Girls Can't Hit

by T. S. Easton

  ‘I’ve had one or two,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want to have too much. I’m in training.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said, and was about to ask how he was feeling about the tournament when Bonita grabbed Tarik and pulled him away to sing. I saw Destiny and Taylor on either side of Jerome, trying to persuade him to sing with them.

  ‘I can’t sing,’ he said. ‘I can’t sing.’

  ‘Get him another drink,’ Destiny said. ‘Where’s that waitress?’ I started to feel quite pleased with myself as the session went on. The drinking must have slowed. The boys were either singing, or flicking through the playlist, looking for inspiration. None of them could sing, except Dan, a bit. And Bonita, of course, who was good at everything, and seemed to know all the words to every Beyoncé song ever.

  ‘Have a go,’ Bonita said, thrusting the microphone into my hand when she’d finished.

  ‘Oh no, no,’ I said. ‘A) I can’t sing, and B) I’m not drunk.’ But it was too late.

  ‘Kill-a, Kill-a, Kill-a!’ everyone chanted. My eyes flicked to the screen in a panic and I saw the song cued was Tina Turner’s ‘Simply the Best’. The intro played out and I started singing.

  And you know what? I wasn’t too bad. The music was loud and there was a faint backing track to help me get in key. And it’s not the hardest song to sing, especially when everyone joins in on the chorus. I shut my eyes and got into it after a bit – I didn’t even need the lyrics. When I opened my eyes again I saw Tarik watching me, a smile on his face. Apparently I’m not only a brilliant boxer and cyclist. I also totally rock at … well, rock.

  Then it all went wrong because my eyes flicked to the left and I saw Jerome holding a bottle of Jägermeister, pouring it into Simon’s plastic water cup.

  ‘You’re simply the … WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?’

  Jerome looked up, startled. ‘The waitress is taking forever,’ he shouted back as strobe lights played across his face. ‘We were thirsty.’

  The session finished at 10.30 p.m., but it took nearly twenty minutes to get everyone out of the booth and down onto the street.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ Simon asked me, swaying a little.

  ‘The others are going to Lick’d,’ I said. ‘But you’re going home.’

  ‘What!’ he cried. ‘I can’t go home. It’s early. It’s Jerome’s STAG DO! He’s my best mate!’

  ‘It’s Dan’s stag do,’ I corrected him.

  ‘He’s my best mate too,’ Simon told me, less convincingly. The others were trailing off down the street, arm in arm. Dan staggering a little. Destiny and Taylor escorting Jerome. Fran tottering along behind on a pair of high heels.

  ‘Look, by the time we queue, and you go downstairs and get a drink, it’ll be time to leave,’ I said. I was ready to go home too. I’d done my bit, and hanging around drunk people when you’re completely sober isn’t exactly the best fun in the world. ‘And you still have to walk home. I really think you should go now.’

  ‘No way,’ he shouted, and ran off down the street, his tag flashing as it reflected the streetlights.

  ‘Simon!’ I shouted. And then I ran after him.

  It was very, very loud in the club. It was also dark, with vomit-green laser lights flashing back and forth and a UV lamp somewhere that showed up everyone’s dandruff. I wandered around, unable to find anyone in the crowd.

  I found one of the dance floors where some thumping drum and bass track rattled my fillings. I saw Chris dancing with Fran. And there were Alex and Jordan, and over on the other side were Destiny and Taylor with their hands all over poor Jerome.

  ‘WANN’ DANCE?’ a man screamed in my ear.

  ‘Trust me,’ I replied, shaking my head. ‘You don’t want me to dance.’ He shrugged and walked off. Behind him I saw Tarik leaning against a brick pillar, Bonita facing him and talking. Their faces were very, very close together.

  ‘OK,’ I said, and turned away. I had far more important things to worry about than Tarik and Bonita. Then I saw him, Simon. He was across the dance floor, with one of Dan’s work colleagues. Matt? Stan? Something like that. They each had a fresh pint. I darted across the floor, dodged through the swirling dancers and slid up beside Simon.

  ‘Finish that and then we’ve got to go,’ I shouted.

  ‘I’ve only just got here,’ he said. I showed him the time on my phone. 11.18 p.m.

  ‘I’ve still got an hour,’ he said.

