James Kelman - A Chancer

Mm.

And the gloves as well. That guy Peter got me a pair but they’re all holes and the heat comes through. Murder when it touches the bare skin, the clamps.

Aye well you get all that stuff in the first-aid. Did Peter no tell you?

He says I’ve to see you.

Christ I dont have it. I dont have anything here, it’s all kept in the first-aid.

I’ve actually got a pair of boots in the house with steel toe-caps.

Have you?

Aye.

The gaffer nodded.

I’ll bring them the morrow.

Fine. The gaffer nodded once more. . Okay then?

Eh aye, but what about the gloves and that will I go to the first-aid?

O Christ aye, go ahead, you better get them.

And the safety helmet.

The safety helmet’s really important, aye, mind and get yourself one. And tell Peter and them cause whenever I fucking pass I dont see them wearing it. And it’s the safety code in here to wear it. Okay then?

Tammas nodded. I’ll just go up the first-aid.

Aye. . The gaffer sniffed. Then he added: Mind you and tell Peter and them about they bloody safety helmets.

The first-aid room was across by the administration offices in a different, more quiet, part of the factory. Once he had collected a new pair of asbestos gloves and a safety helmet he returned to the rolling mill. Peter was busy with a new copper bar. Tammas called, I’ve just to watch till I get my boots the morrow morning.

Peter nodded, not looking at him.

O aye and the gaffer told me to tell you to mind about the safety helmets.

Peter made no acknowledgement.

At noon the younger guy appeared and told Tammas it was dinner time. Peter had walked off, not having spoken to him since his return from seeing the gaffer. But the two men were not having their breaks then, they had eaten earlier, during the tea break. They were on the early shift from 6 am to 2 pm and were paid straight through the full eight hours. Workers on the ordinary day shift were there from 8 am until 4.45 pm and received a full forty five minutes at dinner time.

When he had found his way to the canteen he saw Billy sitting with a wee group of other men at a corner table. They were laughing. Billy turned to wave him over and he squeezed in beside them. The rest continued their own conversation while Billy asked, How’s it going?

Tammas looked at him.

What is it as bad as that!

Bad as that! Tammas raised his right foot, displaying the scorched shoe. Look at the fucking state of this!

A burst of laughter from the others at the table — Billy’s maybe louder than anyone’s. We heard! he cried. We heard! They’ve nicknamed you Hotfoot!

Tammas shook his head. He opened his cigarette packet and gave one to Billy, lighted his own and put the packet back in his pocket.

One of the men, still chuckling, said: Ah you’ll be alright son dont worry about it! Best job in the place once you get to know it — best fucking bonus and all! without a fucking shadow of doubt!

Tammas shrugged. He inhaled on the cigarette, staring over to the counter where a long queue of men in dungarees and boiler suits had formed.

Once the others at the table resumed talking Billy murmured, He’s right but man that’s what I’ve heard as well, them on the roller, they earn a fucking bomb so they do. Bags of overtime as well. They’re in every fucking Sunday, my auld man was telling me.

Where you working?

The pattern shop.

The pattern shop?

Billy shrugged. It’s difficult to explain; it’s cutting and things.

Aw.

Influence!

Tammas nodded. Billy had a copy of the Daily Record in front of him on the table and he asked, Can I have a look?

I’m studying myself, replied Billy, opening it at the racing page and holding it so that Tammas could see it with him. There’s a boy carries bets.

Is there?

Aye.

Great. Tammas was nodding as he spoke, gazing at the programme of races. I dug out a couple of big outsiders last night in the Times. . He shifted on his seat, put his hand into his jeans’ pocket and checked the money he had left. You got a pencil and a bit of paper?

The boy’ll have it. .

The two of them continued reading the racing pages, barely talking, until eventually one of the teaboys entered. When he came to their table he gave out betting slips and he also had a pen which each person who wanted a bet used in turn. Tammas backed a four horse comedy for 55 pence, and he paid the additional coppers in tax.

Around half past twelve the canteen was emptying as the men returned to their parts of the factory and Tammas sat on with Billy for a few minutes. As they were leaving a queue of office workers formed; both males and females, the former in suits or jackets and trousers, and wearing shirts and ties. They filed in as the last of the hourly paid men went out.

