Yet, in the dead of night, in the listening dark, Rube says a very strange thing. Something I won’t really understand until later.

He says, ‘Y’ know Cam, I’ve thought about it, and I think I like your money better than mine.’

And I’m left lying there, in bed, thinking but not speaking. Just thinking.

13

Sometimes I wish I had better fists on me. Faster ones, with faster arms and stronger shoulders. Usually I’m in bed when I think of that kind of thing, although today, I’m in the dressing room, waiting for the call. I don’t know. I just wish to be formidable. I wish I could walk through the crowd and climb into the ring to win, not just to fight.

‘Cameron.’

I wish I could look my opponent in the eye and tell him I’m going to kill him.

‘Cameron.’

I wish I could stand above him and tell him to get to his feet.

‘Cameron!’

Finally, Rube has made it into my thoughts. He has hit me on the shoulder to burst through my mind. I still sit there, in my spray jacket, shivering. My gloves hang from my hands like dead weight, and I feel like falling to pieces.

‘Are you fighting or what?’ Rube shakes me.

She’s out there, I think, and for once, I actually say it. To my brother. Quietly. ‘She’s out there Rube.’

He looks at me closer, wondering who I’m talking about. ‘She is,’ I go on.

‘Who?’

‘That Steph, y’ know the one?’

‘Who?’

Oh, what’s the point! I exclaim inside me.

Yet, I still speak softly. ‘Steph — from the track.’

‘So what?’ He’s frustrated now, and close to picking me up and throwing me out into the crowd.

‘So everything,’ I keep talking. I’m still vacant. Exhausted. ‘I saw her just a few minutes ago when I took a peek out the door.’

Rube walks away. ‘Oh God almighty.’ He walks away and comes back. He’s calm now. ‘Just get out there.’

‘Okay.’ But no movement.

Still calm. ‘Get out.’

‘All right,’ and I know that I must.

I stand up, the doors are kicked open and I walk into the crowd. It’s a crowd in which every person has the same face. It’s her. Stephanie.

All is blur.

All confusion.

Perry, shouting.

The ref.

Keep it clean, fellas.

Fair fight.

Okay.

Do it.

Don’t go down.

If you do go down, get up.

The bell, the fists, the fight.

It begins, and the first round is death.

The second round is the coffin.

The third is the funeral.

My opponent is not such a great fighter, but I’m not on today. I’m not up. I’m so scared of failing that I have accepted it. I’ve given in to it, almost as if I won’t try because it will only make things worse.