The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter Page 10

  “Why don’t ye ask me insteid ae asking her?” Paul butted in, feeling his hackles rise.

  “It talks as well? And here’s me thinking that shite only smells.”

  “George! That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “Morven, get in,” Arsehole demanded.

  “I certainly will not. Let’s go, Paul,” Morven said, walking towards the gate in the distance.

  “Och, Morven, hang on. I’m only offering you a lift…trying to be helpful.”

  “Are you coming, Paul?” she demanded, turning back tae him.

  “Aye, Ah’m jist coming, Morven. See ye… loser boy,” Paul said smirking, oot ae earshot ae Morven, tae the baby wrestler.

  The baith ae them instinctively stood well back aff the road oan the grass verge, as George Sellar crunched the gears and screeched past them withoot gieing them a second glance.

  “Ye’ve upset that boyfriend ae yours, so ye hiv,” Paul said tae her, when he caught up wae her jist ootside Gledfield Primary School.

  “George Sellar? He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Naw? So who is then?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” he replied, as they passed the church oan the left and walked through the metal gate that hid ‘O Enter Ye His Gates’ inscribed oan them, oan tae the field.

  “Before I formally open the Ardgay Gala, I would just like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has given their time to put all of this together. Without them and all the sponsors, who are too many to mention by name, but we all know who they are, this magnificent field wouldn’t be looking as wonderful as it is. As this is the third year I have been kindly asked to open the Gala, I would like to thank the organising committee on behalf of Irina and myself and just say how appreciative we both are for being welcomed not only into the Spinningdale community, but within the area as a whole. So, without further ado, I now declare the nineteen sixty nine Ardgay Gala, officially open,” James Robertson Justice announced through the microphone, tae loud cheers and applause fae the crowd in front ae the dignitary stand.

  “Who’s the fat auld boy wae the beard then?”

  “That’s James Robertson Justice. He’s a famous film star,” Morven replied.

  “Whit films wis he in?”

  “He was in Doctor in the House. He lives in Spinningdale.”

  “Aye, Ah remember it. He played the grumpy auld basturt, if ma memory serves me well. Any other famous people aboot?”

  “See the two people he’s speaking to?”

  “Aye.”

  “The taller of the two? That’s The Duke of Kyle.”

  “Yer boss?”

  “You could say that. The other one is Sir Frank Owen. He owns The Glasgow Echo. The people sitting on the stand behind them are all Dukes, Lords and Ladies.”

  “Whit aboot that auld dragon wan sitting there wae her legs at quarter tae three wae the three foxes sleeping oan her shoulders?”

  “Oh, that’s Lady MacPherson. She’s actually quite a nice old dear. She owns one of the estates up near Lairg.”

  “Somewan wants tae tell her that next week’s washing is hinging oot tae dry,” Paul said, drily, looking aboot. “Where Ah come fae she’d get slung in the jail fur disturbing the peace fur that.”

  “I think she’s pretty safe about here.”

  “Aye, wan law fur the rich and aw that, eh?”

  “So, tell me, why have you ended up with Whitey and Innes, Paul?”

  “Ah hid a nervous breakdoon, at least, that’s whit Ah wis telt. Ah wis sent up here fur a wee bit ae calmness and rest.”

  “What were you so nervous about that you broke down? Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. Forget I said that.”

  “Naw, naw, it’s okay wae me. A pal ae mine hid a bad accident and died. Although it wis terrible at the time, masel and ma mates goat o’er it. A couple ae years later, it hit me and Ah started tae get nightmares…bad dreams and aw that. Ah wis in the nut-hoose fur a few weeks until Ah calmed doon, before they sent me up here fur a wee bit ae a rest.”

  “And do you like living here?”

  “It’s okay, bit Ah widnae exactly call it hame.”

  “So, where do you call home then?” she asked, haunin o’er a tanner and getting two candy floss’s back in exchange.

  “Ah’m sorry, bit Ah’m skint. Ah cannae afford tae buy this,” he stammered, taking a step back, embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry, I get paid. You can owe me.”

  “Er, thanks,” he said, taking a bite.

  “So, tell me, what’s home like then?”

  “Ah telt ye, Ah come fae Glesga. Ah live near the city centre. That’s it.”

  “What else?”

  “There isnae much tae tell. Me and ma mates hing aboot daeing this and that.”

