Faded Glory (19 page)

Standing there watching his wife and daughter put everything into perspective for Danny. It reminded him of the importance of succeeding in this quest for a secure future for the two people he loved the most.

Nappy changed, Danny took Ruby in his arms.

“She smiled at me,” he said.

“It’s probably wind,” Wendy replied.

“No, she definitely smiled at me,” insisted Danny.

Wendy gave him a concerned look. “Are you feeling OK?”

Danny handed Ruby back and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension. “I just want to get on with it,” he said. “Get it over with.”

“Be careful, won’t you?” said Wendy as she cradled Ruby against her shoulder. “We love you, don’t let him hurt you.”

Danny’s eyes filled with loving tears. It felt so safe to be here in their little room, safe from the battle to come, safe from the cuts, bruises and hostility. Part of him just wanted to stay here, cocooned with the people he loved. But, like his father before him, he knew he had to go into battle with his head held high and a brave heart beating in his chest.

“Don’t you worry,” he said. “It’s gonna be all right. I’ll tell you all about it when I come home.”

There would be life after this ordeal. It was a good thought. For months his focus had been on the fight and his powerful opponent. Now, knowing that his family would be waiting for him after the fight, Danny felt not only a sense of purpose, but a sense of security.

*

The Humber Hawk pulled up outside at six o’clock on the dot. Danny looked through the window at the car, and his boxing family waiting inside on the plush leather seats, and with a belly full of butterflies, kissed Ruby and Wendy a meaningful goodbye.

“Don’t look so worried,” he said, holding Wendy close. “It’s time to be positive now. I’m going into battle for the people I love, and I’m gonna win. All right?”

As Danny got into the Humber Hawk’s back seat, he could see Wendy and Ruby at the bay window of the house. Wendy was waving Ruby’s tiny hand as if she was waving goodbye. He blew them both a final kiss and the car moved off.

“How you feeling?” asked Albert.

“He’s feeling good ain’t he, ’cos he’s gonna slay the Dragon,” said the optimistic Lenny. “Just like St George, ain’t it?”

Danny was relieved that Lenny had answered for him. At that moment, he wasn’t really sure what he was feeling. He knew he had a job to do, and he had trained and worked hard for this moment, but there was still a part of him that wished he could just stay with Wendy and the baby, safe and secure and away from the battle to come.

The drive to Bethnal Green was dream-like. Danny watched the streets pass by without really seeing them, his mind well and truly on the coming fight.

The traffic was beginning to build as they turned into the street to York Hall. The fight fans were starting to arrive. The reality of all these people paying to watch and the lines of fight fans waiting outside the hall scared Danny more than he’d expected.

Patsy patted his shoulder. “Look at that, Danny,” he said. “They have all come to see you win.”

Danny nodded, his mouth dry, his hands ice cold, resisting the urge to come back with “Maybe they have come to see me lose.” Right now, that was what he was feeling.

They got through the milling crowd and the car made its way to the back entrance and the changing rooms. A small gathering of fight fans waited for an autograph or a photo, and Danny obliged, before Tony Costa scooped him up and led the way to his room.

In the hall, fight night was well under way, with the first scheduled contest already in progress. Danny had not wanted to arrive too early, as sitting and waiting was a recipe to stir up nerves and too much time to think was dangerous. But Patsy knew best. They all needed a little time in this place to properly prepare, and focus was important.

Costa was almost too upbeat. “It’s gonna be a night to remember, Danny boy,” he said jubilantly. “Every ticket sold out weeks ago, how about that?”

If this was meant to cheer Danny up, it didn’t. It only seemed to bring on the nervous gravity of the occasion.

“The boy needs some time, Tommy,” said Patsy, ushering Costa out of the room. “We’ll see you out there, all right?”

Costa reluctantly left and Danny’s warm-up began. Hitting pads and skipping ropes, Albert reminded Danny of tactics while Patsy worked on his confidence.

“You’re looking sharp, son. You’re moving well. Keep going, that’s it, that’s good.”

The Watson–Davies fight was top of the bill. Patsy was bandaging Danny’s hands in readiness when the fight official came in.

“Ten minutes please, gentlemen.”

