‘Sounds ideal. I won’t let you down, Micky.’
‘It won’t pay well, you know.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers. It ain’t easy for an ex-con to get work. Besides, I intend to study in my spare time, improve myself.’
The old trainer smiled. ‘Good on you, son. My money’s on you succeeding. Now, let me show you around this place. It hasn’t changed that much. Just getting older like me.’
Mick led him round the main hall and Henry had a word with the lads. It was obvious they were keen which would make it easy to work with them. Finally, Micky took him through the door to the classroom at the back. The rather dingy rooms Henry remembered had been converted into one big one with a bright, fresh ambience. There were computers along one wall, all in use. In the centre, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant motherly face was seated at a round table with a group of teenagers. She smiled when she saw them.
‘She’s a volunteer,’ Micky explained. ‘We have several who come in and help the lads with numeracy and literacy. Quite a few of the boxers attend.’
Henry grinned. ‘I take it that requires a bit of subtle persuasion from certain quarters.’
Micky scratched his head. ‘Subtle? I don’t know the meaning of the word.’
They were leaving the room when Henry caught a glimpse of a youth sitting at the computer in the furthest corner of the room. He could only see his profile but his hair was blond and he was nearly sure it was the lad who’d spoken up for him during the street altercation. He pointed him out to Micky.
‘Is he a regular here?’
‘Spasmodic,’ Mick answered. ‘Potentially a good boxer, but flits in and out. Sits at the computer sometimes to try to improve his English but flatly refuses to sit with the groups. John Walsh is one of my failures, truth be told. Yet, he’s no real trouble so I let him come in when he wants to.’
Henry considered Mick’s summary of the youth’s attitude, then said, ‘Mind if I go over and have a word?’
Micky shrugged, ‘Go ahead. He’s a bit like you were. Maybe he’ll recognize a kindred spirit.’
The youth didn’t notice Henry’s approach. His face was set in concentration and his lips were moving soundlessly as he stared at the screen. Henry stood behind him for a moment before speaking.
‘Remember me, son?’
The youth spun around as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His face flushed and he looked startled. Then recognition dawned and he tried to hide his embarrassment.
‘You’re the feller with the yearning to visit a hospital.’
Henry grinned. ‘And you’re the feller who stopped it happening.’ He added quietly. ‘I’m going to help Micky out from now on, son.’
A disappointed look came into the youth’s eyes. ‘Going to throw me out, then?’
‘’Course not. You did me a good turn. Like to repay you.’
The youth frowned, gave Henry a quizzical look. ‘Would have cost you ten quid to the hospital and back by taxi if you’d survived, so ten quid would do it.’
Henry laughed at his cheek, then said,’ Why won’t you join the others?’
The youth’s face changed again. His lower lip protruded and there was something akin to fear in his eyes, as though he had a secret he had to keep at all costs.
‘I’m not a divvy,’ he said, peevishly. ‘That’s what my mates would call me if I sat in one of those groups.’
Henry understood where he was coming from. He’d been there himself so knew how delicately he’d have to handle this.
‘They’re not divvies, son,’ he said, evenly. ‘And neither are you. That’s just a name insecure people use about others to make themselves feel better.’
The youth looked at him and shrugged. An uncomfortable silence descended. Henry decided in for a penny in for a pound and persisted.
‘I’ve been exactly where you are now. I trained here when I was a kid and didn’t take all the opportunities I was offered and now wish I had.’
A flicker of interest showed in the youth’s eyes. He cocked his head to one side. ‘So you’re saying you can’t read or write?’
‘I can now, but there’s room for improvement. Like you, I tried to teach myself but it wasn’t until I had a teacher that I progressed.’
The youth flicked a stray blond hair out of his eyes, looked Henry up and down as though he was measuring him for a suit.
‘You look like a boxer.’
Henry nodded. ‘I’m going to help with the coaching and training. Micky tells me you’re not half bad.’
‘I do a bit when I’m bored,’ the youth said, with another nonchalant shrug.
