Faded Glory

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LIFE without Albert watching and advising was difficult for Danny at first. But Albert had made his decision, and Danny had to move on.

Danny had been promising his mum that he would bring Ruby round and visit for weeks. It was always a point of friction between Wendy and Danny, with Rosie complaining that she wasn’t seeing Ruby or her son nearly enough. The truth was, Wendy thought Rosie was a bad influence. So, the Bristows’ house was definitely out of bounds for Rosie Watson, and Danny’s visits to his mum’s were limited.

Danny pushed Ruby through the streets to Rosie’s house for a rare visit. Keeping the peace between his mother and Wendy was tricky, and he had often been stuck in the middle since moving out. It was true that Rosie’s lifestyle of partying, drink and fags probably wasn’t ideal, but she was still his mother, and through all her failings, there was indeed love.

Danny rang his mother’s doorbell. The door opened so quickly that it was clear Rosie had been waiting in the hall.

“Danny darling!” she gasped, grabbing Ruby. “Oh look at her, look at her! Come to Nanny!”

Rosie seemed sober and unlikely to drop her grandchild today, Danny decided.

“Ain’t she got big?” cooed Rosie. “She’ll be walking soon. Oh Danny, she’s lovely!”

To Danny’s surprise, the house was spick and span. There were no empty bottles, no over-full ashtrays. The kitchen was cleaner than Danny had ever seen it. A cake sat on the kitchen table, next to the best china tea set that usually only came out at Christmas.

Danny was touched by Rosie’s efforts. “The place looks nice,” he said.

“Well it’s not often I get to see you and Ruby,” said Rosie, with just a touch of venom. “So I wanted to make it nice.”

“I know,” said Danny. “It’s just been so busy. Where’s Ricky?”

“He’s gone to Stratford,” Rosie replied. “He’s doing his Elvis thing in a pub or something called the Two Puddings. How about a nice cuppa? Look, I bought a cake too, your favourite. Angel cake.”

“Thanks Mum,” said Danny, whose last taste of angel cake had been when he was about nine.

“Oh, and I bought some rusks for Ruby.”

With Ruby happily on Rosie’s lap, they sat down for cake and tea.

“Lots of good things happening, Mum,” said Danny, angel cake in hand. “I told you about the new house?”

“Yes you did Danny, I’m pleased for you. Only I probably won’t get to see you at all when you move away,” said Rosie, suddenly crestfallen.

“Of course you will,” said Danny, knowing in his heart that his mum was probably right. With Wendy’s attitude towards Rosie’s lifestyle, the visits would be rare, if at all.

He drank his tea and watched his mother playing with Ruby. Ruby seemed so happy bouncing on her nan’s lap. Danny wished he could change Wendy’s attitude, although he knew that Rosie’s performance as the perfect nan and mother was very unusual. After all, she was never a great mum to Danny, putting him a firm second to her well-known gallivanting. But still, it was good to see Ruby happy in her nan’s presence.

Rosie did all the things that grandparents tend to do. There was “Walkie round the garden!” and “Tickle under there!” – a firm favourite with the sweetly chuckling Ruby. “Peek a boo!” went down a treat too. It was clear that Rosie was loving having Ruby all to herself for once, and Danny was happy for Rosie to have this special time with the granddaughter she hardly knew.

“Ooh look at the time,” Rosie said at last, briskly handing Ruby back to Danny. “I better get going. I’ve got to get to that pub to see Ricky do his thing. Silly sod forgot his Elvis wig.”

The saying “Leopards never change their spots” floated through Danny’s mind. “Yeah, Mum,” he said, trying to paper over the cracks. “We better get going too. It was good to see you.”

Rosie more or less bundled them out the door.

Danny made his way back home, taking the scenic route through the park. He wheeled the pram with the sleeping Ruby to the duck pond and sat down on Albert’s bench.

There was something about this familiar spot that helped him think. Danny looked around at the budding trees and early flowers heralding the beginning of spring, and watched ducklings following their mother with relentless energy. The loss of Albert was the only grey cloud on this beautiful day.

All was as it always was, but Danny couldn’t help feeling uneasy. He had a loving wife, a beautiful daughter, a new home to look forward to. But sometimes, too many changes could be overwhelming.

Where would these uncharted waters take him? Perhaps it was the thought of moving away from the area he had known since he was a baby that was confusing him. And then of course, there was the battle to come. “A life-changing contest,” Costa had said. Danny’s life was already changing.

For the better on paper, but what about in reality?

His thoughts were broken by Ruby’s crying. Danny looked at her cherry-red face and open mouth. She looked like a baby bird, waiting hopefully for its mother to return with food. Reaching into the bag hanging on the pram, Danny picked up the baby bottle of milk his mother had filled before they left. Taking Ruby in his arms, he tucked the bottle teat between her little red lips.

As he watched her feeding, all the grey clouds in his mind disappeared.

