A Chancer (30 page)

Tammas said, What’s this?

Deefy shook his head; he held up the evening’s programme, indicating the form figures. No that it’ll do me any fucking good, he said. Last time I was here they gambled a fucking dog
from 6’s to evens in the space of about ten fucking seconds and I shoved my tank on the bastard. Stuck up 2nd! You wouldnt fucking believe it son!

I’ll owe you it, replied Tammas.

Another time I’m standing here and there’s this fucking favourite and the vet’s there checking the girths and all that and out comes an announcement: Favourite’s
withdrawn, favourite’s withdrawn! And d’you know how? Deefy was shaking his head: Cause the owners couldnt get a fucking punt on the bastard! I’m no kidding ye son; they were
there to put their fucking money down but some cunt must’ve blew the whistle and the bookies were no giving more than 3’s on. 3 to 1 on. So what do they fucking do? They turn round and
withdraw it! I’m no kidding ye! Warned them off the track right enough – told them no to show their faces ever again.

Hh. Tammas nodded.

Some place! Deefy clapped his hands together, the programme tucked beneath his left elbow, moving his shoulders back and forwards, stamping from foot to foot. Bloody cold, he muttered.

Tammas backed the favourite in the first race and it won. He backed the next two winners also and by the time the betting began on the fourth he had £70. But Deefy had
yet to back a winner. Then on the fourth they found they had backed the same runner. Their spectating position was as near plumb to the finishing post as they could manage and they watched the dog
win in a photo. My last tenner on it! shouted Deefy. You sure it’s won?

Tammas laughed. Easy. Short head. No danger!

That’s what I thought myself.

When they approached the cluster of bookies they heard one of them calling odds on the outcome of the photograph. There was no dispute about the winner but the bookie was laying 6/4 a
short
head
; 5/2 a
neck
; 8/1 a
half length.
Since he was not taking any bets on the winning margin being a
head
, the bookie was obviously convinced that a
head
WAS the
winning margin. Tammas stared at the price for a moment. Then he cried: Christ sake! and he grabbed the money out of his jeans’ pocket and passed £20 to Deefy shouting: Get it on man!
And then rushed up to the bookie: To twenty quid the
short head
!

The bookie took his money and wiped out the 6/4 immediately. Tammas turned, smiling. Deefy was still standing where he had been previously. Quick! called Tammas.

What?

Quick!

I’m no sure son.

Christ sake!

Deefy was holding the £20 in his hand. There was a rumbling on the loudspeaker and then the winner and placings were announced. The dog had won by a
short head.
Deefy returned
Tammas the £20.

Tammas muttered, Christ sake Deefy.

Deefy shrugged. He sniffed, took the cigarette from his mouth and dropped a mouthful of spit on the ground. He nodded towards the bookie he had placed his bet with and walked to receive his
return. Tammas followed him, collecting his winnings from both bookies. When they met up Deefy said: You staying for the next?

How, are you?

Deefy shrugged. Back to Glasgow I think eh?

It’s your decision.

Outside the ground Tammas hailed a taxi. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Tammas had bought a packet of cigarettes and he offered one to Deefy and also passed one through to the driver.
And then he added: Look eh . . . And he started checking the wad of notes he had. More than £140. He counted £70 and handed it straightaway to Deefy.

Deefy thrust it back to him.

Aw naw Deefy please. Tammas shook his head, holding it to him: You’ve got to take it man honest.

Naw. I dont. Deefy held his hand raised, warding off the bundle of notes.

Please.

It’s your fucking money son no mine.

I was out the game but, till you showed up I mean . . . fuck sake Deefy. Half the dough, come on, that’s fair.

Deefy sniffed.

Christ sake I mean I’ve never even been to their fucking track man and I’ve backed four out of four. Plus the photo! Tammas shook his head and he grinned.

Deefy hesitated. Okay then. Halfers . . . He put his hand into his own pocket and brought out £28, gave Tammas £14 and accepted the £70 in exchange.

Let us know when you’re going back!

Hh. Deefy frowned. I’ll no be going fucking back. Fucking pitch!

How what’s up?

