Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1)

by Lee Cooper

  It was there and then that Mike's offer started to make a lot of sense. £400 for one night's work? That would cover some of the overdue money on the mortgage.

  We could use May’s wage and my welfare cheque to pay the gas and electricity bill. It would put us above sinking level for the time being. Give us a chance to breathe for a couple weeks. The last thing I wanted to do was lie to my family, but it seemed the only option.

  Stuck between the family’s need for money and my weakening morals, my decision was made. I was going to take the fight. I used the weekend to ponder how keeping it quiet from May would work. Coming to the conclusion I’d have to make up some kind of story about picking up some weekend work or a night job, sneak away, having Tim cover the story if need be.

  The weekend was spent as usual, entertaining the kids and visiting May's parents in Stonehaven. It was pretty boring and I didn’t really get involved either. I didn’t gel with her parents anyway. My mind was too occupied on what was going to take place in the upcoming weeks.

  Little did I know at the time how much this was going to change my life and me.

  Tuesday arrived and I was very eager to talk to Mike regarding this fight. Tim picked me up as normal, 6.30 on the dot and I wasted no time in telling him my plans as I entered the car.

  “Tim, I’m going to take that fight Mike offered me.”

  “Aye, why not, eh? You’ll be fine. Fighting’s in your blood.” Tim replied.

  “Need to keep it hush from May, though. Don’t want her to know, so if you speak to her, I’ll need you to cover any story I make up.”

  “Aye, nae bother. When we get there the night, talk to Mike. Find out if the fight’s still on. If you’re lucky, you’ll be in.”

  Spotting Mike as I arrived at the gym, I wasted no time in approaching him. He was chatting to Bull. Those two were practically joined at the hip.

  “Hey, Mike, can I have a word?” I asked.

  “Fire away, Joe.”

  “Is the offer of that fight still on? If it is, I’ll take it.”

  “Great, we can make that happen, as long as you don’t go cancelling on us at the last minute. We don’t take kindly to that kind of shit. Once your name’s in the ring, there’s no going back. You understand?” It seemed clear that cancelling would land them in the shit and me in a hole.

  “This will be a good fight for you. Let’s check your weight on the scales.” Mike ordered and I made my way over.

  “100.5 kg. OK, fine, but you’ll need to keep working your ass off, get rid of those extra kilos. Tim will keep you posted about the fight details.”

  “Alright, cheers. When and where is it?”

  “It’s down in Dundee next weekend, Saturday night. Tim will keep you right. I’ll give you a good spar the night, get you a little sharper.” Mike said.

  Turning away, I started skipping with the rest of my training partners. Never thought to ask how many rounds or what size of gloves it was. Presumed it was a pro-boxing show. It just didn’t seem important, acquiring the money took precedence.

  I put in extra effort that night, pushing it a little harder than usual, but it left me fatigued and thinking more about this fight tensed me up. It seemed to mentally and physically drain me that evening. Maybe it was the lie.

  Nearing the end of the night knowing the sparring was approaching, didn’t fill me with joy. All the other boxers were much fitter and topped up on juice. The ‘roids charging blood through their pumped-up muscles, just helped them keep going.

  “Right guys, sparring. Everyone can have a few rounds the night.” Tim yelled, standing with his customary stopwatch around his neck. There were five of us that night, and I had a bad feeling I was going to get pushed to the limit here.

  Tim came over while I refreshed my dry throat at the fountain. “Joe, you’re in for a treat the night. Three minutes wi’ each guy here, a one-minute break between rounds. Just get through it best you can, and don’t give up or coast through it. Mike and Bull don’t want to see that.”

  “Seems like I’m the one you want knocked out the night.” I tried to joke.

  “Nonsense mate, you’ll be fine,” Tim replied.

  Climbing through the ropes into the ring with my head-guard on and gum-shield in, taking a deep breath, Tim gave me a nod, asking if I was ready, although that was the last thing my mind was telling me.

  The five guys outside the ring squatted against the wall, or stood with their gum-shields in and gloves on, ready to rumble. Toby was the last one lined up on the row and Chris the first. Good, the two hardest guys first and last.

