Faded Glory (23 page)

“What you doing?” he asked.

Costa pinched his nose. “Just a little pick-me-up,” he answered, smiling. “Here, try it.”

Danny took the note and copied Costa, sniffing the white powder. The buzz was almost immediate. He liked it.

“You got any more of that?” he asked.

Costa was more than happy to supply Danny with the cocaine whenever Danny asked. Danny started asking too often. Before long, Wendy and even Ruby had become second to Danny’s new lifestyle.

Arguments were becoming frequent events. Danny’s mood swings and short temper made him difficult to live with.

“You’ve changed so much,” a tearful Wendy said one night. “You hardly acknowledge Ruby when she calls you Daddy. You ignore me too. It’s like we’re not even here. What’s happening to you?”

Danny felt twitchy and ill. “What’s happening to you, you mean?” he bit back. “You ain’t the girl I married. All you care about is bloody Ruby.”

“So?” Wendy spat. “Don’t you think you should care about her too?”

Danny got up. “I don’t need this.”

But Wendy was in full flow. “It seems to me all you care about is going out all night,” she said, following him out of the room. “This is not working, Danny. I’ve had enough, you hear me? When you are here, it’s like you’re some-where else!”

“Maybe I should be somewhere else then!” Danny shouted.

Sensing the hostility, Ruby began crying, reaching out for her mother to pick her up.

“Now look what you done,” Wendy said as she picked up Ruby and tried to comfort her.

As Danny looked at the tears rolling down Wendy and Ruby’s faces, he felt nothing.

Wendy seemed to flinch as she looked into Danny’s eyes. Lowering her voice so as not to upset the already distraught Ruby, she delivered an ultimatum.

“You’ve got to change, Danny,” she said.

“Bollocks,” said Danny irritably. “What do I need to change for?”

Wendy wiped the tears from her and Ruby’s eyes. “You’re not the man I married either,” she said. “You’re someone else, someone I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “I think you need to leave.”

Danny saw red.

“Good idea,” he yelled. “What a fuckin’ good idea.”

Ruby started crying again like her little heart was broken. Danny ignored her. He went up to the bedroom, stuffed some clothes and belongings into his bag, snatched up his coat and car keys and walked out the door. He felt nothing but blind rage. Not an inkling of remorse or sadness. Nothing at all.

*

Danny was suffering cold sweats the whole way to London. Pulling his vitamins out of the glove box, he knocked back a couple of pills and wondered where to go. He thought about Rosie’s place, but decided to drive to Costa’s instead. Costa had a flat above the club. Perhaps he could stay there. Good life downstairs, cocaine on tap.

At the club, Costa was holding auditions. Twitching by the bar, Danny watched the scantily dressed girls parade up and down. Costa’s preference would have been a parade of scantily dressed young men, but he had his mainly male clientele to consider.

“All right, Tommy,” Danny said during a break in proceedings. “Do you reckon I could stay in your flat for a while?”

“Why?”

Danny wiped his nose. “Me and Wendy have broken up. I need somewhere to stay till I get myself together.”

Costa put his arm round Danny. “Of course you can, son,” he said. “You’re one of the family.”

*

Months passed. There was still no fixed date for the fight, and training sessions were becoming less frequent. Danny made many excuses, and Patsy grew tired of hounding him. Danny was living in a different world now, physically and mentally. The drugs and the nightlife engulfed him. The focus on his boxing career became almost non-existent.

Patsy had told Albert about Danny and Wendy’s break-up months earlier. Albert’s first thoughts had been with the little girl.

“What about Ruby? Idiot, what’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t know, Albert,” Patsy admitted.

Albert felt heavy-hearted. “Do you think this fight with Livermore is ever going to happen?”

Patsy grunted. “They’re certainly taking their time about it.”

Albert felt more worried than ever. “How’s he training? I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“Not so good. He’s finding it hard with no date fixed for the fight.”

Albert sighed. “Say hello to him, will ya?” he said. “It must be tough, not knowing. Like you’re in limbo.”

*

Wendy and Ruby were making the best of things. Wendy’s parents were a godsend, doing their very best to soften the heartache. Mr Bristow helped Wendy with money and Mrs Bristow gave her time.

