A Chancer (17 page)

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.

Embarassing you are they? Mr McCorquodale was gazing at Rab, and he added: Mister and Missis Jesus Christ in the corner above that sort of thing?

What you talking about?

Ah!

If you’re talking about Rena’s maw and da, they’re no bothering, they’re just happy sitting.

Mr McCorquodale shifted on the stool, he pursed his lips, raised the whisky tumbler. Bloody biblethumpers.

Rab nodded to Tammas who walked to the doorway, and continued through.

He paused by the living room door. A woman’s voice – not Mrs McCorquodale – singing quite quietly. He walked down the lobby into the bathroom, snibbed the door shut behind him.
There was a small cabinet with a mirror door above the washhand basin. He stared into it with his two hands clasped over his nose, thumbs together beneath his chin. Then he sat on the lavatory,
elbows on his knees, hands covering his nose again. He sat like this for a while. Someone chapped the door.

It was Betty. She called, Tammas?

Aye!

You okay?

Aye. Just be a minute.

You okay?

Aye – I was just sick there.

What did you say?

I was just sick there!

Sick?

Aye! He got up and walked to the door, unsnibbed and opened it. They looked at each other for a few moments.

Betty said, Are you okay?

Fine, I’m fine. I was just sick there. He sniffed, I’m going to go home.

Home?

Aye I’ve got a splitting head . . . He rubbed at his forehead. Will you tell Rab for me?

Aw Tammas.

Naw I’m eh . . . he shook his head. I’m no feeling that well; I think eh . . . He stepped to the outside door and opened it.

Aw Tammas.

I’m sorry Betty, I’m really no feeling well. He shook his head, stepped out and shut the door. He walked down the stairs quickly.

•••

Excluding expenses he had £10; not a lot to bet with but enough. The train was crowded. Even so he had found a seat by the window. He placed the
Sporting Life
folded on the table, began unpeeling a large orange.

When the train arrived in Ayr Station most of the passengers disembarked and Tammas was amongst those heading to the racetrack. Eventually he started trotting. The first race was due off quite
soon. And when he made it into the ground the runners were at the starting post. At the tote window he laid an outsider for 50 pence and was vaguely relieved when it did not reach the first three
places. He bet another outsider in the 2nd race. Afterwards he adjourned to one of the bars.

His nap for the day was going in the next race. Its name was Rimini.

The probable favourite for this the feature race of the afternoon was trained in the midlands of England and had an obvious chance on form. On its last two outings the horse had won quite
comfortably. Both races were fair class handicaps, and according to racecourse gossip it had not travelled north for nothing. But when the bookies marked it in as a 7/4 chance Tammas was surprised.
The race was a handicap hurdle and 18 runners had been declared. No matter how far the horse had travelled this 7/4 was a bad bet. He strolled along the row of bookmakers, glancing at each of their
boards. He was still a bit early and not all of the runners had a price marked against them. Rimini was in that category.

Then he saw 14/1 being laid against it. He stepped in front of the bookmaker in question and stared at the board. It was amazing. The
Sporting Life
had forecast 8/1 and now here it was,
14/1. It was almost too good to be true. He had the money in his hand, he stepped up to the bookie and took it to £2.50, returned the rest of the money to his trouser pocket. He stuck the
betting ticket into his inside jerkin pocket, turning his back on the bookie and heading back to the bar. He had meant to bet Rimini for more than £2.50 but 14/1 sounded a bit too good. He
hesitated. But no, something about it, it was too good. And nearly quarter of an hour to go before the race even started. And then he saw 16/1 being offered. A bookie in the centre of the row up
from the last. 16/1. If 14/1 was too good to be true then this 16/1 definitely smelled. Something was up. He continued on and into the bar but then he about turned and raced back to the bookie and
took the 16/1 to £1.50.

At the bar he hesitated before ordering a bottle of beer. The more he thought about it the more he knew he was right. Rimini was the one and that was that. All along he had been expecting 8/1
and hoping to catch 10’s with a wee bit of luck. Now here he was with 16/1 and reneging – just having a safe £1.50. A price like 16/1 was wrong. And the favourite was definitely a
bad bet at 7/4. If Rimini was trying then – Christ; all it needed was it to be trying and it was a certainty.

He struck a match and lighted a cigarette while striding back outside. There was no 16’s to be had. He strode along each row but nothing, and now 12/1 seemed the best on offer. And away
along to where he had taken the 14/1 the bookie was offering 10’s. 10’s! Tammas turned and raced back down the row and grabbed the first 12/1 he could get about his remaining
£5.

That was that now. And yet it was something – win, lose or draw, he had come and done what he had set out to do. Rimini was the nap and that was it.