Faded Glory

CHAPTER FIVE

WITH Wendy now on board and cautiously behind him in his quest for glory, Danny was feeling invincible. He started slacking off on the training, coasting through gym sessions. The world was his for the taking.

“Don’t let it go to your head, lad,” Patsy warned. “Your next fight’s against a boy from Dagenham, a lad called Trevor Grey. He’s never fought in an amateur contest, so it’s going to be tough to judge his form or work out tactics for the fight.”

“No problem,” Danny said with a shrug. “I’m gonna teach him a lesson.”

Patsy looked concerned as Danny shadow-boxed around him.

“I know what I’m doing, Patsy,” Danny insisted. “This kid don’t stand a chance. You worry too much.”

On the night of the fight, the venue in Dagenham was packed. Danny started showboating when the referee introduced him, to boos and catcalls from the local crowd. The kid he was fighting, Trevor Grey, looked nervous.

“Be careful out there,” Albert warned as Patsy shoved the gum shield into Danny’s mouth. “Don’t take this boy for granted. We don’t know nothing about him.”

Danny felt irritated. Did his last fight count for nothing? “Ain’t you seen the kid’s face? He’s scared,” he said. “This is gonna be over quick.”

He leaped up, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Wait,” said Albert, fumbling in his pocket. “I’ve got the medal.”

“Don’t need it, Albert. Not for this one.”

Danny touched gloves with Trevor Grey. Winked.

“Seconds out!” cried the referee as the crowd roared.

Ding ding!

Danny came out, his guard held low. He wanted to laugh at his new opponent as he moved around the ring. He could have done this in his sleep.

“Come on then,” he challenged, grinning. “Ain’t you gonna hit me?”

Hit him Trevor Grey did. A massive right hand almost lifted Danny’s dancing feet into mid-air. Danny saw stars, felt the rough canvas on his cheek. Then nothing.

“…nine, TEN!”

Danny became dimly aware of cheering and the stink of smelling salts under his nose. His voice sounded groggy, like it didn’t belong to him.

“What happened?”

“You lost the fight,” growled Patsy. “And it was bloody embarrassing. Albert? Get this Wonder Boy out of my sight.”

Albert led Danny silently through the yelling crowd to the changing room. Danny could barely put one foot in front of the other. He winced as Albert slammed the changing-room door behind them.

“I thought you were serious, Danny.” The disappointment in Albert’s voice filled Danny with deep regret. “I thought you wanted to be a fighter. You lost that fight because you thought you were too good, you thought it would be easy. You need to take a good look at yourself.”

Danny sank on to the bench. “Leave it, will you?”

“Remember I told you to always respect your opponent? Well, you didn’t. You took the piss and you paid for it. Listen to me. If you want to keep working with me and Patsy, you need to change your attitude. You’ve done well up until tonight, but you’ve got too big for your boots. Think about it.”

Albert left Danny by himself. His head felt full of cotton wool and his heart ached. It wasn’t just himself he’d let down. It was Albert and Patsy too. The knowledge hurt worse than his jaw.

What would his dad have thought of his performance tonight?

Not much. That was for sure.

Patsy and Albert came back into the changing room. They stood side by side, arms folded.

“I’m sorry,” Danny croaked. “It won’t happen again.”

Training continued. Albert and Patsy monitored Danny closely, making sure that the boy’s training regime was up to scratch and Danny’s commitment was restored. Danny worked hard to build himself up. He was determined not to let down his team again.

Months wore on, and then years. Danny fought in amateur contests all over London, building his experience, and often maintaining his winning form. Albert was especially pleased with the fights where Danny won with a knock- out, as he had spent considerable time teaching Danny to use the power of his shoulders as well as his arms in his punches.

Danny’s reputation grew with the passing of time. He was often stopped now for a handshake and a respectful “Hello” from the locals. Wendy and her rather snobby parents were impressed and beginning to enjoy the reflected fame.

“My daughter’s boyfriend is making waves as an amateur boxer,” Mr Bristow was fond of telling his workmates, in a bid to enhance his manliness at the factory and prove to them all that he wasn’t just some distant supervisor, detached and out of touch. “The boy’s future looks bright.”

For all his increasing fame, Danny was still working part-time as a hod carrier on one of the many building sites in London sprouting out of the bombed ground. Because of the job’s physicality, it was almost like training, and of course it brought in some much-needed money. There were times though, when the alarm clock shook and rang on those dark damp mornings, when Danny wished that his boxing path would move up a gear, bringing glory and a more secure financial future for him and Wendy.

They sometimes talked of getting engaged.

“You could be my fiancé,” Wendy would sigh, and Danny would choke and laugh and warn her off ever calling him something so poofy.

Mr and Mrs Bristow, together with Rosie, were both of the opinion that Danny and Wendy were too young. But it didn’t stop the young couple from dreaming. They talked about weddings, and a family in the future maybe, and where they would like to live. Chigwell seemed top of Wendy’s list.

The riches, fame and glory that his new career could bring him shone like a light at the end of a long dark tunnel. Danny wanted it all and more. But at the same time, he had a true passion for the sport, and an even stronger wish to be remembered as a good fighter, just as Albert was.

