Faded Glory

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

FOR the night before the fight, Albert suggested that they stay at a hotel near the venue in Wembley. A good night’s sleep for Danny would be better served away from his mum’s. So Lenny, along with their overnight bags, dropped Albert and Danny at the hotel.

Albert’s hotel room looked and felt like a palace. It even had a TV. He especially like the electric teamaker and trouser press. Sitting back in a modern comfortable chair and looking around, he thought how different the room was to his little flat. Albert had never had money and was suspicious of luxury and wealth, but sitting there, in the lap of luxury, he thought he could get used to it.

He turned on the television. Pictures flashed past his eyes, but he had no interest in what he was watching. His mind was on the fight. Livermore was a dangerous fighter, and having Costa and Cohen in his corner made him doubly so.

Albert wondered what tricks they were going to pull. No doubt they had plied their new boy with pills and whatever else they could conjure up, filling his head with hatred. They had turned this from a boxing match into a vendetta. He felt nervous thinking about it, the identical feeling he used to feel before he went into box back in his glory days. Back then, he’d been able to do something about it. He’d been the fighter after all, in control of his destiny. Now, Danny was the fighter and Albert was on the sidelines. Destiny lay in his grandson’s hands and Albert could only watch.

He thought about Tommy for a while, and how he used to get nervous watching him playing football for the school. The nerves came second only to the pride Albert had felt whenever Tommy did something special or scored a goal. This was a lot bigger. It felt like Tommy was in this fight too, right alongside his son.

With a head full of thoughts, Albert went to bed and tried to sleep.

Unlike Albert, Danny hadn’t taken much notice of his swanky surroundings. The first thing he’d done was call Wendy to check that all was well.

“How are you feeling?” Wendy asked. “Have you got those butterflies you get?”

They felt more like fruit bats batting their wings than butterflies, Danny thought. “No, I’m feeling good,” he lied. “It’s a nice hotel. Is Ruby all right?”

“She’s fine. She’s still up, actually. Do you want to talk to her?”

“Hello Daddy,” Ruby piped down the receiver. “When are you coming to see me?”

These innocent words choked Danny up. Ruby didn’t know about the fight, Wendy hadn’t told her.

“As soon as I can,” he said gently.

“Bye bye,” said Ruby.

“Sorry, Danny,” said Wendy. “She’s had enough, she wants to get down. We’ll be thinking of you. Night.”

“I love you,” said Danny.

“We love you too,” said Wendy.

Danny put down the phone and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling comforted. It had been a painful journey to convince Wendy that he was the old Danny again, the man she’d loved and married, but he’d done it, kicking the drugs and getting his life back with his family. He remembered Costa shouting “Say goodbye to your family!” at the weigh-in. He was never going to let them go again.

His resolve hardened. He was ready. Ready and able for whatever Livermore planned to throw at him.

He went to bed and turned off the light.

Fire bells were ringing. Danny woke up with a start. He could hear a voice in the corridor shouting: “Please leave your rooms immediately and make your way to the car park! Do not use the lifts!” over and over in a chilling machine-like voice.

Grabbing his dressing gown, Danny made his way out through the panic, to the rain-drenched hotel car park. He was confronted by women in curlers, overweight men in underpants, shivering children and Albert fully dressed.

“What’s this all about?” Danny said, yawning. “I was asleep.”

“Bloody fire alarms went off,” Albert replied.

“You got dressed,” said Danny, noticing.

“Fire or no fire, I’m not standing out here in me Y-fronts,” said a defiant Albert. “I’ve got your dad’s medal.”

Danny rubbed his eyes. “Right. Good. Thanks.”

The manager minced out of reception, huddled under an umbrella.

“My apologies, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “The fire brigade have now checked the building and it is safe to go back to your rooms. It appears to have been a false alarm. It seems we have some jokers in our midst.”

There was a communal groan.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning!” grumbled a guest. “Some joke.”

“I bet I know who did this,” said Albert as they walked back to their rooms.

“Livermore’s lot?” Danny guessed.

“Costa and bloody Cohen,” said Albert. “Try to get some sleep, Danny, and call me when you wake up. Night. Or morning, I should say.”

In spite of the rude awakening Danny did get some sleep. All those interrupted early nights with Ruby in the early days had taught him to fall back to sleep at the drop of a hat. Waking up at ten-thirty, he gave Albert a call.

“They’ve finished doing breakfast,” Albert told him, “but you can order something from room service. Have steak and eggs. Good for ya.”

