Bucket Nut (25 page)

The ref and the MC came to the ropes. They both looked amazed.

The MC said, ‘What sort of stunt do you call this?'

‘Out me way,' I said.

‘No you don't,' the ref said. ‘No dogs in my ring.'

‘Give the dogs to Harry,' the MC said.

‘Not me, boss,' said Harry, backing off.

‘Bucket Nut!' screamed someone in the crowd. And the front rows took it up. ‘Bucket Nut! Bucket Nut!'

‘Cretins!' I screamed back. And I took the dogs on a parade all round the outside of the ring. I wanted everyone to see. All the Chengs, all the Suckles, all the bastards with razors, all the Goldies, everyone who wanted to stop me.

‘Bucket Nut!' they screeched. ‘Dirty bitch!'

‘Good show,' the ref said. ‘Nice work. But you
still
ain't letting those hounds loose in my ring.'

He had a point. To tell you the truth, now I'd got us down to the ringside, I didn't know what the fuck I was going to do with them either.

And then the music changed.

It was like an explosion. ‘Great Balls of Fire' came crashing out of the speakers at full volume. It made me jump. It made the dogs bark louder.

The MC scampered to the middle of the ring and turned on his microphone.

‘By special request,' he shouted, ‘all the way from
Newcastle,
the women's heavyweight champion of the Eastern seaboard, the one, the only, Rockin' Sherry-Lee
Lewis,
Star of the East.'

Down she came. I've got to say it – she was a sight. Her red, white and blue robe billowed like a banner on a windy day. Her red hair seemed to crackle with life. Her white, white skin picked up the light and shone back like she was lit from inside.

She had two trainers – one either side, and behind her came her mam and her sister. I've got to admit it – she looked like a sodding queen, really regal and dignified.

The crowd gave her a great hand. There would always be a big welcome for someone who was going to show the London Lassassin what's what.

She took no notice of me whatsoever. She walked straight by me, Ramses and Lineker, like we didn't exist. She swung herself up and over the ropes in one easy swing. She took over. She claimed the ring for herself.

Round she went with her arms raised, waving and saluting like she'd already won. And the crowd loved her. They stood and cheered.

What a star!

‘I'm impressed,' I shouted up at her. ‘What do you do for an encore? Rule Britannia?'

She came over to the ropes.

‘Oh, is that you, pet?' she said. ‘Didn't see you there.'

Ha-bloody-ha.

‘Aren't you coming up?' she said. ‘I can't stop around all night by meself.'

‘You're making out all right,' I said. ‘Except you could go blind, doing what you're doing. That's what the doctors say.'

‘Cheeky monkey,' she said. ‘Give the little doggies to me mam. She'll look after them for you.'

Now that is
class.

‘All right, Mrs Lewis?' I asked.

Mrs Lewis looked at me and she looked at the dogs. She sighed. She
took the chains and went to the front row. Four men and one woman immediately got up to give her a seat. She sat.

‘Siddown!'
she bawled at Ramses and Lineker. That woman had a bark louder than the dogs. Well, she was Rockin' Sherry-Lee Lewis's mam, wasn't she – she
had
to have a bit extra.

I never go through the ropes – I go over them in a somersault. It makes me look dangerous. It makes me feel ready. I landed on my toes and strolled over to the middle of the ring.

Some bloke in the crowd yelled, ‘Oy, slag, my groin looks better than your face!'

‘Come up here,' I yelled back. ‘We'll all have a look.'

Sherry-Lee Lewis said, ‘What was all that ruck backstage?'

‘Personal,' I said. ‘Some blokes giving me aggro.'

The ref came over to look like he was giving us official instructions.

‘What's going on, Eva?' he said. ‘There's a lot of strange faces in the crowd.'

‘Yeah.'

‘You best not chuck her out the ring tonight,' the ref said to Sherry-Lee Lewis. ‘It looks like she got trouble out there.'

‘All right,' she said.

‘Chuck me out the ring?' I said. ‘You can try.'

‘Let's get started,' the ref said, and he went off to one side.

We went to our corners. I looked down at Harry and he looked up at me. Years ago he would have looked down at me and I would have looked up at him. It seemed like whenever I saw Harry these days I felt sad.