Seeing her so helpless and dependent on him cleared his thoughts. The desire to get things right and build a happy future for his baby girl welled up in him, a feeling as strong as the oak tree that they sat under which shaded them from the sparkling sun.

With Ruby fed and happy and trying to munch on one of Rosie’s rusks, Danny wheeled the pram out of the park again. “We should get back, Ruby,” he told his daughter. “Mummy will be wondering where we are.”

At the last minute, he decided to make a detour to Lenny’s garage.

Lenny was in his usual position underneath a car.

“I’ve brought someone to see you, Lenny,” Danny told Lenny’s legs.

“Is that you, Danny?” came Lenny’s voice from underneath an exhaust pipe.

“You remember Ruby, Len,” Danny said as Lenny slid out from underneath the car. “Ruby? This is your uncle Lenny.”

Lenny’s face lit up. “Ain’t she got big?” he said, as Ruby wriggled and fretted in Danny’s arms. “Beautiful too. Good job she takes after her mother. Let me wash me hands so I can hold her.”

“She’s all yours,” said Danny.

As soon as Lenny took her, Ruby stopped fretting and became still and serene.

“I think she likes me,” Lenny said proudly. “She’s got taste.”

Lifting the little girl high in the air, Lenny then started to sing a soft lullaby, making up the words as he went along. Ruby was hooked, a wondering smile spreading across her little face.

Danny loved seeing them together. “You look like the perfect grandad, Lenny,” he said in admiration.

Lenny finished his song. A mesmerised Ruby had already fallen into a happy sleep in his arms. Taking Ruby from Lenny, Danny put her gently in the pram.

“She is lovely,” Lenny said, looking down at the pram. “You’re a lucky boy.”

“I know,” said Danny. “So did you hear about Albert? Leaving and that?”

Lenny made a face. “He told me,” he said. “He thinks a lot of you, Danny, but not a lot of Costa and Cohen.”

“That ain’t a reason to leave,” said Danny, fishing for answers.

“He’s got his reasons,” was Lenny’s enigmatic reply. “He didn’t want to talk too much about it.”

It seemed to Danny that Lenny either wouldn’t or couldn’t throw more light on Albert’s decision.

“I know where he lives,” he said aloud. “Above that junk shop. I could go and have a chat with him, maybe. You know, away from the Live and Let Live.”

“Not a good idea,” said Lenny. “Albert don’t have visitors. He has let me in his flat only twice all the years I’ve known him. So Danny, I hear Costa and Cohen are working for you, got your next fight planned?”

Danny reluctantly dropped the subject of Albert. “Yeah, they’re doing good. I’m fighting Billy Livermore in a few months’ time.”

Lenny whistled. “Now that’ll be a tall order,” he said with a smile. “But don’t you worry. Your number-one fan will be there to support you.”

This statement of loyalty meant a lot to Danny. With Albert gone, he’d felt sort of abandoned. Having Lenny around at least would be something.

They wished each other warm goodbyes and Danny headed back to Wendy’s house. As he pushed the pram along the cobbles, Danny allowed himself to focus on the task ahead. Albert or no Albert, he was going to give the Livermore fight all he had. His family deserved it. His future depended on it.

The next few months were busy. Danny tried to avoid the distraction of moving, leaving most of it to Wendy and her willing parents. His priority was to be fit and ready for the fight.

Lenny had kindly lent him a Ford Zodiac, and after a handful of lessons and a near-botched driving test, Danny was soon driving back and forwards to the gym. Patsy had Danny working well, and the occasional sighting of Albert at the Live and Let Live was not as awkward as it could have been.

It was true, though, that things with Albert were different. Albert never watched Danny train any more, and their conversation was little more than small talk. Albert would occasionally take Patsy aside and ask how Danny was doing, but that was the extent of his involvement. There was a chill between Danny and Albert now, although their relationship had not entirely frozen over.

On the other hand Costa and Cohen were getting closer to Danny every day. There were almost daily visits to check on progress. They brought sports writers to interview Danny, photographers to capture the boy, and food supplements to aid his concentration.

“Vitamins, are they?” said Patsy, examining the supplements one day.

“Only the best for our boy,” said Cohen.

“Whatever they are, they’re working,” said Patsy as they watched Danny pummel the pads with renewed aggression. “His stamina, strength and energy have all improved.”

“How’s his temper?” asked Costa, casually examining his fingernails. “Along with the benefits, these vitamins can sometimes get a fighter a little worked up.”

“Short,” said Patsy.

Cohen and Costa nodded as if they’d expected that.

“There’s always side effects,” said Cohen. “Worth it though, right?”

Patsy watched Danny work through his routine. “Worth it,” he agreed.

After each tough training session, Danny would climb in his borrowed Zodiac and drive home to his new house and family.

Wendy and her mum had performed miracles in Chigwell. Most of the moving boxes were now empty, and furniture was being delivered daily. Ruby loved being in the garden. The new house was starting to feel like home.

