The sharp smell of burning woke Billy from his sleep. His eyes fluttered open and he yanked himself up from his bed and moved towards the living room. As he stumbled through the door he noticed wisps of smoke escaping from a burning patch on the sofa.
Billy ran back into his room and snatched at a vest on top of a mountain of unwashed clothes beside the bed; as he threw it over the burning patch and waved at the smoke he noticed a cigarette fall to the floor, its amber tip still glowing. As he stamped down on it, he cried out as the heat brushed against his bare foot and as he tore the couch seat away he heard the front door thrown open.
Billy turned around to see his father enter. Wearing a dark grey windbreaker, his hair wet from the rain, Terry was panting and stared on in bemusement at the site before him.
“Where the hell was you?” Billy boomed as he slapped the vest against the couch, slamming down on the last pieces of smouldering corduroy “this is one of your fuckin’ fags”
“Musta let it burn” Terry replied, trying to catch his breath as droplets of sweat ran down his forehead “went for ma run innit, just forgot about it..anyway the flat didn’t burn down, so don’t get your knickers in a twist”
Billy shook his head as he walked back into his room, throwing a t-shirt over his head as he wriggled into a pair of jeans. As he moved to open the curtains, he looked down from the third story flat they lived at in Bethnal Green and gazed down upon the rain swept streets. As he pondered whether to meet Amanda an hour earlier, he noticed his father was watching him.
“I can deal with this” Terry motioned towards the living room “now fuck off to the gym..”
“I was gonna see Amanda first” Billy shot back “and then I might go, I’ve been at it four days in a row now”
“And?” Terry snorted, digging a cigarette out from his jacket pocket “back in my day I was at it seven days a week-I worked two jobs, went night school then still managed to squeeze in training at two different clubs-that’s fuckin’ dedication-no bloody dole for me, my old man kicked my fuckin’ arse in when I tried that shit”
“Yeah..” Billy sighed as he brushed past his father, heading towards the kitchen “..well her Mum’s not feeling too good after the surgery she had last month, I wanted to just see if she was alright, she sounded upset..”
“Y’know” Terry smirked “six weeks before every fight I wouldn’t allow myself to look at a woman. After a fight you just rattle ‘em and move on. She ain’t the right woman for ya, she’s got to have legs up to her arse. That’s the criteria. A good cook and good in the bedroom. And smarter than ya…”
“I’ll go to the gym later” Billy nodded “promise …”
“One thing..” Terry mumbled under his breath as he moved up closer, the discernible stench of whisky floating between them as he stared long and hard at his son “..you ever..and I mean ever disgrace the Hope family name like you did last night at the Boy’s club you’ll get a hiding from me the likes of which you won’t forget”
“Y’know bout that then..” Billy looked down as his father fixed him with a steely glare “..I dunno what happened”
“It’s that girl innit..” Terry growled “..a week and a bit before an Olympic try out and you’re busy fuckin’ around with some tart..you know they say you always fall in love, that’s the expression…you don’t rise in love..you fall in love. Boxers and love don’t go together mate..your mum realised that”
“Right…” Billy trailed off as he slumped down at the kitchen table. He watched Terry shadow box for a few seconds, pausing to admire his own mirror reflection as he alternated between drags of his cigarette and curses thrown out under his breath. As he sat there he felt like an anchor had been dropped in his stomach. Every morning he told himself he was never going to step into a boxing ring again, and every morning he found convincing himself was the easiest part.