On the evening before any contest, Danny had now developed a sensible regime. He would spend a quiet night in, collect his thoughts and try to relax. Tonight he had a fight in Peckham. Thankfully Rosie had gone away for the weekend, for a short break in Southend. Danny wasn’t really sure who she was with. Ricky or Ted, most likely. He felt the usual nervous anxiety, but there was a different feeling tonight. A feeling of wanting to prove his commitment, take the next step up the career ladder. After a good night’s sleep, he set off on his daily run along the road to the park. These days he had proper running shoes, kindly donated by Lenny. As he pounded the streets, he went through the instructions and tactics for the fight, making meticulous preparations over and over in his head.

Albert was on his way out of the park after his morning duck feed.

The two friends met by the park’s red and green bandstand.

“All right, son?” said Albert.

Things were indeed all right, thanks in many ways to his unlikely friend and mentor. Danny felt the need to thank Albert for all he had done, and reassure him that he was serious about his boxing career. But Danny wasn’t sure how to put his gratitude into words. He didn’t want to sound like a softy. Knowing Albert and his dislike of sentimentality, he settled for a less potentially embarrassing, more general conversation.

“So, how do you think I’m doing?” he asked as they sat side by side on the park bench.

“You’re doing good.”

There followed the kind of comfortable silence that is perfectly fine between friends. After a few minutes, Albert broke it.

“You’re a special fighter, Danny. All right, you let yourself down on your second fight, but I’ve seen hundreds of would-be champions, boys who never had the skill and the attitude needed to make it. You have the skill and the attitude. You just gotta believe, that’s all.”

Danny felt indescribably moved by Albert’s words. They meant a lot to him. “Right,” said Albert, standing up. “I’d better get going.”

Danny called as Albert walked off. “See you later.”

Albert bent down to pick up a piece of stray litter and put it in a nearby bin. Danny smiled at Albert’s love and care of his park. He’d wanted to say so much more to thank Albert for guiding him to this new horizon, but when they’d been sat side by side, the words hadn’t come out.

“Thank you, Albert,” Danny whispered now as his mentor moved on across the park, dead-heading dying roses as he went. “Thank you.”

As the sun went down behind the ships and dormant cranes in the early evening, Danny made his way to the battleground, alone as usual. It was the best way to do it. With just himself for company, he could focus more on the job in hand. The distraction of small talk, or indeed any talk, would be a nuisance.

On top of the bus to Peckham, he visualised the fight, the tactics. Patsy had been on at him to keep his guard up as lately, in training, he had started to let his hands drop. The burly Irishman had also reminded him to concentrate on moving; to box, not brawl.

“Show your natural gift as a boxer,” he’d said. “And make sure you avoid getting drawn into a toe-to-toe slogging match.”

Reaching the hall, Danny found his way to the changing rooms. Most of the West Ham boys were already there.

“All right, Danny?”

“How’s it going?”

Danny felt strengthened by their presence, like he always did. They were a strong and close unit. Being part of a winning team and training side by side brought them all closer. It was almost a brotherhood.

Patsy was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s not too happy with the way the temporary ring has been erected,” Elijah told Danny when he asked. “He reckons it’s loose or something.”

“A bit like your arse Elijah!” said someone else, to a burst of laughter.

The door burst open and an irate Patsy came storming in.

“Bloody amateurs,” he snarled. “What a piss hole. Everyone here? Danny? Good lads, listen up. Peckham has some dangerous fighters, but there’s none more dangerous than our Danny’s opponent tonight, the toast of South London, Billy Anderson.”

The West Ham boys hissed. Anderson had an enthusiastic following and a really impressive record of twenty-six wins, including eight knock-outs and just one loss. And this was only the beginning of his career.

“The boy is a scrapper, not a boxer,” Patsy continued, fixing Danny with his gaze. “If he catches you, you will know it.”

Danny knew all about Billy Anderson. He listened carefully as Patsy outlined the tactics for the fight once again.

Wendy wasn’t coming tonight, as over the last few days she’d been feeling sick. Danny had told her to stay at home and not to worry, he would be fine. But it was still good to see Albert and Lenny arrive to support him. They felt like family these days.

“Looking good tonight, Danny!” Lenny said cheerfully. “That Peckham lad ain’t got a hope!”

Danny’s bout was second on the bill. With Lenny’s words of encouragement ringing in his ears, he made his way to the ring with Patsy and Albert at his side.

“Jab and move, Danny,” was Albert’s advice as the crowd cheered and crowded around. “Out-box him, don’t get involved in a street fight.”

“Yeah, out-box him, son,” Patsy agreed. “You’re the better boxer, keep your distance.”

Danny could still hear Albert’s stinging rebuke from all those years ago, when he’d lost to the Dagenham first-timer through stupidity and over-confidence. Don’t you ever take for granted that you’re gonna win a fight. You must always, always respect your opponent. It had been a humiliating defeat that had hurt Danny badly, and one he was determined never to repeat.

When Anderson arrived in the ring, it was clear that he was the local crowd’s Big White Hope. There had been a lot of talk in recent weeks about him turning professional. He was the hot shot, and Danny, for all his growing reputation, was the underdog.

Anderson seemed to have muscles on his muscles, and Danny could sense his aggression. Tonight, Danny was far from over-confident, and his nerves were raw.

