Fearless

by Jessie Keane

  She stood there, half-fainting, disgusted, appalled.

  A whimper made her look down. There was Blue, her faithful old lurcher, tied up to the barn door with a length of string. She untied him and knelt to give him a hug. Then with Blue leading the way, she started for home.

  8

  The inside of Cloudy’s big Morecambe trailer was like a palace, crammed full of rugs and sofas, large hand-painted plates lined up all along the walls. There was a black fat-bellied stove in there, cold now, but it chugged out massive heat in the winter. After the fight in which he had taken down the reigning champion, Josh was standing before the cold stove like a schoolboy getting a carpeting.

  ‘You effing little cunt,’ said Cloudy, pacing the rug so hard he was nearly wearing a trench in it.

  ‘Cloudy—’ started Josh.

  ‘Shut it.’ Cloudy stopped his pacing in front of Josh and held up a pudgy gold-ringed hand. ‘You were meant to lose that bloody fight. You knew that. You agreed to it. What the fuck you playing at, boy?’

  ‘I agreed to it because you pushed me into agreeing with it, as per usual. I didn’t want to,’ said Josh.

  ‘Oh, you didn’t want to?’ Cloudy came up close, right in Josh’s face. Josh could see beads of sweat standing out on his flushed red skin. ‘That’s a fucking comfort, that is. I’ll think of that when the Cleavers are breaking my legs. And yours.’

  The day had started out good, Josh thought. Big protein-packed breakfast, a short run, a bit of cardio. And then he’d won the fight. But now, this. For too long it had been playing on his mind that nothing about the fight game was honest or straightforward. That you won or lost according to whoever had the most clout and the biggest wedge riding on the outcome. And he’d had enough.

  Usually, it was the Cleaver mob who dictated who won and who lost, and they wouldn’t think twice about coming down heavy on anyone who crossed them.

  And Cloudy, who Josh had once – long ago – respected, looked up to, Cloudy was deep in their pocket. Fact was, with Cloudy’s nose so far up the Cleavers’ arses, Josh would never win matches like he wanted to.

  He’d known he could take men before, hard men that he’d met on the way up, he knew it and yet he’d caved in to Cloudy’s demands. He’d been doing that for a good five years now, accepting hefty payments to throw fights, even when he knew he could take down anyone he came across. Even Matty O’Connor, who was the hardest of them all. A legend. Josh knew he could do it.

  And, tonight, despite all the pre-match chat from Cloudy, despite the bungs and the whisperings and the pats on the back – Good boy, that’s my Josh, you’re a star – he knew that this time he was playing the game his way. Fuck the money, he wanted to win.

  And tonight, at last, he had.

  Now here was Cloudy, bawling him out like he was a schoolkid.

  Well, fuck that.

  Cloudy was leaning in close, and suddenly Josh’s head was humming and all he could see was that red angry face, the big check suit, the dirty grey sweat marks on the collar of Cloudy’s shirt. A good boxer never lost his temper, always kept his cool. But not tonight. Not any more.

  He reached out a hand and, almost gently, placed it on Cloudy’s throat. He watched as Cloudy’s eyes widened in shock. Josh felt the soft sponginess of Cloudy’s neck, but Cloudy’s mouth was still moving, the shouting was still going on, so Josh squeezed.

  Cloudy stopped shouting. His eyes bulged as Josh lifted him off his feet. A groaning rasp came from Cloudy’s mouth, and his hands scrabbled at the front of Josh’s shirt. Josh held him there, easily. Josh was six foot six inches tall, and packed with well-honed muscle. Cloudy was soft as butter. Josh kept Cloudy dangling there, looking at him. And then he dropped him.

  Cloudy staggered, seemed about to fall. Then he righted himself, grabbing at his throat, staring in disbelief at his protégé.

  ‘What the . . .’ he whispered.

  ‘You ever shout in my fucking face again, you fat bastard, and I’ll finish the job,’ said Josh, stabbing a finger at Cloudy’s shirt front to emphasize his point.

  ‘What the fuck’s happened to you?’ gasped Cloudy. ‘Ain’t I been good to you, boy? Ain’t I seen you right?’