  All the boxers weighing over the 80kg mark. Chris and Danny were big, bulky bastards. Staring me down with a glint of fear in their eyes, showing I gained some respect around here.

  “First two, ready.” Tim mumbled as he side-stepped around the ring, taking the role of ref again. Bull standing in the other corner, Mike taking a casual stance at the back of the ring.

  First spar, Chris. Looking pretty wary of me, he didn’t come charging in, as usual. We exchanged combos in a more friendly fashion. I mean friendlier as in he wasn’t trying to charge me down, or rip my head off.

  The old boxing brain started to return, dipping and slipping punches, keeping the head movement working.

  Half way through the round he stepped it up, started landing grinding hits, pounding my ribs was his specialty, which hurt like hell. Towards the end of the round, Mike yelled.

  “Now Chris, NOW!”

  He went to town on me for the last 30 seconds, hitting me with everything. Upstairs to the head and down to the body, I countered throughout his barrage with little effect. The round was soon over thankfully, we touched gloves and he left the ring.

  Next up, Peter. One of the smaller lads. Quite young, nimble, in his early twenties. Short, fluffy ginger hair. Not built big, but owned fast fists.

  “Right come on, let's go. Round two!”

  The minute break wasn’t long enough to settle my breathing back to normal. Peter was a raw brawler like the rest of the boxers here, but lacked size and difficult to hit because of light feet.

  He might have lacked size, but didn’t lack heart. As I battled my way to land a combo of heavy punches to bounce his body from side to side, he absorbed it all and carried on. I liked guys like this, loads of heart. If you didn’t have heart you have nothing. Something Tommy Stevenson used to tell me. ‘You can hit hard, you can be fast, you can be big, but if you've no heart, you’re fucked.’

  Three occasions during this round Mike shouted at Peter. I sensed a pattern.

  “Now boy now, get on him!” Mike took pleasure in controlling what punishment I received.

  I could see what was happening, Mike was testing me, pushing me, trying to find my limit.

  Totally fucked by the end of the round, I needed more than a minute before taking on the next guy, but I kept repeating Tim’s words in my head, not to ‘upset’ Mike or Bull, get through it best I could. The same one-minute break would have to do.

  The third round, with Danny, a well-rounded plump fighter, kept relentless pressure on me. Danny had a hanging beer-belly, but boy could he fight. Blessed with a gift and he knew how to use it.

  Targeting the body, leaning over me and keeping on the inside. As I had less and less energy to move, he punished my stomach and kidneys. I didn’t like it. My energy drained, taking pounding thuds to my kidneys and rib-cage, not able to dodge the hits. My feet felt like they were dragging a ball and chain, heavy and weary.

  The minute breather came in time, before I took a brush against the canvas.

  Round four, they had seen the effect Danny had on me, keeping him in for this round, trying to take me down to another level, Mike pushing him to punish me, fast dancing legs combined with a huge belly, a combination not put together often, giving me the run-around.

  Wasn’t sure if I would make it through the fourth. My heart and skull ready to explode with lack of time to draw breath and heat trapped in my h
ead, ducking, backing onto the ropes, taking a hurl of punches to the head, immobilising my movement.

  In the fifth, I had to really push myself and try to get my credibility back with Danny. I surprised myself, considering how knackered I was, putting him down, and fighting on pure instinct. I could hardly breathe, fatigued and struggled to keep my hands up.

  Every punch thrown was telegraphed before it left my side, and when they landed, they brought no weight behind them. In the last minute and a half, I was getting thrashed, but couldn’t give up, not if I wanted to bring the readies home to May. That wasn’t an option for me.

  The last guy into the ring, was the pocket dynamo, Toby. Knowing his skills, he could break me, the fastest and fittest here. By this time, the pain ran throughout my whole body, my lungs hardly able to function, legs weak, eyes and forehead ached, standing tall sent a stabbing pain into the ribs. I just had to suck it up, get on with it. Mike must have taken pity on me, giving me just over the minute’s break this time, but that wasn’t going to help.

