Musclebound (7 page)

‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry for walking off last night,’ Simone said. ‘I thought we could have a drink and talk.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. She was back and I was thirsty.

‘Run first,’ said Keif.

‘Cock off,’ I said.

‘’Cos if you don’t I’m quitting,’ Keif said. ‘I mean, it’s been a long, interesting association an’ all that, but I got me limits – like I only work with professionals.’

‘Bog-dollops!’ I said.

‘Oh please don’t start shouting again, Eva,’ Simone said. ‘I’ll wait till you get back.’

‘I’m gonna marmelise you,’ I said to Keif.

‘You gotta catch me first,’ he said, and went jogging out my door and across the yard.

‘Go on,’ said Simone. So I went. Oh, serious fuck.

Thud-thud-thud, pound-pound-pound went my feet. And hey-diddle-diddle went my heart. I thought it was going to jump out through my ribs and lie like a dying fish flopping around under my trainers. I felt sick.

‘Who’s the slusher?’ Keif said.

‘Who … you … calling … a slusher?’ I said. I could hardly speak I was so angry. ‘That’s my sister you’re calling down.’

‘That’s right,’ Keif said. ‘Little more pace, little more pace – we don’t want no sweet old grannies hooting to pass.’

I was soaked to the skin. Rain bounced off my nose and into my eyes. My feet were bruised.

‘C’mon,’ Keif said. ‘We ain’t hardly done a quarter of a mile yet.’

Thud-thud-thud, and then more thud.

‘Get a move on,’ said Keif. ‘You want to talk big in front of your sister you’ll have to do better than the forty-minute mile.’

Pound-pound-pound. What do they put in training shoes these days? Lead soles?

‘Pick it up,’ said Keif. ‘I seen an ox with mad cow disease run better’n you.’

‘I … hate … running.’ I couldn’t breathe enough air to puff.

Thud, pound, stumble.

‘OK,’ said Keif. ‘You can walk now. You done ‘bout a mile and a half. All you needed was a little encouragement.’

‘Call … that … encouragement?’

‘Walk, I said. Don’t hang off the wall. Brisk walk.’

‘You can brisk walk down a drain and not come up.’

‘Atta girl!’ said Keif. ‘Now you know what a marvel I am, what’s the wages?’

I told him what the wages were and where he could stick them. But while he was laughing I thought, oh shit, now Simone’s met him so I’ll have to keep him. At least for a week. I wished she could’ve met Harsh. With Harsh as my personal trainer she would’ve taken me more serious. What the pooping hell would she make of this joker? Could anyone look up to me with a personal trainer like Keif?

So we haggled and the rain came down. And I didn’t know what was rain and what was sweat but it didn’t matter ‘cos whatever it was I was drenched through to the marrow.

In the end, he said, ‘OK, man, safe.’ And we was agreed. Spit on my hand and call me a berk if you like, but I told Simone about a personal trainer and he was the nearest thing on sale.

But when we got back to the Static Simone was gone.

‘She don’t hang about, your sister,’ Keif said, ‘but at least she cleared up.’

She had. The Static was all neat and tidy, but I was so gut-whacked that she hadn’t waited I went and locked myself in the bathroom cubicle where Keif couldn’t see me. I’d went to all the trouble of hiring me a personal trainer and she couldn’t stop around long enough to ‘preciate it.

I washed in cold water ‘cos I’d forgot to put any on to heat, and the water was as cold as my heart.

Still, when I got out Keif had found a couple of teabags and boiled some water.

‘No milk,’ he said.

‘Milk’s for wimps,’ I said.

‘No food,’ he said. ‘That for wimps too? You get out of your body what you put in. What do you eat? Chainsaws? Battery acid?’

‘Personal trainers,’ I said. I was thinking of dropping him off the payroll now Simone wasn’t there.

‘Serious, man,’ he said. ‘What’s the plan? You get fit – is Mr Deeds gonna let you back in?’

‘Mr Dirty Deeds ain’t the only game in town.’

‘You got other connections?’

‘I could go up North. They take wrestling more serious up North.’

‘Ever thought of the novelty circuit? Gladiators? Oil? Mud?’

‘That ain’t fighting,’ I said. ‘That’s showbiz.’

‘Sport
is
showbiz,’ he said. ‘Fighting’s showbiz. Boxing’s showbiz. Ever thought of boxing? You got the physique for it.’

‘Nah,’ I said. Boxers just stand there and hit each other. They don’t throw each other around and get down dirty on the mat. I like getting down on the mat. I like the pins and moves where weight and speed count. I’m good at it.