Henry decided, though the ice hadn’t entirely melted between them, a few cracks were developing. It was worth taking a chance.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’ll teach you reading, here or at my place, maybe both. I can remember how I was taught and it’ll work for you if you stick it out.’
Doubt clouded the youth’s eyes. ‘You’re not a perv, are you?’
The words stung Henry, but he managed to control his temper.
‘How long does a perv last in South Bank? Get that idea right out of your head fast.’
‘But people don’t do owt for nowt, do they?’ the youth said, his forehead furrowing.
Henry sighed. ‘In my book, one good turn deserves another. Then there’s always karma.’
‘Karma?’
‘Karma means what you do, good or bad, comes back on you. I could do with some good karma in the bank so you could say my reasons are selfish.’
The youth fell silent and for a moment Henry thought he’d lost him. Then he spoke.
‘I’ll learn quicker, you say?’
‘At first it’s like pushing a rock and you’ll think you can’t shift it. But suddenly it’ll move and you’ll be on a roll, picking up the pace. That first effort is important and after that you have to persist.’
Henry knew from the youth’s intense expression he was taking it in but was still hesitant. He decided to press him.
‘What have you got to lose, son? There’s not much round here for you right now except wasting time.’
The youth scrutinized him, his eyes intense. Henry knew he was looking for ulterior motives, wondering how much trust he could invest in a stranger. He thought he was going to lose him until he nodded and spoke up.
‘You’re right. I’ve nothing to lose.’
‘Good,’ Henry said, not a little surprised. ‘I’ll find the right books to help you and we’ll make arrangements.’
‘This is just between us, right? None of the lads you saw me with need know.’
‘None of their business, is it?’ Henry said. ‘They won’t hear it from me.’
After that conclusion, they made arrangements for the best times to meet in the centre, then Henry left him at the computer and went to find Micky. John Walsh hadn’t exactly been effusive. Henry surmised that was because he’d been let down in the past, was reserving judgement. He told Micky about it and the old trainer seemed pleased.
‘There are plenty more where he came from,’ Micky said. ‘Maybe you can take on an extra role as a teacher.’
‘Don’t know about that,’ Henry said. ‘Think this one will be a handful.’
Micky laughed. ‘You should know, son. You can start here tomorrow if you like. Peter Fairbrother, the guy starting the sanctuary, is on holiday. Soon as he’s back home, I’ll take you to his farm and introduce you.’
Henry’s heart went out to the old-timer. In this environment, he was feeling better already and the job sounded ideal. He knew there were college courses in equine studies that might suit him. But that was jumping the gun. For sure, he’d be kept busy, not moping around depressed with his lot, looking back at the past with bitter regret. He’d be no good to Mary like that.
‘How will I get out to the farm, Mick — that is if I’m acceptable?’
‘Don’t worry about it. There’s a local feller works out th
ere. He’s agreed to give you a lift and you can borrow my car if you ever need to.’
Henry smiled. ‘You’ve covered all the angles for me, Mick.’
Mick walked with him to the door. They agreed he would come in whenever it suited him. On the threshold, Micky shot him a quizzical look.
‘You don’t have the desire to box again yourself, do you, son?’
Henry shook his head. ‘Be a bit like putting my hand back in the fire, even with proper boxing.’
Micky drew in a breath, let it out slowly. ‘Pity that, but understandable — very understandable.’
‘My aim is to settle down to a nice quiet life with my lass,’ Henry stated. ‘I just hope trouble doesn’t keep knocking on my door.’
‘Hold your breath and think twice if it does.’
As he walked down the street, Henry thought about those words. It was easier said than done and he hoped he wouldn’t be tested.
*
Henry held two pads in the air while a young lad danced in front of him throwing punches. Occasionally, he shouted a word of advice about the lad’s footwork or his combination punches. Two weeks had passed since that first conversation with Micky and he’d been happy. He found his involvement with what went on in the hall rewarding. A bonus was that John Walsh had come to him every day, visited his house as well. Under Henry’s tuition he had made progress and in the last lesson there had been a brightness in the lad’s eye that he hadn’t seen before. Henry thought, with a bit of effort, he could catch up on the lost years. In a way, it was a bit like looking at a mirror image of himself, those first sessions of prison education. But there was a long way to go yet. Many a seed fell by the wayside, or was strangled by jealous peers.
