You had to do this stuff. He knew that. He was a promoter himself so he knew the score. It paid handsomely, but in return for all that loot you had to press the flesh, be entertaining, earn your crust. It wasn’t enough to be a great fighter; there were other hoops to jump through, too. You had to keep influential people sweet or you wouldn’t get a fight anywhere in the States, and the USA was where fighting paid the best because it drew the biggest, richest and most enthusiastic crowds.

‘We have someone lined up for next month,’ said Spiro, patting Josh’s shoulder. ‘A Mexican.’

‘Mexican? They’re all five foot nothing. Never seen a heavyweight Mex.’

‘This one’s a cross. Mexican mother, black dad. Big as they come but he was raised near Cancún and I tell you, they’re hungry, these Mexicans. They keep coming at you. Terrific fighters. They never give up.’

Fucking great, thought Josh. Across the pond, he had a home waiting, a family. A wife. That bitch. He thought of the latest note Shauna had tucked into his bag. I love you, Josh. The notes irritated him to death. They always had. She was trying to control him, mark him out as hers even when he was a thousand miles away. He hated that, and he hated her.

Josh loved his kids but he’d got sick of Shauna soon as he’d heard all that she’d been up to, how she’d scared off Claire with her pet monkeys the Cleavers. That cow. He loathed her unpredictable rages, her soppy love notes, her stupid anniversary fixation and her determination to keep dragging them all ever upwards on the social scale.

It was getting bloody silly, the way she went on. Dinners and galas and charity launches and all that shit. Their marriage had been dead for years, and they both knew it. All he stayed for was the kids. Well, for Connor mostly. He wasn’t even sure Aysha was his. How could he be, knowing Shauna? But he still felt protective of the girl, and guilty over his lack of true affection for her. None of it was Aysha’s fault, after all. All he was waiting for was for Aysha to get settled into a career or a marriage, then he promised himself he was going to shut this thing down for good.

He still dreamed of Claire Milo sometimes, his lost love. He yearned for those times, when life had been so simple and she was there. But all that was so far in the past now that it was just that: a useless dream. That was all it would ever be.

‘Get washed up,’ said Nikos with a grin. ‘We’ll wait outside. And well done, my friend.’

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