A Chancer (15 page)

Less speech play! called Donnie.

I’m telling the boy something.

I’m no interested anyway. The last thing I want to hear about’s big fucking 20/1 winners!

Billy grinned.

Aye, said John, come on.

When Billy placed his first domino on the board Donnie jeered: Hey Tammas that’s us won. Look what the daft cunt’s played!

Ah fuck off, replied Billy. Me and my mate’ll win this no danger, no danger – eh John?

Load of shite, said Tammas. Easy money Donnie easy money!

John frowned. Here, nobody says we were playing for money!

Aw Christ . . . Donnie laid his dominoes face down on the board, he clutched his forehead. Where am I? Hey Tammas, where are we? I could’ve swore we were sitting in
Simpson’s
!

All I’m saying is if you’re going to play for money you want to tell people first, no wait till you’re halfway through the bloody game.

Billy grinned. Dont worry John, we’re certainties anyway.

Aye but that’s no the point. I mean I’m no caring one way or the other. I just like to know what’s happening.

Aw John . . . Donnie put his hand back onto his forehead again. I’ve had a hard day – eh? going to fucking give us a bit of peace? Eh? Please?

Aye but all I’m saying . . .

Shut your fucking mouth!

John looked at him.

Donnie smiled in reply.

When he entered the close he paused to position himself in the middle of the way, then continued, walking in a straight line. Going up the stairs he canoned off the wall and
halted, steadied himself.

Margaret came from the living room. You wanting a sandwich?

Aye. Hh . . . he smiled at her, carried on down to the bathroom. After urinating he filled the washhand basin and dunked his head in it twice, the second time keeping it submerged for a count of
ten seconds.

A slice of square sausage was sizzling in the frying pan, the kettle of water almost boiling. Margaret had put it on for him. He got a slice of bread from the bin, spread the margarine on.

In the front room Robert was on his armchair and Margaret was on the settee. Tammas closed the door, carried his tea and the teaplate to sit down next to her. He had the sandwich in his mouth
and he bit a big chunk off before taking it out. Anything good been on? he asked.

Earlier. A play, quite good – wasnt it Bob?

Robert did not respond. He had the newspaper on his lap.

Tammas moved his head a little and grinned, covering his face with his hand.

Margaret said, Did you go to the job centre?

No, I was a bit late.

Late?

Aye, I was a bit late. Hell of a long walk.

You’re a lazy bugger!

Robert grunted something.

Tammas paused before saying: I’ll go the morrow, I’ll be fine the morrow. Aye, different story then, get the giro and that, be able to take a bus.

Okay! Robert had swivelled round on his seat to gaze at him. What is it? If you’ve got something to say say it!

Tammas sniffed. I’ve no got anything to say.

Bloody liar – he tried to tap me for a pound on Tuesday morning Margaret. You were wondering what was up with me, mind? Right? That’s what was up with me. He tried to tap me for a
pound and I wasnt having any. That’s it Tammas eh!

No.

Ah ya liar ye! Robert sat back forwards again, the newspaper falling from his lap.

These things dont bother me.

Robert glared round at him but said nothing for a few moments. No, he went on, these things dont worry you – wee things, like money, they dont bother you, Only when you come trying to tap
me or your sister.

I wish you’d get your facts straight Robert. I think about once in the past two years or something, that’s the number of times I’ve tried to tap you.

Listen son . . .

Margaret interrupted. Why dont the two of you stop it! I wish you would just stop it.

Well, cried Robert, I dont know how many times he’s taken it from you!

That’s rent money, said Tammas.

Rent money!

He always pays it back, said Margaret.

Robert was saying: What d’you mean rent money? It’s our money, it belongs to me and your sister. So never mind what the hell you call it. And as far as I’m concerned when you
dont come up with that on a Friday night then it’s a hell of a sight worse than borrowing. And what about that bloody meter bowl? Never a bloody tosser in it once you get through with it. You
couldnt care less whether we’ve got enough electricity or no. O naw, nothing like that bothers you. Just wee minor details!

