‘I’m only up the street for now,’ he says, and I reach for a semblance of recognition in his voice. Anything that sounds like It’s okay lads. We’ll be right. We all will be. Steve’s voice sounds nothing like it though. We all know that Steve will be okay. There’s no irony in the word for him. Steve will always be okay. That’s just how things are.

None of us embrace.

Steve and Rube shake hands.

Steve and I shake hands.

His last words are, ‘Make sure Mum’s okay, right?’

‘Right.’

We run home, together, in the nearly-dark of Tuesday evening. Rube is waiting for me as we run. He pushes me. The next fight loiters around, like a thief, waiting to thieve. It’s five days away.

Each night, I dream about it.

I nightmare.

I sweat.

In my dreams, I fight Perry. I fight Steve and Rube. Even my mother steps up and beats the hell out of me. The weirdest thing is that every time, my father is in the crowd, just watching. He says nothing. Does nothing. He simply watches everything go by, or reads the classifieds, looking for that elusive job.

On Saturday night, I hardly sleep at all.

All through Sunday, I mope around. I barely eat.

Like last week, Perry picks us up, but he takes us to Glebe this time, way down the end.

All is the same.

Same type of crowd.

Same guys, same blondes, same smell.

Same fear.

The warehouse is old and creaky, and the room we sit in is nearly falling apart.

Before the doors kick open, Rube reminds me.

‘Remember. Either the other guy kills you, or Perry does. If I was you, I know who I’d prefer it to be.’

I nod.

The doors.

They’re open.

Perry shouts again and after a last deep breath, I enter the crowd. My opponent awaits me, but tonight, I don’t even look at him. Not at the start. Not at the pre-match talk by the referee. Not ever.

The first time I see him is when he’s in my face.

He’s taller.

He has a small goatee.

He throws punches that are slow but hard.

I duck and swerve and get out of the way.

No suspense now.

No wondering.

I take one on my shoulder and counter punch him. I get inside and throw a jab into his face. It misses. I throw another. It misses.

His giant hand seems to shake me first, then land on my chin. I hit him back, in the ribs.

‘That’s the way, Cam!’ I hear Rube call out, and when the round is over, he smiles at me. ‘Even round,’ he tells me. ‘You can drop this clown easy.’ He even begins to laugh. ‘Just imagine you’re fighting me.’

‘Good idea.’

‘You afraid of me?’

‘A bit.’

‘Well beat him anyway.’