The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter (15 page)

  Paul never made it tae the gym at six o’clock that Thursday, bit he’d turned up the following week.  He’d tried tae convince Tony and Joe tae go wae him, bit they wurnae interested.

  “Ye’ve come back then?” wis aw Patsy Milligan, the trainer, hid said tae him.

   Paul hid gone alang every Thursday night, bang oan six o’clock, efter that.  He’d found it difficult tae start wae.  Insteid ae haunin him a pair ae gloves, Patsy’d hid him daeing circuit training that included press-ups, sit-ups, bench presses, skipping and weight lifting.

  “Bit Ah want tae fight,” he’d whinged, seeing hauf a dozen other boys sparring in the ring.

  “Ye’ll fight when Ah think ye’re ready tae fight and no before,” Patsy hid kept telling him. 

  He smiled, thinking back.

  “The whole idea ae boxing is tae hit the man in front ae ye withoot being hit back.  If he lands wan oan ye, then ye’re no a boxer, ye’re somebody else’s punch bag,” Patsy wid drum intae the boys.

  Wance Patsy hid allowed him tae move oan tae the punch bag, it hid aw been aboot combinations.

  “Listen, ye’re no gonnae be fighting a southpaw because there isnae any ae them aboot, apart fae yersels.  Aw the fighters ye’re gonnae come across ur aw right-haunders.  They’re whit ye call orthodox fighters.  Everything they dae is led by the right.  The beauty ae youse is that they cannae fucking cope wae ye.  They’re used tae fighting the exact opposites, so throwing youse intae the mix tends tae upset the apple cart a wee bit and makes life jist that wee bit interesting, hee, hee,” Patsy hid sniggered.

  Patsy wid start wae the defence, hammering hame time and time again that a southpaw hid tae keep his feet and heid moving aw the time, how it wis essential tae be able tae parry right haun uppercuts by turning the inside ae yer glove doon towards the ground while keeping yer right glove up o’er yer cheek tae block yer opponent fae landing a left hook and how using yer feet wis important.  Patsy wid staun, facing Paul in an orthodox boxer’s stance, and show him where his feet should be.  He’d drummed intae Paul that tae hiv a good chance and land the killer blow, or the sucker punch, as he called it, he hid tae make sure his right fit wis oan the ootside ae his opponents right fit.  It made it very difficult fur the right-haunder tae land wan oan ye.  The only thing ye hid tae watch oot fur wis the possibility ae heid-butting each other because the power hauns ur oan the same side as each other.  Ye hid tae keep circling tae yer right tae keep yer opponent aff balance. Orthodox fighters ur used tae moving clockwise.  If they dae this against a southpaw, they walk straight intae his left haun.

  “Remember, right-haunded boxers are no used tae circulating tae their right.  They cannae cope and don’t know whit the fuck’s gaun oan…so make sure ye’re taking the lead wae the fitwork,” Patsy wid shout at them.

When ye wur ready tae let go oan yer opponent, it wis aw wan, two, three combo stuff or switching tae a two, three, two, which wis cross, hook, cross.  He hammered intae the boys that ye hid tae keep yer jabbing steady throughoot a fight and then when ye goat a chance, ye hit yer opponent wae a combination ae punches.  Wae a southpaw, orthodox fighters ur no used tae jabs coming fae the right.

  Paul hid kept gaun tae the gym every week except fur when he wis locked up in Larchgrove Remand Centre efter being caught thieving.  Wan day, efter being released, he’d gone roond tae the gym oan the Thursday night, at the usual time, bit the place hid been locked up.  When he’d bumped intae Brian, wan ae the other southpaws, Brian hid telt him that Patsy’d hid tae dae a moonlight flit as Pat Molloy, The Big Man, hid goat wind that he wis training up southpaws oan a separate night fae the other training nights.  Patsy’d hid tae fuck aff tae Southern Ireland before they goat their hauns on him.  Up until then, Paul hid never realised that Patsy hid been daeing the training oan the quiet tae gie the left-haunded boys in the Toonheid an opportunity tae get intae the fight game.  Efter that, Paul’s chance ae a career in boxing hid been well and truly goosed.

  Bowler Hat came across and asked Paul if he wis prepared tae carry oan fighting.  The Duke hid gied the okay fur the fight tae continue beyond the usual allotted two roonds in the competition.  His opponent hid agreed tae continue.

  “Fine by me,” Paul replied, shrugging his shoulders.

