Gypsy Girl (16 page)

Gregory looked round silently, his eyes drinking everything in.

“I know what this is,” he breathed. “It’s a fight club. I didn’t think they existed.”

“Now you know they do,” said Kimmy.

He swung round at me. He looked angry again. “You actually fight here?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see any other girls. Tell me you don’t fight against the boys.”

“I do.”

We were standing by the warm-up area, where men and boys were waiting for their fights. They were sitting on benches or warming up, hitting punch bags, skipping, sparring with each other. Some were sitting nervously, loosening their shoulders or shaking out their calf muscles, while their trainers gave them last-minute instructions. Some of them looked like Milo and his brothers, with shaved heads and tattoos. Some were prettier, with styled hair and tanned muscles. Gregory looked at them, and then he looked at me, in my crop top and little pink shorts. “This is madness.”

I couldn’t read his face. He looked horrified, excited, disgusted and curious all at once.

“It’s what I do,” I said. “You thought you knew me. Now you’ll see that you don’t.”

I walked away.

“Wait!” he shouted, angrily, but I didn’t go back.

A man came over. He was one of the managers who were supposed to run things for Maltese Joey, and I didn’t like him at all. Dark, greased hair, hands like bunches of sausages, eyes diamond hard. He had a scar running from the corner of his mouth in a curve over his cheek, where in the past someone had put a Stanley knife in the corner of his mouth and pulled, so one side of his face always had a fake smile. He didn’t look pleased to see me, but it wasn’t always like that. When I first met him, he was all over me. Some of the men think girls are pushovers, but I can handle it. I smacked him in his scarred face and told him to back off. Since then he’d kept his distance.

“I’ve got a fight for you,” he said. “A Jamaican boy. Euston.”

He nodded over towards a black boy, probably a year or two older than me. He was taller but not heavily built. His dark hair had elaborate patterns shaved into it.

“What do you think?” said Kimmy.

She always left the final decision to me.

“OK.”

Kimmy went over to Euston’s trainer and began negotiating. Boy fighters either grinned at me, thinking they were going to knock me down in seconds, or they looked spooked because they’d heard about me. Euston looked spooked. I hadn’t seen him before, but he must have heard something. No man or boy likes being beaten by a girl. If they did beat me, the rewards would be good, so they chanced it. But it made them edgy. When they got in the ring, they were determined to stop me as soon as possible. My reputation was spreading.

Most of the supporters were clustered around the cage, but a few were walking about in the less crowded areas, or talking in groups. There were a few women among them, staying close to their boyfriends. I was getting lots of attention. I always did. There was a buzz around me. The manager knew that I was a big draw. Even though I’d only decided to fight an hour ago, he would’ve been sending out messages to the regulars.

The noise rose again to a continual roar as the men gathered round the cage for the next bout. Two heavyweight fighters prowled around the ring, eyeing each other up like wolves. And that’s how the crowd treated them, holding onto the bars, rattling them, yelling and shouting. Kimmy was pushing her way back to me. She organized my fights, took bets, got my winnings, made sure we were paid in full and most importantly she watched my back and got me away from there after I won, as quickly as she could. Sometimes the men didn’t like paying out money because a girl had beaten their fighter.

“You’re on next,” she said. “Win and we’ll make good money.”

I took off my zip-up and began to jog on my toes, warming my muscles. Euston was still watching me. So was Gregory. He was standing all alone amidst the crowds, getting pushed this way and that. All they saw was a slender girl in Lycra shorts, black gloves and a crop top, with long hair in a plait that came to her waist. Once Euston saw how slight I was, he began to relax. He was wrong. He thought that strength only came with big muscles.

And Gregory? What did he think of me? I still couldn’t read his face.

I waited, jogging and doing my stretches, Kimmy by my side and Gregory watching, as the two heavyweights finished their fight. As they were helped from the ring, one of them shaking drops of blood from a cut eyebrow, music began blaring from loudspeakers. It was telling everyone that a new fight was going to start.

“Make way for the next contestants!” bellowed the scar-faced manager.

A corridor opened up in the packed crowd, ending at the door of the cage. Kimmy led me through, lashing out at the hands that reached out to touch me, yelling at the men to keep back, hitting them if they didn’t move out of the way fast enough.