“I’ll see what they’ve got. What time we meeting up?”

“I’ve got us a late check-out. After last night’s bleedin’ fiasco, they should let us stay for free! Let’s meet in the reception about four, then we can get to the hall in good time to warm up and get sorted.”

Danny was struck by Albert’s professionalism. “OK boss. See you at four,” he confirmed.

Danny did as Albert said and ordered steak and eggs with some fruit salad to follow.

Though Danny seemed reasonably relaxed, Albert wasn’t. He had not slept at all and had spent a good deal of the night sitting in his damp clothes on a chair in his room, his mind full of those strange thoughts that seem to overtake you in the early hours when you feel that you are the only one awake in the entire world, and small problems seem so much bigger.

Memories of Tommy before he had gone into the army floated by with a clarity they had not had for years. Albert had buried them in his subconscious, but because of the gravity of his grandson’s impending battle, they had resurfaced.

He thought about Tommy’s escapades and adventures. There had been that time when Tommy had nicked his tobacco, smoked it all and finished up a shade of green; the time he’d borrowed Albert’s James Captain motorbike without permission aged just fourteen, and been stopped by a copper for speeding on the A13. Albert remembered picking him up from Barking Police Station and giving him a clip round the ear, all the time knowing that he probably would have done the same thing if his dad had had a motorbike.

He remembered Tommy bringing Danny’s mother Rosie home for the first time: his first and only girlfriend. Albert hadn’t been sure she was right for Tommy even then, but had kept his mouth shut. He remembered too how proud he’d been when he first saw Tommy dressed in his army uniform, and the deadening pain he’d felt when he was told of Tommy’s death; the hurt, when the pregnant Rosie had betrayed Tommy and his memory.

Then, in his mind, from the blackest of places, a light broke through. Albert thought of his newly found grandson and great-granddaughter and how destiny had brought them together. Like an angel, Ruby helped calm the storm in his mind, like a rainbow after a downpour.

Albert had an early breakfast and walked around the nearby streets. Time was dragging, and Albert was flagging too. Not only was he tired from a restless night, but the aches and pains from the accident were playing up. Looking for a sit-down and a rest, he came across a park gate, then a park, and finally a bench overlooking a boating lake. Laying his walking stick by his side, he sat down.

How strange that everything here was nice and tranquil, and still would be tonight whilst Danny and Livermore did battle in front of thousands of spectators baying for blood. Looking at the lake took him back to meeting young Danny in those early days. He wondered how fate could be so cruel and yet so kind, taking his son but giving him his grandson instead. He thought about the emotional journey they had been on together. The climax could be just hours away.

Albert believed there was something – a power, a God – although he hadn’t formed a firm opinion. He never prayed; he’d stopped doing that when Tommy was killed. But here on the park bench, he prayed.

“Dear God. I know we don’t talk much, but I wanted to thank you for finding my Danny. Thank you for everything, for little Ruby, for all of it. Please, dear God, take care of Danny tonight, keep him safe. Thank you. Amen.”

Back at the hotel, Danny had started pacing up and down in his room. He looked out of his bedroom window at the majestic Wembley Stadium standing so stately in the distance, the scene of so many sporting triumphs and defeats: a theatre of dreams and nightmares.

He could glimpse the arena beside the stadium. Already there were early spectators and a few ticket touts outside, no doubt flogging their tickets at inflated prices. What would tonight bring, triumph or defeat?

“Don’t even think about losing,” Albert had said.

Danny checked his watch for the tenth time. Ten minutes to go before they had to leave. His bag was packed and sitting by the door. It had been ready for hours. So had Danny.

He needed to stop thinking of what might be and what might not. It was time to get going. Time to get this battle on. He had prepared for months, and this was his moment.

Along with Albert, Patsy and Lenny, Danny had studied endless films of Livermore. He knew what he was facing and how tough it was going to be.

He left his room and walked through the hotel corridor to the lift. More of Albert’s words came into his head. Just believe you’re the best, and there’s a good chance you will be the best.

Patsy and Lenny were already waiting at reception.

Putting his arm around Danny’s shoulder, Patsy said: “Can we have a word?”

Danny let the big Irishman lead him to a quieter corner.

“Danny,” Patsy began. “I want you to know how pleased I am that Albert is back. I want to apologise if my loyalty to you and Albert has ever been in question. My priority has always been to see you reach your potential, and cosying up to Costa and Cohen was wrong. I’m sorry.”

There was truth and real regret in Patsy’s eyes. For Patsy, this was a big step. To show any emotion at all was unusual.

