I walk through the middle of it, strip lighting above giving everyone jaundice, casting their eyes way back in the sockets. A couple of lads I know are in the corner, slapping gloves. As I pass, one of them turns and gives me a nod that passes for a greeting. I nod back.

Paulo's in the ring, a ginger kid's forehead against his. He's talking low and intense. Looks like they're praying together, but I know he's prepping the kid, jazzing the little fucker up. I notice that Paulo's holding up a pair of focus pads. As the kid steps back, Paulo brings up the pads and hunkers down behind them. The kid's eyebrows knot in the centre of his forehead, his eyes crinkled at the edges.

Then the kid lets fly, windmilling three wild punches into the air. His fourth connects without force. His fifth catches the edge of the pad and throws him off-balance. He stops, wheezing. As I get closer, I watch the kid wipe a mixture of tears and snot from his red cheeks. Paulo slaps him on the back, sees me, and tells the kid to get changed.

'Y'alright, Cal?' he says.

'I'm okay.'

'Just, I ain't seen you about, son. Thought you might be avoiding the place.'

'Nah, I've just been busy.'

Paulo leans against the ropes. 'You up for a spar, then?' I check my watch. 'Nah, mate. Can't do it. I've got business.'

'Going somewhere?’

‘Newcastle.'

'You'll need a warm-up, then. Them lads up there, they're not the Queensbury Rules type.'

'I don't know if I've got the time.' Check my watch again to make the point. I'd thought about telling Paulo exactly what's going on, but all that just flew right out the window. I've bottled it and, yeah, I'm a fucking coward, but what about it? I want out of here. And once this job's all over and done with, maybe I'll find the nerve to come back.

This is Paulo, this is the guy who got me out on the community visits, basically got me out of prison. And I bring the Tiernans into his club. Talk about gratitude.

'C'mon,' he says. 'We'll get you loose before you hit the road.'

As I get changed, my stomach growls. I don't feel right — this is a bad idea — but there's fuck all I can do about it. My tooth tweaks and I suck the blood from my mouth, wonder how much I can swallow before I get sick. Feels like I've already reached that stage. I look around for a gum-shield, but can't find one, so I walk out into the club hoping that Paulo's going to go easy on me.

He's already up in the ring. As I swing through the ropes, he turns and smiles at me. He's not wearing a gum-shield either. Which means he wants to talk.

As soon as he notices the bruises on my neck, Paulo says, 'What's up with that?'

'Nothing,' I say.

'Them love bites?'

'No, they're not love bites.'

He bounces on the balls of his feet, slaps his gloves together. 'Then what's up with your neck, Cal?’

‘I told you.'

'What's it called? That auto-erotic stuff? You're not into that, are you? Never struck me as the kinky type.'

I throw a weak punch. 'Fuck off.'

He knocks my glove away with his right. 'I'm just asking.'

'I'm not kinky, Paulo. You know me better than that.'

'What about your nose?'

'Cut myself shaving.'

'Uh-huh.'

We circle each other. I try to concentrate on what I'm going to tell him about Morris, but he breaks it with a swing to the left. I catch the side of it with my cheek. My tooth screams. Give my head a shake and I move that little bit faster. Paulo's a big lad and he lumbers, but he can take a shitload of damage before he breaks step. Comes from taking beating on a regular basis for the last forty years, lines and scars marking his face like a roadmap of bad moves.

'Pity you weren't in yesterday,' he says. 'You had a visitor.'

'Yeah?'

'Old mate of yours.' He shakes his head, working out the kinks in his neck. 'A copper.'

He bounces to my left, and I jump too far, miss what should have been an easy blow. He punches me lightly on the shoulder. Playing with me. Testing the water.

'Donkin?' I say.

'Aye, that was his name. Fat lad, looked like he could use a spar himself. Except he had scar tissue on his knuckles.’

‘What'd he want?'

'He wanted you,' says Paulo, faking a right, throwing a left.

I miss it, but only just. 'And what'd you say?'

'I told him I wasn't your fuckin' secretary and he should find you his fuckin' self.'

I smile, but it gets knocked off my face with another quick left. It connects, hard. I grab a few steps and back away. Paulo meant that one.

'Why d'you think he was sniffing about?' he says.

'You know what the fuckin' busies are like, especially the likes of Donkey. Once a con, always a con. You must've had your fair share.'

'Yeah, but not without reason. What you been doing, Cal?'

'I've been busy.' Another duck, bob, smack in the head with Paulo's right. That one makes me dizzy; I have to shake it out. Takes me a second.

'Then it's to do with Morris,' he says, punctuating it with another blow to the side of my face.

I back off again. Shake my head clear. Fuck's sake.

'I'm not working for Morris.'

'What was Mo doing in here the other morning, then?' I didn't take that job.’

‘So there was a job.'

'Yeah, but I didn't take it.' I get my vision back, hold up my gloves.

'Good lad,' says Paulo. He one-twos, batters some air. Telegraphs his right and I sneak in with mine. My glove connects with his ribs, a decent shot, but he absorbs it. 'You wouldn't bottle it and not tell me, would you?' he says.

I hunker, dodge. He doesn't even try. I feel like a ponce. 'What you getting at, mate?'

He lunges once my gloves part, lands two heavy blows in quick succession to my midriff, follows up with a corker to my mouth. The tooth goes into overdrive.

'Fuckin' hell,' I say, putting one glove to my cheek. 'Hang fire, Paulo.'

He doesn't. Paulo dips to my left and winds me with a deep blow to the gut. I crease, feel bile burning in my throat. Down to my knees with a thump and water in my eyes. I wheeze like a dying dog.

Can't catch my breath. I look up at him and my head's gone light. He's swirling in a mist. I blink a few times and hot water leaks down the sides of my face. My mouth hangs open. The tooth doesn't hurt so much if there's air running around it.

Paulo has stopped moving. Standing there, staring at me.

'You know what I did after I got out of the ring, Cal?' he says. I bounced. I worked the doors. Sometimes I worked the doors up Cheetham Hill and nearly got fuckin' shot doing it. So I tried the city, right?'

I nod, because I can't find the breath to say anything.

'I worked seven nights a week, doubles on the weekend. Got so's I couldn't look at a fuckin' beer, 'cause I knew what it did. It made lads bolshy. And I was doing the only thing I know how to do. Fight. Or break up fights by knocking heads. Most of the time it was pretty much the same thing.'

I whistle out a slow breath through my nose. Stare at the canvas. I can see drops of blood and wonder where it's coming from. Probably my nose. I'm a captive audience, just the way he wants it.

'The money was shit and the work was shittier. Then one night, Morris Tiernan comes up to me and he says do I want to work for him. Nothing harsh, like, but he needs a bloke who can handle himself. And I'm like, nah, that's alright, don't worry about it, I'm fine, right? You listening?'

My tongue goes to the tooth. It waggles in the gum. A copper taste. I pull myself to my feet and wipe a trail of bloody snot across the back of my glove. Paulo's staring at me like he's waiting on an answer, so I give him one: 'Yeah, I'm listening.'

He smacks his gloves. 'C'mon then.'

'I think I'm about done for the day, mate. My tooth's killing me.'

Paulo launches a quick left at my shoulder. I'm thrown off- balance, one foot back to steady myself.