A flow of adrenalin shot through Danny’s veins. He sought reassurance from his father’s medal, which he had placed inside his sports bag, taking it out and turning it over in his fingers.

“You’re gonna win this,” said Lenny. “Make your father proud. Go well, I’ll see you after.”

The official returned as Lenny headed out to find his ringside seat. “Time to go,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.

Danny kissed the medal for bravery and followed Albert and Patsy into the crowded auditorium.

Cohen had laid on a bit of showbiz for the gladiators’ entrances, with spotlights blazing and fanfares sounding. The crowd rose to its feet to greet them. As the lesser-known and the undoubted underdog, Danny entered first. “Danny! Danny!” echoed around the hall as he walked with Albert and Patsy through the crowd, flanked by security men.

Danny and Patsy entered the ring. Albert stood by Danny’s corner. Danny went through some shadow-boxing moves and waited for the Dragon’s entrance. He didn’t have to wait for long.

“Dragon! Dragon! Dragon!”

In the Dragon came, led on by a Welsh flag held high by one of his entourage. The noise of the crowd rose in a deafening crescendo as Davies, his trainer and cut-man bounced into the ring.

The referee called both fighters together.

“A nice clean fight, no holding, eight four-minute rounds, clear?”

Danny heard the instructions, but was intent on looking the Dragon straight in the eye. He was not going to be intimidated like at the weigh-in.

But this time Danny saw a different look in the ageing warrior’s eyes. The cockiness had gone. In its place there was a flicker of guilt, a look of resigned sadness.

The boxers returned to their corners. With a few last words of encouragement, the announcement of “Seconds out!” rattled the speakers in the smoke-filled room and, with a roar from the crowd, the battle commenced.

Danny did as he was instructed, keeping a good distance from the Dragon and using his longer reach. But the explosion of violence from the Dragon that Danny and his camp had expected was more like a damp squib.

Round one went by without much drama. Danny landed a few jabs and the Dragon hit Danny with a decent body shot. Honours were even as the fighters felt each other out.

Round two was more of the same. Danny felt surprised at the Dragon’s lack of aggression. The crowd, who had paid good money to watch some decent action, were beginning to get restless.

“Time to change tactics,” Patsy said in the break between rounds two and three. “Stop back-pedalling now and go on the offensive, all right? We need this fight to catch fire.”

Danny settled in his gum shield as the bell for round three rang out. He went straight on the offensive, pushing the Dragon round the ring with a barrage of quick jabs. The Dragon answered back with a few wayward haymakers that were easy for Danny to avoid. The crowd were becoming more and more frustrated by the lack of action, and a few boos began to resonate around the room.

*

At the end of round three, Patsy and Albert were right in Danny’s face.

“You’re ahead Danny, keep it going!” said Albert.

“Yeah, same again!” said Patsy.

Round four started. Now on the front foot, Danny was definitely the aggressor, and the Dragon was backing off, dropping his guard and bouncing off the ropes. Danny pushed forward, relentlessly forcing his opponent into his own corner. It looked like the Dragon was indeed struggling, when a straight right from Danny hit him fair and square, smack on the chin.

The Dragon went down like a pack of cards.

“One, two, three, four...” the referee counted as the Dragon lay still on the canvas.

The crowd, who had initially greeted the knock-down with stunned surprise, started getting vocal. Amid the cheers from Danny’s followers were boos of derision from most of the rest.

“...eight, nine, ten!” counted the ref.

That was it. Danny had beaten the ex-champ, knocking him out for the very first time in his illustrious career.

There was joy in the ring. Albert and Patsy lifted Danny on to their shoulders. Lenny clambered into the ring to celebrate.

But in the hall, pandemonium had broken loose. Boos were ringing out, chairs were being thrown. The Dragon’s followers were frustrated and angry because of the lack of fight in their man.

The referee lifted Danny’s arm. “And the winner is... Danny Watson!”

A mass of derision and boos greeted the decision. The crowd’s reaction confused Danny. He’d won fair and square. He had knocked out the legendary Dragon.

“What’s all this about?” he shouted at Patsy as the noise level continued to rise. “I won, didn’t I?”

