He gives me a last drink and I go out for the second.

This time it’s the crowd that swerves. Their voices climb through the ropes and wrap around me. When I’m on the canvas, they fall over me like a stream, making me get up.

The third is a non-event. We both get tangled up and throw punches into the ribs. I hurt him once but he laughs at me.

In the fourth, he tells me something at the start. He says, ‘Hey, I had y’ mother last night. She’s pretty lousy, ay. Pretty dirty.’ That’s when I decide that I have to win. There’s a picture in my mind of Mum, Mrs Wolfe, working. Tired to the bone, but still working. For us. I don’t lose my mind or go crazy, but I get more intense. I’m more patient, and when I get my chance, I land three good punches in his face. When the bell rings for the end of the round, I don’t stop punching him.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ Rube laughs in our corner.

I answer. ‘Got hungry.’

‘Good.’

In the fifth, I go down twice and the guy they call Thunder Joe Ross goes down once. Each time I hit the canvas, the crowd urges me to my feet, and when the bell rings and the decision is announced, they clap, and coins are thrown into my corner. Perry collects them.

I’ve lost the fight, but I have fought well.

I’ve risen to my feet.

That’s all I had to do.

‘There.’ Perry gives me every cent when we reach the dressing room. ‘Twenty-two bucks eighty. That’s a good tip. Most losers are happy with fifteen or twenty.’

‘He ain’t a loser.’

The voice belongs to Rube, who is standing behind me.

‘Whatever you say,’ Perry agrees (not caring if it’s true or not), and he’s gone.

When it comes to Rube’s fight, the crowd is extra sharp. Their eyes are glued to him, watching his every move, every mannerism, every everything that might indicate what they’ve heard about him. Word has travelled fast that Perry Cole’s got a gun new fighter, and everyone wants to see him. They don’t see much.

His fight begins with a massive left hook.

The guy hits the ropes and Rube keeps going. He rinses the guy out. Whales him. His hands launch into his ribs. Uppercuts, one after the other. Midway through the round, it’s all over.

‘Get up!’ people shout, but this guy just can’t. He can barely move.

Rube stands there.

Above him.

He doesn’t smile.

The crowd sees the blood, and they smell it. They look into Rube’s fire-stomped eyes. Fighting Ruben Wolfe. It’s a name they will come to see here now for a long time.

Again, when he climbs out of the ring, they smother him.