‘No. I was before, but not any more. Are you?’

‘Yeah.’

There’s no point lying. I’m scared as hell. Scared crazy. I’m asylum scared. Straitjacket scared. Yes, I think it’s pretty much decided.

I’m scared.

7

Time has elapsed and it’s the Sunday morning. Fight day, and I’m dying to get into the bathroom. I have to do a nervous one. We’ve trained hard. Running, push-ups, sit-ups, the lot. Even skipping, with Miffy’s leash. We’ve done One Punch and also fought two-handed with our new gloves, every afternoon. Rube keeps telling me we’re ready, but still, I have to go. Desperately.

‘Who’s in there?’ I cry through the door. ‘I’m in agony out here, ay.’

A voice booms back. ‘It’s me.’ Me as in Dad. Me as in the old man. Me as in the guy who may be unemployed but can still give us a good kick in the pants for being smart. ‘Give me two minutes.’

Two minutes!

How am I going to survive two minutes?

When he finally comes out, I feel like I’m going to collapse on to the seat, but the doorway’s as far as I get. Why’s that? you may well ask, but I tell you, if you’re anywhere near our bathroom this morning, you’ll be tasting the worst smell you’ve ever swallowed in your whole life. The smell is twisted. It’s angry. No, it’s downright ropeable.

I breathe and choke and breathe again, turning around, almost running. Now though, I’m almost howling with laughter as well.

‘What?’ Rube asks when I make it back to our room.

‘Oh, mate.’

‘What is it?’

‘Come ‘ere,’ I tell him, and we walk back towards the bathroom.

The smell hits me again.

It smacks into Rube.

‘Whoa.’ That’s all he says, at first.

‘Shockin’, ay?’ I ask.

‘Well it isn’t too cheerful is it, that smell,’ Rube admits. ‘What’s the old man been eating lately?’

‘I’ve got no idea,’ I go on, ‘but I’m tellin’ y’ right now — that smell’s physical.’

‘Damn right.’ Rube backs away from it. ‘It’s bloody relentless is what it is. Like a gremlin, a monster, a —’ He’s lost for words.

I muster up some courage and say, ‘I’m goin’ in.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m dyin’ here!’

‘Okay, good luck.’

‘I’ll need it.’

I’ll need more later though, and I feel the nerves, waiting at Eddy Avenue. Fingers of fear and doubt scratch the lining of my stomach. I feel like I’m bleeding inside, but it’s only nerves, I’m sure. Rube, on the other hand, sits with his legs stretched out. His hands rest firmly on his hips. His face is awash with his hair, blown in from the wind. A small smile is forming on his lips. His mouth opens.