.

The rest of his family were all going.

Roper shook his head and added: What’s that got to do with it?

Aw give us peace, muttered McCann. You never fucking stop.

Naw but if he didnt want to go he would’ve stayed, that’s all I’m saying. Deep down he wanted to go, to have an adventure or some fucking thing.

Adventure my arse. It’s just like Tammas says, the boy’s family went and he went with them.

Ach! Auld Roper lifted his sherry and drank a mouthful, sat back on his seat and struck a match, lighted his cigarette and puffed a cloud of smoke over the table. Shuffle the doms, he
muttered.

Fuck the doms.

Aye fuck you too.

There was a moment’s silence. It was followed by Tammas swirling the beer about in the bottom of his pint glass and tilting his head backwards to swallow it down in a gulp. I’m off,
he said, I’ve got a message to go.

Mind what I was saying! called McCann.

Tammas nodded.

•••

There was a rolled newspaper on the floor nearby the leg of the table. Yesterday’s
Daily Record.
He settled back on the ledge with it, but the light was too dim now
that the snooker had finished. A game was still in progress a couple of tables away but other tables were also empty as the daytime players went home. It was about 5.30 pm. In an hour the hall
would again be full. He continued to squint at the racing page, at the racing results of the day before yesterday, trying to see the tote returns. But soon he gave it up. He closed the newspaper,
stuck it into the back pocket of his jeans and strolled round to the nearest game. It was terrible. Two absolute beginners by the looks of it. He brought out the
Record
again but put it away
immediately.

At the top of the stairs he remained in the entrance lobby, staring out over the street. The traffic was still busy; a great many pedestrians hurrying along. Rain drizzled but there did not seem
to be much of a wind. He zipped up his jerkin and stepped out onto the pavement.

In shop windows the SALE signs were still pasted up although most of the bargains had gone. There was a sports shop. Tammas stopped to look in. Then a hand clapped him on the shoulder. It was
Deefy. Heh young yin, he said, how’s it going?

Ah no bad.

Doing alright?

Aye, okay.

That’s the game son.

What about yourself?

Deefy nodded. Then he shrugged: Aye, no bad, got a wee turn this afternoon.

Great.

Aye, a few quid.

Smashing.

I was thinking of going to the dogs. Deefy turned his head, sniffing; he touched the brim of his hat.

The dogs?

Blantyre.

Blantyre?

Deefy nodded. You fancy it like son? I mean tagging along.

Eh . . .

It’s no a bad wee gaff. Flapper. Deefy sniffed again and he looked off in the direction of Central Station. Makes a change from Ashfield.

Naw it’s just I’m skint Deefy. Tammas held his hands palms up.

Ah. Deefy nodded. That’s what I’m saying; I got a wee turn this afternoon. You can tag along if you like. Get a bus down Anderson Cross. Fancy it?

Well . . . Tammas shrugged and nodded, grinning.

We’ll grab a pint first. Come on . . . He led the way into a pub down Hope Street and ordered himself a whisky and a half of heavy, a pint for Tammas. He passed out the cigarettes.

They had to wait quarter of an hour for a bus. When they arrived in Blantyre they headed straight into the first chip shop and Deefy ordered fish suppers, which they ate while walking to the
track. And later, just before the betting began on the first race, he gave two £5 notes to Tammas, putting them straight into his hand, tapping the side of his nose with his forefinger.