A Chancer (6 page)

Ralphie looked at him. How did you know that? Ya auld cunt ye I bet you knew before us!

Benny sniffed before replying. Well, he said, I heard a wee whisper at the beginning of the week there but eh I didnt want to say anything – in case it was just a fucking rumour. You know
what like they are in this place Ralph you can hardly believe a fucking word you hear. He nudged Tammas and continued, I’m telling you son see if you listen to everything you get fucking told
in this joint you’ll wind up in a confused condition. It’s fucking notorious so it is! How long you been here now?

About seven month.

Is that all? said Ralphie.

Aye.

Hh. I thought it was longer.

Naw, it just seems like it!

Benny said, Wait till you’re here the same as us.

God forbid . . . chuckled Ralphie.

Tammas shook his head. No point worrying about that auld yin – last in first out. I’ll be heading the line soon as the redundancies start.

There was a brief silence.

Then Tammas glanced at the boilerman. I was wondering, he said, any chance of loaning me a smoke?

What d’you say?

Naw I was just wondering, if you could lend me a smoke, one of your roll-ups.

Aw aye . . .

Ralphie coughed.

Any chance?

Benny nodded. He took his tobacco pouch out of a pocket in his boilersuit and handed it to Tammas. There’s a couple rolled already, inside.

Thanks a lot Benny. Tammas unzipped the pouch and brought one out.

Ralphie passed him a box of matches and added, Look and see if that fire’s still going.

Shortly before the dinner break the foreman appeared in the smoke-area to distribute the wages’ packets. Minutes later Tammas was walking out through the factory yard,
in company with others from his section. It was still raining. Just beyond the gates the teaboy and two other youths were sheltering, they had a ball they were throwing to each other; and the
teaboy called: Hey Tammas you coming up for a game?

Maybe . . . He glanced at the sky and shrugged.

The rain’s going to go off!

Tammas nodded; he continued on along the street. There was a pub down near the junction traffic lights and he entered, making his way through the crowded bar into the lounge. Ordering a pint of
heavy and a pie and peas he walked to where a few of his workmates were grouped. When a gap occurred in the conversation he said: Any of yous seen Murdie?

I dont think he’s in, somebody replied.

You mean he’s no at work?

As far as I know.

Hh. Tammas shook his head.

He still owes you a couple of quid?

Aye . . . Tammas grimaced then returned to the bar to collect his pint and his food. Afterwards he left the pub and crossed the road to the betting shop.

At 4.45 that afternoon he was stamping his timecard and racing down the sloping corridor to the front yard, and across and out through the gates, and down the street. Others were running also.
They dashed into the bookmaker’s just as the runners for the 4.45 race were about to come under starter’s orders. Tammas grabbed a betting slip and managed to scribble out a bet and get
it on just as the race was off.

It was the last race of the day at that particular meeting but there was another meeting on; it had a race coming up at 5 pm and another at 5.30.

•••

Betty had her back to the shop window, staring at the pavement, her head bowed. Quite a few other people were standing about at this corner. He hesitated some yards away.
Another girl was approached by a youth and together they walked off round into Argyll Street. Betty raised her head a moment later and she gazed after them. Her head was bowed again when he reached
her. He tapped the side of her arm. Sorry I’m late.

She made no reply but linked arms with him.

I couldnt get a bloody bus. Ended up I just walked.

Walked? She smiled.

Aye.

Is it no a long way?

Aye. He shrugged. I do it a lot but, I quite like walking.

She nodded. They continued up Union Street in silence, until Betty smiled: I thought you’d forgotten!

Forgotten?

Have you been for a pint? she said, sniffing near to his mouth.

What – aye.

Is that how you’re late?

Naw, not at all . . . He paused; they stopped walking. Am I no allowed a pint on a Friday night!

Tch Tammas, I didnt mean that . . .

He nodded.

I was just meaning if that’s how you were late.

Aw, aye.

They were standing at the traffic lights; he had his hands in his trouser pockets and Betty was to his left, her arm linking his. A few other people were there also and they started across
Gordon Street as the lights turned to amber. Tammas and Betty followed. After a bit she said, A girl in work was saying that the one in the ABC 2’s quite violent.

