The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter (16 page)

  “She’s lovely.”

  “Okay, bit apart fae being tall and lovely, anything else?”

  “She can fairly get going once those bagpipes start up,” Jock said, laughing.

  “So, hiv ye telt her ye fancy her?”

  “I kind of hinted the last time I spoke to her.”

  “And when wis that then?”

  “Er, this time last year,” he replied.

  “Jock, ye’re something else, so ye ur,” Paul said, laughing.

  “That’s not in the least bit funny, Paul,” Jock said laughing.  “I’ve thought of nothing else since last summer.  Tonight’s the night when Jeannie Vass and I reach for the skies.”

  “Well, don’t feel put oot if she gets there before ye,”

   Paul thought aboot whit Jock hid jist said.  A few months back he wid’ve laughed and taken the pish oot ae any his pals fae Glesga if they’d come oot wae something like that, bit since he’d been living up in the strath, the approach tae life wis totally different fae the hunner mile an hour existence he’d led before. He felt that he needed tae hing back a bit before making any judgement aboot whit went oan in the strath.  He wid probably come up wae the wrang conclusion anyway.  Efter he’d come oot ae the ring, he’d decided tae heid across tae Whitey first rather than hiv tae face her later.  She’d been staunin wae Struana and Molly.  He’d felt really guilty when the first thing she did wis tae haud his face in her hauns and scrutinise that coupon ae his, concern in her eyes.

  “Did you get hurt, Paul?”

  “Naw, his glove jist glanced aff me,” he’d lied, remembering being put doon oan tae his arse efter feeling as if he’d been hit wae a mallet.

  “Did Innes put you up to this?”

  “Naw, naw, Ah done it tae win the prize money tae be able tae pay aff the vet fur the pup.  Ah’m sorry, bit Ah hid tae gie it a go,” he’d mumbled, seeing the tears welling up in her eyes.

  “You could have been hurt…or worse.  How would Innes and myself be able to explain that?” she’d asked him accusingly.

  “Ah know, Ah’m sorry, Whitey, bit Ah widnae hiv been able tae furgive masel if Ah hidnae at least tried tae get the costs ae the medicine.  Ah know it probably didnae look like it, bit Ah did a bit ae boxing when Ah wis younger and Ah didnae think Ah hid anything tae worry aboot fae whit Ah wis seeing up in that ring.  The fact that it wis George Sellar that Ah wis up against made it even easier fur me tae get intae the ring, seeing as it wis him that booted the pup in the eye in the first place,” he’d explained as a way ae an apology.

  “Och, you looked fantastic, Paul.  Ye’ll need to give my Packer a few lessons,” Struana hid beamed, pinching his cheek wae her fingers tae the disapproval ae Whitey.

  “I’m sorry, Paul, but I’m not impressed by the public spectacle that I witnessed today and your behaviour in particular, however well-intentioned it was on your part. All the strath families are going across to the other side of the field to have tea and sandwiches.  I take it you’ll be joining us?”

  “Of course, Ah widnae miss it fur the world, especially if ye’ve brought yer honey and cheese wae ye,” he’d beamed, trying tae flatter her.

  “Right, I’ll see you shortly,” she’d said stiffly, making her way through the crowd.

  “Grrrr, Tiger...” Struana hid growled, pinching his cheek again and winking, following behind Whitey.

  He’d jist turned tae go and speak tae Innes, Packer and Donald, who wur picking up their winnings fae the bookie, when he’d been confronted by Morven and The Gardener’s Daughter.

  “What are you like, Paul?”

  “Whit?”

  “Don’t what me.  You’ve just made a bad situation worse, and for what?  Just so you can puff out your chest like some stag?  I thought you were perhaps a bit different from the rest of the herd about here,” she’d fumed.

  “Morven, whit ur ye oan aboot?” he’d asked, looking tae her boss fur guidance, who wis staunin there wae whit looked like a smirk oan her coupon.