“Seconds out! Round one!”

Just as Patsy had warned, Anderson came out with a vengeance. Danny tried to box, to keep his distance, but the fury of his opponent was intense. He managed to avoid some of the more telegraphed, windmill-type punches, but was caught by a body shot that winded him badly and brought home the vicious power of Anderson’s punch.

Round one went to Anderson, the Peckham boy.

“Keep out of trouble, lad,” Patsy barked, back in Danny’s corner.

“You’re doing OK,” Albert encouraged. “Keep moving, jab and move!”

The bell went for round two. Anderson, buoyed by the winning first round, came out like a Tasmanian devil, aiming for the kill, spurred on by a partisan crowd baying for blood.

Danny tried hard to follow his corner’s advice, but when three vicious blows landed on his head guard and chin, his knees started to buckle.

Dimly he heard Patsy yelling.

“Get your guard up, Danny!” Patsy yelled as a right to the ribs winded Danny again. The referee was looking anxious and on the verge of stopping the fight. If the fight stopped, the contest would be awarded to his opponent. Danny felt a slow, burning anger as he lifted his gloves. He’d had enough of being a punch bag. It was now or never.

With a power he had not shown before, he summoned all his energy and began to fight back.

“Box him, Danny!” Patsy shouted. “Box him!”

But Danny wasn’t listening. If Anderson wanted a street fight, he was going to get one.

From back-pedalling, he now moved forward on the offensive. Toe to toe with his opponent, sweat and blood covering his face, his fast hands started to push Anderson back. The crowd sensed the battle was on. In a way, the gloves were off.

The two men fought as if their lives depended on it. Blow after blow, both boxers giving as good as they got. Danny fought on grimly. His punches were landing more accurately than Anderson’s manic onslaught.

The mood in the hall began to change. Before Danny started bringing the fight to Anderson, the local crowd had thought that their boy was going to be the easy winner. But Danny had other ideas, and they could sense it.

“Box!” Patsy screamed. “Don’t brawl!”

“Keep going, Danny!” shouted Lenny. “Keep landing them punches!”

Danny was matching Anderson’s aggression punch for punch. Patsy threw his hands in the air. This was a powerhouse of a fight rarely seen in the amateur boxing world, and the crowd loved it.

Anderson was in retreat, backing off for safety, when a right hook from Danny caught him like a hammer blow, smack on the chin, visibly shaking him. Sensing his moment, with a left and a powerful right Danny sent Anderson crashing through the ropes and into the crowd.

Anderson wasn’t the only thing giving up the fight. The ring was collapsing too. Danny grabbed for the ropes as the structure fell apart beneath his feet. Anderson was out cold, sprawled across the laps of two front-row punters, as chaos descended. The referee gave up trying to call for order and went to consult with the judges. After a brief and confused conversation, the referee waved his arms.

“Draw!” he yelled. “In the circumstances, we call a draw!”

Albert, Patsy and Lenny went ballistic. Even the local crowd were booing the decision. Danny had clearly won, well before the ring had collapsed. After giving his all, fighting the kind of fight Anderson had wanted and beating him, Danny had been cheated.

The travesty of justice left a bad taste in his mouth.

“We should demand a return match,” Albert said, angrily pacing in the changing rooms as the officials did their best to reassemble the ring for the rest of the bill.

“Cheating bastards,” said Lenny.

“Told you this was a piss hole,” Patsy said.

“Next time you’ll beat him,” Albert swore, lifting Danny’s chin up to look the dejected boy in the eye. “Don’t worry, son, you’ll get your revenge.”

As a semblance of calm began to settle, the door was suddenly pushed open and the smell of aftershave lotion wafted in. Albert narrowed his eyes at the two well-groomed newcomers in mohair suits who had waltzed in unannounced.

“Who the bloody ’ell are you?” he said.

The men looked around the changing room like they owned the place.

“The name’s Costa,” said the taller of the two, producing a business card. No one moved to take it. “Tommy Costa. And this here is my business partner Jack Cohen.”

“No one asked you in here,” said Albert.

“Steady, old fella,” Costa replied. “You don’t want to have a heart attack. Who are you anyway?”

“This man is the ex-army middleweight champion, Albert Kemp,” Lenny bit out, “and you need to show some bloody respect.”

“What do you two want?” Albert said bluntly.

Cohen looked at Albert with a slightly patronising smile. “Nice fighter you have there Albie boy,” he said.

“Good-looking boy too,” said Costa, his eyes lingering on Danny. “We’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

Cohen smiled, showing sharp little teeth. “Now, I’m sure you want the best for the boy,” he said.

“The best for the boy,” echoed Costa.

“He needs proper management,” Cohen continued.

“Someone to nurture, to care,” added Costa.

Albert was reminded of a comedy double act, but not a very funny one.

“Someone to open doors,” Cohen went on.

“Get him the right fights,” Costa put in.

Costa’s eyes glinted. “Perhaps get him a shot at a professional title.”

“And is that you, Albert?” said Cohen, a little too close to Albert’s face for comfort.

Cohen was wearing a grey well-tailored suit, pink tie, striped shirt and what seemed to be a gold ring on every finger. The straight man, serious, perpetually glum, with very black hair, greased and swept severely back.