  “My boy is slaughtering him.  This isn’t fair,” Jock complained tae Bowler Hat.

  “It’s a knockout competition, son.  No knockout, no prize money.”

  “Look, Ah’m fine wae that,” Paul hissed, glaring at Jock, who jist stared back at him as if seeing Paul fur the first time.

“George, look at me.  George, are you okay, son?” John Sellar asked his auldest.

  “Aye, the bastard keeps catching me with flukes, Pa.  He won’t stand still.”

  “They’re not flukes, George.  That poaching bastard is a southpaw.”

  “A what?”

  “A southpaw,” Cameron repeated tae George, looking at his father wae a quizzical look oan his face, wondering whit the hell a southpaw wis.

  “What the fuck’s a southpaw, Pa?” George asked through the towel that Cameron wis using tae stem the bleeding fae his left eye.

  “The Duke says he uses his left hand as his power hand and he jabs with his right.  You’ve got to stay away from that left hand of his.  Keep your guard up and slow down.  Charging gives him an advantage every time you miss with a forward jab. That’s how he’s managing to catch you out.”

  “I’m telling you, Pa, it’s nothing but flukes.”

  “Cameron, how does that eye look?” he asked his younger son.

  “He hit it off the post on the way down in the first round.  I think it’ll be okay, as long as he keeps it away from him,” Cameron replied, taking the towel away and peering at the cut closely.

  “George, The Duke has agreed to let the bout continue.  Don’t mess about with this poacher now.  Everyone in Ardgay and beyond is standing here watching…including your girlfriend.  Take your time and watch that left of his.  You’ve got to show this upstart he can’t just saunter into the strath and take over.  I want him knocked out.  We’ve got a proud family name to uphold here, son.  Have you got that?”

  “Aye, Pa.”

  “Good, now don’t let me or The Duke down, boy,” his father said, scowling across at Innes Mackay, Packer Mackenzie and Donald
Mackinnon, who wur staunin oan the other side ae the ring, laughing and re-living the past roond by shadowboxing each other.

  “Go get him, Paul,” Jock said excitedly, jumping doon fae Paul’s corner, stool in wan haun and towel in the other, as the bell fur roond three clanged.

  He’s learning, Paul thought tae himsel, as George gingerly eased oot ae his corner, gloves covering his face as he came towards him.  Paul ducked tae the left as a right haun speed jab missed his heid, quickly followed through by a left hook and then George leaned forward oan his right
fit and let go wae a power jab.  Paul knew he wis oan his arse, well before his cheeks crash-landed oan tae the canvas.  The jab hid caught him oan the foreheid.  He tried tae go wae the flow, bit George’s reach wis too long and it hid keeled him o’er.  He thought he could hear the crowd roar, bit the ringing in his ears wis interfering wae his volume control.  He started tae staun up by putting his weight oan his right knee.  As he wis moving forward tae staun up, he looked up, jist as a boot glanced aff the side ae his heid and put him back doon oan tae the canvas.  When Bowler Hat hid been pushing George back fae trying tae get at him while he wis doon, George, the basturt that he wis, hid let fly wae his right fit through the legs ae the referee.  The place erupted wae howls ae protest, bit as the ref hidnae noticed it, he started tae coont Paul oot.  Oan the eighth coont, Paul wis back up oan his feet.

  “Never, ever, get angry wae yer opponent,” Patsy hid drummed intae them.  “Lose yer temper and ye’ll lose the fight.  Guaranteed tae happen every time, so it is.”

  Paul wis absolutely raging at George.  He wanted tae run across and tear fuck oot ae him, bit he held back, knowing whit wis coming.  As soon as Paul managed tae scramble back up oan tae his feet, George shoved Bowler Hat aside and moved in fur the kill.  As he swung a left hook towards Paul, Paul let fly wae a straight left, right doon the middle, that landed between George’s two awready badly swollen eyes.  It wis clear he never knew whit hid hit him.  George’s legs started tae buckle as he fell backwards, followed closely by Paul, who landed another straight left intae his liver.  As George started buckling forward, Paul let loose wae a right haun jab oan tae the side ae George’s left eye and it wis aw o’er.  It sounded as if a tree hid been felled when George landed oan the canvas.  The watching crowd wur still in an uproar as Miss Jezebel and Paddy ‘Knockoot’ Broon dragged George’s limp body oot ae the ring.  Meanwhile, in the other corner, John Sellar wis frantically lacing up the gloves ae his younger son, Cameron.  There wis nae pep talk fae Bowler Hat this time.  The bell clanged and Cameron ran across the ring.  Years later, when it wis spoken aboot in the bar ae The Lady Ross Hotel in Ardgay and The Bridge Hotel in Bonar Bridge, strangers always thought it wis an exaggeration when they heard aboot Cameron’s exit fae the ring.  It wis an exact carbon copy ae the punch that hid toppled his elder brother George.  People who wur lighting up a fag missed it, people looking at their watch tae find oot whit the time wis missed it and it wis said that if ye blinked, ye’d hiv missed it.

