James Kelman - Not Not While the Giro

Make the next yin the last.

He shrugged and dealt the cards. Moments later the dayshift chargehand came striding into the smoke-area and raising his arm he jerked the thumb of his right hand: Okay, out.

Last hand, muttered the man.

Last hand nothing. Come on, you’ll get me fucking arrested.

The dayshift players had moved back from the table when their chargehand entered. Now when he saw the size of the bet between the two he shook his head, it was amounting to £40 this time. I dont believe this, he said, yous pair must be off your fucking head.

Surely we can finish it? said the apprentice.

No.

The other man glanced at him.

Stick your money out of sight, replied the chargehand and he left at once. Each retrieved his £20. The cards were still lying on the table. Deal them, the man whispered. And when he had received his two he asked for a twist, got a face card and was burst. He threw them down: Dirty bastard.

The apprentice took in the money without saying anything, and moved out from behind the table. The nightshift men had left the factory, Sitting on a bench he took off the boots and put on his shoes. The man was doing the same. Eventually he glanced at the apprentice: What about one last yin?

Waste of time man your luck’s right out. Anyway, I’m still waiting for the score.

You’re getting your score, dont worry.

I’m no worrying. He made to rise from the bench.

Last hand eh?

No point.

What d’you mean no point? the fucking money I’ve lost the night.

The apprentice shook his head; he dropped the cigarette he had been smoking and ground it on the floor.

Okay, the man continued, just a cut. One cut — double or clear. . He stopped. A dayshift apprentice — younger than the card player by a couple of years — had come into the smoke-area at a rush, his face was red and he was out of breath. Christ, he said, yous two still here!

No, we’re in the street. The man did not look at him.

The chargie’s standing down at the gaffer’s office.

He’ll no say anything.

Aye he will — you dont know what he’s like.

Course I fucking know what he’s like, the man muttered. Then he added: Double or clear, eh? I mean surely you’ll give me the chance of getting my dough back?

Fuck sake.

The dayshift apprentice had sat down on the bench to change shoes. He was taking note of the conversation. Eventually the man reached to collect the deck of cards and he passed them, he said: It’s still your bank.

Ach, the apprentice nodded and took the cards. Double or clear then.

Plus a tenner, replied the man. Fifty to you if you win, okay?

The apprentice looked at him, he shuffled the cards rapidly and offered them to be cut. The man cut a low card and lost. He closed his eyes and did not speak. From the bench the other apprentice said: Was that for £50? Jesus Christ Almighty.

The two of them had their jerkins on as they walked down the length of the section and round to the clock-out. Throughout the area the machines were now in operation. A workman was bent over the flat part of one, wiping the metal with a paraffin soaked rag. He laughed: Did yous sleep in?

They ignored him. They did not look in the direction of the gaffer’s office where the chargehand was standing; they carried on and out by the window of the timekeeper’s office. Once onto the pavement of the street they halted. The man made as if to speak but sniffed instead, and remained silent. A group of women and children of school age were coming towards them. When they had gone by he said, I’ve no got the full fifty.

Fuck sake, I knew it.

I thought I did have, honest. I must’ve lost more than I thought.

Ach. . The apprentice turned away but they stayed on the pavement for several seconds; he then took out his cigarettes and handed one to the man who brought out a lighter.

Okay if I owe you it?

The full fifty you mean?

The man nodded slightly, exhaling smoke.

Aye. . the apprentice shrugged and they headed off in opposite directions.

When he came out of the pub the snow was still falling, he paused to fix the bunnet properly on his head then crossed the large patch of waste ground to the building. It was the remnant of a tenement; much of the rest was lying around in disordered heaps. The close had been sealed off with a sheet of corrugated iron but the nails were removed from three of its sides and the man got in quite easily. He struck a match. The debris wasnt too bad. He lighted a cigarette before walking to the foot of the stair.

On the first floor each of the flats had had its door taken off. He passed quickly up to the second and chapped the only flat which had one. He chapped again. An interior door creaked, steps along the lobby floor, and soon an elderly woman peered at him. She would be about 10 years older than the man. She invited him in and he replied with a nod. Stepping over a big pile of laundry he followed her ben to the front room where two candles were flickering at opposite ends on the mantelpiece. She was indicating a dining chair: on it were a spectacle case and a notebook, and a grey soft hat and a maroon scarf; on the floor underneath stood a pair of brown shoes. The woman sat down on another dining chair which was set to one side of the fireplace. Not a bad fire was burning.

He glanced about for another chair. He stood by the mantelpiece. After several moments he sniffed and took out his cigarettes, handed her one, struck the match. Eventually he exhaled and said, No, I dont come down that much at all these days. Once or twice a week maybe. Too far. Too far to come for a pint. Miles away I’m living now. And these buses! Hell of a dear, bloody scandalous.

He sniffed again, rubbed his hands together briskly; he took the cigarette from his mouth and studied it. Aye, he said, hell of a dear. I still like to come back but. . have a pint, see the old faces and that. Two buses though, one into town, then another I’ve got to get from there to here. Murder, the time it takes, you wouldnt credit it.

She had inhaled on her cigarette, tugged her coat round her shoulders, she exhaled into the fire and watched the two smokes mingle. Then she glanced at him to say: Will you be going to America?

What?

He said you would be.

Christ sake Mrs. He sniffed. How can I go to America? I cant go to America. He turned away from her and walked to the window where he gazed at the pub. It was a flat roofed kind of affair. Though outwardly modern the 19th century brickwork at the rear would reveal it to have been the ground floor of an ordinary three storey tenement until recently. A customer was entering. The bright light from inside showed a confusion of footprints in the snow at the doorway. Rubbing his hands again the man returned to stand by the mantelpiece. Freezing, he said, that fire. . When she didnt reply he added: Will I get some wood or what?

He thought you would be going to America.

Aye. . the man nodded.

He was wanting to go himself.

I know.

He would’ve.

The man made no answer but when she repeated the statement he muttered, No he wouldnt have, not now, he was too old, too old Mrs. That’s how he asked me.

Aye but you’re not going. She shook her head slightly, stared into the fire.

Christ sake it’s no use talking about it like that, that was just talk; that was just talk. He just liked to talk to me about it down in the pub. Ach. Reaching into an interior pocket he brought out a halfbottle of whisky and uncapped it; he offered it to her before slugging a mouthful.

I waited for you, he said you’d come.

Aye.

He’s ben in the kitchen. She leaned forwards to drop a portion of saliva onto the fireplace, picked a shred of tobacco from her lower lip. I covered him up.