James Kelman - A Chancer

Tammas nodded; he reached to flick the ash from his cigarette into the sink, he ran the cold water tap to clear it down the drain.

Mr McCorquodale was looking at him. Son, he said, eventually, that Blackpool carry on was bloody ridiculous.

Mm.

I’m no kidding ye — losing all your bloody money like that. And then what you seem to forget, you’re leaving the rest of the boys to pay your digs’ money. I mean that’s what you forget, that’s the bloody consequence Tammas, that’s what you dont think about. All your pals son they’ve got to fork out on your behalf. God sake! I couldnt do that.

Tammas scratched his head.

Mr McCorquodale had pursed his lips. He leaned back a little on the stool, placing both hands on the edge of the breakfast counter. He lifted his whisky, sipped at it, his forehead wrinkling. He frowned: See that punting of yours! and couple it with the broo! Well I’ll tell you something; you’re beat before you start. Christ, I dont like saying it, before you even start.

After a moment Tammas stepped to the sink, flicked ash into it. The tap was dripping and he turned it tightly, cutting the water off. From the living room the volume of music increased suddenly, then decreased; then increased again. Tammas had a last drag on the cigarette, he doused it in the water which was gathered at the drain. There was a rubbish bin beneath the sink. He dropped the cigarette down into there. And the living room door opened and closed. And now the kitchen door; and Rab was there. He paused, then came across to the sink. Tammas made way for him.

Rab ran the cold water and sluiced his face and neck with it. Aw that’s better, he muttered. He got a wee towel from a rail, glanced at Tammas: You no coming through?

Aye. Hey what’s this about Hull City?

Rab continued drying the back of his neck. He sniffed. Big time eh!

His father grunted. Listen to him.

Rab returned the towel to the rail. Da, he said, I think you should go through as well. And put a word in maw’s ear while you’re at it. Her and Uncle Gus are taking over. I mean it’s a bit early yet for sing songs! People’re still wanting a dance.

Embarassing you are they? Mr McCorquodale was gazing at Rab, and he added: Mister and Missis Jesus Christ in the corner above that sort of thing?

What you talking about?

Ah!

If you’re talking about Rena’s maw and da, they’re no bothering, they’re just happy sitting.

Mr McCorquodale shifted on the stool, he pursed his lips, raised the whisky tumbler. Bloody biblethumpers.

Rab nodded to Tammas who walked to the doorway, and continued through.

He paused by the living room door. A woman’s voice — not Mrs McCorquodale — singing quite quietly. He walked down the lobby into the bathroom, snibbed the door shut behind him. There was a small cabinet with a mirror door above the washhand basin. He stared into it with his two hands clasped over his nose, thumbs together beneath his chin. Then he sat on the lavatory, elbows on his knees, hands covering his nose again. He sat like this for a while. Someone chapped the door.

It was Betty. She called, Tammas?

Aye!

You okay?

Aye. Just be a minute.

You okay?

Aye — I was just sick there.

What did you say?

I was just sick there!

Sick?

Aye! He got up and walked to the door, unsnibbed and opened it. They looked at each other for a few moments.

Betty said, Are you okay?

Fine, I’m fine. I was just sick there. He sniffed, I’m going to go home.

Home?

Aye I’ve got a splitting head. . He rubbed at his forehead. Will you tell Rab for me?

Aw Tammas.

Naw I’m eh. . he shook his head. I’m no feeling that well; I think eh. . He stepped to the outside door and opened it.

Aw Tammas.

I’m sorry Betty, I’m really no feeling well. He shook his head, stepped out and shut the door. He walked down the stairs quickly.

•••

Excluding expenses he had £10; not a lot to bet with but enough. The train was crowded. Even so he had found a seat by the window. He placed the Sporting Life folded on the table, began unpeeling a large orange.

When the train arrived in Ayr Station most of the passengers disembarked and Tammas was amongst those heading to the racetrack. Eventually he started trotting. The first race was due off quite soon. And when he made it into the ground the runners were at the starting post. At the tote window he laid an outsider for 50 pence and was vaguely relieved when it did not reach the first three places. He bet another outsider in the 2nd race. Afterwards he adjourned to one of the bars.

His nap for the day was going in the next race. Its name was Rimini.

The probable favourite for this the feature race of the afternoon was trained in the midlands of England and had an obvious chance on form. On its last two outings the horse had won quite comfortably. Both races were fair class handicaps, and according to racecourse gossip it had not travelled north for nothing. But when the bookies marked it in as a 7/4 chance Tammas was surprised. The race was a handicap hurdle and 18 runners had been declared. No matter how far the horse had travelled this 7/4 was a bad bet. He strolled along the row of bookmakers, glancing at each of their boards. He was still a bit early and not all of the runners had a price marked against them. Rimini was in that category.

Then he saw 14/1 being laid against it. He stepped in front of the bookmaker in question and stared at the board. It was amazing. The Sporting Life had forecast 8/1 and now here it was, 14/1. It was almost too good to be true. He had the money in his hand, he stepped up to the bookie and took it to £2.50, returned the rest of the money to his trouser pocket. He stuck the betting ticket into his inside jerkin pocket, turning his back on the bookie and heading back to the bar. He had meant to bet Rimini for more than £2.50 but 14/1 sounded a bit too good. He hesitated. But no, something about it, it was too good. And nearly quarter of an hour to go before the race even started. And then he saw 16/1 being offered. A bookie in the centre of the row up from the last. 16/1. If 14/1 was too good to be true then this 16/1 definitely smelled. Something was up. He continued on and into the bar but then he about turned and raced back to the bookie and took the 16/1 to £1.50.

At the bar he hesitated before ordering a bottle of beer. The more he thought about it the more he knew he was right. Rimini was the one and that was that. All along he had been expecting 8/1 and hoping to catch 10’s with a wee bit of luck. Now here he was with 16/1 and reneging — just having a safe £1.50. A price like 16/1 was wrong. And the favourite was definitely a bad bet at 7/4. If Rimini was trying then — Christ; all it needed was it to be trying and it was a certainty.

He struck a match and lighted a cigarette while striding back outside. There was no 16’s to be had. He strode along each row but nothing, and now 12/1 seemed the best on offer. And away along to where he had taken the 14/1 the bookie was offering 10’s. 10’s! Tammas turned and raced back down the row and grabbed the first 12/1 he could get about his remaining £5.

That was that now. And yet it was something — win, lose or draw, he had come and done what he had set out to do. Rimini was the nap and that was it.

While the Starter called the jockeys to the tapes Tammas manoeuvered his way up the steps of the covered Stand. The wind was sharp, stinging his ears, causing his eyes to water.

And the field had jumped off; he could spot his horse, the amateur rider settling it down behind the leaders. He waited there until passing the Stand on the second circuit he moved it up with the leaders. Round the back straight and turning for home he kicked on and Rimini quickly opened up a gap of about four to five lengths. Approaching the second last and the horse was coming under pressure, its lead being cut back to between two and three. Going towards the last flight of hurdles a loud cheer arose from the crowd as the black and white hoops of the favourite could be seen emerging from the chasing pack. And now another horse had come from the pack and together with the favourite the two of them were just about matching strides with Rimini as they met and jumped the last. The favourite pecked on landing but within moments had regained its rhythm to go after the other two. The amateur aboard Rimini had the whip going hard and the horse appeared to shy a little but only a little and he dropped the whip immediately, keeping the horse going with hands and heels only.