A Chancer (5 page)

Anybody for a game of solo? called the teaboy. He was sitting at the table with the cards spread out in a game of clock patience. When nobody answered him he called: Trump?

A man sitting near him said, Sssh.

Tammas finished the sandwich. He screwed the wrapping paper into a ball, chipped it in the air, to land in the big cardboard box where the litter was dumped. He looked back at the newspaper. The
man was indicating one of the day’s runners and saying, I’m sick of punting this fucking bastard here – owes me a fortune so it does.

Ah it’s a bad yin.

You’re no kidding. I saw it on the telly a couple of weeks ago. Looked like it was going to win a distance then everyfuckingthing came and passed it.

Tammas nodded.

Should’ve won out of the fucking park so it should – terrible!

I saw it as well: said another guy. But I had a wee hunch the jockey dropped the reins.

Ah they all drop the fucking reins! said somebody from the bench opposite.

Here we go! muttered the man next to Tammas. And he pointed to another runner. Darktown Lad, he said, What I want to know is how come they’re fucking running it in a handicap the day when
they stuck it into a fucking seller last week!

Aye, said Tammas, maybe a move on.

Exactly. He shook his head: Best to leave the race alone altogether.

The man from the bench opposite cried: Wish to fuck you’d leave them all alone ya cunt – save you tapping me every time you go skint!

Fuck off.

Fuck off yourself!

The man closed the newspaper and brought out a cigarette packet and he lighted one and returned the packet into his pocket, then he opened the newspaper again.

One of the others yawned and stood to his feet, glanced at his watch and said: I suppose I suppose. Time to do a bit.

Somebody laughed: Listen to him! He’s been out getting a suntan on the fucking canal bank all morning!

I’ll tell you something, if you want to go out there picking up bits of fucking plastic then you’re welcome; I’ll fucking swop you any day of the week. Fucking boring man!
I’m bored out my head!

Ah, cushy number.

Cushy number! The man shook his head; he turned to the bench and lifted his newspaper and tobacco tin, and then walked out the smoke-area. Gradually the others began to leave.

Tammas said quietly to the man sitting next to him: You got a fag you could lend us?

The man nodded, he brought out the packet and handed it to him.

After dinner Ralphie and Tammas reported to the front yard where a lorry had arrived. The driver climbed down from the cabin and began unloosening the ropes; it was a load of
56lb bags of cement. After a minute Tammas walked forwards; he made to untie one of the knots but the driver told him not to bother. It was me that tied it, he said. I know how to get it done
quick.

When he had finished he climbed up onto the rear and manoeuvered the first to the edge. Ralphie glanced round and shook his head. I might’ve fucking known! he muttered, We’re on our
fucking tod as usual!

He bent to dunt the ashes out of his pipebowl, stuck it into the top pocket of his dungarees. Okay, he said to Tammas, we better just start.

Aye, replied the driver, it’s appreciated – I’ve got another delivery later.

They worked in silence, the driver dropping then dragging the bags to the edge of the wagon where the two would pull them onto their shoulders and walk a few strides before swinging them down
onto the ground next to the wall. More than twenty minutes went by. Then assistance arrived; two men, one of whom was Murdie. And they were followed almost immediately by the yards’ foreman.
He came to the rear of the lorry and stopped there, he scratched his head and studied the pile against the wall.

Ralphie had just swung down another bag; he took off his bunnet, ruffled the hair on his head and put it back.

The foreman sighed and pointed at the pile of bags. Tell me this, he said, how’s the bloody forklift going to shift they bloody bags?

What?

I said how’s a bloody forklift going to lift that fucking load there!

Ralphie made no reply.

I mean did you no even think to get a couple of bloody platforms? Christ Almighty you could surely’ve thought of that!

Ralphie frowned and stared at the ground.

The driver of the lorry was lighting a cigarette. Then he said, Hey is the unloading stopped or what? I’ve got another drop this afternoon.

The foreman did not answer him. He said to Ralphie: There’s a pile of platforms out near the skip. I want you to go and fucking get them. Alright?

Ralphie said nothing.

