She was in there, all right, in conversation with Gary O’Rourke. The big roadie was wearing slacks and a GWA bomber jacket with the word ‘Security’ written across the back.
‘Hello darling.’ I slipped my arm around my wife’s waist as I spoke and kissed her lightly. ‘Had a good afternoon?’
‘You’ve seen one M amp;S, you’ve seen them all,’ she replied. ‘I bought football tops for the boys, though.’
‘This is Jan, my wife,’ I said to Gary. ‘Jan, this is Gary, the hardest working guy in the whole circus. He builds the set then takes it down afterwards.’
‘Aye,’ said the Glaswegian, smiling. ‘And in-between times I guard it.’
‘Are you out here during the show?’
‘No. Ah’m around ringside then.’
Jan tugged my arm. ‘Look, there they are,’ she called out. ‘Just at the top of the entranceway.’
Jonathan and Colin spotted us at the same time and began to wave, frantically, but just at that moment they were cut off from our sight by a black, chauffeured car which pulled up in front of us. The grey-liveried driver opened the passenger door in a flash, and Jack Gantry stepped out, followed by another man. Both of them wore heavy gold chains of office.
Ever the politician, he recognised us at once. ‘It’s Jan, isn’t it,’ he said. ‘And Oz, Susie’s friends. What brings you down here?’
‘I’m involved with the show,’ I answered.
‘Ahh,’ Gantry exclaimed, with what struck me as a slightly forced show of interest. ‘I didn’t know that. Maybe we can have a chat afterwards, but now I have to take my Lord Mayor to meet our host.’ Unbidden, Gary O’Rourke pulled the entrance door open, and the two dignitaries, neither giving him the briefest nods of thanks, swept inside.
They were hardly gone before Dad and the boys were on us, wee Colin grabbing me around the knees, and Jonathan, who always has been an adventurous lad, leaping at his Aunt Janet and giving her a large hug. My father looked me up and down, appraisingly, with an amused, slightly quirky smile on his face.
‘A bit over-dressed for this time of day, are you not, son?’ He shook his head, and the grin turned into a chuckle. ‘Oz, how the f. . or goodness’ sake did you get involved in this?’
I was suddenly and acutely aware that by now there were a number of team players gathered at the entrance, looking for families and friends just like us. The reason for my presence was not a subject I wanted to discuss with anyone, not even Mac the Dentist, in such a public place.
‘A pal of mine knew I needed a job, and introduced me to Everett Davis.’ As I answered him, I shot him a quick frown, which he read.
‘Ahh, I see. Jonathan and Colin have always wondered what their Uncle Oz did for a living. Now they know.’
My nephews were both looking up at me, with a look which I’d have liked to think was adulation but which made me feel somehow like a world-famous cartoon Duck. ‘Come on, Huey and Dewey,’ I said, ruffling their hair in an Uncly sort of way. ‘Let’s get you to your seats.’
‘Will we get to meet Daze?’ Jonathan asked. ‘And Liam Matthews? And the Black Angel of Death?’
‘And the Bee-Moff?’ chipped in his wee brother.
‘Afterward, lads, afterwards. Let’s go, now.’
The VIP block was directly behind my appointed position during the show. Jack Gantry and the Lord Mayor of Newcastle were already in their places, just a little further along the front row from Jan, my dad and the boys. Beyond them, Liam Matthews was hugging a middle-aged lady with bottle-blonde hair. ‘Look after yourself now son,’ I heard her say in an accent which sounded more like Belfast than the wrestler’s professed home town of Dublin.
‘Sure, ’n don’t I always, Ma,’ he replied, in the same tones.
The soft Southern Irish tones were back in place as he strolled along the row, past Gantry, to our seats. ‘Hello there, my friend,’ he said, so smoothly that I could almost smell the snake oil. ‘And who would these be?’
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I nodded towards Jan. The Irishman dropped as courtly a bow as you’ll ever see, took her hand in his and kissed it lightly. ‘A thousand apologies, lovely lady,’ he whispered. My wife gave him a brief, unconvinced smile, and a very slight nod. He turned to me again.
‘These are my nephews, Liam: Jonathan and Colin. Great fans of yours, both of them. Aren’t you, lads?’
In unison, Huey and Dewey nodded, mute, mouths hanging open slightly. Matthews grinned, suddenly awkward. I guessed he had still to learn how to respond to his younger admirers. ‘And this is my dad,’ I went on. ‘Mac Blackstone.’ My father stood up and extended his hand.
It’s barely credible that any professional sportsman would try to muscle a handshake with a fifty-something man, yet with his standard cocky smirk back in place, that’s exactly what Liam did; out of still-smouldering resentment against me, I can only guess.
There are two things you should never do with a dentist. One is to annoy him as he’s standing over you with the drill in his hand. The other is to engage him in any sort of test of hand and forearm strength. In his younger days, Mac the Dentist was once challenged to an arm-wrestling duel by a disgruntled fisherman patient in a pub in Pittenweem. Quite accidentally, he broke the man’s wrist.
For the second time in two days, I watched the arrogance leave Matthews’ eyes. Then I saw him wince. My dad let him off lightly.
‘Christ almighty, man,’ he said. ‘Where did you get a grip like that?’
‘Thirty years of pulling out teeth, son.’ He leaned slightly forward, peering at Matthews’ face. ‘Yours look fine though. Whoever did those two crowns in the front made a bloody good job of them. How did you lose them?’ He was genuinely, professionally, interested.
‘In a match,’ the wrestler answered. ‘When I was learning the business on the independent circuit.’
‘And what did that teach you?’
‘Never to work with a wrestler I didn’t trust, or whose moves I hadn’t sized up first.’
So there is an acceptable side to Liam Matthews, I thought. I began to wonder whether his arrogance sprang from his unreal lifestyle, and whether, maybe, I had done him some kind of a favour by banjoing him the night before. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Blackstone,’ he said with a second, gentler, handshake. ‘Got to go to work now.’ He smiled down at the boys, and along at my wife. ‘See you after the show, guys, Jan.’
I glanced at my watch. It was five minutes to six: almost show time. At the thought, my hamster kick-started its treadmill. I picked up my mike from the bell-man’s table, and took my seat, laying my arm casually along the top of the prop crush-barrier. I looked along at the three commentary teams, all in place at their tables: German, Spanish, and closest to me, English. I saw that Jerry Gradi, wearing his ring-kit, minus the white leather scrum-cap, had joined the UK team. I nodded to him; he scowled at me and I realised that Behemoths don’t smile.
All of a sudden the arena lights went out, stilling the chatter and giving me my cue to climb into the ring. I stood there, facing in the direction of the main camera, and looking straight at its red light, glowing in the darkness. My hamster was whizzing round in circles. There was a crash from the speakers as the BattleGround theme music began to play. There was a blue flashing as the giant screen lit up with the opening video sequence. In the four corners of the arena, thunderflashes exploded.
Then the spotlight hit me, and I realised, maybe for the first time, what a poser I was. It was just me in that light; the thousands in the arena, the millions on the other end of the transmission didn’t matter at all.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Newcastle Arena, and welcome to the Global Wrestling Alliance Saturday BattleGround!’ I heard my own voice, rich and full, booming round the hall.
‘Before we begin this evening, the GWA is proud to welcome two special guests.’ I paused, giving the second spotlight time to pick up its cue. ‘In his home city, the Lord Mayor of Newcastle, Councillor Daniel Dees, and all the way from our home base, Mr Glasgow himself, Lord Provost Jack Gantry.’ A few people in the crowd cheered. More of them booed actually, but that didn’t matter, for their noise was drowned out by the canned acclamation on the effects tape.