But I didn’t say anything. I was too low-down blue. Mr Deeds wouldn’t let me back in, and anyway, if he did what’s the point? My sister couldn’t even stop around while I went out on a training run. I’d been searching for her, hoping for her, wanting her for years, but when I found her she didn’t want to stick with me like I wanted to stick with her. She couldn’t wait five minutes. She just upped and left me with a joke personal trainer.

‘What’s up?’ said Keif.

‘Nothing’s fucking up,’ I said. ‘I need a drink.’

‘Finish yer tea.’

‘Stuff yer tea.’

‘My arse ain’t a satchel,’ he said. ‘All what you told me to stuff this evening wouldn’t fit into a warehouse.’

‘Listen, satchel-bum,’ I said, ‘you ain’t my gaoler – get off my case.’

‘Safe,’ he said, getting up. ‘Stew in it.’

See? He didn’t give a toss neither. And I was
paying
him.

At which point Simone walked back into the Static.

‘Where you
been?’
I said.

‘Just down the shops,’ she said. ‘I saw you didn’t have anything to eat. Don’t yell. You didn’t think I wouldn’t wait, did you?’

I should never of doubted her. She unloaded a carrier bag, and pulled out a lovely big bottle of Jamaican rum. Now that’s what I call a sister.

Keif said, ‘You really Eva’s sister – same mother, same father?’

‘Same mother.’

‘Fer true? Her well-being your well-being an’ all that?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well then,’ Keif said, ‘you won’t object if I carry this away.’ And he picked up the lovely big bottle of Jamaican rum and walked out with it.

‘Oi!’ I yelled.

We both ran out after him but by the time we got to the door he’d vanished into the rain.

‘The cheek of it!’ Simone said.

I was so narked I could hardly utter.

‘Did you see what he did?’ Simone said. ‘Did you
see?
Who does he think he is?’

‘Keif,’ I said. ‘He’s my …’

‘Personal trainer. You told me. You let him treat you like that? I’m surprised at you, Eva. You used to be able to stick up for yourself.’

Ouch. I said, ‘Well he’s …’

‘I mean, can’t you get someone better than him?’ Which gave me a problem. I couldn’t talk Keif down like I wanted to ‘cos then Simone’d think I couldn’t afford anyone better. So I said, ‘Well he’s very good on basic fitness and that sort of thing. I been sick recently.’

‘Yeah, but Eva, a black guy with no manners – or is he your boyfriend?’

‘
Shit
, Simone …’

‘Because, otherwise, why would you let him dictate to you like that?’

‘I
ain’t
letting him dictate,’ I yelled. ‘And ’sides, I’m thinking of letting him go.’

‘I should bloody well think so,’ Simone said. ‘And don’t shout.’

‘But he
ain’t
my boyfriend. He
ain’t
.’

‘So you might fancy him or something.’

‘I ain’t
got
a boyfriend. I ain’t
interested.’

‘All right, all right,’ said Simone. ‘I didn’t mean you couldn’t have one if you wanted one.’

‘I
told
you,’ I said. ‘I ain’t interested.’

‘Don’t get so worked up,’ Simone said. ‘You’re better off without, believe me. It’s just I couldn’t stand to see that guy treat you so mean – walking off with your rum – the cheek of it.’

See? She did care. She really did. She was looking out for me just like I always looked out for her.

‘I bought you a toothbrush,’ she said. ‘You couldn’t find yours.’

I was so melted she’d remembered, I went straight off to the cubicle and scrubbed my teeth. My mouth felt cool and my teeth felt slippery. And then I noticed that the muscles in my calves and thighs felt warm and burny. So I thought, I
can
get it all back – if I work I can get hard again. If I had Simone behind me, Simone to watch me, I could do it all – be the London Lassassin again. There wasn’t nothing I couldn’t do if I could do it for her. I wouldn’t mind the pain at all.

When I got out of the cubicle she was there, leaning her back against the counter looking at an old poster – a Deeds Promotions poster with my name on it. All the old names were on it – Harsh, Gruff, Pete, Phil and his dad – and it gave me quite a turn. I don’t know where she found it ‘cos I thought I got rid of everything that reminded me.

I said, ‘Yeah, well, it’s hard coming back from injury.’

‘I thought you said you’d been sick,’ she said.

‘As well,’ I said. I didn’t want to tell her what really happened.

‘See, it’s rough in the ring,’ I mumbled. ‘I done me back in. I got the flu later.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Bad luck.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Athletes is finely tuned animals. Put your back out of whack and it can take for ever healing.’