Hh.

That’s what she said, but . . . Betty shrugged, pursed her lips. D’you fancy it though?

Eh . . .

She was looking at him.

Eh, well . . . He sniffed and glanced suddenly across the street, checking slightly in his stride.

When they continued over to the other pavement she smiled at him: You fancy the pub, she said.

Naw. Naw Betty, honest.

Yes you do.

I dont, Christ.

She was smiling. I dont mind Tammas except I just dont like sitting all night in them. Sometimes I go with the people in the work and it gets awful boring, especially if some of them start to
get a bit drunk. Rena’s the same. She doesnt often go out with them at all. And d’you know something else?

He nodded.

Naw, she said, about Rena?

What?

I’m saying do you know something else, about Rena?

About Rena? He frowned.

No Tammas . . . Betty shook her head, she grinned and tugged on his arm till he brought his hand out his pocket. And he looked at her. She sighed: No Tammas I was just saying, about Rena; she
told me she wished Rab didnt drink so much.

Rena?

Aye, she said she thinks he’s drinking too much.

Hh!

She did.

He nodded.

Is it every Saturday night he goes to the pub?

He shrugged. No every one, I dont think . . . He paused and she withdrew her arm from his. He took his hands out his pockets. Betty . . . he said. He put his hands back into his pockets and
hunched his shoulders.

They had stopped walking now and she was looking at him.

Eh . . .

What’s up? she asked. She frowned, glanced away, watching someone pass by, before turning to him again. What’s wrong? she said quietly.

Nothing, nothing, it’s no that, there’s nothing wrong. He patted her on the elbow, led her in to stand closeby a shop window. Naw, he said, it’s just – I’m skint.
He sniffed and poked his right forefinger into the corner of his eye socket, blinked a couple of times, then brought out his cigarettes and lighted one. When he exhaled she asked: What d’you
mean?

Naw. Just – I’m skint, I’ve no got any dough. Well – about . . . He took some change from his trouser pocket and displayed it on the palm of his hand. Sixty three
pence.

Betty began to say something but stopped, frowning.

Naw, he said, I’m really . . . I just eh . . . He shut his eyelids.

I dont know what you mean Tammas, I dont know what it is; what is it? what d’you mean?

He sighed. He was gazing into the shop window then he glanced very briefly at her, and then up in the direction of the cinema. The September Weekend and that I just eh . . . I was really behind
and . . . He shook his head, inhaling deeply on the cigarette. He turned to her, putting his arm round her shoulder but withdrew it at once and shook his head again: I’m really sorry Betty,
honest.

Do you mean you’ve had to put your money bye for Blackpool?

Aye well, aye – but no just that I mean . . . you know how I’m living with my sister and that?

She nodded.

It’s just eh, I always like to pay my way and that, spot on, with the money and that, just to keep it right.

Aw.

I dont like to eh . . . He sighed, then he inhaled on the cigarette and gazed up Renfield Street.

Tammas. Betty smiled and linked arms with him. Dont be silly.

Naw, he said. He continued to gaze away from her.

Betty tugged at his arm. She smiled. Come on . . . God Tammas I’ve got money, if it’s just the pictures, my goodness. She chuckled.

Naw but that’s no fair Betty, hh, Christ.

Tammas, it’s alright, honest.

He shook his head.

Come on . . . She tugged on his arm again and then they carried on walking towards the cinema; but before arriving he stopped and brought his right hand out his pocket so that Betty had to
withdraw her arm.

He was shaking his head. Naw, he said, and he sighed quite loudly. Betty . . . He rubbed his eyes. This is out of order. I’m sorry, I really . . . He touched her on the arm, just beneath
her shoulder, then turned about and strode off across the street, and down the way, without looking back.

•••

His head jerked up from the pillow at the slight tremor of the clock and he switched off the alarm before it sounded. His eyelids closed. They opened, and he groped at the top
of the bedside cupboard where the cigarette packet was lying. He left it there and raised himself up, studied the clock. A moment later he slid out between the covers and went through to the
lavatory before getting on his clothes.