He spoke quickly and sharply with an almost middle-class accent. Tommy Costa looked like a Greek Cypriot, with a five o’clock shadow, long curly brown hair, bushy eyebrows and big brown eyes. His black mohair suit would have fitted fine, if Tommy had not put on a few pounds living the good life. More casual than Cohen, he wore an open-neck white shirt and a pair of very shiny Cuban-heel boots.

“Why don’t you call him over,” suggested Costa now, his eyes flicking towards Danny. “So we can have a little chat?”

“Go get changed, Danny,” said Albert, not taking his eyes off Costa and Cohen. “Len? Patsy? Look after the boy.”

“It’s all about you, ain’t it Albie?” said Costa.

“Standing in the way of a young man’s dream,” said Cohen.

The men pushed past Albert and headed for Danny. Lenny and Patsy hovered uncertainly.

“Danny boy,” said Cohen. “Allow me to present my card.”

Albert gritted his teeth as a bewildered Danny took the business card from Cohen’s fingers.

“He did well Tony, didn’t he?” said Cohen. “Came back strong.”

“Yes Jack, a brave boy,” confirmed Costa.

“We have been watching you, Danny,” said Cohen.

“Like a hawk,” Costa put in. “We think, if you have the right people around you, you could have a future.”

Danny glanced at Albert. “Thank you,” he said. “But I’ve already got the right people around me.”

Patsy stepped up to Cohen, nose to nose.

“I think you should leave now,” he said. “The boy’s tired. Leave it to another day.”

“We can open doors for you, Danny,” said Cohen, ignoring Patsy.

Albert didn’t like what he was seeing and hearing.

“There’s a door over there you can open,” he said. “Just close it after you piss off.”

Cohen smiled. “Steady there, Albie,” he said.

“Just saying hello, that’s all,” said Costa, with a smile that revealed a prominent gold tooth.

Cohen hadn’t taken his eyes off Danny. “I’m sure you think you’re in good hands, Danny,” he said, “but if you need a little help, give us a call.”

As the door closed, everyone breathed again.

“You wanna stay away from people like that, Danny,” said Patsy, shaking his head.

“Like I said, I’ve got a good team,” Danny said, and he smiled at Albert as he spoke. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

The tension in Albert’s shoulders eased a little. “I’ve heard their names, Pat, but I’ve never seen ’em,” he said, turning to the stocky Irishman. “They’ve got a bit of a reputation, ain’t they?”

“Dangerous, the pair of ’em,” Patsy confirmed. “And I’ve heard that Costa fella is one of those sausage jockeys.”

“Blimey,” was all that Albert could think of as a reply.

He sat down on the slatted bench in the changing room. Jack Cohen had come across as a shifty chancer. Costa seemed more gregarious, more outgoing than his partner, but his overpowering personality and buckets full of smarm, in some ways, made him that bit more worrying.

Not that Albert was worried. He’d seen their type before. They took kindness for weakness, used lies for truth and bullying for strength. Danny wouldn’t go near them. He was too bright for that.

Danny had planned to stick around and watch the rest of the fights. However, his own traumatic fight and decision, plus the downbeat mood in the changing room, saw him heading off to Wendy’s instead to try and lift his mood.

At the bus stop, Danny thought about the meeting with Cohen and Costa. He had kept their card, and for the first time, he now took it out of his pocket and read it.

Cohen & Costa Boxing Promotions and Management. Promoters that Pack a Punch!

“Promoters that Pack a Punch,” Danny repeated to himself. It had a certain ring.

His first thought was to deposit the card in a nearby rubbish bin. After all, he already had his team, his boxing family. Why would he need this pair? But, something stopped him. Not really knowing why, he put the card back in his pocket.

There was now a growing queue at the bus stop. Several men clustered round him.

“Well done, son,” said one.

“You was robbed,” said another. “You won that fight.”

The memory of the injustice still hurt. “Yeah,” said Danny, shaking the hands that were offered. “Nothing I can do about it though, is there?”

The trolley bus arrived, its two long pole-like arms sparking and clinging to the electric cables overhead. Too often, the arms of the buses became unattached, and a man would have to come to the rescue with a very long pole to re-attach them. The first time it happened, Danny had been a boy travelling on the bus with his mum.

“Is he called a pole vaulter?” he’d wanted to know.

Rosie hadn’t bothered to answer.

This bus seemed to be behaving itself. Danny went upstairs and found a seat by the window. Watching the streets, shops and houses pass slowly by, he reflected on the night’s events. It was seven years since he’d first taken up boxing. Seven long years. It was crazy still to be fighting at an amateur level. Maybe these Costa and Cohen characters could help him get paid, become a professional. It wouldn’t be a bad thing.

His body was still aching from the brutal fight, but all of a sudden Danny felt elated and couldn’t wait to tell Wendy about the evening. He had won that fight after all, albeit with one eye bruised and practically closed. He might not look like the victor, but he was. And maybe in more ways than one.

By the time he got to Wendy’s, her mother and father had gone to bed. He could see Wendy through the net curtains, sitting up waiting for him. He tapped three times on the stained-glass window in the front door, an attractive piece of glass with the figure of a sail boat etched in it.

