Faded Glory (33 page)

Danny watched as money changed hands. Deal done, Albert headed their way, looking pleased with himself.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he said with a sharp nod. “Now, let’s go and knock this Livermore bloke out.”

With purpose and a collective energy, Danny and his team made their way to the venue. Dropping their bags in their allocated room, they decided to take a look at the battleground while it was still empty.

Danny whistled, looking around the cavernous space. “Look at the size of this place!” he said.

“It’s big,” Albert agreed with a smile. “And every ticket sold out. In just a few hours, the place will be packed.”

They stood around for a while and watched the Wembley Arena staff place chairs and vacuum with a vengeance.

“Right,” said Patsy at last. “Let’s go back to the room and do some warming up. Time to get focused, and then relax.”

Back in the changing room, Danny hit some pads and did some gentle skipping to loosen up while Albert listened to the radio for the football results. In the nineteen sixty-seven season, West Ham were in their usual mid-table position. As Danny lay on the massage table being pummelled by Patsy, Albert leaped to his feet.

“Yes!” he cried, waving his walking stick and doing a jig that resembled something out of
Mary Poppins
. “Five nil to the Cockney boys! What about that, Danny boy? West Ham five, Newcastle nil! Now that’s a good omen if ever there was one.”

Danny tried to smile, wincing at Patsy’s less than gentle massage and managing a strangled: “Come on you Irons.”

Albert grinned. “I’m just gonna take a look at how it’s going in the hall.”

*

Albert walked into the hall and stood by the ringside, looking up at row upon row of empty seats.

“The calm before the storm,” he said to himself. “Come on Danny.”

Three men stood in a huddle on the far side of the room, having a whispered conversation. Moving a bit closer, Albert saw it was Costa and Cohen and the referee for the night, Stan Webster.

Knowing Costa and Cohen and their history of dirty tricks, it seemed obvious to Albert that Webster was looking a little too friendly with the two promoters. Albert had always thought that Webster was a straight and honest referee, but now he wasn’t so sure. He thought about confronting them, but decided against it.

A trickle of fight fans was beginning to take their seats. Albert headed back to the changing room, where Danny was recovering from Patsy’s over-zealous pummelling.

“How’s it looking, Albert?” he asked.

Albert pushed the image of Costa, Cohen and Webster to the back of his mind. Mentioning it to Danny might dent the boy’s confidence. “All good mate,” he replied. “They’re just starting the support bouts. I reckon we’ve got about an hour and a half to the fight.”

“Right, good,” said Danny. “I just wanna get going.”

“Yeah, I know. Won’t be long now. How you feeling?”

“Really nervous,” Danny admitted.

Albert could see the child in his grandson’s eyes. The look reminded him of Tommy, whenever Tommy had been scared of being told off by his dad.

“That’s all right,” Albert soothed. “Nerves ain’t a bad thing. You don’t wanna be too cocky. Nerves can put you on your guard.”

He sat down next to Danny. “You have every right to that title. You have worked for it. You came out of a dark place, and you deserve it. Just do what we have worked on a thousand times, and you will be the new British title holder, I promise.”

Danny nodded. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

Albert put his arm round his grandson. It was a special moment.

“I love you Danny,” he said.

“I love you too, Grandad.”

Patsy and Lenny came back in the room.

“They reckon about half an hour, then it’s us,” said Patsy.

“That Livermore must be quaking in his boots,” said Lenny, ever the optimist.

Harry Baldock put his head round the door.

“Go well tonight, son,” he shouted to Danny. Then nodding at Albert, “Albert, can I have a quick word?”

Albert followed Harry outside. Looking around to make sure he was not overheard, Harry spoke in whispers.

“Albert, I thought I better tell you that I think Costa and Cohen have got to one of the judges, given him a back-hander.”

“How d’ya know?”

“A friend of mine, a bookie, told me.”

Albert wasn’t surprised by Harry’s tip-off.

“I think they’ve got the ref in their pocket too, the bastards,” he said with feeling.

Harry nodded. “Just thought I’d tell ya. But whatever happens, the boy’s gonna make good money tonight. It’s packed out there.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Harry,” said Albert, rubbing his chin. “I appreciate it.”

