on the unknown man’s door. He was much taller than Mr Brown, who had a big belly. He wore the same white vest every day. He was proud of his mound and the stained shirt that covered it.
‘Did you do this to my son’s football?’
‘They were kicking it at my wall.’
‘I don’t care if they were kicking it at your wall. This is their street. They have lived here their whole lives. You are a blow-in and you have no right to touch their football.’
‘I bought this house. This is my wall, paid for with hard-earned cash.’
‘Are you saying I don’t pay for my flat?’
‘I’m saying they were kicking the ball at my wall.’
He went to close his door and Mr Brown put his foot in the way.
‘I think we should sort this out now, step outside.’
‘You want to fight?’
Mr Brown threw a punch instead of answering. The two of them ended up in the hallway of the house before the fight spilled out on to the road. An unknown woman came out, screaming, with her baby in her arms, as the two men traded blows. She tried to break it up, but was told in no uncertain terms to stay out of it by one of Git’s sisters. Sheran back inside the house and came out with an empty milk bottle. She smashed it against the front wall of her house. The two men were struggling on the ground when Git ran over and started booting the unknown man in the face. His wife screamed hysterically until they left her husband alone. He went back into the house, bruised and bloodied. Mr Brown walked off, a proud man. The unknown man didn’t call the police, but his house was boarded up the next day. A ‘For Sale’ sign went up the following week. Nobody would buy a boarded-up house, thought Bobby. The Browns pulled the sign down and made the unknown house their own. They would use the window as a door, pulling back the corrugated iron to get in. Mr Brown’s actions had given his sons a house for free, albeit one that was boarded up and had no furniture or electricity in it.
‘Will I call for you in the morning?’ asked Jay.
Bobby knew he couldn’t get out of going on the trip to Cork.
‘I’ll call for you at six. Don’t sleep it out.’
Bobby laughed inside at the thought that he might still be asleep at six in the morning. He normally wet the bed at about four and never really went back to sleep properly. It was impossible.
Bobby slept on the bus to Cork. He could sleepfor hours during the day and never wet himself. It was only a nighttime thing.
‘I don’t want any messing going on in this hotel. You have your keys. We are having dinner here in an hour. It’s boring pasta, but it will prepare you for your fights tonight.’
‘I don’t like pasta,’ joked Jay.
‘Then you are going to starve and lose your fight.’
Bobby and Jay were in room 213. Bobby didn’t think there was enough space for that many bedrooms. He prayed the beds would be far enough apart so he wouldn’t disturb Jay in the middle of the night when he had to get up. Jay pushed open the door to the room. They stood staring at the huge double bed.
‘Just one bed? I’m not sharing with you,’ said Jay as he jumped up onto the bed and grabbed a pillow.
He threw one to Bobby and they whacked each other till their arms were hanging off.
‘I’ll be too tired to box tonight. Stop.’
‘Are you chicken?’ asked Jay.
‘I’m bollixed. You win.’
Bobby weighed in at thirty-one kilos. The weight limits jumped every three kilos. Jay was going to fight in the thirty-four-kilo weight category. Youhad to be weighed before the fight and if you weren’t the correct weight, you weren’t allowed to fight. The club in Cork had clean dressing-rooms and hot showers. It had mirrors on every wall. Bobby couldn’t understand a thing the Cork boys were saying.
‘Why do they speak like that, Jay?’
‘I don’t know. Land a punch in their mouths and it will shut them up.’
Bobby was more nervous about sleeping in the same bed as Jay than he was about the
Learning to Kill: Stories