Sweet Agony

by Paul Sykes

  Cath said she would take Adam and stay at her mother's the night before if I was coming home. It was another I o'clock weigh-in and I wanted to be on the job for a number of reasons. See how the tickets had sold in my absence, catch up on the gossip, see Wendy, but most of all hear what Burky had to say.

  He had once again elected to distribute the handbills and posters. I wanted to hear what he had to say about the comments of the local pub landlords, most of whom were ex -international rugby league players. Hard, tough men, who had played a hard, tough game, and had been stars in their own right. Many of them had been jealous of the publicity I'd been receiving. I wanted to know what they had said this time when he asked to hang a poster in their pubs. See if they still fancied I was a flash in the pan.

  Mcgill came home with me, and Ginger of course. He wanted to see how his lad went on. He wouldn't miss it for the world he said, rubbing his hands like Norm. It was another sell-out and the landlords were of the general opinion I was a genuine fighter, equal to anybody and better than most.

  Of all the places I could fight I didn't want to fight at the theatre club, or rather I did want to fight there but not under its present ownership. After the Wilson fight we'd both been invited by the resident compere, Martin Dale, for a night out. Of all the invitations we had received it was the only one I'd had doubts about and explained we would like to come but neither of us could afford to.

  'Don't worry about that,' he'd laughed. 'Bloody hell, we don't expect you to pay.'

  We had two drinks and a meal and the next time I went to the bar the girl serving asked for £5.40. Drinks that would cost thirty bob in a pub.

  'No love,' I'd explained. 'Martin Dale said to get what I wanted. It's on the house.'

  'Not any more it's not,' she sneered.

  Martin Dale said he only got £20 a night allowance to spend on guests and we'd spent it.

  Two nights later I called to see Bartlett, the owner, and said if he gave me two and a half percent of what he took behind the bar I would guarantee to have all my fights here. He had taken ten grand both times, both club records the girl on the ticket counter had told me. A girl who had been in the same class at school. He refused, and said he didn't care where I fought. I did, and it wasn't in his theatre club. Twice he'd taken £10,000 behind the bar and at £19 for a bottle of Whisky it was easy to see how. I wanted more than £20. The percentage I'd asked for was £250 and the mingebag had knocked me back.

  And then there was Manny, thinking I couldn't do my sums. Twice there had been 1,100 people sitting and 400 standing. The seats averaged a tenner and to stand cost £6. After he'd paid the boxers, the Board of Control tax, the hire of the ring, he'd made, at a conservative estimate, £4,000 profit, and now he'd hung on until he'd paid me the grand in eighty-pound cheques so I'd have absolutely nothing to draw for this fight.

  The weigh-in had the usual battery of photographers, a television camera and reporters but the American was nowhere to be seen. Manny said he'd already been weighed and gone to get some rest.

  'You'll have no trouble with this feller Paul,' Manny said quietly as I was getting dressed. 'We've had to keep you apart to stop that mob,' he nodded towards the reporters, 'from moaning. We've had to cock his weight up. He only weighs twelve ten.'

  The weigh-in had been separated deliberately so we couldn't be compared. Another body to please the crowd and fill his bank account. No chance Manny, not this time, I thought. At that precise moment I'd never hated anybody more in my life. I'd burn him at the

  stake for attempting to callously murder an innocent person without a qualm.

  'Manny,' I looked him in the eye, not attempting to disguise my feelings, 'I'm not fighting tonight. I'm going home and going to bed, and just to make sure I don't change my mind I'm going to take a handful of the little green pills your pal Mcgill has given me. You can do whatever you want.'

  'You've weighed in now,' he spluttered. 'You can't back out now. It's too late. The place is .. .'

  'Tara Manny, I'm going. The best of luck for tonight.'

  The fight had no meaning at all, not a thing apart from keeping the public's interest alive. It wouldn't be so bad if the kid was in with a chance but there wasn't a fighter in the world could give away over two stone. 15st 2lb to 12st 100b, what kind of a match was that? It was a side-show match, a Blackpool side-show.

