A Chancer

by Kelman, James

  Aw aye, and you know! Give us a break ya cunt you never go anywhere near the dogs!

  Aye and I’m no fucking likely to either! Fucking mug’s game.

  There was silence. Somebody passed out cigarettes and grinned suddenly. I was just thinking there: know the last time I was at fucking Shawfield? That night they were going to burn the fucking place down. Any of yous remember? Fair Friday night, about 1964.

  Actually I think it was 66, one of them replied.

  Naw, naw, that’s definite, 64, I mind it well. I know cause the wife had just booked us a holiday at the last minute, and I never even knew and I’d went off to fucking Shawfield with the holiday pay in my pocket and all that! He laughed: I could’ve fucking lost the lost! Lost the lot! As it turns out I didnt, I think I broke about even that night. But the point is, Christ! They were going to burn the fucking place down . . . He turned to Tammas: No kidding ye son! They were going to burn the fucking place down!

  Big Cowboy was there and all that night. No wonder they were going to burn the place down but! Fucking stroke they pulled. He shook his head at the others: It was an Open Event, dogs up from England and all that. Fair Friday I mean so every cunt’s there with a fortune in their pocket. Me with the lot in mine. And the fucking wife with the holiday booked at the last fucking minute and I dont know, I dont fucking know!

  Tammas smiled. He got up, still smiling, shaking his head slightly while the conversation continued.

  The game was quite noisy at the horseshoe table. He stood at the rear, beside the spectators, hearing someone whisper that it was about time the bank won, that it hadnt been winning at all so far.

  When its losing run eventually did end the bank was being held by one of the three young guys from earlier in the snacks’ room. As soon as the third round had been won Tammas stretched over the heads of those sitting at the front and bankoed the £20. He lost and suived the £40. He lost that too. He had two single pound notes left in his trouser pocket. He noticed the dealer looking at him. Deefy, sitting next to the dealer, was also looking at him. He shook his head and the bank’s money was split for other punters. While the cards were being dealt from the shoe he turned and left the room.

  He hailed the first available taxi. At his close he said to the driver: Listen will you wait a minute for me? Eh? I’ll be just a minute.

  The driver hesitated.

  Tammas smiled. Sorry . . . and he gave him the two singles. Honest, I’ll just be a minute.

  Okay. The driver folded away the £2.

  He raced upstairs. Margaret and Robert were in the front room, viewing a late night film on television. Carrying onto his own room he collected the rest of the money from the bottom drawer of the bedside cupboard. Back in the lobby he paused by the living room door. Then he opened it and he said: Hullo . . . Eh, I’ll no be too late! He grinned and shut the door immediately.

  The gaming room was still crowded, every chair was occupied and a line of men behind. He had decided to bet only with the bank. If it won he would allow it to go the five coups, then he would withdraw all the winnings and just let it pass.

  When the opportunity arose he threw in £5 and it lost on the first round. The next in line put in £2 for the bank and Tammas threw in £5 alongside it. It lost. He had suspected he would lose that one too but all he needed was one winning bank. One winning bank would return him the losses plus a fair profit. In fact, he could afford to lose seven straight £5 bets with the bank and still be £40 ahead on one winning 4 timer.

  By the time the bank had travelled round the table and arrived back with him he had £10 left in his pocket; he leaned across and put in on the baize. He lost again. Soon afterwards he was walking home.

  •••

  Rab’s younger brother opened the door. What happened to you? he asked. You’re hell of a late.

  I got detained. Tammas grinned as he stepped inside.

  That lassie’s here – Betty – are yous two winching?

  Naw, we’re just good friends.

  Rubbish! Yous going to get engaged as well?

  Tammas looked at him. How’s the party?

  Och it’s no really a party man they’re all just sitting about – except my maw and Uncle Gus. They’re steamboats. So’s the auld man – he’s in the kitchen giving Rab a lecture!

  Tammas grinned. He took the bottle of vodka from the carrier bag and held it in his left hand so that it would be partly concealed when entering the room.

  Alec whispered, Tammas, going to bring us ben a couple of cans of lager? I’m in the bedroom with a couple of the mates and that.

  You’re too young to drink.

  Fuck off.

  It’ll cost you – fifty p. each.

