Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) (6 page)

Chapter 10

Good Feeling:

 
I got a warm, fuzzy feeling about myself over the next couple weeks, something I’d been missing for the past seven months. The extra spring in my step gave me some welcome relief from the stress. Tuesday and Thursday, I kept attending boxing.

  My mind healthier, but body older now, weaker and stiff. Not able to afford the protein shakes and training supplements all the serious gym-goers were taking, I had to take the pain for a few more weeks before the muscle ache would fade.

  What I wasn’t enjoying was the constant search for a job. Truth being, I was beginning to settle into a life that I couldn't see a way out of. To be honest, I wasn’t job-hunting as hard as I could have, the boxing distracted me.

  The welfare payments transferred in my account every week. Sitting in the Jobcentre, explaining to the grey-faced, grey clothed dominatrix sitting opposite me, that I’m doing everything by the rules to find work, was like talking to a brick wall.

  Just like a fight, I had to duck and dive my way towards getting the pittance of a hand-out they deemed ‘enough’. I had to keep looking forward in the hope something would turn up.

  Boxing had been going well and I could still fight, probably as good as in my teenage years. I was even surer of that when I took apart another boxer from the club, Toby. A real live-wire. Muscular, a good size for his weight and game as hell. A broad-shouldered 84kg, not a slice of fat to be seen. Five foot eight and a real stylish boxer as well.

  Wasn't local though, had a southern Scottish lingo. Having a really friendly kind of face and a good manner about him, he didn't seem a bully like Roy, who hadn’t been seen since I put him on his arse. He must have been too embarrassed to show face after getting sparked out.

  It was easy to tell Toby was an experienced fighter. The way he glided, the speed of his punches and the different variations of combos he had at his disposal. No ego, just a workmanlike attitude.

  We had our first spar a couple weeks after I exchanged blows with Roy. It started off quite relaxed but there he was, Mike in his corner egging him on. A few rounds passed when he thought he could take advantage. Being twenty odd kilos heavier than him, I was taking it easy. In the fourth round he started hissing like a snake as his punches started ploughing in. Following Mike's instruction from outside the ropes, he stepped up a gear. Really trying to trouble me.

  Once his athletic body stood inside my space, he would hit and move round my slow frame, pull my guard down, land a combo then disappear out my sight. His brain full of boxing tricks.

  Half way through the round, losing patience with the drip-drip effect his boxing was having on me, I dropped him with a hammering left-hook to the body. He sunk a deep breath as his legs couldn’t hold his weight. That was a warning to him, but he didn't take it. Lifting himself back up to his feet, he returned to the same tactic, hissing aggressively as he threw random leather in my face. He was too game for his own good.

  He got on my inside, opening up on my body, lightning quickly, he was hard to stop. My patience wearing thin, the kettle began to boil, I took it upon myself to drop him again, this time with a right uppercut in-between the narrow space showing in his guard.

  Taking another knee, I hoped for his sake he stayed there.

  No, the game son of a bitch got up again, gave Mike a glance in the corner, who nodded while he blinked and casually said “Carry on, boy.” I let him finish the round, allowing myself some easy time to regain full lungs. Hoping for his sake there wouldn’t be another one.

  There was, one more. He went easy at the start of the round, must have learned his lesson. Keeping him at bay with my stiff jab for the time being, while Mike barked at him to close the gap and get back into my chest.

  Toby went into overdrive. The cunt had some tank on him. Flat out almost every round, he was still fresh as a daisy.

  It was at this point that I realised everybody in this gym must be on some kind of juice: steroids.

I was sick of the sight of this pocket dynamo. Stalking him until I could pick my moment, being patient, when the time came at last. It all shifted into slow motion.

  His feet bore forward, trying to sink his face into my chest and force me back, but I glimpsed his legs move and threw a straight. It mauled into his face, terminating his advance, almost as if somebody turned the switch off, he crumpled to the floor. I had warned him. He needed to learn not to fuck with me.

  The same rescue-squad came to his aid. Tim the first in there to help. Mike by his side, probably just to check he wasn’t dead for his own benefit. Once Mike was able to feel a pulse, he left the ring.

  “Boy, you’ve got a habit of doing this?”

  “Tell your boys to stop taking the piss, ‘en I might take it easy.” A couple minutes of trivial chit-chat went by before Mike asked me about my past fights, then he turned to my job dilemma.

  “Tim tells me you’re out of work?”

  “Aye, haven’t worked for a while.”

  “You fancy making some money?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Looking for somebody to take a fight in a few weeks. Easy night’s work. Interested?”

  “Na, I can’t.” May would never allow it.

  “£400 for a night's work. An easy night’s work for a man of your talents.” His compliments were meant to rope me in.

  “I don’t know, Mike.” If May knew I accepted a fight, she would have a fit.

  “Well, you have a wee think about it, Joe. Get back to me. I can tell you’re a fighter.”

  Mike walked away at that point leaving me something to mull over. Four hundred quid for a professional fight would really help us out over the next month with all the bills piling up. Mortgage, gas, electricity and food all needed to be paid for, and I couldn’t see any answer to my problems or any other way of bringing in money. I couldn’t let May go through all the constant worry. I instantly knew I needed a cover to fight.

Chapter 11

Preparation:

  The following day, the stacking bill problem really hit home. Through the post came the red letters: final reminders for the gas and electricity, the mortgage three months late and the phone cut-off, which meant no internet access.

  No internet meant I couldn’t apply for jobs at home. Hiding the gas and electricity bill from May for the time being, seeing her showing signs of breaking down, I didn’t want the bill finding its way into her hands, just yet. She seemed stressed and snappy. That was so out of her character, normally so laid back, just taking things in her stride.

  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.’