  I slouched into the corner after the fifth round.

  “Here Joe, get this down you. One round left!” said Tim as he tried to build the confidence in me, while pouring water down my throat and over my head “And for fuck sake, keep your hands up, your eyes are a fuckin’ mess.”

  I tried not to think about what I’d look like after this. Just had to get this last round done and dusted.

  “Come on mate, last round, let’s see if that Tilly grit’s still in there.” Tim said.

  Immediately at the start of the round, Toby flustered forward with a sharp combo, hissing like a snake each time his punches hit, but I kept my hands up so it didn’t have the desired effect.

  Remembering our first spar, I knew he'd be itching to make the most of the weakness showing in me. You could tell he was a well-seasoned boxer, judging by his speed, combos and elusiveness. Bouncing into my face again, slithering his chin against my soaked chest, connecting with a bouldering body blow then coiling his body back, he smacked me in the jaw with a wicked left uppercut. I clambered back, swinging a lacklustre left hook, missing as he weaved under my arm and floated back up, landing what felt like a bowling ball, shaking me to my boots. His eighty four kilo frame far too fast for me to cope with in my condition. My brain couldn’t function, I went to sea, legs wobbling as if balancing on a wave, eyes seeing double and unable to focus, the sound numbed like the echo of a muted speaker, but, I was still on my feet, still looking Toby in the eye, or at least I thought I was.

  Under two minutes of the round left. I wasn’t going to make it. Suddenly he halted, refusing to take advantage of my wounded state, choosing to stand idle and wait for my recovery. Mike egged him on to finish me while I was handicapped. He either didn't have it in him, or was wary of my power when wounded.

  Regaining my senses after fifteen seconds, I realised I had been let off the hook.

  It was in his hands to drop me at any time, but he chose not to. I pretty much collapsed on the floor exhausted, as Tim signaled the end. Taking one last look at Toby, I turned and slumped out of the ring, not looking back.

  “Well done, son. You’ve sure got the heart and guts for this game!” Bull bawled in a local accent and slapped his palm on my shoulder in a friendly gesture.

  I didn’t reply, too exhausted to talk.

  “Joe, you’re pretty bruised around the eyes, lad. Might want to get some ice on ‘em.” fussed Tim.

  Once I made it to the changing room, I stole a glance in the small mirror hanging. May was going to go nuts!

  Chapter 12

  The Eyes:

  Sheepishly entering the front door later that night, immediately tensing at having to face May and the kids…Oh god, the kids. I realised I had to deal with this head on, and strode into the sitting room where May was on the landline, chatting about nursing work. Hearing her mention the ARI, the cancer wards, the Anchor Unit, I was now annoyed with myself.

  This wasn’t on, allowing her go back to work in the hospital, knowing the emotional trauma she would have to suffer.

  I would have to think quick, make up a white lie about picking up some work next weekend, and use the four hundred to stop May returning to a job that would destroy her. Had to think on my toes here.

  Coming off the phone, she flinched.

  “Holy shit, Joe! What the fuck happened tonight?!” Jumping back in her seat, placing her hands over her mouth.

  “Well, sparring was a bit rough the night.” I replied.

  “Rough?! It must have been world war three, JOE! What are the kids going to say when they see you like this?” She was in shock at the state I was in.

  “I know, I know,” I replied, with hands up, palms towards her, trying to calm her distress. “I’ll just tell them the truth. I was at boxing and took a few hits.”

  “A few? Jesus, we decided years ago this wasn’t going to happen.”

  “I know May, I know. Look it’s happened now, so give me a break would you. My body’s in agony.”

  “Oh Joe, what an idiot! You need to get some ice on those eyes, right now.”

  Storming to the kitchen for some ice, as I glanced into the big, rectangular mirror over the mantelpiece. Her comment about world war three was bang-on and I was now dreading seeing the kids.

  “Here, lie down on the sofa and stick this over your eyes, let the ice do the work.”

  I lay down and covered my eyes, realising this was the perfect opportunity to lie about the fake job, as I wouldn’t have to actually look her in the eye.