Danny loved the house. He felt a sense of achievement having put a roof over his family’s head. As for the sky-blue Zodiac, he especially loved the bench seat and the column gear change. It wasn’t a Porsche, but he did feel like one of his heroes, James Dean, as he motored from East London to leafy Essex. He had paid Lenny a deposit, and promised to pay the balance from the takings of the upcoming contest.

Things were good in Danny’s life. Patsy was pleased with his progress, and although Danny still missed Albert and his words of wisdom, there was a job to do and he had to be ready.

Days were peppered with the odd press interview and a lot of serious preparation for the big fight. Patsy and Danny had watched film footage of Livermore nearly every day, looking for a weakness, a soft underbelly, an opening that Danny could attack.

“He’s over-confident,” Patsy told Danny as they watched the footage. “Look, he drops his guard too much. He’s strong coming forward but not so secure in defence. Pushing him back will be a good option, I reckon.”

Cohen found a couple of new sparring partners for Danny, fighters that mirrored Livermore’s aggressive style. Danny found it useful, but was of course aware that the real thing would be a tougher nut to crack.

As the months passed, Danny and Patsy started to frequent Costa’s club in Soho. The good life was seductive, and without a firm date for the fight, it was easy to drift into late nights and too much alcohol.

One night, Danny observed Costa roll up a five-pound note into a tight tube and sniff some white powder through it.

“What you doing?” he asked.

Costa pinched his nose. “Just a little pick-me-up,” he answered, smiling. “Here, try it.”

Danny took the note and copied Costa, sniffing the white powder. The buzz was almost immediate. He liked it.

“You got any more of that?” he asked.

Costa was more than happy to supply Danny with the cocaine whenever Danny asked. Danny started asking too often. Before long, Wendy and even Ruby had become second to Danny’s new lifestyle.

Arguments were becoming frequent events. Danny’s mood swings and short temper made him difficult to live with.

“You’ve changed so much,” a tearful Wendy said one night. “You hardly acknowledge Ruby when she calls you Daddy. You ignore me too. It’s like we’re not even here. What’s happening to you?”

Danny felt twitchy and ill. “What’s happening to you, you mean?” he bit back. “You ain’t the girl I married. All you care about is bloody Ruby.”

“So?” Wendy spat. “Don’t you think you should care about her too?”

Danny got up. “I don’t need this.”

But Wendy was in full flow. “It seems to me all you care about is going out all night,” she said, following him out of the room. “This is not working, Danny. I’ve had enough, you hear me? When you are here, it’s like you’re some-where else!”

“Maybe I should be somewhere else then!” Danny shouted.

Sensing the hostility, Ruby began crying, reaching out for her mother to pick her up.

“Now look what you done,” Wendy said as she picked up Ruby and tried to comfort her.

As Danny looked at the tears rolling down Wendy and Ruby’s faces, he felt nothing.

Wendy seemed to flinch as she looked into Danny’s eyes. Lowering her voice so as not to upset the already distraught Ruby, she delivered an ultimatum.

“You’ve got to change, Danny,” she said.

“Bollocks,” said Danny irritably. “What do I need to change for?”

Wendy wiped the tears from her and Ruby’s eyes. “You’re not the man I married either,” she said. “You’re someone else, someone I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “I think you need to leave.”

Danny saw red.

“Good idea,” he yelled. “What a fuckin’ good idea.”

Ruby started crying again like her little heart was broken. Danny ignored her. He went up to the bedroom, stuffed some clothes and belongings into his bag, snatched up his coat and car keys and walked out the door. He felt nothing but blind rage. Not an inkling of remorse or sadness. Nothing at all.

Danny was suffering cold sweats the whole way to London. Pulling his vitamins out of the glove box, he knocked back a couple of pills and wondered where to go. He thought about Rosie’s place, but decided to drive to Costa’s instead. Costa had a flat above the club. Perhaps he could stay there. Good life downstairs, cocaine on tap.

At the club, Costa was holding auditions. Twitching by the bar, Danny watched the scantily dressed girls parade up and down. Costa’s preference would have been a parade of scantily dressed young men, but he had his mainly male clientele to consider.

“All right, Tommy,” Danny said during a break in proceedings. “Do you reckon I could stay in your flat for a while?”

“Why?”

Danny wiped his nose. “Me and Wendy have broken up. I need somewhere to stay till I get myself together.”

Costa put his arm round Danny. “Of course you can, son,” he said. “You’re one of the family.”

Months passed. There was still no fixed date for the fight, and training sessions were becoming less frequent. Danny made many excuses, and Patsy grew tired of hounding him. Danny was living in a different world now, physically and mentally. The drugs and the nightlife engulfed him. The focus on his boxing career became almost non-existent.

Patsy had told Albert about Danny and Wendy’s break-up months earlier. Albert’s first thoughts had been with the little girl.

“What about Ruby? Idiot, what’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t know, Albert,” Patsy admitted.

Albert felt heavy-hearted. “Do you think this fight with Livermore is ever going to happen?”

Patsy grunted. “They’re certainly taking their time about it.”

