A Chancer (43 page)

The postman nodded. I’ve heard that myself.

Billy grinned.

Then McCann was tapping the edge of the table and saying, Are we supposed to be playing fucking dominoes here!

Hh! Roper shook his head: Listen to moaning face.

Aye well I’ve fucking forgotten who’s turn it is there’s been that much fucking yapping!

Me it is . . . The postman leaned to study the dominoes already lying on the board.

Tammas swallowed a mouthful of beer and sat back on his chair; he glanced at McCann and lifted his beer again, and he said, How’s it going Brian?

Ah no bad Tammas no bad – yourself?

Aye, okay.

Nice wee turn you had the other week.

Aye.

And kept out of every cunt’s road till he’d spent the money! grunted Auld Roper to the postman.

Ah well you couldnt blame him for that, replied McCann. No with a bunch of begging bastards like you going about!

Hh! Will you listen to who’s talking! Ya cunt ye McCann the next time you buy anybody a drink’ll be the first time. Eh? The elderly man glanced round the table at the others.

Billy grinned: This is getting serious.

You shut up and all, muttered Roper, taking days off your work when half the country cant fucking get any! Eh Freddie? The postman shook his head. Keep me out it, I’m neutral.

Neutral! Hh! Roper reached for his half pint of lager and sipped from it.

After a moment McCann asked, Who’s to fucking go?

Me, said Freddie.

Aw you’re chapping ya cunt give us peace!

How d’you know?

Cause I fucking looked at your hand.

Aw, okay.

Auld Roper sighed and tapped his fingers on the edge of the table Going to get this fucking game moving eh! my rent’s bloody due next week.

Tammas had grinned; he pushed back his chair and stood up swallowing down most of the remainder of his beer. What yous wanting? he asked.

Pardon?

What did he say?

Heh McCann . . . Auld Roper frowned: Did you hear that nice boy speaking there? I’m no sure if my ears were open or what?

Ears ya cunt? McCann cried: You’ve got fucking ears like Dumbo the elephant.

Auld Roper burst out laughing. Eventually he had to reach into his coat pocket and extract a big handkerchief and use it to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. The others, including McCann, were
also laughing and some of the folk at other tables were looking across and smiling.

Okay then, said Tammas, last orders!

Last orders! The postman grinned.

Once he had got their orders he went to the bar and was joined soon after by Billy who was returning from the lavatory; the two of them carried the drinks back to the table. McCann had been
shuffling the dominoes for a new game. And he said, Yous two playing?

Aye . . . take some money off yous! Tammas smiled.

Ho! Listen to the boy! Auld Roper shook his head as he reached to pick up his dominoes.

And the game began. When they had been playing a couple of rounds the postman glanced up from the dominoes he was holding and he said to Roper: Heh auld yin, d’you mind of a horse by the
name of Hotfoot? Nightingall used to train it.

I mind of the horse, aye, but Nightingall wasnt the trainer.

He was.

He wasnt.

Aye he was. Dunky Keith used to ride it and all.

He never! Geoff Lewis rode it. And Ian Balding fucking trained it.

Tch . . . The postman shook his head and he sighed and looked at McCann: D’you mind of it Brian?

Nah do I fuck – I’m no an auld cunt like yous.

Hh, cheeky bastard . . . Who’s to go?

You, said Tammas.

Chapping.

We all fucking knew you were chapping! Billy laughed and leaned to play his own domino.

Tammas was next and then McCann. Auld Roper followed, playing his last domino with a flourish. And he chuckled and reached for the empty domino box, upturned it for the five 10 pence coins.
Contributions gratefully accepted, he said, contributions gratefully accepted.

Billy grinned. At this rate you’ll be able to buy a round auld yin!

Roper gaped at him, stuck the money into an interior pocket; he peered round at the others and said Who’s got the fags then? Eh McCann – still keeping them under lock and key!

Shut up ya pokling bastard.

Pokling bastard! That’s the last thing I need to do to beat you son!

The postman laughed; he was unwrapping a fresh cigarette packet and he offered them about. Anybody got a light? he said.

Damascus is over there! cried Roper, gesturing over his shoulder.

Aye well I wish you’d catch a fucking train and go! McCann muttered.

