‘That’s my sister you’re calling down.’
‘That’s right,’ Keif said. ‘Little more pace, little more pace – we don’t want no sweet old grannies hooting to pass.’
I was soaked to the skin. Rain bounced off my nose and into my eyes. My feet were bruised.
‘C’mon,’ Keif said. ‘We ain’t hardly done a quarter of a mile yet.’
Thud-thud-thud, and then more thud.
‘Get a move on,’ said Keif. ‘You want to talk big in front of your sister you’ll have to do better than the forty-minute mile.’
Pound-pound-pound. What do they put in training shoes these days? Lead soles?
‘Pick it up,’ said Keif. ‘I seen an ox with mad cow disease run better’n you.’
‘I … hate … running.’ I couldn’t breathe enough air to puff.
Thud, pound, stumble.
‘OK,’ said Keif. ‘You can walk now. You done ‘bout a mile and a half. All you needed was a little encouragement.’
‘Call … that … encouragement?’
‘Walk, I said. Don’t hang off the wall. Brisk walk.’
‘You can brisk walk down a drain and not come up.’
‘Atta girl!’ said Keif. ‘Now you know what a marvel I am, what’s the wages?’
I told him what the wages were and where he could stick them. But while he was laughing I thought, oh shit, now Simone’s met him so I’ll have to keep him. At least for a week. I wished she could’ve met Harsh. With Harsh as my personal trainer she would’ve taken me more serious. What the pooping hell would she make of this joker? Could anyone look up to me with a personal trainer like Keif?
So we haggled and the rain came down. And I didn’t know what was rain and what was sweat but it didn’t matter ‘cos whatever it was I was drenched through to the marrow.
In the end, he said, ‘OK, man, safe.’ And we was agreed. Spit on my hand and call me a berk if you like, but I told Simone about a personal trainer and he was the nearest thing on sale.
But when we got back to the Static Simone was gone.
‘She don’t hang about, your sister,’ Keif said, ‘but at least she cleared up.’
She had. The Static was all neat and tidy, but I was so gut-whacked that she hadn’t waited I went and locked myself in the bathroom cubicle where Keif couldn’t see me. I’d went to all the trouble of hiring me a personal trainer and she couldn’t stop around long enough to ‘preciate it.
I washed in cold water ‘cos I’d forgot to put any on to heat, and the water was as cold as my heart.
Still, when I got out Keif had found a couple of teabags and boiled some water.
‘No milk,’ he said.
‘Milk’s for wimps,’ I said.
‘No food,’ he said. ‘That for wimps too? You get out of your body what you put in. What do you eat? Chainsaws? Battery acid?’
‘Personal trainers,’ I said. I was thinking of dropping him off the payroll now Simone wasn’t there.
‘Serious, man,’ he said. ‘What’s the plan? You get fit – is Mr Deeds gonna let you back in?’
‘Mr Dirty Deeds ain’t the only game in town.’
‘You got other connections?’
‘I could go up North. They take wrestling more serious up North.’
‘Ever thought of the novelty circuit? Gladiators? Oil? Mud?’
‘That ain’t fighting,’ I said. ‘That’s showbiz.’
‘Sport
is
showbiz,’ he said. ‘Fighting’s showbiz. Boxing’s showbiz. Ever thought of boxing? You got the physique for it.’
‘Nah,’ I said. Boxers just stand there and hit each other. They don’t throw each other around and get down dirty on the mat. I like getting down on the mat. I like the pins and moves where weight and speed count. I’m good at it.
But I didn’t say anything. I was too low-down blue. Mr Deeds wouldn’t let me back in, and anyway, if he did what’s the point? My sister couldn’t even stop around while I went out on a training run. I’d been searching for her, hoping for her, wanting her for years, but when I found her she didn’t want to stick with me like I wanted to stick with her. She
‘That’s right,’ Keif said. ‘Little more pace, little more pace – we don’t want no sweet old grannies hooting to pass.’
I was soaked to the skin. Rain bounced off my nose and into my eyes. My feet were bruised.
‘C’mon,’ Keif said. ‘We ain’t hardly done a quarter of a mile yet.’
Thud-thud-thud, and then more thud.
‘Get a move on,’ said Keif. ‘You want to talk big in front of your sister you’ll have to do better than the forty-minute mile.’
Pound-pound-pound. What do they put in training shoes these days? Lead soles?
‘Pick it up,’ said Keif. ‘I seen an ox with mad cow disease run better’n you.’
‘I … hate … running.’ I couldn’t breathe enough air to puff.
Thud, pound, stumble.
‘OK,’ said Keif. ‘You can walk now. You done ‘bout a mile and a half. All you needed was a little encouragement.’
‘Call … that … encouragement?’
‘Walk, I said. Don’t hang off the wall. Brisk walk.’
‘You can brisk walk down a drain and not come up.’
‘Atta girl!’ said Keif. ‘Now you know what a marvel I am, what’s the wages?’
I told him what the wages were and where he could stick them. But while he was laughing I thought, oh shit, now Simone’s met him so I’ll have to keep him. At least for a week. I wished she could’ve met Harsh. With Harsh as my personal trainer she would’ve taken me more serious. What the pooping hell would she make of this joker? Could anyone look up to me with a personal trainer like Keif?
So we haggled and the rain came down. And I didn’t know what was rain and what was sweat but it didn’t matter ‘cos whatever it was I was drenched through to the marrow.
In the end, he said, ‘OK, man, safe.’ And we was agreed. Spit on my hand and call me a berk if you like, but I told Simone about a personal trainer and he was the nearest thing on sale.
But when we got back to the Static Simone was gone.
‘She don’t hang about, your sister,’ Keif said, ‘but at least she cleared up.’
She had. The Static was all neat and tidy, but I was so gut-whacked that she hadn’t waited I went and locked myself in the bathroom cubicle where Keif couldn’t see me. I’d went to all the trouble of hiring me a personal trainer and she couldn’t stop around long enough to ‘preciate it.
I washed in cold water ‘cos I’d forgot to put any on to heat, and the water was as cold as my heart.
Still, when I got out Keif had found a couple of teabags and boiled some water.
‘No milk,’ he said.
‘Milk’s for wimps,’ I said.
‘No food,’ he said. ‘That for wimps too? You get out of your body what you put in. What do you eat? Chainsaws? Battery acid?’
‘Personal trainers,’ I said. I was thinking of dropping him off the payroll now Simone wasn’t there.
‘Serious, man,’ he said. ‘What’s the plan? You get fit – is Mr Deeds gonna let you back in?’
‘Mr Dirty Deeds ain’t the only game in town.’
‘You got other connections?’
‘I could go up North. They take wrestling more serious up North.’
‘Ever thought of the novelty circuit? Gladiators? Oil? Mud?’
‘That ain’t fighting,’ I said. ‘That’s showbiz.’
‘Sport
is
showbiz,’ he said. ‘Fighting’s showbiz. Boxing’s showbiz. Ever thought of boxing? You got the physique for it.’
‘Nah,’ I said. Boxers just stand there and hit each other. They don’t throw each other around and get down dirty on the mat. I like getting down on the mat. I like the pins and moves where weight and speed count. I’m good at it.
But I didn’t say anything. I was too low-down blue. Mr Deeds wouldn’t let me back in, and anyway, if he did what’s the point? My sister couldn’t even stop around while I went out on a training run. I’d been searching for her, hoping for her, wanting her for years, but when I found her she didn’t want to stick with me like I wanted to stick with her. She
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