The Longest Fight (28 page)

‘She’s expecting me to meet her at Brixton Market by half past. We’re getting some odds and sods for the house. Want to come?’

The ambulance doors were yanked open: a body dropped on to a trolley, men in short white coats hurrying it away. Pearl linked her arm through his, down the steps and through the tide of orange leaves.

‘It’s like me and Frank. I can care for him and not stop caring about you.’

‘Frank, Frank, Frank, Frank!’ He nodded from side to side as he slid his arm around her neck, covering her mouth with his hand.

‘Persistence. I get it from you.’ Her lips vibrated against his skin as she spoke.

‘It’s a good job he’s coming for Christmas if you and Georgie are going to be ganging up on me.’

Pearl laughed; it felt like butterflies dancing on his fingers.

J
ack stood by the fireplace, elbow at a right angle, the way he had seen Gary Cooper do in
High Noon
at the Odeon. A framed print of a cottage hanging above him – one of Georgie’s Brixton Market finds. The collection of Munday faces lined the hallway now, and as long as Jack never looked left he could pass every day without seeing them.

Rich sat in the armchair, moved to the window, net curtains gone, and the last full moon of the year soaked into the polished leather of his shoes. Let the whole street stare in; Jack wanted them to. He picked up his glass and settled back in the new armchair, on tick from Courts. Rich lifted his glass.

‘To Jack. Manager Number One.’

‘You liked the Camberwell gym, then?’ Georgie rearranged her crossed legs, perched on the arm of Jack’s seat and the leather squeaked.

‘Jack’s got it set up good.’

Ice cubes tinkled, accompanying the low hum of the new refrigerator in the kitchen. Jack fingered the tip of the cigar poking from his pocket, an early Christmas gift to himself.

‘I’m glad we could toast our partnership. I’ve got meetings set up after New Year, hand-picked a few opponents. Launch you proper like, get you away from cheap pub fights.’

Rich ran his finger around the edge of the glass. ‘No Irish, no blacks, no –’

‘All welcome in the world of boxing, my friend.’ Jack raised a toast.

Rich tipped up the last of his whisky, taking in the room over the rim of the glass; he rubbed the frayed collar of his
shirt. Jack could tell he was impressed, and he didn’t seem to notice Frank’s bedding rolled up beside the dresser. Georgie tapped his arm.

‘We’ve got mince pies. I’ll fetch them out. Jack, give us a hand.’

In the kitchen she bent down to check the oven, cocooned in the buttery steam, her cheeks glowing.

‘How many pies you got, that you need my help?’ Jack opened the English Electric refrigerator, not to get anything but just to hear the motor kick in again.

‘I don’t – only wanted to know how long he’s staying.’

‘You don’t like him?’ Jack snorted.

‘You’re tipsy, Jack. I like him fine, but Frank and Pearl will be back from the pictures soon. Are you going to tell her about the letters from your sisters or just wait until we’re all out on the street?’

‘All them letters they keep writing, those envelopes stuffed with papers from their solicitor, just mean they ain’t got a leg to stand on. If they could have done it without my signing we’d all have been out on our ear before now. Let them huff and puff. Now I can’t exactly throw Rich out after bringing him all this way to see the gym. Where’s your festive cheer? It’s Christmas come end of the week.’

‘Too right. I’ve got to pick up the beef in the morning, and I wanted to wrap some presents tonight.’

She closed the oven door with her foot; a wave of spicy heat barrelled out into the space around her tight crimson dress. He dropped his mouth in mock surprise.

‘We’re doing presents?’

‘I’ve seen you carrying brown parcels upstairs. What you got me?’

‘The back of my hand.’

‘You don’t fool me, Jack. Here, take them.’ Lifting and blowing on her fingertips, she piled the pies on to a china plate.

‘I’ll pick you up a present from Simmonds’ on the corner later.’

He winked. But under their bed upstairs sat a rabbit fur coat in a pink box, for Georgie; and for Pearl a silver frame with his picture of Rosie inside – she deserved to see some light again.

‘Rich’ll be gone before dinner.’

Jack carried the tray through, placed it on the table, and every time he went into that room it was like stepping into someone else’s life now – in a good way. He’d never thought he would be the sort to invite people round, for Christmas drinks of all things.
It ain’t so easy walking in someone else’s shoes,
that was what his dad used to say. Well, Jack wanted to walk the rest of his days through this new life. He rocked back on his heels, breaking in the oxblood brogues. Georgie stood next to him, her dress sucked in between her legs by the draught of the fire. Rich ate a pie in two bites, pastry settling on his lips.