I’d go in a fucking minute if I could get away from you! And anyhow McCann . . . I thought you and Hotfoot were catching a train up to fucking Peterhead to give us all a rest down here? Eh
Billy? Auld Roper winked at him.

Billy smiled.

McCann sniffed and glanced sideways at Tammas, and jerked his finger at the elderly man: Listen to fucking Dumbo!

Naw but I thought you said you were.

What’s it got to do with you?

What’s it got to do with me? I’ll fucking tell you what it’s got to do with me . . . Roper lifted his half pint glass of lager and sipped at it, then he put it down and wiped
his mouth with the cuff of his overcoat sleeve. I’ll fucking tell you what it’s got to do with me, it means I’ll have to look for a new fucking mate at dominoes!

The postman winked at Billy: This is getting serious eh!

Naw, said Billy, it doesnt get serious till one of them starts buying a fucking round!

The postman laughed.

Auld Roper raised his eyebrows and he glanced at McCann: Eh? did you hear the boy there?

No respect for his elders.

Exactly what I was thinking. That’s this fucking younger generation for you. That’s what happens when you start drawing a pension – every cunt’s out to stick the boot in.
Fucking sad so it is.

Aye, said McCann, and I dont see him rushing to buy a drink either!

After a moment Billy replied, I’m skint but.

Well so are we.

Hotfoot’s no, grunted Roper.

I’ll tell you something, said Tammas, this Hotfoot patter’s beginning to annoy me.

O o. Billy glanced at the postman. Now it’s getting serious.

Aye well no fucking wonder, said Tammas. He stood up and swallowed down the last of his beer.

The postman looked up at him: Ah come on son it’s just a bit of fun.

I know it’s a bit of fun but I’m just fucking sick of it. Then he smiled, Plus it’s costing me a whole round every time I want a pint!

Ah well I was just about to buy you one back I mean I’m no fucking . . . the postman shrugged. I was going to get you one back son.

Naw I know Freddie, sorry . . . I’m no meaning anything. Naw, I just want to go take a walk down the betting shop. Tammas sniffed and glanced at Billy: You coming man?

Eh aye . . . Billy had hesitated but now was reaching for his pint and drinking a large mouthful in a gulp, and standing up, taking his jerkin from the back of the chair.

McCann shifted on his seat, and he stared up at Tammas: If I’d had enough fucking money I’d have bought you a drink back as well, dont worry about that.

Tammas nodded. I know.

Aye well dont fucking start that with me then.

Start what? I’m no starting anything.

McCann was staring at him. Then he sniffed. I dont like the way you said that, that’s all. You knew we were fucking skint. No cunt was fucking forcing you to buy us anything.

I know.

Aye well dont fucking start then that’s all I’m saying.

I’m no fucking starting.

I mean ya cunt ye two fucking hundred quid you win and you worry about buying us a pint! Jesus Christ Almighty.

Ssshhh. Auld Roper patted McCann on the wrist.

Well no fucking wonder, that’s fucking out of order!

He’s just a boy, muttered the elderly man.

Ah fuck sake but . . . McCann shook his head. There’s no need for that. As if we were reneging on the fucking company man I mean Jesus Christ – eh! McCann sat back round and he
glared at Tammas: I mean what’s the fucking score at all eh! starting that kind of fucking patter with me and the auld yin! Eh? Giving us a fucking showing up like that!

I’m no giving yous a showing up.

You fucking are giving us a showing up!

Billy was now onto his feet, his hands held palms upwards and saying: Come on Brian eh? come on . . .

Naw fuck sake Billy! McCann waved him away. That’s fucking out of order!

Okay. Tammas said, I’m sorry.

You’re sorry.

Aye, I’m sorry. I’ve bought yous a drink as usual but I’m fucking sorry.

McCann bounced up onto the floor and grabbed Tammas by the neck and marched him backwards about four yards and he yelled: Ya wee fucking bastard ye ya wee fucking bastard I’ll fucking
murder ye man here and now, I’ll fucking murder ye.

Tammas was choking and he staggered but had gripped onto McCann’s wrist while stepping back the way. McCann let him go, and he stepped back another yard, rubbing his neck and coughing. A
lot of the people in the pub were talking at once. And Billy had jumped round the side of McCann and was shouting: Dont fucking start that with Tammas ya cunt or you’re in fucking trouble
man, you’re in fucking trouble . . .