  “Of all the people in Ardgay for you to have a fight with, it had to be George and Cameron Sellar.”

  “Ah’m sorry, Ah should’ve asked permission fae yersel oan who else there wis aboot here tae fight wae rather than gie yer boyfriend a couple ae black eyes,” he’d retorted swiftly, throwing her aff her stride.

  “What?  Do you thi...are you totally brainless or what?”

  “Aye, well, maybe a bit less concern fur the baby Mick McManuses and a bit mair concern fur whit’s happening aboot here tae yer ain kind ae folk wid help,” he’d shot back at her, gieing Saba a dirty look.

  “Excuse me...” Saba hid begun.

  “And don’t you push yer posh gub intae it, either.  This his goat fuck aw tae dae wae you!” he’d spat at Saba, before turning and walking away, no gieing her an opportunity tae finish her pontificating spiel.

  “That wasn’t Whitey I saw you speaking to, was it, laddie?” Innes hid asked, efter himsel, Packer and Donald congratulated him oan his win.

  “Aye, she wis hopping mad aboot me hivving a go at Geordie Boy and that wee ugly brother ae his.  Whit is it wae the wummin aboot here and they Sellar wans?”

  “Och, Paul, don’t worry about Whitey. She won’t be mad for too long…you’ll see,” Packer hid cackled, waving a bundle ae notes in front ae Paul’s nose and throwing an imaginary left hook at his chin.

  “Did she ask if we put you up to it?” Innes hid enquired.

  “Naw, she asked me if you put me up tae it, bit Ah telt her it wis ma ain decision and that Ah wanted tae try and get the dosh tae pay fur the vet’s treatment fur the pup.”

  “Aye, well, you won’t need to worry about that, laddie,” Innes hid said, lifting up his winnings.

  “Innes, Ah’m sorry, bit the reason Ah went intae the ring wis tae get the money tae pay the vet’s bill and that’s whit Ah want tae dae, if it’s okay wae yersel and Whitey. So, take the five bob Whitey gied me earlier, the fifteen bob ye loaned me and take four pounds aff fur the vet and gie me back a fiver,” Paul hid said, haunin Innes the ten pound note.

  Paul couldnae figure oot why baith Whitey and Morven hid hid a go at him fur knocking fuck oot ae a couple ae basturts like the Sellar brothers.  Surely everywan knew they wur a pair ae dirty liberty-taking shitehooses.  Why the hell wur they getting aw the sympathy while he wis getting aw the grief?

  “Paul, here you go.  Whitey sent this over for you,” Jock said, haunin him a plate wae two big chunks ae breid, a dollop ae honey and a big lump ae cheese oan it.

Chapter Seventeen

Saturday Night

  “Wis that you Ah saw bullying those big boys that looked like the Mick McManus twins in that boxing ring earlier, Paul McBride?”

  “Sarah May, how ur ye daeing?  Ah heard youse wur playing the night,” Paul replied tae Sarah May Todd, the singer wae the famous Sarah May and The Cowpokes. 

  “Fancy bumping intae a Toonheid minker like yersel, aw the way up here.  Whit ur ye up tae?” she asked, laughing, as she touched the bruise oan his face wae her fingertips.

  “Ah’m working oan a croft…that’s a wee farm tae you and me…aboot five miles alang the road fae the castle o’er there,” Paul said, nodding in the direction ae the River Carron.

  “The last Ah heard, ye wur in the clink daeing time somewhere.”

  “Ah wis in St Ninians oot near Stirling and then they shipped me aff tae Lennox Castle, the loony-bin, because Ah ended up hivving a nervous breakdoon.  They thought it wis something tae dae wae a shock Ah goat
when Ah wis a wean,” he replied.

  “Aye, being introduced tae soap fur the first time sometimes dis that tae weans,” Sarah said, smiling.

  “So, whit aboot yersel then?  Ur ye still dabbling at the nursing game?”