  ‘Oh, you been a prince,’ said Josh sourly. ‘You’ve made a pro loser out of me, you’ve made me a fucking joke.’

  ‘I got you good money. I did everything for you.’

  ‘You got me the dregs,’ snapped Josh. ‘And that’s all you’ll ever get me.’

  ‘You should have talked to me if you’re unhappy,’ whined Cloudy. ‘We could have worked something out.’

  ‘You mean you’d’ve talked your way out of it.’

  ‘Serious, boy—’

  ‘Don’t call me boy. I ain’t your boy.’

  ‘All right! But you never told me you weren’t happy with any of this.’

  ‘You fixing me up to be the fall guy every time? Why would I be happy with that? I’m the best bare-knuckle fighter there is.’ Josh shook his head. ‘I’m sick of you, Cloudy. I’m tired of this shit.’

  Josh had worked everything out. He had a bag packed. He’d get straight over to Claire’s now, grab her and they’d elope. Yes, he was sick of all this, but truth to tell he was even more sick of all that, too – the wedding. The vast, never-ending fuckfest of a wedding with Claire’s mother Eva clucking around him, saying he had to do this, go there, be so-and-so, like he was a shop-window dummy or something.

  At least his own mother, widowed years ago when Dad had an accident on a building site, was too old and gin-soaked to care about weddings one way or the other. Josh had been a late baby, unwanted and unloved. Mum had always preferred the bottle to her son, and Dad had used Josh as a punchbag on a regular basis. When the news came that a dumper truck had crushed the life out of the old bastard, Josh could remember feeling nothing but relief. But still – the roughness of his upbringing had made him tough. There was that to be said for it. And tonight he was going to make his move.

  They’d duck out of all of it, him and Claire. They’d run away together, tonight. She loved him. She’d be pissed off at him for a bit, but that would pass. Later, they’d come back, get the new van and, if need be, piss off somewhere else, start afresh, away from this place.

  Everything would be OK.

  He knew it would.

  9

  Josh left Cloudy’s and picked up his travelling bag from where he’d tucked it under another van nearby. Across the clearing, he saw his friend Sam illuminated by the light spilling out from the open door behind him. Sam was sitting on the steps of his family’s big trailer and raising a beer can to his lips.

  ‘Josh!’ Sam called, catching sight of him.

  ‘All right, mate?’ said Josh.

  ‘Beer?’ asked Sam, rising to his feet.

  ‘Nah, no time for that. Going to see Claire.’

  Sam’s grin lit his face up. ‘What a fucking night, eh?’

  ‘Yeah. Great fight.’ Josh wouldn’t say more than that. Sam didn’t know that Josh should have thrown the fight. Sam didn’t know shit, and Josh wasn’t about to set him straight.

  ‘Punched his bloody lights right out, you did.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘King of the fucking gypsies,’ said Sam, coming over and bear-hugging Josh. Then he drew back, still beaming, and slapped Josh’s back. ‘Get on over to your girl then, Josh. We’ll have a pint later.’

  Josh walked on to Claire’s folks’ place, parked up just over the clearing. As he approached, Blue hopped to his feet and snarled. Tied though he was, Blue was ready to have a go.

  ‘All right then, Blue?’ said Josh, and Blue’s tail swished slowly from side to side.

  Blue knew Josh; Josh was his friend.

  Josh stepped past the dog as it resettled on the ground beneath the van. He went up the steel steps and knocked at the door. There was no answer, but he could see light coming through the curtains. He knocked again. Finally, Claire opened the door and stood there,
unsmiling.

  ‘Can I come in then?’ asked Josh, trying to gauge her mood. She wouldn’t like what he had planned; he knew it. Every girl wanted a big wedding, the works, didn’t they? And she and her mother had been planning it all for so long. But then, he’d always been able to sweet-talk softhearted Claire into anything.

  Claire stepped back from the open doorway, saying: ‘Christ, look at the state of you.’

  Josh hadn’t even thought about the state he was in. His left eye was swelling half-shut from one of Matty’s pounding right-handers. His chin was bruised and cut, and one of his teeth was wobbling in its socket. His knuckles were scraped raw. Luckily, his shirt covered his midriff, which was a fucking mess by anyone’s standards. At least she couldn’t see that. Or know that he’d spat blood after the ferocity of the fight. He was used to the knocks he took in the ring, though: it was his job. And now he had proved he could take down the best, he was buoyed up, fizzing with determination.