‘Cheer up, Harry,' I said. ‘We got a show to do.'

‘Be lucky, Eva,' he said.

The bell went, and I spun round and strutted over to meet Sherry-Lee Lewis.

We both went down in a crouch. We circled a couple of times clockwise.

I watched her feet and legs. She had good legs – loads of strength in the calf and femoral muscles. Her feet looked a bit slow.

I made a lunge and she sidestepped. Yeah, a bit slow but not that slow.

She made a lunge and I sidestepped.

We both lunged and met with hands at shoulder level. She tried to force my arms back. I tried to force hers. Nothing doing.

I tried to jerk her in towards me. She didn't budge an inch. We stayed in the grapple position.

I tried again. The idea is to drag her in and past me. As she goes past I tangle a leg and force her down. It's a simple move.

The tug I gave her would've been enough to put Bombshell in the back row of the stalls. But Bombshell is a pile of parts. Sherry-Lee Lewis is a class act.

‘You'll have to do better than that, flower,' she said, coming round a bit but not very far. She circled to my right.

Then without warning she dropped on one knee and went for my right ankle. I brought my leg up, spun on the other foot and went down on her back. She rolled out from under me and we both popped up on our toes again.

‘Kid's stuff,' I said.

‘That's right, petal,' she said. ‘I only use it on kids.'

We went in again. Hard. She got one hand on my upper arm the other arm went behind my neck. I grabbed her elbows. Our heads clashed. I could smell her deodorant.

She had the better hold and she began to drag me down. I resisted. She put on more force. I let go suddenly and sat, whipping my arms round her knees as I went down. Again she rolled as she came down and again we got up.

We were learning a lot about each other.

The ref said, ‘You finished shaking hands? Pep it up a bit, girls.'

We circled again. I feinted for her arms. As she stepped back I dropped on one knee and grabbed her ankles. I pulled them towards me and she went over on her back with a crash that made the boards shake.

‘Oooh,' went the crowd.

I flung myself on top of her. She got her knees up, caught my weight on her feet. She kicked up and I went sailing right over her in a forward roll.

‘Aaah,' went the crowd.

It was well-timed. Nicely done. And it looked good.

Fighting with a stranger must be like learning to dance with a new partner. You got to be a bit confident of the other person before you slip in the fancy moves.

I ended up on my back near the ropes. She landed on my shoulders. I brought my legs up, caught her in a scissors – my knees round her head, and pulled her over me.

Now she was on her back and I was on my knees over her face. It was time for some dirty stuff. I got up and started stomping her throat. It looks vicious and it sounds terrible, but actually I hardly touch her.

‘Great ugly bully!' an old lady in the crowd screamed.

I gave her the finger and kept stomping.

‘Oh-oh-oh,' cried Sherry-Lee.

The good bit was we were right on the edge and she was touching the ropes. The ref rushed over and said, ‘Break it up.'

I gave her a couple of extra stomps and the ref pulled me away.

‘Cheat,' yelled the crowd.

‘Bitch. Ugly great slag.'

‘Come up here and say that again,' I yelled, leaning over the ropes.

Sherry-Lee caught me by the left arm and spun me round.

‘Go on give it to her,' yelled the crowd.

‘Ropes,' she said, out the corner of her mouth.

She wheeled me round and ran me at the far ropes. They hit me in the back. I let myself sink in, and then I catapulted out. She caught me again and threw me across the ring into the ropes on the other side. I was working up a good head of steam – thwonging off the ropes, wheeling and thwonging again.

When I was going fast enough I gave us an extra spin in the middle of the ring and instead of me crashing the ropes I sent her in, face forward. While she was hanging there I clasped both hands together, leaped in the air and walloped down with a double forearm smash on the back of her neck. She fell to her knees and I kicked her in the face.

It was a bit soon to do that sort of stuff. She didn't know me well enough to trust me, and she didn't like it. But I worked fast and I didn't
hurt her. All she felt was the breeze as my boot stopped a whisker away from her chin.

She was good. She arched back like I'd knocked her head off.

I hauled back for another kick. I'm good at kicking. That's what villains do. They kick you when you're down on your knees.

