He wondered why Albert and Patsy had kept quiet as Costa had read out the clauses. Was it because they didn’t want to influence his decision, or were they just not that concerned?
Danny looked at Albert, then Patsy. With his mind made up, he turned back to Cohen and said, “I can’t sign this.”
Cohen’s eyes widened. “Sorry?”
“I can’t sign this,” Danny repeated.
Cohen silently exhaled a cloud of blue cigar smoke.
“Why, Danny?” asked Costa. “What’s the problem?”
“Clause four,” Danny said. “I want Patsy and Albert to be my trainers.”
There was a huge intake of breath as Costa and Cohen looked at each other. Albert’s eyes almost filled with tears.
“That’s right,” Patsy said defiantly.
“Gentlemen,” Cohen said as he looked at Costa. “Can you give us five minutes?”
Albert, Patsy and Danny left Cohen’s office. Danny wordlessly shook their hands in a gesture of loyalty and brotherhood before they sat together on the brown leather sofa in the reception area.
Minutes passed, with just the tick-tock of an overdecorated clock filling the room, the gurgle of the frog fountain and the sound of an ambulance bell hurrying through the streets.
The office door opened and Costa beckoned them back inside.
“Danny,” Costa said. “Because we believe in you, I’ve managed to convince Jack to let things stay as they are with Albert and Patsy. You have our word on that.”
“But no other changes,” said Cohen. “All right?”
Danny felt a rush of relief. He grinned at Albert and Patsy. Patsy grinned back.
“So are we ready to sign?” Costa said in a showbiz voice. “We’ve got the local press outside wanting to get a picture.”
“Yeah,” said Danny happily. “I’ll sign.”
A photographer was brought in, and hands were shaken. Danny signed the contract, awash with optimism and relief. He’d got what he wanted, and Albert and Patsy were going to be part of it.
“That’s my boy,” said Patsy as Danny walked beside his friends down the Whitechapel Road with a spring in his step. “You come through, Danny. It may be a bit early, but we’ll take it slow. You’re turning professional, son, and I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“Thanks Patsy,” said Danny.
Albert just grunted.
“You boys join me in a celebration drink in the Blind Beggar?” Patsy asked, rubbing his hands.
Danny had never been in the Blind Beggar, but he knew its reputation for shady underworld activity.
“Probably bump into Costa and Cohen there,” said Albert sarcastically. “It’s just the kind of place where they hang out, I reckon.”
The Blind Beggar had just opened for the evening. As they entered the pub, a few heads turned.
“Albert! Over here!”
In the corner, a stocky, well-dressed man with a face that looked as if he had had a two-week fight with Rocky Marciano got to his feet. “Albert Kemp my old son!” he said. “Slumming?”
Albert’s face broke into a smile. “Harry Baldock,” he said. “As I live and breathe! Still standing, then?”
Harry Baldock grinned. “Standing with the best of them, old son,” he said. “Who are your friends?”
Albert made the introductions.
“Harry was a boxer in his day,” he told Patsy and Danny. “One of the best fighters I ever went up against. Harry, young Danny here is a true contender who’s about to embark on a professional career. You should keep an eye out for him.”
“I’ll do that, Albert old son, I’ll do that. Who’s for a drink?”
They had a couple of pints at Harry’s table. Although Danny was enjoying the company and the stories of the good old days, after a couple of hours of Albert and Harry’s reminiscences, he wanted to get back to Wendy. So, with fond farewells, he left them to it.
I’m on my way, he thought from the top deck of the trolley bus, looking down at the twists and turns of the streets he knew so well. It’s finally happening.
Towards the end of the journey, the conductor came by and punched his ticket.
“Don’t I know you?” he asked, looking at Danny’s face.
“I doubt it,” Danny answered cheerfully as he readied himself to jump off the bus. “But you will.”
The Bristows were in the living room watching television. Danny tumbled out his news.
“Wonderful!” said Mr Bristow approvingly. He flicked the tie round Danny’s neck. “That tie always worked for me.”
“Do you want a cup of tea, Danny?” asked Mrs Bristow.
“No thanks. Where’s Wendy?”
“She’s in bed, she felt tired. Probably still awake though.”
Danny took the stairs two at a time.
“It all worked out, Wend,” he said, bounding into their room. “I signed the contract, like I told you I would. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
“That’s great,” Wendy mumbled, half asleep.
Danny kissed her forehead and gently put his hand on the ever-growing bump. “We’re on our way,” he said. “You, me and the baby.”
Wendy smiled and closed her eyes.
Creeping round the darkened room, Danny was relieved to get his dog’s-dinner outfit off. Sliding quietly into bed with one more kiss on Wendy’s cheek, he fell into a contented sleep.
The next morning, amidst the usual semi-chaos of most working families – the hurried breakfasts, getting ready, fights for the bathroom – Danny thought happily about what lay ahead. No more hod carrying. He had left the building sites now, and hoped they would soon be a distant memory. He had been given this opportunity, and he had to grab it with both hands, focus and train even harder than before.
He decided not to take his usual running route to the park, but go straight to the Live and Let Live gym. When he got there, only Daisy the cleaner was in, polishing the brass and making the place presentable for the lunch-time opening. Daisy had a curious habit of whistling like an insanely happy milkman whilst she cleaned, which suited Danny’s mood this morning.
He persuaded her to unlock the door to the upstairs gym. There was almost a church-like feeling about the darkened theatre of dreams at this time of the morning, and as Danny turned on the lights, he saw the familiar surroundings as if for the first time, the faded posters of past fighters gazing down on him as if to inspire and guide. He looked at the poster of Albert, proud and in his pomp, and almost bowed his head the way a churchgoer bows to the altar.
His eagerness to get going and train hard turned into a reverent awareness of gladiators past. Danny thought about their trials and hardships, their victories and defeats, their dreams and nightmares. He was following in their noble footsteps, and he felt he could not let them down. His commitment would pay homage to those that had gone before him. Heroes, like his father, warriors of the past, faded but still glorious.
With a deep breath, Danny began to work through the exercises he had been through so many times. There was a strength in him today that he’d rarely felt before. He was now a professional boxer, and this was where he truly belonged. This was where his future would be shaped.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AFTER weeks of hard training under the watchful eyes of Albert and Patsy, there wasn’t a single fight on the horizon. Danny was beginning to wonder if Costa and Cohen had changed their minds. Perhaps the inclusion of Albert and Patsy had dampened their enthusiasm.
“You should telephone them and see what’s going on,” Wendy suggested.
But Danny was apprehensive. If it was bad news, he didn’t want to hear it.