Naw son I mean I’m no getting at you or fuck all but tell me this: how can a man lay 6/4 when it’s a short head?

Tammas looked at him.

He cant be a bookie son, no a real yin. I mean there isnt any bookie in the whole fucking world would lay that kind of bet.

Ach away man that’s daft. Anyhow, it’s a flapping gaff.

A flapping gaff! I know it’s a flapping gaff. So what but? They’re supposed to be wideys these cunts. That makes it even fucking worse so it does.

Tammas shrugged.

Naw I mean . . . Deefy sniffed and he turned slightly, to gaze out the window. I wouldnt go back there again. No me.

Och!

Deefy shook his head. As they approached the city centre he leaned forwards to ask the driver the time.

You going up the club? asked Tammas.

Naw son I dont think I’ll bother. There’ll be nothing doing there anyway.

The
Royal
?

The
Royal
? Are you?

Tammas indicated the clothes he had on. I’d have to go home and get changed first.

Ah, I wouldnt bother . . . Deffy sniffed and folded his arms. A moment later he leaned forwards again. Heh driver, he said, go up St Vincent Street will you.

On the brow of the hill he told the man to pull into the kerb, and added, Two minutes I’ll be.

When he got out he did not say anything to Tammas, nor did he look in his direction. He walked off across the street, tugging at the brim of his hat, and on up one of the side streets towards
Blythswood Square. He reappeared holding a woman by the elbow. He opened the door of the taxi for her. Tammas moved to make room, noticing the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. The woman
sat down next to him. Deefy pulled open the folding seat and he sat there staring out the window.

They arrived outside Tammas’s close first and he got out, taking the wad from his pocket, preparing to pay something but Deefy waved him away. Once the taxi had moved off again he could
see Deefy shifting from the folding seat into the back seat to sit beside the woman. He continued looking after the taxi until it was out of sight, then he crossed the street and walked along to
Simpson’s.

•••

Margaret had called him ten minutes ago. He was lying on his side in bed, with the blankets to his chin. When the sound of cutlery and crockery had become less audible he threw
back the blankets and got out; he was wearing his ordinary clothes. At the window he pulled open the curtains, he yawned and shivered, went into the bathroom to urinate and wash himself before
going ben the kitchen. Margaret and Robert were still eating at the table.

His food was being kept warm beneath the grill. He sat down at the table where his place had been set and began to mash the potatoes into the mince and gravy. Robert was now about finished
eating, wiping his plate clean with a slice of margarined bread: he left the kitchen without speaking. Then Margaret had finished, as she rose to carry her plate to the sink she glanced at Tammas.
Since sitting down he had barely touched his food. And he said, I’m no that hungry Margaret.

She nodded. She began to stack the dirty pots and crockery on the draining board. Tammas turned and said, I’ll wash.

It’s alright.

Naw. He smiled: I’m washing.

She shrugged. She dried her hands on the small towel.

Did you see Grannie then?

Yes.

How was she?

Alright, the usual . . . Margaret lifted the kettle as it began boiling and she poured the water into the teapot.

Did you talk to any of the women?

No. Margaret lifted the towel and dried her hands once again. She brought teacups out of the cupboard and laid them on the table.

I’ll bring it ben, said Tammas.

Mm . . .

When she had closed the door behind her Tammas scraped the rest of his meal into the bin, dropped the plate into the washing bowl in the sink. He washed then dried all the dishes, pots and
crockery, took the two cups of tea into the living room. He carried his own through to his bedroom. He put it on the cupboard beside his bed then propped the pillow and rearranged the quilt, put
some books next to the teacup. He read for a time, later he dozed and had a fit of shivering when he awakened.

Robert and Margaret were watching television when he entered. Anybody fancy a coffee? he asked.

After a moment Margaret replied, We’ve just had tea.

Fine. He made himself one and returned to the front room, sitting down on the settee. There was a news programme showing. He watched it for a few minutes. Then he said, O by the way, that guy
McCann I told you about, him that drinks in
Simpson’s
, he was saying the Peterhead job’s going to be starting quite soon. A couple of months at the most.

