Both Carl and Kevin started laughing.
“You’ve got it, ape!” Carl said. “Bernie’s opponent tonight is you!”
“And believe me, it’s going to be hilarious,” Kevin said.
“For those of us in the audience, anyway,” Carl added.
And they both laughed again.
I shook my head and pushed the gloves away.
Carl’s eyes narrowed to slits and his lips formed a cruel smile.
“No chance,” he said. “Don’t try it on with us. You will be fighting Bernie tonight. We’ll come back later and help you warm up.”
And with that they departed, locking the door behind them.
My heart was full of fear and I spent the whole morning alone in my cellar. I didn’t want to believe that this was true. I couldn’t believe it was true. Carl and Kevin must have been playing a joke on me. Surely they couldn’t be serious?
The hours passed slowly. At noon Kevin brought me a bowl of boiled potatoes to eat. The blade of his flick knife was open and his eyes didn’t leave me the whole time he was in the cellar. He was obviously worried I might try to escape.
The afternoon gloom outside my barred window gradually became the dark of night. Moira had hired a small orchestra for the evening and I could hear the sounds of musical instruments being tuned up. Then the first guests began arriving. They were talking in loud, high-spirited voices and there was the noise of laughter and doors being slammed. A little later it sounded as if there was a large crowd out on the street, eager to be let in. Lucky Lucy’s was going to be busy tonight. In my mind’s eye I could see the red-faced ruffians who yelled at us and played the fool when Bernie and I were on the door. I had no doubt they would turn up tonight to see Bernie the Butcher in the ring, and they’d be hoping he would have one of his notorious fits of berserk fury.
Later in the evening I must have fallen asleep for a while, only to be woken with a start by several sharp explosions. It was midnight and the quay outside was lit by the flashing light of New Year rockets being fired. The orchestra played ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and the walls of my cellar rang as the guests sang in the New Year.
For a few short, hopeful moments I thought the boxing match may have been cancelled—after all, it was so late.
But then came the sound of footsteps and laughter from the corridor leading to my cellar, the door opened and in came Carl and Kevin. Their eyes were gleaming, their cheeks flushed and their breath stank of alcohol. Each of them was carrying a stout cane.
“Now we’re going to have some fun, the three of us!” Carl said.
He took off his jacket, undid the black bow tie he was wearing and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Kevin did the same. They were holding their canes with both hands and they began circling me. My heart was pounding.
“Time for you to get warmed up,” Kevin slurred drunkenly and aimed a first blow at me.
I dodged to one side and the cane struck the stone floor with a sharp crack.
Carl caught my eye and stared at me. “Right, ape, we have to make sure you’re really angry and raring to fight when you go up in the ring.”
“That’s the thing! People want to see blood! A fight to the death!” Kevin said.
Carl struck me across the back and then, as I spun round, Kevin struck a blow on my upper arm. It was hard and it hurt dreadfully.
I drew my lips back and bared my teeth and a muffled growl rose from my throat. This happens when I’m threatened. Carl had already raised his cane to strike again, but stumbled backwards at the sight of my long, sharp, canine teeth.
Kevin, too, lost his courage, his evil sneer suddenly wiped away.
“What do you reckon, Carl?” he said with a tremor in his voice. “It looks to me as if we’ve warmed the ape up quite enough.”
Carl tried to put a brave face on it when he looked at me, but it wasn’t convincing. He said, “Yeah… I agree. We don’t want the beast completely out of control. We’ll let her calm down a bit and come back when it’s time for the fight.”
Carl and Kevin hurriedly put on their jackets and left my cellar.
I hoped that Carl and Kevin wouldn’t dare come back, that they might lie and say I was ill in order to avoid fetching me. In my heart of hearts, though, I knew better than that. Once Moira had decided I was to box Bernie, that was what was going to happen.
The next time the cellar door was opened, it was Gordon who came in first. Carl and Kevin were close behind him, their sticks raised ready to strike.
Gordon looked at me calmly before saying in a firm voice, “You are a smart ape, Sally Jones, and you understand what people are saying to you. Listen to me carefully now…”
He leant forward and continued. “The guests in the club want to see blood, so Moira has ordered Bernie to give you a real beating, as much of a beating as he can. Even if you get killed in the process. It’s your life you’re fighting for tonight! Do you understand?”
Our eyes met for a few seconds and then, reluctantly, I nodded.
“Good,” Gordon said. “Now put on your boxing shorts and I’ll help you lace up your gloves.”
The noise from the festivities upstairs grew louder as we walked through the cellar corridor. The storeroom adjoining the club was packed with people, a fog of tobacco smoke hanging thick below the ceiling. Bets were being laid and banknotes waved. Everyone turned in my direction when we entered and some clapped, others laughed. One man, his eyes bloodshot with drink, started dancing around and shadow boxing in front of me.
I caught a quick glimpse of the back of Bernie’s head as he went through the door into the club. He was welcomed with a deafening roar.
I was pushed forward. Someone placed a towel on my shoulders. Things were being shouted in my ears and people were patting and thumping my arms and back. Suddenly I found myself close to the door and then Carl and Kevin pushed me roughly over the threshold.
The big club room was a mass of people, those who couldn’t find a seat were standing on tables around the walls. Hundreds of flushed and sweaty faces were staring at me. The air was so thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat that it was hard to breathe. Applause, shouts and bursts of laughter combined into a terrifying roar. Carl and Kevin pushed me through the throng and up to the boxing ring in the middle of the room, where Bernie was waiting, huge and pale, his arms hanging loose and his eyes lowered.
My heart was racing and all my instincts were telling me to flee. But there was no way out. Carl and Kevin forced me to climb under the ropes and into the ring. A man in a white shirt sounded a gong and the audience roared.
The match started.
Bernie had no wish to fight me. I could see that straightaway. But even if he’d wanted to, there was no way he could get at me—he was far too big and heavy and slow.
Moira was standing at the side of the ring screaming at Bernie to go on the attack. He lumbered forward, swinging his right fist aimlessly. I kept moving and took care not to get trapped in one of the corners.
At the start, the crowd was excited and expectant. Every time Bernie managed to get close to me, their shouts and yells rose to a roar, but eventually their expectation turned into disappointment. More and more dissatisfied voices and boos could be heard and some began to laugh and hurl abuse at Bernie.
There was a break at the end of the first round and Bernie and I sat down to rest in opposite corners of the ring. While Moira was bawling and berating Bernie, Gordon was speaking into my ear.
“This won’t do,” he said. “If the audience doesn’t see blood soon, they’ll get sick of it and go home. You must get into close combat with Bernie in the next round—and stay there! Otherwise this is going to be a fiasco and your life won’t be worth living.”
The gong sounded and the match started again. I could see that Moira was glaring at me with murder in her eyes and I realized I had to do as Gordon had said. I had no other choice.
I don’t really know what happened next. My memories are like the scattered fragments of a shredded picture. I’ve heard that’s what happens as a result of concussion.
The only thing I know for sure is that the match ended with Bernie knocking me out. I’ve since pieced together some images from the seconds preceding the punch. I had allowed Bernie to drive me into a corner and, above the wild yelling of the audience, I heard Moira’s shrill, hoarse voice shouting, “Now, Bernie, punch now! Punch!”
For one brief moment I caught Bernie’s eyes. They were wide with panic and desperation.
Then he raised his fist.
A moment later everything went black.