“I won Wend,” Danny said, grinning, as his girlfriend opened the door. “Although it was given as a draw. What a night. Wait till you hear about it.”

“Oh my God Danny, look at your face!” Wendy’s eyes were wide as she took in Danny’s bruises. She grabbed his hand. “Come in. We need to talk.”

For women, “talking” meant emotion and feelings. Words that spelled terror to most men, Danny among them. His gut lurched as Wendy ushered him into the living room and closed the door.

“Sit down, Danny,” she said.

Danny sat nervously on the sofa. “What’s the matter, what is it?” he asked, feeling like he’d been summoned by the headmistress.

That’s when the bombshell landed.

“I’m pregnant,” Wendy said.

“What?” said Danny.

“I am pregnant,” Wendy repeated with a touch more volume. “Having a baby. With child.”

“Oh, pregnant,” said Danny, stunned. “Right.”

A strange mixture of emotions flooded through him. Shock, pride and fear, all at the very same time.

“Right,” he repeated.

“I’ve not told Mum and Dad yet,” said Wendy anxiously.

“Right,” Danny repeated.

He was beginning to sound like a broken record stuck in a groove. His head was bursting with thoughts. Searching, thinking of options, thinking of consequences.

“What shall we do?” Wendy said, her voice small and scared.

Suddenly for Danny, everything was clear. This baby was a confirmation of their love for each other from way back when they were just children, when Danny had defended Wendy from the ginger jibes. The beautiful crowning glory for two childhood sweethearts who had turned into adults and were still deeply in love. Soulmates, as Wendy often said.

Danny put his arms around Wendy and held her close. He felt her relax against him. They were having a child of their own. That very special bond of parenthood was going to be theirs now. It was time to jump into the unknown.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said. “I love you, Wend.”

They talked well into the night about all the changes they would need to make. They discussed a few names for the baby, both girls’ and boys’. They talked about money, and how they would cope.

“I met these two fellas tonight,” Danny said as Wendy rested her head on his shoulder. “They reckon I could turn professional with their help, maybe make some money. I’ll meet them, talk to them.”

They were both aware that the most immediate hurdle was to tell Wendy’s parents. Danny was no coward, but the thought of confronting Wendy’s strait-laced folks with the news of a baby conceived out of wedlock was nerve-racking. But he realised that if they were going to have this baby, goodwill from Wendy’s folks was an important factor.

“So you’ll come over tomorrow?” said Wendy as Danny kissed her good night. “We can tell Mum and Dad together.”

He was twenty-three, but Danny had always felt like a boy. For the first time tonight, he truly felt like a man, facing all the responsibility that a baby would bring. He felt ready for it, ready to take it on, whatever the outcome, whatever Wendy’s parents thought.

“Of course I will,” he said, holding Wendy tightly. “I’ll be here at six.”

Danny spent most of the next day thinking about how Wendy’s folks might react. He practised little speeches, tried to imagine the questions they would be asked and what answers he would give. He guessed Wendy was doing more or less the same on her shift at the sugar factory. It seemed a longer day than usual, as Danny longed to get everything over with and out in the open.

On the dot of six, Danny arrived at the Bristows’ looking as smart and responsible as he could. He knew that his shiner of a left eye might take the edge off his carefully thought-out presentation, but it couldn’t be helped.

Wendy greeted him with a reassuring hug and kiss.

Danny patted her back. “Don’t worry Wend,” he said. “It’ll be all right.”

Mr Bristow had not made it home from work yet. Wendy and Danny waited tensely in the living room as Mrs Bristow bustled around the kitchen peeling potatoes for the evening meal.

“That’s quite a bruise you’ve got there, Danny,” she said. “Did you win the fight?”

“Yes, Mrs Bristow,” said Danny. His throat felt dry with nervousness. “Although the ring collapsed so they called it a draw.”

“That sounds dangerous,” said Mrs Bristow. “Wendy love, can you lay the table?”

Danny watched the clock on the mantelpiece as Wendy laid out the cutlery. What if he couldn’t actually speak when the moment came? What if he failed to make his point and prove himself as a responsible future father of the Bristows’ grandchild? He’d decided to call it “the forthcoming baby”. It sounded better than “Wendy’s pregnant”.

“Are you all right for a drink, Danny?” asked Mrs Bristow.

Danny and Wendy had agreed they would tell her parents together, although part of Danny thought that if the news was broken to Mrs Bristow first and she was positive about it, they could get her on side to convince Mr Bristow.

“I’m fine, Mrs Bristow,” he said, with as much charm as he could muster.

He hadn’t got round to telling his own mother the news as yet, but he knew it wouldn’t be a problem. Rosie was so wrapped up in her own world that as long as the newborn didn’t clip her wings in any way, she would be fine. Telling Mr Bristow was going to be something else entirely.

A key sounded in the door.

“I’m home,” said Mr Bristow cheerfully. “What’s for dinner?”

Danny jumped to his feet, but Wendy grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the sofa. They looked at each other. This was it.

“Come into the living room, Dad,” Wendy said. “Mum? Leave the dinner for a moment. I – we’ve got something to tell you.”

“Something good?” said Mr Bristow, taking off his shiny black shoes and putting on his tartan slippers as Mrs Bristow appeared from the kitchen with a questioning look on her face.

