He tried to focus on Danny and his big fight. How was the boy doing? Was he nervous? Did he have his father’s medal? He tossed and turned in his bed, trying and failing to get comfortable. When would Lenny ring? Had Maria let him know where Albert was?
He looked around at the hospital ward, bare and surgical with its smell of disinfectant and cleanliness. He hated being laid up like an invalid. He wanted to be at work. He wanted to be in his own flat. If and when Lenny got in contact, he’d ask him to go to his flat and feed Rocky.
Making the best of it, Albert drifted in and out of a twilight sleep.
“I want a good clean fight,” the referee told Danny and Livermore as they stood face to face. “No holding, and when I say break, you break.”
Danny and Livermore touched gloves and returned to their corners. The roar of anticipation from the crowd was so loud, Danny could hardly hear.
“Seconds out!”
Ding ding!
“Round one!”
It was to be a ten-round contest. Both boxers showed respect in the first round, feeling one another out, keeping their distance and throwing the odd jab.
Patsy was in Danny’s ear at the end of round one.
“You’re doing good, Danny. Keep your distance. Keep your powder dry, wait for the right moment. Out you go, son.”
To the delight of the crowd, round two saw Livermore on the offensive.
He caught Danny with some powerful hits, one straight left uppercut almost lifting Danny off his feet. When the bell rang out, Danny was shell-shocked and relieved to get back to his corner.
Sitting Danny down on his stool, Patsy slapped Danny’s face.
“Listen to me. You need to get fighting. Jab and move forward. Stop backing away, take the fight to him. Are you listening?”
Danny nodded through the haze in his head.
“Go forward,” he mumbled. “Yeah. Where’s the medal?”
“Right here, son,” answered Patsy, holding the medal up for Danny to see.
Livermore was first out of his corner as the bell rang. The noise of the crowd was deafening. Danny got slowly to his feet with Patsy’s words resonating in his head.
The punches came fast and furious in this round. The lace of Danny’s glove caught Livermore just above his right eye, followed by a ferocious and lucky right hook which drew blood. A vicious body blow to the ribs from Livermore had Danny gasping for breath.
Cheers and applause greeted both boxers as they made their way back to their corners at the end of the round. The contest had changed dramatically from the cagey first couple of rounds. The crowd was now witnessing a battle royal, and they loved it.
Danny was feeling the effects of his recent lifestyle. This was the toughest contest he had ever been in. On the far side of the ring, Livermore was being attended to by a frantic cut man, who did his best to stem the blood dripping into Livermore’s right eye.
“Seconds out!” shouted the referee. “Round four!”
It was obvious that Livermore, with his vision impaired, was now going for a knock-out. Danny struggled to avoid the massive hooks and crashing uppercuts that his opponent was now throwing, and ended up on the ropes with a head full of stars. His head was just beginning to clear when Livermore came in for the kill.
Livermore’s sight may have been clouded by his own blood, but his aim was true. Danny swayed like a punch bag as Livermore rained blow after blow on him. He was defenceless, lost and broken.
“He’s blown it, Tommy!” Danny dimly heard Cohen shout. “Between you and them drugs, this is down to you, you’ve fucked him up!”
Danny’s vision was blurred, every ounce of strength drained from his body. He felt like he was in a dream. The noise of the crowd seemed distant, almost as if it was in the next building. Everything was happening in slow motion.
Through his exhaustion, Danny was aware of Patsy throwing in the towel, bringing the contest to an end. He let Patsy lead him back to his corner.
The referee took Livermore’s hand as the Master of Ceremonies announced: “Ladies and gentlemen, the fight was stopped by Watson’s corner! Your appreciation for the winner and title contender, Billy Livermore!”
With very few exceptions, the crowd rose to its feet, cheering as Billy was carried shoulder-high around the ring. Danny felt almost invisible.
“Please show your appreciation for the brave loser, Danny Watson!” cried the Master of Ceremonies.
A few cheers rang out, but they were drowned by boos. Overcome, Danny sank to his knees and rested his head on the canvas. He was done.
Lenny could accept Danny losing, but to lose in the fourth without putting up a fight? That was difficult to take.
He made a quick exit from the post-mortem now taking place in Danny’s room. He needed to find a telephone and call Albert with the bad news.
As he waited for the phone box, Lenny tried to think of ways he could soften the blow. Both Danny’s loss and the way that he lost would upset Albert.
The minute the phone was free, Lenny checked his watch. Ten-thirty. Perfect. Albert would just be finishing his shift. He put his money in and dialled the Live and Let Live.
“Hello?” said a voice on the other end.
“It’s Lenny. Can I speak with Albert?”
“I ain’t seen him. Hang on, I’ll ask behind the bar.”
Lenny faintly heard “Anyone seen Albert?” against the tinkling of a piano and a rendition of The Lambeth Walk at full swing in the background.
“Who’s that?” Maria barked.
“It’s Lenny, Maria. Can I speak to Albert? I got some news.”
Maria sighed. “I hope it’s good news. He’s only in bloody hospital.”
“No,” gasped Lenny. “What happened?”
“He was trying to save a kid from being run over and got hit himself, silly sod.”
Lenny was almost lost for words. “Where is he?”
“Whitechapel. What’s the news?”
Lenny pulled himself together. “It’s all right, don’t worry,” he said.
Putting the receiver down, he stared at the wall in disbelief.
“You finished mate?” said a grumpy voice behind him in the foyer. “There’s people waiting here.”
Lenny came out of the box. He felt numb, helpless. His best friend was in hospital and he was miles away. In a matter of seconds, the bad news had got a whole lot worse.
Lenny slowly made his way back to Danny’s changing room. He could hear the euphoria echoing along the corridor from Livermore’s entourage. He stopped, listened and thought. Should he tell Danny and Patsy about Albert? The news would put an even bigger dampener on the night.
In the changing room, Lenny sensed the hostility from Cohen. Costa’s customary champagne sat unopened on a table. Danny’s loss had taken its toll physically; mentally the boy looked shot as well. Patsy sat beside Danny, his face like stone.
“You were a bloody disgrace out there, Danny,” Cohen was hissing. “A fucking joke.”
Danny looked blearily up at Lenny. “I’m sorry Len,” he whispered. “I messed up.”
Lenny decided the time to tell Danny about Albert should wait. Pouring more rain on the kid’s parade right now would be wrong.
“Tell Albert I’m sorry I let him down,” Danny groaned.
“Just wasn’t your night, man.” Lenny backed towards the changing-room door. “See you back in London, all right?”
Walking away through the rain, Lenny thought of the irony of the situation. While Livermore was on top of the world, the world was on top of Albert.
The last train back to London had left. Lenny’s only option was to get to Piccadilly station bright and early and catch the early-morning train home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SEEING the Sunday papers at the reception desk the next morning, Lenny grabbed several and turned to the back pages.