  “So, what does this and that entail?”

  “Y’know…this and that.”

  “No, tell me?”

  “Well, we hing aboot the streets, go tae the pictures, sometimes hire a horse and cart and sell coal briquettes...this and that,” he replied, looking at her oot ae the side ae his eyes.

  “It all sounds so exciting. I’ve never been to a city. I was in Inverness when I was about seven or eight but I can’t even remember anything about it apart from the fact that the buildings were tall and there were lots of cars and buses.”

  “Well, it’s no aw it’s cracked up tae be…take it fae me. Ye’re better aff up here where it’s aw nice, clean and tidy.”

  “Does that mean you won’t be going back then?”

  Shit, he’d walked intae that wan, he thought tae himsel. Wis he ever gonnae heid back tae the Toonheid, or whit wis left ae it? He’d asked himsel that very question every day since he’d arrived in the Highlands. The nightmares seemed tae hiv stoapped and he loved staying where he lay his heid at night. Innes and Whitey treated him like wan ae their ain. Did they see him as a lost boy? Wur they jist being nice tae him, the way they wur wae aw the other lost boys? Aw the waifs and strays ae the day probably went through their door. Wis he any different, he wondered. Whitey hid telt him that they put up weans who needed a wee break. Morven hid said that it wis aw tiny wans that they’d hid staying wae them in the past. Did Innes show aw them how tae poach like fuck? How tae snare a rabbit or hook a salmon oot ae the river? And whit aboot The Mankys…Tony, Joe, Silent and Johnboy? Where wur they? Still in an approved school or probably oan the run, robbing everywan blind, while he wis farting aboot up in the Highlands, sitting oan his arse, wondering whit tae dae wae himsel? He liked whit he saw and quite fancied this lassie, bit he’d hiv tae watch oot. While she wis pretty, she wis pretty smart as well, even if they wur fae different worlds.

  “Morven, this is your hame…it isnae mine. Where Ah come fae, we hiv pavements that people kin spit oan. Up here there’s sweet F. A. tae dae, apart fae stare intae the distance,” he said, hoping that wid get her tae stoap grilling him and spoiling his view ae her wae that red jumper showing aff they nice rounded paps ae hers.

  “And chasing ewes?”

  “Eh?”

  “You said you like chasing ewes about the hills. I bet you never did that in Glesgie.”

  Naw, he wanted tae tell her. Whit he used tae dae wis stalk people and try and kill the basturts before they goat tae him first. That the rules ae the survival game wur nae tae wait until ye goat attacked yersel, bit tae get in there quick withoot being invited and deal wae the situation before anywan knew whit wis happening. He wanted tae tell her that he’d been robbing anything that wisnae tied doon since he’d learned tae walk as a wee snapper. He wanted tae tell her that, alang wae his pals, money wis God, that he broke intae shoaps, pubs, factories and scrapyards, seven days a week and that if anywan goat in their way or crossed them, then they wur the wans that suffered. Wid she understaun that he’d been in and oot ae remand homes and approved schools since he wis eight years auld and that he couldnae wait tae grow up because he wanted tae be a bigger gangster than P
at Molloy, The Big Man, who ruled the Toonheid and hauf the city since before Paul wis born?

  “Aye, ye’re right there, Morven, if it wisnae fur that wee Blackie that keeps gieing me the eye in a morning when Ah’m up and running through they glens, Ah wid’ve been back tae the toon, long before noo,” he said, pleased that she wis laughing.

  “So, I’ve got competition to worry about?”

  “And yersel? Whit exactly is it ye dae up at that big castle belonging tae Lord Shiting-Housing then?”

  “I’m a Lady’s maid, or at least that’s what I’ve become since Saba…that’s Lady Saba to you…came back from America recently.”

  “So, ye clean up efter some so-called Lady then? Ah suppose it’s better than working.”

  “It’s not really work. We went to the same school and shared a desk in class. We were the best of friends when we were young.”

  “Dis it no feel a wee bit strange, waiting haun-and-foot oan somewan who wis yer so-called pal at school?”

  “I’ve never really thought about it like that.”

  “Aye, Ah bet Lady Muck hisnae gied it much ae a thought either,” he said, ducking his heid, as a painted-faced clown strode past wae a haunful ae balloons towards a group a weans who wur jumping up and doon waiting fur him tae arrive tae join his pal under the clown school sign.