Albert felt more worried than ever. “How’s he training? I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“Not so good. He’s finding it hard with no date fixed for the fight.”

Albert sighed. “Say hello to him, will ya?” he said. “It must be tough, not knowing. Like you’re in limbo.”

Wendy and Ruby were making the best of things. Wendy’s parents were a godsend, doing their very best to soften the heartache. Mr Bristow helped Wendy with money and Mrs Bristow gave her time.

Months went by without any contact from Danny. He even missed Ruby’s second birthday. Wendy did all she could to put Danny out of her mind, but it wasn’t easy, especially when Ruby said “Daddy” and pointed to their wedding photograph.

Wendy had thought about putting the photo away, but decided that would be putting away the good times they’d had. So she left it there, sitting on the shelf, reminding her every day of what they’d lost.

She felt like her life was sitting on the shelf beside the photograph. Ruby filled much of her time and much of the space left in her heart, but at night the heartache would come and almost overwhelm her.

Danny seemed lost in his twilight world of drugs, drink and late nights. Cohen was the first to notice.

“The boy won’t be worth nothing if he carries on the way he is,” he warned Costa one night.

Costa shrugged. “He’s a young fella, he’s just having a good time.”

Danny was not having a good time. His moods swung like a pendulum, and he suffered acute fatigue that only the cocaine and his vitamins seem to cure. Costa had made a few advances, suggesting drugs for sex, but Danny managed to keep his distance.

Through the dark times, Danny’s past life would come to him in flashes. Wendy, Ruby, Albert. Whenever this happened, he would steer his thoughts to drugs, numbing any remorse or pain. To wallow in a stupor was better than facing the truth.

One afternoon, as Danny lay in bed with his usual pounding headache, there was a loud knock.

“Danny?” said Cohen through the door. “It’s Jack. You in there?”

Danny tried to get his mind in gear. He stumbled from the bed and opened the flat door.

Cohen looked at him. “Look at the state of you,” he said. “Tommy was supposed to keep an eye, but here you are like a deadbeat. What’s the matter with you?”

Danny muttered something about being tired. Cohen cut through his stammering.

“I’ve got some news about the fight,” he said.

“Yeah?” was all that Danny could muster.

Cohen prodded him in the chest. “The fight is in two months. You better sort yourself out, you’re in a fuckin’ state.”

Marching over to the bedside table, Cohen grabbed Danny’s cocaine stash and threw it out the window. Danny ran to the window, but it was too late.

“Sort yourself out!” shouted Cohen, and slammed the door behind him.

Danny went into panic mode, his heart beating like a drum. This jolt from the real world was a shock. He could only think about one thing.

He needed to get to Patsy.

He dressed and washed and went to his car, full of cold shivers, hot sweats and blurred vision. He took a couple of vitamins to ease the symptoms as he drove East. Making it to the Live and Let Live, he parked erratically by the side of the road and went in.

Albert was getting things ready for opening time.

“Danny! Where you been? Blimey, it’s been ages! How are you? How’s Ruby? She must be a handful, growing up fast I bet.”

Danny leant against the bar. He felt completely exhausted. “Dunno,” he said. “I ain’t seen her.”

“Since when?” said Albert.

“Dunno. A year maybe? Get us a drink, will you Albert? I got a pain in my head today like a fuckin’ hammer.”

For a moment, Albert was too shocked to respond. Patsy had told him Danny and Wendy had split up, but he’d never expected that Danny would abandon his daughter.

“I was sorry about you and Wendy splitting up,” he said.

“These things happen,” Danny said. “Where’s Patsy?”

“Not here yet, should turn up soon.”

“Where’s that drink?” Danny asked.

Albert pulled himself together. “Do you want an orange juice or something?”

Danny shook his head. “Jack Daniel’s.”

“I don’t think so,” said Albert. “You’re training, ain’t you?”

Danny slammed his hands on the bar. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

Albert noticed Danny’s hands were shaking and he was sweating.

“You all right, Danny?” he asked.

Danny shook his head like he had water in his ears. “If you ain’t serving, I’ll wait upstairs.”

Albert watched Danny go. The boy was a different person. Patsy had not said that Danny had changed so much. Then again, Albert remembered that Patsy hadn’t seen him for a few months.

He was deeply concerned. He wanted to help put back the sparkle in Danny’s dead eyes. But how?

Entering the empty boxing gym was like opening a door to memories. Danny sat at the ringside, shaking and thinking. He regretted talking to Albert the way he had, but it was too late now. How was Patsy going react to the order of “all systems go” from Cohen? Patsy knew full well that Danny was out of shape and struggling.

“Albert said you were here,” said Patsy, regarding him from the door of the gym.

Danny rubbed his eyes. “Cohen’s fixed the Livermore fight for a couple of months’ time.”

“I thought it was never going to happen.”

“I think I did too.”

“So are you gonna shape up?” Patsy said, his eyes hard. “Pull yourself together, train hard?”

“I’m gonna try,” said Danny, nodding. “I’m gonna try.”

