so Charlie knew if he knew about it he’d be after getting his hands on it, so he could blow it on beer for him and Annie. So Charlie constantly came up with new places to hide his earnings so he could be sure they’d still be there when he went to find them.
Today, Charlie had a plan for those hard-earned three pennies. He’d use them to place a secret bet with Mr Cappovanni on Billy Brennan. He’d heard about him – heard things that hardly anyone else knew. That, for all his front, Billy Brennan was barely managing to keep his family from starving – so Charlie knew he had an awful lot to fight for. Reggie, on the other hand, was just in it for the booze. His dad was good, yes, but this fight was really no contest, not as far as Charlie was concerned.
He finished changing and turned his attention to retrieving the money. The kids’ bedroom was one of only two in the house, and in this one you probably couldn’t even swing a rat. Not that there was a bed in it; just an old mattress which almost filled the room, set directly on the floor and on which all of the children had to sleep. It stank – of sweat and piss, and other even more revolting things, and was covered in coats, pullovers and scraps of material.
Charlie was lucky, though. He and young Reg, being the oldest boys, at least had an outside edge apiece. Margaret would squeeze up next to Reggie – though she’d often get out and sleep on the floor instead – and all the younger ones ended up in the middle. Here they could piss away all night if they wanted to, because they only got it all over each other.
Charlie held his breath as he glanced at the sunken middle bit of the bed now. Sodden and stinking, it was also crawling with maggots; something he tried hard not to think about at night, but couldn’t escape being reminded of now. He carefully retrieved his savings from the hole in the side and then ran out of the room and back downstairs to scrub his face clean at the kitchen sink.
Annie was waiting in the hallway for him once he was done, and she smiled. ‘Ahh,’ she said, kissing the top of his head, ‘you are a bonnie lad when you’re nice and clean, Charlie Hudson. You, er, wouldn’t happen to have a spare bob or two for your mam, would you, son?’
Charlie smiled back at her, feigning innocence with ease. ‘No, Mam,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Mr Cappovanni lost money this week. I might get summat next week, though, if I work hard.’
He didn’t feel guilty deceiving her. Not on this occasion anyway. His mam would only have used it to bet on his dad, and as far as he was concerned old Reggie boy was going to take a tumble.
Knowing the pennies were in his pocket put a spring in Charlie’s step as he walked with his mam down the street, past the big mill and then across the fields to the club. Cappovanni would definitely be going to the fight, he knew, and that was good because he’d be sure to keep the bet a secret. Billy Brennan was the underdog and when he took his dad down – which he would – Charlie would be in for a tidy profit. Which felt fair, too. He worked very hard for Cappovanni and he knew his employer was proud of him. Proud that he always kept his mouth shut, and also proud that he knew everything about everyone on the large estate where they lived.
The back room of the club was already full of people when he and his mam arrived, thick with smoke, and with a rumble of excitement in the air. It was 5 p.m. now and the fight was due to start soon – it had to be, so it could be all over and done with by the time the club officially opened at seven. He couldn’t see his dad, but knew he was probably limbering up in the toilets – that’s where the fighters went to change into their shorts. He could, however, see Mr Cappovanni. He was moving among the people, looking like any other person, but Charlie, who knew what to look out for in such matters, knew he was discreetly taking bets.
He’d followed his mam to the bar, and now tugged at her sleeve. ‘Mam, is it okay if I go talk to Mr Cappovanni?’ he asked Annie.
She ordered herself a gill of beer before turning to him. ‘Yes, go on then,’ she said, ‘but, Charlie, you be careful, son. That fellow breaks legs to them that owe him. If anything starts, I want you right back with me, you hear?’
Charlie promised he would, then ran off towards his mentor. His dad might have taught him all he knew about boxing, but Mr Cappovanni knew about all sorts of other, more interesting things, like running books, protection rackets, extortion. And as far as Charlie was concerned these were the things you really needed to know about, and Mr Cappovanni was the man from whom he’d learn them.
‘Can you put this on Billy for me, Mr Cappovanni?’ Charlie whispered as he got near enough. ‘Only don’t tell me mam or dad, will you?’
He slipped the pennies into the bookie’s dark, wrinkled hand and watched as his fingers closed over them.
Cappovanni was in his mid-fifties, and though nobody knew for sure, it was generally assumed he had a connection with the Mafia. This alone seemed to be enough to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, and whether it was true or not, there was no doubt he was a force to be reckoned with; where the Depression kept the rest of the country in poverty and rags, Albert Cappovanni had risen to the top – like a great beast rising from a sea of grime.
He stared hard at Charlie for a moment, skewering him under his gaze. Then laughed out loud. ‘My, my, kiddo,’ he said, ‘I’ll make a man out of you yet! And don’t worry,’ he added under his breath, ‘I’ll keep it quiet, son, but one thing.’ His eyes narrowed and he leaned down towards Charlie. ‘Don’t you go telling anyone else you’ve gone against your old man, will you? Or I’ll have to alter my odds. My old lady’ll have me guts for garters if I don’t go home on top.’
Which was something Charlie couldn’t imagine Mr Cappovanni’s wife ever doing, but he promised he wouldn’t and scampered happily back to his mam.
The fight was due to start very soon after. The club was heaving now, the air tinged with blue from all the pipe smoke and from those lighting up Players Navy cigarettes. The men had formed a ring now around Reggie and Billy, while the few women that were there hung back and chatted by the bar. This obviously included his mam, so Charlie was free to enjoy the fight, even more so when Mr Cappovanni scooped him up and gave him the perfect vantage point sitting on his shoulders. From here he’d cheer for his dad, obviously, shouting along with all his mates, but all the while hoping his long shot would pay off. Which to his mind wasn’t even that much of a long shot. His dad might be the favourite, but Charlie was sharp. He had eyes and ears and the reason he knew about Billy Brennan was because he never wasted an opportunity to use them.
It was exciting but at the same time sometimes difficult to watch. It was his dad, after all, and this was a bare-knuckle fight. They always were. Gloves and padding were generally considered to be for sissies, so blood, snot and spit splatters were the norm, and he winced as he watched the blows raining down, as the two men pummelled the life out of each other.
He took careful note though and, as each round ended – with the ringing of a bell – he made a mental note of the way things were going. And it soon became clear that his dad wasn’t going to win. Billy Brennan, as Charlie’d anticipated, was like a raging animal in the impromptu ring, screaming and running at Reggie as if protecting his young, which, in a way, was what he was there to do. And though Reggie tried to mirror every punch, and often succeeded, he was never going to be a match for a desperate starving man. The fight was all over in 20 minutes.
As Charlie’s dad threw the towel in Charlie himself glanced around, and it was clear most of the bets had been on Reggie. Most of the onlookers looked as defeated as the fighter they’d backed, throwing down their chitties and grumbling to each other. Not that anyone would say a word to Charlie’s dad. They wouldn’t dare. His adrenalin still pumping, Reggie always had a punch in reserve for after a fight, and it would still be in his blood when they got home as well. A
