The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter (13 page)

  “Oh, righty-ho, here we are, lads.  The real fun is about to start,” Donald announced, as the boy Campbell, who George Sellar hid cheated oot ae the hammer throw, knocked some boy o’er the ropes oan tae the grass, aboot three seconds before the bell fur the end ae the first roond sounded.

  Paul looked across and saw John Sellar say something tae his son, George, who nodded.

  “And the winner is…Big Joe Campbell from Dornoch,” Bowler Hat thundered, haudin up the hammer thrower’s erm.

  “Who’s your money on, Donald?” Packer asked excitedly.

  “It’s got to be Sellar,” Donald said, as they made their way tae staun in the queue at the bookies, even though George hidnae announced his challenge.

  “Right, gentlemen…who’s next?  Put your hand up where I can see it.”

  “Over here,” George Sellar shouted, throwing his shirt tae his younger brother and haunin o’er his pound note, as a cheer went up fae aw the Ardgay crowd, including aw the VIPs.

  “Whit dae ye think, Innes?” Paul asked him.

  “Most of the boys who’ve been in with a real chance in previous years have already been beaten.  I can’t see anyone left in the crowd now that will walk away with the money, except for perhaps Cameron Sellar, and he isn’t going to challenge his older brother,” Innes replied, as Packer and Donald arrived back.

  “I think it’s George’s turn to take a fall this year,” Packer said smiling, excitement in his eyes.

  “Me too.  We got four to one on the Dornoch boy,” Donald said, clutching his ticket.

  “Innes, ye couldnae loan me fifteen bob, could ye?” Paul asked him.

  “What?  Oh, I think you’ve left it a bit late to get to the bookie now, Paul,” Innes replied, looking across at the length ae the queue ae folk waiting, still trying tae place bets.

  “I’ll gie it back tae ye in a couple ae minutes,” Paul persisted.

  “Here ye go, laddie, but you better get your skates on,” Innes said, haunin him o’er a ten-bob note and two hauf croons, jist as the bell clanged tae start the fight.

  George hauf walked and hauf ran at Dornoch Boy.  It wis aw o’er before it started.  George covered his face wae his forearms, his weight pushing Dornoch Boy aff balance and then followed through wae punches tae his heid and sides.  When his opponent tried tae staun, George picked his spot and swung a right uppercut that lifted his opponent up aff the canvas and oan tae his back.

  “We have a winner!” Bowler Hat shouted gleefully.

  “Never mind, Paul, you’ll know the next time.  You have to get across and place your bet in plenty of time.  These fights won’t wait for slow coaches like you,” Packer advised him, tearing up his ticket disappointedly.

  “Right, gentlemen?  Who’s next?”

  Nowan moved.

  “Come on, don’t be shy,” Bowler Hat shouted, as Miss Jezebel sashayed
roond the ring, trying tae entice the punters wae that crisp ten-pound note ae hers.

  Silence.

  “Anyone?”

  “I’ll hiv a go,” Paul shouted, haudin up his haun.

  “What the fu...” Innes said, in disbelief, as Packer, Donald and Jock looked at Paul as if he’d jist grown a set ae horns.

  “We have a challenger!” Bowler Hat shouted, as everywan looked across tae where they wur staunin.

  “Listen, Innes, don’t be upset noo, bit put everything ye’ve goat oan me.”

  “Paul?  What are ye doing, laddie?” Innes gasped, clearly in a state ae shock.

  “Ah cannae explain jist noo, bit put everything ye kin oan me.  That goes fur youse two as well,” he said tae Packer and Donald.  “I’ll take ma time, tae allow ye the time tae place yer bets.”

  “Paul, Whitey will have my guts for garters.  What do you want to go and do this for?” Innes pleaded wae him, fear in his voice.

  “Ah’m gonnae get the money fur the dug.”

  “Dog?  What dog?” the three ae them asked in unison.

  “Wan-eye…the pup.  Ah’m gonnae go and get the money tae pay aff the vet,” Paul said,
shrugging his shoulders.

   Paul pulled his shirt o’er his heid, as he walked through the crowd tae the red corner.

  “Paul, wait for me.  You’ll need a second,” Jock shouted, scurrying efter him.

