Musclebound (4 page)

‘Right,’ said Ma from behind her bundle of tart-rags. ‘Why don’t you go in and have a sit-down. You look all wore out. I’ll be in in a sec to put the kettle on.’

Sit down on what? Her settee was probably already on the van. You had to hand it to her. The rent man nearly
handed it to her on a baseball bat. He said, ‘Just the money, Mrs Smith.
Now.’

‘Herf!’ said Milo. The hackles went up. He was only a kid in dog years but he knew when stuff was going critical.

Me too.

‘
The rent,’
the rent man shouted. He thumped the baseball bat in the palm of his hand. Whack! If he’d thumped Ma’s peroxide head that way she’d of ended up on the floor below. I grinned. It was no more than she deserved.

Ma said, ‘You said you’d give me till next week. I ain’t got all of it. You said.’

‘I said today.’

‘Next week. You
said.’

‘Now!’ he shouted. ‘I ain’t letting you off no more. You ain’t even a
cheap
screw. I been looking at the books – it’s four months you owe. Four fuckin’ months. You’re getting me in lumber.’

So now you know how a woman with no readies pays the rent.

It made me sick.

I said, ‘Oi, you, balls for brains.’

‘What?’ He turned his baseball bat in my direction.

‘You heard her,’ I said. ‘She ain’t got your money. Come back tomorrow.’

‘I ain’t coming back tomorrow,’ he said, “cos I ain’t leaving today. Not without my money.’

He flicked his bat at me. I stepped aside. He flicked his bat at Ma. She was too slow. The bat swiped her hands. The armful of frocks and undies went flying out over the balcony. They went tumbling like confetti into the wind.

‘Woo-hoo-hoo,’ went Ma, sucking on her knuckles.

‘Herf,’ went Milo and took a chomp at the rent man’s crotch.

I dropped my box of crud and got down in a crouch.

The rent man whacked Milo. I took a jump at him. He whacked me. I went down. Clean and simple.

‘Wow-wow-wo!’ cried Milo.

‘Woo-hoo-hoo!’ cried Ma.

A dog and a bitch, both howling.

I said nothing. My arm was dropping off and my teeth were clenched so tight they hurt.

‘Just the bleedin’ MONEY!’ said the rent man.

I could of had him. I
could
of. If I hadn’t got all tangled up in Ma’s suspenders. No one whacks my pup and gets off light. No one. But there I was – on the deck with no feeling in my right arm and Ma and Milo woo-hooing in my lug-holes. And the poxy rent man – he was looming and smacking his bat in the palm of his hand. I dunno how it happened – really I don’t. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.

I said, ‘Want your money, eh?’

‘What d’you think I want?’ he said. ‘A tango lesson?’

‘You got a frigging polite way of asking,’ I said. ‘How come I ain’t heard the word “please”?’

‘When did that ever earn me the price of a dry fart?’ he asked. Then he bent over bawling Ma, grabbed a fistful of her hair and shouted, ‘Gimme my fucking money, you cheap tart, PLEASE.’

‘All you had to do was ask nicely,’ I said, because there was bugger-all else I could say. I reached in my pocket. I had to do it with my left hand ‘cos the other one felt like it went AWOL. And I gave the bastard a wodge of twenties.

‘Keep the change, my man,’ I said. Well, what else was I going to do, on the deck with only one arm? ‘And next time,’ I said, ‘MIND YOUR TURDING MANNERS.’

The look on his face was almost worth what it cost.

‘Wha’?’ he said.

‘Fuckin’ cock off,’ I said, ‘and don’t come back.’

‘Wha’?’ said Ma, mascara dripping off her chin. The look on her face was almost worth what it cost too.

‘Wo-wo-wo,’ went Milo. I couldn’t of said it better meself. ‘Cos, when you look at it – I lost. The rent man won and I lost. Just like that. Without putting up any kind of show at all. I took a jump at him. He walloped me. I crashed. Just like that. Biff – crash.

It ain’t never happened before. Of course I lose sometimes. In the ring, I’m the villain and villains ain’t supposed to win all the time. Blue-eyes is supposed to beat the villain sometimes. Blue-eyes is supposed to beat the devil in black. And sometimes, in the ring I was given such piss-poor opposition I had to work a lot harder at losing than winning. But I never went down without I did damage. Dirty damage. Never jump-biff-crash, just like that. Never.

‘Get up,’ Ma said. ‘Get up and help.’

When I opened my eyes, I saw the rent man had gone. Milo was standing, all lopsided and shivering, with his tail between his legs. Ma’s underwear was blowing about in the wind and she was trying to catch it. I couldn’t stand to watch.