And yous three, yous three fucking help him. And see when yous’ve got them . . . He pointed at the pile stacked against the wall. Just take all them and stick them onto them and then after
that yous can start unloading the rest off the fucking wagon. Okay? And he turned to the driver and shook his head, and then strode off.

After a moment Murdie grinned at Ralphie: See the bother you get us into!

Away and fuck yourself son, muttered Ralphie. He walked away in the direction of the skip. Tammas and the other two followed. When they had caught up to him he spat before saying: We’re
fucking machinemen, we shouldnt have to be doing this.

The man with Murdie smiled: Aye, he said, it’s a labourer’s job! He smiled again.

Ralphie replied after a moment. Ah well you know what I fucking mean.

We’re all labourers, said Murdie. That’s the fucking point.

Aw thanks for telling me. Ralphie nodded. Thanks.

Well so we are – eh Tammas?

Tammas shrugged.

The quiet man eh!

Tammas looked at him. They continued on in silence to where the wooden platforms lay. He knelt to tighten his bootlaces while the others sorted out the ones to be taken. Ralphie and the third
man paired off on the first batch and Tammas took the second batch with Murdie. While they were walking he said quietly: I know you’re no really due me anything till Friday and that Murdie
but I was wondering if you could manage a couple of bob just now I mean even just fifty pence or something . . . I’m fucking skint. He grinned. Right out the game!

Murdie shook his head. You must be joking Tammas.

I dont even have a fucking fag man.

Neither do I.

Tammas gazed at him.

I dont. I’m no fucking kidding. The busfare she gives me and that’s that . . . Murdie lowered his voice as they approached the others; he added in a whisper: Honest.

Tammas nodded.

•••

Robert looked up from the book he had been reading, he rose from the armchair and crossed to the television set. He paused there with his hand at the channel switch. Anything in
particular . . . ?

Margaret stifled a yawn. I’m not bothered.

Neither am I, said Tammas.

Robert shrugged. I’ll see what’s on BBC1 . . . He switched channels. He continued standing for a few moments, before slightly reducing the volume of sound and returning to his
armchair, where he picked up his book and resumed reading. Margaret had been knitting; her needles and wool were lying to the side of her, she rested her head on the back of the settee, her eyelids
closed. Moments later she blinked.

Tammas grinned at her and she smiled. What about some tea and a slice of toast? he said.

O no for me.

Are you sure? He stood to his feet.

Before she could answer Robert said: Look at her! An hour home from my work and that’s her off to bed out the road – I’m beginning to take it personal!

Margaret shivered and yawned. She shook her head and looked at her wristwatch. I dont know what’s up with me, she added.

You’re tired, replied Robert, that’s what’s up with you!

She smiled.

Tammas said: You sure you dont fancy a tea?

It’ll just keep me awake.

He nodded and sat back down again.

Actually, said Margaret, I think I’ll just go to bed the now. Bob, I think I’ll just go the now.

Nobody’s stopping you!

She tidied her knitting needles and wool before rising, and she added: Are you staying up?

Eh . . . He glanced at his book and frowned slightly. Naw, I’ll just eh . . . He smiled. By the time you’ve done your face I’ll have finished this chapter.

She yawned and remained standing by the settee.

Robert grinned. I’ll see you ben there in other words.

O, okay . . . Goodnight Tammas.

Goodnight Margaret . . . When she had gone he added: What about yourself Robert, fancy a cup of tea?

Eh, och naw, I’ll no bother. He yawned, then chuckled: It’s contagious.

I dont fancy doing that backshift, said Tammas. Even worse than the nightshift.

I know, you’re right, it’s the worst of the three. Robert lifted his book upwards and he looked at it closely, then he glanced at Tammas. Naw, he said, I dont like it myself.

Tammas nodded, he shifted on the settee a bit, inclining his head while gazing at the television screen. Some moments later he got up, saying: Think I’ll put the kettle on . . .

Robert nodded without looking away from his book.

Once the kettle was on to boil he went ben to his own room. There were two ashtrays, one on the window sill and one on the small cupboard near to the bed; both were clean. He pulled open the
wardrobe door and felt into the pockets of his clothes.

The kettle boiled while he was standing by the kitchen sink, staring out the window over the backcourt. He made himself a cup of instant coffee. When he opened the living room door Robert
stirred, he sighed and closed the book, and said: Is she in bed yet?

