by Phil Earle
It would have been the perfect end to a lifer’s birthday, but there was more to come.
CHAPTER 18
The walk across the lawn did me good. The wind was starting to bite, which was fine, because it blew the clouds away for a second, giving me a glimpse of the sky beyond. I breathed it in, and tried to reassure myself that the twins understood what I’d told them.
It was the quickest bath Lizzie had ever had. ‘A lick and a promise’, that’s what Jan and Grant would have called it.
Within ten minutes, both her and Louie were sitting on the edge of their beds, waiting for me to spell it out for them. And as I began to speak, I still had no idea what I was going to say.
‘Don’t look so scared, you two. This isn’t bad news. It’s all good.’ But as hard as I smiled, I felt something break as the words came out. ‘They’re not looking to take you away. They’re trying to get you home.’
I hoped they’d understand without me spelling it out, but they didn’t of course. And why would they? This was all they knew. This was home.
‘To Annie’s house,’ I said slowly. ‘Annie wants you to go and live with her.’
In that moment, all the tension fell from Lizzie’s face as she flew across the room and into my arms. Louie, on the other hand, remained on the bed, fear still scratched upon his face.
‘What about you, Bill?’ he said.
‘Don’t worry about me, mate,’ I answered, as I beckoned him over.
‘Bill’s coming with us. Aren’t you, Bill?’ Lizzie butted in.
‘I’m not, no. It wouldn’t work. Annie’s been trying hard to be well again. But she’s still nervy, you know. She needs to take it slowly, make sure she can handle the two of you.’
‘But once we’re home and she’s OK, then she’ll send for you, won’t she?’ Lizzie asked, her grip on my arm tightening.
‘Listen. It’s no good thinking like that. It could be a long while until she’s well enough. And by then I’ll be out of here. Have my own place. A flat with rooms for both of you, so you can come at weekends and that. Whenever you want.’ I couldn’t believe I was saying it, but I knew I had to, no matter how much it hurt.
‘But I want you to come with us, Billy. They can’t split us up. You’re my brother.’
‘And that won’t change. And I won’t let you go unless I’m sure Annie can cope with it.’
The questions continued as I tucked them into their beds, and I tried as hard as I could to make it all seem positive. What good would it do to badmouth Annie now? It was a done deal and I had to make this as easy for them as I could.
Stories read, I made for the door and my usual position, only to be called back by Louie.
‘Bill, don’t sit outside tonight. Can’t you stay in here?’
‘All right,’ I said, and smiled, returning to stroke his head.
I slid down the wall between their beds and rested my eyes, hoping it would encourage them to do the same.
For all the fear in the room, it didn’t take them long to go to sleep. Louie fought it for a while, forcing his eyes open as he checked I was still there, but within fifteen minutes they had both caved in. I stayed a little bit longer, worrying about how many more nights I’d have like this.
As I left their room I remembered Ronnie’s key in my pocket, and because I knew there was no way I was going to sleep, I crept down the stairs and out across the grounds.
Stood at the garage door, key in hand, I thought for a second about what might be inside and whether I wanted anything to do with it. This was Ronnie’s gift to me after all, bought out of guilt. After a minute’s hesitation, I thrust the key into the lock and turned it. I could always flog whatever was in there. It was mine after all.
It was pitch black inside, and damp. And there was a whiff of paint as well.
I ran my hand along the wall until I found the switch, and as the light flickered on, it took me a minute to work out what I was looking at.
The knackered old garage had been transformed. Each wall was painted a different colour: grey, red, white and blue. All the junk that used to litter the place had gone and the floor had been swept and painted too. All apart from a square piece in the middle that had been covered with a large blue mat.
Dotted around the room were pieces of equipment, and I groaned as I realized what I was looking at: a gym. The Colonel had built a boxing gym. I shook my head in disbelief as our past conversations popped into my head. He really thought that giving me something to hit was the answer. Well, unless the punchbag was shaped like him, that wasn’t going to work.
I walked from corner to corner, checking out the stuff he’d put in there. Not all of it was new, but a lot was. There was a huge punchbag, hanging from thick chains that wrapped around the beams, a skipping rope, dumb-bells and a small round punchball that had thick elastic shooting out of the top and bottom of it. The elastic ran to the ceiling and floor, and as I aimed a punch at the ball, it zipped away from me before whipping back and whacking me in the face.
I rubbed at my nose and looked over my shoulder self-consciously. I flicked at the ball again, gently this time, and watched as the elastic shook the ball back and forth.
Nose stinging, I turned to the big punchbag, confident that it wouldn’t be able to hurt me in the same way. It was huge, practically the size of me, and as I pushed it away, I could hear the chains creak against the beams above. The bag swung, and as it reached me, I launched a punch at it with my right hand. The bag thudded against my fist, sending a shock of pain shooting through my knuckles, past my wrist and up my arm. I swore and stumbled away from the bag, the pain in my arm competing with the throbbing of my nose.
‘That’s what gloves are for,’ came a voice from behind me.
I turned, to see Ronnie stood in the doorway.
‘You’ll break your fist punching it like that.’