‘Get off your lard-arse and help me,’ Ma said. But I couldn’t stand to touch it. I rubbed my shoulder. It was OK. It went dead for a while and then it hurt. But it was OK.

‘Come
on,’
Ma said.

But I couldn’t stand to look at her neither.

I got up. I picked Milo up. I walked away.

‘Oi!’ said Ma. ‘Where you off to?’

But I was too gutted to talk. I walked away with Milo in me arms.

The vet said Milo had a dislocated femur. He jolted it back in place and made Milo cry. He said Milo was young and strong – he’d not notice it in the morning. And that was true.

But I ain’t a pup. I got memories and feelings and stuff that a pup ain’t got. I can’t go to the vet with them and be all right the next day. I got them for keeps, and they hurt.

I s’pose you’ll say, ‘Who cares? You’re flush now, Eva. You’re laughing. Take some of that crinkly stuff you got nailed up on the doghouse wall and rub it on what hurts. That’s what loaded folk do.’ Well, that goes to show what a big help
you
are. It shows how unfeeling people become when they know you got lots of dosh. I won’t come to you again.

No. Harsh was who I needed. Harsh knows everything. Harsh has all the answers. He’s a god, and an ace good wrestler too. But unless you know your onions, like me, you won’t appreciate him. It takes someone who knows what’s what in the ring to appreciate a wrestler like Harsh. He’s what we call a shooter – a straight shooter. What’s more, he’s got brains – which is more than I can say for most of the thickos I know.

But it’d been a bit of a stretch since I seen him last. I hadn’t seen him ‘cos he trains at the gym I got kicked out of. The one Mr Dirty Deeds barred me from. Harsh is still in my ex-world and I didn’t want to see him ‘cos it reminded me of what I ain’t got.

And I didn’t want to walk into the gym just to hear those heavyweights, Gruff and Pete, say, ‘Here comes the has-been.’

‘Cos
they would, you know. Gruff and Pete are the worst fungus-farts in the world. They know what hurts and they hurt what hurts. They enjoy it. I didn’t want to face them.

So I waited outside in the mizzle. I waited and watched out for Harsh. I waited a long time on the other side of the road where I could see the gym door. I waited in the doorway of the tobacconist till the owner moved me on and then I hunkered down next to a boarded-up shop. And, would you believe it, I hadn’t been there twenty minutes when some little old woman gave me ten pence. I mean, shit, she must’ve thought I was homeless or something. She just walked past and dropped a ten-pence coin on the ground in front of me like I was a beggar. I should’ve shouted at her. I should’ve said, ‘Oi, you soppy old wrinkly, don’t you know a squillionaire when you see one?’ I should’ve given her back her pitiful ten pence. But I never. I was narked, but I also thought, ain’t that weird – when I had fuck-all, nobody gave me fuck-all. Now I’ve got loads, people are falling over to give me more. Loot attracts loot.

See what I mean? That’s what made me feel hot about the lottery ticket I bought. I couldn’t wait for Saturday to find out how much I’d won. I was so hot, I couldn’t not win. So I picked up the coin and stashed it. I’d keep it as my lucky piece.

Just as I was doing that I saw Harsh come out the gym door. And I was really glad he didn’t see me picking up a coin off the street ‘cos he looked so clean and beautiful. He’s got the perfect body – strong, muscled, but not overcooked. Every bit of him’s useful. None of it’s for show.

And that’s why I nearly didn’t go over to talk to him. ‘Cos he looks how I ought to look. And I suddenly knew that nosy cow, the Enemy, had a point – I
had
slurped a bit too much of the sauce. I
had
let myself go. And that’s why the rent man decked me. Of course it was Ma’s fault too – her upsetting me, her and her tarty underwear. And it wasn’t so much that the rent man actually decked me – no – it was him looking at me and knowing he could. A year ago he would of looked at me and said to hisself,
‘Uh-oh, trouble, back off.’ This year he looked at me and said to hisself, ‘Ho-ho, easy meat. I can have this.’ And he did.

So I didn’t want clean beautiful Harsh looking at me and seeing what the rent man saw.

But I didn’t have no other choice. And besides, I told myself as I crossed the road, he hadn’t seen the old bird drop me a coin, and he hadn’t seen me pick it up. So I walked as tall as I could and I called out his name.

‘Harsh!’ I said.

He spun round, easy and graceful, on the balls of his feet. ‘Eva,’ he said. ‘Well, well, well.’

‘Harsh,’ I said, ‘you got to help me.’

‘Do I?’ he asked.

It had come out all wrong. Why does it
always
come out wrong?

‘This bloke yesterday,’ I said.

‘Excuse me?’ said Harsh.

‘Yeah. He knew he could clobber me.’

‘Eva,’ Harsh said. ‘Give me some space. Let go of my coat.’

