Shauna didn’t think Josh was that clever. His impending marriage to Claire, for instance – what the fuck was that all about? She knew Josh and Claire had been together as kids, but for God’s sake! Claire was not a woman whose stature would complement Josh. And that fucker Cloudy, that so-called ‘manager’ of his. She knew that Cloudy had been – mostly at the Cleavers’ instigation – setting Josh up for the past few years to always be the fall guy.

But big handsome Josh himself had impressed her when she’d listened in the other night. He was determined to win this time and make a name for himself. She didn’t see why he couldn’t, if he set his mind to it. He was as fit as a butcher’s dog and he was a southpaw, a leftie, and that made him difficult to fight. Yes, Josh had possibilities.

Possibilities interested Shauna. Her own family were travellers from way back, just like Josh’s and Claire’s. Now they were settled, but it was in the blood, what they were. You couldn’t escape it, everyone said that and it annoyed the hell out of her. Shauna wanted to try and make the break from this life. She wanted to aim big, to reach the top or die trying. No measly two-up-two-down in Where-the-Fuck would ever do for her. That wasn’t enough. She wanted it all: a massive house, a fancy car, holidays in Mustique like Princess Margaret took. And a boat moored up somewhere, a proper gin palace with two fucking great outboards, not one of those stick-and-hankie sailboats. She wanted power, she wanted speed. And she was going to get it. Tonight, things were going to change. She’d already made sure of that.

The crowd were shouting louder and louder as punch upon punch landed on Josh. The heat and the bloodlust and the stench of sweat was almost choking in here.

‘MATTY! MATTY! MATTY!’ they roared.

‘Come on, Josh! Hit him back!’ yelled Shauna. He was supposed to win, wasn’t he?

Josh was faltering on his feet, shaking his head. There was blood coming from a cut on his brow, and his knuckles were red. Matty closed in.

Fuck, thought Shauna. He was fading.

‘COME ON, JOSH!’ she screamed.

7

7

Blood spattered Claire Milo’s face and she winced with revulsion and looked away. Fuck this for a game. She was never, ever going to come ringside again. She vowed that on her mother Eva’s life. She heard punch after sickening punch landing on flesh, like someone pounding a piece of meat. She couldn’t watch; she had to keep her eyes down. All around her, the crowd roared its encouragement, even her dad was shouting like a lunatic, but she seemed to be on an island, removed from it all.

‘Look, Claire, look!’ screamed her sister, nudging her hard in the ribs.