Sweet Agony

by Paul Sykes

  'Tis the drip,' he explained, the minute we reached home, 'It contains as much protein as a full-grown cow. Ha ha. I want you to drink both bottles before Sunday.'

  It was his first instruction but not his last. He ordered me to run

  and forget about the circuit in the stuffy little gym. It didn't matter

  what training I did with only a week left so I agreed without a word. I

  did think the protein of two full-grown cows would be put to better

  use, retained more completely, doing the circuit than running. The

  weather was ideal the first morning, a cloudless blue sky with enough heat to dry the dew. After a lap round the perimeter of the common I felt I was wasting my time, it was too easy, and the waste of protein was winding me up; it was no different to drinking 30-year-old piss that had been stored in a fishbox, and drinking it was too much of an ordeal to taste. It was utterly vile. I stopped and suggested doing repeated sprints up the highest and steepest hill. He didn't know the hills on Ossett common were pit stacks covered in grass so they wouldn't be an eye-sore to the motorists on the MI, three massive hills made from the slag of Old Roundwood pit. He agreed and every morning he would stand in the sun on the highest hill like a battle-hardened general surveying troop movements watching every stride as I did one lap to warm up before the hard work to follow. And it was hard work. 60-yard sprints up the side of a pit stack. He waited at the top while I came up like an express train and shouted 'Keep going, you big lummax.' He would call for me to stop and back down the hill for a repeat. Every day he added another run and 10 yards at the top. When I'd finished he would take my pulse and blood-pressure, even the morning the BBC turned up to film me for the local programme 'Look North'.

  If the first fight at the theatre club had grabbed the public's imagination this one had picked it up and shaken it like a salt pot. It made every other sporting occasion Wakefield had held into a game of hopscotch. People could relate to me, they knew me or knew of me. A local lad off Lupset estate who'd worked down the pit, on building sites, been in the nick. I wasn't some university blue with a neutral dialect but one of them for good or bad. Many wanted me to win and plenty wanted me to lose. All the rotten, narrow-minded ones wanted me to lose. Why should I climb out of the gutter? Me who'd been in the nick and went about with schoolgirls. Oh yes, plenty wanted me put in my place and brought down to size and they were the ones who'd be sitting in front of the telly watching 'Coronation Street' while those who wanted me to win would be shouting their heads off. This time I'd give them plenty to shout about. I'd never felt more like fighting in my life.

  Mcgill noticed every move I made, heard every word I uttered and monitored my pulse and blood-pressure as though I was an astronaut. His attention was far from distracting, in fact the responsibility of

  manning the readout had gone onto his shoulders. If he noticed he didn't say but I suspected he did. We would come back from the common and I'd go to bed. Up for dinner and back to bed. Up for the gym and back to bed. All I did was train and sleep for the last week and he made sure I slept with little green pills called euhypnos, a mild sedative, 3+2+5, in that order and I slept like a top. It was magic, I'd never been able to sleep during the day before but now I could close my eyes and sleep at will. When I wasn't asleep I was training and never had the time to worry about Wendy and Cath.

  Both had sulked and tried to' row since the house-warming party but now Cath had her feet under the table and a lovely round belly, she'd gone quiet. I'd told everybody the baby was mine and now she had packed her job in she ought to be happy but I wasn't sure. She had still been wanting to row until Mcgill came on the scene and now she daren't bring it up otherwise it would appear she wasn't on my side by upsetting me before this fight. His presence and title told her all she needed to know but I was sure he'd marked her card. Explained the importance of winning and the money involved if I did. She wouldn't know he'd marked her card but he had with gentle hints and harmless jokes. Sinking in the seeds of enlightenment, while I'd been asleep, and telling her I was the meal ticket for life. Row with him later he might have said, and then claim half.

  He was a red-faced Dubliner with plenty of blarney and came from a family of doctors. He told me he had three brothers in the States who were all in private practices and earning fortunes. He told me he used to drink but stopped the night he killed his pal in a car crash. He had never smoked and loved a bet on the horses. He wasn't married but had been years ago. From his tone he'd rather not think about it.