‘Tasty. We’re spending Christmas at the wife’s mum’s. She can’t bake a pie for toffee.’

‘With the fights I’ll be setting up, you’ll all be able to eat out at a fancy hotel next year.’ Jack blew air on to a pie before sinking his teeth in.

‘I hope you’re right, Jack. I’ve been holding out for it. Vincent’s kept me on a promise long enough. But I don’t want to get turned over like your boy was.’

‘Maybe Rich’s right and you should find another backer, Jack. After what Vincent done to Frank, I don’t like the thought –’

‘It’s all going to pay off. No one needs to worry about nothing. We’re worth good money to Vincent. Long as you don’t eat too many pies, that is. I’m expecting you to put in some proper training, not spend January sweating off the weight.’

‘I’ll be training. But I’ll take one for the road. I need to get back to help bath the twins.’ Rich stood up. ‘Don’t forget what I said about the States, we could really be on our way.’ He spun his hat on his fist, bounced it on to his head.

Georgie and Jack filled the doorway to wave him off, the only people on the street. But Mrs Bell came out on to her step, shadow thumping the pavement. She held her elbows in her hands, big breasts stuffed between.

‘Have you seen me cat? Not a sign of him since yesterday. I’m awful worried. It ain’t like him to miss his tea.’

Georgie pointed at the twitching net. ‘Checked he’s not trapped in that room upstairs?’

Mrs Bell shook, her curlers bouncing. ‘I’ve got some Cardinal will bring up that doorstep for you.’

She twisted swiftly at the waist, not waiting for an answer, and slammed the door. Georgie sidestepped up against Jack, pressing her chin to his shoulder to keep out of the wind. ‘Who cares if she thinks we’re slovenly? I’m not getting on my knees to scrub no steps.’

‘The wrecking balls will clean this street up for good soon. But she must be worried about her cat. Never even mentioned the negroid coming out of our house.’ He laughed and wrapped his arms around her silky dress. ‘Let’s get warmed up inside. Probably got a short while before Pearl and Frank get back.’

‘Ain’t that Pearl?’

Hair flapped behind the running figure, not close enough to see the face, but Jack made out the yellow jumper jumping through the puddles of streetlight.

‘She’s going to trip.’ He cupped his hands and shouted, ‘Slow it down.’

Pearl’s shoes smacked against the pavement. Jack stepped out of the doorway. Snow was in the air, a rush of oxygen before a dumping, opening his nose and mouth, and he felt light with it. Steam from Georgie’s breath clouded around him. He braced himself. Pearl crashed against his ribs.

‘Is he here?’

She squeezed her hands around Jack’s forearms. Damp fronds of hair stuck to her face as if she had just got out of a bath.

‘What you talking about?’

‘Come inside. Where’s your coat got to?’ Georgie reached out but Pearl didn’t move.

‘It’s Frank I’ve lost.’

Jack moved backwards, bringing her closer to the door, but Pearl pulled against him. She bit down on her lip, staining the front of her teeth pink.

‘You’re bleeding.’ Georgie held out a handkerchief.

Pearl wiped the woollen sleeve across her mouth; a smear of red soaked into the yellow.

‘We’re not a hotel. I’m locking the door if he ain’t back by ten. We’ve had a nice evening of it, bit of a drink. I ain’t got time for games.’

‘He said he wanted to get me a Christmas present, but I saw him get into a van with someone. I’ve been outside the Odeon for an hour. He never came back. All the shops are shut by now.’

‘Well, I don’t know where he’s got to. Maybe he’s out having a drink with the boys. I said he could stay here, didn’t I? What more’s he want?’

‘Maybe they’ve taken him, going to finish what they started with his hand.’

‘No one’s taken him. Come in and warm up. Anyway, Frank said Spider had seen to it, remember?’ Jack looped his arm around her, scooping her up the step and into the house.

‘Spider, it must be something to do with him. I saw them at the hospital, more than once, whispering together. Frank said it was nothing to worry about. But you saw him yourself up there – he was scared.’

Her pupils contracted under the brightness of the hall light. Frank wasn’t his problem; he had done everything he could for the boy. Had even been about to risk a beating from the Thin Suit before Spider stepped in. Jack closed the front door but chilled air had already entered the house, as if the new refrigerator were leaking ice. Georgie rubbed her hands
together, warming them up. ‘What would he have to be frightened of, a big fighter like him?’