At 2 pm Tammas was sitting in the smoke-area while the back shift men prepared to start work. Peter and the younger guy had gone to clean up about five minutes ago. Then he spotted Peter, away down near the exit, talking to a man and gesturing in his direction. Tammas sniffed and glanced at the roller, he rose, lifting his cigarettes and matches, and walked over to behind it.

He was watching the backshift man who was doing Peter’s job when the teaboy appeared. The man was on the bit where he allowed the bar to drop down onto the mobile trolley. The teaboy also watched for a time, then he called, Heh jimmy that’s some start to your line you’ve got, eh!

What? Tammas frowned at him.

Nobody told you yet?

Told me?

Aye your fucking line, the first two man they’ve stoated!

What?

Aye! The teaboy laughed: 20’s and 16’s!

What?

Aye, your first two!

Ye kidding?

Naw, honest! The teaboy laughed at the guy with the clamps and jerked his thumb at Tammas: He doesnt fucking believe me!

Hh! The guy smiled.

20’s and 16’s? said Tammas.

Aye. Nearly eighteen quid you’ve got already!

Tammas nodded and then he sniffed: Time’s it?

Three o’clock.

Tammas pulled the safety helmet from his head and sticking it on top of the oil drum alongside the new asbestos gloves he glanced at the man with the clamps: I’m away, he said.

A male office worker was in the gaffer’s office, sitting on a chair facing him across the desk. Tammas chapped twice on the door and walked straight in. Can you make up my cards? he asked.

What?

It doesnt. . I’m no suited. . Tammas was shaking his head as he held his foot up, showing the shoe. Nearly burnt the foot off me this morning!

Aye but you’re getting your boots, said the gaffer, after a pause.

Ach naw I just — I’ll just lift my cards.

But it’s your first day just. Hh! The gaffer was holding a cigarette in his hand and he gestured with it at Tammas while addressing the other man: There you are; it’s his first bloody day and here he is wanting to wrap it.

The man made no comment.

I’m no used to the work, said Tammas.

Aye but you’ve got to learn it!

Naw it’s. . Tammas shook his head. Just make up my cards.

What d’you mean make up your cards — I cant just go making up your cards. It’s too bloody late anyway and it’s got to get done through the bloody office. No chance! The gaffer inhaled on the cigarette and blew out the smoke immediately.

You can send them on then or else I’ll pick them up.

Whatever you like.

Okay, said Tammas and he turned and left the office, pausing to call: I’ll get them the morrow morning.

Collecting his jerkin from the locker-area he raced on to the exit and right out and up the road to the betting shop. The boardman was marking up the results of the race his third runner was in, its name being marked up, into the first position, 9 to 1. His third runner had won at 9 to 1. Nine to one. Tammas closed his eyelids. 20’s 16’s and 9’s; 50 to 20 was 10 plus the 50 is 10.50 at 16’s; 10.50 at 16’s. He walked to the counter and got a pencil and a betting slip and went to one of the wall ledges to check the figures. As far as he reckoned he had £178 alone for the treble, £178 going on to his fourth and final runner, £178. That was a lot of money, it was fine, good money, plus the doubles, even if it lost, the fourth runner. Tammas nodded. It was good money — plus the three doubles, the 20’s and 16’s and the other two. Win lose or draw he had £178 plus three doubles — about another thirty or forty quid. Two hundred quid minimum. He opened the cigarette packet, put one in his mouth and looked for his matches, he did not have them, he must have left them on the oil drum or someplace. He walked to the counter and asked the woman cashier for a loan of her lighter. She pushed it beneath the grille to him. A sweetish taste in his mouth. He examined the betting slip once again and dragged on the cigarette. The taste had been there all day, to do with the heat probably, and the copper bars. The fourth runner was forecast favourite and favourites always had a favourite’s chance, the most fancied horse in the race, the best fancied horse in the race, the horse with the best chance of winning — the horse that always let you down. It did not always let you down. Sometimes it won. Just not often.