  Saba and Morven sat doon in the two seats that the bachelor, the Reverend Macbean and the widowed Lady Gilmour, who wur rumoured tae be hivving an affair, hid vacated in the VIP stand behind The Duke, jist as Paul put up his haun and volunteered tae challenge George Sellar.  When she realised who the challenger wis, Morven wanted tae staun up and scream at him no tae dae it.  Remembering the run-in between George and Paul the day before, she knew that this wid be mair than jist a silly boxing match and that George wid be oot tae seriously hurt Paul.

  “Oh my God, Saba, look who’s volunteered to fight George Sellar,” she exclaimed fearfully.

  “I’ve never liked the thought of two men punching each other’s brains out Morven…until now,” Saba replied, smiling.

  “Saba, you’ve got to stop this right now.  George and Paul had some sort of male pig-headed run-in yesterday.  George will kill him…or worse.”

  “Morven, I’m sure lover boy knows what he’s doing,” Saba said, smiling cruelly, looking across at Paul, who wis noo making his way through the throng, approaching the ring, followed by Jock McGregor.

  “Please, Saba, this isn’t fair.  You know that George Sellar will really hurt him.”

  “What would you like me to do?  What can I do?”

  “Speak to your father.  Please!”

  “Morven, I’m the last person my father will listen to.  We’re barely on speaking terms as it is.”

  “Who’s the challenger, Sellar?” The Duke shouted across tae John Sellar, who wis staunin behind Cameron, who wis acting as George’s second. 

  Baith John and Cameron Sellar hid grins splashed across their faces.

  “I believe it’s one of Innes MacKay’s lost boys, m’lord.  He’s the new lodger…the one I was telling you about.  My George swears that it was him that he chased recently, running off with two of your rabbits.”

  “A bloody thieving poacher…here?  By God!”

  “George said that he had a run-in with him yesterday.  He says he’s got a mouth as wide and as deep as the Kyle, m’lord.  Cocky bastard, if you’ll excuse the language.”

  “Has he now?” The Duke murmured, looking across at the young skinny poacher climbing through the ropes.

  Sir Frank Owen wis fair enjoying himsel.  O’er the past week he’d fished and shot tae his heart’s content.  The whisky and the company hid been good and he’d only jist started tae relax.
The Duke and him hid spent a pleasant efternoon haunin oot medals and trophies tae the winners, as wis expected, and noo it wis relaxation time…a chance tae unwind.  He attended and hosted amateur boxing nights regularly back in Glesga as well as always being ringside in the Kelvin Hall if any ae the WBA fights came north.  He’d invested in a few boxers in his time, such as Ken Buchanan and hid always done well oot of it.  The Ardgay Highland Games wur slightly different in that this wis as close tae bare-knuckle fights as wan could get.  Few, if any, ae the fighters knew a thing aboot the rules or craft ae boxing and went intae the ring using brute force, backed up wae years ae lifting heavy machinery or running up and doon the glens in and aroond the big estates in the area.  Baith The Duke and himsel were neck and neck in the betting stakes.  As well as using the Irish bookmaker, they wur baith exchanging bets wae each other during the fights.  He looked across at the ring.  The Duke’s man, a heavy set brute ae about eighteen or nineteen and weighing in aroond the sixteen tae seventeen stane mark, wis prancing about in his six feet two inch frame, wowing everywan wae a shadow boxing display.  The challenger, who’d jist climbed in through the ropes, looked tae be aboot five feet ten, carrying a weight ae aroond ten or eleven stane fae where he wis sitting.  He looked as if he couldnae hiv been mair than fourteen or fifteen years auld.  Although he wis thin and carried nae excess fat, where there wis a bulge, it wis clearly muscle.  He pursed his lips.  Surely there wis a mistake or somewan wis pulling somewan’s leg, he thought tae himself.

  “Has someone put that runt up to this, John?”

  “No, no, Frank.  My man has just informed me that he’s a genuine challenger.  Seemingly, he’s been pestering one of the local girls and young George standing there in the ring had to go to her rescue.  George had words with him and the only response he got back was barefaced cheek.  He’s also been poaching on my land to boot, the scoundrel.  I think it’ll do him the world of good to get his ears boxed about a bit.  Maybe he’ll think twice before he comes back for more, eh?” The Duke replied wae a smile.