  Away you go!

  Tammas punched him lightly on the shoulder then clicked open the living room door, edged his way inside, shutting the door quietly behind himself. The folk were arranged in semi circle round the fireplace. Rab, Rena and Betty were not among them. A man of about 40 years of age was singing a country and western song. This was Rab’s Uncle Gus. He sat on a wooden dining chair, his eyelids were closed and he was holding his head raised, his face almost parallel to the ceiling; his adam’s apple was very prominent, jutting backwards and forwards as he sang.

  To his left, Rab’s maw was kneeling on a cushion on the floor. Her eyelids were also closed and she held a wine-glass to her lips which were moving very slightly.

  Tammas waited a moment before lifting an empty tumbler from the top of the glass display cabinet. He knelt slowly down, unscrewed the cap on the bottle and poured a small vodka, leaving the bottle on the floor in beneath the wall next to the cabinet. Then he stood up, got some lemonade to mix in.

  The song ended and a little round of applause greeted it. Rab’s maw was saying: That was smashing Gus smashing, it was, smashing.

  What about an encore? asked an elderly woman who was sitting on an armchair close to the corner of the fire.

  Uncle Gus shook his head. We’ll spin the bottle missis, everybody’s to get a shot.

  No me! laughed the elderly woman. She folded her arms and nodded to another elderly woman. Are you Jessie? Are you going to sing!

  Tch!

  Aye yous are! cried Uncle Gus. Then he noticed Tammas and he called: There’s a boy can sing!

  Rab’s maw got onto her feet and was saying to someone, It’s Tammas – he’s been Rab’s pal since they were wee boys the gether. Come on over son, bring your drink with you.

  And one for me while you’re at it! cried Uncle Gus. I’m bloody well dying of thirst!

  He grinned when Uncle Gus rose to meet him and they shook hands.

  Where you been hiding yourself Tammas?

  Ach around, around. He turned to Rab’s maw and they kissed each other on the cheek. Hello Mrs McCorquodale.

  She gripped him by the elbow and guided him to the end of the settee opposite where they were standing. A middle aged couple was sitting looking at him. This is Tammas, she said to them. And to Tammas she said: This is Rena’s mum and dad.

  Aw! Tammas nodded and smiled. Hello. And he shook hands with them.

  You’re awful late! called Uncle Gus from across at the glass cabinet.

  I got held up – these buses! Tammas had half turned to reply; then he saw Rena who had just appeared in the doorway. She was smiling at him. He winked. Then Betty appeared behind her. He nodded to her.

  I know your name said Rena’s dad. Tammas, eh? I heard Rab mention you.

  Aye, continued Mrs McCorquodale. She glanced at the slight space between the couple and quickly they parted for her to sit down. Yes, she said, I’ve known the boy all his life. We were neighbours before we flitted to here. Werent we Tammas?

  Aye.

  Mrs McCorquodale had turned to Rena’s mum: Me and his grannie were good friends.

  Rena and Betty were standing across at the glass cabinet. Rena was holding a can of beer and pointing at it. Tammas said, Eh I’ll see you in a minute Mrs McCorquodale, I�
��m just eh . . . He stepped over her feet and made his way round between the settee and the fireplace, gesturing to Uncle Gus as he passed: Just going for a can of beer . . .

  Right you are son. Uncle Gus winked at him, indicating the one he was holding. And he patted the top pocket of his jacket; some cigars were standing upright inside: You want one of these?

  Aye I’ll eh just get a drink and that . . .

  No bother. Heh you! he said to a young woman seated behind the company on a dining chair. It’s your turn for a song! Come on! On your feet!

  Hh! She looked away, grinned at a man who was standing nearby. The man raised his eyebrows, tilted his head and swallowed a mouthful of beer.

  Tammas laid his tumbler on the cabinet and took Rena by the sides of her arms and kissed her briefly on the mouth. Congratulations, he said.

  Thanks Tammas. And thanks for coming. And thanks as well for the records. They’re great; we’re playing them all the time.

  Ah!

  No, honest, they’re terrific! She kissed him on the cheek then raised her hand suddenly: The ring! You’ve no even seen it yet! My ring – Betty! He’s no even seen it yet!

  Betty laughed.

