Aye, thanks.
Well God sake it’s your room! Robert grinned. We’ll no take in any lodgers, it’s alright!
Tammas smiled, he inhaled on the fag and flicked ash over into the ashtray again. Robert was smiling too. Then he glanced at his wristwatch and shook his head: Soon be time soon be time!
Backshift eh!
Aye, tch — I even prefer nightshift! Robert raised his eyebrows and grinned, his hand still on the doorhandle. He indicated the Life: Still punting the horses!
Aye.
By the way! That was a good score for Hull! Three nothing?
Aye, great.
Probably Rab got the hat-trick!
Aye. Tammas smiled, dragged on the cigarette and exhaled, and he said: Even if he was just playing but — in the first team.
Aye. Robert nodded. You’re no kidding. Anyway — see you later eh! He closed over the door, clicking it shut.
Tammas glanced at the door for a moment and then at the window, and to the cupboard. The alarm clock was not going. He wound it up and set it to the time on his watch, and got up and walked to the wardrobe. He opened it, gazed inside and to the bottom, at his boots. The cigarette was in his mouth and he withdrew it without inhaling, drawing the knuckle of his right forefinger across the corners of his mouth. He went to the window, seeing the close opposite where two old men were standing chatting just out from the entrance; one of them with his hand on the other’s elbow, his head tilted, listening; he looked to be laughing. Both of them wearing bunnets and overcoats and the one doing the laughing wearing a tartan scarf. And now a woman appeared from the close, bare arms folded and peering from left to right along the street, the men remarking something to her and her shake of the head, returning back inside.
He sniffed and moved back to the bed, shifted the newspaper, making space to lie stretched fully out, crossing his feet at the ankles, left hand behind his head. Then he raised himself up a bit and got his tea from the top of the cupboard; it was lukewarm and he swallowed it down. He manoeuvered the money out of his pocket, the four £5s. They were crumpled and he smoothed them out and placed them flatly, next to the alarm clock. He got up and returned to the window but then came back again and sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the Life and turned to the results from Saturday. The dog he had napped at Shawfield had won at 2/1. 2/1 was a good price and it would have been worthwhile making the journey for it alone. In that morning’s Daily Record they had forecast 5/1 but Tammas had known it would never have been that — 2/1 was much more like it. Although of course if he had of made the journey it would probably have got beat. Nothing surer. That was the way things happened. There again, he had been skint on Saturday and the bank was shut. That was one of the inconveniences about banks — just like if you needed dough and it was after 3.30 in the afternoon. Or if you had left the bankbook in the house by mistake.
Some ash fell onto the page and as he made to lift it it rolled onto the bedclothes.
Monday was nearly always a bad day for betting; generally speaking the racecards were second-rate efforts — a bit like the opening race at a greyhound meeting, a time for looking on and taking notes, not for getting the money down. But it was still possible to back a winner. He continued studying the form till approaching half past one. He found two horses he fancied quite strongly and a third which had a reasonable chance. But nothing worthy of going nap on. It was probably a day to go to the pictures.
On his way out he made a piece on jam and he ate it while walking downstairs and along the street to the betting shop. He knew the boardman and they exchanged hullos. The boardman was eating a sandwich and drinking tea and he offered Tammas a mouthful. Naw, no thanks. Tammas said, Auld Phil no in the day?
Naw. He was in on Saturday.
Tammas nodded, strolled to a wall to read a formpage. It was from the Sporting Life and he had read it many times already. He was going to stick to the three he had selected upstairs, and back them in 3 x £1 doubles and a £1 treble, and also back the two he fancied strongly in singles. He had £20 and £4 away left £16 — unless he paid tax in advance. Sometimes he did and other times not. It just depended on the dough he had in his pocket, on whether the sum was round or not. And £16 was round; it gave eight on each single, or less, if he wanted to keep a couple of bob for a pint later on. There again, it might have been worthwhile considering doing single bets on all three. That meant £15 would be round, three bets at a fiver each. One thing was sure, if he backed two out the three the only winner would be the third, the one he did not back. Plus of course if he only backed the third the other two would win. That was why it was usually best to get the one, to select the nap and stick to it, and if it lost there was always tomorrow. But none of the three was worthy of the nap. Maybe it was best just doing the doubles and the trebles and leaving the singles alone altogether — do the 3 x £1s and the £1 treble, and just go up the town to the pictures.
The first of the three runners was going in the 1.30 at Wolverhampton, a race for 4 year old novice hurdlers. He moved to a different wall to have a look at the formpage here, it was from the Express and did not give the actual form, only what the tipster had to say about it. But Tammas knew its form inside out anyway and the main thing was that it would win or it would lose. Or it could be placed. There were eight runners and its price was forecast at 6/1. 6/1 represented good each way value. Maybe the best thing was to stick the whole score down as a tenner each way, the safety first bet — and even if it finished third he would still be a winner, he would still be receiving cash in exchange for the betting receipt. Although there again, if he backed it each way the only certainty was that it would finish fourth. Or else win maybe. He was probably best just sticking the lot on as a win. But that was daft because it was not a nap. He did not fancy it as strongly as all that. And yet either it would win or it would lose and even if it did lose he still had £44 in the bank. Which was not a lot. But it had come from nothing and it was a mistake even thinking like that. £44 was fine. Plus he still had the twenty in his pocket. And he was backing three horses. Win lose or draw. He fancied three, and two better than one; and he would back these two as singles as well as in the doubles and treble. And even if they all lost he would still have a few quid in the bank. Although probably he would have the one winner, the one he had not backed singly. But it was not possible to do everything. You had to make your selection and stick to it. There was nothing else you could do. There was nothing else, nothing at all. A mistake to even think like that.
A show of betting came through on the speaker and he turned to watch the boardman mark up the prices. Then the door opened and in came Billy. He stood for a moment before spotting Tammas, then he stepped back a yard and pointed his finger at him, and strode across with his right arm aloft, and slapped him on the shoulder: Ya sneaky bastard ye where’ve you been hiding!
Tammas laughed loudly.
Naw but where the fuck have you been?
Ah skint man, skint — keeping out the road! Hey what’s up you’re no at work.
I chucked it! Honest, I backed a winner and handed in my notice!
Ha ha, said Tammas.
Billy laughed and slapped him on the shoulder again. Hey, by the way, they’re still talking about it in there! Naw — no kidding ye man — they are! They’re fucking wanting me to get your autograph!
Tammas laughed.
Ya cunt ye how did you no wait for me that day? Or else come up and take me out for a pint later on! Eh? Fucking terrible man!
Ah sorry.