A Chancer (36 page)

Have you?

Aye.

The gaffer nodded.

I’ll bring them the morrow.

Fine. The gaffer nodded once more . . . Okay then?

Eh aye, but what about the gloves and that will I go to the first-aid?

O Christ aye, go ahead, you better get them.

And the safety helmet.

The safety helmet’s really important, aye, mind and get yourself one. And tell Peter and them cause whenever I fucking pass I dont see them wearing it. And it’s the safety code in
here to wear it. Okay then?

Tammas nodded. I’ll just go up the first-aid.

Aye . . . The gaffer sniffed. Then he added: Mind you and tell Peter and them about they bloody safety helmets.

The first-aid room was across by the administration offices in a different, more quiet, part of the factory. Once he had collected a new pair of asbestos gloves and a safety helmet he returned
to the rolling mill. Peter was busy with a new copper bar. Tammas called, I’ve just to watch till I get my boots the morrow morning.

Peter nodded, not looking at him.

O aye and the gaffer told me to tell you to mind about the safety helmets.

Peter made no acknowledgement.

At noon the younger guy appeared and told Tammas it was dinner time. Peter had walked off, not having spoken to him since his return from seeing the gaffer. But the two men were not having their
breaks then, they had eaten earlier, during the tea break. They were on the early shift from 6 am to 2 pm and were paid straight through the full eight hours. Workers on the ordinary day shift were
there from 8 am until 4.45 pm and received a full forty five minutes at dinner time.

When he had found his way to the canteen he saw Billy sitting with a wee group of other men at a corner table. They were laughing. Billy turned to wave him over and he squeezed in beside them.
The rest continued their own conversation while Billy asked, How’s it going?

Tammas looked at him.

What is it as bad as that!

Bad as that! Tammas raised his right foot, displaying the scorched shoe. Look at the fucking state of this!

A burst of laughter from the others at the table – Billy’s maybe louder than anyone’s. We heard! he cried. We heard! They’ve nicknamed you Hotfoot!

Tammas shook his head. He opened his cigarette packet and gave one to Billy, lighted his own and put the packet back in his pocket.

One of the men, still chuckling, said: Ah you’ll be alright son dont worry about it! Best job in the place once you get to know it – best fucking bonus and all! without a fucking
shadow of doubt!

Tammas shrugged. He inhaled on the cigarette, staring over to the counter where a long queue of men in dungarees and boiler suits had formed.

Once the others at the table resumed talking Billy murmured, He’s right but man that’s what I’ve heard as well, them on the roller, they earn a fucking bomb so they do. Bags of
overtime as well. They’re in every fucking Sunday, my auld man was telling me.

Where you working?

The pattern shop.

The pattern shop?

Billy shrugged. It’s difficult to explain; it’s cutting and things.

Aw.

Influence!

Tammas nodded. Billy had a copy of the
Daily Record
in front of him on the table and he asked, Can I have a look?

I’m studying myself, replied Billy, opening it at the racing page and holding it so that Tammas could see it with him. There’s a boy carries bets.

Is there?

Aye.

Great. Tammas was nodding as he spoke, gazing at the programme of races. I dug out a couple of big outsiders last night in the
Times . . .
He shifted on his seat, put his hand into his
jeans’ pocket and checked the money he had left. You got a pencil and a bit of paper?

The boy’ll have it . . .

The two of them continued reading the racing pages, barely talking, until eventually one of the teaboys entered. When he came to their table he gave out betting slips and he also had a pen which
each person who wanted a bet used in turn. Tammas backed a four horse
comedy
for 55 pence, and he paid the additional coppers in tax.

Around half past twelve the canteen was emptying as the men returned to their parts of the factory and Tammas sat on with Billy for a few minutes. As they were leaving a queue of office workers
formed; both males and females, the former in suits or jackets and trousers, and wearing shirts and ties. They filed in as the last of the hourly paid men went out.

At 2 pm Tammas was sitting in the smoke-area while the back shift men prepared to start work. Peter and the younger guy had gone to clean up about five minutes ago. Then he
spotted Peter, away down near the exit, talking to a man and gesturing in his direction. Tammas sniffed and glanced at the roller, he rose, lifting his cigarettes and matches, and walked over to
behind it.