“Tomorrow at ten?”

“Tomorrow at ten.”

Patsy shut himself in his office as Danny went down the stairs again. Lenny was at the bar.

“Now where have you been?” Lenny shouted, coming over to Danny to shake his hand. “Such a long time! Good to see you, Danny, you lost a little weight. Hey man, you got cold hands. Cold hands, warm heart.”

“Warm heart?” Danny said wearily. “Not at the moment. See you around, Lenny.” And he nodded a goodbye to Albert and left.

The Livermore weigh-in was a week before the fight. Danny caught the train to Manchester along with his entourage: Patsy, Costa and Cohen. Instead of his customary tracksuit, Patsy had a grey tweed suit on and, with a nod to Ireland, a green tie. Danny had got ready with Wendy’s words in his head: to be a champ, you have to look like a champ. So he was wearing a Prince of Wales check suit and an open-neck sky-blue shirt. Costa and Cohen were immaculate as usual, in mohair.

As the train rumbled north, the excitement and nerves began making themselves felt. Danny took a few vitamins to steady himself. Costa, full of the white powder, never stopped talking.

“You take a break, a holiday, when you win this fight, Danny. Go to my house in Cyprus. You don’t have to worry about the Turkish trouble, you and the family will be happy and safe.”

Danny just nodded.

He looked out the window as the train passed towns he had never heard of. He looked at the back gardens and houses alongside the track and wondered what the people inside did, what their lives were like, what secrets lay behind their back doors.

Costa kept on talking. “We’re getting a lot of famous people at the club these days. One night we thought Frank Sinatra was coming but he didn’t.”

Danny tried to look like he was listening to Costa’s endless chat. His mood swings had been getting worse lately, along with the hot and cold sweats that accompanied them. He could be happy and then, in a second, depressed and short-tempered. Wendy had suffered the changes like a saint to begin with, making excuses for Danny that he was anxious and nervous about the big fight on the horizon. Not any more.

Danny didn’t want to think about Wendy.

The train finally pulled into Piccadilly station.

“Why is it called Piccadilly?” asked Danny, rousing himself. “Piccadilly is in London.”

“They’re copy cats,” was Patsy’s view.

“So where we off to, Jack?” asked Danny as Cohen hailed a taxi.

“Same place as the fight,” said Cohen. “Free Trade Hall.”

Patsy launched into a local history of boxing as they drove through the strange, wet streets of Manchester.

“Boxing in the late fifties was in the doldrums here in Manchester. But thanks to fighters like Billy Livermore, nowadays it’s become quite a force. Loads of boxing cubs up here are actively engaging the kids.”

“As far as I’m concerned, anything north of Manchester is whippets, strange accents and flat caps,” said Costa.

Since leaving the amateur circuit and joining the professionals, Danny had noticed the changes in the venues, with personal dressing rooms and facilities laid on. Free Trade Hall was no different. Security men were at hand, and everyone seemed so full of respect that it bordered on servility.

Danny sat on a bench in the changing room, staring at the coat hooks on the cream-painted wall. Patsy was checking up on the gym equipment for Danny’s pre-warm-up for the fight, now just a few days away.

“It’s strange without Albert, ain’t it Pat?” Danny said to the medicine ball in Patsy’s hands.

“Yeah, a bit,” said Patsy. “But we’ll cope.”

“A lot of things have changed ain’t they?”

Patsy didn’t answer.

Outside the door, Danny heard the rumble and mumble of the folk filling the auditorium.

“There are hundreds of people out there to watch the weigh-in and we’re stuck in this room, hidden like we’re prisoners,” he said. “Do you reckon that’s a part of fame and fortune? You lose your freedom?”

Costa put his head round the door before Patsy could answer.

“Ready champ?”

Danny’s reflexes felt as sharp as a razor, his mind was racing, and he felt anger pulsing through him. The vitamins he’d taken on the train were clearly taking effect.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Tommy,” he said.

Costa patted him on the shoulder. “The place is packed, Danny. Wait till you see it.”

The update was meant as a positive, but was not what Danny wanted to hear. The reality of the situation – hundreds of people, press, photographers and the like – released a case of serious nerves and paranoia. Danny’s hands were suddenly ice cold with terror.

The Master of Ceremonies’ voice rattled through the tannoy.

“Ladies and gentlemen! From London, a rising star in the boxing world, Danny Watson!”

With a shove from Patsy, Danny stumbled into the spotlights. Unlike at the Dragon weigh-in, he heard cheers. This time, Danny had support and a following. As he passed through the crowd accompanied by security men, there were handshakes, pats on the back and goodwill wishes. Danny had been out of the ring for a long time, and folks were pleased to see him back.

Danny reached the podium as a fanfare heralded the entrance of Livermore. The reaction of the crowd was close to boiling point now. The welcome Danny had received was dwarfed by the cheers and applause that greeted Livermore. Manchester born and bred, he could do no wrong in his home town.

