Barker, lighting the gas stove, grinned, saying that Vic Morgan was pretty good on the football field, so he had heard.
‘I’m not talking about that pig-headed bully Morgan — it’s Stubbs, the boy’s like lightning. You realize what it would mean for this place if we came up with a champion? Just in morale alone. I’m going to push Stubbs and see how much he can take, and if I’m right we can enter him in the Inter-Counties Cross-Country.’
Alex was rubbing down his legs in the shower. He ached all over but he didn’t mind, it had been worth it.
‘Hey, Stubbs, swot-face, I wanna talk wiv you, yer listenin’, Stubbs?’
Alex swished back the shower curtain and found Vic Morgan lounging in the doorway, his wet towel in his hand. He flicked it hard, and it lashed Alex’s back. It hurt. Alex went to pull the curtain across but Morgan yanked it back, flicked the towel again. Alex grabbed it.
‘Think yer somethin’, don’t yer, Stubby boy? Swot! Special education one minute, the next taking over my sport. Well, I don’t like it, understand, makin’ meself clear? So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll just get back to yer swottin’ like a good girl and leave my sport to me, understood?’ Morgan yanked his towel from Alex’s grasp and Alex overbalanced, slipped on the soap in the bottom of the shower and fell heavily, cracking the side of his head on the tiles. Morgan laughed and walked away, and Alex got up, shook his head and stepped out to fetch a dry towel. His own was lying, sodden, at the bottom of the shower.
Morgan’s friends were lined up in the corner of the shower room, sneering at him and telling each other what a well-endowed poofter he was.
‘Here you go, Alex, use mine, it’s almost dry.’ Eric Motley, a small, skinny lad, handed Alex his towel, and with his back to Morgan and his friends whispered that Alex should ignore them, they would only cause trouble.
Alex gave the funny little Eric a wink, towelling himself dry. ‘I can take care of meself, Eric, but thanks anyway. Good to know I got someone tough on my side.’
Eric beamed with pride. He was a runt, and jokes were always directed at his misshapen body and his inability to play any sport. Now his face shone — he had a pal, his hero.
Due to all the excitement over Alex’s astonishing performance, the head gave permission for everyone on the running teams to attend the official record run. This was to take place on the track in their own grounds, not on the beach. Morgan was seething, but he and two others were delegated to run alongside Alex to act as pacers.
‘I’ll fucking pace him, the son of a bitch, it should be me out there. You know what he’s doing, don’t yer, he’s butterin’ up that ponce of a teacher. Well, I’ll show the friggin’ bastard, I’ll pace him right off the fuckin’ track.’
Saturday was a good, clear day. The Governor’s wife came to watch the race and all the inmates were told they could watch. This made Alex quite a hero, as any excuse for not doing their mundane jobs was cause for celebration.
Alex concentrated on keeping calm and blocked out everything else around him. He didn’t want anything to throw him — this was one of the best moments of his life.
‘Okay, Stubbs, let’s have you. And keep on the run, there’s a nip in the air. Get yourself warmed up... and you, Morgan — come on, move it. No foul language — just keep your mouths shut and let’s see if we can make Stubbs a champion.’
Alex ran on to the track, his breath steaming in the chilly air, and was greeted with a cheer from the spectators. He began doing press-ups to warm his muscles.
‘Okay, come on, let’s get you in line, check your shoes, and get into the traps... come on, Morgan, stop talking.’
Morgan was whispering in Alex’s ear, ‘Watch your heels, Stubby boy, because I’ll be right on ‘em, an’ I’m gonna fuck you over.’
They lined up, with Alex on the inside lane. He bent down to fit his left foot into the running trap. His trainer knelt in front of him, telling him to pace himself. When the flag waved for the finish he wanted Alex to take off and keep on running, just as a tester. They were only interested in the record for today, but he wanted to see how far Alex could go it alone. It was a chance and he wanted Alex to take it. ‘The prison record’s one thing, let’s see if you can take the long-distance one at the same time?’
Alex could hardly hear him, he was blocking out all distractions. He could hear nothing, and all he could see was the track ahead of him.
The starting pistol cracked and they were off, Alex pacing himself and hugging the inside lane. At the first bend they were all lined up behind him, very close, and Morgan was too close. Alex put on a spurt of speed and Morgan followed, right on his heels again.
‘What the hell is Morgan doing, he’s pushing him too hard too early, the stupid bastard.’
The runners had reached the farthest point of the track, a linesman waved a flag and they were heading down towards the starting line again. Now Morgan was virtually treading on Alex’s heels. The trainer swore, then clocked the stopwatch. They were already ahead of time on the first lap.
Alex felt the studs rip into his ankle and overbalanced, then righted himself, but Morgan moved up ahead. A cheer went up as he took first place, and Alex was being elbowed by the second man. He put on speed again and crept closer to Morgan. He could actually get heel to toe, but instead he gave Morgan a wide berth and moved again into the first position.
‘That just lost him a second, he’s crazy, and I’ll crack Morgan’s head when he comes in.’
The trainer was running, yelling, along the side of the track, but Alex didn’t hear him. They were on the third lap, with three more to go, and Morgan was still pushing Alex from behind. By trying to bring Alex down he was driving him far harder than he should have, and Alex was taking it. One runner dropped out and collapsed on the grass, heaving for breath. He sat up in time to see the field split in two — Alex and Morgan in the lead, the other two way behind. As the leaders went into lap four, the stragglers dropped out, leaving just the two of them.
Eric was on the sidelines with his cheap Woolworth’s watch, trying to time them. He was beside himself, shouting and cheering his hero on. Round they came, and Morgan was tiring, but both were coming in under the record for the fifth lap. The trainer was jumping up and down. Morgan was neck and neck with Alex, he had two possible contenders, not just one...
The final lap, and they moved into a last-minute sprint. Alex’s heel was streaming blood from Morgan’s studs, but nothing was going to stop him. They crossed the line, both inside the record, and Morgan caved in, fell on the track and lay gasping, snorting for breath. But the cheers had stopped, and he looked up, expecting to see Alex close by, only to stare in disbelief. Alex was still running, and running at a crazy pace. Morgan’s moment of glory passed, he was hauled unceremoniously off the track as everyone watched the lone runner continue.
‘If you put your mind to something, son, you can do it, it’s all a question of will... and now, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to give a warm round of applause for the ex-British Heavyweight Boxing Champion, Freedom Stubbs!’
Alex ran on, still hearing the applause on the day his father had walked with such pride on to the grammar-school platform. He could hear his mother’s voice, urging him on and on, her arms open, and he just couldn’t get to them, couldn’t reach her. She was standing by the white cross, wearing her old brown coat, her flat leather handbag over her arm, and her beautiful hair was braided around her head. She smiled at him. ‘Come on, my love, you can do it, you can be anyone if you want. Put everything you’ve got into it, my son, my own love.’