He was watching the backshift man who was doing Peter’s job when the teaboy appeared. The man was on the bit where he allowed the bar to drop down onto the mobile trolley. The teaboy also
watched for a time, then he called, Heh jimmy that’s some start to your line you’ve got, eh!

What? Tammas frowned at him.

Nobody told you yet?

Told me?

Aye your fucking line, the first two man they’ve stoated!

What?

Aye! The teaboy laughed: 20’s and 16’s!

What?

Aye, your first two!

Ye kidding?

Naw, honest! The teaboy laughed at the guy with the clamps and jerked his thumb at Tammas: He doesnt fucking believe me!

Hh! The guy smiled.

20’s and 16’s? said Tammas.

Aye. Nearly eighteen quid you’ve got already!

Tammas nodded and then he sniffed: Time’s it?

Three o’clock.

Tammas pulled the safety helmet from his head and sticking it on top of the oil drum alongside the new asbestos gloves he glanced at the man with the clamps: I’m away, he said.

A male office worker was in the gaffer’s office, sitting on a chair facing him across the desk. Tammas chapped twice on the door and walked straight in. Can you make up my cards? he
asked.

What?

It doesnt . . . I’m no suited . . . Tammas was shaking his head as he held his foot up, showing the shoe. Nearly burnt the foot off me this morning!

Aye but you’re getting your boots, said the gaffer, after a pause.

Ach naw I just – I’ll just lift my cards.

But it’s your first day just. Hh! The gaffer was holding a cigarette in his hand and he gestured with it at Tammas while addressing the other man: There you are; it’s his first
bloody day and here he is wanting to wrap it.

The man made no comment.

I’m no used to the work, said Tammas.

Aye but you’ve got to learn it!

Naw it’s . . . Tammas shook his head. Just make up my cards.

What d’you mean make up your cards – I cant just go making up your cards. It’s too bloody late anyway and it’s got to get done through the bloody office. No chance! The
gaffer inhaled on the cigarette and blew out the smoke immediately.

You can send them on then or else I’ll pick them up.

Whatever you like.

Okay, said Tammas and he turned and left the office, pausing to call: I’ll get them the morrow morning.

Collecting his jerkin from the locker-area he raced on to the exit and right out and up the road to the betting shop. The boardman was marking up the results of the race his third runner was in,
its name being marked up, into the first position, 9 to 1. His third runner had won at 9 to 1. Nine to one. Tammas closed his eyelids. 20’s 16’s and 9’s; 50 to 20 was 10 plus the
50 is 10.50 at 16’s; 10.50 at 16’s. He walked to the counter and got a pencil and a betting slip and went to one of the wall ledges to check the figures. As far as he reckoned he had
£178 alone for the treble, £178 going on to his fourth and final runner, £178. That was a lot of money, it was fine, good money, plus the doubles, even if it lost, the fourth
runner. Tammas nodded. It was good money – plus the three doubles, the 20’s and 16’s and the other two. Win lose or draw he had £178 plus three doubles – about another
thirty or forty quid. Two hundred quid minimum. He opened the cigarette packet, put one in his mouth and looked for his matches, he did not have them, he must have left them on the oil drum or
someplace. He walked to the counter and asked the woman cashier for a loan of her lighter. She pushed it beneath the grille to him. A sweetish taste in his mouth. He examined the betting slip once
again and dragged on the cigarette. The taste had been there all day, to do with the heat probably, and the copper bars. The fourth runner was forecast favourite and favourites always had a
favourite’s chance, the most fancied horse in the race, the best fancied horse in the race, the horse with the best chance of winning – the horse that always let you down. It did not
always let you down. Sometimes it won. Just not often.

He walked across to one of the walls where the formpages were tacked up but he stopped. He knew the betting forecast on the race, the favourite being reckoned an even money chance. There was
nothing else he needed to know. Not now. He had backed it and that was that, the money was running on and there was nothing he could do about it, either the horse would win or it would lose. There
was not anything in between.

A hundred and seventy going on to it, it was good dough. And win lose or draw there was still a return. He would receive cash in exchange for the slip of paper; and that is what it is about.