Danny shook Patsy’s hand. “Water under the bridge, Patsy,” he said. “Let’s get this fight on, eh?”

Patsy looked to be on the verge of tears. “You bet,” he said. “And you know what? You’re gonna win.”

“How can you charge people top whack for a night’s kip when a fire alarm wakes ’em up and you herd everyone into a car park in the pissing rain for half the night?”

Danny and Patsy both looked round at the hotel reception desk. Albert was arguing his case for a reduction to the bill. The hotel manager was looking nervous and awkward as Albert’s voice rose in volume.

“And don’t give me any of that bollocks about company policy, you hear?”

“We’re terribly sorry sir,” said the manager. “In the circumstances, and after due consideration, we would be prepared to offer you a discount.”

Danny watched as money changed hands. Deal done, Albert headed their way, looking pleased with himself.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he said with a sharp nod. “Now, let’s go and knock this Livermore bloke out.”

With purpose and a collective energy, Danny and his team made their way to the venue. Dropping their bags in their allocated room, they decided to take a look at the battleground while it was still empty.

Danny whistled, looking around the cavernous space. “Look at the size of this place!” he said.

“It’s big,” Albert agreed with a smile. “And every ticket sold out. In just a few hours, the place will be packed.”

They stood around for a while and watched the Wembley Arena staff place chairs and vacuum with a vengeance.

“Right,” said Patsy at last. “Let’s go back to the room and do some warming up. Time to get focused, and then relax.”

Back in the changing room, Danny hit some pads and did some gentle skipping to loosen up while Albert listened to the radio for the football results. In the nineteen sixty-seven season, West Ham were in their usual mid-table position. As Danny lay on the massage table being pummelled by Patsy, Albert leaped to his feet.

“Yes!” he cried, waving his walking stick and doing a jig that resembled something out of Mary Poppins. “Five nil to the Cockney boys! What about that, Danny boy? West Ham five, Newcastle nil! Now that’s a good omen if ever there was one.”

Danny tried to smile, wincing at Patsy’s less than gentle massage and managing a strangled: “Come on you Irons.”

Albert grinned. “I’m just gonna take a look at how it’s going in the hall.”

Albert walked into the hall and stood by the ringside, looking up at row upon row of empty seats.

“The calm before the storm,” he said to himself. “Come on Danny.”

Three men stood in a huddle on the far side of the room, having a whispered conversation. Moving a bit closer, Albert saw it was Costa and Cohen and the referee for the night, Stan Webster.

Knowing Costa and Cohen and their history of dirty tricks, it seemed obvious to Albert that Webster was looking a little too friendly with the two promoters. Albert had always thought that Webster was a straight and honest referee, but now he wasn’t so sure. He thought about confronting them, but decided against it.

A trickle of fight fans was beginning to take their seats. Albert headed back to the changing room, where Danny was recovering from Patsy’s over-zealous pummelling.

“How’s it looking, Albert?” he asked.

Albert pushed the image of Costa, Cohen and Webster to the back of his mind. Mentioning it to Danny might dent the boy’s confidence. “All good mate,” he replied. “They’re just starting the support bouts. I reckon we’ve got about an hour and a half to the fight.”

“Right, good,” said Danny. “I just wanna get going.”

“Yeah, I know. Won’t be long now. How you feeling?”

“Really nervous,” Danny admitted.

Albert could see the child in his grandson’s eyes. The look reminded him of Tommy, whenever Tommy had been scared of being told off by his dad.

“That’s all right,” Albert soothed. “Nerves ain’t a bad thing. You don’t wanna be too cocky. Nerves can put you on your guard.”

He sat down next to Danny. “You have every right to that title. You have worked for it. You came out of a dark place, and you deserve it. Just do what we have worked on a thousand times, and you will be the new British title holder, I promise.”

Danny nodded. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

Albert put his arm round his grandson. It was a special moment.

“I love you Danny,” he said.

“I love you too, Grandad.”

Patsy and Lenny came back in the room.

“They reckon about half an hour, then it’s us,” said Patsy.

“That Livermore must be quaking in his boots,” said Lenny, ever the optimist.

Harry Baldock put his head round the door.

“Go well tonight, son,” he shouted to Danny. Then nodding at Albert, “Albert, can I have a quick word?”

Albert followed Harry outside. Looking around to make sure he was not overheard, Harry spoke in whispers.

“Albert, I thought I better tell you that I think Costa and Cohen have got to one of the judges, given him a back-hander.”