Aye. Tammas leaned to lay the unfinished sandwich on the teaplate, and he looked about for his cigarettes and matches. He saw the packet beneath the corner of the settee and soon was smoking; he
exhaled at the ceiling. It’s all coming out the night, he said.

Aye and high time too if you ask me . . . Robert shook his head at Margaret: Look at the state of him! He tries to tap me for a pound and then he can still come marching in here half drunk and
looking for you to make his bloody supper!

I didnt look for Margaret to make my supper at all.

Ah!

Tammas inhaled deeply and he exhaled before continuing. And if you’re wanting to know about the money, somebody gave me it – no loaned me it, gave me it – and I never asked,
never bloody asked, he just gave me it.

O goody, it’s always nice to know people who give you their money. I’ve always thought that myself – eh Margaret? Nice that isnt it! People who go about dishing out their money
every time you’re skint. Wish to heaven he’d stick down their names and addresses so we could get paying off the mortage on this bloody house!

Margaret was staring at the television.

After a moment Tammas said: People like him dont give money to anybody Robert; sometimes they dont even speak to people.

Ah . . . fine . . . Robert was silent. Eventually he nodded. Well Margaret, I think he must be talking about the big timers. Eh son? Is that who you’re talking about? The big timers?

Exactly. Aye – he used to be. Won and done more cash than you’ll ever see anyhow!

Right then that’s enought! cried Margaret.

Naw it’s alright. Robert had raised his hand and he smiled. I want to hear about the people that give away their money.

I’m talking about auld Phil over the road in the betting shop. He doesnt have to work in there you know he just likes to do it, to keep in touch with the game.

O, I see.

Aye, he doesnt need to work.

Mm, just like you . . . Robert frowned and he shifted round on his seat to be facing away from him. Away and grow up son.

I might and I might no – have to watch it in case I turn out like you.

Tammas! Margaret was staring at him.

Robert held his hand up to her. It’s alright Margaret . . . He glanced at Tammas: I’ve got one thing to say to you: why dont you pack your bags and go. The trouble is you
have
grown up, you
are
a big boy. You just dont act like one. And I think it’d be best if you went, and I mean that.

Aye. Dont worry about it. Tammas was getting onto his feet, gathering his cup and plate and the cigarettes and matches. Soon as the time comes I’ll be off, away, dont worry about that. He
was at the door and he paused to add, Goodnight folks, pleasant dreams.

Robert shook his head. God, you give me a pain in the neck, so you do.

•••

The cubicle door banged shut behind him. He read what it said on the receipt then stuck it into his pocket along with the £6. A small woman appeared from through the
close, she bustled past him, carrying a baby in the crook of an arm, a bundle of LP records under the other.

Outside was cold and foggy. He walked quickly along to
Simpson’s
where he stood with his pint, near to the gasfire at the wall, reading a morning newspaper. Racing had been
abandoned, waterlogged; and there were no dog meetings scheduled for the afternoon. Billy came in shortly before 1 o’clock. He was skint. Tammas bought him a pint of lager. Gulping the first
mouthful he backed in as near as possible to the fire, placed the pint on the mantelpiece and rubbed his hands together. Fuck this for a game, he muttered, I’m definitely searching for a job
man. This no racing no wages is murder. Freezing too – you’d think it was the middle of fucking winter!

Tammas nodded.

You holding?

A few bob.

Ach! Billy shook his head. What a life. I’m fucking sick of these horses man I’m no kidding ye, honest, fucking terrible. That bastard Donnie as well; couple of weeks and he’ll
be lapping up that sun – fucking bastard! Naw, I’m definitely going after a full time job. A nice warm factory or something.

Ha ha.

Naw I’m no kidding ye Tammas you were mad jacking yours.

Shite.

Naw, honest. Hey, something else man, that auld man of mine’s – he was telling me they’re going to be starting people in the copper works after Christmas. I think I’ll
apply. Eh? Fancy it? He’ll stick your name down as well.

D’you think there’s any chance like?

I dont know, according to him. Sometimes he rabbits on but. Hey, that place you were in – would they no let you back if you asked nicely?

Would they fuck.

Maybe they’d start me.

