‘When you get to the club just tell them you are there for Ria’s party. Oh! And for ID you have to wear red shoes or a red hat.’
‘Got it.’
‘So what’re you up today then?’ she asks with a smile.
I shrug. ‘Not much. Unsuccessfully looking for a job.’
She frowns. ‘Why? Can’t one of your brothers give you one?’
‘They can but I want to make it on my own.’
‘What for?’
‘Just to try.’
She looks at me as if I am stupid so I quickly change the subject. ‘And where are you off to dressed like that?’
‘I’m off to a watch a bit of bare-knuckle fighting.’
‘Who’s fighting?’ I ask, even though it’s not too hard to guess.
‘I’m putting a hundred quid on BJ,’ she says with a cheeky grin.
‘What are the odds of him winning?’
‘‘BJ’s never lost so the money will be shit. I’m just gonna bet on the amount of punches he has to throw or the minutes the other guy will last. That sort of thing.’
‘Sounds exciting,’ I say carefully, even though an underground fight where the opponents go on battering each other until one of them can’t take it anymore is not my idea of fun. ‘And where is it being held?’
‘Some godforsaken barn in the sticks. Patrick’s taking me. You remember Patrick, my second cousin, don’t you?’
‘Yes, vaguely,’ I say politely. Then words I never intended appear on my tongue. ‘Can I come?’
She looks at me sideways. ‘Will your brothers be all right with it?’
I know Jake won’t be okay with it. Lily told me how he wouldn’t even let her watch him fight BJ. But after my humiliating experience in Italy, I’ve decided that it’s time for me to grow up and experience things for myself. Take a few knocks if necessary. I don’t want to be the sheltered baby of the family for the rest of my life. I want to see what a bare-knuckle fight looks like. Besides, I’ll be with Ria. What can possibly happen to me?
‘I won’t tell them if you won’t,’ I tell her.
She giggles conspiratorially. ‘My lips are sealed.’
‘When are you going?’
‘Now.’
I look at my shopping basket. A carton of milk and a pot of Greek yogurt. I take the basket to the check-out counter and give it to the cashier. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Could you please ask someone to put them back on the shelves?’
‘Ready?’ Ria asks.
‘Yeah. I’m ready.’
At that time I am just glad for a new experience. It has not yet occurred to me to do any mischief.
TEN
Layla
In the middle of someone’s farm we find a barn that is alive with music and people. We pay our entrance fee and enter. Inside, I gaze around in surprise. The barn is packed to the rafters with far more people than there are cars outside. At a guess, I would say there are at least 300 people. Mostly men, but women of all ages too. Ria tugs my hand.
‘Let’s place our bets then get a drink. I want to be up front.’
I nod and follow her as she pushes her way through the crowd.
A man in a green sweatshirt and two missing teeth grins at her. ‘What’ll you have, love?’
‘How much will I get if I put a hundred for BJ ‘The Bat” Pilkington to win in less than 2 minutes?’
‘A hundred and one pounds.’
‘One pound profit? For a hundred quid? That’s nothing!’
He shrugs. ‘The Bat has won 92 fights and drawn once. You’re talking about a favorite, a machine that renders men unconscious, love.’
Ria rubs the back of her neck. ‘How much for him winning in less than one minute?’
‘Twenty.’
‘That’s just crap. Less than thirty seconds?’
‘I’ll give you fifty for that.’
She looks at him doubtfully, and then makes her decision. ‘All right, I’ll just take less than a minute.’
She gives him five twenty pound notes and he passes it to another young man standing behind him, and writes something in his tatty notebook.
He turns to me. ‘What about you, young lady?’
‘Me? I’m not…’ I pause. Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I bet like Ria? It’s just for fun. ‘What would give me a really good payout?’
He grins. ‘The Bat to lose.’
‘Other than that?’
‘That The Devil’s Hammer lands a swing on The Bat’s face.’
I frown. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because except for his fight with Jake Eden, The Bat has never been hit in the face.’
‘How much will I get for my hundred?’
‘Two grand.’
‘Wow! That’s huge.’
