Cloudy was leaning in close, and suddenly Josh’s head was humming and all he could see was that red angry face, the big check suit, the dirty grey sweat marks on the collar of Cloudy’s shirt. A good boxer never lost his temper, always kept his cool. But not tonight. Not any more.

He reached out a hand and, almost gently, placed it on Cloudy’s throat. He watched as Cloudy’s eyes widened in shock. Josh felt the soft sponginess of Cloudy’s neck, but Cloudy’s mouth was still moving, the shouting was still going on, so Josh squeezed.

Cloudy stopped shouting. His eyes bulged as Josh lifted him off his feet. A groaning rasp came from Cloudy’s mouth, and his hands scrabbled at the front of Josh’s shirt. Josh held him there, easily. Josh was six foot six inches tall, and packed with well-honed muscle. Cloudy was soft as butter. Josh kept Cloudy dangling there, looking at him. And then he dropped him.

Cloudy staggered, seemed about to fall. Then he righted himself, grabbing at his throat, staring in disbelief at his protégé.

‘What the . . .’ he whispered.

‘You ever shout in my fucking face again, you fat bastard, and I’ll finish the job,’ said Josh, stabbing a finger at Cloudy’s shirt front to emphasize his point.

‘What the fuck’s happened to you?’ gasped Cloudy. ‘Ain’t I been good to you, boy? Ain’t I seen you right?’

‘Oh, you been a prince,’ said Josh sourly. ‘You’ve made a pro loser out of me, you’ve made me a fucking joke.’

‘I got you good money. I did everything for you.’

‘You got me the dregs,’ snapped Josh. ‘And that’s all you’ll ever get me.’

‘You should have talked to me if you’re unhappy,’ whined Cloudy. ‘We could have worked something out.’

‘You mean you’d’ve talked your way out of it.’

‘Serious, boy—’

‘Don’t call me boy. I ain’t your boy.’

‘All right! But you never told me you weren’t happy with any of this.’

‘You fixing me up to be the fall guy every time? Why would I be happy with that? I’m the best bare-knuckle fighter there is.’ Josh shook his head. ‘I’m sick of you, Cloudy. I’m tired of this shit.’

Josh had worked everything out. He had a bag packed. He’d get straight over to Claire’s now, grab her and they’d elope. Yes, he was sick of all this, but truth to tell he was even more sick of all that, too – the wedding. The vast, never-ending fuckfest of a wedding with Claire’s mother Eva clucking around him, saying he had to do this, go there, be so-and-so, like he was a shop-window dummy or something.