Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) (7 page)

  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 head, 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 we 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.

  Next up to see the bruised rainbow eyes, was Jess. She came down stairs and had a seat at the table. She wasn’t really at an age to understand, but I did my best.

  “Dad, what happened?” She asked rubbing the tiredness out of her eyes and sitting down beside her brother.

  “A man at boxing hit me a few times.”

  “A man. Why did he hit you?”

  “We were just training together. He didn’t mean it.” I answered, struggling to conjure up a way to explain it to her. It felt more awkward with Jess.

  Half asleep, she started to munch into her breakfast and didn’t say anything else about it. She was a little too young to understand and more interested in spooning the sugar into her bowl.

  Walking the kids to school that morning, I was met with the evil eye from other parents. There weren’t a lot of people who knew my family past in Inverurie, but most knew I used to be a boxer. God knows what they were thinking, looking at my face. Probably thought I’d been in some kind of drunken street brawl.

  Once back to the house, I woke May and made her breakfast, well, I heated up what was left.  “Morning. Get the kids to school OK?” She asked.

  “Yup, nae bother. Got a lot of dodgy looks as well.”

  “No wonder, your eyes have more colour in them than a packet of Skittles. They look sore.”

  “I can’t really feel ‘em. Think the ice helped a bit. I’ll be happy when they’re normal again.”

  “You and me both. So when’s this job?”

  “I’ll find out when I go back to the club. Am sure it’s not this weekend, but next.”

  “You’re going back for more of what you got last night?” She hoped I’d say no.

  “Of course I am. I loved it last night.”

  “I know it’s not costing us anything and it gets rid of your stress, but you can’t be coming home looking like you’ve had a hiding all the time. The kids don’t need to see that shit every week, and people will start talking.”

  “It’s OK. I’ll just tell people it’s domestic abuse.” I cackled.

  “Well, you might just be telling the truth if there’s any more of your cheek!”

  “Ooh, good come-back.” I complimented.

  Before I could put her breakfast on the table, she flung her arms round my shoulders. “You know, I’ve still got more than an hour before work. Do you fancy heading upstairs?”

  “Damn straight I do, baby.” A big smile lit my face as I leaned in and met her inviting mouth with a deep kiss, then stripped her pink shorts and t-shirt off, revealing her flawlessly darkened skin. My body was in agony, but I forgot all about the pain soon as she was in my arms. The simple touch of her skin was enough to make me quiver. I flung her onto the kitchen table, we made love like teenagers, and left drenched in sweat.

  She never did eat her porridge that morning.