‘And he clobbered me. He did. But it’s ‘cos he
knew
he could.’

‘Eva,’ Harsh said. ‘This may mean a lot to you, but, so far, it means very little to me. Let go of me and explain yourself clearly.’

‘I got to get back.’

‘Get back where?’

‘Where I was,’ I said. ‘Fit. Hard.’

‘Ah,’ said Harsh. ‘I see.’

Harsh saw. I felt like bawling my eyes out.

‘I can pay you,’ I said, because I didn’t want to bawl.

‘Where did you get all that money?’ Harsh said. ‘Don’t brandish it out here where everyone can see.’

I stuffed fistfuls of wedge back in my pockets. I said, ‘I wanted to show you – so’s you’d believe.’

‘I believe you,’ Harsh said. ‘You don’t have to wave it around. Where did you get it?’

‘It’s mine,’ I said.

‘All right, don’t shout.’

‘So I’ll pay you,’ I said. ‘And you’ll get me fit again.’

‘You will not pay me,’ Harsh said. ‘You do not need money to be fit. You need the will to do the work. You need the will to stop drinking.’

‘I ain’t drinking.’

‘I can smell it.’

‘I gave it up.’

‘Then you need to use your toothbrush. How much money will that cost you?’

‘What’re you ravin’ on about?’ I shouted. I was so let down. ‘Are you blind or what? I want to be the London Lassassin again. I can pay. And you’re going on about a fuckin’ stupid toothbrush.’

‘It is a journey,’ Harsh said. ‘And in your case it should begin with a toothbrush.’

He turned away and left me standing. Can you believe it? When I opened my eyes again, he was gone. Gone. He left me standing with all that wedge balled up in me pockets. Me! A squillionaire.

I could of run after him and throttled him.

‘I’ll give you a toothbrush,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you a toothbrush so hard it’ll come out the other end.’

I mean, I’m talking quads, pecs, deltoid, trapezius – and he’s talking toothbrush. That’s way past dumb. I thought Harsh understood, I really thought he
knew
, but he told me squat, treated me like a tadpole.

And then two geezers walked up and one of them swatted me on the shoulder. I whisked round.

‘Oi,’ the black-haired geezer said. ‘Oi, Eva, don’t thump me.’

It was Flying Phil. I said, ‘What you done to your hair?’ He used to streak it blond. Now it was blue-black and spiky.

‘Ain’tcha heard?’ he said. ‘Dad’s retired. I’ve gone solo. I’m Firefly Phil, the Giant Killer now. What you doing shouting the odds out here? Mr Deeds’ll go ape. He told you what he’d do if he caught you within a mile of the gym.’

‘Fuck Mr Deeds,’ I said. ‘And fuck you too.’ I was too upset about Harsh to talk to a moron like Phil.

‘Know what?’ Phil said. ‘You’re turning into one of those bag women.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Yeah, next you’ll be pushing a trolley and collecting carrier bags. You’re already doing the bit where you shout at strangers.’

‘I ain’t,’ I said. ‘I was talking to Harsh. He’s going to get me back in the ring.’

‘Harsh?’ Phil said. ‘Don’t make me laugh. He’s retiring too.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, Eva. You’re really out of the loop. He got his degree or whatever it was, and he’s going back to Wog Land or wherever it was he came from.’

‘He’s never!’ I said. Well, I knew Harsh was studying for something ‘cos he’s such a brainy bloke. But he’d never leave the wrestling. He’d never, never walk out on me when I was all set to get back.

‘He’s never,’ I said again. ‘He’s going to be my personal trainer.’

‘Dream on,’ said Phil. ‘He’s going to be a personal assistant to some fuckin’ economical adviser in Wog Land.’

‘What do you know about fuck-all?’ I said.

‘More than you do,’ Phil said. ‘I know Harsh is leaving, and I know he ain’t interested in you. And I know a boozy fantasy when I hear one.’

‘Shows how brain-damaged you are,’ I said.

‘You were always such a gark, Eva, and you ain’t improved.’ Phil turned to the strange bloke he was with and said, ‘She always had the hots for Harsh. She thinks he’s a Zen master or something.’

‘He ain’t a bad middleweight,’ the bloke said, which made me look at him proper. ‘Cos he couldn’t be as pill-panned as Phil if he said that.

‘Boring,’ Phil said. ‘Zen wrestling don’t pull in the punters.’

‘Someone got to do it,’ the stranger said. He had screwy hair and
toffee-coloured skin. He looked like a heavyweight to me. Usually my natural enemies are heavyweights. That’s what Gruff and Pete are. But this bloke looked like he had more in his crow’s nest than bird droppings. So I said, ‘Who’re you when you’re at home?’