‘No, really?’ I moaned, tucking my hand under my armpit to try and numb the pain. I didn’t have the coordination to cup a hand to my nose as well.
‘So what do you think?’ he crowed as he strode into the room. ‘Do you like it?’
I stared him down as he stopped in front of me, grabbing the bag as it swung slowly between us.
‘Like what?’
‘Your gym. I’ve been working on it for weeks.’
‘Well, you’ve wasted your time. I don’t want this. I’m not interested in boxing.’
I pushed the bag into his belly and walked towards the door.
‘That’s not what you’ve said before.’
I stopped and looked back, confused by what he’d said. ‘You what?’
‘When we spoke about boxing before. You were interested enough then.’
I shook my head in irritation, unable to let his comment slide. ‘You really do talk out of your arse, you know that?’
‘I don’t think so, Bill. When we spoke about it before, you said you’d do it if you could spar with me.’
I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Yeah, and that’s going to happen, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely,’ he replied, with no trace of a smile on his face.
I watched as he walked slowly to a metal trunk in the far corner of the room. And as much as I wanted to turn around and walk out, I couldn’t help but stay.
After a bit of a wait, he stood up from the trunk, holding what looked like a huge brown leather cushion.
‘Well, here it is, my friend. The moment you’ve waited for for years. Your chance to hit me with my permission.’
I looked at him, baffled. But before I could say a word, he lifted the cushion up above his head. Putting his head through a hole, he pulled the padding down past his chest, until it covered his upper body. He looked like he was wearing one of those comedy sumo outfits you see at the fair.
‘This,’ he said, smiling as he saw the bemusement on my face, ‘is body armour. A trainer’s best friend. A
nd now yours too.’
He tossed me a pair of gloves.
‘There is just one rule to this, Billy,’ he barked, as he pulled big cushioned mitts on to his fists. ‘You only punch where there’s padding. You understand me?’
I couldn’t quite get my head around what was going on. Here I was, with an invitation to lay into the person I wanted to punch more than anyone in the world. Well, almost. But for some reason I couldn’t go for it.
‘I don’t get it,’ I said, with a shake of my head. ‘I don’t understand what this is. You want me to punch you … That bit, I understand. What I don’t get is why?’
‘Because you’re angry. And you have been ever since I’ve known you, which is half your life.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ I muttered under my breath.
‘I don’t blame you for being angry. I get angry and I’ve never had to live anywhere but with my family. So I can’t even imagine how you feel. What I do know is that this helped me a long time ago. And to be honest, I don’t know what else to try. I’m out of ideas. So this is it. This is your chance. It’s up to you.’
‘So I hit you. That’s it?’
‘Wherever there’s padding or a glove,’ he said, and nodded.
‘And what about a bell?’ I asked, knowing there had to be a catch somewhere in it all.
‘There’s no bell in this, Billy. You just keep swinging until you’re done.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Couldn’t believe he thought I’d punch myself out before he was left on the floor.
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Bill. I’ve faced bigger than you, believe me. So let’s have it. No pad, no punch. Otherwise, anything goes.’
Lifting his gloved hands in front of him, he braced himself for the onslaught.
CHAPTER 19
Maybe it was the beers I’d necked earlier in the evening, but I was struggling to get my head around the sight in front of me. I’d dreamed of having a free shot at Ronnie for years and here he was, standing in front of me, telling me to do it.
Pulling the second glove on to my fist, I told myself to stop thinking about it and enjoy the moment. After all, it was my birthday.
I turned to face him and sized up the area I had to play with. He wasn’t small to start with, but kitted out in his body armour he looked mountainous. I studied the options carefully, planning where I was going to start.
‘Come on, then, Billy. Show us what you’ve got.’ He smiled, mitts held at chin level.
I lifted my fists until they were cocked like pistols, ready to fire. Putting the weight on to my front foot, I let fly with a right hand that smacked into his glove.
It felt good.
‘Not bad,’ he said, grinning, ‘but try standing with your legs further apart. It’ll help you balance better and punch harder.’
But what he didn’t understand was that this wasn’t about technique. This was about revenge. I flicked out another left jab, followed by another and another.
He just soaked it up and shuffled to his left, forcing me to turn with him.
Keeping my eye on his mitts, I decided to step up the pace, and for the first time started to jab with both hands. Sometimes a quick one-two, sometimes a flurry of fists. It wasn’t pretty, but with each impact I felt my heartbeat leap and the adrenalin pump further around my body. I stepped up the pace again, but this time I was beginning to move him around instead, and I could see the colour start to rise in his face, the sweat breaking for freedom across his forehead.
I kept my gaze fixed on his. I wanted him to see me snarling, to see the pleasure I was getting from pounding his fists. But as my rhythm built, so did his. It was as if he was anticipating my every punch or, worse still, that he was actually showing me where to land each blow.
Desperate to gain the upper hand, I decided it was time to shift to the body. So, as I bent my right shoulder and pretended to snap another punch into his mitt, I shifted my weight and threw a swinging left that caught him flush in the kidneys.
As my fist slammed into the armour, I saw surprise on his face for the first time, and as he stumbled backwards, trying to regain his balance, I followed up with a big right to the other side of his body.