“How d’ya know?”

“A friend of mine, a bookie, told me.”

Albert wasn’t surprised by Harry’s tip-off.

“I think they’ve got the ref in their pocket too, the bastards,” he said with feeling.

Harry nodded. “Just thought I’d tell ya. But whatever happens, the boy’s gonna make good money tonight. It’s packed out there.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Harry,” said Albert, rubbing his chin. “I appreciate it.”

Back into the room, Patsy was bandaging Danny’s hands.

“What did Harry want?” said Danny, looking round.

Albert thought on his feet. “He was just saying how well the tickets have gone and that.”

“You got Dad’s medal?”

“Here in my pocket Danny,” said Albert. “Safe and sound.”

“Ready when you are,” said someone in a bow tie and dinner suit who had poked his head round the door.

Patsy firmly tied Danny’s boxing gloves. Albert draped an English flag over Danny’s shoulders and hung Danny’s father’s medal around his neck. To the music of Land of Hope and Glory, Danny and his team entered the auditorium.

The noise from the crowd almost lifted the roof off the arena. Shadow-boxing his way to the waiting ring, Danny already felt like a champion.

Albert eyed up the referee and looked over at the three judges. Which one of them had Harry tipped him off about? Which one of them was in Costa and Cohen’s pocket?

The crowd hit another crescendo as Livermore and his entourage made their entrance. Danny watched the procession enter. There seemed to be fifteen or so of them, and right in the heart of the throng of the Livermore mob were Costa and Cohen.

The anticipation in the arena had grown to fever pitch as the two fighters were summoned by the referee to the centre of the ring.

“Ten four-minute rounds, no holding, break when I say break,” the referee barked.

Danny and Livermore stared at each other, searching for weakness, looking for fear. There was nothing child-like in Danny’s eyes now. Just pure determination.

Livermore looked at the medal around Danny’s neck and laughed.

“Putting your trust in a dead man?” he mocked.

Danny lunged at him, but Webster the referee stepped in.

“Back to your corners, gentlemen,” he ordered.

Danny was seething as Albert took off the medal and Patsy handed over his gum shield.

“He’s trying to wind you up,” Albert warned. “Just keep cool and box. Don’t get into a street fight. Box clever and keep your distance.”

“Seconds out!”

Amid the roar of the expectant crowd, the bell sounded for round one.

The two fighters moved around the ring just as they had at their previous meeting. A few punches were thrown. Both fighters were feeling each other out, sizing one another up. As the bell went for the end of the round, Danny sat down in his corner. He had hardly broken sweat.

“That’s good,” said Patsy. “Let’s see if we can step it up this round.”

“Jab and move,” advised Albert. “Keep him guessing.”

The bell rang out for round two as the crowd roared, looking for more action this time. They got it.

Danny was putting some very good combinations together. He jabbed and followed up with some powerful body shots. Livermore’s technique wasn’t as strong as Danny’s, but he was a stronger puncher, proved by how many of his wins had been knock-outs.

Danny got one of those big punches towards the end of the round. Livermore landed a brutal left hook to the side of Danny’s head that weakened Danny’s legs, but Danny managed to retreat, dance his way out of trouble and recover.

“Lucky punch Danny, that’s all,” Albert told him at the end of the round. “Keep your distance. You won that round on points, same again.”

Round three began. The crowd were on their feet, anticipating a knock-out from the reigning champion. But Danny back-pedalled and kept his distance, frustrating Livermore into throwing venomous punches which, as they flew by Danny’s head, were heartily cheered by the crowd. Livermore hissed insults as Danny parried his blows. At the end of the round, Danny headed back to his corner, full of purpose.

“That’s it,” Patsy encouraged, giving Danny water. “Now you keep that going. Frustrate him!”

Danny spat the water into a waiting bowl and turned to Albert.

“How am I doing, Grandad? He’s taking the piss, he’s calling me Daddy’s boy.”

“You’re doing just great, Danny,” Albert said. “Ignore him, you’re going well.”

The bell went for round four. In a quick exchange of punches, Livermore’s head clearly butted Danny.

“Ref!” Albert shouted.

“Cheat!” shouted eight thousand spectators.

Danny looked to Webster, but was ignored.

The round went on. Livermore targeted Danny’s face, hitting that area whenever he could, attacking a cut that was beginning to open on Danny’s forehead with a vengeance. Through the blood, Danny glimpsed Costa and Cohen sitting at the ringside. Costa gave him a knowing smile. The smile of a stitch-up.