  Tammas smiled. He stared at the ring for several seconds. Aye, he said, it’s a beauty right enough. Sparkling stones eh!

  Rena nodded.

  It really is beautiful, said Betty.

  Rena made a face and murmured, Cost a fortune! I told him not to. Men!

  Tammas grinned.

  How come you were so late? asked Betty.

  Buses.

  O.

  Tammas pulled out the ring-opener on the can and he swigged a mouthful of beer.

  Tch! Rena gave him a glass. While he poured the beer into it Rena said, Tammas, would you do me a favour? would you go ben the kitchen and get Rab away from his dad.

  Tammas groaned.

  Honestly, the two of them have been in there for ages. I dont want them fighting Tammas, not the night.

  Aye, Christ.

  Rena sighed. She glanced generally at the others in the room and whispered: They need livening up. Maybe get them dancing or something. Rab should be here.

  Tammas nodded. The other people in the room were now talking in different groupings, or sitting in silence. Uncle Gus was chatting to the elderly woman next to the fire. Tammas nodded to Rena, he lifted the bottle of vodka from the floor and he chuckled: I’ll take this with me!

  Mr McCorquodale was seated on a high stool at the breakfast counter. He was speaking, using his whisky tumbler to emphasise a point. Rab stood quite close to him, his head inclined as he listened, a beer can in one hand and the other in his trouser pocket. Tammas! he cried.

  Well well well, said Mr McCorquodale.

  Better late than never! Tammas grinned, walking forwards and shaking hands with the man. He nodded to Rab: Well done.

  What d’you mean well done!

  Getting engaged and all that!

  Aw aye.

  Mr McCorquodale was gazing at Tammas and he reached out to shake hands with him once more. So how’s life on the broo? he asked, and he maintained the grip on Tammas’ right hand, firmly but without increasing the pressure.

  So so, the usual – want a vodka?

  A vodka! Mr McCorquodale frowned, staring at it; he relinquished the grip. It’s no bloody Hogmanay son, you didnt need to bring your own bloody drink.

  Aw eh . . . it was just . . . No want one?

  Vodka? Naw no me Tammas – Scotland’s own, Scotland’s own . . . He lifted the bottle of whisky from the side of the breakfast bar. Come on, you have one with me instead of that Russian stuff.

  I’d rather no mix it Mr McCorquodale.

  Ah come on for God sake son you’re the bloody guest remember!

  Da . . . Rab said: Leave him alone eh?

  What d’you mean? And anyway, you shouldnt be drinking at all, you’re in training. Mr McCorquodale gestured at him while saying to Tammas: This yin isnt to get anything, cause he’s in training.

  Rab laughed briefly. Look at him! Totally blotto, can hardly sit straight on the stool and he’s trying to lecture me about training. Training by fuck!

  Heh you less of that language if you dont mind, you’ve got a mother ben the room.

  Awful sorry pater.

  It’s no pater son it’s pahter. Should’ve sent you to a fucking fenian school; at least they’d have taught you latin! Mr McCorquodale uncapped the whisky bottle, poured himself a drink. He glanced at Tammas: So how’s life on the broo then Tammas?

  Da you’ve asked him that already – Christ sake!

  Tammas grinned. Rab – Rena says will you go ben the living room.

  Did she?

  Aye, I think she wants you to liven up the proceedings or something.

  Rab frowned then shrugged. I’ll sing them a song.

  Aye, you better do something son! Mr McCorqudale raised the tumbler to his mouth and sipped at the whisky.

  Rab stared at him for a few moments then he sniffed and said to Tammas, I’ll see you in a minute.

  When the door closed Tammas was breaking the cellophane on a new packet of cigarettes and soon he was smoking, putting the matches back into his side jacket pocket. Mr McCorquodale was watching him. And he asked, So how’s it going son? How’s life on the broo treating you?

  Ah no bad, no bad.

  A bit daft chucking your job but eh? I mean when you didnt have one to go to. Would it no have been better making sure there were going to be redundancies first?

  Eh, I suppose so, right enough . . . Tammas smiled, sipped vodka, inhaled on the cigarette.

  Strikes me that’d have been more sensible. Course I’m aware – your age – sense doesnt always come into it! Mr McCorquodale was smiling.

