When it’s nearly all over, I allow Rube to deliver the knockout blow. He does it. He says, ‘This week is Cameron’s last fight.’ A deep breath. ‘The only thing is’ — a pause — ‘he’s fighting me. We’re fighting each other.’

Silence.

Total silence.

Then, in all honesty, it’s taken quite well.

Only Sarah flinches.

Rube goes on. ‘After that I’ve got semi-finals. Three more weeks at the most.’

Both Mum and Dad seem to be handling it now, slightly. What are they thinking? I ask myself. Mainly, I think they feel like they’ve failed as parents, which is completely untrue. They deserve no blame, because this is something Rube and I did on our own. If we succeeded, it was us. If we failed — us. No blame on them. No blame on the world. We didn’t want that, and we wouldn’t tolerate it.

Now I crouch down next to my mother. I hug her and tell her, ‘I’m sorry Mum. I’m so sorry.’

Sorry.

Will that ever do?

Will it ever make her understand enough to forgive us?

‘We promise,’ Rube still tries. ‘This is the last time Cameron and I will ever fight each other.’

‘Jeez, that’s comforting.’ Sarah finally speaks. ‘You can’t fight someone when he’s dead.’

Everyone looks at her and listens, but no one speaks.

It finishes.

A nervous quiet curls through the kitchen air, till only Rube and I sit there. Everyone else leaves. Sarah first, then Dad, then Mrs Wolfe. Now we wait for the fight.

Living among the next few days, I continue in my determination to believe that I can beat him. I can’t pull it off. The closest I come is believing that I want to beat him, in order to survive.

When we leave for the warehouse on Saturday night, Mr and Mrs Wolfe come with us. Dad makes us all pile into his panel van (with me cramped into the back).

The car takes off slowly.

I sweat.

I fear.

The fight.

My brother.

For my brother — for his own fight.

The whole way there, nothing is said, until we get out at the warehouse, when Dad says, ‘Don’t kill each other.’

‘We won’t.’

It’s organised in the dressing room that Perry will sit in Rube’s corner. Bumper will be in mine.

There’s a good crowd.

I can hear it, and I see it, when I go into the Visiting Fighters dressing room. I don’t look for Mum and Dad because I know they’re out there, and I’m concentrating on what I have to do.

In the dirty dressing room, I sit for a while, and other fighters come and go. I walk around. I’m jumpy. This is the biggest fight of my life.

I’m fighting against my brother.

I’m also fighting for him …