The crowd was screaming fit to burst.

I let fly and she went over backwards. I stood on one of her knees, picked up her other leg and started twisting her foot. The ref got down to look at her shoulders. When he was safely out the way I started biting her ankle.

She shrieked.

‘Look what she's doing!' they shouted in the front row.

The ref looked. I stopped biting.

That's where me and the ref work together. I do all sorts of filthy stuff and he always has something else to look at. It makes the crowd go potty.

‘Look, look, look,' they shout. He looks. I stop. He looks away. I do all the filthy stuff again.

‘You're getting me leg all wet,' Sherry-Lee said, her face contorted with agony.

So I did an elbow drop just to liven things up a bit. She scrambled away like a crab.

This was supposed to be my round. If I was going to go down in the second and third I wanted the first. The trouble was she wouldn't let me have it. She let me do all the villainy – the biting and kicking, but she wouldn't let me have any of my good moves.

I got her head between my knees for a piledriver, but when I picked her up by the waist she locked her knees round my neck and wouldn't fall.

When I tried to hip-throw her she took me down too. She always had a counter move up her sleeve, and it was beginning to make me feel a bit stroppy. I was making her look awfully good but she wasn't giving me anything at all. She just whipped by me with that damn red hair grazing my cheek – like I was a novice or something.

On the other hand I was pleased to see she was beginning to sweat. And when she tried to lift me her legs trembled under the strain. If I
read the signs right I was giving her a bit more exercise than she was used to.

She didn't give me anything but lip.

‘Call that a pin,' she'd say when I had her in an arm lock and was just getting her rolled over. ‘I seen better pins in me mam's hair.' And then she'd do a neat little escape move and I'd have to start all over again.

But I could do it – I knew I could.

I was quicker than her. I
was.
She was an old lady really. When you got in close you could see she was nearly thirty.

But she was strong. Shit – she was strong! Not just power strong, but clever strong too.

If only I could have fought someone like her regular. You don't learn dollop, farting around with the likes of Bombshell.

So that's how it went for a while. I'd tie her up – she'd escape. I'd throw her – she'd land like a cat on her tippy toes and say, ‘Thanks for the lift.' No wonder I was getting a touch stroppy.

The ref must've noticed because next time we were in clinching he said, ‘Go on, give the kid a break, Miss Lewis.'

Her arms were locked round my arms and back and she had a grip like a meat-grinder. Her mouth was right by my ear.

She said, ‘Does baby want a break, then?'

‘You can stuff your break,' I hissed.

‘Baby doesn't want a break,' she said to the ref. ‘Baby wants to do it the hard way.' She was really winding me up.

She tensed her legs and started jumping me up and down. Like she was bouncing me. Up and down. Like a baby. Bounce, bounce, bounce.

‘Ha-ha-ha,' went the crowd.

‘Ro-ro-ro,' went Ramses. I heard him clear as a bell.

I heaved, and got my right arm free. I caught Sherry-Lee Lewis by the throat just under the chin.

She kept on bounce-bounce-bouncing. She didn't believe I'd do it. But I did. I started bloody squeezing. Proper squeezing.

‘Arrgh,' she gurgled. It was music to my ears.

‘Ooh the bitch,' went the crowd. ‘The filthy hoo-er!'

‘Aarrgh-gug-gug,' went Sherry-Lee Lewis, for real.

She let go. Well she had to, didn't she? She was being choked – for real.

I could've just knocked her over, but I wanted to do something she'd remember. So I went for the body-slam. I got her under the shoulders with one hand and the small of the back with the other. I pressed her up, just like a set of Sam's bar-bells. I pressed her right above my head – clean and jerk.

I got it right. It was amazing. I got it right, and there she was, way above my head.

I swung round. I wanted everyone to see. I had Rockin' Sherry-Lee Lewis in the palms of my hands and I wanted everyone to see. I spun. If I was dizzy, imagine how she felt.

And then I slammed her down.

And I dropped on her like a ton of coal.

It was a fall. A proper fall, and a real pin. But that bastard MC rang the bell. Ding-dong – end of round one. The turd, the sodding heap of dog-do wouldn't even let me have one little fall.