The horses

A Glasgow story

HORSES

 

Tommy Mac lit an Embassy Regal and poured himself another cup of tea. He added his two spoonfuls of sugar, stirred the tea, and then returned to his Daily Record. He was on an afternoon shift today, so he could take his time in the morning. Betty had gone to work some hours ago, and he liked having the house to himself. He put his feet up on the sofa.

In an hour or so, he would leave the house and catch a bus into town. He didn’t start work till 3pm so he’d time for a couple of drinks at the Admiral, probably a pie and chips as well. He’d work till 1030, although if Big Bobby was on, he might get away early in time for another visit to the Admiral. Not a bad job, he thought, portering at a hotel. The money was not much good, but there were tips to be made, and the odd private favour to be done for the odd guest. But after 20 years working at the carpet factory clocking in day after day, it was good to be able to have mornings to yourself.

Of course, he saw less of Betty, and he did have to work some weekends, so their visits to the dancing were not as frequent as they used to be. She was a looker, was his Betty. She turned heads " he loved it when they walked out together and men would give a not particularly furtive stare. Of course, they would then look at him and think “Whit’s she daein’ wi’ a man like him? Must be her faither”, but they could think what they liked. She was his wife, and no other man’s. But like his own father, he had lost his hair early. The wig made him look younger, Betty agreed, although, unlike his surviving hair on the sides, it did not slowly gray over the years.

They’d never had money. Betty’s job at the council took care of their food and rent, and his wages kept him in beer and f**s, and the occasional surprise for Betty. And also, the odd visit to the bookie’s. He liked the horses, studied form in the Record, had his favourite jockeys, but had never had much luck beyond a fiver every now and then on a dead cert.

“A man has to have his hobbies,” he would tell Betty.

“Just as long as it doesn’t get out of hand,“ she would answer.

“Trust me, doll. I know what I’m doing,” he’d laugh.

Funnily enough, there were a couple of certainties running today, he saw in the Record. One o’clock at York. Two o’ clock down the road at Ayr. Not bad odds too, a good double. He fetched his wallet from his jacket. He’d a five pound note in there, but that was needed for the bus and the pub.  If only he had more cash, he thought getting more exasperated. There must be some way.

Betty had been saving some money each week from her wages for about a year or so, and the previous night she’d counted it. Over £150 " and that would go for the down payment on a new suite for their sitting room. It was in an envelope on the mantelpiece now. Tommy walked through to the room. She would kill him, he knew that, but if he turned it into a couple of thousand, she’d be so pleased. These horses were certs, there was no way they could lose.

He put on his jacket and left the house to catch the bus. The envelope he kept in his trouser pocket.

When the bus reached the city centre, he headed for the Admiral.

“Morning, Thomas! How are we today? The usual?” asked Davey.

“Aye, Davey. Oh, and I’ll have a wee dram as well,” he replied. The whisky would calm him down, stop his feelings of worry and guilt.

He sat down at his usual table. It was now half past twelve. He’d need to put that bet on soon, but what if something went wrong? What would he say to Betty? It was unthinkable.

He finished his drinks. “Just off to the bookie’s, Davey,” he said as he headed for the door. “I’ve got a couple of good ones today. It’ll be your finest champagne all round when they come in.”

At the bookie’s, Sidney the manager was on duty, having let young Alec off for his dinner. “A’ right, Tam?” he asked as Tommy came through the door and took out a betting slip. Soon there’ll be no going back, he thought. He filled in the slip, said a prayer and handed it over to Sidney.

“There you are, Sid. You’ll be owing me a fair bit when these two come through.”

He headed back to the Admiral full of confidence now. He would be a rich man shortly. Nothing would go wrong.

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At 3pm, Tommy showed up for work. His first horse had finished in fourth place. Admittedly, the other one had run a better race, and crossed the line in second. But that was no consolation. The money " Betty’s money " was gone. He’d had several more whiskies at the Admiral, and by now was trying to hide the unsteadiness when he walked.

Bobby called him over as soon as he presented himself at the porters’ desk. “Jesus Christ! The state of you! Your irish’s fallin’ off! Oh and by the way your good lady has just been ringing me up for the last hour. And she’s not very happy, I can tell you. Whit have ye done?”

“Oh Bobby!” he answered, trying to avoid slurring his words. “Whit am ah goin’ to dae?” And he explained about the horses, and Betty’s money, and how they were bound to win and how they hadn’t won, and how he’d lost all her savings.

“That’s your lookout,” Bobby replied. “But you’d better start thinking soon. Is that not your Betty just coming in the front door?”

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That evening Tommy sat at his kitchen table, aching head in hands. After Betty had left, Bobby had sent him home. There had been no fireworks " rather “I’d expected better from you” which was so much worse. And tears, too. She’d gone to spend the night at her friend, Cathy’s. She’d be back tomorrow, he was sure, and everything would be fine again. He’d stay away from the pub for a couple of weeks, and maybe get her a present, or a day out at the seaside, from the money he saved. Other couples had much worse happen to them, and were still together. They’d be fine. Please God.

One thing he did know for sure: he was finished with the horses.