The house was in semi darkness. He tugged the cord to pull up the venetian blinds in the kitchen, leaving off the electric light. He ate cornflakes and milk, rinsing out the bowl and spoon and
drying them, returning them into their places in the cupboard. Then he collected his jerkin and cigarettes from his own room. Back down the lobby he clicked open the outside door, closing it gently
behind him.

The street and pavement were damp but the sky was clear and it was a mild morning. Along at the newsagent’s shop the man was sorting through his big bundles of Sunday newspapers, a
cigarette burning in the corner of his mouth and his eyelids blinking to avoid the smoke. He nodded at Tammas and gave him his ordered
Sunday Mail
without a word.

At the bus stop two men in donkey jackets and denims stood talking together, behind them queued a woman and two children who were clutching thin religious books. A block further on he paused to
strike a match, cupping the flame in both hands, the newspaper beneath his right oxter. When he had the cigarette going he flicked the match into the gutter then opened the newspaper at the back
pages, he read while strolling. He came to where a plot of grass had been planted in a gapsite; an arc-shaped iron railing surrounded it, and in an inshot a bench had been fixed into a concrete
slab. He sat down there for a while.

A bus passed, travelling slowly. Tammas looked after it, the newspaper now lying folded on his lap. From behind his ear he brought the half smoked cigarette and got it alight before rising and
continuing on.

Where he was now walking the buildings consisted mainly of warehouses and small factories with occasional TO LET signs pasted on their windows. Very few vehicles were on the roads. He turned off
and along, parallel to the river. From where he was it could be seen stretching only as far as Govan. Nearby stood an enormous crane with what looked to be a very large shed on one end.

The rain had started falling by the time he entered the entrance to the pedestrian tunnel. The floor was white with bird shit. Condensation seeped down the walls and roofing and there was a
continuous gurgling noise coming from somewhere, also a roaring noise that increased the further downstairs he stepped, until it seemed to block out all other sound.

On the other side of the river he sheltered in the entrance until the rain lessened, then headed along the cobbled dock road. The area to the left was waste ground, where tenement buildings had
been recently demolished; here and there foundation work for new buildings seemed to be in progress. To the right of the pavement he was on was a high wall which continued for about a mile. When he
reached its other end he took his newspaper back out, glancing at it as he went.

He only had one cigarette left. He lighted it and crushed the packet and dropped it to the ground, but kicked at it just before it landed. Then he brought the box of matches out his jerkin
pocket again. It was nearly full. Striking one he thrust it in beside the rest and watched as it all burst into flames, and he bent and placed it on the pavement. Several paces on he turned to look
back; the small fire was still burning.

A man was staring at him from a bus stop on the other side of the road.

Half an hour later he was at Linthouse, entering the pedestrian tunnel there; a further forty or so minutes and he had arrived at Rab’s place in Scotstoun. His younger brother Alec opened
the door, dressed in pyjamas and rubbing his eyes. Tammas, he said.

Is Rab up?

He’s no in.

No in?

Naw, he never came back last night. Alec yawned: I thought he was with you and Donnie and them.

Tammas nodded.

How, was he no?

Eh I’m no sure, I never went out last night.

Did you no?

Naw.

Alec yawned again. He’ll probably be back soon anyway. Come on in and wait if you want. Maw and da are still in bed. I’ll be making a bit of toast.

Eh . . . ach naw Alec I’ll no bother – just tell him I came.

Aye. Anything else?

Naw.

•••

Margaret was standing in the doorway, all set to leave for work; she was frowning.

What’s up? he said, resting on his elbows.

What’s up! I thought you were away long ago!

He nodded and lay back down, pulling the blankets to his chin. I slept in, he muttered.

You slept in! Tammas, for heaven sake, you cant afford to be taking days off your work.

He shut his eyelids.

She continued to stand there. The door creaked on its hinges then after a few more moments it closed behind her; she could be heard walking quickly down the lobby and out, banging the front door
shut. Eventually he dozed. Later in the morning he was carrying a bulky plastic bag to the pawnbroker’s. A young woman came out of the back entrance pushing a small pram; he stood aside to
let her pass to the front close. In the shop he entered one of the cubicles and brought the suit out the bag and onto the counter. A girl attended him; without examining the suit she asked: How
much?