Henry told the lad he’d done enough on the pads, set him to work on the weights. As he was walking away, he noticed a figure near the door he recognized. Barry Tonks, the gang leader who had given him trouble, was leaning against the wall, arms folded, staring in Henry’s direction. His lip was curled into a sneer that made his disdain of the activities going on around him very clear. A moment ago, Henry had been thinking how contented he was with his life. Now, as though to rebuke him for his complacency, he sensed trouble on the horizon in the form of the gang leader.
Micky wandered over, stood beside him. He was looking at Tonks, his face thunderous.
‘That lad’s banned,’ he rasped. ‘He’s a known drug dealer and poison for the boys in here. I’ll have to turf him out.’
‘He was the leader of that gang I told you about,’ Henry told him. ‘I’d better help you.’
‘You’re better out of it for your own sake,’ Micky told him. ‘Just keep an eye on what happens. He might try it on, especially if he has his mates hanging around outside.’
Without any show of haste, Micky walked towards Tonks. The boxers stopped what they were doing, their eyes following him. They all knew Tonks shouldn’t be there, that Micky was about to confront him.
Henry shouted, ‘Get on with it, you bunch of old women.’
The lads resumed their activities but kept glancing towards the door. An air of expectancy hung in the air. Henry felt it, that sense of imminence, the same as when two boxers enter the ring. He knew well enough how an individual with a bad attitude could create vibrations. There were plenty of psychopaths in prison who’d had that effect, enjoying the sense of fear their unpredictable moods instilled in those around them, revelling in the sense of power it gave them. He figured Tonks was of that ilk.
Henry couldn’t hear what Micky was saying but he was right in Tonks’ face, showing no fear as he gesticulated towards the door, leaving no doubt in the youth’s mind, nor in those watching, that he wasn’t welcome and had to leave the hall. The gang leader stood his ground and pointed across the hall at Henry. Mick put up a warning finger, a gesture that made it clear to him that he hadn’t to move from that spot, then strode back to Henry.
‘What’s up?’ Henry asked. ‘Need help?’
Mick waved his hand dismissively. ‘Not to deal with him. Not when he hasn’t got his gang. But he says he has a message for you from some guy he met, said he’d leave as soon as it’s delivered. I said I’d ask you if you wanted to receive it.’
Henry frowned his puzzlement. ‘We have no mutual acquaintances so what’s he up to?’
That was enough for Micky. He started to turn, ready to go back and finish what he’d started. Henry restrained him.
‘I’ll hear what he has to say, then thank him nicely and tell him to leave. Save you dirtying your hands.’
Micky lowered his eyebrows. ‘You sure? You’ve already had a tangle with him once and you can’t afford trouble.’
Henry glanced at Tonks. The gang leader was affecting an air of nonchalance for the benefit of onlookers, hands in pockets, lips pursed, whistling to himself.
‘Looks calm enough,’ Henry said.
‘Sure,’ Micky growled. ‘Calm like a snake in the grass. Be on your toes.’
‘Used to that,’ Henry said and started to move.
As he drew near, an insolent smile played on the lad’s lips. Henry halted, stood feet apart, arms folded, dispensed with preliminaries.
‘Let’s hear it.’
‘You’re not going to like it.’
Henry sighed. ‘You’re just the monkey, kidda. Don’t know who the organ grinder is, but I don’t suppose he expects his monkey to speculate about my feelings.’
Tonks’ face flushed. The mockery in his eyes vanished. His face grew vacuous as he searched for the smart reply and couldn’t find one.
Finally, he said, ‘Feller who gave me the message looked a bit like you, but was better looking, harder looking.’
Suddenly Henry knew, would have bet money on it. Frank! His heart sank.
‘So what?’ he said, trying to hide his feelings. ‘Bit feminine, isn’t it, to notice another man’s looks?’