  Maybe he'd killed his, pal in the car crash deliberately over the woman who'd been his wife and the girl who had drowned herself had been telling the truth.

  What difference did it make now what he might have done? I liked him and I was in the best shape of my life. He went to a betting shop with the old feller on a dinnertime; him and the old feller got on famously discussing and backing horses, while I took Wendy for a walk in the rose gardens for an hour. No kissing or thoughts of anything physical, just a daily hour of relaxing in the sun. She understood the importance of this fight like Cath and nobody had told her any-thing. She'd worked it out herself.

  Cath wouldn't come to bed until I was asleep and when she did she wore knickers, bra and slip. During the day she wore her tattiest dress, pit socks and didn't brush her hair. She had the first day or two and then she'd altered. It was Mcgills doing, I was sure.

  The day arrived and the tickets sorted out; there'd been rows galore over who had which seats amongst the lads who'd been with me from the start. They hadn't jumped on the band wagon and had priority. If they could all pay £1,000 to sit on the apron they would and still argue about who was nearest my stool but now they were all satisfied. And Wilson had arrived and was staying in the Piccadilly Hotel, Manchester.

  It was a 1 o'clock weigh-in, all official in the centre of the ring, open to the public, press and television. Yorkshire Television had a camera for the 6 o'clock news. This was the big league, International heavyweight boxing. It said so in lights along the front of the theatre club with my name and Wilson's underneath.

  He had a basin crop and appeared lethargic, he moved like the Bengal tiger in Chester Zoo. He'd flown in from Spain where he'd been training with Alfredo Evangelista, the European champion who was preparing to fight AIi for the World title. His glossy black skin was stretched tight and he glowed with health. This was no Frenchman.

  He was lighter at 14st 100b to my 15st 31b, 71b of prime red steak difference. 71b of muscle and power and I was dying to use it. There wasn't an ounce of fat between us.

  There was a shout from the top corner of the theatre as I stepped from the scales, 'You show 'em lad.' It was half a dozen women in headscarfs and pinnys employed to clean the place. Hurriedly putting my shorts back on I thought I would, I'd show everybody and it wouldn't be my arse like now.

  Looking into his yellow-flecked eyes as we shook hands I could detect a hint of mockery, a sort of horizontal limey reflection. He'd think differently tonight. If Manny had employed Mcgill to peak my training and put me in the right frame of mine he'd succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.

  The running had lubricated my joints, my lung capacity had been extended and I was as sharp as a razor. Never had I been so ready to give my all or die.

  The dinner was ready when we reached home.

  'When you've finished just leave everything,' Cath said casually. 'I'll see to it later.'

  None of that in my house I'd told her. No sinks full of washing up. It didn't worry me mucking in with the house-work and if she wouldn't wash up I would. It was me who'd taught her how to make a dinner anyway. I wasn't having her slipping into ragbag habits because Mcgill had told her to dress like one and using the fight as an excuse for being idle. Not unless she had to rush somewhere. The maternity clinic for instance.

  'Why Cath. Where are you going?'

  'To me mother's to get ready for tonight.'

  'But all your clothes are here.'

&nbs
p; 'Ah ah.' She smiled triumphantly. 'That's what you think. I've bought a new dress for tonight and I've loads to do first. Just leave it and I'll see to it later.' The back door closed and she was gone.

  It was the most she'd said put together for a week. She was excited, it was fight night again. All the lads agreed they were easily the best nights they'd had and it looked as if Cath had caught the bug too. I rinsed the plates, put them away and thought she was another one over on Wendy. I went to bed. No mild sedatives now, not so near. Laying on my back I drifted into thoughts with the conclusion being I was at last making people happy instead of miserable, even the coppers. They had a job again tonight lounging about doing fuck all. Even they couldn't distract me from the job in hand.

  * * * *

  Dave Owens was sharing the dressing room I was pleased to see. I liked Dave and was grateful for the tip he'd given me about Malpass.

  'Now then Dave lad, how are you?'

  He nodded and carried on checking his kit. He was a man of few words and distinctly suffering from nerves.