  “Paul, this is the Highlands. There are the people who own it and then there are the rest of us. The estates and the people who own them create jobs for everybody about here. Without them, there would be no jobs. Without the jobs, people would struggle and probably end up moving to the city to…”

  “Spit oan the pavements?”

  “Spit on the pavements,” she agreed, laughing.

  They’d walked back fae the field as far as the castle gates. He didnae find it awkward talking tae her. Her patter wis quite good and she wis as sharp as a pencil. She wis quick tae laugh and she telt him aboot aw the main characters in the area. When he asked aboot George Sellar, she gied him a wee bit ae information aboot him and his brother Cameron…how they worked under their auld man who wis the factor fur the estate. She’d refused tae bite when he tried tae get mair information oot ae her aboot the son ae Mick McManus. He’d offered tae walk her up the drive, bit he saw the startled, frightened look oan her face. It wis quite clear she didnae want him and Geordie Boy tae bump intae each other, at least no in the castle grounds. There wis a slight hesitation before she suddenly leaned o’er and gied him a light kiss oan the lips. No a peck, and certainly no a real smacker, bit it wis oan they lips ae his, close enough fur him tae feel the cushion ae whit wis under her jumper. She hid then, jist as quickly, backed aff, laughing, before he could put his erms aroond her.

  “I take it that you’ll be at the dance tomorrow night then?” she’d asked, walking backwards again, away fae him, up the drive.

  “Ur ye asking me oot oan a date like?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Ach, Ah’ll consider it. Ah’ll need tae talk tae Blackie the morra morning tae see if she’s okay wae me gaun oot wae another lassie. Y’know whit these ewes ur like.”

  “Fine, I’ll see you then,” she’d laughed, as she turned and disappeared oot ae sight roond a bend in the drive.

  Innes hid said the croft wis aboot five miles fae the castle. It wis still early, aboot nine o’clock, and the sun wis still oot. He hauf thought ae nipping through the estate and daeing a run up through the hills, bit decided against it. The shoes he hid oan wid probably cripple him running o’er the terrain. He thought aboot the day that he’d hid. He felt a thrill ae excitement at the thought ae seeing Morven the next day. No only wis she the first person he’d met ae his ain age since he’d arrived in the strath, bit she’d gied him a kiss oan the smacker as well. Things wur definitely looking up, he thought, as he let rip wae Creedence Clearwater Revival’s ‘Bad Moon Rising’ followed by The Stones’ ‘The Last Time.’ He’d jist turned the bend before the auld schoolhouse when he clocked them. George Sellar wis staunin leaning backwards oan the front ae the grill ae the Landy wae wan heel up oan the bumper. Cameron wis sitting oan the bonnet, resting his back oan the windscreen. He could see them stiffen when they saw him. He thought aboot making a run fur it, bit changed his mind. If they wur gonnae hiv a go at him, it wid be as well tae be noo, he thought tae himsel.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the tramp from Glesgie,” George sneered.

  “Glesga.”

  “I told you, shite doesn’t talk about here. That means you.”

  “Fae where Ah’m staunin, Ah kin smell the same brand ae shite that Ah smelled earlier oan the day, only it’s a lot stronger noo that ye’ve goat that glaikit brother ae yers hinging aboot wae ye,” he said tae them, as Cameron slid aff the bonnet, taking aff his jaicket.

  “I think we’ll need to teach this mongrel a wee lesson in manners, George,” Cameron said.

  It wis then that the three ae them froze. The unmistakable sound ae a double-barrelled shotgun being cocked tore across the stillness ae the evening.

  “Now, what would a couple of nice boys like the Sellars be doing in this neck of the woods on a fine night like this then, I wonder?” Donald, the rabbit pie man fae Golspie, asked pleasantly, as the two Sellar brother’s swivelled aroond tae face him.

  “Donald Mackinnon, stay out of this. This doesn’t concern you. This is between us and the lost boy here,” Cameron snarled.

  “Och, I would say it’s well past your bedtime, Cameron. It must be after nine o’clock at least. Should you not be taking him home, George? Your daddy will be concerned about him being out this late.”

  “Donald, don’t get involved in something you’ve no control over,” George snarled.

