A Chancer (16 page)

Nobody seemed interested in the favourite. Each bookie showed 6/4. Occasionally they would glance along the line at each other, then call out the odds. One of them knocked the 1 dog out to 11/4
and quite a few punters rushed in to take it. But the main body still watched and waited, one or two turning to note what the tic-tac men were signalling from their positions at the barrier.

The vet was checking the runners’ girths. The handlers preparing to walk them to the boxes and begin the loading up.

Then a bookie called: I’ll lay 10’s the bottom! 10’s the bottom!

Dog 5 at 10/1. It was a great bet. Tammas shook his head. All it had to do was trap properly and it would lead from there to the line. 10/1 was a great bet. And suddenly some muttering began and
one of the bookies had scrubbed the 6/4 away altogether and was glancing about and now marking in 5/4, 5/4 from 6/4. And another bookie was scrubbing out the 6/4. And now the rush was on, the
punters crushing forward onto those bookmakers still offering 6/4. Tammas was carried along to one who had wiped out the 6/4 but without marking in anything else and he was frantically accepting
the bets of those directly beneath his stool. Then he stopped and shook his head. No more! he cried. The 6/4’s away, it’s away! Tammas flung himself forwards, almost over the shoulders
of a wee man standing in front of him, and he thrust the thirty pounds into the bookie’s face. To thirty quid: he shouted.

6/4’s away son, it’s away!

But while he was saying it he had taken the £30 and was dropping it into the satchel and muttering to the clerk: Down to the boy thirty quid, one and a half.

Ta Sid . . .

He walked quickly away, trying to reach his place in the stand before the race started. He overheard somebody saying the favourite had further shortened to 4/5.

He arrived just before the off. He rubbed his hands, brought out a cigarette. Around him men of all ages were hunching their shoulders and stamping on the spot, hands in their pockets and
cigarettes clamped in their mouths. It was a cold and damp night and a quite heavy mist had arisen; when the stadium lights dimmed and the floodlighting round the track came on the whole area
seemed enclosed in it. Yet on the actual track the green of the grass and the muddy brown at the inside rail were distinct.

And the hooter sounding. In the silence that followed the whirr of the mechanical hare was quite loud as it staggered into motion, to go lurching along the outside rail. It gained momentum
rapidly till when it rounded the final bend it was hurtling on to the traps, and the bang of them opening, and dog 4 had a flier, a flier. Tammas had cupped his hand to his mouth and was roaring
EEeeeesssaaaayyyyy!

•••

He had rung the bell. When the doorman opened he said, How’s it going son?

No bad.

Nothing’s started yet.

Ah well. Tammas followed him along and into the snacks’ room. He ordered a coffee and a roll and sausage, and sat down at one of the empty tables, reading the next morning’s
Daily
Record
. At the far end of the counter, near to the door into the gaming room, the dealer was standing chatting to a couple of folk. And the television was on, its volume quite high, being
watched by some of the women.

Getting on for 11 o’clock more men had arrived, some entering the gaming room, others ordering food and drinks at the counter. Then the gaming room door opened and three young guys came
out. One of them asked loudly: When does the chemmy start in this place?

The dealer glanced at him. He sniffed and continued listening to what somebody in his group had been saying. But moments later he swallowed what was left in the cup he was holding and strolled
to the door into the other room. Many of the men followed but Tammas was amongst those who remained. He was still eating his roll and sausage. Two men were now at his table and were discussing the
evening’s results at Shawfield with a couple of other guys at the neighbouring table. One of them was saying: Five favourites! Punters must’ve done okay.

Aye but three of them were the last three races, half the punters would’ve been fucking skint by that time!

True, true.

Tammas glanced across at them. A couple of other winners were well fancied but.

Mmm.

Were you over bye like yourself son? asked one of them.

Tammas nodded. I left early right enough.

Aw, like that was it!

Naw. I had my one and it won; I just came away.

Aw. Good. The man nodded, That’s the way to do it. He looked at the man next to him: What am I always telling you eh? Back your winner and then get home, just like the boy here. All you
need’s a bit of will power. There’s always another night.

Every cunt knows that!

So what?

So fuck all. I’m just telling you; we all know you need a bit of fucking will power. So fucking what? What does that mean? That means fuck all. The man glanced at the others in the
company.

Because we all know it doesnt mean it isnt fucking right, said one of them.

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!