I didn’t know where Gregory was. He wasn’t following us. I thought for a moment that maybe he’d taken the opportunity to leave and forget he’d ever been brought to a place like this. I ducked into the cage and moved over to the middle. The lights blinded me, until my eyes got used to the brightness.

Gregory hadn’t walked out. He’d made his way to the front. There he was, two metres from me, crushed in on all sides by supporters trying to get the best view of the fight. He was holding onto the bars. If he hated me, he didn’t show it. If he liked the thought of watching me fight, he didn’t show that, either. He looked like he was afraid for me. No one had ever been afraid for me before.

I jogged on the spot as I waited for my opponent to make his way into the cage. All around me the men shouted and howled at me. All except Gregory. He made no sound; he just watched. I breathed in the smell of sweat and the metallic tang of blood, mixed with the hundred different aftershaves and perfumes that wafted from the crowd surrounding the cage. I could see Kimmy pushing her way to Gregory’s side and hanging onto the bars, so that she could shout instructions and encouragement to me during the fight.

All I needed now was Euston. The music kept playing, the crowd kept cheering, but a minute passed, which was a long time to be bouncing on your toes in a cage, waiting. The cheering changed to boos.

Something was wrong.

The manager was at the cage door, arguing with someone. It wasn’t Euston. He wasn’t the problem. I could see him near the door with his trainer, who was looking annoyed. I looked round for Kimmy, but she wasn’t by the bars any more. She was fighting her way towards the manager. But it wasn’t him she was aiming for. She was shouting at someone I couldn’t see, telling them to go away, to get lost.

I gave up on the jogging and went over to Gregory. The crowd was turning round, looking at someone who was approaching the ring.

“What’s happening?” I said to him.

“I don’t know.”

“New fighter coming,” said a man, pushing his way to the front, beside Gregory. “He’s paid to fight you!” He leered at me. “He must really want to beat you.”

My hand was on the bars as I strained to see. Gregory slid his down and grasped mine. I think he’d seen the fighter.

“You’re going to fight
him
? Are you crazy, or is this a fix?” he said, urgently.

I pulled my hand away. I didn’t care who I fought. Gregory was scared for me, but I scare myself. I’m too good. Someone should stop me.

I could hear Kimmy above all the men, her higher voice carrying. She was still shouting at someone to go away – the new fighter, I supposed. Yelling at him that Sammy-Jo had an opponent, she didn’t need another. Yelling at the manager that he should stick to the deal and not change sides just because he was offered lots of money.

But the crowd didn’t seem to mind. They were urging the new fighter to get in the ring. All I could see was the top of the new fighter’s head as he began to push his way through the crowd. I backed away, into the centre of the cage, my heart starting to pound. Gregory was right. Kimmy was right. Not him. He should go away. I didn’t want to fight him. But it was too late. He was ducking through the door and strutting towards me.

I could hardly get me breath. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

“Looks like you’re going to fight me,” said Rocky.

No wonder Gregory knew him. Everyone in Langton knew the Quinn brothers. Rocky looked round and saw Gregory.

“You’ve got quite an audience.”

And this time there was no rascally sparkle in his eyes.

“You fool,” he said.

He was furious with me.

“This is stupid, even for you.” He had on black-and-white shorts, low on his hips and tight fitting. He pulled on his fingerless gloves. The muscles of his chest and arms gleamed.

The sides of the cage were a mass of shouting faces, some shouting for Rocky, some for me. No one seemed to mind that I was fighting him instead of Euston. Rocky has the sort of swagger that fight fans love.

He paced around me. I stayed still in the centre. The noise was deafening, but it meant nothing to me. All I could see was Rocky, with Gregory’s face in the background, watching.

“You followed us,” I said. “Kimmy thought she saw something.”

“Don’t talk to me about Kimmy. She should be ashamed. Bringing you to something like this.”

The crowd began to boo. They wanted us fighting, not talking to each other. Rocky carried on pacing around me. I let him. His hands were in fists. I kept my own down by my sides.

“So, aren’t you gonna fight me?” he asked. “Are you just going to stand there in your little pink shorts, looking cute for all the punters who want to bet money that you’re going to get beaten up?” His lip curled.