  Ginger woke me at 7 o'clock. 'Come on get your kit and fight this Yank.' His voice in the darkness of the bedroom was as soothing as a pot of cocoa. 'I've had a quiet word with Manny and told him how you feel and he's agreed to pay you a grand. Carry the kid, you don't have to hurt him.'

  When little Kenny came into the dressing room I was having terrible trouble keeping my eyes open. I'd got here, changed, but I didn't know how, even my bandages were on, stamped and ready for the gloves.

  The cheering came from miles away as I stood in the spotlight at the top of the aisle and willed myself to come to my senses. My ribs and toes were sore where I'd fallen but if it wasn't for them I could have been dead for all the feeling I had. I didn't have a nerve in my body.

  As I touched gloves with Conrad Tooker, from New Jersey, I stood as near as I could so the crowd could see the size of the feller Manny considered a suitable opponent. He was half a head shorter. He didn't lack heart and came steaming in for the first bell but all I had to do was knock him back with the left. It was easier than hitting Meade had been. The crowd screamed for me to kill him, finish it, do him, batter him, but I stood my ground in the centre of the ring and waited. When he steamed in I knocked him back. If he didn't, I didn't go looking for him for the full ten rounds. I won handsomely, but the

  crowd, not them all, jeered and boo'd when the decision was announced. I grabbed the microphone from Nat's hand and asked if they wanted me to kill everybody. 'Would you be satisfied if he was on his way to the intensive care like Wilson?' But the mike had been switched off.

  He hadn't hit me once I thought until I saw myself in the dressing room mirror. Lips like rolls of lino, my nose had the curve of a banana and both eyes swollen and rapidly turning royal-blue. Seeing myself gave me a lovely warm glow of satisfaction. This is how you should look after a fight I thought, not a little grey cadaver in a hospital bed.

  Manny gave me the grand saying as he did, 'You won't get another penny from me. The cheques are stopped as from today.'

  Never mind the cheques you horrible bastard, what about the contract? Rip that up and call it a day altogether. I didn't say it though. Not yet, but I would.

  People who were leaving, strangers I'd never seen before glanced contemptuously as they passed me. It wasn't until Norm said, 'Nay, tha should a put poor lad arten 'is misery,' that I realised the looks were at my cruelty. I couldn't win no matter what I did but it didn't prevent me from feeling happier than I had for ages and ages. Little Kenny was happy too. Two or three times when I'd been in my corner between rounds I thought he knew exactly what had been running through my mind. He hadn't given me a single instruction. 'Just keep doing what you're doing,' he'd said, 'and you haven't any problems.'

  The following day I stood right outside the mill gates not caring if Wendy's parents saw me or not. She was 17 now and old enough to do as she pleased. The second she saw me she hurried her steps until she was standing right in front, stooping and swaying, peering intently into my face from all angles. She had concern and sympathy written on hers. I loved this girl with a feeling so overwhelming it was suffocating.

  'What's happened to you?' She sounded near to tears.

  'I forgot to duck love,' I said, and laughed. 'Don't look so worried,

  it doesn't hurt.'

  We had dinner in the 'Harlequin' cafe where lots of her fellow

  typists dined, and knowing it was inevitable at least one would be

  only too willing to break her neck informing Wendy's mother. On the wall was a big poster advertising last night's show but Wendy didn't look anywhere but at me. She was totally unaware of the cu
rious glances we were getting from all corners. It was the first time I'd been marked in a fight, really marked, and it brought home to her it wasn't a lark but a serious, dangerous business. Wendy, my angel, I feel happier today than I've done since I started. There's no need to worry. My face will be just as ugly as it always is in a week and nothing and nobody will be any the worse. How I longed to tell her these words but the Harlequin cafe wasn't the place.

  'Just supposing I asked you to leave home and come and live with me in a beautiful bungalow fifty yards from the sea in a place where it never snows, where all the people mind their own business and pronounce their aitches, what would you say? '

  'You mean where you've been staying?' It was exactly what I'd thought she'd say. Svengali had nothing on me.

