The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter Read online

  “Christ, a southpaw!” Sir Frank yelped in astonishment, wiping away the burning embers ae the cigar that hid accidentally exploded oan tae his lap.

  He quickly glanced across tae the bookmaker, who clearly hidnae clocked the left hook landing, as he wis still busy rubbing oot the chalked ten tae wan odds against the skinny boy and replacing the ten wae a twenty.

  “Frank, are you alright?” a startled Duke wis saying tae him, as Sir Frank waved across his man, Peacock, who wis staunin behind John and Cameron Sellar.

  “Quick, Peacock, put the lot on The Lost Boy and hurry,” Sir Frank hissed, haunin o’er a wad ae notes, withoot coonting them.

  “Frank, what’s going on?” The Duke demanded as the bell clanged tae finish the end ae roond wan.

  “John, you’ve got a bloody southpaw up against your man. Your man has no chance. I knew something wasn’t quite right the moment that Lost Boy or whatever he’s called, lifted his arms up,” Sir Frank replied gleefully, barely able tae contain his excitement, as mayhem ensued aw aroond the ring.

  “Frank, what are you talking about?” The Duke demanded, doubt and alarm creeping intae that voice ae his.

  “John, that boy is a left-handed boxer and it isn’t the first time he’s seen the inside of a ring either.”

  “So?”

  “Think about it. Every time your man throws a right-handed punch and misses, he leaves the right-hand side of his head exposed. A southpaw will take advantage of this flaw every time. As long as he can place his body or his right foot on the outside of your man’s right foot, he’ll take advantage.”

  “I’m sorry, Frank. I don’t get it. What are you saying?” The Duke demanded, still confused, as he looked across at the skinny poacher, who wis staunin in his corner, being wiped doon by a shifty-looking familiar face.

  “There are very few clubs in Glasgow, or the West of Scotland for that matter, who will put their fighters up against a southpaw. Most clubs won’t entertain them. Southpaws are a scab on the back of boxing. They’re worse than the pox.”

  “What? He’s fighting illegally?”

  “Not illegally in the legal sense, but promoters here and abroad, as well as all decent trainers, are trying to outlaw them. The majority of fighters are right-handed. Any left-handed youngsters coming into the game are either frozen out at the start or they are trained in the natural orthodox manner, which is right-handed,” Sir Frank said before his scowl turned tae a smile, as Peacock haunded him his bookmaker’s slip.

  “I’m sorry, Frank, but I still think you’re wrong. My man slipped. That punch was nothing but a fluke. George Sellar has won this competition three years in a row. Look at the size of him, for God’s sake.”

  “I’m telling you, John. Your man is going to get a lesson in the ancient art of boxing from a mongrel that should have been put down a long time ago. You mark my words.”

  Innes could barely look. Sellar hid got aff the stocks even before the bell hid gone aff and hid charged across the ring. He couldnae believe it when Paul managed tae body swerve him. He thought Packer wis gaun tae deafen him wae the scream ae relief he’d let oot, until he realised it wis his ain voice he’d been hearing.

  “C’mon Paul,” Donald shouted, punching an imaginary George Sellar in front ae him.

  “Go on, laddie,” Innes screamed, his fear and panic suddenly aw forgotten aboot.

  “I just knew our boy knew something everyone else didn’t,” Packer announced oot loudly tae everywan within hearing distance.

  “Sweet mother of God, Shamus! Why don’t you just give the money away?” Bowler Hat screamed at his brother, the bookie, efter jumping oot ae the ring as soon as the bell hid gone.

  “Sure, and what have I done now, Padraig?”

  “Are you bloody blind, as well as stupid? There’s a frigging southpaw in that ring.”

  “What? Where? I never saw any southpaw.”

  “That’s because you were too busy giving away all our sheckles, ye stupid Paddy, ye. Did ye not see that left cross?”

  “No, I thought the big fellow tripped or something. I was too busy increasing the odds on the loser to see if I could get a few more bob out of some of these Highland eejits.”

  “Well, reverse the odds and be quick about it now. That southpaw will be walking away with our ten-pound note and there’s not a fairy’s fuck we can do about it. I’ve got a feeling we’ve been set up.”

  “It’s funny ye should say that, now that I think about it.”

  “What, for Christ’s sake?”

  “Just before the bell, a man dressed like a crow walked up and placed twenty two pounds on the loser, would ye believe.”

  “Sweet mother of Saint Patrick, tell me you’re pulling my leg, Shamus, please? What odds did you give him?”

  “Twenty to one.”

  “Get those frigging odds reversed before any other thieving conman gets up here and lays any more money on him. We’ll need to try and sneak away as soon as the fight is done. I’ll tell your sister,” Bowler Hat snarled, as he turned and rushed back tae the ring.

  “Are you sure, Saba? He didn’t fall? Paul knocked him over with a punch?” Morven asked disbelievingly, taking her hauns away fae her face and looking towards the ring.

  “It happened very quickly, but I’m sure I saw it. I think George hurt his eye when he fell against the post. Cameron is dabbing his eye with a towel as we speak,” Saba replied, as John Sellar rushed past them efter consulting wae The Duke, fighting his way through the crowd.

  As soon as the bell fur the second roond clanged, Paul wis oot ae his corner pronto. As he thought, The Steam Roller hidnae changed his tactics and came lumbering across, trying tae force him back intae his corner. There wisnae any set combination. George’s erms and gloves wur being used tae jab, throw left hooks and right uppercuts. Paul defended himsel by keeping his fitwork and his heid oan the move, circulating tae the right, away fae that right haun ae George’s, while parrying his left hooks wae his right glove held tight tae his cheek and blocking George’s right haun uppercuts wae the palm ae his left glove. Paul knew he wid be okay as long as he kept moving and feigning. He knew he hid tae be patient, keep breathing steadily and let the ugly basturt tire himsel oot. He knew George wid be able tae take a jab or two so he decided that he’d wear him doon and see whit happened. He wanted tae get this o’er and done wae, bit he knew it widnae be finished in the second roond. He let loose wae a left cross tae George’s napper, followed up by a right hook and then a quick right hook tae his body. He heard George wince and back aff against the ropes as that last punch landed. As George bounced aff the ropes, shock and surprise showing in his ugly mug, Paul quickly followed through wae a left hook tae his rib cage, followed wae a right hook tae the other side quickly followed by a right hook tae that left eye ae his. Paul saw George’s legs buckle slightly and wis aboot tae move in, hoping fur the sucker punch, when the bell clanged and Bowler Hat jumped in-between them, pushing Paul away across tae his ain corner.

  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 hea
rd 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.