  ‘I didn’t see you at the fight,’ he said by way of an opener.

  ‘I was there,’ said Claire, walking over to an armchair and sitting down.

  She was pissed off about something, he could see that. Probably the fight. She was so soft, Claire. He liked that about her, but she was going to have to get used to it. There was a smear of blood on her cheek.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked, coming over to where she sat and touching her face. She flinched. ‘You cut yourself?’

  ‘It splashed on me,’ said Claire, her voice wooden, her eyes hostile. ‘While I was ringside. I think it’s yours.’

  ‘Ah. Right. Well, I won it, Claire. That’s what matters. I got the prize money and I won. Where’s your parents then?’

  ‘Gone down the pub for a lock-in with Trace. I wasn’t in the mood.’

  ‘Just as well.’ Josh sat down in the other chair and dropped his bag on to the floor. All the aches from the fight were coming out; he’d be stiff as a board tomorrow morning. But he couldn’t worry about that now.

  Claire’s eyes went to the bag. ‘What’s that for?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s what I got to talk to you about.’ Josh took a breath. ‘All this fucking wedding stuff, Claire. I’ve had enough. It ain’t me.’

  ‘What?’ She was staring at him blankly.

  ‘Claire.’ Josh sat forward, clasped his hands between his knees. It hurt his middle, but he didn’t wince. He was used to pain. He looked her straight in the eye. ‘I was meant to throw the fight tonight. And I didn’t.’

  Claire pushed her long blonde hair back from her face. Her blue eyes stared right back at him for a long moment. Then she said: ‘Yeah, you told me. So?’

  ‘Claire, listen. Let’s just go, shall we?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fuck the wedding, I hate all that shit anyway, you know that. We’ll elope. Go somewhere and do it quiet in a register office.’

  She was still gazing at his face. Staring at him, he thought uneasily, like she didn’t even know him.

  ‘Claire? Say something, even if it’s only “fuck off”.’

  He half-grinned nervously. Josh thought how much he loved this girl, his gentle dreamy Claire, always off around the horses, smoothing them and nuzzling into their shoulders, or wandering the fields, picking cowslips. Time and again he’d gone with her to that tiny church in the dell and she’d said, “Couldn’t we get married here? It’s so lovely.” They’d lie in the long rustling grass and watch the skylarks flying above in the blue sky, singing their sweet thrilling song. Those moments were heaven to him, snatches in time he would always remember.

  She took a deep breath. Then she said: ‘Josh. There’s not going to be a wedding.’

  Now it was Josh’s turn to stare. ‘You what?’

  ‘You heard. Standing there tonight, seeing what you did, I knew right then and there that it was all a mistake.’ Tears started to roll down her face. ‘Oh, Josh! I’ve always loved you. You know that. Even when we were little and playing half-naked in the dirt – my mum used to tie a rope around my middle sometimes and tether me to the van to stop me wandering off, you remember? And you’d always untie the damned thing and then off we’d go. I loved you then and I love you now.’

  ‘Well then . . .’ What the fuck was happening here? Josh had assumed he’d come storming in and she’d roll over, do as he said. But this was all wrong.

  ‘Well then nothing. I can’t live day to day watching you get punched to fuck, Josh. I can’t do it. And I won’t. So it’s off. The fighting game’s horrible. Cruel. And it’s full of bent bastards making money on the backs of idiots who are too busy punching each other’s lights out to even notice. I saw a bit of it tonight, and I don’t want it, Josh. And so I don’t want you.’

  ‘But – Christ, Claire! The wedding . . . ?’ He couldn’t believe what she was saying.

  Claire stood up abruptly. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

  ‘I told you. There ain’t going to be a wedding. Not a bloody great one and not a hole-in-the-corner one either. It’s off.’