‘So that’s why you need a personal trainer,’ she said. ‘You must’ve been doing really well at the wrestling if you can afford one of those.’

‘Top of the tree, me.’

‘Then why’s your name at the bottom of the poster?’

‘Old poster,’ I said. ‘Before I reached me full potential.’

I wished she’d talk about something else.

‘Come on,’ she said, like she could read my mind. ‘Let’s go out. That idiot stole our rum so there’s nothing to stay in for.’

So we went out. Only this time I remembered the dogs. Simone quite liked Milo but I could see she was shit scared of Ramses and Lineker so I put her outside the gate before I let them out.

They could smell a stranger so they piled out of their pen and chased over to the gate to see her.

‘Shut up,’ I yelled, trotting behind them. ‘That’s my sister. She’s OK.’

I wanted her to stand up close to the gate so they could get a proper whiff of her and know she was welcome. But she didn’t want to get too near.

It was Ramses really. Some dogs have a nose for blood, some dogs can sniff out dope, some are ace with explosives – but give Ramses a tiny whiff of fear and he’ll suck your veins out through your belly button. I told you Simone was too sensitive. It made Ramses want to take advantage.

‘They’re awfully big dogs,’ she said as we walked away.

‘They’re proper bastards,’ I told her proudly. ‘I trained them myself

We didn’t go to the Fir Tree. I couldn’t remember exactly what happened last night but I could remember the landlord hadn’t been polite.

‘Not fit to be a publican,’ I said as we went past and turned left on the main road.

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing. I’m starving. I ain’t eaten all day and me blood sugar’s
taken a nosedive.’ As a matter of fact I suddenly couldn’t remember when I ate last. Not at all.

‘Simone,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. I was going to tell her I couldn’t remember when I ate last, but I thought I better not. What if she thought I was a nutter? What if she didn’t want a nutter for a sister?

We went into the Cat and Cowbell and I ordered a meat pie and chips to go with the beer. Simone had another of those white-wine things.

‘What?’ said Simone.

‘That drink,’ I said. ‘It’s piss elegant, ennit?’

‘Is it?’ she said. ‘What you said about blood sugar …’

‘What?’

‘Well, you know an awful lot about fitness and things.’

“Course I do.’

‘We could go into business together,’ she said.

Together. She used that word again. It made me glow.

‘How?’ I said.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Open a fitness centre. You know all about whatsit, um, training, and I could manage it – look after the glamour end. You know, sunbeds and leotards.’

That was a stunner. In business together. It meant she did want me around. She could see our future and it was together.

‘Yeah,’ I said, gulping my beer. ‘Why not? When I retire I’ll be the most famous fighter ever – we could call the place The Lassassin …’

‘When you retire?’

‘From the ring.’ I was eating meat pie like there was no tomorrow. How can you be that hungry without knowing? ‘Simone,’ I said, ‘I want to be the most famous fighter there ever was. Famouser than Haystacks, Klondyke Kate, Kendo Nagasaki. I can do it. I know I can …’

‘Shshsh,’ she said, ‘everyone’s staring.’

‘Let them stare,’ I said, ‘that’s what being famous is all about.’
I turned to look at everyone who was staring at me and, oh choke on your chips, there was the Enemy. The Enemy looked at me just at the same second I looked at her so I couldn’t pretend I ain’t seen her.

‘What?’ said Simone.

‘Bugger,’ I said. ‘Someone I know. Bloody politzei.’

‘What?’ she said. ‘Police? Shit.’

‘No worries,’ I said. ‘Ex-politzei.’ But when I looked over again I saw that the Enemy was with Mr Schiller and a geezer I didn’t know. Well, I didn’t know who he was but if I didn’t know
what
he was you could fold me up, stick me in an envelope and post me to Rio.

‘Scrub that,’ I said, ‘ex-politzei at the trough with real politzei.’

‘Let’s go,’ Simone said. ‘I’m still allergic.’

See, whatever else changes there’s one thing never changes – it’s like the colour of your eyes – you’re born with it and you go to the grave with it – and that’s what you think about the Law. It made me feel homey. Simone, for all her white-wine thingies and fancy-speak, was still my sister.

‘Finish your drink,’ I said, ‘they ain’t got nothing on me.’ I went on shovelling meat pie into my gob and washing it down with bitter. All the same, I wanted to leave ‘cos I didn’t want Simone to know I’d been working for Lee-Schiller. That was a real come-down for someone like me, and I wouldn’t of done it except I was on my uppers. But I didn’t want Simone to know that neither.