  ‘You still have to get home,’ I reminded him. I looked up to see Jerome, backing away from Destiny, crash into another girl and knock her over. Instantly, the girl’s dance partner leaped forward and shoved Jerome in the chest.

  ‘Oh bollocks,’ I said. I was sure Jerome was going to hit the bloke. I was just about to rush forward and put myself between them when Jerome held up his hands in apology.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ I saw him mouth. He reached out a hand to help the girl up and she nodded in thanks. Jerome said something else, I guessed offering to buy them a drink, but the couple shook their heads and moved to the other side of the dance floor.

  ‘I thought he was going to hit that bloke,’ I shouted into Simon’s ear. Simon shook his head.

  ‘Jerome wouldn’t do that. None of us would. Just not worth it.’

  ‘Do you mind me asking …’ I began, before stalling.

  ‘How I got my tag?’ he replied. ‘Not by fighting. Me and some mates took a car. Just a bit of fun. Got me on CCTV.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘I didn’t even know they had CCTV in Plimpton.’

  ‘Why were you in Plimpton?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s where I live,’ he said.

  ‘What?! Plimpton is twelve miles away.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I thought you lived in Gladwell’s …’ He shook his head. I took his beer from him, put it down on a table and grabbed him by the lapels. He was seven inches taller than me and about fifteen kilograms heavier. But just at that moment he looked a bit scared.

  ‘We have got to leave now,’ I said clearly. ‘And I mean, RIGHT. NOW.’

  For a moment, it looked like he was going to protest, but then he looked into my eyes and apparently realised I meant business. ‘OK,’ he said. Holding him by the arm in case he changed his mind, I marched him out of the club and up the stairs.

  ‘It’ll be all right as long as we can get a cab,’ I said, mostly to reassure myself.

  Need for Speed

  There were no cabs. ‘They don’t like to come here,’ the bouncer explained. ‘There’s usually trouble.’

  I walked up and down the street. ‘Might as well pop back in for another one,’ Simon said hopefully. He didn’t seem concerned at all. I looked at my phone again. ‘We have thirty-three minutes to get you home,’ I said. ‘Or else your tag will explode, or whatever.’

  ‘Calm down,’ he said, sitting down on the steps in front of Bosford Brazilian Tanning Salon and inspecting the tag. ‘I think I know how to disable it.’

  ‘DON’T try and disable it,’ I yelled.

  ‘Well, what else are we going to do?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve got a plan.’

  Twelve minutes later a tiny white Clio chugged down South Street and slowly mounted the kerb, sending Lick’d’s bouncer diving for cover. It lurched to a stop in front of us. Pip grinned at me from the driver’s seat. He was wearing an aviator hat and goggles.

  ‘Get in,’ I said to Simon.

  ‘A Clio?’ he spat.

  ‘Oi!’ The bouncer yelled, getting to his feet and looking furious. I shoved Simon into the back seat and clambered into the front passenger seat. I put on my seat belt then turned to look Pip in the eye.

  ‘You have fifteen minutes to get us to Plimpton. For this one night only, you must drive as you’ve never driven before. Tonight, Pip, you must drive at the speed limit.’

  ‘Got it!’ Pip said. As the bouncer appeared at the window, Pip gently pressed his foot
down on the accelerator. The Clio bumped off the kerb. I studiously ignored the bouncer who was now tapping on the window and following as we moved sedately down the street.

  Simon coughed politely in the back seat. ‘Do you think we could maybe, you know, speed up a bit?’

  ‘Yes, maybe a little,’ I agreed as the bouncer bashed on the glass and shouted something unrepeatable. Pip swallowed nervously and sped up. The bouncer fell behind and we reached the crossroads. Pip turned left.

  ‘Why are you going this way?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know where Plimpton is,’ Pip replied.

  ‘The other way, the other way,’ I said. Pip spun the wheel and the tyres squeaked as we turned. Then he pressed down on the accelerator again and we were off in roughly the right direction.

  ‘Seriously though,’ I said, glancing at the clock on the dashboard, ‘you’re going to need to speed up a little bit.’