Months went by without any contact from Danny. He even missed Ruby’s second birthday. Wendy did all she could to put Danny out of her mind, but it wasn’t easy, especially when Ruby said “Daddy” and pointed to their wedding photograph.

Wendy had thought about putting the photo away, but decided that would be putting away the good times they’d had. So she left it there, sitting on the shelf, reminding her every day of what they’d lost.

She felt like her life was sitting on the shelf beside the photograph. Ruby filled much of her time and much of the space left in her heart, but at night the heartache would come and almost overwhelm her.

*

Danny seemed lost in his twilight world of drugs, drink and late nights. Cohen was the first to notice.

“The boy won’t be worth nothing if he carries on the way he is,” he warned Costa one night.

Costa shrugged. “He’s a young fella, he’s just having a good time.”

*

Danny was not having a good time. His moods swung like a pendulum, and he suffered acute fatigue that only the cocaine and his vitamins seem to cure. Costa had made a few advances, suggesting drugs for sex, but Danny managed to keep his distance.

Through the dark times, Danny’s past life would come to him in flashes. Wendy, Ruby, Albert. Whenever this happened, he would steer his thoughts to drugs, numbing any remorse or pain. To wallow in a stupor was better than facing the truth.

*

One afternoon, as Danny lay in bed with his usual pounding headache, there was a loud knock.

“Danny?” said Cohen through the door. “It’s Jack. You in there?”

Danny tried to get his mind in gear. He stumbled from the bed and opened the flat door.

Cohen looked at him. “Look at the state of you,” he said. “Tommy was supposed to keep an eye, but here you are like a deadbeat. What’s the matter with you?”

Danny muttered something about being tired. Cohen cut through his stammering.

“I’ve got some news about the fight,” he said.

“Yeah?” was all that Danny could muster.

Cohen prodded him in the chest. “The fight is in two months. You better sort yourself out, you’re in a fuckin’ state.”

Marching over to the bedside table, Cohen grabbed Danny’s cocaine stash and threw it out the window. Danny ran to the window, but it was too late.

“Sort yourself out!” shouted Cohen, and slammed the door behind him.

Danny went into panic mode, his heart beating like a drum. This jolt from the real world was a shock. He could only think about one thing.

He needed to get to Patsy.

He dressed and washed and went to his car, full of cold shivers, hot sweats and blurred vision. He took a couple of vitamins to ease the symptoms as he drove East. Making it to the Live and Let Live, he parked erratically by the side of the road and went in.

Albert was getting things ready for opening time.

“Danny! Where you been? Blimey, it’s been ages! How are you? How’s Ruby? She must be a handful, growing up fast I bet.”

Danny leant against the bar. He felt completely exhausted. “Dunno,” he said. “I ain’t seen her.”

“Since when?” said Albert.

“Dunno. A year maybe? Get us a drink, will you Albert? I got a pain in my head today like a fuckin’ hammer.”

*

For a moment, Albert was too shocked to respond. Patsy had told him Danny and Wendy had split up, but he’d never expected that Danny would abandon his daughter.

“I was sorry about you and Wendy splitting up,” he said.

“These things happen,” Danny said. “Where’s Patsy?”

“Not here yet, should turn up soon.”

“Where’s that drink?” Danny asked.

Albert pulled himself together. “Do you want an orange juice or something?”

Danny shook his head. “Jack Daniel’s.”

“I don’t think so,” said Albert. “You’re training, ain’t you?”

Danny slammed his hands on the bar. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

Albert noticed Danny’s hands were shaking and he was sweating.

“You all right, Danny?” he asked.

Danny shook his head like he had water in his ears. “If you ain’t serving, I’ll wait upstairs.”

Albert watched Danny go. The boy was a different person. Patsy had not said that Danny had changed so much. Then again, Albert remembered that Patsy hadn’t seen him for a few months.

He was deeply concerned. He wanted to help put back the sparkle in Danny’s dead eyes. But how?

Entering the empty boxing gym was like opening a door to memories. Danny sat at the ringside, shaking and thinking. He regretted talking to Albert the way he had, but it was too late now. How was Patsy going react to the order of “all systems go” from Cohen? Patsy knew full well that Danny was out of shape and struggling.

“Albert said you were here,” said Patsy, regarding him from the door of the gym.

Danny rubbed his eyes. “Cohen’s fixed the Livermore fight for a couple of months’ time.”