“Danny and I have an announcement,” said Wendy. She paused and took a breath. “We’re having a baby.”

Danny smiled as brightly and hopefully as he could, stretching out for Wendy’s hand. “And we’re really happy,” he added.

“Right,” said Mr Bristow.

Danny was reminded of his own reaction to Wendy’s news, except Mr Bristow’s “Right” had a different undercurrent.

There followed a strange silence. Danny felt like he was in the dark, without a clue whether the news was going down well or badly.

Mr Bristow paced across the room, stopping by the fireplace to tap and empty his pipe into the grate. Danny watched, holding his breath.

“Do you intend to have this baby?” Mr Bristow asked at last.

Wendy’s face showed a determination to keep the situation calm.

“Yes Dad,” she said. “We want to have it. We’re happy about it.”

“We do love each other,” Danny put in.

“And we will love the baby,” said Wendy.

Mr Bristow reached for his tobacco pouch, filled his pipe meticulously with tobacco and lit it, resulting in a cloud of blue, sweet-smelling smoke. As the first cloud of smoke evaporated into the tense air, he looked Danny in the eye.

“You’ll be getting married, of course,” he said.

“Of course,” said Danny hurriedly. The thought of a wedding was not really on the top of his list, and a shot-gun wedding had never entered his mind.

“Good,” said Mr Bristow. “That’s good.”

The awkwardness was broken unexpectedly by Mrs Bristow.

“Well!” she said, giving her daughter a loving hug. She extended her arms to Danny. “I’m pleased for both of you! My goodness, so many plans to make!”

Mr Bristow’s expression softened a little. “This will change your lives, you know that,” he said.

Danny nodded. “For the better, sir.”

“I hope so, son,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll go and get washed and changed for tea.”

When he had gone upstairs, Mrs Bristow smiled encouragingly at Danny.

“Mr B’s a little old-fashioned,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not right that you’re not married and having a little one, but I know how much you care about each other and I know this baby will be well loved. And you, my little girl,” she said, turning to Wendy, “you will be a good mother.”

Wendy gave her mother a big hug, dragging Danny into the embrace. Danny closed his eyes in relief as warmth and love filled the room.

Over sausage and mash, there were many happy logistics from Mrs Bristow about wedding plans and baby plans. It was as if she had been waiting for this news her whole life. Mr Bristow had a more considered response, bringing practicalities to the table such as: “When will the wedding be? When is the baby due? Where will the money come from? Where will you live?”

Danny tried to make the point that he would be a good dad and support his wife and baby, even if it meant working long hours on building sites.

“And there’s the promoters you told me about last night,” Wendy reminded him, and Danny explained about Costa and Cohen too, and how maybe there was money there if he made the professional fight circuit. He was confident in his boxing family and his ability, although he was fully aware that a baby was a lifestyle changer. If it meant working all hours as a hod carrier to give the little one the start it deserved, he was ready, willing and able.

Wedding plans were the urgent priority.

“You should tie the knot as soon as possible,” advised Mrs Bristow.

“I won’t have a daughter of mine walking down the aisle six months pregnant,” cautioned Mr Bristow.

“What would people think if you were showing under your wedding dress?” agreed Mrs Bristow.

“You could live here,” Mr Bristow offered over dessert.

“That would be great, Dad,” Wendy said, glancing at Danny. “But we’ll put our names down for a council place too.”

This pleased Danny. He got on all right with his future in-laws, but having their own place would certainly feel more comfortable.

His head was spinning after all the talk at dinner as he left Wendy with a goodnight kiss on the front porch.

“I said it would be all right, didn’t I Wend?” he said.

“It’s gonna be wonderful,” said Wendy happily. “Night. I love you Danny.”

“I love you too.”

Riding his bike home, Danny felt very grown up, ready to tackle all the trials and tribulations of being a father. His child would be brought up properly, unlike the fractured childhood that he had endured.

He wondered how his mum was going to react to the happy news. His instinct told him that the chance for Rosie to buy a new hat for the wedding would definitely go down well. He couldn’t imagine his mum would ever make the perfect grandmother, but he suspected having the house to herself when he eventually moved out was going to be something she would enjoy.

Rosie and Ricky were just finishing a Chinese take-away when Danny wheeled his bike through to the back and returned to the kitchen to break the news.

“Mum,” he said at the kitchen door. “Me and Wendy are gonna get married.”

“What d’ya want to do that for?” Ricky grunted, his mouth full of food.

Rosie looked worried. “Don’t you think you’re too young, love?” she said.

“I’m twenty-three, Mum,” said Danny. His eyes uncharacteristically filled with tears. “I love her, she loves me, and we are going to have a baby.”

Ricky dropped a prawn ball. Rosie jumped up and away from her chicken chow mein, almost choking in shock. Finally, through the coughs and splutters, she managed to speak.

“My little boy, are you sure?” Emotionally fuelled with alcohol, Rosie dramatically threw her arms round him. “Danny, listen to me, are you sure?”

Danny attempted to calm his mother down with a few friendly pats on her back. “Yes Mum, I’m sure,” he said.

“My little boy, a father!” Rosie cried, like a player in a Greek tragedy. “Oh Danny!”