  “What’s your name, son?” Bowler Hat asked him, as Jezebel lifted up a plastic bucket that hid aboot two dozen different sizes ae gum shields floating in the water and shoved it under his nose.

  Before he could answer, George Sellar shadow-boxed across tae them.

  “Lost Boy, that’s what he’s known as about here,” he snarled, jabbing the air in front ae Paul.

  “Paul, Paul McBride,” Paul said, dipping his haun intae the bucket ae water, trying oan the different gum shields until he found wan that fitted, while Jock started lacing up his right haun glove.

“Innes McKay, what have you done?  I’ve left you alone for a couple of hours and when I turn my back you’ve got the boy in the boxing ring!” Whitey snarled furiously.

  “But, I, er, it…”

  “Here you go, Innes, ten shillings at ten to one.  Oh, hello, Whitey, I never…” Packer said, realising that he’d put his fit in it, big style.

  “And that boy hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks.  Now look what you’ve gone and done, you stupid, stupid, man!  You’re supposed to be helping him recuperate, not bloody well getting him maimed or killed.  And as for you, Packer Mackenzie!” she said, glaring at Packer, before turning and storming aff.

  “Nice one, Packer,” Donald said, as Packer haunded Innes his betting slip.

  “Did you not tell her he volunteered without any help from us, Innes?” Packer bleated, taking a sip fae his hip flask.

  “Father, you’ve got to do something.”

  “Darling, Saba, where have you been?  I was looking for you,” The Duke exclaimed, turning aroond.

  “Never mind that, we haven’t the time. You’ll have to stop the fight.”

  “Stop the fight?  Now, why would I do something as stupid as that?” he asked, wae a quizzical look on that face ae his.

  “Because this is going to be a massacre and someone’s going to get hurt.  It’s not fair.”

  “I can understand your concern, darling, but I’m sure George can look after himself.  He’s a big boy,” he replied, smiling sarcastically.

  “You know exactly what I mean.  Look at the state Morven is in,” she pouted, putting her erm aroond Morven’s shoulder.

  “Look, if these two stags want to fight over your little friend here, that’s their business.  It’s not for us to interfere.  Oh yes, I heard about the insolence he handed out to George yesterday.  And from a poacher as well!  There is a perfectly good referee in there whose job is to ensure no one gets hurt.  And anyway, darling, it’ll all be over in the first round.  Now if you’ll excuse me?” he said, turning roond tae see whit wis happening in the ring.

“Morven, wait,” Saba shouted, staunin up and following her aff the stand.

  “Leave me alone, Saba.”

  “Look, I tried.  You heard him.  What was I supposed to do?”

  “It’s so unfair, Paul hasn’t done anything.”

  “Morven, I didn’t exactly see him being pushed up into the ring.  Did you?  Maybe he likes to fight.  Have you thought of that?”

  “Come on, Saba, you heard your father.  For him, it’s just another blood sport.”

  “What I’m saying is there is nothing you or I can do.  What’s done is done,” Saba said, as the crowd roared behind them.

  “I’m not going back up on that stand, Saba.  I couldn’t bear it,” Morven said, looking o’er Saba’s shoulder.

  “We don’t have to.  We can stand here, if you want, or we’ll head away across the field and see if the groups have
arrived in the marquee.”

  “No, I can’t.  I have to stay.  If it gets too bad, we can always get away from here quickly,” Morven replied, as she stepped aside tae let Struana Mackenzie and Whitey Mackay, who looked as if she’d jist seen a ghost, brush past them. 

  She gied Whitey a sympathetic look.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, will that ten-pound note be on its way to last year’s champion, George Sellar, or will it pass to the young pretender and challenger, Paul ‘Lost Boy’ McBride?” Bowler Hat shouted, as hauf the crowd cheered and the other hauf laughed.

  “I’m going to fucking crush you, Lost Boy,” George snarled o’er the noise ae the crowd.

   Paul noted that George hid decided no tae wear a gum shield.

  “Now, listen up, lads.  I want a clean fight.  No kicking, kneeing in the auld ‘Jack Rubies’ or head butting.  Other than that, I want you both to come out of your corner and shake hands when the bell goes.  Have you got that?” he
asked, being ignored.