The other man laughed, his perfect teeth like pearls against his black skin. ‘You won fair and square, man,’ he said softly. ‘But like you say… there will be a next time. I look forward to it.’

The two men parted without animosity.

The night’s excitement over, Gus called a cab and accompanied Alfie back to his apartment. When the young man got out, his trainer stayed inside. ‘You did well,’ he said. ‘Take some time out. You’ve earned it.’

Alfie watched him go before turning not to his door, but into the night and the awful loneliness. Head down and shoulders hunched, he walked the length of the block before coming to a bar. There was only one man there and he took little notice of Alfie. ‘A Scotch,’ he told the barman.

When it came, he didn’t touch it. Instead, he stared at it for what seemed an age, then pushed it away and went out, back into the night. He circled the block and walked the busy streets of Manhattan. When he came to the gates of Central Park, where he had run his heart out day after day, he began to wonder what it was really all about.

‘Hey!’ A man with his sweetheart stared Alfie in the face. ‘Ain’t you the fighter?’

Shaking his head, Alfie walked away. He needed to think. He needed to get away from the bright, busy streets into the quietness of the park, where he could lose himself.

Tonight he had won his biggest fight so far. He had made a name for himself here in New York, and now they were toasting his health and future.

It was his dream come true. A wonderful victory, long in the making. But it was an empty victory. Without Molly, the joy had gone from his life.

He had a choice. He could either go back to England and see if there was a chance for the two of them after all. Or he could stay here in America and work his way right to the top. His father would have been proud. His grandaddy would be over the moon when the news of his win reached him.

Time and again, Alfie turned all this over in his mind, and always he came to the same conclusion.

He wanted Molly.

More than anything else in the world, he needed her. But what to do? Which way to turn? If she was happy with another man, what right had he to try and come between them?

Torturing himself, he walked until he was too weary to walk any more, then he hailed a cab and made his way back to the apartment.

But still he didn’t sleep. Instead, he looked out of the window and let his thoughts drift to England and Molly, asking, always asking, ‘Where are you, Moll? Who is he?’ And then the agonising question, ‘What should I do?’

There were no easy answers.

Chapter Seventeen

News of Alfie’s win spread rapidly, and the whole of Blackburn town was out celebrating. ‘Sure, I knew he could do it, so I did!’ Michael Noonan was so proud, he was fit to burst.