Nonetheless, however, he’s still taller, stronger and faster looking than me. He looks like he’s been in a hundred fights and had fifty broken noses. Mostly though, he looks hard.

‘Nineteen years old!’ the old man continues into the mike. ‘Twenty-eight fights, twenty-four wins,’ and the big one — ‘twenty-two by knockout.’

‘Christ.’

It’s Rube who speaks this time, and Cagey Carl Ewings has jumped the ropes and circles the ring now like he wants to kill someone. And guess who just happens to be the closest guy around. It’s me, of course, thinking, Twenty-two knockouts. Twenty-two knockouts. I’m dog’s meat. I’m dog’s meat, I swear it.

He comes over.

‘Hey boy,’ he says.

‘Hey,’ I answer, although I’m not sure he wants one. I’m just being friendly, really. You can’t blame me for trying.

Whatever it is, it seems to work, because he smiles.

Then he states something very clearly.

He states, ‘I’m gonna kill you.’

‘Okay.’

Did I just say that?

‘You’re scared.’ Another statement.

‘If you like.’

‘Oh, I like, mate, but I’ll like it even more when they cart you out of here on a stretcher.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Definitely.’

In the end, he smiles again and returns to his corner. Frankly, I’m quite sure he’ll beat the skin off me. Cagey Carl. What an idiot, and I’d tell him so if I wasn’t so afraid of him. Now there’s only me and the fear and the furled footsteps I take to centre ring. Rube stands behind me.

Now I feel naked, in just my dark blue shorts, my gymmies, and with the gloves on my hands. I feel too skinny, too bare. Like you can read the fear on me. The warm room filters across my back. The cigarette smoke breathes on to my skin. It smells like cancer.

Light is on us.

Blinding.

The crowd is dark.

Hidden.

They’re just voices now. No names, no blondes, no beers or anything else. Just voices drawn towards the light, and there’s no way to liken them to anything else. They sound like people gathered around a fight. That’s all. That’s what they are and they like what they are.

Both Carl and I sweat. There’s Vaseline above his stare, which grinds its way into my eyes. It dawns on me very quickly that he really does want to kill me.

‘Fair fight,’ the referee says, and that’s all he says.

Then it’s back to the corner.

My legs rage with anticipation.

My heart turns.

My head nods, as Rube gives me two instructions.

The first: ‘Don’t go down.’

The second: ‘If you do go down, be sure to get up.’

‘Okay.’

Okay.

Okay.