Faded Glory

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

AS the weeks went on, Albert made good progress. He confirmed the fight with Livermore’s representative, and dates and a venue were pencilled in. As a makeshift Cupid, he was making progress too. He caught the bus to Wendy’s regularly, both to see Ruby and to build bridges between Wendy and Danny.

“Danny has changed for the better, you know,” he told Wendy over a cup of tea. “He’s like his old self. Maybe you should give him a chance.”

“I want him in our lives but only if he’s the Danny I knew and loved,” was Wendy’s response.

Albert instructed Danny to call Wendy and keep in touch. Slowly, Danny’s visits to Chigwell increased. Bit by bit, Danny and Wendy were moving back emotionally to where they had once been: in love. Ruby and Danny were getting on like father and daughter were supposed to now, and Danny could do no wrong in her pink little world.

Everything was going smoothly until Costa and Cohen decided to pay Danny a personal visit at the gym. They walked in, unannounced, as Patsy was putting Danny through his paces. Danny stopped punching the pads and Patsy seemed to disappear into the shadows. The room fell silent.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” said Costa.

“Just thought we would drop by and see how it’s going,” said Cohen.

“Did you get my messages from your lovely wife, Danny boy? I’ve called you a couple of times but you never called back.”

“Naughty naughty,” said Costa.

Cohen picked at his nails. “What’s this silly rumour going round that you and old Albert are putting together the Livermore fight?”

“I think you’ll find that’s our job,” said Costa, cracking his knuckles.

“Not any more.”

Albert stepped out from the shadows, fixing the unwanted visitors with a glare.

“You still here Albert?” said Cohen, lifting his eyebrows. “Why don’t you go and collect a few empty glasses? We are talking to Danny.”

“Well I don’t want to talk to you,” Danny burst out. “It’s like Albert said. You don’t work with me no more, remember? You tore up my contract. We don’t need you.”

Cohen raised his hands. “Look,” he said, “we don’t want to throw any spanners in the works. We just want you to be happy, Danny. We want to help promote the fight, be involved.”

“I am happy,” said Danny. “Happy with you two out of my life.”

“Off you go,” said Albert, ushering Costa and Cohen towards the door. “If you ask nicely, I’ll see if I can get you a couple of tickets for the fight.”

Costa shot out a fist and grabbed Albert by his shirt collar. Danny moved forward to help, but Albert just smiled and sniffed the air.

“You been eating garlic, Tommy?” he asked.

“Come on Tommy,” said Cohen sourly. “Let’s get out of this dump.”

“As my mum always said,” Albert observed as the promoters left the room, “good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Over the coming weeks, arrangements were firmed and the date and venue for the big fight was set. It would take place on October the first at the Wembley Arena: a big venue for a much-anticipated fight.

Harry Baldock had been worth his weight in gold and opened many doors for Albert. Albert had put him on a promise for a handsome back-hander for all his help and, of course, a couple of ringside tickets for the fight.

After weeks of hard training and many press interviews Danny was ready. Tickets had gone even better than expected, ensuring a very big turn-out on the night.

Towards the end of September, there were queues in the streets around Wembley Arena as fight fans waited to witness the historic rematch weigh-in. Danny and his team drove carefully to the venue through crowds of well wishers and not-so-well wishers. Livermore’s following was stronger than ever since winning the title, and plenty of fans believed that he was going to retain the title without any problems.

“Looks like the whole world knows about this fight,” Danny remarked nervously, gazing out of the car window at the throng.

“Just concentrate Danny, and make sure you retain your dignity if you’re provoked,” Albert advised.

Lenny made it through the crowds and drove Danny and his team round to the back of the venue. Standing at the open door, flanked by security, were two familiar faces.

“What are Costa and Cohen doing here?” said Danny warily.

“I don’t know,” growled Albert, getting out of the car. “But I intend to find out.”

Danny, Lenny and Patsy waited and watched as Albert strode up to the two promoters. Hostile gestures and words were exchanged. After a few minutes, Albert returned to the car, fighting through a gaggle of fans looking for Danny’s autograph.

“You will never believe it,” he said. “They’ve only gone and muscled their way in to Livermore’s camp!”

“Are you serious?” Lenny demanded.

Albert nodded. “And, I quote, they said: ‘We thought we would just say hello to Danny before he goes to intensive care after the fight.’ Cheeky bastards.”