  'Yes. Just you and me for miles and miles.'

  It was all arranged for Saturday morning. She would collect her wages and cards on Friday night and leave while her parents were doing the shopping.

  Cath, now she'd had the baby, had played her trump card and couldn't get it into her head we weren't playing the same game. I didn't know what she expected from me unless it was more physical contact but for the life of me I couldn't bear to touch her. She sulked, slammed doors, never had a cigarette out of her mouth, and wouldn't do the least thing to regain her figure. I changed and bathed Adam, fed him, rocked him to sleep and tried my best to be kind, helpful and considerate, but she still sulked and slammed doors. All the time she would quietly sing the hit song of the moment, 'I will survive' by Gloria Gaynor, emphasising the words, 'go now, walk out the door,' until after a few days I'd had enough. I threw some clothes into a case and said I was going to Ginger's to train for the European title. 'Good riddance,' she called as I closed the door, quietly.

  Ginger was pleased with the idea of having a pretty young girl about the house. 'It'll make a nice change,' he wheezed. She didn't leave a note or any hint she wouldn't be back, just threw some clothes into a bin liner and climbed into the car. For the first time since I'd fought Wilson I was truly happy. Just being with her and

  knowing she would be there in the morning made life worth living. We had long walks in the country lanes. She would complain about me walking the legs off her and threaten not to take another step unless I carried her. She would hang on for dear life biting my ears and poke her fingers in my eyes. She would apologise and giggle. We had trips across to Blackpool on the ferry, visits to Ron's, meals in restaurants, and apart from when either of us used the toilet we wouldn't be a yard from each other all day long, every day. She was still only a baby for all her dazzling beauty. The excitement, the romance, the sea air, knocked her for six well before 10 o'clock every night. She would fall asleep on my shoulder as we watched the TV and then I'd wake her and send her to bed. She didn't protest and seemed relieved to go. Big girls like big boys need plenty of sleep when they're young, especially after long, wonderful, laughter-filled days, and in the mornings she would still be asleep when I awoke.

  If her back was to me I'd run my hand from her shoulder to her knee very slowly, miles of delicious curves all warm and silky, often catching the tip of a finger in her pubic hair, and then I'd bring it back along the thick of her thigh, cupping the exquisite cheek of her bum and then linger as I brushed a nipple. She would struggle to consciousness by pushing her bum into my groin and wriggle in slow-motion. She would reach over her head and try to catch my hair and if she did would drag me to her. The first two mornings she had succeeded but I didn't have a lot of hair to drag, and besides it hurt so I would inch away and wait until I caught the raw, musty smell from her arm-pits which gave me the horn instantly. She would turn to face me, her big treacle-coloured eyes would smile 'good morning, lover' and her long sensuous lips would part. I'd see her perfect teeth and look at her lips just as she mouthed 'I love you,' her first words every morning, and only a lady could say it like her, or maybe a mega-star actress in a love scene.

  She wasn't an actress, she was a lady and she dressed like one. She wore smart, sensible clothing and skirts two inches below her knee. Nice chunky shoes with sturdy heels, and underneath it all she wore a vest, a nice, thick, feminine vest with a bit of lace round the edges. It was me who'd told her ages ago that only ladies wore a vest. I couldn't see Raquel Welsh in a vest but I could see the girls who attended Roedean ladies college wearing them, some of them anyway.

  No two ways about it, Wendy's song had to be 'Three times a lady.' All the words didn't matter but when Lionel Richie gave the reasons why she was three times a lady and then added, 'and 1 love you,' he hit my feelings for her right smack bang on top of the head. I loved her, all of her; intelligence, wit, innocence, humour, memory, she had a fantastic memory, and the way she would kiss me like Cath sang snatches of 'I will survive.' It was a feeling so powerful I could shift the pyramids on a wheelbarrow.