  “George, you never did have a brain. It’s a shame, but I’m sure God made up for it in other ways, although from where I’m standing, it’s difficult to see where he put it. Anyhow, unless you and that younger brother of yours gets into that Landy and drive home to enjoy another peaceful day, those nice front seats and that dashboard of yours are going to be covered in Irish Wolfhound brain matter,” Donald said, resting the barrel ae the shotgun oan tap ae wan ae the strings that wis supposed tae be haudin the canvas flap shut oan the back ae the Land Rover.

  The tongue ae wan ae the Irish hounds licked the end ae the barrels. Cameron’s mooth opened tae say something, bit nothing came oot. Paul saw that George hesitated fur a second or two, before looking intae Donald’s eyes, which wur as steady and as deadly as Wyatt Earp’s wur at the O.K Corral. George looked away first.

  “Let’s go, Cameron,” he finally scowled, lifting his brother’s jaicket and throwing it o’er tae him, as the two ae them opened the front doors ae the vehicle.

  “You haven’t heard the last of this, Donald,” George growled, crunching the gears intae place and speeding aff alang the road towards the castle.

  “Don’t tell Isabella what I’ve just done, laddie. She’ll go off her head if she finds out I’ve lost us two more customers,” Donald said pleasantly.

  The party wis in full swing by the time Paul walked through the door wae Donald. Swein McTavish, still in uniform, wis bouncing up and doon oan his wife Molly’s knee wae a glass full ae a hunner percent proof whisky, blagged that very morning, fae the bottom ae the barrel ae a fifteen year auld malt at the Balblair distillery o’er in Edderton. He wis singing ‘The Mucking O’ Geordie’s Byre’ at the tap ae his voice as Innes gied it big licks oan the fiddle. Paul felt a bit uneasy being this close tae a bizzy. The last time Paul wis this close, he’d been either wearing hauncuffs or he’d hid a haun gripping him by the throat. Across fae Innes, Whitey sat beside Isabella, Donald’s wife, who wis playing the spoons by clacking them aff her ankles, knees and her hauns, in time wae Innes’s playing.

  “Is this the boy? Is this the boy?” Packer Mackenzie, the assistant tae the vet, fae Lairg, wis shouting o’er the racket.

  “Aye, it is, Packer. This is Paul,” Whitey shouted, as Packer’s wife, Struana planted an open-moo
thed, wet kiss oan tae Paul’s lips.

  Efter the Sellar brothers hid shot the craw back tae the castle, Donald hid strolled back tae the croft wae Paul. He’d telt him that he’d jist gone oot fur a bit ae fresh air and hid taken Innes’s shotgun wae him oan the off-chance that he’d get a pheasant or two.

  “Ah’m sorry ye hid tae get involved in that, Donald,” Paul hid said tae him.

  “Och, never you worry, laddie. I was only doing what I would expect someone to do for me in those circumstances. Those two boys need to be taken down a peg or two before it’s too late. It’s a pity their mother left when they were so young. She might have had a balancing influence on them.”

  “Right, Paul, get up those stairs and get that banjo of yours down here and give us a song,” Whitey said, when McTavish hid finished his song.

  “It’s a guitar, and naw, Ah’m too shy,” he pleaded.

  “Nonsense, get it down or I’ll arrest you and sling your arse in the jail,” the drunken polisman burped.

  “Come on, Paul, just for me…please,” Whitey said tae him.

  “Aye, okay, bit Ah’ll tell youse aw the noo, Ah don’t know any ae that Scottish stuff,” he said, as he nipped upstairs tae get the guitar that he’d swopped fur ten DC comic annuals aff wan ae the patients in Lennox Castle.

  He’d been playing the guitar aff and oan fur a couple ae years when he wis in the approved schools.

  “Right, what’s it to be, Paul?” PC Shiny Buttons asked.

  “Right, Ah’m telling youse aw before Ah start. Ah’m shite oan the guitar, so youse hiv been warned.”

  “Och, you’re not, Paul, you’re a big handsome boy,” Struana slurred.

  “What’s being handsome got to do with it, Struana?” Donald asked, taking a slug ae whisky oot ae a cracked cup.

  “Aye, Struana. Look at that Kenneth McKellar. A fine figure ae a man, but couldn’t sing for a gold sixpence if his life depended on it,” Innes slung in, nearly causing a riot amongst aw the female Kenneth McKellar groupies.

  “Give me the Alexander Brothers anytime,” Packer shouted, looking aboot, daring anywan tae disagree wae him.