  She walked over to the door and opened it, tugging off her engagement ring. She handed it back to him. ‘Here. Take it.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  How could this be happening? They’d always been together, a pair. Big rough Josh and gentle Claire. And now, he’d lost her. Wanting to show himself off, be the big man, he’d lost it all. She wasn’t going to run away with him, she wasn’t going to be his Claire any more.

  ‘Claire . . .’ he started. ‘Wait. All right. Say I agree to the big wedding, just as you want it. What if—’

  ‘No! Fuck off, Josh,’ she said, her voice harsh with barely stifled emotion. ‘Just go, will you? Do the decent thing and piss off.’

  10

  Crying her eyes out, Claire paced around the trailer’s hot interior for several minutes after Josh was gone. She’d lost the man she loved, but she couldn’t have gone through with it. She knew it. She was too soft. She couldn’t bear to see him hurt. And yet . . .

  If she went after him right now, she could still make things right. But . . . shit, the wedding. She hadn’t realized the depth of his hatred for all things marriage-related, she hadn’t known that he detested the whole huge-wedding business. Why hadn’t he just told her that, for God’s sake?

  Because he was thinking of me. Me and my girly big-wedding dreams.

  If she did go after him now, he would think it was OK to just elope. And it wasn’t, not in her eyes. Mum would be devastated if it was all called off. And truthfully? So would she. If she was going to marry at all, then she wanted her big day. And Josh didn’t, so it was all impossible, and it was best that it ended now.

  But her heart was breaking.

  Unable to settle, wondering how the hell she was going to tell her parents and Trace, she went to the door of the trailer and out, down the steps into the semi-darkness of the campsite. Blue whined and she undid the string tying him. He jumped to his feet, eager for a walk.

  She set off up the track toward the lane, knowing her way even in the pitch-blackness of the night that folded around her out here in the country. Soon her eyes gained their night vision and she trod more confidently, Blue tugging at her arm. She was relieved to at least be moving, to be out in the open while her mind wrestled with all her troubles.

  God, she had so many.

  She’d lost Josh.

  That was the worst of all.

  Out in the lane, owls hooted and foxes wailed, but she wasn’t afraid, she knew the sounds, she was used to them. Claire barely noticed them now. She had too much sorrow to contend with, too much pain. And humiliation too. She was going to look such a fool in front of everyone, having to call off all the arrangements. Shauna Everett would laugh at her. God, that bitch would love it.

  Still crying helplessly, she halted as Blue gave a growl and stopped dead in front of her.

  ‘Oh Christ, Blue, don’t mess around. Not now. It’s only a ruddy badger or a deer, that’s all,’ she choked out.

&n
bsp; But now Claire could see it wasn’t. By the dim moonlight she could see figures moving ahead of her in the lane. Coming closer.

  She stiffened. ‘Who’s that?’ she called out.

  They didn’t answer.

  She felt the chill of fear.

  Blue was growling steadily, his hackles raised, his head lowered, ready to spring. Then one of the figures came in close and she heard Blue snarling in earnest.

  ‘You better shut him up,’ said a female voice Claire recognized.

  ‘Shauna? That you?’

  No answer. Claire was pulled off-balance as rough sacking was dragged over her head, stifling her. Someone hit her, hard, and the dark world went darker still.

  11

  When Claire came to she felt sick and dizzy. Her head was pounding, her whole body was in motion and there was an awful pressure on her stomach . . . someone was carrying her over their shoulder, she realized. The sacking smelled dusty against her nose and she thought of Blue. Where was he?

  The answer came straight away. She could hear him growling and whimpering, somewhere close by.

  She could also hear the wind, sighing over the fields, and now a door was creaking open and the sound was familiar. They were inside now, inside a cool and silent building that echoed with the footsteps of whoever had grabbed her.

  It was . . .

  It was the church in the dell.

  Blue’s growling went up a notch. He should be biting someone by now, she thought. Why wasn’t he?

  Suddenly she was set down on her feet. She staggered. The sacking was pulled off and a torch shone into her eyes. Shaking, unsteady, she winced, put a hand up to shield them. She felt a sticky patch of blood on her brow, where she’d been struck. Wondered if she was going to vomit. But then they were yanking her forward, dragging her up the aisle and . . .

  ‘Jesus,’ moaned Claire as rough hands pulled her to a standstill.