Back into the room, Patsy was bandaging Danny’s hands.

“What did Harry want?” said Danny, looking round.

Albert thought on his feet. “He was just saying how well the tickets have gone and that.”

“You got Dad’s medal?”

“Here in my pocket Danny,” said Albert. “Safe and sound.”

“Ready when you are,” said someone in a bow tie and dinner suit who had poked his head round the door.

Patsy firmly tied Danny’s boxing gloves. Albert draped an English flag over Danny’s shoulders and hung Danny’s father’s medal around his neck. To the music of
Land of Hope and Glory
, Danny and his team entered the auditorium.

*

The noise from the crowd almost lifted the roof off the arena. Shadow-boxing his way to the waiting ring, Danny already felt like a champion.

*

Albert eyed up the referee and looked over at the three judges. Which one of them had Harry tipped him off about? Which one of them was in Costa and Cohen’s pocket?

*

The crowd hit another crescendo as Livermore and his entourage made their entrance. Danny watched the procession enter. There seemed to be fifteen or so of them, and right in the heart of the throng of the Livermore mob were Costa and Cohen.

The anticipation in the arena had grown to fever pitch as the two fighters were summoned by the referee to the centre of the ring.

“Ten four-minute rounds, no holding, break when I say break,” the referee barked.

Danny and Livermore stared at each other, searching for weakness, looking for fear. There was nothing child-like in Danny’s eyes now. Just pure determination.

Livermore looked at the medal around Danny’s neck and laughed.

“Putting your trust in a dead man?” he mocked.

Danny lunged at him, but Webster the referee stepped in.

“Back to your corners, gentlemen,” he ordered.

Danny was seething as Albert took off the medal and Patsy handed over his gum shield.

“He’s trying to wind you up,” Albert warned. “Just keep cool and box. Don’t get into a street fight. Box clever and keep your distance.”

“Seconds out!”

Amid the roar of the expectant crowd, the bell sounded for round one.

The two fighters moved around the ring just as they had at their previous meeting. A few punches were thrown. Both fighters were feeling each other out, sizing one another up. As the bell went for the end of the round, Danny sat down in his corner. He had hardly broken sweat.

“That’s good,” said Patsy. “Let’s see if we can step it up this round.”

“Jab and move,” advised Albert. “Keep him guessing.”

The bell rang out for round two as the crowd roared, looking for more action this time. They got it.

Danny was putting some very good combinations together. He jabbed and followed up with some powerful body shots. Livermore’s technique wasn’t as strong as Danny’s, but he was a stronger puncher, proved by how many of his wins had been knock-outs.

Danny got one of those big punches towards the end of the round. Livermore landed a brutal left hook to the side of Danny’s head that weakened Danny’s legs, but Danny managed to retreat, dance his way out of trouble and recover.

“Lucky punch Danny, that’s all,” Albert told him at the end of the round. “Keep your distance. You won that round on points, same again.”

Round three began. The crowd were on their feet, anticipating a knock-out from the reigning champion. But Danny back-pedalled and kept his distance, frustrating Livermore into throwing venomous punches which, as they flew by Danny’s head, were heartily cheered by the crowd. Livermore hissed insults as Danny parried his blows. At the end of the round, Danny headed back to his corner, full of purpose.

“That’s it,” Patsy encouraged, giving Danny water. “Now you keep that going. Frustrate him!”

Danny spat the water into a waiting bowl and turned to Albert.

“How am I doing, Grandad? He’s taking the piss, he’s calling me Daddy’s boy.”

“You’re doing just great, Danny,” Albert said. “Ignore him, you’re going well.”

The bell went for round four. In a quick exchange of punches, Livermore’s head clearly butted Danny.

“Ref!” Albert shouted.

“Cheat!” shouted eight thousand spectators.

Danny looked to Webster, but was ignored.

The round went on. Livermore targeted Danny’s face, hitting that area whenever he could, attacking a cut that was beginning to open on Danny’s forehead with a vengeance. Through the blood, Danny glimpsed Costa and Cohen sitting at the ringside. Costa gave him a knowing smile. The smile of a stitch-up.