Danny felt a strange mixture of anger and relief. He had been concerned for Albert’s welfare, alone in his flat with two formidable enemies in the shape of Costa and Cohen, worrying that he’d started a vicious vendetta. But it looked like his worries were unfounded. Costa and Cohen appeared to have jumped ship, and wanted revenge in a more civilised manner. They wanted Livermore to knock Danny into kingdom come on their behalf. If Danny needed any more motivation for the fight, he certainly had it now.

“So,” Albert continued, “not only can you beat Livermore, but you can now beat those two tosspots at the same time!”

“Happy days,” murmured Lenny.

Harry Baldock was waiting outside Danny’s allocated room. With a swift spot of shadow-boxing he greeted the team.

“Albert,” Harry said in a voice like a street-market trader as he slapped Albert on the back. “How about you and me getting on the card and showing ’em how it’s done?”

“I don’t think I can remember how it’s done,” Albert said humorously. “Listen Harry, thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Harry replied. He winked at Danny. “As long as you win, son. I’ve put a few bob on it.”

Danny laughed. “How can I lose with this lot in tow?”

He stripped down to his claret and blue shorts in the changing room. As Albert handed Danny his dressing gown, they could hear the excited buzz of the crowd in the hall.

“Here you are son,” said Albert. “Put this round your neck.”

In a slightly ceremonial moment, Albert hung Tommy’s medal for bravery around Danny’s neck. “There you go,” he said, his voice charged with emotion. “Now you’re invincible.”

They made their way to the stage in a relatively low-key way as cheers and jeers echoed through the hall. Livermore’s entrance was anything but low key, and accompanied by the earsplitting James Brown number I Got You (I Feel Good). Livermore was flanked by a dozen or so security men, trainers, cut men and, walking by his side, Costa and Cohen. All and sundry were doing their best to out-physique Danny and his team.

“Look at them, bathing in Livermore’s reflected glory,” Albert muttered, clenching his fists as the hall went wild. “I could punch their lights out.”

“That would only lower us to their level,” Danny pointed out. “Self-control, Albert, remember? It’s all about self-control.”

Danny met Livermore in the centre of the ring. The fighter’s attitude seemed to have changed since they’d last met. Previously, there’d been a dignity and sportsman-like quality to the man that Danny had warmed to. Now he seemed full of himself, arrogant and hostile. If looks could kill, Danny and his team were already dead.

The officials began the weigh-in. As the challenger, Danny was summoned first. Taking off his dressing gown and his father’s cherished medal, he handed them to Albert.

“I’m gonna show ’em, Albert,” he said.

Walking to the scales, he could feel the hostile stares from Costa and Cohen burning through him. He made the weight limit with only a pound to spare.

Livermore made the weight with two pounds to spare. To everybody’s surprise, he took the microphone from the Master of Ceremonies.

“This clown is not worthy of even being in the ring with me,” Livermore shouted, spittle flying. “He got lucky last time: I didn’t kill him. But this time I will show no mercy!”

“You’re going down!” shouted Costa as the hall erupted.

Without taking his eyes off Danny, Cohen lifted Livermore’s arm. “You might as well throw the towel in now, Albert, you joker,” Cohen taunted. “This champ is a different class.”

“Say goodbye to your family, tosser!” Costa shouted. “You won’t be seeing them after Saturday!”

Mention of his family made Danny see red. This time it was Albert who stepped in, turning Danny’s head away from the three tormentors.

“Danny, listen to me,” he said. “It’s like you said. We can’t sink to their level. The truth is, we’re bigger than them and they’re frightened of you. This is just a front ’cos they’re scared of ya. Don’t rise to it.”

“Bastards,” Danny raged, trying to twist away from Albert’s grip.

Albert held him firmly. “Smile,” he said.

“What?”

“Just smile. It’ll spook them.”

Danny forced a smile. Albert smiled too. Cohen and Costa looked taken aback. As for the crowd, they loved it. The ones that had been talking big were suddenly looking small.

More senseless rantings accompanied Danny and his team as they made their way off stage. Danny started enjoying himself, smiling back and waving.

“Thank you, Wembley Arena!” Albert shouted, blowing kisses. “We love you!”

Danny sensed the crowd sliding his way. All the fans who had been neutral before the weigh-in started shouting his name. Reaching the changing room, they could still hear the chants of “Danny! Danny!” echoing around the hall.

“I think we won that one, don’t you Danny?” said Albert.

Danny grinned at him. “I think we did Albert, I think we did.”

“Roll on Saturday,” said Albert.

“Can’t wait,” said Danny.