James Kelman - A Chancer

Shut up ya cunt. Tammas punched him on the shoulder. That’s my fucking social life you’re slagging!

Billy laughed. Naw, he said, I was expecting you in a while ago man.

Hh!

We could’ve gone for a game of snooker.

Tammas stopped. You kidding?

Naw, Christ — too late now.

What did you no come up and get me for! Fuck sake Billy.

Tch aye, I should’ve.

Tammas looked at him and shook his head. I mean I take it you’ve got fucking dough?

Aye. Billy shrugged: I won a couple of quid.

Fuck sake!

Alright alright.

No wonder man. I said I was fucking sorry.

Aye I know but. . Hh! They continued on down the stairs and out through the close, heading towards Simpson’s.

•••

At dinner time on Friday he redeemed his suit on the road home from work. He met the others in the pub as arranged, the parcel under his arm. John failed to appear. Donnie was saying: I knew it, the cunt’s been too miserable to take the afternoon off.

As long as he makes the bus, said Billy.

Ha ha ha! Rab said: I hope he fucking misses it!

Ah give the boy a break, said Donnie.

Ach!

Who’s sleeping with him anyway?

Tammas.

Aw thanks a lot!

The other three laughed.

I didnt even think you were listening! Anyhow. . Donnie chuckled: You dont have to worry; with five of us it’ll mean he can sleep by himself.

Unless it’s three to one room and two to the other.

Aye you never know right enough.

Billy smiled. It’s alright, I’ll sleep with him.

We can toss for it, replied Donnie.

Naw, said Rab, let him if he wants!

He’s no that fucking bad.

You kidding! You wouldnt know which way to turn with the cunt!

That right? Donnie cried: In that case I’ll fucking sleep with him!

The bus was scheduled to leave Buchanan Street Station at 6.55 pm and they were to meet back in the pub for 5 o’clock. From there they would be taking a taxi to another pub closeby the depot; any latecomer was to go there directly. When Donnie and Rab left to get a bus home the other two strolled along to the betting shop. Billy borrowed a £1 from him. Just for an interest, he said with a grin.

What’re you skint!

I didnt want to take any chances man I left the dough in the house.

Fair enough, said Tammas. He gazed up at the formpage tacked onto the wall then he moved along to the next one. The runners for the 2.30 were being loaded into the stalls. He wrote out his selection and strode to the counter. Billy was in front of him. During the race commentary they stood listening by a radiator. An outsider won. Billy laughed and tore up his receipt, That’s what I get for backing the favourite for a paltry pound!

Tammas nodded.

Mind you, he added and indicated the form, it could’ve been backed.

Aye. Right enough. . Tammas grinned: Funny how you always fucking spot things like that after the result.

Cheeky bastard! Billy turned from the wall, putting his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders. You coming?

Nah, think I’ll hang on for the next. What about yourself?

Naw man you kidding! Anyhow, if I wanted to stand in a betting shop all day I’d’ve went to my fucking work.

Ha ha.

Actually I think I’ll get the fucking head down man I’m a bit tired.

Okay.

Heh. . Billy grinned. Watch yourself!

Aye.

When the next race was coming under orders he was standing gazing at the previous day’s tote returns and he had to run to the counter, he scribbled a bet on the favourite. At the furlong marker it moved up to challenge but its effort was always being held by the eventual 20/1 winner. He walked out of there and went to the shop two blocks away. The coming race was for 2 year olds and almost half of the field was unraced; minutes before the off one entered the betting at 12/1 and was quickly marked down through all rates to 6/1. He hesitated, strode to another formpage. It went to 5/1 and he scribbled the bet and raced to the counter, taking the price.

The horse led till the distance; then it was passed, it finished unplaced.

His shoulders ached. He flexed them while leaving the premises. He crossed to the newsagent’s and bought a packet of cigarettes though he still had quite a few in the packet in his jerkin pocket. He checked his money. Back in the bookmaker’s he studied form. Half an hour later he was walking home. Margaret frowned when he came into the living room. She said: You better get a move on.

Ah I’m no bothering Margaret.

You’re no bothering?

Nah. He sat down and looked at the television.

Margaret said nothing.

No, he said, I really, I just eh, I dont think I’d be that keen on Blackpool anyway.

But Tammas, you’ve paid your fare down. And your bed & breakfast — I thought you had paid that as well.

No it all, naw, just part of it.

Still. . That’s money down the drain.

He nodded. She had turned her head back to face the television but after a moment she made to resume speaking. He stood up and yawned: Think I’ll lie down for an hour.

Margaret looked at him.

All I’m doing in the factory these days is walking about; its more tiring.

You’ll be here yourself for the three days.

Fine.

She shook her head: I think you’re silly. Did you have an argument with somebody?

Naw no really.

She shook her head again, shifted on the chair.

He was standing at the corner opposite where the convoy of buses would leave. People were already filing aboard or having their luggage loaded into the rear compartments by the drivers. Ten minutes from time and still they had not appeared, then he saw them. They came from Buchanan Street, running across Sauchiehall Street, suitcases and holdall bags swinging and both Rab and Donnie were carrying large carry-out bags. John and Billy were first aboard. The bus driver was chatting to Rab and then with Donnie the three of them stepped away from the rear and began to look this way and that way but finally they stepped up inside the bus. A few minutes later the first of the convoy moved out from the stance. Tammas edged a little farther back down the lane and he turned aside while their bus passed.

•••

Next morning it was dry and once Margaret and her husband had gone he searched the house. He found a pile of coppers amounting to 17 pence. The meter-bowl was empty. Gathering his new suit from the wardrobe he went out and pawned it in a different broker’s. He collected a Sporting Life on the way home, studied form until early afternoon. His nap for the day was going in the third race at one of the flat meetings. In the betting shop he glanced at the other newspaper formpages on the wall, reading the stable news and any sort of racing gossip. The first race was about due off. The shows of betting had been coming through for some time. He glanced back at his own newspaper then made out a bet for the favourite, laying on what he had. It finished fourth.

He watched the boardman wiping out the old price quotations, tearing down the runners’ list and replacing it with the next. Three or four guys hovered near the pay-out window. He did not know any of them. A show of betting came for the next race. He walked to the door. Upstairs in the house he switched on the television for the televised racing, seeing his nap win at 5/2 and hearing the commentators recall how it had won and why it had been well fancied to do so. And the owner being interviewed briefly, receiving a trophy. He turned channels. Motorbikes were racing over bumpy countryside. He switched it off altogether and went ben the kitchen and put on a kettle of water to boil; then he switched off the oven ring. He went to his room, undressed and got into bed, then got back up again and drew over the curtains. He dozed eventually.