Danny watched as Livermore and his entourage made their way to the podium. Livermore was a powerful-looking man, the son of a West Indian father and a Lancashire girl. Climbing on to the podium, he raised his arms in the air as if he had already won the fight.

Livermore was a different proposition to the Dragon. Walking over, he shook Danny’s hand and raised Danny’s arm with his. There was even some warmth in his eyes.

Danny was a little taken aback. It was usual that there was respect between fighters, even before a fight, but it was rarely shown. Livermore’s friendly reaction felt a little weird.

The men weighed in. Both were inside the weight limit. They took their seats to answer questions from the press. Danny hated this bit, but knew it was all part of the game.

“Danny, your rise has been almost meteoric. There has been some talk that your last fight against Reece ‘the Dragon’ Davies was too easy. What do you think your prospects against Billy Livermore will be?”

This felt a little tricky, given that Danny was sitting next to Livermore. He decided to be modest.

“Billy’s a good fighter, I know that,” he answered. “But I intend to give it my best shot.”

“Billy, you have a good record and are probably just one fight away from a title fight. Will winning the fight open the door to a title shot?”

“It’s gonna be a tough fight,” answered Livermore. “But I’ve got experience on my side. I respect Danny Watson, but there will be only one winner on the night and that’s gonna be me. And yes, the title in time will be mine too.”

Livermore’s followers rose to Billy’s battle cry with cheers. They started chanting, “Billy! Billy!” in true football fashion.

The press conference went on.

“Danny, I hear that one of your team, Albert Kemp, has left the camp. Do you think that will have any bearing on tactics and the outcome?”

Cohen jumped in. “Mr Kemp’s departure was a mutual decision,” he said smoothly. “Danny is well prepared, believe me. It’s going to be a great contest. I’d like to thank you all for coming. That concludes the press conference.”

Danny was pleased the trial was over, and even more pleased that the Albert question had been fended off by Cohen. He shook hands with Livermore and the two boxers posed for photographs.

Danny couldn’t stop looking at Livermore. This was a boxer that had been well and truly round the block, battle-scarred from many fights in many smoke-filled venues. And yet somehow, instead of hostility, there was a look of “We’re in this together” in his eyes. Billy Livermore was a sportsman, courteous and gracious.

“That Livermore seems a decent bloke,” said Danny back in the changing room.

“Yeah,” agreed Patsy. “He’s a proper professional, but don’t let that Mr Nice Guy act fool you. He needs to win this fight and he means to do you damage.”

Danny nodded. “I suppose I’m standing in the way of his title shot.”

“You are. If he loses to you, his chances will be limited.”

“No pressure then,” said Danny. He was only half joking.

With the weigh-in and press stuff over and done with, Danny and Patsy made their way back to Piccadilly station, leaving Costa and Cohen in Manchester to sort out the box office and logistics for the fight the following week.

The journey home felt longer. Danny and Patsy passed the time watching the sights and countryside as they headed south. Patsy talked about a new heavyweight called Cassius Clay and his recent win over the seasoned and scary fighter Sonny Liston.

“He has a lot to say for himself. They call him the ‘Louisville Lip’, but he looks good. He talks the talk and it looks like he can walk the walk. Very fast for a heavyweight, but a bit too cocky for my liking.”

Danny listened, but found it hard to concentrate. After a day like today, some time by himself was what he needed. In recent weeks he’d had a very low boredom threshold, and Patsy and his talking could have easily lit the fuse to his short temper.

When they reached London, Danny offered Patsy a lift.

“No thanks, Danny, I’ll take the underground. See you in the gym in the morning.”

Danny felt relieved. He couldn’t have taken much more of Patsy’s company. Getting in his car, he took a couple of vitamins from the glove box and put on the radio. After a bit of fiddling, he managed to get a crackly signal from one of the new pirate radio stations, Radio Caroline. Radio Luxembourg was decent enough, but that only seemed to come alive in the evenings, and that was if you were able to actually tune in and get it. Meanwhile, the Beatles were heading an onslaught of what was termed “The Liverpool Sound” and Radio Caroline was full of it.

As he drove, a record from a band called Freddie and the Dreamers came on. “Not the Liverpool Sound this time,” said the disc jockey, “but the pride of Manchester.”

It seemed appropriate given Danny’s lightning trip up North. People had seemed really friendly in Manchester. It was colder, but the people had been warmer. Danny thought about Billy Livermore and his dignified confidence.

He reminded himself that, although Livermore seemed a decent bloke, he was standing in his way. Danny resolved to replace respect with the will to beat him.

In an attempt to prepare for the fight without too many distractions, Danny had moved out of Costa’s and in with Rosie. He still paid the odd visit to Costa’s for a gram or two, but at least he was trying.

“How was your day then?” Rosie asked when Danny got in. “What’s it like up North?”

“The people seem friendly, but it’s a bit cold and wet. The bloke I’m fighting seems like a gentleman, you know?”

“That makes a change,” said Rosie. “There’s not many of them around.” She frowned. “Wait a minute, ain’t you supposed to hate him?”