‘Feller told me to tell you,’ Tonks paused there, let his eyes drift around the room, trying for dramatic effect, ‘that this place is a fire hazard — would burn like tinder.’
There wasn’t a doubt in Henry’s mind that the message had come from Frank. His breathing accelerated. How foolish he’d been to think there was even a chance his brother would give up. The supercilious expression on Tonks’ face only served to stoke the fury mushrooming inside him. As he struggled to contain it, the youth saw the hardness coming into his eyes, sensed the storm gathering, realized he was right in its path. He became wary.
‘Like you say,’ Tonks’ tone had changed to defensive now. ‘I’m just the messenger.’
He’d barely finished when Henry’s arms snaked out, spun him round and forced his arm up his back. He ran him to the door, bundled him through. The boot on the backside was the final indignity for his bruised pride.
‘Don’t come near this place ever again,’ Henry shouted.
He was aware that all eyes were watching him as he walked back inside. In spite of the earlier instruction, the lads had stopped what they were doing and were staring. Micky wasn’t moving either.
‘Just get on,’ Micky bellowed. He placed an arm around Henry’s shoulders, spoke quietly, ‘Must have said something bad to get you riled like that.’
Back in the kitchen, Henry decided only the truth would do for a man who’d done so much for him. He repeated the message, said he believed it must be Frank’s strategy to get him to fight, and that he believed he was capable of carrying it out. Mick listened stone-faced.
‘So now you know why I manhandled the creep,’ Henry said, ‘and why I’ll have to finish here.’
Mick was quiet for a moment, thinking it out.
‘The lads here saw you stand up to Tonks. They’ll admire you for it. If you leave now what does it tell them?’
Henry shook his head. He understood what Micky was saying but he didn’t want Micky’s life’s work going up in smoke because of him.
‘Believe me, I don’t want to leave. I’m happy here. But there’s n
o other way.’
‘No arguments, you’re staying,’ Micky said. ‘We can take precautions. Chances are it was a bluff.’
Henry saw, from the adamantine look in his eye, Micky meant what he was saying but he was still doubtful. It was a big chance to take.
‘I’d like to get the police onto him,’ Micky mused. ‘But if the lads here saw the police around they’d class me as a grass and they’d stop coming. You know how it goes around here. That aside, Tonks would deny everything, plus you laid your hands on him and that would put you in hot water.’
Henry leaned back in his chair. ‘The Wild West revisited. No law this side of the Tees. You have to do things for yourself.’
‘But taking the law into your own hands would be a breach of your parole. Be careful, Henry.’
‘Point taken. At least I held myself back. Didn’t give him the hiding he deserved.’
‘We’ll have to watch that brat Tonks,’ Micky grumbled.
‘But you’re sure you’re happy for me to stay on?’
The trainer pulled a face. ‘You don’t think you’re the first to have trouble here, do you? A number of the lads have come under threat, one way or another. We’ve usually sorted it, or it’s just blown over.’
Mick saw the concerned look on Henry’s face.
‘Look, son, I’ve never backed down to that type and I’m too old to start now. Once you do it opens a floodgate and you’re done for.’
‘But you’ve worked so hard to build up this place. It’s been your life.’
Micky sighed. ‘It’s more than just a building, son. I like to think it stands for something, so do as I say and quit worrying about it.’
Henry smiled his appreciation. Beneath that smile, he was still worried. A few years back Mick had a reputation as a hard man, hard but fair. But he was older now and the world had changed. Now a dispute was more likely to be settled with a knife in the back, literally or metaphorically, rather than with fists.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Frank parked the Mazda and watched Barry Tonks in his driver’s mirror as he shambled along the pavement like a gauche child denied his sweets. An empty lager can that lay in his path received short shrift, a petulant swing of his boot sending it into the road. His actions brought a smile to Frank’s face. A few minutes ago he’d watched another boot, his brother’s, making contact with Tonks’ backside as he’d been thrown out of the hall. That had pleased Frank because it meant he’d rattled Henry’s cage, just as he’d intended when he’d sent Tonks with the message.
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