James Kelman - A Chancer

I’ll tell you something, if you want to go out there picking up bits of fucking plastic then you’re welcome; I’ll fucking swop you any day of the week. Fucking boring man! I’m bored out my head!

Ah, cushy number.

Cushy number! The man shook his head; he turned to the bench and lifted his newspaper and tobacco tin, and then walked out the smoke-area. Gradually the others began to leave.

Tammas said quietly to the man sitting next to him: You got a fag you could lend us?

The man nodded, he brought out the packet and handed it to him.

After dinner Ralphie and Tammas reported to the front yard where a lorry had arrived. The driver climbed down from the cabin and began unloosening the ropes; it was a load of 56lb bags of cement. After a minute Tammas walked forwards; he made to untie one of the knots but the driver told him not to bother. It was me that tied it, he said. I know how to get it done quick.

When he had finished he climbed up onto the rear and manoeuvered the first to the edge. Ralphie glanced round and shook his head. I might’ve fucking known! he muttered, We’re on our fucking tod as usual!

He bent to dunt the ashes out of his pipebowl, stuck it into the top pocket of his dungarees. Okay, he said to Tammas, we better just start.

Aye, replied the driver, it’s appreciated — I’ve got another delivery later.

They worked in silence, the driver dropping then dragging the bags to the edge of the wagon where the two would pull them onto their shoulders and walk a few strides before swinging them down onto the ground next to the wall. More than twenty minutes went by. Then assistance arrived; two men, one of whom was Murdie. And they were followed almost immediately by the yards’ foreman. He came to the rear of the lorry and stopped there, he scratched his head and studied the pile against the wall.

Ralphie had just swung down another bag; he took off his bunnet, ruffled the hair on his head and put it back.

The foreman sighed and pointed at the pile of bags. Tell me this, he said, how’s the bloody forklift going to shift they bloody bags?

What?

I said how’s a bloody forklift going to lift that fucking load there!

Ralphie made no reply.

I mean did you no even think to get a couple of bloody platforms? Christ Almighty you could surely’ve thought of that!

Ralphie frowned and stared at the ground.

The driver of the lorry was lighting a cigarette. Then he said, Hey is the unloading stopped or what? I’ve got another drop this afternoon.

The foreman did not answer him. He said to Ralphie: There’s a pile of platforms out near the skip. I want you to go and fucking get them. Alright?

Ralphie said nothing.

And yous three, yous three fucking help him. And see when yous’ve got them. . He pointed at the pile stacked against the wall. Just take all them and stick them onto them and then after that yous can start unloading the rest off the fucking wagon. Okay? And he turned to the driver and shook his head, and then strode off.

After a moment Murdie grinned at Ralphie: See the bother you get us into!

Away and fuck yourself son, muttered Ralphie. He walked away in the direction of the skip. Tammas and the other two followed. When they had caught up to him he spat before saying: We’re fucking machinemen, we shouldnt have to be doing this.

The man with Murdie smiled: Aye, he said, it’s a labourer’s job! He smiled again.

Ralphie replied after a moment. Ah well you know what I fucking mean.

We’re all labourers, said Murdie. That’s the fucking point.

Aw thanks for telling me. Ralphie nodded. Thanks.

Well so we are — eh Tammas?

Tammas shrugged.

The quiet man eh!

Tammas looked at him. They continued on in silence to where the wooden platforms lay. He knelt to tighten his bootlaces while the others sorted out the ones to be taken. Ralphie and the third man paired off on the first batch and Tammas took the second batch with Murdie. While they were walking he said quietly: I know you’re no really due me anything till Friday and that Murdie but I was wondering if you could manage a couple of bob just now I mean even just fifty pence or something. . I’m fucking skint. He grinned. Right out the game!

Murdie shook his head. You must be joking Tammas.

I dont even have a fucking fag man.

Neither do I.

Tammas gazed at him.

I dont. I’m no fucking kidding. The busfare she gives me and that’s that. . Murdie lowered his voice as they approached the others; he added in a whisper: Honest.

Tammas nodded.

•••

Robert looked up from the book he had been reading, he rose from the armchair and crossed to the television set. He paused there with his hand at the channel switch. Anything in particular. .?

Margaret stifled a yawn. I’m not bothered.

Neither am I, said Tammas.

Robert shrugged. I’ll see what’s on BBC1. . He switched channels. He continued standing for a few moments, before slightly reducing the volume of sound and returning to his armchair, where he picked up his book and resumed reading. Margaret had been knitting; her needles and wool were lying to the side of her, she rested her head on the back of the settee, her eyelids closed. Moments later she blinked.

Tammas grinned at her and she smiled. What about some tea and a slice of toast? he said.

O no for me.

Are you sure? He stood to his feet.

Before she could answer Robert said: Look at her! An hour home from my work and that’s her off to bed out the road — I’m beginning to take it personal!

Margaret shivered and yawned. She shook her head and looked at her wristwatch. I dont know what’s up with me, she added.

You’re tired, replied Robert, that’s what’s up with you!

She smiled.

Tammas said: You sure you dont fancy a tea?

It’ll just keep me awake.

He nodded and sat back down again.

Actually, said Margaret, I think I’ll just go to bed the now. Bob, I think I’ll just go the now.

Nobody’s stopping you!

She tidied her knitting needles and wool before rising, and she added: Are you staying up?

Eh. . He glanced at his book and frowned slightly. Naw, I’ll just eh. . He smiled. By the time you’ve done your face I’ll have finished this chapter.

She yawned and remained standing by the settee.

Robert grinned. I’ll see you ben there in other words.

O, okay. . Goodnight Tammas.

Goodnight Margaret. . When she had gone he added: What about yourself Robert, fancy a cup of tea?

Eh, och naw, I’ll no bother. He yawned, then chuckled: It’s contagious.

I dont fancy doing that backshift, said Tammas. Even worse than the nightshift.

I know, you’re right, it’s the worst of the three. Robert lifted his book upwards and he looked at it closely, then he glanced at Tammas. Naw, he said, I dont like it myself.

Tammas nodded, he shifted on the settee a bit, inclining his head while gazing at the television screen. Some moments later he got up, saying: Think I’ll put the kettle on. .

Robert nodded without looking away from his book.

Once the kettle was on to boil he went ben to his own room. There were two ashtrays, one on the window sill and one on the small cupboard near to the bed; both were clean. He pulled open the wardrobe door and felt into the pockets of his clothes.

The kettle boiled while he was standing by the kitchen sink, staring out the window over the backcourt. He made himself a cup of instant coffee. When he opened the living room door Robert stirred, he sighed and closed the book, and said: Is she in bed yet?

She’s no in the bathroom anyway.

Ah well. . Robert nodded. He bent forwards to see his slippers, nudging his feet inside them. Never mind, he said, the holiday next week — we’ll probably get a heatwave.