  'I'm really looking forward to this tonight,' I said with enthusiasm, trying to put him at ease. 'I've not had a pint or a fuck for three weeks. I feel as if I'm bursting.'

  'I had two this afternoon,' he said quietly.

  Trained and fully fit he just made 11st 61b. Had he been training too much for this fight and needed the fluid to increase his weight

  quickly? Had he been ill? He was a local lad and I wanted him to 'show ' the crowd, another sell-out with 400 standing, just how good he really was. I wanted him to turn it on and then Manny would have three local lads to build the shows around. Young Rodney, a light middleweight from Huddersfield, one of the lads I trained with, was building a following of his own. He was on tonight and now Dave. Soon it would be local lads versus the rest.

  'What did you need two pints for Dave?'

  'Not pints, fucks. I had two on the rug this afternoon while the bairn was asleep.' He wanted to be beaten, he was only half the man he was at the gym.

  A minute later I'm walking round the car park to escape his company. I had to bum energy slowly under control. There were five luxury coaches and one of them was from Penistone WMC. It said so on the destination slot on the front. Dave was forgotten for thinking of how I could avoid them seeing me with Cath. They all thought Wendy-was my girl and seeing me with another might deter them from coming again. Little farming towns were noted for their prudent views on sex but just the same seeing the coach filled me to the brim with inspiration. I'd make their trip worthwhile.

  Kenny was bustling about with towels, bandages, vaseline when the word came we were on in two minutes. It was make or break time. If I lost here I would be a laughing-stock.

  The lights were out and I was standing at the entrance to the arena waiting for the fanfare and the spotlight. To my right were the row of seats Wendy and her sister had been sitting in. Five seconds later the fanfare and spotlight came on together and with them an eruption of sound not far short of the one Conteh had received lifted the roof. Listen to that you fucking scrubber I thought, and then tell me you've never heard of me.

  On my way to the ring I didn't see a strange face, man or woman and they were all wanting me to win.

  Wilson wanted the eyeball to eyeball confrontation but I looked at his boots. Well worn, old laces, Adidas ankle socks. Plain black shorts that wouldn't clash with my stripe. He was on his arse with the first punch I threw more from shock and being off balance than the power it contained. He leapt to his feet, a cocky grin on his face and beckoned me to him. He stayed half a step out of distance for the rest

  of the round. He was a slick, co-ordinated mover promising bewildering speed when he opened up but the minute he did I'd nail him. The crowd were unusually quiet. As if they'd received a fancy parcel unexpectedly and they didn't know if it was a present or a bomb. They were quiet in case I would be flattened and their hopes blown to bits. They'd no need to worry.

  The second round he danced and grabbed but I shook him off and opened up with hooks and uppercuts. Del screamed 'It's ten rounds, it's ten rounds,' as if he was frightened I'd blow up like Meade had done and I hadn't trained. I could fight all night against anybody. Wilson covered so I could only hit his arms and shoulders. I wasn't worried, he'd know now he was in for a fight.

  Left right, left right. He hit me on the retreat, no power to hurt but I was hit with four punches so quickly I hadn't time to defend. The bell rang and the crowd were silent.

  No cheers or claps or shouts of encouragement just stunned silence for ten seconds, then a noise like a bumble bee broke loose and grew in a second into a jumbo jet. The four punches were the first Wilson had thrown and they were plenty to talk about without applause. Kenny and Tommy were rabbiting on but I wasn't taking the slightest bit of notice. I knew exactly what I would do. I'd cut him off and kill him.

  Halfway into the third I caught him with a right and stunned him. He was leaning on the ropes defenceless, hands down, eyes shut, head back, too fit to collapse. I aimed two right-handers just below the point of his chin, full-blooded right-handers with enough power to break his neck. They crashed home in a second. The ref had seen enough and leapt on my arm and raised it. Wilson slid down the ropes into a sitting position and the crowd stood and roared in unison and I was king of the world.

  Dave was next on and was back in the dressing room before I'd got both gloves off, beaten with a body-punch in the opening seconds. Changing quickly to see the lads before they left I heard him say he'd had enough and was retiring. Retiring at 23 with more talent than 'Opportunity Knocks.' It was too much to comprehend.

