Under the Central Station bridge Sam thankfully alighted and walked along to the Royal Billiard Saloon. A few labourers were out clearing snow and slush from the road. It was very cold.
He walked downstairs and through the swing doors of the hall. Although barely opened, half the thirty tables were in use. Striding across to the number-one table he stopped and, nodding to one or two of the spectators, stood by the marker.
‘Morning Sam,’ the latter said quietly.
‘Aye Joe, how are things?’
‘Not bad!’ He indicated one of the players. ‘Needs a ball!’
The man potted the brown, positioning himself well on the blue which he shot into the middle bag, the pink lay over a corner pocket.
‘Okay Danny I believe you,’ said his opponent. He smiled.
‘Want a clear?’ asked the winner.
‘Aye a clear head!’ laughed the man.
‘Quite a good game though.’
‘Aye.’ He smiled slowly as he handed the two notes over. ‘It’s a hundred and thirty I should get. I’ll see you.’
‘Aye cheerio John.’ Danny glanced around but found no response to the unspoken challenge. He noticed Sam for the first time. ‘Sam! Where’ve you been?’ He laughed. ‘Want a game of billiards?’
‘No.’
‘Pint?’
‘Now that’s a better idea.’
‘Thought you’d appreciate it.’
Inside the adjacent pub Danny ordered a pint of lager for himself and a half and a bottle of beer for Sam. He carried the drinks across to the table where Sam was sitting reading his Sporting Life. He looked up, and said: ‘Not a bad card.’
‘Yeah I may have a bet. Cheers!’
Sam nodded and sipped the whisky.
‘First of the day’s always the best,’ Danny said, smacking his lips.
‘First of the month more like.’
‘What?’
‘Aye that’s how you haven’t seen me for a while. Doctor’s orders — I’ve been staying out the path of temptation.’
‘What,’ asked Danny, ‘your liver?’
‘Christ knows but he told me to leave off it all together for a bit, especially the whisky.’
‘If I’d known I’d not got you one.’
‘Ach I’d have bought one for myself. What’s the point? Only prolong the agony.’ He grinned.
‘Thought you had a certainty picked out for the Lincoln?’ laughed Danny.
‘Oh I’ll hang about till then, don’t worry about that.’ He drained the last drop of whisky into his beer.
‘Fancy going down to Ayr tomorrow?’
‘Probably be abandoned.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Danny. ‘Fancy a pie and beans?’ He rose from the table.
‘No — not for me. Had some of old Rachel’s soup at half past eight this morning.’ He smiled. ‘Two platefuls.’
‘Jesus Christ!’
‘Aye and if I can take that I can drink anything. Anything at all!’ They both laughed and Sam gave his empty glasses to the younger man. He rolled a cigarette mechanically, deep in thought and unaware of the bar rapidly filling with workers on their lunch hour. ‘Ach!’ The grunt echoed hoarsely up from his boots.
‘What’s up?’
He had not noticed Danny returning. He shrugged. ‘What age are you again?’
‘Thirty!’
‘Time you were married.’ He sipped his beer.
‘Kidding?’
‘Had two kids at your age!’
‘But that was the good old days.’ Danny snorted and took a long swig of lager.
‘Aye I don’t blame you!’ Sam grinned.
‘Might go back to London.’
‘Been back a while now.’
‘Nearly a year,’ he said swirling the beer around inside the glass, ‘I miss it.’
‘Aye this place is played out.’
‘Hardly recognised it when I came back. See Anderston?’
‘Jesus what a state.’
‘Suppose it’s progress Sam.’
‘Progress my arse!’
Danny laughed. ‘Why don’t you go back south?’
‘Ha ha ha,’ said Sam.
‘Why not?’
‘Know how long I’ve been away? Over eight years! Fact, probably nearer ten apart from Goodwood once and that time we all went down for the Guineas.’
‘Kashmir?’
‘Aye, sevens I think it was.’
‘That’s right,’ said Danny. ‘Christ remember Jimmy Lindley storming up that hill. What a race!’
‘We done well that meeting.’
‘You caught Glad Rags and told nobody till afterwards.’
Sam laughed. ‘Aye and Charlie won four and a half grand and wound up skint on Monday morning. Crazy!’
They lapsed into silence.
‘Freddie was asking how you were doing,’ said Danny after a time. ‘Said to get in touch with him if you fancy going back.’
‘Suppose I could get a few quid together by March. .’
‘To go down?’
‘Ach who’s kidding who?’ He paused. ‘I’d probably collapse in the train. Anyway what about old Rachel?’
‘She could survive in the jungle.’
‘Aye! Maybe. .’ He swallowed the whisky. ‘What you doing over Christmas?’
‘Don’t know yet. Probably go to the sister’s. How about you?’
‘Ah,’ he smiled. ‘Old Rachel’s trying to get me into the old folk’s party.’
‘Fancy it?’
‘You must be joking — Christ they’re even having a Santa Claus. Imagine it? He’ll probably be the youngest person there.’ They laughed loudly.
‘Course you’ll get some good grub there.’
‘Aye if you sing a solo Christmas carol.’ His face wrinkled in disgust. ‘Worse than a Sally Ann skipper!’
‘Another?’
‘No I’m just going.’
Danny did not reply.
‘Put a line on — three races on the box,’ explained Sam.
‘Aye okay man. You be in tomorrow?’
Sam got to his feet and swallowed the last of the beer before replying: ‘Definitely!’ He turned and walked to the door.
‘Hey!’ called Danny. Sam wheeled. ‘Win a few quid for Ayr tomorrow eh?’
Sam laughed. He travelled home by subway.
Nice to be Nice
Strange thing wis it stertit oan a Wedinsday, A mean nothin ever sterts oan a Wedinsday kis it’s the day afore pay day in A’m ey skint. Mibby git a buckshee pint roon the Anchor, bit that’s aboot it. Anywey it wis efter nine in A wis thinkin aboot gin hame kis A hidny a light whin Boab McCann threw is a dollir in A boat masel in auld Erchie a pint. The auld yin hid two boab ay his ain so A took it in won a couple a gemms a dominoes. Didny win much bit enough tay git is a hauf boattle a Lanny. Tae tell ye the truth A’m no fussy fir the wine bit auld Erchie’ll guzzle it tae it comes oot his ears — A’m tellin ye! A’ll drink it mine ye bit if A’ve goat a couple a quid A’d rethir git a hauf boattle a whisky thin two ir three boattles a magic, bit no auld Erchie. Anywey — nice tae be nice — evry man tae his ain, comes ten in we wint roon the coarnir tae git inty the wine. Auld Erchie waantit me tae go up tae his place bit Jesus Christ it’s like annickers midden up there. So anywey A think A git aboot two moothfus oot it afore it wis done kis is A say whin auld Erchie gits stertit oan that plonk ye canny haud him. The auld cunt’s a disgrace.
A left him it his close in wint hame. It wis gittin cauld in A’m beginnin tae feel it merr these days. That young couple wir in the close in aw, in it it is usual. Evry night i the week in A’m no kiddin ye! Thir parents waant tae gie thim a room tae thirsel, A mean evrybody’s young wance — know whit A mean? They waant tae git merrit anywey. Jesus Christ they young yins nooadays iv goat thir heid screwed oan meer thin we ever hid, in the sooner they git merrit the better. Anyhow is usual they didny even notice me. It’s Betty Sutherland’s lassie in young Pete Craig — A knew his faither in they tell me he’s almost is hard is his auld man wis. Still they’ve been winchin noo fir near enough six months so mibby she’s knoaked some sense inty his heid. Good luck tae thim, A hope she his. A nice wee lassie — aye in so wis her maw.