‘Yeah, right. The payout’s so damn good, because it’s never gonna happen. Don’t do it, Layla. You might as well burn your money,’ Ria advises with a frown.
‘I like to live dangerously,’ I say with a grin and hold out my money. The bookie secretes it away in single hand movement. Like oil pouring from a drum. A smooth, effortless miracle of nature.
He jots my bet down in his little book and we move away towards the bar. The bar is a collection of huge metal drums filled with beer bottles, ice, and water. We each order a bottle of beer, drinking straight from the bottle since there are no glasses available. I am strangely excited. The mood of the crowd has affected me. There is anticipation in the air.
We go right to the front of the pit, a small area cordoned off with bales of hay, and find ourselves a spot where we have a good view of the fight. In minutes the first fight starts. Two young men, who seem evenly matched to me, start walking towards the pit. One of them takes a step into the pit and establishes his jab straight away. Moving his head from side to side and jogging around. Suddenly, without warning, his clenched fist shoots out. Bang, a body shot that leaves his opponent reeling backwards into the hay. The fight is over in seconds as the aggressor then lunges forwards and knocks him out in one punch.
‘Wow,’ I say to Ria. ‘He’s brutal.’
‘Wait ‘til you see BJ.’
The next fight lasts a lot longer and is astonishingly violent.
I see it then for what it truly is, a festival of physical abuse. Men going for it, egged on by a baying crowd. There is no holding back. It’s in their blood. To decide who is the hardest of them all. The sport of legend, guts, honor, and heart.
Both men are bloodied and in bad shape when one of them spits out his mouth guard and falls to his knees. His friends have to carry him away. My heart is pounding hard. That had been too brutal. I hadn’t enjoyed it, but all around me the crowd has woken up. A thrill runs through them. An air expectancy hovers over us like that crackle in the air before a thunderstorm.
‘BJ is next,’ Ria says.
‘Now for the fight you have all been waiting for,’ the MC announces excitedly. ‘Tony “The Devil’s Hammer” Radley versus Billy Joe “The Bat” Pilkington.’
> The crowd cheers and whistles.
‘Tony “The Devil’s Hammer” Radley,’ the announcer screams over the whistles and calls. Queen’s We Are the Champions fills the air and BJ’s opponent, a huge, bearded man appears. He lifts his hands high over his head in acknowledgement and runs energetically towards the pit.
‘And now for the undefeated champion, Billy Joe “The Bat” Pilkington.’
Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell blares out and BJ walks out to the pit. The crowd goes absolutely crazy, clapping and cheering, banging their bottles on the wooden surfaces in the barn. There is no doubting the crowd’s favorite.
He is wearing a plain black t-shirt and khaki trousers. As he walks into the pit, I notice that everything about him is different. His eyebrows are drawn straight, his eyes are pitiless, chips of black ice, and his face is devoid of any expression. It is like looking at a cold-blooded psychopath or a heartless machine. I try to imagine this cold, cold monster fighting warm, kind-hearted Jake and feel a tight knot of fear inside. No wonder Jake didn’t want Lily to see the fight. This man is exactly what the bookie called him – a machine that renders men unconscious. He is here for one reason and one reason alone: to completely decimate the other man.
He is so different than the BJ I know, I am actually shocked.
The way he angles his head forward combined with his shoulders rounded and his hands slightly curled at the elbows reminds me of a charging bull. At that moment he is the most coldly aggressive man I have seen in my life. He doesn’t look at the crowd. He has eyes only for his opponent. My gaze skitters over to The Devil’s Hammer. He is holding his hands up in readiness and jabbing the air while jumping around with quick nimble steps, but in his eyes, I see fear. In his head he has already lost. The only question left is how badly he’s going to lose.
BJ steps into the pit and … and like a bull rushes towards him. It is an ambush, clear and simple. Blows rain on the unprepared man’s body so quickly and so relentlessly he is overwhelmed by the ferocity of the attack. The Devil’s Hammer flails uselessly. One power punch catches him flush on the chin and he flies backwards, landing on one of the hay bales. The crowds bays its approval. But The Devil’s Hammer is not beat. There is life in him yet. He pulls himself up painfully, and lunges unsteadily towards BJ.