  “Och naw, Ah gied that up ages ago.  Ah hid tae choose between that and the music.  The music won it hauns doon, so it did.  Ah make mair in wan night playing tae a crowd than Ah ever did working up in The Royal.  Mind you, there are times when Ah’ve lived tae regret that decision,” Sarah said grinning, looking across at the van that wis being unloaded by Gareth and Blair, the two Burr brothers, and Michael Massie, the bass player.

  “Listen up, Blair, you’re the drummer…you don’t hiv an opinion, so get they back muscles ae yers intae that amp and leave the playlist tae me.  And you, Massie, ya bum-poker, ye, whit the fuck hiv you goat tae smile aboot, eh?  The next worst thing tae a drummer is a shite bass player.  Whoever telt ye
that ye wur good, wis telling ye a pack ae fucking lies,” Gareth, the guitarist, howled at them.

  “It wis yersel,” Michael replied.

  “Whit wis?”

  “That telt me Ah wis good.”

  “Ah only telt ye that because I needed somewan tae fill in the empty space oan that big stage oan oor first gig.”

  “Ur ye coming across tae speak tae the boys, Paul?” Sarah asked him.

  “Naw, Ah’ll speak tae them later.  How’s yer brother, Calum?”

  “Och, he’s fine.  He’s preparing fur the Commonwealth Games in Edinburgh next year, so he is.  Look, Ah’ll hiv tae go…Ah’ll catch ye later, Paul,” Sarah said, wandering o’er tae take control ae the van being unloaded before Michael punched Gareth fur his cheek.

  “I hope you’re not still going to speak to that poacher after what he said to us, Morven,” Saba reminded her, switching oan the hairdryer.

   “Saba, I never said I wasn’t going to talk to him again, ever,” Morven shouted, o’er the noise.

  “You said that was that…never again,” Saba replied, switching aff the hairdryer and looking at her.

  “What I said was that I would never show my feelings in front of him again.  I was angry…I still am, but I still think he’s interesting...and good looking.  There’s something about him that I can’t quite put my finger on.  There’s a sadness about him and decency that he keeps well guarded.  He’s also a bit of a pirate as well, if you know what I mean.”

  “Decency?  Sadness?  Goodness, Morven, what are you on about?  Didn’t you see what he did to the Sellar brothers?  Can you imagine what he would have done to them if he wasn’t in a boxing ring, being watched by half the population of Ross-shire and Sutherland, for God’s sake?  Stay away from him…he doesn’t belong here…he’ll let you down, that one.  He’s here for a reason and I don’t think it’s through choice either.  I’m telling you, if my father catches him on his land, he’ll wish he’d never been born.  I’m not always going to be here, so I think you need to be careful.  You have to live and work in the strath.”

  “Saba, I can appreciate you standing up for your father and the land that he owns, but please don’t tell me how unfair it was for George and Cameron Sellar today.  I don’t claim to know anything about boxing or its rules, but from where I was standing, I got the distinct impression that George and Cameron were beaten fair and square, despite George kicking Paul when he was on the floor.”

  “So, it’s Paul now?  Listen, Morven, I’ve lived in New York…I know a bad boy when I see one.  The hearts of my mother’s friends are broken and scattered across the whole of Manhattan because they thought that they were the ones to tame the local bad boys.  Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.  I’ve spent enough time consoling my friends whilst their mothers are running around making a fool of themselves and their family.  My mother’s been in therapy at least half a dozen times in the last two years because of bad boys, you know,” Saba retorted bitterly.

  “Therapy?  What’s therapy?”

  “Therapy is when you pay a lot of money to lie on a couch in some fancy office that has Picassos hanging on the walls, where you tell someone who you don’t know what’s bothering you.” 

  “Does it work?  Therapy, I mean.”

  “Of course it doesn’t work.”

  “So, why do it?”