I thought for a second that the blow would floor him, but if anything it stirred him up a bit and, despite the sweat pouring from his face, he couldn’t suppress a smile.
‘I like it, Bill, I like it. Didn’t see that one coming. Come on. Don’t stop there. Let’s see what you’ve got!’
I didn’t need a second invitation and ploughed forward, pulling my head down into my chest as I let a flurry of wild left and right hooks rip into his body. With his elbows tucked into his chest and his mitts covering his face, he grunted and groaned, but showed no sign of calling an end to it all. He just stood there, soaking up the blows.
He wasn’t the only one starting to feel the pain of it all. My breathing was quick and ragged, but I couldn’t entertain the idea of stopping. I could feel the anger feeding its way into my fists, and it was coming so thick and fast that it wasn’t just the Colonel I was hitting any more. It was so many people. All the social workers who’d let me down, the teachers who’d ridiculed me, the scummers who’d promised so much before leaving for other jobs.
Faces flashed before my eyes. And for every face there was an incident, a memory, a time that they had let me down. Each punch that landed was revenge, my chance to tell them that I hadn’t forgotten what they did.
But as the punches added up and the faces changed, there was one person who kept coming back, no matter how many times I hit him.
Shaun.
I jabbed and hooked, and pushed and shoved, but no matter how many blows I landed, I couldn’t shake him from my head, couldn’t forget the punches he’d landed on me.
My fists were pounding and my arms were knackered, but I couldn’t stop swinging. Not while he was still in my head. So I threw and threw and threw, until my lungs were burning. My balance was shot and, as I rocked backwards and forwards, I half expected to fall. But I wouldn’t let myself. Not until his face had gone from my head.
My work rate was slowing, and the punches were landing lower and lower on Ronnie’s armour. The snap of my blows turned into slaps, and I could barely see as the sweat was blinding me. I had no idea how long I had been stood there. In fact, the only thing I did know was that the Colonel was still in front of me, taking every blow I had.
His breathing was as quick as mine, and his face the unhealthiest red, but still he beckoned me forward, and as Shaun’s face glowed in my head, I had no option but to carry on.
But then everything shifted. My knees seemed to buckle and I stumbled forward. As I fell, I could still see him, laughing, snarling and screaming, and as I tumbled into the Colonel, I had to throw one last punch, in the vain hope of banishing him for good. It landed on Ron’s right hand, then slipped past his arm and around his back. My other arm reached forward in the same way, and before I knew it I was slumped in his arms, gasping for air.
I don’t know why he did it, whether it was out of affection or merely to hold me up, but I felt his arms grip me hard around my waist. What I did know was that for the first time in eight years, I didn’t instantly try to shrug him off.
CHAPTER 20
Waking in the night is something I’m used to. Waking in the night barely able to move my arms or legs was a new sensation. It felt like someone had crept in and pinned me to my mattress while I was sleeping.
Groaning, I grabbed the edge of my bed and heaved myself on to my side, every bit of my body screaming its objection. For a minute or two, I was actually scared, thought I’d had a stroke or something, until I realized that that doesn’t tend to happen to people aged fifteen years and one day. I flexed my arm up to my shoulder, trying to coax some blood into it, and wondered how many punches I must have actually thrown to feel so stiff and
sore.
It had taken me a good ten minutes to stand up again after falling on top of Ron, and he wasn’t in such great shape himself. Still, he managed to help me with my gloves before telling me to lie on the mat with my hands above my head, and as the air poured into my mouth, I felt oddly alive.
The garage was hot, despite the late hour, and I watched, grinning, as Ronnie struggled to yank the body armour back over his head. As he pulled, his T-shirt came up with it, leaving his back exposed. From the colour of his raw-looking skin, it was obvious he’d felt a lot of the punches I’d thrown, regardless of the padding, but more baffling were the scars that littered his back. Long jagged lines were etched in rows, pretty much from shoulder to shoulder, and though they were faded, they still looked angry.
As the armour fell to the mat with a thud, he clocked what I was looking at and, with a bit of a struggle, managed to pull his shirt down again. Wiping away the sweat that poured off his forehead, he slumped to the floor next to me, lifting his arms above his head. God knows what we must have looked like, apart from a complete car wreck.
‘Well, that’s got the heart beating,’ he groaned, brushing his sleeve across his face. ‘Feels good, doesn’t it?’
‘Suppose so, yeah.’
‘Your hands all right? They’ll probably be a bit sore in the morning. If I’d thought you were going to punch me for so long, I’d have strapped them up first.’
‘They’re fine. Strangely enough, punching you doesn’t hurt at all,’ I lied.
‘Yeah, weird. Who’d have thought it?’
Ronnie paused before asking the next question, and I could hear the nerves in his voice as the words came out.
‘So what do you make of it, then? The gym? It’s yours. My present to you.’
The question felt loaded, and although he’d just let me batter him for the best part of ten minutes, he didn’t deserve a load of praise.
‘It’s all right, yeah. Can’t say it’s what I wanted, but it has its advantages, I suppose.’