She’s no in the bathroom anyway.

Ah well . . . Robert nodded. He bent forwards to see his slippers, nudging his feet inside them. Never mind, he said, the holiday next week – we’ll probably get a heatwave.

Definitely.

Robert smiled. No that it’ll bother you.

Tammas looked at him.

Naw, what I mean, Blackpool, you’re no worried about the weather; even if it was blooming snowing you’ve got places to go.

Aw aye . . .

We had a great time when we went. Course we were winching at the time. And that makes a difference. He smiled, walking round the armchair to the door. Goodnight.

Goodnight Robert.

The
Evening Times
lay to the side of the fire-surround, nearby Robert’s armchair and Tammas went to get it, opening it at the back pages.

Later on Robert could be heard leaving the bathroom and entering his bedroom; Once the bedroom light had been switched off Tammas turned the television back on. Another twenty minutes and he was
checking the meter-bowl on the mantelpiece, withdrawing two ten pence coins. He went to his own bedroom and put on a pair of shoes; along the lobby he opened the outside door gently, leaving it on
the latch.

It was raining quite heavily when he left the close and he ran to the corner and along to the cafe. One side of the shop was in semi darkness but the other side was open. Two guys were at the
counter, telling jokes to the elderly woman serving. She was glancing at them now and again while turning the chips in the boiling fat with the long strainer. A younger woman appeared from the
rear, wiping her hand on a teatowel. She nodded to him. Eh hullo Marie, he said. You got three singles?

After a slight pause she sniffed and turned to the cigarette counter and took three cigarettes from an opened packet. She took the money and gave him his change.

Thanks, he smiled at her.

•••

Here you are! said the foreman.

Ralphie glanced at Tammas before looking at the men, and he replied, Christ almighty we’ve just sat down.

The foreman nodded. I believe you I believe you – but come on the now till I show you; I’ve got a wee job.

They followed him from the smoke-area, right outside the building to the rear yard, where he indicated a big pile of broken wooden crates. A couple of your mates were breaking them up yesterday
but they forgot to get bloody rid of them! The foreman shook his head: I told them as well! Anyhow, okay, I want yous to burn it. Alright? A bonfire, but make sure yous keep it well away from
anything inflammable.

When he had gone off Tammas said, Thank Christ, I was beginning to wish he’d stick us back on the machine. Anything’s fucking better than nothing.

Aye, it’s been a long week son.

You’re no kidding.

Never mind. Ralphie lifted his bunnet up off his head for a moment then settling it back again he bent to drag out some of the wood. Watch for nails, he said.

They carted the wood across to a cleared area and also collected in bits of plastic and cardboard which were lying about. Rain began drizzling; soon it became heavier and Ralphie moved to
shelter by the factory wall. Tammas continued finding rubbish until the other called him across, and added: You dont get paid to catch a fucking cold.

Several minutes later the foreman appeared at a door some yards away. He gestured to them to come. Here, he said, and handed them two enormous polythene bags. Stick a couple of holes in them and
you’ll be able to wear them – they’ll keep you dry. And here . . . He handed a gallon tin to Ralphie: Paraffin; to start your fire.

The foreman turned slightly and he winked at Tammas. You’re doing a grand job Ralph!

Ralphie grunted.

The rain was falling heavily now. When the foreman departed Tammas began pulling on one of the polythene bags but Ralphie laughed briefly and said: For fuck sake son!

He shook his head and grinned at him, then strode out to the big pile of wood and rubbish and emptied the paraffin on top. Tammas trotted out to beside him and watched as Ralphie knelt a little
to drop on a match. Then he followed him along the path near the canal, leaving the pile to burn. They walked quickly, hunching their shoulders against the rain.

At the entrance to the boiler room Benny was standing gazing at the sky. That’ll be on for the rest of the day, he said. He stood aside to let them in.

To the back of the room, behind the boilers, there was a large pipe Benny used as a bench, and here the three of them sat down, Ralphie shaking the rainwater out of his bunnet before bringing
out his tobacco and his pipe. Benny was already smoking a roll-up. So, your nightshift’s been halved? he said.