A Chancer (44 page)

Fucking McCann! Billy shook his head, he cleared his throat and spat in between his feet, scraping his shoe over it. And when Tammas did not reply he added, Now I know how you were wanting to
give it the go bye!

Tammas looked at him.

Naw I mean . . . Billy smiled. You werent wanting to go in the first place man it was me fucking dragged you –
Simpson’s
I’m talking about.

Aw aye, hh. Tammas inhaled on the cigarette and a moment later he walked to a wall to look at one of the formpages.

•••

The bedroom door being opened roused him but the light was not switched on and he kept his eyelids shut and stayed in the same position, and soon the door closed, clicking
shut.

Later on Margaret entered, she walked straight in and put her hand onto his shoulder, and he turned over to lie on his back. I didnt want to waken you, she said, but I know
you never took your tea; and me and Robert’s just about to have some supper.

Mm.

It’s nearly midnight.

He sniffed and squinted at the alarm clock, raising himself onto his elbows.

You’ve been sleeping for ages Tammas.

Aye; I was tired.

She smiled. When he squinted over at the clock again she said, Will I put on the light?

Nah, I think I’ll just stay here . . . He lay down and tugged the blankets up to his chin.

Are you okay?

Okay? Aye.

Are you sure?

Aye, fine.

You dont seem fine.

Well I am.

She nodded.

Honest. Honest Margaret.

It’s toast and cheese we’re having if you’re interested.

Eh – naw, ta, I’ll no bother.

Tch, Tammas.

Honest Margaret I’m just no hungry.

Well you’ll take a cup of tea surely!

Aye.

Well thank goodness for that!

Once she had gone he waited a moment then sat up and reached to switch on the bedside lamp. He lifted the cigarette packet; only one remained inside. He left it on top of the packet and lay down
again, but only for a brief period, then he got up out of bed and pulled the curtains open about a foot in width. Margaret’s footsteps in the lobby. He jumped back into bed and tugged up the
blankets. When she came in she was carrying a teaplate with a slice of toast and cheese on it, as well as a cup of tea. Dont eat it if you dont feel like it, she said.

He nodded. Thanks.

She paused by the door. Goodnight.

Goodnight.

She shut the door. Tammas sat up, punched the pillow in at his back, lifted over the teaplate.

•••

He was awake before the alarm went off. It was 5 am and some birds had been whistling for maybe twenty minutes although it still seemed dark outside. He waited until the click
occurred just prior to the bell and quickly stretched across and tapped down the button, and he got out of bed immediately. Once he had dressed he opened the wardrobe door and took out his big
travelling bag. It was already packed. He laid it on the bed. Beside it he laid the bankbook, the UB40, the cigarette and box of matches. He took his boots from the bottom of the wardrobe and
placed them on the floor down from the bag, lifted his jerkin from its hanger and folded it next to the bankbook. Then he knelt and looked beneath the bed, and stood up and looked about the room,
going into the drawers in the cupboard and checking along the window-sill and all other places where things could be lying.

And afterwards, he went into the bathroom for a piss and then washed and collected his toothbrush and shaving gear, and back in the bedroom he unzipped a side pocket in the travelling bag and
stuffed them in.

There was enough milk for a bowl of cornflakes. But he did not make coffee or tea. He margarined a slice of bread then put some jam on it. He found a plastic wrapper to stick it into. Back in
the bedroom he unzipped the side pocket once more and stuffed it in. He stepped to the window and stared out for a time.

It was cold but dry, and there was only a breeze. At the closemouth he struck a match and lighted the cigarette. He swung the bag up on his shoulder while stepping out onto
the pavement. There had been eleven 10 pence coins in the meterbowl, plus some coppers in change lying on the mantelpiece. He had taken the lot and left a note for Margaret.

When he reached the corner of the street a bus approached. He carried on walking, heading along towards Argyle Street. He kept on walking, passing through the centre of the city, on along to
Bridgeton Cross, passing the turnoff to Shawfield and on towards Celtic Park. A transport cafe had lights on inside but its doors were still locked shut. He walked maybe two hundred yards beyond
the Auchenshuggle terminus, and then put down the travelling bag and lowered himself down next to it.

A car was coming. He watched it pass, seated on the heels of his boots. And another was coming. He watched it too. Then a big lorry in the distance and he got up smartly, grabbing the bag and
striding on, the thumb out. But the lorry did not pause at all. The next one did, it slowed to a stop some fifty yards ahead and Tammas started trotting after it, the bag swinging at his side. A
big articulated lorry. He opened the cabin door and the driver nodded. Thanks a lot, he said. And he gripped the bar by the door and climbed the couple of steps up and in.

The driver was moving on now, his gaze to the rearview mirror. And as he increased the speed he was reaching into the top pocket of his shirt and bringing out a packet of cigarettes . . .
Smoke?

Aye. Thanks.

The driver passed him one and lighted his own with a gaslighter. Tammas struck a match for his. The driver glanced at him: Going far?

Eh, how far you going yourself?

Me Jock? London.

London?

Yeh . . . The driver nodded, his gaze returning to the road. Yeh, home and see the kiddies. Four days I been away Jock, four days – four days too long!

Tammas nodded.