“They’re just bad losers,” Patsy shouted back, leading Danny out of the ring, away from the fracas and back to the safety of the changing room.

Grinning broadly, Cohen and Costa were waiting for Danny with a bottle of champagne.

“Brilliant, Danny boy,” said Costa, kissing Danny on the cheek.

“You gave him a boxing lesson,” agreed Cohen.

“But what about the crowd?” said Danny, still stunned by the reaction.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Costa soothed. “Bad losers, those Welsh gits.”

The wonderful reality of winning started flowing through Danny. So much had rested on the result, and he had come through. He had actually won.

Costa cracked open the champagne with a flourish. So much of a flourish that it looked for a moment as if he would spray the crowded dressing room with it the way racing drivers did. But in the nick of time, he poured the fizzing liquid into some plastic glasses instead.

“To the future,” he toasted, handing the glasses out.

“To the future!”

*

Albert stood quietly to one side, watching the others drinking champagne and laughing. He felt troubled. He was a wise old fighter, and he’d seen that the Dragon had had no fire in his belly. Davies had not come to fight.

He watched Danny’s face as he tasted champagne for the very first time. The boy’s happiness radiated around the room. Albert decided that, if this was indeed a hollow victory, he was in no way going to let on. To put a damper on Danny’s great night would be wrong. Best to enjoy the surprise win and keep his reservations to himself.

Lenny, merry and a little drunk after several glasses of champagne, went to bring the car round. As the team left York Hall, congratulations and handshakes followed Danny to the waiting car.

“How about that then?” said Danny jubilantly as Lenny drove them home. “How about bloody that?”

Lenny broke into a tuneless calypso about cricket from Whitechapel to the Blackwall Tunnel. Patsy, not to be outdone, attempted a chorus of something Irish about Galway Bay. Albert just sat, quietly piecing parts of the jigsaw together.

We have invested
heavily
in Danny...

I think the odds are stacked in your boy’s favour. Know what I mean?

By the time they reached the Bristows’ house, Albert had come to the conclusion that the fight had indeed been fixed.

“Good night, son,” he said as Danny got out of the car, happy and barely bruised, heading to the front door and his waiting family. “Well done.”

The juxtaposition of the boy’s delight and Albert’s own sadness was hard to take. Albert was an honest man, full of high principles. If the Dragon had been paid to lose and given a pay-off for his imminent retirement, it left a very sour taste in his mouth.

“Drop you back at your flat, Albert?” Lenny offered.

Albert roused himself. “Cheers Len, that would be good.”

Neither Patsy nor Lenny pressed him to invite them in. It was clear that Albert wasn’t in a party mood. As Lenny pulled away, Albert stood on the street outside his flat, thinking over the night’s events. The cobbled street seemed to sparkle under the street lamps, and the gentle rain on his face didn’t help wash away his worries.

The taste of victory, right or wrong, was a big step up for Danny. What had the boy got himself into? What other tricks did Costa and Cohen have hidden up their sleeves?

In Simon’s shop window, Albert saw a pair of well-used boxing gloves hanging from a shelf laden with bric-a-brac. So much for the Noble Art.

Albert climbed the stairs to his flat and he turned on the light. Rocky came to life with a chirp and a hop as he walked over to her cage and stroked her blue feathered head.

“I’m whacked, mate,” he said. Rocky leant her head to one side as if she was listening. “It’s been a funny old night, Rocky. A funny old night.”

*

The next morning, he was anxious to see what the newspaper sports writers had made of last night’s contest.

He was first to the newsagent, where he bought most of the morning papers, much to the surprise of Norman, the corner-shop keeper. Norman had rosy cheeks and always seemed to be sucking one of his own boiled sweets.

“See you later, Norman,” said Albert as he paid for the papers and tucked them under his arm.

Norman tucked his boiled sweet into his cheek and watched as Albert left the shop.

Sitting down at the bus stop, Albert took a deep breath and opened the first paper. There, on the back page, was a photo of Danny, his arms raised in victory. The headline read !

Nervously scanning the review of the fight, Albert was pleasantly surprised. There was no mention of a fix, just surprise that a young unknown could knock out an experienced old warrior. The write-up went on to lambast the Dragon’s fans, calling them bad losers.