Danny rubbed his forehead. “Don’t worry Mum, I don’t have to hate him. I just have to hate losing.”

“You don’t seem to mind losing your wife and daughter.”

Danny put his head in his hands. Rosie had brought this up several times lately.

“You know what you need to do?” Rosie pointed to a photograph of Ruby sitting on her mantelpiece. “See that little girl. Why don’t you phone Wendy and try to make peace? Make arrangements to see her?”

“I don’t need this today, Mum,” Danny said.

Rosie dumped Danny’s beans on toast in front of him.

“Well, I’m off down the pub to meet Ricky. Phone her, Danny. That little girl needs a dad. I’ll probably be late, don’t wait up.”

Danny felt tired and very alone. After being the centre of attention at the weigh-in, he was back with his mum in the house he’d grown up in. What did that make him?

After a few minutes, he went into the hall and looked at the telephone.

He knew the number off by heart. Picking up the receiver, he listened to the dialling tone for a while. When the dialling tone stopped and was replaced by crackling, Danny put down the receiver and went upstairs to take some more vitamins.

Feeling brighter, he returned to the phone and dialled the number.

“Hello?”

Danny clutched the receiver and closed his eyes. Just hearing Wendy’s voice was wonderful.

“Hello?” Wendy repeated. “Anyone there?”

“It’s me,” said Danny.

Wendy went silent. Danny could hear Ruby singing in the background.

“It’s Danny,” he said.

“I know.”

Danny clutched the receiver more tightly. “How’s Ruby?”

“What do you want?” Wendy asked coldly.

Danny felt lost. “I don’t really know, Wend,” he said.

Wendy sounded a little softer. “You’re still alive then?”

“Just about,” said Danny.

“You all right?”

Danny sobbed, “I miss you both,” and put down the receiver.

He went back into his mum’s sitting room, wiping his eyes. He decided to look over Patsy’s notes for the fight to take his mind off his broken heart.

He knew them inside out.

Attack. Be offensive. He is weaker going back.

Look for his guard to drop. Jab and move. Keep pushing forward.

Watch for his right upper cut in close, it’s a big one.

For the first time in months, Danny went to his bedroom to get out the red and silver tin box. Opening it, he picked up his father’s medal, feeling the cold metal in his hands. His mind went back to the beginning of his career, when Albert would bring the medal for bravery to the ringside. A sudden feeling of panic washed over Danny as he looked at the photograph of his dad in his army uniform.

“What’s happening, Dad?” he whispered. “What’s happening?”

The night before the big fight, Rosie packed Danny’s overnight bag and turned into a caring mother.

“Have you got your tickets?” she said, fussing around him. “What time is the train? Do you know where you’re going when you get up there?”

Danny appreciated his mother’s attention, but his mind was elsewhere. He checked his watch. Lenny was going to pick him and Patsy up, and all three would take the train from Euston.

Dead on two o’clock the doorbell rang. Lenny was looking smart and, on this rare occasion, out of his customary blue overalls.

“Hey Danny, how you doing?” he said. “Come on now, we better get going. There’s no knowing what the traffic will be like in Central London.”

Danny couldn’t find much conversation in the car on the way to the station. Struggling with nerves and in a monosyllabic mood, he wasn’t much better on the train. Lenny attempted to distract him with various topics, but Danny wasn’t biting.

Patsy headed to the buffet car to buy them cups of tea.

“Albert wishes you the best, by the way, Danny,” Lenny said.

Danny focused. “Does he? How is he?”

“He seems OK, a bit quiet,” said Lenny. “You know Albert.”

“I thought I did,” Danny answered.

Back in London, Albert was walking to work as usual. It was a lovely evening, with kids still playing in the street and neighbours chatting about this and that on the front step. He couldn’t help smiling at the familiarity of it all.

Around the corner, he saw some small boys playing cricket against a wall. The batsman took his guard armed with a plank of wood, doing his best to protect the stumps chalked on the wall. Albert watched one of them bowl and waited to see the result.

The bowler delivered a full toss. The batsman, with a mighty swing of his bit of wood, hit the well-worn tennis ball sky high. The bowler ran to catch it – straight into the path of an oncoming car.

Without thinking, Albert rushed into the road and pushed the boy clear of danger. Someone was screaming. Dimly Albert heard the screech of brakes, before he found himself tossed like a rag doll into the air. For a moment, everything went black.

The next thing Albert knew, he was lying in the road and staring at the sky. There was blood all around him. One of the cricket players was crying. “I never saw him!” someone – the driver, Albert guessed – was protesting. “He just come out of nowhere!”

“Here you are, love, a cup of strong, sweet tea’ll set you right. Don’t you worry about the old fella, the ambulance will be here in a minute.”

Through the wails and shouts, Albert heard the distant sound of an ambulance bell. He lay quietly, unable to move, as people clustered around, peering down at him, some with concern and others with blatant curiosity.

“You all right, fella?”