  Paul hid decided tae strike while the iron wis hot.  He could see the rage oan Cameron’s face, plus he’d jist clocked Whitey staunin wae her pals.  She hid wan haun up covering her mooth.  She hidnae looked too impressed wae him.  He knew that he hid tae get the fuck oot ae the ring, and quick.  He let fly wae a straight left jab.  He knew he didnae hiv tae follow through as the sound ae the back ae Cameron’s heid ricocheting aff the canvas wid’ve convinced even the hardest ae hearing that he wisnae gonnae get up efter that wan.

  “With an impressive knockout in round three as the challenger and a blistering knockout in eight seconds in round one as the defender, the new Ardgay Highland Games Boxing Champion for nineteen sixty nine is Paul ‘Lost Boy’ McBride!” Bowler Hat screamed through his tin megaphone, tae the roars and cheers ae the crowd.

  The wummin wur haunin oot sandwiches tae family members and neighbours alike.  The Strath Oykel families hid spread their blankets oan the ground across in the corner where the piping competition hid been held earlier in the efternoon.  The two Clydesdale horses wur munching oan the grass nearby while the weans wur chasing each other roond the seated adults, excited tae be in the company ae other weans their ain age.  Aw the strath folk wur soon joined by PC Shiny Buttons and his wife, Molly.  Packer and Struana, alang wae Donald and Isabella hid arrived, carrying a tray ae hot rabbit pies.

  Paul sat watching and listening tae the loud bustling group spread oot before him while munching oan the tastiest pie he’d ever tasted in his life.  Everywan wis revelling in each other’s company.  He knew this gathering only happened a couple ae times a year, apart fae when there wis a funeral or a wedding and it wis obvious that they wur aw making the maist ae it.  He looked across the field towards the marquees. The mass ae folk fae earlier hid disappeared fur the time being.  Maist ae the people who lived in Ardgay and Bonar Bridge hid heided hame fur their tea and tae hiv a break before the ceilidh dance started at seven o’clock.  Jock hid telt him that the wans that could afford it hid heided doon tae The Lady Ross in Ardgay tae get high teas.  There wur other similar sized groups tae the wan he wis sitting in.  Jock pointed some ae them oot.

  “That’s the Glencalvie crowd straight across from us and down in the far corner, you have the Glen Cassley contingent.  See that big bare hairy arse, bent over, winking at us?  That’s Struan Ross with the families from Achany Glen,” Jock said, pointing across tae wan ae the maist disgusting sights Paul hid seen in a long time.

  “Er, excuse me, Struan?  The last time I saw something like that, my man shot it and made a hat out of it,” Isabella shouted across, tae laughter fae aw the groups.

  “Molly, where’s that man of yours when an arrest is required?” Struana screeched, and everywan laughed.

  “And here’s me thinking that haggis were extinct,” Molly McTavish mused oot loud.

  “Now, now, ladies, settle down.  No need to get excited,” Struan shouted across, patting the left cheek ae his bare hairy arse, before staunin up and making himsel decent, taking a bottle ae beer oot ae a bag oan the ground.

   “Struana, what’s that half-man-half-stag joke ye used to tell us?” Agnes Ross shouted across, tae mair laughter.

  “See that large group with all those Highland dancing lassies hopping and prancing about? They’re the Strath Grudie lot.  There’s one of them I quite fancy, but she’s playing hard to get,” Jock mumbled conspiringly in Paul’s ear.

  “Aye?  Which wan wid that be then?” Paul asked.

  “See the tall one standing up on her toes like a ballet dancer?  That’s her.”

  “Christ, Jock, she’s a tall wan, isn’t she?”

  “Someone told me she’s six foot and three quarters of an inch exactly.”

  “And ye’re?”

  “Five foot four,” he replied.

  “So, apart fae being as tall as a telegraph pole, whit’s the attraction then?”