  Cath was waiting at the dressing room door wearing her new maternity dress and her hair gleaming. She was so proud her eyes had a film of tears.

  'Ee lad,' she whispered, snuggling close, 'You were on form tonight.' She said it exactly the same after we'd made love now and then. I'd made her 'come' watching me. She said I did every time I touched her but now she only had to look. Her words and radiance made everything worthwhile. I loved her fit to burst.

  'Come on. Let's see Norm and Del and the rest of 'em love.' People were passing in a continuous stream and I didn't care if anybody from Penistone saw me or not. People stopped and asked for my autograph for sister, sons, daughters and very ill mothers. Not one for the person who asked, too embarrassed to acknowledge they were impressed and proud: it isn't Yorkshire tradition to take the chance of giving people a big head.

  'They've teckon Wilson to 'ospital,' Norm announced very seriously. 'He collapsed off his buffet after you'd gone an' they put him on a stretcher an' carted ' im off. '

  'That'll teach 'em.' Cath laughed and kissed my cheek on impulse.

  Del and Ronnie said they were going to Heppy's to celebrate.

  Davy Dunford was drunk and said he was going home. He'd been released that morning and had been boozing all day. I'd see him next week at the latest, I promised. Kay and Diane said they were going to Heppy's and I'd to come and bring Cath. If I didn't THEY were taking her, and they were going now. Norm was stopping for a drink with Sammy, the travelling man, Norm's old dealing mate. Breezy and Vinnie were staying too. Burky was nowhere in sight. Manny said I had to have a rest.

  'Have a few weeks rest, you deserve it,' he said and gave me the 30 pieces of silver, a straight grand in two plastic envelopes. He'd be in touch later.

  Another sell-out, local lads, no heavy expenses and my purse was the same. The house was mine and he couldn't do a thing about it. In fact I owed Ray, the builder, a few quid yet and I still wanted a fair bit doing. This money would pay for it and there wasn't a court in the land who would evict me. Yes Manny I thought, I'll have a few weeks rest while you count your money but I'm in the house and possession is nine tenths ownership and I'll get what I'm worth one way or another.

  The continuous, uninterrupted training had built up my energy level to fight all out for ten rounds and I'd hardly scraped the surface.

  Hep
py's would see me until dawn. No, until Wendy came out for her dinner break tomorrow. I'd tell her about it. She knew them all and thought Karen absolutely wonderful.

  * * * *

  It was the first time I'd been in Heppy's since Christmas and tonight with Del and Ronnie and all the lads I'd make up for lost time, relax and have a laugh. Everybody was singing as I walked to the bottom bar as if they were at a party and I didn't have to push or jostle. There was a gap between the people, people who were singing and staring at me. The words of the song penetrated, 'For he's a jolly good fellow', and they were aimed at me.

  The disc jockey, the fabulous Mick Mcginley was leading the singing, a skinny, poncy kid with smarmy looks and manner.

  His brother was a sergeant in the Regional Crime Squad and he'd won the raffle at the Norfolk Garden the night I'd fought Meade. It sickened all my mates.

  The others who were singing had been round the pubs and were unaware of the action earlier in the theatre club and didn't know or care about me or anybody else. They were singing because Mcginley was. It was so phoney and cheap I ignored the pats on my back. The adrenalin was pumping and the aggression bubbling. One wrong word, one snide comment and I'd react. I'd have to watch myself tonight and sit with friends. Del was edging a cork from a bottle of champagne and laughing like a hyena. Josie, Karen, Cath, Molly and Diane were watching. Danny Singleton, Teddy Laing, a whole heap of Ronnie's neighbours were in. There wasn't a cat-in-hell's chance I'd lose my temper with this lot. I liked them all. These weren't phoney even if most had criminal records. I was pleased Farrell wasn't in.

  'Has it upset you love?' Kay asked concerned about me. My thoughts must have been written on my face.

  'Has what upset me?'

  'You know, Wilson being rushed to hospital.'