  After a week in heaven I drove home to see how Cath was shaping. The minute 1 entered the living room 1 knew there was something wrong, out of place, not quite right, then I noticed there were heavy lace curtains on the window like Elaine's mother's. 1 ripped them down and threw them onto the front garden and shouted angrily I didn't want fucking bars on the windows. 1 was out of the nick now. When 1 turned she was standing before me, white-faced and tears in her eyes.

  'I thought they looked nice,' she murmured. 'I only wanted to make it look nice.'

  She took the wind out of my sails. She was so pretty, so young, and under more pressure than me.

  'But Cath, curtains cut down the light and remind me of the dinginess of some nick cell,' I explained. 'I mean what's the point of having big windows and a lovely view if they're covered with curtains?'

  'I'm sorry.' She sniffed. 'I didn't think. 1 just wanted to make it look nice.'

  With Wendy miles away, stranded as it were, 1 tried to make up to Cath for the rotten, awful feeling of guilt 1 had churning in my lower belly but she knew, she could hear the wheels turning in my head. She would look at me and sing in no more than a whisper, 'Go now, walk out the door. '

  Driving back to Ginger's 1 thought she would survive easily if it came to the crunch. She had a home women dream about and the social security people would keep her now she had a baby to raise. She could do some real villainy if she wanted. She could tell them I was Adam's old man, and all about Manny's loan to buy the house. They would kick me out and give it to her. Before I knew where I was the tax man would be poking his nose in. What more did she want? She

  had enough money, all the cupboards were full, and if she wasn't so fucking jealous we'd be OK.

  The years rolled off me the minute I got back and saw Wendy. How can Cath make me feel so old simply because she knows, only suspects if the truth is known, but yet Wendy knows for sure I'm seeing Cath and it doesn't worry her in the least?

  Thoughts like these were flying through my head like a shuttle in a sewing machine for a week, a repeat of our first, and then I had to begin thinking about boxing.

  Manny wasn't doing anything to get me any further forward regardless of all the shit he was giving me. He'd been out to Ginger's in his old brown Cadillac, full to the brim with enthusiasm and told me he'd just come back from Spain, and had Evangelista's signature on a contract to defend his European title against me. He bragged the trip had cost him six grand, and then invited me to come into Blackpool, to meet a feller who would confirm he was telling me the truth.

  All he had to do was show me the contract but apparently he didn't think of that.

  On the way we stopped at the traffic lights at the top of Church Street when suddenly he opened the door and went into a little tobacconist's shop. The lights changed three times before he came back carrying a 200-carton of Embassy tipped. He threw it on the back seat and informed me he always bought his cigs there.

  'It saves money,' he explained, 'and God knows they're dear enough.' He told me the price. Mother sold cigs cut-price. He'd saved 6p.

  The feller he introduced me to was his ex-bank manager a
nd six months away from being totally senile.

  I'd not had a fight since I'd beaten Meade, which hadn't put me any

  higher up the ratings and unless I did something myself I wasn't going anywhere, I'd be stuck on a grand a fight until I couldn't pull in the crowds and with another showing like the last one I wouldn't even be on a grand. Manny's pension, that's all I was. I was skint already and it was only a couple of weeks since I'd fought but yet he'd spent 6 grand chasing round Spain. No contract, no dates, just bullshit.

  Cath had to be paid, Wendy had to be paid, and the bills had to be paid. Electric, gas, and now the new water rate.

  I'd been home to see Cath; it was only an hour's drive the way I moved, flat out all the way to keep me concentrating on the job in hand. Keeping to the speed limit I was dangerous. My mind wandered from the motorway onto the domestic scene. There had been a pile of bills waiting for me. After the standard row about this new rate for the water with some prick in the town hall I'd paid it and all the others and then I was skint, or near enough. It was expensive to live the way I did. If and when I did reach rock-bottom, I'd ask Wendy to bring her bank book with her. She had £600 in her old school bank book but I didn't want to use it unless I really had to. Desperate situation, emergencies, but I wouldn't let that happen. I went to see Norm, one afternoon, to ask his advice.