Frank lying curled up in the dirt of the alleyway – Rosie, Pearl, Georgie, his mum, even his dad did it once – anyone else would have stepped in to stop the beating. But it had to be Spider: those white scars and pin-prick eyes.

‘Do you think we should telephone the police from the pub?’ Pearl blinked up at Jack.

‘Frank won’t thank you for that, whatever he’s up to.’

‘Jack’s right, Pearl. Frank’s a big boy.’

‘But you promised me everything would be all right, and it ain’t. I know it. When are you ever going to do enough for anyone but yourself, Jack?’

He was ready for it this time. Pearl blamed him for everything too: Rosie, his mum, Frank. They stood in single file, filling up the narrow hall, the fingers of the coat-stand poking towards them. Frank’s training jumper wilting on top of the rubber wellingtons and umbrella with the broken spine. The boy couldn’t say no to anything, that was his problem, and Spider was the sort who always got his way. He kicked the black boots aside.

‘I’ve an idea where they might be.’

‘Please get him back, Jack. He wouldn’t lie to me like this unless it was something bad.’

‘We’ll sort this nonsense out, nothing to worry about. I’ll get my coat.’

He wedged his foot under the gap at the bottom, to lever the cupboard open. Spider was nothing but a snivelling rat, couldn’t even keep his mouth shut. Jack had overheard his grand plan so it was a sure bet a hundred others had heard it at some point too. If they hadn’t got themselves collared already they were probably stuck halfway up a drainpipe at that big department store of his. The door swung outwards into the hallway, Georgie’s face framed above him, her chin resting on the sloping edge.

‘It’s hanging at the back, Jack.’

He bent down to get inside; he used to be small enough to stand in there. Once he’d even managed to crawl under the upside-down stairs, but his dad had waited by the door all afternoon, cracking the leather strap in his hands, until Jack’s bladder ached so bad he had to slide back out again. He reached for the coat, knocking over a wobbling pile of old blankets, wool and cardboard toppling into the hall. He scooped the mound back into the cupboard, fingertips prickling against fur.

‘You can tell Mrs Bell she can stop looking for her cat.’

Under a mothballed overcoat lay the ginger tom, paws curled up, head pressed into the jumper beneath, set hard as the icicles on the pipes outside. Georgie peered over the side; he raised the coat a little higher.

‘Guess he got through his nine lives.’

‘Oh, Jack. That’s bad luck.’

‘Just hurry up.’ Pearl banged the wall.

‘Jack will fetch Frank back.’

He fitted his arms inside the tight woollen sleeves. ‘It’s not enough to give the boy somewhere to stay, I have to go and fetch him home by the hand.’

‘Not on your own, you don’t. I’m coming too.’

Pearl’s hands were on her hips, the way she’d stood as a child when she heard about a broken bird or trapped dog. On to the highest roof, through the smallest hole – she’d always found what she was looking for, even if the scars had taken months to heal.

‘Let’s get this over with.’ He pointed towards the door. ‘Frank will have some making up to do, and not just to you.’

Jack stopped in front of Georgie, a trace of sugar around her mouth, lipstick caught on her front tooth.

‘Don’t take all night, Jack. There’ll be some Christmas cheer waiting for you, if you’re lucky.’

‘It’s only black cats bring bad luck. We’ll be home in no time.’

Their faces nearly touching: her freshly bleached hair, white as bed linen; her lips bright red against her powdered face. Pearl pressed against Georgie’s back. ‘Let him through.’

‘In Cousin Alf’s car we’ll be there and back in an hour. He won’t even know it’s gone.’

He winked at Georgie. She stepped to the side, face in line with those family photographs.

‘Keep some of those pies warm for me. And don’t go sniffing around after any presents.’ He kissed her on the ear, a small copper hoop catching against his teeth. ‘I’ll be right back, love.’

‘I love you right back, Jack.’ She smiled, twisting her earring back into place.

He held her arms down against her sides, didn’t want to let her go, but Pearl was calling him again.

Georgie yelled after them before the door banged shut, ‘He keeps the key under the bar, on the left by the till.’

The breath froze in Jack’s mouth, the salty taste of the Thames turning and the silky feel of soot from smoking chimneys. He took Pearl’s elbow, held her back from breaking into a run, the yellow wool of her jumper crackling with black frost.