Danny was now struggling to see. Albert jumped in the ring at the end of the round and led him back to his corner, where Patsy frantically patched Danny up.

Webster came over. “Still up for the fight?”

Through the fog in his head, Danny got the impression the referee wanted to end the fight.

“He’s all right,” said Albert coolly. “Just a small cut.”

“You heard the man,” said Patsy.

“What’s going on with him?” asked Danny groggily as Webster backed off. He was struggling to stay focused.

Albert slapped his face. “Listen to me,” he said, holding Danny’s chin. “I’m gonna tell you something important.”

“Yeah?” Danny slurred.

“The odds here are against you. You need to go out there in this round and knock him out. Spark out. Got it?”

Something sharpened in Danny’s head. The referee, Costa and Cohen. He looked at Albert, took his father’s medal hanging round Albert’s neck and kissed it.

The bell for round five rang out.

Danny was first to his feet. His change of tactics clearly unsettled Livermore. From being the aggressor, the title holder was now being pushed back as Danny came forward. In a flurry of punches that got the crowd not only to their feet but standing on their chairs, Danny had Livermore cornered and in serious trouble.

“Break!” Webster called.

No one had been holding. Most of the crowd began booing, sensing either bad decisions or something more sinister.

Moving back to the centre of the ring, Livermore came at Danny like a demented windmill. With a nifty piece of footwork, Danny sidestepped him and hit him with a massive right upper cut to the side of his head. The punch had so much force that it not only hurt Danny’s wrist, but sent the defending champion to the canvas.

The place exploded.

Livermore stayed down for a count of seven. Getting back to his feet, he was helped by the over-fussy “Wipe your gloves!” instruction from referee Webster, which helped delay proceedings. Livermore charged at Danny, right into a combination of punches that lifted him into the air and brought him crashing down on the bloodied canvas once again.

Before the count could begin, the bell went for the end of round five.

There was more booing from the crowd. Livermore’s team got him back to his corner and were doing their best to revive him.

Back in his own corner, Danny’s wrist was agony.

“Good boy,” enthused Albert. “Leave nothing to chance.”

“My right wrist is hurting bad,” Danny mumbled.

“Nearly there,” said Patsy.

“He’s on his knees,” said Albert. “Do it early.”

The bell rang for round six as the fighters came out. Webster took Livermore back to his corner to attend to a stray bandage from one of his gloves. Danny sensed another delaying tactic to give Livermore a chance to recover. The crowd sensed the same thing, to judge by the boos and jeers.

Livermore came out again. He seemed to have renewed energy, and attempted to put Danny under pressure. His illegal, below-the-belt punches were ignored by Webster, but Danny was given a public warning for holding.

The boos were growing louder. This seem to pump up Livermore, who came at Danny with renewed force. The flurry of his desperate punches was short-lived. Fighting through the pain of his wrist, Danny unleashed another barrage of punches that sent Livermore’s gum shield into the crowd and Livermore down to his knees. This time, he was definitely out.

Webster had no alternative but to count.

“...seven, eight, nine... ten!”

Livermore still lay flat on the floor. It was over.

There was mayhem. Albert almost somersaulted into the ring, hugging Danny and lifting him up.

“You did it!” he wept. “You did it, boy! Here, take your dad’s medal... take it. Your dad would be so proud. Well done, Danny!”

His face bloodied and bruised, Danny looked deep into Albert’s eyes as his grandfather draped his dad’s medal around his neck.

“We did it, Grandad,” he said in wonder, feeling as if he and Albert were the only two people in a crowded hall. “You, me and Dad. We did it.”

*

Lenny had watched the fight from the ringside, living every punch. He was beside himself with joy. A barrage of security men attempted to calm him down, but nobody was going to stop Lenny celebrating this wonderful moment.

“This is my family!” he shouted. “This is their night! This is
my
night! Hallelujah!”

He and a jubilant Patsy lifted the new British champion on to their shoulders and paraded Danny around the ring.

“Hallelujah!” Lenny shouted again, tears pouring down his face.

Albert couldn’t help a sarcastic smile and a wave of his walking stick at Costa and Cohen, standing motionless by the ringside. Tumultuous cheers rang out on all sides. Cameras flashed. History had been made.