“What happened, then?”

Albert stared up at them. He wanted to apologise for wasting their time, but he couldn’t find his voice. His head was throbbing like he’d taken a knock-out punch.

The crowd parted as the ambulance arrived.

“Out the way, there you go. All right, sir? We’ll have you in the hospital in a jiffy.”

Strong hands lifted him off the road and on to a stretcher. A vicious stab of pain shot up Albert’s leg.

As the ambulance sped through the streets, a medic did some tests on Albert, shining light into his eyes, testing his temperature and blood pressure.

“Stay with me, sir.”

His head wound was cleaned and dressed, his legs gently strapped together. Normally as strong as an oak, Albert was not too happy with the fuss, but not really capable of arguing the point.

He shortly found himself being wheeled into the Accident and Emergency Department of the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel, formerly known as the Whitechapel Infirmary for the Poor. That distinctive hospital smell was unmistakable. Albert gazed up at the passing fluorescent lights on the ceiling as nurses wheeled him along to the X-ray department.

“Head blow, is it?” said the waiting doctor.

“A few broken bones too, Doctor, by the looks of it.”

Albert was hurting, but didn’t show it. This was all a nuisance, but a nuisance he had to endure.

Two hospital porters lifted him into the space-age X-ray machine.

“Lie still for us, sir, would you? Nice and still now.”

The machine purred into action. The pain in Albert’s head was now competing with the pain in his body, and winning.

X-rays done, Albert was taken to the hospital ward and a waiting bed.

The ward was full of mainly older men groaning and coughing, with a little meaningless babble from a lost soul in one corner.

The matron bustled over as soon as Albert was settled. An attractive, portly woman with a soft West Country accent, she smoothed Albert’s pillow and folded her arms.

“Comfortable are we, Mr Kemp? What have you been up to?”

Albert gazed up at her no-nonsense face, her pristine uniform.

“I had a fight with a car bonnet,” he replied.

The matron tutted. Her manner was business-like, and she had the perfect balance of authority and caring about her.

“Well, it looks like the car won,” she said. “Now, the doctor will study your X-rays and should be with you in a little while. I just have to fill in some details. Are you all right to answer some questions?”

“I’ll do my best,” said Albert weakly.

“Good boy.”

With Albert feeling like a helpless kid, “good boy” seemed about right.

“So,” said the matron, consulting her notes. “Your name is Albert Charles Kemp, we know that. Date of birth?”

Albert’s head was pounding. It was difficult to think. “Ninth of November, eighteen ninety-eight.”

“So you are aged sixty-eight?”

Albert felt faintly astonished. Was he really that old?

“Apparently,” he said.

“Blood group?”

“I don’t bloody know,” Albert quipped, feeling irritated now.

“We’ll soon find out,” said Matron. “Next of kin?”

Albert felt hollow, thinking of Vera and Tommy. The only other person he could think of was Lenny, but Lenny was not a relation.

“No next of kin,” he said.

He’d never thought about himself like that before, all alone in the world. It made him feel sad and empty. He wondered if anyone knew what had happened, or where he was.

Matron gently took his hand. “Thank you, Mr Kemp. The doctor will be with you in a minute.”

Albert felt anxious. He had arranged with Lenny that Lenny would telephone the Live and Let Live with an update after Danny’s fight tomorrow night, but here he was, marooned in a hospital bed. It was a poxy nuisance, that’s what it was.

The white-coated doctor sported a polka-dot bow tie. “How are you feeling, Mr Kemp?” he asked. “You’ve had quite an accident. Having studied your X-rays, I’m pleased to say that your head injuries are superficial and the cuts and bruises will heal in time. Not such good news on the rest of you, though. I’m sorry to tell you that you have broken your left leg in two places, fractured your right wrist and broken two of your ribs.”

“But apart from that I’m fine,” said Albert, trying to lighten the diagnosis.

The doctor looked back at his notes. “The nurses will arrange to put a plaster cast on your leg and wrist. I’m afraid we can’t do much about the broken ribs, but they too will heal in time. I’ll prescribe some painkillers for you.”

The seriousness of his predicament was beginning to dawn on Albert.

“So when can I go home?”

“As soon as you’re well enough,” said the doctor. “Now just rest.”

The groans and delirium of some of his fellow patients rattled in Albert’s aching head. He hated the situation he was in. He felt imprisoned, and he didn’t like it.

A pretty nurse materialised at the end of his bed.

“Hello Mr Kemp,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve got some tablets for you. Here, take two now and I’ll come back in a couple of hours so you can take some more.”

Albert obediently swallowed the painkillers.

“Well done,” said the nurse, patting his hand.

Albert could understand why people sometimes fell in love with nurses. This one’s angel-like presence was really quite special.

“Next, we will have to put a plaster cast on that leg of yours and…” She stopped to look at Albert’s notes. “And your right wrist. You have been in the wars, Mr Kemp, haven’t you?”

Albert lay back, resigned to fate’s cruel blow.