  Tammas nodded. Terrible job but. Really boring.

  I thought the wages were alright though – according to Rab anyway I mean that’s what he told me.

  No bad.

  Mind you, I like a boy with the philosophical approach – when in doubt jump on the broo! Mr McCorquodale laughed, drank the remainder of the whisky and reached for the bottle. Tammas glanced at the door. The sound of fast music and a few thumps from dancing feet could be heard. And then a voice, probably Uncle Gus, singing very loudly, Chicago.

  Mr McCorquodale was pouring whisky into Tammas’s tumbler; a fair amount of vodka had still been in it. He poured one for himself, the neck of the bottle balancing against the rim of the glass. Did Rab tell you about the offer? The offer son, did he tell you?

  Eh, naw, what’s that?

  An offer, he’s had an offer. Hull City.

  Christ sake!

  He never told you?

  Naw. Christ, that’s tremendous!

  Mr McCorquodale nodded. He sniffed. Aye, he said, they’re wanting him down as soon as possible.

  Great news.

  Mr McCorquodale nodded. Know what he says to them? I’ll think about it. I’ll think about it! God sake, you think he’d jump at something like that!

  Aye. Hh. I dont know. Tammas shrugged. Maybe it isnt a good offer or something.

  Isnt a good offer? You dont even know what the bloody offer is son so how do you know!

  After a slight pause Tammas said, Naw, I’m just saying. Just thinking – about Rab I mean you know, the way he might see it.

  The way he might see it! Mr McCorquodale smiled, shaking his head.

  Well I mean . . . Tammas paused, he shrugged, swallowed a mouthful of the alcohol in his tumbler and coughed, spluttering a little. He inhaled on his cigarette immediately.

  Mr McCorquodale was looking at him. Course, you’re no really a player but Tammas, are you. I mean I’m no being cheeky or anything. I dont want to hurt your bloody feelings! Mr McCorquodale smiled. What I’m saying is this but; if you dont know the ins and outs then how d’you know what’s a good offer and what’s a bad offer? You cant, no really – no that I can see. I mean he doesnt either. Rab! What does he know, he doesnt know fuck all hardly
. I mean he might be able to play the bloody game but what does that go for I mean he doesnt bloody know about the other side of it.

  Tammas nodded; he reached to flick the ash from his cigarette into the sink, he ran the cold water tap to clear it down the drain.

  Mr McCorquodale was looking at him. Son, he said, eventually, that Blackpool carry on was bloody ridiculous.

  Mm.

  I’m no kidding ye – losing all your bloody money like that. And then what you seem to forget, you’re leaving the rest of the boys to pay your digs’ money. I mean that’s what you forget, that’s the bloody consequence Tammas, that’s what you dont think about. All your pals son they’ve got to fork out on your behalf. God sake! I couldnt do that.

  Tammas scratched his head.

  Mr McCorquodale had pursed his lips. He leaned back a little on the stool, placing both hands on the edge of the breakfast counter. He lifted his whisky, sipped at it, his forehead wrinkling. He frowned: See that punting of yours! and couple it with the broo! Well I’ll tell you something; you’re beat before you start. Christ, I dont like saying it, before you even start.

  After a moment Tammas stepped to the sink, flicked ash into it. The tap was dripping and he turned it tightly, cutting the water off. From the living room the volume of music increased suddenly, then decreased; then increased again. Tammas had a last drag on the cigarette, he doused it in the water which was gathered at the drain. There was a rubbish bin beneath the sink. He dropped the cigarette down into there. And the living room door opened and closed. And now the kitchen door; and Rab was there. He paused, then came across to the sink. Tammas made way for him.

  Rab ran the cold water and sluiced his face and neck with it. Aw that’s better, he muttered. He got a wee towel from a rail, glanced at Tammas: You no coming through?

  Aye. Hey what’s this about Hull City?

  Rab continued drying the back of his neck. He sniffed. Big time eh!

  His father grunted. Listen to him.

  Rab returned the towel to the rail. Da, he said, I think you should go through as well. And put a word in maw’s ear while you’re at it. Her and Uncle Gus are taking over. I mean it’s a bit early yet for sing songs! People’re still wanting a dance.