  ‘I’m nearly at the speed limit now!’ he cried, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. But he pressed harder on the accelerator and the needle crept up into uncharted territory. Simon did most of the navigation, asking why Pip was going so slowly from time to time. But I knew that, for Pip, this was the equivalent of Jason Bourne driving a Mini the wrong way around the Péripherique. He even went through some amber lights and actually did go the wrong way around a roundabout at Telham, though I think that was just from general confusion rather than a deliberate attempt to speed up our progress.

  ‘Made it!’ Simon cried from the back as we groaned to a stop in front of a block of flats. I got out and turned to drag Simon out as well. He gave me a massive bear hug.

  ‘You’re brilliant, Fleur,’ he said. ‘I love you.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ I said. ‘I love you too. Now get inside and sleep it off.’

  He bent over and leaned in through the window of the Clio to look at Pip.

  ‘Jensen Button,’ he said, then belched loudly. We watched him swaying and staggering as he walked up to his door, fumbling with the keys. As he clumped inside and slammed the door closed behind him, I checked my phone. 11.58. A weight lifted from my shoulders. Mission accomplished. I got back in the car and gave Pip a squeeze.

  ‘You’re a hero,’ I said.

  ‘I know. Where now?’

  I really wanted to go home.

  ‘I’d better go back to the club,’ I said. ‘Make sure no one else is in any trouble.’

  ‘You got it,’ Pip said.

  ‘No hurry this time,’ I said. ‘You can stop for ambers.’

  This Is a Disaster!

  Pip parked around the corner from Lick’d and said he’d wait. Luckily, the bouncer he’d nearly killed wasn’t on duty any more. It was another bloke, equally huge, and he waved me in. ‘Has anyone punched anyone else?’ I asked Tarik downstairs. I couldn’t see Bonita, but Chris and Fran were snogging by the cigarette machine.

  ‘No,’ he said. But just at that moment we heard a shrill scream and a crash from the dance floor. We ran. Destiny was on the back of the man who had threatened Jerome. Broken glass glinted on the floor. The man’s girlfriend grabbed Destiny and pulled her off. The girls tumbled to the floor, grappling one another while Jerome stood by, looking helpless.

  I rushed forward. Part of me knew I shouldn’t get involved, but I was thinking maybe I could stop the fight before it got out of hand. Unfortunately, before I could get there, Taylor waded into the mess and punched the man, who went down like a sack of bricks. Destiny and the girlfriend were still on the floor, scratching and kicking. Then the bouncer from earlier appeared. He grabbed Taylor and Destiny and bundled them out.

  ‘She started it!’ Destiny roared, pointing back at the girl Taylor had punched. I saw the poor girl had a bloody nose. The bouncer ignored Destiny and dragged her and Taylor bodily up the stairs.

  I groaned. This was a disaster.

  ‘This is a disaster,’ Ricky said. ‘I just don’t know what we’re going to do.’ He looked as dispirited as Tyson Fury’s PR manager. Ricky had thrown Destiny and Taylor out of the club. Or more accurately, they were ‘suspended pending an internal investigation’ as Ricky had told the Boxing Federation people.

  ‘This is worse than that bit in Rocky IV when Rocky finds out Adrian isn’t going to Russia with him,’ I said.

  ‘Not everything in life has a metaphor in a Rocky film,’ Tarik said.

  ‘You’re so wrong,’ I told him.

  ‘Never mind all that,’ Ricky said. ‘What are we going to do? We’ve currently got no women’s fights. Fleur and Bonita are in different classes. And the tournament is in two weeks. We’ve sold loads of tickets to women, all the Thursday night ladies will be there and they want to see you girls box. I’ve got the newspaper guy coming, hoping to write a big story.’ He lowered his head into his hands and shook it, groaning softly.

  ‘Can’t you give them another chance?’ I said. ‘You gave me a second chance when I punched the rapist.’

  ‘That was different, Fleur,’ he said in a muffled voice, not lifting his head. ‘You weren’t brawling in a nightclub like a couple of badgers. You hit a bloke who was physically harassing you. It was self-defence.’

  ‘I KNOW. I believe I told you that at the time!’ I said, getting cross before I remembered this wasn’t about me.

  ‘What about some of the Thursday ladies?’ Coach Alex suggested. ‘Are any of them up for a fight? Shouldn’t be a weight problem with that lot.’

