Tammas! Margaret was staring at him.
Robert held his hand up to her. It’s alright Margaret. . He glanced at Tammas: I’ve got one thing to say to you: why dont you pack your bags and go. The trouble is you have grown up, you are a big boy. You just dont act like one. And I think it’d be best if you went, and I mean that.
Aye. Dont worry about it. Tammas was getting onto his feet, gathering his cup and plate and the cigarettes and matches. Soon as the time comes I’ll be off, away, dont worry about that. He was at the door and he paused to add, Goodnight folks, pleasant dreams.
Robert shook his head. God, you give me a pain in the neck, so you do.
•••
The cubicle door banged shut behind him. He read what it said on the receipt then stuck it into his pocket along with the £6. A small woman appeared from through the close, she bustled past him, carrying a baby in the crook of an arm, a bundle of LP records under the other.
Outside was cold and foggy. He walked quickly along to Simpson’s where he stood with his pint, near to the gasfire at the wall, reading a morning newspaper. Racing had been abandoned, waterlogged; and there were no dog meetings scheduled for the afternoon. Billy came in shortly before 1 o’clock. He was skint. Tammas bought him a pint of lager. Gulping the first mouthful he backed in as near as possible to the fire, placed the pint on the mantelpiece and rubbed his hands together. Fuck this for a game, he muttered, I’m definitely searching for a job man. This no racing no wages is murder. Freezing too — you’d think it was the middle of fucking winter!
Tammas nodded.
You holding?
A few bob.
Ach! Billy shook his head. What a life. I’m fucking sick of these horses man I’m no kidding ye, honest, fucking terrible. That bastard Donnie as well; couple of weeks and he’ll be lapping up that sun — fucking bastard! Naw, I’m definitely going after a full time job. A nice warm factory or something.
Ha ha.
Naw I’m no kidding ye Tammas you were mad jacking yours.
Shite.
Naw, honest. Hey, something else man, that auld man of mine’s — he was telling me they’re going to be starting people in the copper works after Christmas. I think I’ll apply. Eh? Fancy it? He’ll stick your name down as well.
D’you think there’s any chance like?
I dont know, according to him. Sometimes he rabbits on but. Hey, that place you were in — would they no let you back if you asked nicely?
Would they fuck.
Maybe they’d start me.
Not at all man they were speaking about redundancies the last I heard.
Aye but things fucking change.
Tammas shrugged. Drink up and we’ll go a walk.
A walk!
Aye, up the town, maybe get a game of snooker or something. I’ll stick you in for a game. Eh, see if you can win us a few quid!
No danger. . Billy grinned.
They travelled by bus. The tables were full when they arrived, with a large crowd queuing. At the top end most of the spectators were watching a tournament involving about eight players; each game used three reds and all the colours. Billy and Tammas settled on a ledge, until eventually the winner had been decided. The entry fee was 50 pence and Tammas dropped it into an empty tobacco tin. Somebody placed the tin on top of the shade above the table. When the lights went out the electric meter would be fed by one of the coins from the tin.
Billy got knocked out in the first round of both this and the following tournaments. Tammas dropped in the third 50 pence and told him it was the last. Billy won his way through to the final. There were ten players which meant a kitty of £5, less electricity. The guy he was playing against looked about 30 years of age. After they had tossed for break and one of the losing players was setting the balls Tammas lighted a cigarette and stepped nearer to the man and said quietly: Want to save a pound?
You kidding! Hh. The man shook his head and walked off to the end of the table; he began chalking his cue. He potted the first red and took the blue with it, but he missed the next red and Billy got it, taking a pink and then the last red with a black; then he missed the yellow after having positioned himself quite well on it. He shrugged at Tammas. Tammas looked away.
His opponent potted the yellow, the green, the brown, and he left the blue on the dyke. Billy came to the table and without hesitation slammed the ball very hard, it flashed off three sides into the middle bag opposite, his cue-ball following through to allow him a reasonable shot at the pink into the other middle bag. He potted it smoothly then reached for the tin containing the money.
The defeated player passed Tammas on his way to return the cue to its case. Tammas muttered, On you go!
What was that?
Nothing.
Did you say something there?
Naw, no me.
The man stood watching him. Then Billy came across and he said, Hard lines.
The next tournament was being prepared for. The man glanced at Tammas. Okay, he said, you still wanting a bet?
I wasnt wanting a bet the last time. I was just wanting to save a pound — know what I mean?
Aye, I know what you mean.
Tammas nodded.
Billy was looking from one to the other. What’s up? he asked
Misunderstanding, said the guy. And then to Tammas: You still wanting a bet but?
Suit yourself.
Two quid says I go further than your mate.
You’re on.
My mate’ll hold the money. . He gestured to one of the onlookers.
Tammas shrugged.
When the bet had been struck Billy and the other player joined the rest and soon the tournament was under way. The other player got knocked out in the first round. Tammas collected the £4 from his mate.
Eventually Billy got through to the final and he won again.
•••
From where he stood high in the stand he was in direct line with the finishing post. He looked on at the 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th races without laying a bet. During the intervals he drank bottled beer in the bar below, marking the form of each race once it had ended. He had come to back dog 4 in the 5th. Both it and the one out of trap 5 were set to receive 10 metres from the scratch dog. This scratch dog — trap 1 — was a good racer; it had to be fast otherwise it would not have been giving away such big starts. But as far as Tammas was concerned it was a two dog race, traps 4 and 5. If 4 trapped well enough to lead at the first bend then he reckoned he could start walking to head the queue at the bookie’s pay out. But if 5 got out and managed to hold off 4 to the first then he could leave the track immediately, because 4 would have no chance. When 5 dog got its head in front round the first bend very few dogs could ever pass it — but its starting ability was notorious, it usually required a couple of yards before it began to race.
Dog 4 did look good.
And according to the betting market most people at the track had reached the same conclusion, the bookies were laying the dog at 6/4. The scratch dog was next in at 5/2. The dog out of trap 5 stood at 7/1. Tammas was surprised. All it needed was a fast trap and he would not have minded having a couple of quid down on it to stay in front to the line. But it usually trapped really badly.
He edged his way forwards, to the head of the crowd waiting beneath the row of bookmakers; he was gripping the £30 wad in his right trouser pocket.
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.