David Essex - Faded Glory

“So,” Albert continued, “not only can you beat Livermore, but you can now beat those two tosspots at the same time!”

“Happy days,” murmured Lenny.

Harry Baldock was waiting outside Danny’s allocated room. With a swift spot of shadow-boxing he greeted the team.

“Albert,” Harry said in a voice like a street-market trader as he slapped Albert on the back. “How about you and me getting on the card and showing ’em how it’s done?”

“I don’t think I can remember how it’s done,” Albert said humorously. “Listen Harry, thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Harry replied. He winked at Danny. “As long as you win, son. I’ve put a few bob on it.”

Danny laughed. “How can I lose with this lot in tow?”

He stripped down to his claret and blue shorts in the changing room. As Albert handed Danny his dressing gown, they could hear the excited buzz of the crowd in the hall.

“Here you are son,” said Albert. “Put this round your neck.”

In a slightly ceremonial moment, Albert hung Tommy’s medal for bravery around Danny’s neck. “There you go,” he said, his voice charged with emotion. “Now you’re invincible.”

They made their way to the stage in a relatively low-key way as cheers and jeers echoed through the hall. Livermore’s entrance was anything but low key, and accompanied by the earsplitting James Brown number I Got You (I Feel Good) . Livermore was flanked by a dozen or so security men, trainers, cut men and, walking by his side, Costa and Cohen. All and sundry were doing their best to out-physique Danny and his team.

“Look at them, bathing in Livermore’s reflected glory,” Albert muttered, clenching his fists as the hall went wild. “I could punch their lights out.”

“That would only lower us to their level,” Danny pointed out. “Self-control, Albert, remember? It’s all about self-control.”

Danny met Livermore in the centre of the ring. The fighter’s attitude seemed to have changed since they’d last met. Previously, there’d been a dignity and sportsman-like quality to the man that Danny had warmed to. Now he seemed full of himself, arrogant and hostile. If looks could kill, Danny and his team were already dead.

The officials began the weigh-in. As the challenger, Danny was summoned first. Taking off his dressing gown and his father’s cherished medal, he handed them to Albert.

“I’m gonna show ’em, Albert,” he said.

Walking to the scales, he could feel the hostile stares from Costa and Cohen burning through him. He made the weight limit with only a pound to spare.

Livermore made the weight with two pounds to spare. To everybody’s surprise, he took the microphone from the Master of Ceremonies.

“This clown is not worthy of even being in the ring with me,” Livermore shouted, spittle flying. “He got lucky last time: I didn’t kill him. But this time I will show no mercy!”

“You’re going down!” shouted Costa as the hall erupted.

Without taking his eyes off Danny, Cohen lifted Livermore’s arm. “You might as well throw the towel in now, Albert, you joker,” Cohen taunted. “This champ is a different class.”

“Say goodbye to your family, tosser!” Costa shouted. “You won’t be seeing them after Saturday!”

Mention of his family made Danny see red. This time it was Albert who stepped in, turning Danny’s head away from the three tormentors.

“Danny, listen to me,” he said. “It’s like you said. We can’t sink to their level. The truth is, we’re bigger than them and they’re frightened of you. This is just a front ’cos they’re scared of ya. Don’t rise to it.”

“Bastards,” Danny raged, trying to twist away from Albert’s grip.

Albert held him firmly. “Smile,” he said.

“What?”

“Just smile. It’ll spook them.”

Danny forced a smile. Albert smiled too. Cohen and Costa looked taken aback. As for the crowd, they loved it. The ones that had been talking big were suddenly looking small.

More senseless rantings accompanied Danny and his team as they made their way off stage. Danny started enjoying himself, smiling back and waving.

“Thank you, Wembley Arena!” Albert shouted, blowing kisses. “We love you!”

Danny sensed the crowd sliding his way. All the fans who had been neutral before the weigh-in started shouting his name. Reaching the changing room, they could still hear the chants of “Danny! Danny!” echoing around the hall.

“I think we won that one, don’t you Danny?” said Albert.

Danny grinned at him. “I think we did Albert, I think we did.”

“Roll on Saturday,” said Albert.

“Can’t wait,” said Danny.

FOR the night before the fight, Albert suggested that they stay at a hotel near the venue in Wembley. A good night’s sleep for Danny would be better served away from his mum’s. So Lenny, along with their overnight bags, dropped Albert and Danny at the hotel.

Albert’s hotel room looked and felt like a palace. It even had a TV. He especially like the electric teamaker and trouser press. Sitting back in a modern comfortable chair and looking around, he thought how different the room was to his little flat. Albert had never had money and was suspicious of luxury and wealth, but sitting there, in the lap of luxury, he thought he could get used to it.

He turned on the television. Pictures flashed past his eyes, but he had no interest in what he was watching. His mind was on the fight. Livermore was a dangerous fighter, and having Costa and Cohen in his corner made him doubly so.

Albert wondered what tricks they were going to pull. No doubt they had plied their new boy with pills and whatever else they could conjure up, filling his head with hatred. They had turned this from a boxing match into a vendetta. He felt nervous thinking about it, the identical feeling he used to feel before he went into box back in his glory days. Back then, he’d been able to do something about it. He’d been the fighter after all, in control of his destiny. Now, Danny was the fighter and Albert was on the sidelines. Destiny lay in his grandson’s hands and Albert could only watch.

He thought about Tommy for a while, and how he used to get nervous watching him playing football for the school. The nerves came second only to the pride Albert had felt whenever Tommy did something special or scored a goal. This was a lot bigger. It felt like Tommy was in this fight too, right alongside his son.

With a head full of thoughts, Albert went to bed and tried to sleep.

Unlike Albert, Danny hadn’t taken much notice of his swanky surroundings. The first thing he’d done was call Wendy to check that all was well.

“How are you feeling?” Wendy asked. “Have you got those butterflies you get?”

They felt more like fruit bats batting their wings than butterflies, Danny thought. “No, I’m feeling good,” he lied. “It’s a nice hotel. Is Ruby all right?”

“She’s fine. She’s still up, actually. Do you want to talk to her?”

“Hello Daddy,” Ruby piped down the receiver. “When are you coming to see me?”

These innocent words choked Danny up. Ruby didn’t know about the fight, Wendy hadn’t told her.

“As soon as I can,” he said gently.

“Bye bye,” said Ruby.

“Sorry, Danny,” said Wendy. “She’s had enough, she wants to get down. We’ll be thinking of you. Night.”

“I love you,” said Danny.

“We love you too,” said Wendy.

Danny put down the phone and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling comforted. It had been a painful journey to convince Wendy that he was the old Danny again, the man she’d loved and married, but he’d done it, kicking the drugs and getting his life back with his family. He remembered Costa shouting “Say goodbye to your family!” at the weigh-in. He was never going to let them go again.