  “Got some good news for you. I managed to find a wee bit of weekend work next Saturday, down in Dundee.”

  “Weekend work? What is it?” She asked.

  “It’s a security job for a couple of days. Paying four hundred, cash. Met a guy at the gym who needs some help. It’s a small weekend music festival, or some shit like that.”

  “Least you’ve got good news to go with those eyes. This a one-off, or you getting more work?”

  “Oh aye, if things go well down there, I should do.”

  “Has Tim got anything to do with this?”

  “Aye, he works for ‘em as well.”

  “Is that his full-time job?” May asked.

  “No, it’s just something he does now and again to help out. They like hiring guys like us, in case there’s any trouble around the beer-tents and that.” The lies seemed to flow like an everyday event.

  “Let’s hope you don’t come home with any more black eyes, then.” She said sarcastically.

  “Well, I hope no’.” Thinking I’ll probably come home with at least one damaged body part.

  “That’s really good news for us. You fancy a bath?” She asked.

  “Aye great, thanks.” This is going better than I imagined.

  In my mind, there was no other choice but to take this professional fight. My father lied to my mam about anything and everything for years, ending badly for everyone concerned.

  May never mentioned anything about the job she was chatting about on the phone, so I reckoned she was happy for the time being.

  I really worried about what the kids would think of my eyes. Knowing from my own past, seeing my father come home bloodied and bruised all the time, it didn't paint a pretty picture.

  I had to weigh up my options though, it was the desperate need for money, or risk getting thrown out of our home, or bankrupt. Just had to get through this at the moment, not able to see any other way. I wasn’t going to lie to the kids. I’ll just tell them the truth about my black eyes.

  Chapter 13

  Old Man:

  Rising the next morning, my body felt the age of eighty. Limping around the house like John Wayne. My ribs aching and face in agony. During the night, my eyes picked up some unwanted colours.

  The usual routine of waking fifteen minutes before the kids, starting on the porridge, the breakfast of champions, served every day. Usually with added extras like blueberries, strawberries, jam or honey, but w
e couldn’t afford that kind of luxury, now replacing that with sugar.

  Once the oatmeal was cooking, I would turn the lights on in the kid’s rooms, this usually woke them, but I would leave May to sleep through the early morning.

  First to come down stairs was Junior. Having my back to him as he entered the kitchen, stirring the porridge trying to keep the lumps out. Still in his PJs, he sat at the table, rubbing the sleep out his eye.

  Laying his plate in front of him, I waited for him to point out the obvious. Peering out his sleepy eyes, just away to say thanks when he noticed. “Uuuhh, Dad, what happened to your eyes?” His voice whined, thinking it was cool to have black eyes. You know kids, we all liked to think our Dads were the toughest guys around and in my case as a child, it was very true. Leaning down to his eye-level, he continued to check out every colour in them.

  “Junior, Daddy went to boxing last night and walked into a few punches. That’s all.”

  “Does it hurt? It looks sore.”

  “Aye, it hurts a lot, son. Don’t go walking into fists, it’s not smart.”

  “Dad! Dad! Can I go with you next time?” bouncing up and down in his seat.

  Just what I didn’t want, my son getting interested in boxing. I wanted the family’s fighting blood-line to end with me, but thought I’d better humour him a little.

  “No, no, Junior you’re way too young for that carry on. Maybe in a few years, I’ll take you out to the shed and teach you a few things on the bag.”

  “But Dad, I want to do it now!” He huffed and sulked.

  “Tell you what. If you do really well at school by the end of the year, I’ll think about it. OK? School is way more important than boxing.”

  “Och, Dad that’s not fair. I don’t want to wait until the end of the year!”

  “Sometimes life isn’t fair, Junior. Now eat that porridge.” I said firmly.

  Junior definitely took after his Dad. Keen as mustard at any sport at school, and hated losing at anything. While playing Xbox, most of the time I had to let him win because he was such a bad loser. I definitely knew he was going to succeed in any sport he did later in life. I just didn’t want it to be boxing.