Ricky seemed more interested in some prawn crackers than Wendy and Danny’s nuptials. After a reluctant glass of sweet German wine to celebrate, Danny said his goodnights and escaped to his room.

Reaching under his bed for the tin box, he took out the photo of his father.

“Hello Dad,” he said proudly. “You’re going to be a grandad.”

Looking at his father’s picture, Danny felt sure that his dad would look down and make sure the little one would grow up safe and sound.

It had been a landmark night to remember.

Each morning, Albert tried to feed as many ducks as he could before his bread ran out. It was hard keeping the pigeons off and the odd seagull was a nightmare, but he did his best.

“Albert! I’ve got something to tell you!”

Albert looked up to see Danny running towards him. The boy was glowing about something.

“Albert, guess what? I’m gonna be a dad! Wendy’s pregnant and we’re gonna get married!”

“A dad? Marriage?” Albert repeated. “Blimey, son, you sure this is the right time? What about the boxing?”

Danny wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I’ll work something out. Great, ain’t it though?”

Albert felt concerned. Danny’s promising boxing career would come to a halt or suffer, taking second place to a family and wife. Not to mention the financial commitment of bringing up a child.

“Kids cost money,” he said. “How are you gonna afford it? Wendy can’t work with a bun in the oven.”

“I know she can’t,” Danny agreed. “I need to work harder at the boxing, maybe turn professional to make money.”

Uneasiness spread through Albert. He could sense where this was going.

“Maybe those Cohen and Costa blokes could help, you know?” Danny said casually. “So I can make some money.”

Albert was only too aware of Cohen and Costa’s shady reputation. The thought of Danny being involved with them in any way was worrying. The thought of Danny turning professional was worrying too. But at the same time, he was respectful of Danny’s up-and-coming commitments. For the moment, it would be best to keep his powder dry and stay quiet on Costa and Cohen.

“So you’re gonna be a dad,” he said. “I’m pleased for you, Danny.”

“Yeah it’s great! But keep it quiet, yeah? Till we’re married?”

“My lips are sealed,” said Albert. “She’s a nice girl too, your Wendy. I wish you both every happiness.”

“Thanks, Albert, I appreciate it,” Danny said with a smile. “We’ve already started planning the wedding. I’ll give you your invite when they’re printed up.” He smiled shyly. “And I would like you to be my best man.”

Albert was touched. “Lovely,” he said. “Look forward to it. Seems like you’ve got a lot of future coming your way.”

“Yeah,” Danny agreed. “And I’m going to grab it with both hands. I want my kid to be proud of me.”

“You do that,” said Albert. “Just keep pushing.”

Danny shook Albert’s slightly bemused hand. “And it starts now,” he promised, with a mock punch to Albert’s shoulder.

Albert sat on the bench and thought about Danny’s revelations as Danny headed off on the rest of his circuit training, his quest to climb the mountain of success. A change was coming, and Albert wasn’t sure it was going to be for the best.

Walking back to his flat, he puzzled over Danny and his boxing future. He prayed the boy would circumnavigate Cohen and Costa. He didn’t trust them. There were too many rumours, too many shadowy dealings.

He decided to talk to Patsy about it when he got to work.

“You just missed a couple of visitors,” Patsy informed Albert when he arrived at the Live and Let Live. “Them two clowns, Costa and Costalotmore.”

“What did they want?” Albert asked with trepidation.

“They seem to believe in your Danny. They were interested in representing the boy and helping him turn professional.”

Albert went quiet. The thought of those two wide boys being involved in Danny’s future was a chilling prospect. But if they could help Danny secure his financial future for his new family, who was he to stand in his way?

“What did you tell ’em?”

“To come back this evening when Danny’s in. They can speak to him directly then.”

Albert sat down. “We need to be here, Patsy,” he said. “We don’t know what tricks they might want to pull.”

“Yes indeed,” agreed Patsy.

The two men exchanged grim glances.

Tonight was going to be tough.

Danny had spent most of the day with Wendy and her busy mother, making plans for the wedding. He’d never realised how complex it was. Invites, caterers, menus, venues… His head was spinning.

Mr Bristow had shot off earlier in his Hillman Minx to secure the local Conservative Club for the reception. He maintained that the venue had class, and he also knew of a three-piece band that played there on a Saturday night.

“Perfect,” he had said. “Not too noisy.”

By early evening, Danny was weddinged out, and ready for the physical and mental relief of training.

When he got to the Live and Let Live and climbed the stairs to the gym, there was an unfamiliar smell of aftershave wafting from Patsy’s office. Through the window, Danny could see Albert, Patsy and two sharp dressers in conversation. Danny recognised them at once as Patsy beckoned him into the office.

“Danny!” said Costa, jumping up from a chair and giving Danny an overly affectionate hug. Over Costa’s shoulder, Danny could see distaste and contempt radiating from Albert.

“Sit down, champ, sit down,” Cohen said.

There was a mixed atmosphere as Danny did as he was told. Warmth from the visitors, and a definite chill from Albert and Patsy.

“Danny, we believe in you,” said Cohen, with his usual serious face.

“A bit more than some others do,” chimed in Costa.

“We think you’re ready for the big time, son,” said Cohen.

“We know you are,” added Costa, his English peppered with the touch of a Greek accent.

“We’ve been watching you,” said Cohen.