  ‘There’s no time,’ Ricky said. ‘Even if they did want to fight, it’d take at least four months to get them ready to box properly. I won’t let anyone fight if they’re not ready.’

  ‘What about other clubs?’ I suggested. ‘Hastings? Brighton? Do they have women boxers?’

  ‘I’ve been phoning around for the last hour,’ Sharon said. ‘No luck. The only club in Sussex that is currently training women for fighting is Lewes and none of them are available.’

  ‘Not Brighton?’ I asked. Sharon shook her head. ‘None of them ready for a bout. You’re a rare breed. I can keep calling clubs further away …’

  ‘No one’s gonna be available at such short notice,’ Ricky said, shaking his head. ‘Especially a few weeks before Christmas. We have to bite the bullet and let everyone know the girls’ matches are off. Give people refunds if they want.’

  ‘We can’t afford that,’ Sharon said. ‘We need that revenue.’

  ‘We don’t have a choice,’ Ricky said. A heavy silence fell across the group.

  ‘Unless …’ a voice piped up. ‘Unless … well, there might be a way.’ Everyone looked hopefully at the person who had spoken up. Which, rather surprisingly, turned out to be me.

  ‘Unless … I fight against Bonita,’ I said. Ricky’s shoulders slumped again and he shook his head.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘this is my fault. I was supposed to keep everyone out of trouble. Now it’s up to me to fix it.’

  ‘I told you, Fleur,’ Ricky said, ‘you’re three kilos too light for welterweight. Bonita’s two kilos too heavy. Though I suppose she could drop down … No, I can’t allow it, even as a demonstration bout.’

  ‘We have two weeks. How much biltong would I need to eat to put on three kilos in two weeks?’

  ‘Half a cow?’ Tarik suggested.

  ‘It’s not just a question of weight,’ Ricky said. ‘Bonita is taller than you. She has a longer reach.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m not good enough?’

  ‘She’s good enough,’ someone called. We all looked over to the door to see Joe, who’d just come in. ‘She could take down the big girl. They don’t call her Killa for nothing.’

  ‘I don’t want anyone taking anyone down,’ Ricky said. Good luck explaining that to Bonita, I thought. ‘Fleur, the question is, can you keep your guard up for three rounds?’

  I licked my lips, which had suddenly become very dry. ‘Yes,’ I said even though the correct answer was probably not. Ricky didn’t say anything. He just looked at me. Judging me. App
raising me. He looked over at Sharon, who nodded. He looked at Tarik, who gave a thumbs-up, sending a thrill through me.

  ‘You’re going to have to train like you’ve never trained before,’ he said.

  ‘Not a problem.’

  ‘You’re going to have to focus like you’ve never focused before.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  ‘You’re going to have to eat like you’ve never eaten before.’

  ‘Definitely not a problem,’ I said, nodding briskly.

  Show Me the Biltong

  Every morning my alarm went off at 7 a.m. I got up, had a protein shake with fruit and did a half-hour of weights. Then I ate some chicken and nuts. I know, right? For breakfast? Then I ran to college, sometimes diving into a hedge as Pip chugged by, Blossom waving at me through the rear window. I showered at school. I had a packet of cashews in my pocket and would sneak them into my mouth when the teacher wasn’t looking. I ate two lunches and snacked on biltong in the afternoon. After school I’d run back home, eat a pork pie and get on the exercise bike in the garage. Whilst cycling I’d listen to music on my headphones and fuel myself with slices of buttered malt loaf.

  Dinner was the big problem. I didn’t want to tell Mum I was now eating as much as a juvenile orca and she still kept giving me bird portions. I could see her watching as I inhaled the meagre offerings she kept serving up and looked around hopefully for more. Because here’s the thing: I was hungry ALL THE TIME. Luckily I had my stash of food in the bedroom and I spent a lot of time up there ‘studying’ – i.e. stuffing my face with scotch eggs.

  The only let-up in the routine was Friday night and the Bluebell Road Film Club. I skipped training for the night and took some whey protein and a pack of biltong over to Blossom’s, even though it was her turn to choose a film. She handed me the case when I arrived. I stared at it.

  ‘Creed?’

  ‘Rocky VII,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘I thought you wanted to watch Dance of the Sixth Daughter?’

  ‘Too long,’ she said.

  ‘What about Winds from the Red Steppes?’