  “Because it tides the poor distraught fool over until the next bad boy turns up and then it starts all over again.  It’s a vicious circle once you step into it.  This poacher should have a health warning stuck on his forehead.  He’s dangerous.  Now, how do I look?” Saba asked, doing a twirl.

  “You look fine.  How about me?”

  “A million dollars!  Now, let’s go and see what everyone else thinks,” Saba said, as they heided fur the door.

  “I’m just not going to tolerate it, Frank.  From now on, competitors will have to declare whether they are right-handed or not.  Have you seen the damage that savage has done to my keepers?”

  “Yes, I must admit that I did enjoy myself, John, although it wasn’t a pretty sight to behold.  If we let those southpaws into the beautiful game, it will ruin it for generations to come.  We have to be alert.”

  “And who is this fellow, this poacher, anyway?  Suddenly he turns up, takes the food from my mouth and then goes on to assault and humiliate my keepers and myself.  We can’t have that.  Who knows where this could lead to if we don’t suppress louts like him?  Did you see those fools cheering on that ruffian?”

  “Yes, he had the whole crowd behind him,” Sir Frank sighed, shaking his heid.

  “Not the whole crowd, Frank.  I meant the ones who placed bets on the poacher…that Mackay fellow and the two others.  It’s Mackay who’s behind this.  He’s deliberately brought this vagabond up from Glasgow into the strath to humiliate me.  I’ll ask Sellar to inform McTavish to check out with the authorities in Glasgow to see if there is any criminal background we can use,” The Duke fumed.

  “Forget McTavish, John.  I’ll contact my editor and see if I can find out anything about him.  It’ll probably only take a few days.  If he’s got any form, I’m sure my people will come up with it.  Paul McBride, I think they said his name was,” Sir Frank said, helping himsel tae a malt whisky fae the decanter.

  “My chauffeur, Cawley McLeod, informed Riddrie that the ruffian is only about fourteen years old.  Can you imagine a fourteen year old being able to inflict that type of damage on someone like George Sellar?  If that’s him at fourteen, what will he be like when he’s eighteen?  No, this is serious, Frank.  If I don’t act now, that young stag will be rutting all over my estate and who knows what damage he’ll do next.”

  Paul couldnae believe the sight in front ae him.  Aw the Strath Oykel crowd wur sitting at two big tables hauf way doon tae the left as ye came in through the door ae the marquee. The place wis heaving wae people, aw talking, shouting and laughing at the same time.  Pipers wur gieing it big licks fae different parts ae the tent.  Bothan Macpherson, the cart driver who’d picked up aw the families fae Strath Oykel tae take them tae the field, wis staunin playing ‘Scotland The Brave’ oan the bagpipes when Paul and Jock arrived at the tables.  Within a few seconds ae Bothan starting, pipers fae other parts ae the marquee hid aw joined in.  Paul noticed that a lot ae the lassies who wur in the Highland dancing competitions earlier wur still decked oot in their different coloured tartan outfits, as wur aw the pipers, minus their jaickets.  The only flair space in the marquee wis the dance flair which ran doon the centre. There must’ve been aboot fifty weans, aw shapes, sizes and ages skiting aw o’er it as if it wis an ice skating rink.  Two wummin wur walking up and doon its length, scattering whit looked like talcum powder oan tae it.

  “That’s Slipperene they’re throwing on to the dance floor,” Whitey shouted in Paul’s lug.

  “Whit’s Slipperene?”

  “It makes the floor slippery, just like a skating pond and allows the dancers to coast along better.  It saves them having to lift their feet up.”

  “Ye’re kidding me?”

  “No, no, wait until the dancing starts…you’ll see.  It’s amazing.”

