James Kelman - A Chancer

•••

McCann had laid his dominoes face down on the board and he glanced at Tammas and indicated Auld Roper, tapping the side of his head with his right forefinger.

The elderly man was rising from his seat with the help of his walking stick and he began moving in the direction of the lavatory, looking back and waving the stick as a mock threat.

Tammas started shuffling the pieces but McCann said, Dont bother.

Tammas shrugged, he lifted his cigarette packet, took two and handed one to him; he struck the match. McCann exhaled, saying: You think about what I was saying?

Eh.

I’m no rushing you.

Naw it’s just. . Tammas looked at him. I dont know man. I’m no sure.

Naw. . McCann nodded, he stared towards the television. It’s a thought but.

Aye.

That guy I was telling you about, he says it’s a certainty.

Tammas nodded, raised his pint glass and he swirled about the small drop of beer at the bottom. What about Peterhead? he said. Have you heard anything more?

Naw no really — except they’ll be taking on all sorts. Different contractors involved; it’s a really big fucking job.

I think I’d be interested and that if eh. .

But no the other thing?

Naw, I’m no saying that.

Are you worried about it?

What?

McCann nodded. You dont have to be. Kenny, he’s alright, he knows the game.

Tammas looked at him and then at his pint glass, swirling the liquid about. He dragged on his cigarette, nipped the burning tobacco into the ashtray and wedged the remainder behind his right ear.

Be more than a grand there he says. McCann raised his eyebrows, sipped at his beer, observing Tammas over the rim of the glass.

Tammas shrugged.

Think about it anyhow, added McCann, then he sat back on his chair.

Auld Roper had returned with a glass of sherry which he set on the table at his place while exchanging greetings with two elderly guys sitting nearby.

We no best to get up there quick? asked Tammas.

Maybe.

Auld Roper glanced at them as he sat down: What yous talking about?

Peterhead.

Aw aye. The old man nodded, he sipped at his sherry.

I’m saying to Tammas they’ll be starting to clear the site soon.

Auld Roper frowned at him: Then yous better get up there quick then! Jesus Christ McCann, once they stick these notices into the job centres the cunts’ll be coming from all over the shop! Telling ye son yous better no fucking hang about.

No sweat auld yin, no for a wee while yet.

Roper shook his head and he said to Tammas: Peterhead’s nothing nowadays. Fucking Lapland they’d go to if the money was there.

Tammas smiled.

I’m no fucking kidding ye son.

Well it’s him. . Tammas pointed at McCann: I’m just waiting for him to say the word!

He’ll no say the word, no him.

McCann grimaced.

He’ll no leave Glasgow.

Dont be so fucking daft, I’ve been out of Glasgow dozens of times.

Aye have you! Roper sipped at his sherry again, took out a cigarette and fiddled with his matchbox. After a few moments he glanced at Tammas: What about that mate of yours in New Zealand son you ever hear anything?

Naw.

No even a Christmas card?

Naw, nothing.

He was a good boy that.

Donnie, aye, he was good. . McCann nodded, inhaled on his cigarette and he glanced around the pub interior.

He didnt want to go, said Tammas.

Auld Roper frowned: If he didnt want to go he wouldnt’ve fucking went.

Tammas shrugged.

I mean nobody fucking forced him son.

The rest of his family were all going.

Roper shook his head and added: What’s that got to do with it?

Aw give us peace, muttered McCann. You never fucking stop.

Naw but if he didnt want to go he would’ve stayed, that’s all I’m saying. Deep down he wanted to go, to have an adventure or some fucking thing.

Adventure my arse. It’s just like Tammas says, the boy’s family went and he went with them.

Ach! Auld Roper lifted his sherry and drank a mouthful, sat back on his seat and struck a match, lighted his cigarette and puffed a cloud of smoke over the table. Shuffle the doms, he muttered.

Fuck the doms.

Aye fuck you too.

There was a moment’s silence. It was followed by Tammas swirling the beer about in the bottom of his pint glass and tilting his head backwards to swallow it down in a gulp. I’m off, he said, I’ve got a message to go.

Mind what I was saying! called McCann.

Tammas nodded.

•••

There was a rolled newspaper on the floor nearby the leg of the table. Yesterday’s Daily Record. He settled back on the ledge with it, but the light was too dim now that the snooker had finished. A game was still in progress a couple of tables away but other tables were also empty as the daytime players went home. It was about 5.30 pm. In an hour the hall would again be full. He continued to squint at the racing page, at the racing results of the day before yesterday, trying to see the tote returns. But soon he gave it up. He closed the newspaper, stuck it into the back pocket of his jeans and strolled round to the nearest game. It was terrible. Two absolute beginners by the looks of it. He brought out the Record again but put it away immediately.

At the top of the stairs he remained in the entrance lobby, staring out over the street. The traffic was still busy; a great many pedestrians hurrying along. Rain drizzled but there did not seem to be much of a wind. He zipped up his jerkin and stepped out onto the pavement.

In shop windows the SALE signs were still pasted up although most of the bargains had gone. There was a sports shop. Tammas stopped to look in. Then a hand clapped him on the shoulder. It was Deefy. Heh young yin, he said, how’s it going?

Ah no bad.

Doing alright?

Aye, okay.

That’s the game son.

What about yourself?

Deefy nodded. Then he shrugged: Aye, no bad, got a wee turn this afternoon.

Great.

Aye, a few quid.

Smashing.

I was thinking of going to the dogs. Deefy turned his head, sniffing; he touched the brim of his hat.

The dogs?

Blantyre.

Blantyre?

Deefy nodded. You fancy it like son? I mean tagging along.

Eh. .

It’s no a bad wee gaff. Flapper. Deefy sniffed again and he looked off in the direction of Central Station. Makes a change from Ashfield.

Naw it’s just I’m skint Deefy. Tammas held his hands palms up.

Ah. Deefy nodded. That’s what I’m saying; I got a wee turn this afternoon. You can tag along if you like. Get a bus down Anderson Cross. Fancy it?

Well. . Tammas shrugged and nodded, grinning.

We’ll grab a pint first. Come on. . He led the way into a pub down Hope Street and ordered himself a whisky and a half of heavy, a pint for Tammas. He passed out the cigarettes.

They had to wait quarter of an hour for a bus. When they arrived in Blantyre they headed straight into the first chip shop and Deefy ordered fish suppers, which they ate while walking to the track. And later, just before the betting began on the first race, he gave two £5 notes to Tammas, putting them straight into his hand, tapping the side of his nose with his forefinger.

Tammas said, What’s this?

Deefy shook his head; he held up the evening’s programme, indicating the form figures. No that it’ll do me any fucking good, he said. Last time I was here they gambled a fucking dog from 6’s to evens in the space of about ten fucking seconds and I shoved my tank on the bastard. Stuck up 2nd! You wouldnt fucking believe it son!

I’ll owe you it, replied Tammas.

Another time I’m standing here and there’s this fucking favourite and the vet’s there checking the girths and all that and out comes an announcement: Favourite’s withdrawn, favourite’s withdrawn! And d’you know how? Deefy was shaking his head: Cause the owners couldnt get a fucking punt on the bastard! I’m no kidding ye son; they were there to put their fucking money down but some cunt must’ve blew the whistle and the bookies were no giving more than 3’s on. 3 to 1 on. So what do they fucking do? They turn round and withdraw it! I’m no kidding ye! Warned them off the track right enough — told them no to show their faces ever again.