A show of betting was coming through the extel speaker. The fourth runner in the accumulator was favourite as forecast. They were making it a 13/8 chance. To a hundred and seventy eight was 356
plus 3/8ths say about sixty quid. No – 5/8ths; 356 plus 5/8ths, about another 100, say about another hundred quid, about four hundred and fifty all in – plus all the doubles – and
the trebles, the trebles alone, amounting to a fortune. A fortune. No point in even reckoning such a sum, not until it had won – either, or lost. Yet it had to be close to a grand, the
thousand – it had to be close to a thousand, the thousand quid, it had to be.

He left the bookie’s and crossed the road and stared into the window of a shop. It was glasses, a display of glasses, a display of glasses, it was an optician’s shop, all fancy types
of spectacles. The favourite was on its own. There was no question about that. It was a race for novice chasers over 2½ miles. Some people would call it a bad race to bet in but sometimes it
could be a good race to bet in. And the favourite was favourite because it was the best horse in the field, because of its good form over hurdles; this was only its second race over the bigger
obstacles. That sweetish taste in the mouth when he inhaled on the cigarette. It would have to do with the copper. The copper and the smoking together.

A loud voice from across the road. Two guys laughing about something at the entrance to the betting shop.

He nipped the cigarette and walked back over.

The favourite was now in to 5/4 which was good or bad, good or bad, depending. Yet it did not matter. None of any of that really mattered. And if the horse stayed on its feet it was a certainty.
That was the fact. The only gamble: whether it would jump the fences. Tammas reckoned the horse would have been about 4 to 1 on if the race had been over hurdles. Just before the
off
the
last show of betting had it in to even money.

It fell three fences from home. It seemed to be in a good challenging position at the time, before it toppled, before it fell.

•••

He stepped back a couple of yards, squinted up at the high windows. Lights were on inside. A lollipop-woman was watching him. She frowned at him. The bank doesnt open till half
nine, she said.

Aw. He nodded.

There was a grocer’s along the road. He bought an orange and a bar of chocolate, peeled the orange skin as he returned, dumping it into a wastebin at the corner where the bank was. The
doors had opened already and two people were in in front of him but when it was his turn he pushed the wad of notes under the grille and said to the clerk: I want to open an account for a hundred
and twenty pounds.

Is it current or deposit?

Eh deposit.

Deposit. Fine. The clerk began counting out the money.

He went to the broo afterwards and reregistered; and then to the pawn where he redeemed all the stuff he had outstanding. Back in the house he laid the things on the bed and
placed the bankbook upright against the alarm clock, the new UB40 balancing against it. He had paid Margaret rent money in advance and now, from the corner of the bottom cupboard drawer, he brought
out a bundle of notes and separated them into their denominations. There was more than £50. Unfastening his wristwatch he laid it on the money, and went into the bathroom, and began filling
the bath from the hot water tap.

Around dinner time he walked into town and watched snooker for about an hour, then he went to the pictures. He stayed out afterwards, eating in a Chinese restaurant and sipping two pints of beer
in a lounge in the city centre. He finished up in the
Royal
casino but only gambled £5 on the tables. Next morning he remained in bed until late, spent the afternoon in a different
cinema; he ate in a chip shop in the evening and again went to a pub and on to the
Royal
, this time without gambling at all. It was after 2 a.m. when he got home and there was a light on in
Margaret and Robert’s bedroom. He clicked shut the outside door and stayed on the spot for several seconds. He walked very quietly to his room.

The following day, at around 1 pm, he was standing spectating in the snooker hall. He had been there nearly an hour and it was becoming extremely busy. When he was returning from the lavatory
one of the elderly attendants was just hanging the full-up notice on the back of the swing doors. He walked to the top table where a tournament was in progress and found a spare place to lean
against a pillar. He took out his cigarettes, put one into his mouth; then he took it back out and turned and headed towards the exit, nodding to the old guy on the door. Up the stairs he paused to
glance at his wristwatch but continued on, past the pub where he occasionally went for a pie and a pint, down across Argyle Street, in the direction of the bus terminal.