James Kelman - A Chancer

Aye.

Tammas nodded.

See son the canal’s stowed out with fish. They’re no like us at all I mean fuck sake if we fell in we wouldnt fucking drown, we’d die of dipfuckingtheria, but no the fish, not only do they survive they fucking thrive. That right Ralph?

Ralphie nodded. At one time they used to send folk down from the university.

That’s right son. See what they were doing, they were experimenting with the oil the fish has inside its body. It’s to do with their gut, they’ve got some fucking thing allows them to separate the good out from the bad.

Hh. Tammas rose from where he was sitting and he stretched and yawned, then sat back down and yawned again: Wonder what time it is?

The back of two, said Benny.

What?

I would say about 5 past.

Christ, it must be more than that surely?

Naw.

Fuck sake!

My watch is through there if you want to check.

Ralphie was smiling. No patience Benny, these young yins nowadays. Same with that fucking Belgian order — they’re all up to high doh worrying about it as well. I dont see the point myself.

You’re right. I mean it’d be a different story if it affected the whole fucking place but it doesnt, just one fucking section.

Aye, said Ralphie, ours!

Ah well that’s as maybe; could be yours could be mine’s.

Ralphie chuckled. How could it be yours ya auld fucking fox ye! The boiler room! That’s the last place to go. And well you fucking know it!

Naw I’m just saying but Ralph I’m just saying.

Ralphie smiled and shook his head. He put the pipe back into his mouth and sucked, but it had stopped burning. He took out his matches.

Ah! Tammas got onto his feet again and put his hands on his hips and stretched.

Cant keep still a minute!

I’m getting stiff sitting down.

Ralphie shook his head, he struck the match he was holding and began getting his pipe going.

You can blame your football, said Benny. You’re talking about being stiff sitting down son it’s cause of your football, that’s what you should fucking blame. That’s the cause of it. Yous all go running about daft every dinner time and then yous stop all of a sudden, and your muscles dont cope, they just fucking stiffen up. Same as these athletes. Their bodies are all highly tuned up. So they’ve got to run a fucking race cause they’ve been training. See if they dont son, their fucking bodies, their muscles, they all get fucking knotted up. And sometimes they can wind up catching the flu out it.

Tammas nodded. He took a half smoked cigarette from behind his ear and he struck a match against the brickwork.

•••

He sat down with the Evening Times before lighting the cigarette, turned down the volume of the radio a little. Then he laid the paper on the table and placed his elbows on it, resting his chin on his thumbs, his hands covering the front of his face. The sound he made was half sigh, half groan. Withdrawing his hands abruptly he sat back on the chair and stretched his arms, the fingers of each hand outspread; the cigarette fell and he snatched it from out of his groin. The kettle was whistling. He used the boiling water to top up the bowl containing dirty cutlery and dishes and he washed them all and then dried them. He went through to the living room where his sister was watching television. At half past seven he got up from where he was sitting, he strolled to the window and gazed out.

There’s a good film coming on, she said, spies or something.

Aw aye, good. I’ll be back later.

In his own room he lay on the bed with his hands clasped beneath the back of his head. He stared at the ceiling for a while. Eventually he turned onto his side to reach for the book that was lying on top of the adjacent cupboard but he did not open the pages, he lay back down again with his eyelids shut.

A knock on the door roused him. It was Margaret, asking if he wanted a coffee. He glanced at the clock while telling her to come in.

Coffee?

Eh aye. . aye Margaret, thanks.

D’you want it ben here?

He shrugged then added: Aye, ta.

She had turned and was going back out when he called, Eh Margaret.

She paused, looked at him.

Any chance of a pound till Friday?

She smiled. I knew it — after you getting everything up to date at the weekend; I knew you would leave yourself short. You didnt have to give me so much.

I thought I would’ve lasted.

I’ll bring it with the coffee.

It’s okay, he said getting down from the bed. And he followed her to the kitchen. She opened her bag and took out her purse. After she had given him the £1 she lifted the kettle to fill it from the tap. But he said, Dont bother Margaret, I think I’ll just nick out for a pint.

I thought it was for your work.

Ah well I’ve got to see Billy and that about Blackpool, some arrangements still to be sorted out.

She frowned briefly, and added: There’s more to life than Simpson’s pub you know.

Tammas had stepped to the doorway and he stood there with his hand on the handle. Just a pint, he said.

She sighed, shook her head.

I’ll no be long.

Well. . she nodded: I dont suppose you’d get very far on a pound.

Thanks Margaret. He pushed open the door, and closed it behind him. But she called his name and he opened it again, remaining outside in the lobby.

Tammas. .

Aye?

You need to go a bit easy you know.

Mm. He sniffed then nodded and closed the door.

•••

He took the remaining cheese piece out of the greaseproof wrapping paper and ate it slowly. There were no conversations in progress. The men were eating or smoking, reading the morning newspapers or staring at the floor or the wall or the ceiling. Sitting next to Tammas the man turned the pages of the Daily Record and kept them open at the racing section. Tammas gazed at it and eventually the man moved the paper a little nearer for him.

Anybody for a game of solo? called the teaboy. He was sitting at the table with the cards spread out in a game of clock patience. When nobody answered him he called: Trump?

A man sitting near him said, Sssh.

Tammas finished the sandwich. He screwed the wrapping paper into a ball, chipped it in the air, to land in the big cardboard box where the litter was dumped. He looked back at the newspaper. The man was indicating one of the day’s runners and saying, I’m sick of punting this fucking bastard here — owes me a fortune so it does.

Ah it’s a bad yin.

You’re no kidding. I saw it on the telly a couple of weeks ago. Looked like it was going to win a distance then everyfuckingthing came and passed it.

Tammas nodded.

Should’ve won out of the fucking park so it should — terrible!

I saw it as well: said another guy. But I had a wee hunch the jockey dropped the reins.

Ah they all drop the fucking reins! said somebody from the bench opposite.

Here we go! muttered the man next to Tammas. And he pointed to another runner. Darktown Lad, he said, What I want to know is how come they’re fucking running it in a handicap the day when they stuck it into a fucking seller last week!

Aye, said Tammas, maybe a move on.

Exactly. He shook his head: Best to leave the race alone altogether.

The man from the bench opposite cried: Wish to fuck you’d leave them all alone ya cunt — save you tapping me every time you go skint!

Fuck off.

Fuck off yourself!

The man closed the newspaper and brought out a cigarette packet and he lighted one and returned the packet into his pocket, then he opened the newspaper again.

One of the others yawned and stood to his feet, glanced at his watch and said: I suppose I suppose. Time to do a bit.

Somebody laughed: Listen to him! He’s been out getting a suntan on the fucking canal bank all morning!