Welshman
...with a reading of the story at the end
Welshman
"Told them it would win, but they wouldn’t listen. ‘Specially not Mickey. ‘Welshman!’, he said, ‘Trust a bleedin’ Taff to bet on an old nag like that!’
"Maybe I can’t blame them; after all, my record’s not been that great has it? Or I wouldn’t always be sitting here surrounded by what’s left of the day - crumpled slips, and fag ends spilling out of the ashtrays. And broken dreams. Small little dreams. Unimportant ones. But dreams that can be rebuilt after a night’s sleep or a few pints of beer. Maybe both, though in my case beer doesn’t do much for my sleeping.
"And the youngsters are no different. Pauly will have gone home, got changed and picked his girl up from work. Maybe they’ll go to the pictures - something she’ll probably pay for anyway, unless he’s had a good day - and then off somewhere dark for a shag in the back of that clapped out Escort of his. Ha, ha! His stories about what he’s done in the back of that car! Beer or no beer, doesn’t seem to matter to Pauly; he’s always full of himself the next day. The beer did me in that department too, not that I care so much nowadays. Neither me nor Joan either.
"But then today’s a bit different, isn’t it? Not for Pauly, I mean. Nor for Mickey neither. Down ‘The Dragon’ as soon as they open, blowing whatever he’s got in his pocket. Back for more tomorrow. There’ll be empty ashtrays and new papers on the walls. The pens will have been tidied away and the floor swept. It seems a bit futile really.
"I wonder what they’ll say when, come the first race, I’m not here. ‘Where’s that dumb Welsh Bastard then?’ someone will say, and they’ll have a joke at my expense. They always do, so why should my absence make any difference? It won’t. I’m sure it won’t. But when I’m not here on Thursday either? Or Friday…?
"I asked Margaret not to say anything. After the third race, it was. She’s a good kid, Margaret. Young, but knows her stuff. Bright as a button. I slipped over to the counter for a quiet word, just after Pat had got home in that photo-finish. Don’t know why I did; maybe I just had a feeling. That was only three after all. There were still two more to go. And then Welshman. ‘Just in case’, I said to her, ‘if I get lucky, don’t let on, eh?’ She’d smiled. She’s over there now on the phone to Head Office. She said she’d leave it late, just to be on the safe side. Not wanting to spread it about. I looked at her after Welshman had come home and she’d smiled. That was nice.
"Of course I hammed it up a bit, for the others. Made like I’d had a quid on the old boy to win and was excited about picking up twelve. They’d had a good laugh, even Mickey who’d taken the piss. ‘That old bag of bollocks can’t run as fast as my old woman!’ he’d said, and laughed like it was a new joke. It wasn’t. It’s Mickey’s standard joke. His everyday joke. Cracks him up every time. Anyway, I laughed, ‘cos I was supposed to laugh too. Mickey can be a nasty piece of work if you get on his wrong side, drunk or sober.
"I wanted to let on. After Prince Sundown went in I wanted to tell someone. There were only Toaster and Welshman to go, and ‘cos I knew Welshman’d win it was getting to be difficult. Like I had to share it. Like I was afraid the excitement would be too much for me to take on my own and I needed someone to help me out. But I couldn’t. Not his lot. Nice as pie within reason - as long as you’re poorer than they are. All mates in the same boat, see? But get one step ahead… I didn’t want to find out. Maybe I’ll never be able to come back here again. Maybe I’ll have to find somewhere else. Coral’s at the top of the High Street, maybe. Or Hill’s over the bridge. Maybe I won’t be able to go into any of them again. There ain’t no such thing as a secret - especially where money’s concerned.
"I’ve worked it out on this little bit of paper. This one here. All afternoon I’ve been updating it in secret, then screwing it up as if it’s a loser before sliding it back in my pocket. ‘Cos I knew, see? When Toaster strolled home I knew there’d been some reason for me to put a fiver on too. Margaret had asked me if I knew what I was doing. Can’t blame her. She was only looking out for me. A bloke who normally bets in twenty pence multiples suddenly hands over a roll-up ticket for a fiver… Either I’m nuts or… Maybe there ain’t no either.
