James Kelman - A Chancer

O uh. . She turned to Kirsty: Hear this big liar hen? Wont his nose start to grow!

Tammas was unscrewing the sauce bottle and pouring some onto the edge of his plate, sprinkling the salt then the vinegar. And I’ll tell you something, he said, see when you went to the ladies ; I told that auld woman sitting in front that it was you to blame.

Tch.

I did, honest.

Rubbish!

He had taken a mug of tea across to her, laying his own on the tiled fireplace; returned with his fish and chips and the margarined bread. And when he sat down he shook his head and sighed. This is great.

Dont be daft.

Naw, I mean it, honest.

Shut up.

He sniffed. He forked a chip into the sauce. Kirsty was looking at him and he winked at her. She said, Biscuit!

I’ll give her one? he asked.

Vi nodded. He rose, laying his plate near to his tea. The packet of biscuits was in the cupboard. When he held one out to her the girl shook her head slowly, staring at him. He smiled. Okay Kirsty? And set it on the quilt beside her. She looked away from him, her attention reverting to the book.

Vi had been watching. While he collected his plate and sat down she said, Sometimes she can be funny.

He nodded.

But if she is dont take it personally.

Naw.

Okay?

Aye. He smiled at her; he was cutting a piece of the fried haddock, forking it into his mouth. He reached for the mug, sipped at the tea. Vi was also sipping tea and their gazes met.

So the wedding turned out okay after all?

Aye it was fine. Tammas shrugged. Everything just seemed to pass in front of my eyes. One minute I was getting the ring off Rab in the morning; next thing him and Rena were in the taxi and we were waving cheerio. It was a strange feeling.

Even stranger for them. .

Aye, hh — and Rab but he had everything happening at once, rushing back up from Hull on the Friday afternoon and then having to leave first thing on the Sunday morning; plus it’s his birthday next week, he’s twenty.

Vi frowned.

Tammas had sniffed and he looked at the plate, dug the fork into a large chip, dipped it into the sauce.

Vi now smiled. She shook her head and laid her knife and fork on the plate. Aye, she said, I knew it. And yous grew up the gether didnt you?

What?

You and your pal Rab, you’re the same age. Ho, God, I knew it. Milly and Joe were wrong and I was right. So what is he older than you or what?

What?

Your pal Rab, is he older than you?

What d’you mean?

What’re you blushing for Tammas?

What?

Your face — it’s bloody scarlet so it is!

He made no reply. He was balancing the plate on his knees, holding the knife and the fork in either hand. Eventually he gazed at her. Well what would you’ve done if I’d told you the truth? Hh, you wouldnt’ve bloody looked at me.

Vi sighed, shaking her head. You really have got a cheek but I’m no kidding you. She stared at him: Are you only nineteen?

Naw, twenty.

Twenty. So you’re older than him are you?

About six months.

Is that the truth?

Christ sake Vi.

Well sometimes you dont know with you.

He sniffed and stared away, soon he dropped his gaze to the fireplace. There was a chip on the end of his fork; he ate it, glancing sideways. Kirsty still seemed to be engrossed in the picture book. And Vi had resumed eating. Listen, he muttered, you’re only two years older than me.

Am I?

Aye.

How do you know?

I just know.

Who told you?

He shrugged.

Who told you?

Vi, there’s no point worrying about ages.

No point worrying about ages? what you talking about?

There’s just no point worrying about it.

Who’s worrying about it?

You are, Christ, the way you’re going on. I knew it was you when Joe asked me right away back when we were up the Royal , I knew it, I twigged right away. Tammas shook his head and he lifted the plate from his knees and laid it on the fireplace. He reached for his cigarettes from the mantelpiece.

Vi was watching him. You’ve no finished eating yet.

I know.

Tammas, dont act like a wean.

I’m no acting like a wean. It’s no me that’s bloody — Christ! He shook his head and stuck the cigarette in his mouth and fumbled open the matchbox. It’s no me, he said.

Tammas, you’ve hardly touched your food.

Sorry.

It’s a waste of money but so it is.

He nodded. I’ll pay you for it next time I’m over.

O. Vi sniffed and she stood up, gripping her plate and cutlery. She stepped round in the direction of the sink. Tammas sat smoking and staring at the electric bars glow. And when is the next time you’ll be over?

Pardon?

Quite plain.

He swivelled and made as though to stand to his feet but she waved him back down and he continued to sit as he was. Quite plain, she said: When is the next time you’ll be over?

The next time?

O God the bloody next time, the N.E.X.T., the next time, the bloody next time!

The end of the week. I’ll be over the end of the week. Christ, I’ll just. . the end of the week.

She had raised her arm and shut her eyelids and he got up and went over to her but he did not touch her. She opened her eyelids and said: You’re blocking the view.

Vi.

You’re blocking the view.

He stepped to the side, leaned his hand on the back of the settee, staring at her. Vi turned to face the sink. She lifted the teapot and asked, Want more tea?

No really

She nodded.

I dont feel like it.

She nodded again. Maybe you’re as well going.

D’you want me to?

O God. . She put down the teapot.

Do you want me to go?

Do what you bloody like, she said and turned abruptly, walking past him to sit where she had been sitting before.

Tammas waited a moment then he coughed and he stretched across for his cigarettes and matches.

Kirsty was looking at him, the biscuit showing in her hand.

Then Vi muttered, Remember your jacket.

He walked to the door, into the lobby, uplifted the jerkin from the peg there, having left the door ajar. He hesitated but only a moment, he unlocked the front door and stepped outside onto the landing, and closed the door, staring at the letterbox. He went downstairs quickly though only one step at a time and on arrival at close level he paused, and stayed, facing back up the space right the whole way up to the top. When he reached the closemouth he stopped again; he shook his head, sighing, and he muttered, For fuck sake. . and rubbed the corners of his eye sockets with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Then he felt into each of the pockets in his jeans and then the same with his jerkin. Snowflakes were landing inside the close. He zipped up the jerkin.

It was lying quite thickly, making the different sounds dull so that when a vehicle passed it seemed to do so in silence. When he stepped off the pavement a faint crunching noise came from the snow drifted in at the kerb.

He was walking at a steady pace, head bowed into the swirl and keeping tight in to the tenement walls. Every so often he shook the snow off his jerkin and head but his hair was soaking now and his wrists always wet at the gap between the jerkin cuffs and edges of the pockets. And his cigarette packet was also wet. He brought it out as he went, checking the actual cigarettes were dry, then paused by a shop doorway to light one. A policeman stepped out of the next close, hands in his coat pockets and no snow covering his cap. Tammas continued walking, staring straight ahead, replacing the cigarettes in his pocket.

As he passed a corner he saw a clock on the interior wall of a bank: quarter of an hour since he had left Vi’s house.

The Clyde was not too far distant now and wide gap-sites had appeared. On one of them stood a pub, its brickwork showing it was once the ground level of an ordinary sized tenement building. Music was coming from it and it seemed to be ‘live’; a sort of folk music. He cut in at its rear to shelter while getting a cigarette alight. He kept the cigarette fixed in at the corner of his mouth but as he crossed the bridge the wind was fierce, making it burn quickly and he nipped off the ash and returned it to the packet. There was a slope down the other side and his left shoe skidded as he turned the corner and he seemed set to do the splits but just managed to grab a hold of the railings and stop himself, his right hand onto the ground to be balancing. Fucking bastard, he cried, and he glanced around. Three guys stood across the street, in an inshot near to another pub, talking away, not appearing to have noticed him at all. He wiped his hands on his jeans, shaking his head, muttering, Fucking bastard.