‘Can I come in then?’ asked Josh, trying to gauge her mood. She wouldn’t like what he had planned; he knew it. Every girl wanted a big wedding, the works, didn’t they? And she and her mother had been planning it all for so long. But then, he’d always been able to sweet-talk softhearted Claire into anything.

Claire stepped back from the open doorway, saying: ‘Christ, look at the state of you.’

Josh hadn’t even thought about the state he was in. His left eye was swelling half-shut from one of Matty’s pounding right-handers. His chin was bruised and cut, and one of his teeth was wobbling in its socket. His knuckles were scraped raw. Luckily, his shirt covered his midriff, which was a fucking mess by anyone’s standards. At least she couldn’t see that. Or know that he’d spat blood after the ferocity of the fight. He was used to the knocks he took in the ring, though: it was his job. And now he had proved he could take down the best, he was buoyed up, fizzing with determination.

‘I didn’t see you at the fight,’ he said by way of an opener.

‘I was there,’ said Claire, walking over to an armchair and sitting down.

She was pissed off about something, he could see that. Probably the fight. She was so soft, Claire. He liked that about her, but she was going to have to get used to it. There was a smear of blood on her cheek.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, coming over to where she sat and touching her face. She flinched. ‘You cut yourself?’

‘It splashed on me,’ said Claire, her voice wooden, her eyes hostile. ‘While I was ringside. I think it’s yours.’

‘Ah. Right. Well, I won it, Claire. That’s what matters. I got the prize money and I won. Where’s your parents then?’

‘Gone down the pub for a lock-in with Trace. I wasn’t in the mood.’

‘Just as well.’ Josh sat down in the other chair and dropped his bag on to the floor. All the aches from the fight were coming out; he’d be stiff as a board tomorrow morning. But he couldn’t worry about that now.

Claire’s eyes went to the bag. ‘What’s that for?’ she asked.

‘It’s what I got to talk to you about.’ Josh took a breath. ‘All this fucking wedding stuff, Claire. I’ve had enough. It ain’t me.’

‘What?’ She was staring at him blankly.

‘Claire.’ Josh sat forward, clasped his hands between his knees. It hurt his middle, but he didn’t wince. He was used to pain. He looked her straight in the eye. ‘I was meant to throw the fight tonight. And I didn’t.’