I twisted round on my heel, keeping him in sight. “No. I want you to go away and leave me alone. This is nothing to do with you.”

“Sorry. That’s not going to happen. You want to fight men? You can fight me.”

He came straight at me, and the crowd roared. He was trying to take me down in the first few seconds, but even though he’d taken me by surprise, he wasn’t going to succeed. I blocked him, knocking us both to our knees, but not for long. We both got back on our feet, circling each other. He wanted a fight, so I’d give him one. And he wasn’t going to beat me. He wasn’t going to get me on the floor and get a stranglehold on me, and then drag me from the club.

Why couldn’t everyone let me live my life how I wanted?

I have a move, a signature move. It looks like nothing much. A foot sweep. As I bounce around the ring and they’re still thinking I’m nothing more than a girl, I move fast and hook one of their feet delicately, and push them over. That’s all it takes to get most fighters on the floor. A little distraction, a quick flick of my foot, and I catch them off balance. It comes out of nowhere, while they’re still figuring out if I’m for real. It turns their momentum against them. Once they’re on the mats, they’re mine. I can get away with it because I’m fast and light, and men and boys can’t move like me.

I forced a smile as I danced around him. “OK, Rocky. I’ll fight you. Let’s do this.”

He wasn’t even looking at my feet. He didn’t notice my move until his legs went from under him and he was falling. I dropped down fast and trapped him on the mats. Half the crowd was screaming with delight, and the others were groaning and shouting that Rocky should get a grip and stop messing around.

I managed to hold him for a couple of seconds, but he was furious and he was strong. He threw me backwards into the air, and I bounced to my feet, but I was off balance, and I went stumbling back and hit the bars before I could slow myself. I glimpsed Gregory’s face right there beside me. While Rocky was getting to his feet, I grasped the bars.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

The man beside Gregory shouted for me to go back and fight. We both ignored him.

“Why, Sammy?” he said.

“This is my life. My secret life.”

“Don’t do this.” I saw fear in his eyes. Fear for me.

“I can beat him. Don’t worry.” The adrenaline had got to me. I blew Gregory a kiss, and the supporters around him howled. And then I hurled myself back at Rocky.

We fought. Oh, how we fought. I hardly ever used all my strength, all my speed, all my agility against an opponent. Tonight I did. I bounced off the bars, I somersaulted, I threw him and rolled. He tried to pin me, but I was as slippery as an eel. He got me down once, straddling me, sitting on me, trying to hold onto my hands, his face inches from mine. I’d never seen him so angry.

“You could get killed, or injured,” he hissed. “Someone throws you hard and you never walk again. It’s happened. Do you want that? Huh?”

“It won’t happen to me. I can handle myself.”

He gave a snort of pure anger. “Are you so short of money you have to do this?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie. We all wondered how Samson could afford Sabrina’s wedding.”

“Don’t you dare tell him. Or I’ll tell your daddy about Miss Stroud. She’s not your probation officer. You’re a liar. You’re up to something.”

I grabbed his hands as I bucked with my hips. It threw Rocky forward, but he couldn’t land on his hands because I was grasping them now, pulling them down, so he tipped forward and hit the floor with his face. It was a beginner’s move. He was off balance because he was so mad at me. But he was up onto his knees straightaway. So was I.

I hit him, and he reeled back. It meant nothing; the next second he jumped to his feet. I was right there, though, ready for anything. The crowd was going crazy. All except Gregory. I could see him behind Rocky’s shoulder. His pale face among the screaming ones, watching me, drinking it all in, fingers hooked through the bars, trying to make sense of me and the fight.

“Sabrina’s a fool. Three seven-tier cakes because she couldn’t decide on sponge or fruit or chocolate,” he said. “She doesn’t know that you’re doing this to pay for them.”

“She’ll never know. I swear, Rocky. You tell, and I’ll tell on you.”

I hit him again, but he was ready. He ducked to the side and came back at me faster than a snake. He came in close, in my face, grabbing hold of me, tripping me, but I had hold of him, too, and we were going down on our knees together. A wall of roaring faces upped the volume. I could hear Kimmy over all of them, screaming at me to get him on the mat.