  Paul looked aboot tae see if Morven wis oan the go.  He noticed that aw the folks fae the different straths wur still in their ain groups. The stage wis at the far end and the bar, which wis aboot ten deep wae people, wis oan the right as ye came in the entrance.  Paul and Jock hid awready done the roonds ae the tables…Paul checking oot where Morven wis and Jock looking fur Jeannie Vass, his tall skinny dancer.  While Jock hid easily spotted Jeannie, Morven hid been naewhere tae be seen, although he’d spotted The Gardener’s Daughter talking tae her da, The Duke, and aw his crowd, who wur set up at four tables that wur covered in white tablecloths.  Oan his way roond the tent, people patted him oan the back and telt him how proud they wur that wan ae Innes and Whitey’s lost boys hid wiped the flair wae the Sellars.

  “Good evening, lads and lassies, boys and girls.  Welcome to the Ardgay Gala & Highland Games ceilidh,” Cawley McLeod, the estate’s chauffeur-come-mechanic
shouted intae the microphone, as the lights dipped and everywan in the marquee decided tae test oot their voices by screaming the place doon.

  “Now then, what a treat we’ve got for you tonight.  To start the night off, all the way from Insch in Aberdeenshire, we’ve got one of the top ceilidh dance bands in Scotland, Zanussi & The Frigidaires, who you can see standing behind me, raring to go,” he roared, tae loud cheers.  “And, if that isn’t enough, without a doubt the top Country and Western band Scotland’s ever produced, Sarah May Todd & The Cowpokes, will be playing for us later.  Right, I just want to say a quick thanks to everyone who has made this one of the best games we’ve ever had, and without further ado, give a big warm welcome to Zanussi & the Frigidaires!”

  Everywan in the marquee roared.

  “Good evening, everybody, my name’s Iain MacDonald and I’m going to be calling out the dances tonight, so don’t worry if you don’t know the steps, I’ll keep you right.  Firstly, we’re going to start with a Strip The Willow, followed by an Eightsome Reel, followed by a Dashing White Sergeant.  Right, are you ready?”

  “Yes!” everywan roared as the flair filled wae four rows ae people ae aw ages.

It wis just then that Morven appeared in front ae Paul and dragged him intae a set wae three other couples.

  “Bit, Ah don’t know how tae dae these dances, Morven,” he protested.

  “Don’t worry, Paul, the bouzouki player with the band will be calling out the steps and I’ll keep you right,” she shouted, laughing.

  “Right, here we go.  One, two, three, four!” Iain Macdonald shouted, as the band opened up.

  The next hour and a hauf wis a blur tae Paul.  Some ae the time, he wis up stomping aboot tae dances called The Gay Gordons and The Military Two Step and the next he’d be either o’er at the tables, talking tae folk wae Morven or ootside getting a bit ae fresh air.  The ceilidh band hid jist finished and a lot ae people wur milling aboot ootside including Morven and himsel. 

  “I’m sorry about this afternoon, Paul,” Morven said.

  “Naw, it’s me that should be apologising tae yersel.  Ah wis bang oot ae order talking tae yersel and yer rich boss pal like that.”

  “It was just that I got such a fright seeing you in that ring, fighting with George.  I thought you were about to get seriously hurt.  It wouldn’t have been the first time he’s hurt someone really badly.”

  “Aye, Ah know.  Innes and Whitey hiv a young pup.  A wee while ago, when the Sellars wur up hassling Innes aboot something, the pup came across tae George fur a wee pat oan the heid and he booted it in the face.  It lost wan ae its eyes.”

  “Oh, no, what a shame.  Is it alright?”

  “No really.  Innes and Whitey took it tae the vets o’er in Lairg, who took its eye oot and sewed it back up.  It wis daeing fine, bit the eye his become infected.  Ah think it’s in a bad way.”

  “Will it die?”

  “It will if it disnae get antibiotics.  Innes and Whitey didnae hiv the money tae buy any mair.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Paul.  They must be feeling terrible.”

  “Well, they’re okay noo.  The reason Ah went intae the ring wis tae try and win the ten quid tae pay fur the medicine that Wan-eye…that’s whit Ah call him…needs tae get better.”