"And then there’s Joan. I’ll have to be careful how I tell her. She’ll start on at me as soon as I get through the door; the same old routine about wasting money. About wasting everything. About how she never has anything ‘cos I spend all my money in the Bookies. How she ain’t forgiven me for letting the redundancy money slip away. What was I going to do for Christ’s sake; open a bleedin’ hairdressers or something?! There ain’t much a guy of fifty seven can do after he’s spent all his life in the Dockyard, is there? Not when all the ships have gone and taken the need for the only skill he’s ever had with them. I could have died then - the day they told us - and been content enough. I’d seen the future. I’d watched old Arthur Moore turn from being a right sort of bloke into a dying old man in less than two years. Him and Elsie too. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want it, but I could see it coming. Maybe it’s come already. I don’t know.
"But I do know what Joan’s like, and she won’t be expecting anything good. She don’t know what good is any more. Winning a tenner at Bingo’s as good as her life gets. Guess when Pete left for Australia all those years ago, guess that’s when she started to die inside. His new life; the end of hers. Maybe we’re both that way. God knows I miss him too. But maybe this will help. This number I’ve got written down in front of me. I’ve checked it with Margaret. I wasn’t far out; a couple of thousand maybe. She put me straight. ‘Are you all right, Taff?’ she’d said. ‘Want a cup of tea? I’m just going to phone through now, OK?’
"Apparently they deal with this sort of thing with a cheque. Tomorrow morning. She said I’d probably have to get in early. They’d want to make a big deal of it. The publicity’s good for business they say, but I don’t want none of that. They’ll get back ten times as much with other poor sods trying to do what I’ve done. But they won’t of course. ‘Cos they won’t have Welshman to rely on. Maybe they’ll study form a bit more. Maybe they’ll listen when someone points out something telling - like a sparkling run from two years ago that no-one’s even considered. Some’ll talk rubbish about weights and distance and who’s best around a left-handed track, but they’ll have no idea.
"I’ll have to break it gently. ‘I’ve had a bit of luck, Love.’ Once she’s had her little rant and I’ve had the chance to make her a cup of tea. That’ll be a sign in itself. ‘How much luck?’ she’ll ask, all suspicious like. And then I’ll have to be careful. Make sure she’s sitting down. Maybe I’ll say ‘How would you like to go and visit our Peter?’ That’d be good, ‘cos then she’ll know I’m not joking. That’ll mean something. Maybe more than the numbers, these numbers here on this tatty piece of paper.
"When they called Welshman home - a storming late run, just like that sparkling piece of old form said he would - I was doing the calculation. Writing down numbers. One - nine - eight - three - three - seven. Just numbers. Not the right ones, but close enough. I’ll have to tell Joan then. As soon as she hears me talking about Pete and knows I’m being serious. I won’t be dragging it out. Wouldn’t be fair; and its going to be hard enough for the old girl as it is. A lifetime’s worth of Christmases.
"Ah, there goes the phone down. I’m staring at the wall and the runners from the five thirty - Welshman’s race. There ain’t a sound in the place ‘cos Margaret’s about to close up for the night. I’m staring at that one word - ‘Welshman’ - and I know Margaret’s waiting to tell me what’s going to happen in the morning. And now I’m scared. I’m scared ‘cos I’ve got to move. I’ve got to slip off this little stool, the one I’ve had my bony old arse on for the last twenty five minutes, and I’ve got to walk somewhere. Just a few feet to the counter. I’ve got to find out if I can still walk. I’ve got to find out if I can handle what’s going to be dished out to me. I’ve got to go home to find out if Joan still loves me; to see if money in the bank makes all the difference. I’ve got to go through losing my friends and starting again. I’ve got to catch an aeroplane and fly thousands of miles to find out if my son’s forgiven me for whatever I did that made him go away.
"There’s the latch from the counter. Good old Margaret’s going to help me off the seat, I bet. The first hurdle. Suddenly I feel old and scared ‘cos a second-rate eight-year-old racehorse has given me one last chance."