Tammas continued to sit for a time, before lying down, his hands behind his head on the pillow. He stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was greyish. It could have done with a lick of paint. And too above the window and sink and oven, it was a kind of yellowish — plus the woodwork. A fresh white right across the whole lot. The walls themselves needed something. The one where the fire was had been done in a lightish brown and the others had a striped wallpaper while in the recess where the bed was the walls were painted in a blue colour to make it look like a different room. But the blue did not make it look different at all. In fact it did not look very good, it looked wrong — better to have done the whole thing in a fresh white and that would make it nice and airy looking. No venetian blind either. That just stopped the light coming in the window. The whole place could have done with a different arrangement. There was no dressing table. All of Vi’s stuff seemed to be standing along the big old fashioned mantelpiece or jammed together on top of the tallboy. A mirror was there, a small adjustable one and next to it a framed photograph of the wee girl when she was a baby. No other photographs at all. None. The whole room including the ceiling done in a fresh white paint and all the woodwork done in a fresh white gloss; that would be fine, it would make a big difference to the place.
He got out of bed. A carton of milk was over near to the window and he drank a couple of mouthfuls straight from it. His cigarettes and matches were on top of the electric fire, and so were his socks, which Vi had washed for him. He switched on the fire and turned, glancing at the jumper on the back of the settee. It had a sweetish smell about it and it was a bit tight. His shirt had been sweaty and Vi had given the jumper to him although he had said no, he would have preferred not to put it on; but eventually he had to put it on. There seemed to be no other men’s clothes in the place. And there was no shaving stuff. He rubbed his chin again and he lifted his cigarettes, lighted one and returned to bed, bringing the ashtray with him. He propped the two pillows together so that he could sit up against them, drawing the blankets and sheets upwards.
The television was on but he was watching Vi feed the wee girl her evening meal. The two of them were laughing. It was a game: Vi trying to put the spoonful of food into her mouth while the girl would snatch away her head, causing the food to bang against her cheeks or the sides of her lips. Vi was holding the spoon in her right hand and her left grasped Kirsty by the back of her head and neck and probably she could have forced her into keeping her mouth in the correct position. When she noticed him watching she said: Spoiled daft so she is.
Tammas smiled.
Vi frowned briefly. It’s because it’s just the two of us. I mean just because it’s only the two of us. Tch! She shook her head. What I mean is that if I started to get angry with her I’d just end up feeling stupid. Is that right you? she said to Kirsty. And then held the girl’s head a bit more firmly so that the spoonful of food went into her mouth.
I know what you mean.
Vi nodded. She glanced at him: How do you find it with your sister? do you find yous do a lot of arguing the gether or d’yous manage to avoid it?
He shrugged.
She probably stops herself.
He shrugged again.
No think so?
Maybe.
Probably she does! Vi grinned: Because you’re her wee brother and she’s got to look after you!
Tammas looked at her.
I’m only kidding, said Vi. She had dipped the spoon back into the bowl of food and she fed it to Kirsty, and went on: Does she do all your laundry?
My laundry. Aye. . He reached for his cigarettes and he sniffed before withdrawing one from the packet and then striking a match on the box. She does it when she’s doing her own, hers and her husband’s.
It’s still good of her.
He exhaled smoke and nodded, looking at the television. The next time he raised the cigarette to his mouth he yawned.
He shook his head, gazing in the direction of the screen. Tired, he said.
When Vi did not respond he glanced over. She was involved in cleaning the wee girl’s mouth, dabbing at the corners of it with a cloth.
Vi.
Mm. . she turned her head to look at him, a very slight frown on her face.
After a moment he said, Would it be okay if I stayed the night as well?
The night?
Aye, would it be okay?
She nodded.
I’ll go first thing in the morning.
She smiled. It’s okay Tammas.
Naw I mean. . he nodded, and shrugged.
•••
It was just after midday and he was eating a mince pie and beans in a pub down the street from the snooker hall; a pint of heavy at his elbow and he had the Sporting Life spread on the table.
The bar began filling up and when two men in dungarees sat by him he lifted the newspaper so they could put down their pints. He folded it and stuck it into his side pocket. Downstairs at the snooker hall the full up notice was hanging on the inside of the swing doors and when he pushed his way inside the elderly attendant grunted, Can you no fucking read?
I’m just looking for my brother — I’ve got a message for him.
You better be fucking snappy then.
Tammas continued on in between the row of men and youths whose names were down on the waiting list for a game. At one of the top tables a three-red tournament was in progress. He walked behind it, into a corner, and he sat on the ledge there, yawning as he brought out the Life and squinted at it in the light filtering from the strip beneath the shade of the nearest tables. He turned the page to the racing card for the day’s only meeting not postponed because of waterlogging. He had his nap picked out but also fancied a couple of others. He trapped the paper between his elbow and his right knee while lighting a cigarette.
Hey john. . A guy had approached him: Fancy a game? I’ve got a table booked; I think I’m next on.
Naw man sorry I’ve eh — I’m just passing the time.
It’s no for money or anything, just a game.
Nah — actually I’m going up the betting shop in a minute.
The guy nodded and moved off to somebody farther along the ledge. About quarter of an hour later Tammas was getting down off the ledge and heading for the exit. The elderly man was still attending the door but he ignored him as he pushed out.
He had less than £40 in his trouser pocket. The horse he fancied was paper favourite and it appeared as favourite when the actual betting started. He was going to do it for £5 but when he wrote out the line he had written it for £20; and when he passed it beneath the grille he paid the additional £2 tax in advance.
On the off they were laying 11/4 against the favourite. It was a race for novice chasers over a trip of two miles. The favourite jumped off in the lead and was still showing ahead when the others closed to challenge between the last two fences. But over the last and on the run in the horse steadily drew further and further away, eventually winning by some dozen or so lengths. There was no objection lodged by the runners-up and there was no inquiry by the stewards; and then the jockeys had weighed in and Tammas was at the pay-out window to receive the £75.
He studied the other newspapers tacked on the wall for the coming race. The opening show had the favourite in at even money and it was quickly taken down to 4/6; scribbling out his line he rushed across to the counter and asked for the board price to £90.
The full up sign no longer hung inside the swing doors. He pushed them open and entered. At the top table the tournament had ended but he recognised two good players at another table and he walked to join the small group of guys watching. It happened that if these two went into one of the tournaments a couple of other players would immediately withdraw. Tammas knew their first names, as did most of those watching and some bantering took place. The pair never seemed in earnest when against each other, kept looking to see who else was around. After a few minutes he went to the lavatory for a piss. He ran the tap at the sink then drank some water. He checked the cash in his trouser pocket; less than two pounds.