Costa grinned. “Like a hawk with a telescope.”

“You need representation, Danny,” Cohen continued. “People that can guide you to the top, where the pickings are rich. A professional career, with fame and a considerable fortune.”

“Considerable, like he says,” agreed Costa, stroking his chin with a gold-ringed hand.

Cohen laid a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “If we take you under our wing, Danny, the sky is the limit.”

“You will fly like an eagle,” Costa added.

Albert snorted. “That’s beautiful,” he said. “Fly like an eagle, you’d like that, Danny, wouldn’t you? Just think, you wouldn’t have to use public transport no more.”

Danny felt worried. Costa and Cohen’s exciting proposition looked like it might be a dangerous path, to judge from Albert’s reaction.

“Let me spell it out for you, Danny.”

As Cohen launched into plans for Danny’s future boxing career, Albert left the office without a word.

“He’s got work downstairs,” said Patsy, looking at Danny. “And I got training. I’ll leave you fellas alone. You know, to talk.”

“Shut the door on your way out,” said Cohen as Patsy left, not taking his eyes off Danny. “We want to propel you into the world of professional boxing, Danny. We can line up a top fight, with a name fighter that’ll put you on the map.”

“And what do you take in return?”

“Fifty per cent of your earnings.”

Danny frowned. “That sounds a lot.”

“Fifty per cent of something is better than a hundred per cent of nothing,” Costa pointed out.

Danny wasn’t too sure what that meant. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “Have a chat with Albert and Patsy and let you know.”

Costa sucked his teeth. “Albert and Patsy are nice blokes but they are yesterday’s men, Danny. Faded glory.”

“This is your career, Danny,” Cohen said, almost with sympathy. “Not theirs.”

Danny found himself shaking hands with Cohen and being on the receiving end of another hug from Costa.

“Call us,” Costa murmured in his ear. “You won’t regret it.”

Danny weighed up his feelings as the men left. This could be the answer with a baby on the way. It could offer him security for the family. If what Cohen and Costa were offering was for real, his worries could be over.

But he was troubled by Albert and Patsy’s reactions. It was plain to see they didn’t share his enthusiasm. “We believe in you,” Cohen had said. Did Albert and Patsy feel the same way?

Training was already halfway through by the time Danny joined in. He watched Patsy for some kind of reaction as he punched the pads, but Patsy didn’t say a word. Danny sensed that Patsy didn’t want to talk about Cohen and Costa’s proposal. Was he jealous? Danny couldn’t see why. As far as he was concerned, Patsy and Albert would benefit from Cohen’s promised “rich pickings”.

With training over, Danny said his goodnights and went downstairs to find Albert collecting glasses.

“All right?” he said, in an attempt to test the water.

“Quite a night,” said Albert.

He seemed upbeat. Danny relaxed a little.

“What do you reckon about Cohen and Costa then?” he asked.

Albert’s lips thinned. “That’s for you to decide,” he said. “It’s your life.”

Albert’s answer didn’t help Danny at all. Deciding that perhaps the discussion was best left for another day, Danny said goodnight and collected his bike from the back of the pub.

Outside, the rain was pouring down. Even so, as Danny rode through the streets drenched from head to toe, there was a fire in his belly. He couldn’t wait to tell Wendy that the future was looking bright. Albert and Patsy would come round in time. They only wanted what was best for him.

Wendy was confronted by a drowned rat with a broad smile on his face at the front door.

“I’ve got some good news,” said Danny, dripping on the door step.

“Look at you, you’re drenched!” Wendy exclaimed. “Come inside. I’ll fetch you a towel.”

Danny dried himself quickly.

“What is it then?” Wendy said as he laid the towel down. “Have you heard from the council about a flat? Is there work at the docks, are you starting there soon?”

Danny grinned. “I’ve had an offer to turn pro,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means when I fight, I get paid.”

Wendy sat forward and listened as Danny told her all about Cohen and Costa and the earlier meeting.

“It could mean security for us and the baby,” he said. “I could buy a car and everything.”

Wendy clapped with excitement. “Danny, really?” Then her face fell. “You won’t get badly hurt, will you? If you turn pro?”

“I’ll do my best not to,” Danny said. “Come on Wend. This could be the start of great things!”

And he kissed Wendy’s bump to prove it.

By the time he left for home at around midnight, the rain had stopped and the streets smelt clean and fresh. The house was quiet as he wheeled his bike through to the yard. Rosie had clearly gone to bed. Danny suspected she was alone for once, as there was just the clock to be heard, ticking in the hall, not the raucous sounds of intimacy that he had heard so often.

Upstairs in his room, he peeled off his damp clothes and put on a pair of tracksuit bottoms. He could hear the dripping drainpipe outside his room. As he lay on his bed and looked at the damp and mildewed ceiling, he thought about how he was living, with just a few quid to his name and not much else. The work on the building sites was hard and the pay poor. He had witnessed older manual workers struggling, and did not want that to be his life. Not now.

The proposal from Costa and Cohen could be the answer. Looking out of his bedroom window, Danny gazed up to the night sky.

“A new beginning, Dad,” he whispered, and smiled, closing the bedroom window’s brown faded curtains and switching off the bedroom light. He turned in, his head full of good dreams.