O. Margaret nodded.

He thinks there’ll be no problem, getting a start and that. He’s an electrician and he says he’ll get me labouring to him. Big wages. Bonus it is they’re on.

That’s nice, said Robert.

Tammas paused. He looked at the floor to where his cigarette packet and matches were lying. Aye, he said, eh, the . . . He rubbed his eyelids before continuing. A place near the site, where you
sleep and that.

A hostel.

Naw, it’s no a hostel I dont think I think it’s a eh . . .

A hotel? Five star probably . . . Robert had turned his head to look at Tammas while speaking to him.

Tammas sniffed. He collected his cigarettes and matches, lifted the coffee from the arm of the settee. He walked to the door. Margaret was staring at the television screen while Robert had
opened the pages of a paperback. Just as he clicked open the door Margaret shifted round on the settee. She said: I thought Billy’s dad was going to speak for you in the copper place, the
factory?

Aye, he’s getting me the application form.

Well then . . .

Tammas shrugged.

D’you no want a job there?

Eh, no really.

O.

Robert’s head was bent over the book he was reading.

I just think I’d prefer something in the open air.

Margaret nodded. She shifted back round on the settee again, facing the television screen. After a few moments Tammas opened the door and stepped out into the lobby.

During the night he kept wakening, his body sweating; the bed seemed to be confining him far too much. It was far too narrow a bed and there always seemed to be too many quilts and blankets
stifling him. His forehead felt damp and cool. He was shivering again. There was a dream he had been having. More of a nightmare maybe. He turned onto his side, tugging the bedclothes to his chin,
and then over his head; but eventually he got up and searched about in the cupboard drawers, till he found his pyjamas. Throughout the night he kept dozing, and in the morning he wrote a short note
to Vi which he posted in the pillarbox along at the street corner. He returned upstairs and went back to bed.

•••

He was off the platform and running before the bus had stopped and he was still running when he arrived inside her close; he walked up the stairs two and three at a time and he
chapped her door then flapped the letterbox. And when he heard the kitchen door open he bent to shout through the gap: It’s me.

Tammas! She laughed, unlocking the main door.

Inside the lobby he clasped his arms round her; her head on his shoulder. Is it okay to come in? he said.

She slapped his chest and he picked her up off the floor, she was laughing, carrying her into the kitchen. Put me down ya idiot! Then she whispered, Tammas, you’ll frighten her.

He let her down, kissed her on the mouth. He winked across to Kirsty who was sitting on the floor near the fire surround.

Are you hungry? There’s still some mince in the pot.

Tammas grinned.

D’you want some?

Naw, I’m full up.

You’re the man that’s always starving! Come on!

Honest Vi.

Honest Vi! She smiled, shook her head at him.

I’d take a coffee right enough.

O would you!

Tammas was smiling at her. It’s really great to see you Vi. All the way here I was thinking she’ll no be here she’ll no be here! And then – Christ!

Sit down.

He laughed, stepped round to sit on the edge of the settee, glancing back at her, then at Kirsty, winking at her again.

Take off your jacket . . . As she spoke Vi had crossed to the sink and she filled the kettle, prepared two cups of coffee.

It’s a jerkin, he said while unzipping it; he took the cigarettes and matches from the pocket.

How’s your cold now?

Okay. Actually it was the flu I think.

O, pardon me!

He grinned. Kirsty was watching him. She rose from the floor, facing down the way and pushing herself up with both hands. She toddled to the cot and stood there, holding onto the bars. When she
glanced at him he winked again. Hullo Kirsty! She turned away. And he opened his cigarettes. He said to Vi: You still no smoking?

I’m still no smoking.

That’s good.

Bloody awful! Vi was leaning with the small of her back against the sink, her arms folded; she was smiling. She turned and lifted the kettle, set it back down again.

Tammas inhaled on the cigarette, flicked the flame out of the match, dropping it onto the ashtray. He said: It’s really great to see you.

She smiled. You’ve said that already.

Naw but . . .

Hey! Tammas! Vi clapped her hands and came forwards, bent to lean her elbows on the top frame of the settee, grinning at him, her face less than 12 inches from his: he moved to kiss her. Will
you take me to the pictures?