But McCann had caught him by the shoulder and was pushing him on the way and he went staggering a couple of paces, catching onto a table, and two men who were sitting at it jumped quickly back
out the road.

McCann stood staring at Tammas, his arms at his sides, both of his fists flexing open and shut, and his shoulders moving, and he raised his right hand, wagged the forefinger at Tammas: Dont you
ever fucking do that again to me. Right!

Tammas said nothing.

I’m fucking warning you Tammas; dont you ever fucking do that to me again. Or you’re fucking dead. Ye listening? D’you know what I’m talking about? You’re fucking
dead!

Tammas was gazing at him.

You hear what I’m saying?

Tammas made no answer.

Eh?

And Billy was now tugging at him on the elbow. Hey man hey come on, let’s go, let’s go man, let’s go – out of this fucking place man, fucking bastards, let’s go . .
.

Tammas rubbed at his neck again and coughed. Over McCann’s shoulder he could see Auld Roper making signs, gesticulating, pointing at the exit . . . He made no acknowledgment but continued
gazing in the direction of McCann.

McCann was staring back at him.

And now Billy’s hand was on his shoulder and pulling him backwards and he said, Aye, aye, I’m coming . . . And he saw the barmen staring at him and also a couple of guys standing up
by the bar, all staring at him.

Outside on the pavement Billy took him by the arm. Tammas was shaking his head, still rubbing at his neck, Come on man . . . Billy was patting him now on the shoulder.

Fucking bastard, said Tammas, fucking bastard.

I know man I know he’s a fucking, a fucking bastard man a bastard, you dont worry about him man a cunt like that, you dont worry about cunts like that man dirty fucking bastard.

Whhh Jesus . . . Tammas shook his head from side to side, making a grunting blowing noise, his eyelids shut and with his shoulder now leaning against the tenement wall; then he was seeing an old
woman staring at him – she was standing some yards away at a bus stop, standing staring at him. He turned his head, putting his hand over his eyes, and walked on, Billy going with him.

They were walking in the direction of where Billy lived, neither speaking, not looking at each other till eventually Tammas paused a little bringing out the cigarettes, and they got them
lighted, and then he led the way across the road and round the next corner. And Billy said, Going to the betting shop?

Aye. Tammas sniffed. A horse I fancy in the next.

You alright?

Aye.

Neck?

Aye, okay . . . Fucking nearly strangled me so he did.

Billy nodded. As they entered the doorway of the betting shop Tammas palmed him a £5 note but he frowned and muttered, What the fuck’s this for?

Tammas shrugged.

I dont want it . . . Billy held it upwards as though to return it.

Och stick it in your pocket man it’s just to have a bet.

Billy shook his head but he took the money and he followed Tammas into the shop.

It was very busy inside and each went to different formpages. Then Tammas checked the previous races’ results. Neither of the first two runners of the three he fancied earlier had managed
to gain even a place. He counted the money he had left and then stuck it all onto the third one. When he was writing out the line he saw Billy across the room, also writing out a line. They went to
different pay-in windows, then stood together to hear the commentary. The horse Tammas had backed fell at the 2nd fence. But neither he nor Billy had mentioned their selections to the other, and
after a moment he muttered, I need a slash man . . . And he crossed in the direction of the lavatory, leaving Billy engrossed in the commentary. Outside he began running. It was after 3
o’clock. He ran over the road and cut through the back of a close, crossing backcourts to avoid passing
Simpson’s
, and on to his own street and up the stairs to collect the
bankbook.

The bank was almost empty. He scribbled a withdrawal slip for the £44. The clerk gazed at it and at the figures in the bankbook. Is that you closing the account altogether? he asked.

Well eh . . . Tammas sniffed. Naw, just give me the forty three.

The clerk nodded. But you’ll need to alter it and initial it . . . and he returned him the slip.

Billy signalled to him when he arrived back in the bookmaker’s. D’you catch it?

Nah.

Billy nodded. No me either! First favourite of the day as well! Could’ve been backed.

Mm . . . Tammas had taken out his cigarettes; he offered Billy one but he declined.

I’m smoking too much these days, he said. And he glanced at Tammas’s neck and pointed at it: Alright man? Looks hell of a red.

Tammas nodded. A wee bit sore.