Not at all man they were speaking about redundancies the last I heard.

Aye but things fucking change.

Tammas shrugged. Drink up and we’ll go a walk.

A walk!

Aye, up the town, maybe get a game of snooker or something. I’ll stick you in for a game. Eh, see if you can win us a few quid!

No danger . . . Billy grinned.

They travelled by bus. The tables were full when they arrived, with a large crowd queuing. At the top end most of the spectators were watching a tournament involving about eight players; each
game used three reds and all the colours. Billy and Tammas settled on a ledge, until eventually the winner had been decided. The entry fee was 50 pence and Tammas dropped it into an empty tobacco
tin. Somebody placed the tin on top of the shade above the table. When the lights went out the electric meter would be fed by one of the coins from the tin.

Billy got knocked out in the first round of both this and the following tournaments. Tammas dropped in the third 50 pence and told him it was the last. Billy won his way through to the final.
There were ten players which meant a kitty of £5, less electricity. The guy he was playing against looked about 30 years of age. After they had tossed for break and one of the losing players
was setting the balls Tammas lighted a cigarette and stepped nearer to the man and said quietly: Want to save a pound?

You kidding! Hh. The man shook his head and walked off to the end of the table; he began chalking his cue. He potted the first red and took the blue with it, but he missed the next red and Billy
got it, taking a pink and then the last red with a black; then he missed the yellow after having positioned himself quite well on it. He shrugged at Tammas. Tammas looked away.

His opponent potted the yellow, the green, the brown, and he left the blue on the dyke. Billy came to the table and without hesitation slammed the ball very hard, it flashed off three sides into
the middle bag opposite, his cue-ball following through to allow him a reasonable shot at the pink into the other middle bag. He potted it smoothly then reached for the tin containing the
money.

The defeated player passed Tammas on his way to return the cue to its case. Tammas muttered, On you go!

What was that?

Nothing.

Did you say something there?

Naw, no me.

The man stood watching him. Then Billy came across and he said, Hard lines.

The next tournament was being prepared for. The man glanced at Tammas. Okay, he said, you still wanting a bet?

I wasnt wanting a bet the last time. I was just wanting to save a pound – know what I mean?

Aye, I know what you mean.

Tammas nodded.

Billy was looking from one to the other. What’s up? he asked

Misunderstanding, said the guy. And then to Tammas: You still wanting a bet but?

Suit yourself.

Two quid says I go further than your mate.

You’re on.

My mate’ll hold the money . . . He gestured to one of the onlookers.

Tammas shrugged.

When the bet had been struck Billy and the other player joined the rest and soon the tournament was under way. The other player got knocked out in the first round. Tammas collected the £4
from his mate.

Eventually Billy got through to the final and he won again.

•••

From where he stood high in the stand he was in direct line with the finishing post. He looked on at the 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th races without laying a bet. During the intervals
he drank bottled beer in the bar below, marking the form of each race once it had ended. He had come to back dog 4 in the 5th. Both it and the one out of trap 5 were set to receive 10 metres from
the scratch dog. This scratch dog – trap 1 – was a good racer; it had to be fast otherwise it would not have been giving away such big starts. But as far as Tammas was concerned it was
a two dog race, traps 4 and 5. If 4 trapped well enough to lead at the first bend then he reckoned he could start walking to head the queue at the bookie’s pay out. But if 5 got out and
managed to hold off 4 to the first then he could leave the track immediately, because 4 would have no chance. When 5 dog got its head in front round the first bend very few dogs could ever pass it
– but its starting ability was notorious, it usually required a couple of yards before it began to race.

Dog 4 did look good.

And according to the betting market most people at the track had reached the same conclusion, the bookies were laying the dog at 6/4. The scratch dog was next in at 5/2. The dog out of trap 5
stood at 7/1. Tammas was surprised. All it needed was a fast trap and he would not have minded having a couple of quid down on it to stay in front to the line. But it usually trapped really
badly.

He edged his way forwards, to the head of the crowd waiting beneath the row of bookmakers; he was gripping the £30 wad in his right trouser pocket.