“I thought it was never going to happen.”

“I think I did too.”

“So are you gonna shape up?” Patsy said, his eyes hard. “Pull yourself together, train hard?”

“I’m gonna try,” said Danny, nodding. “I’m gonna try.”

“Tomorrow at ten?”

“Tomorrow at ten.”

Patsy shut himself in his office as Danny went down the stairs again. Lenny was at the bar.

“Now where have you been?” Lenny shouted, coming over to Danny to shake his hand. “Such a long time! Good to see you, Danny, you lost a little weight. Hey man, you got cold hands. Cold hands, warm heart.”

“Warm heart?” Danny said wearily. “Not at the moment. See you around, Lenny.” And he nodded a goodbye to Albert and left.

*

The Livermore weigh-in was a week before the fight. Danny caught the train to Manchester along with his entourage: Patsy, Costa and Cohen. Instead of his customary tracksuit, Patsy had a grey tweed suit on and, with a nod to Ireland, a green tie. Danny had got ready with Wendy’s words in his head: to be a champ, you have to look like a champ. So he was wearing a Prince of Wales check suit and an open-neck sky-blue shirt. Costa and Cohen were immaculate as usual, in mohair.

As the train rumbled north, the excitement and nerves began making themselves felt. Danny took a few vitamins to steady himself. Costa, full of the white powder, never stopped talking.

“You take a break, a holiday, when you win this fight, Danny. Go to my house in Cyprus. You don’t have to worry about the Turkish trouble, you and the family will be happy and safe.”

Danny just nodded.

He looked out the window as the train passed towns he had never heard of. He looked at the back gardens and houses alongside the track and wondered what the people inside did, what their lives were like, what secrets lay behind their back doors.

Costa kept on talking. “We’re getting a lot of famous people at the club these days. One night we thought Frank Sinatra was coming but he didn’t.”

Danny tried to look like he was listening to Costa’s endless chat. His mood swings had been getting worse lately, along with the hot and cold sweats that accompanied them. He could be happy and then, in a second, depressed and short-tempered. Wendy had suffered the changes like a saint to begin with, making excuses for Danny that he was anxious and nervous about the big fight on the horizon. Not any more.

Danny didn’t want to think about Wendy.

The train finally pulled into Piccadilly station.

“Why is it called Piccadilly?” asked Danny, rousing himself. “Piccadilly is in London.”

“They’re copy cats,” was Patsy’s view.

“So where we off to, Jack?” asked Danny as Cohen hailed a taxi.

“Same place as the fight,” said Cohen. “Free Trade Hall.”

Patsy launched into a local history of boxing as they drove through the strange, wet streets of Manchester.

“Boxing in the late fifties was in the doldrums here in Manchester. But thanks to fighters like Billy Livermore, nowadays it’s become quite a force. Loads of boxing cubs up here are actively engaging the kids.”

“As far as I’m concerned, anything north of Manchester is whippets, strange accents and flat caps,” said Costa.

Since leaving the amateur circuit and joining the professionals, Danny had noticed the changes in the venues, with personal dressing rooms and facilities laid on. Free Trade Hall was no different. Security men were at hand, and everyone seemed so full of respect that it bordered on servility.

Danny sat on a bench in the changing room, staring at the coat hooks on the cream-painted wall. Patsy was checking up on the gym equipment for Danny’s pre-warm-up for the fight, now just a few days away.

“It’s strange without Albert, ain’t it Pat?” Danny said to the medicine ball in Patsy’s hands.

“Yeah, a bit,” said Patsy. “But we’ll cope.”

“A lot of things have changed ain’t they?”

Patsy didn’t answer.

Outside the door, Danny heard the rumble and mumble of the folk filling the auditorium.

“There are hundreds of people out there to watch the weigh-in and we’re stuck in this room, hidden like we’re prisoners,” he said. “Do you reckon that’s a part of fame and fortune? You lose your freedom?”

Costa put his head round the door before Patsy could answer.

“Ready champ?”

Danny’s reflexes felt as sharp as a razor, his mind was racing, and he felt anger pulsing through him. The vitamins he’d taken on the train were clearly taking effect.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Tommy,” he said.

Costa patted him on the shoulder. “The place is packed, Danny. Wait till you see it.”