Danny was now struggling to see. Albert jumped in the ring at the end of the round and led him back to his corner, where Patsy frantically patched Danny up.

Webster came over. “Still up for the fight?”

Through the fog in his head, Danny got the impression the referee wanted to end the fight.

“He’s all right,” said Albert coolly. “Just a small cut.”

“You heard the man,” said Patsy.

“What’s going on with him?” asked Danny groggily as Webster backed off. He was struggling to stay focused.

Albert slapped his face. “Listen to me,” he said, holding Danny’s chin. “I’m gonna tell you something important.”

“Yeah?” Danny slurred.

“The odds here are against you. You need to go out there in this round and knock him out. Spark out. Got it?”

Something sharpened in Danny’s head. The referee, Costa and Cohen. He looked at Albert, took his father’s medal hanging round Albert’s neck and kissed it.

The bell for round five rang out.

Danny was first to his feet. His change of tactics clearly unsettled Livermore. From being the aggressor, the title holder was now being pushed back as Danny came forward. In a flurry of punches that got the crowd not only to their feet but standing on their chairs, Danny had Livermore cornered and in serious trouble.

“Break!” Webster called.

No one had been holding. Most of the crowd began booing, sensing either bad decisions or something more sinister.

Moving back to the centre of the ring, Livermore came at Danny like a demented windmill. With a nifty piece of footwork, Danny sidestepped him and hit him with a massive right upper cut to the side of his head. The punch had so much force that it not only hurt Danny’s wrist, but sent the defending champion to the canvas.

The place exploded.

Livermore stayed down for a count of seven. Getting back to his feet, he was helped by the over-fussy “Wipe your gloves!” instruction from referee Webster, which helped delay proceedings. Livermore charged at Danny, right into a combination of punches that lifted him into the air and brought him crashing down on the bloodied canvas once again.

Before the count could begin, the bell went for the end of round five.

There was more booing from the crowd. Livermore’s team got him back to his corner and were doing their best to revive him.

Back in his own corner, Danny’s wrist was agony.

“Good boy,” enthused Albert. “Leave nothing to chance.”

“My right wrist is hurting bad,” Danny mumbled.

“Nearly there,” said Patsy.

“He’s on his knees,” said Albert. “Do it early.”

The bell rang for round six as the fighters came out. Webster took Livermore back to his corner to attend to a stray bandage from one of his gloves. Danny sensed another delaying tactic to give Livermore a chance to recover. The crowd sensed the same thing, to judge by the boos and jeers.

Livermore came out again. He seemed to have renewed energy, and attempted to put Danny under pressure. His illegal, below-the-belt punches were ignored by Webster, but Danny was given a public warning for holding.

The boos were growing louder. This seem to pump up Livermore, who came at Danny with renewed force. The flurry of his desperate punches was short-lived. Fighting through the pain of his wrist, Danny unleashed another barrage of punches that sent Livermore’s gum shield into the crowd and Livermore down to his knees. This time, he was definitely out.

Webster had no alternative but to count.

“…seven, eight, nine… ten!”

Livermore still lay flat on the floor. It was over.

There was mayhem. Albert almost somersaulted into the ring, hugging Danny and lifting him up.

“You did it!” he wept. “You did it, boy! Here, take your dad’s medal… take it. Your dad would be so proud. Well done, Danny!”

His face bloodied and bruised, Danny looked deep into Albert’s eyes as his grandfather draped his dad’s medal around his neck.

“We did it, Grandad,” he said in wonder, feeling as if he and Albert were the only two people in a crowded hall. “You, me and Dad. We did it.”

Lenny had watched the fight from the ringside, living every punch. He was beside himself with joy. A barrage of security men attempted to calm him down, but nobody was going to stop Lenny celebrating this wonderful moment.

“This is my family!” he shouted. “This is their night! This is my night! Hallelujah!”

He and a jubilant Patsy lifted the new British champion on to their shoulders and paraded Danny around the ring.

“Hallelujah!” Lenny shouted again, tears pouring down his face.

Albert couldn’t help a sarcastic smile and a wave of his walking stick at Costa and Cohen, standing motionless by the ringside. Tumultuous cheers rang out on all sides. Cameras flashed. History had been made.

Albert’s faded glory had been restored to a shining glory.

As Lenny and Patsy paraded Danny shoulder-high around the ring, Albert looked up to the sky. With tears of joy in his eyes, he whispered: “I know you’re looking down, Tommy. He did it, Tommy son. Your boy’s a champion. A British champion.”