Fight night

A scruffy looking youth cycled furiously through the park, not bothering to hold the handlebars as he unwrapped a chocolate bar. He threw the packet into the duck pond before swerving, narrowly missing two ladies. Not even acknowledging his near collision he cut across the grass. The wrapper floated amongst the lily pads, its bright silver in stark contrast to the soft greens.

“What’s your take on public whipping?” Cissie asked, watching the youth cycle away.

“I’m all for it, although I’m not sure it would make much of a punishment for some folk. I heard people pay to get whipped nowadays. It’s like a sex thing!” Jean replied, bristling at the word sex.

“Oh yes with the leather and such.”

“Too hot for leather this time of year Cissie.”

It had been a pleasant day by the duckpond, apart from from the young people and their indifference to littering. It stood in the shadow of the Maple tree nursing home where Cissie and Jean resided. Best friends and business partners since the sixties they had secured the two best lawn chairs and had defrosted a bag of peas for the ducks. Other pond goers eyed them enviously as they were treated to plenty of duck attention. As Jean always said, the trick with ducks was peas not bread.

“Are you still on for Sunday afternoon?” Jean asked, as a family of ducks hoovered up the last of her peas.

“I don’t know, the grandkids are calling me again.” Cissie said.

“Just make something up.”

“There only so many times I can pretend not to hear the phone before they get me some new gadget I’m supposed to master. But I can’t sit there and watch more of those wik wok phone videos either.”

“Hey, what about her?”

Jean pointed across the pond to a young mother. Dressed in gym gear, she was jogging at some speed whilst pushing a baby in a stroller. The baby looked terrified.

“She’s got great shoulders, maybe she’d make a good contender?”

“Perhaps but we also need a showman. I don’t see her wowing a crowd.”

The pair discussed the suitability of the young mother until she’d done a few laps of the park. When she stopped by the fountain for water Jean gave her a warm smile, discreetly slipping a flyer into the basket of the stroller whilst Cissie cooed over her baby.

Cissie offered Jean the last chocolate biscuit, she took it and Cissie frowned. It had been a lovely afternoon with plenty of relaxation. Exactly what they needed before tonight.

“Have my two favourite ladies had a wonderful day?” came the call of the overly enthusiastic carer, Andrew.

Cissie and Jean rolled their eyes as he bounded up the path.

“Oh, great here comes captain fucking sunshine.” Jean lamented.

“He needs to get laid.” Cissie muttered under her breath.

Andew stopped dead in front of them, placing his hands on his hips and sticking out his bottom lip.

“You two had us all worried! Tell you what, let’s all go back for a nice dinner.” He beamed.

“Oh, bless you dear Andrew. Would you be a love and help Jean back? I think her hips are a bit stiff.”

Jean shot Cissie a venomous look as Andrew took hold of her elbow. Cissie stuck her tongue out. The sun dipped behind the trees as they shuffled back to the lifeless beige walls and flickering florescent lights of the care home. The automatic doors swished open and a hot wave of overboiled cabbage and grease hit them.

“Our continental chef must be working wonders with the tin opener.” Jean mumbled to Cissie, pinching her nose.

Andrew insisted on showing them to their usual table at the far side of the dining area. It offered both a view of the gardens and a quiet spot to discuss business, away from the pricked ears of the staff. Tonight’s dinner was bland but edible. Cissie tucked in to her scampi greedily. Jean steadily picked at her fish, inspecting each morsel before eating. As Jean examined her final bite, Andrew swooped over in all his usual overblown buoyancy.

“Well, hello lovely ladies, a gentleman is here to see you! He says its very important. Hope you pair haven’t been causing too much trouble!” He let out a roaring laugh that startled the old couple sat a table over.

“Oh, you here that Cissie? A gentleman to see us?” Jean nudged her shoulder.

“I suppose you better send him through then.” Cissie said.

“Right away ladies! I’ll let him know.”

Andew skipped across the dining room, Jean let out a deep breath.

“God he’s hard work. Who do you think it is?” she asked.

“Probably Bob, lost at least £2,000 the other week. A difficult number to explain to the wife.”

Briskly keeping up with Andrew was Ridgefield’s Local councillor. Bob Pickering. A red-faced man with quite a passion for gambling. His usual shiny, clean-shaven face was supporting at least three days’ worth of stubble and a frown.

“Here we are dears,” bellowed Andrew. “I’ll leave you to chat.” Bob Pickering stood in front of them, looking like a schoolboy who had been caught bunking off.

“Hello ladies,” he muttered. “I’ve come to speak with you about the other week.”

“Oh, did you enjoy the show? You seemed quite tipsy!” Cissie piped up.

“Oh yes,” Jean said. “Quite the big spender!”

“Quite, well erm, actually I may need to reclaim my losses see. I may have partaken more than usual and...”

“All bets are final councillor.” Jean said.

He sank down into the chair next to them, undoing his top button.

“Be reasonable. A pair of sweet old dears like yourselves can help a local figure out, can’t they?”

Jean raised an eyebrow at Cissie whist she poured them both some more tea. As they stirred in their sugar Bob began to shuffle in his seat. They sipped, holding his gaze over the chipped, flowery teacups.

“If you want sweet Bob you should try the Victoria sponge. We run a business not a charity.” Cissie said with a cheerful tone.

“Please I supposed to be cutting a ribbon tomorrow morning!”

“How delightful dearie,” Jean said. “Cut some more ribbons, ignore some more potholes and you’ll earn your money back. How’s that for sweet?”

The pair smiled as Bob looked for a glint of sympathy. Finding nothing he straightened out his blazer and stood to leave.

“I do wish something could be done about all that litter around the duck pond.” Jean sighed, just as Bob turned to leave. He turned back around with renewed vigour in his eyes.

“Yes, I’ll see what I can do, thank you ladies.”

“Isn’t that sweet of you Bob? Of course that won’t cover the full amount. We’ll see you tonight then?” Cissie asked.

He gave her an ashamed nod before leaving them to enjoy their tea. Tonight’s brew was a bit strong for their liking. Cissie added an extra bit of sugar help take some of the bitterness out.

“I think that young lady from the park will turn up tonight.” Cissie said.

“So, do I. I think she has a lot of anger she’s holding on to.”

“There was a fire in her eyes”

From the kitchen came the lacklustre fruit salad, browning apple chunks and tart kiwi covered in yoghurt. Tonight was bingo night. Andrew would be shouting out numbers in his patronising foghorn of a voice whist half the crowd demanded he speak up. Not for Jean and Cissie, their night involved a more violent game.

They both decided they’d had enough fruit salad for one evening. Taking the elevator to their shared apartment on the second floor. Offering smiles and excuses to the other residents shuffling their way to the bingo hall. Once they were inside Cissie flicked on the tv and whacked the volume up for good measure.

“Right then Cissie, at least a dozen people have seen us head off for the night. Shall we leave it for an hour?”

“Let’s just go now, I’m too excited!”

“Even after all these years there’s nothing quite like the buzz of a fight night!”

Cissie slid open the window, cool night air swept through the stuffy little apartment blowing the curtains back.

“Ok I’ll go first.”

“Wait for me at the bottom. I’ll fill up the flasks.” Jean said, grabbing a bottle from the liquor cabinet.

Cissie lent out of the window, feeling around for the drainpipe. She made sure it was secure with a rattle before carefully stepping out of the window, onto the ledge. She whispered a prayer, crossed her chest and slid down. Hitting the bottom a little faster than she’d hoped and having to steady herself. Through the ground floor window, Andrew was calling the bingo.

“Duck and dive, twenty-five!”

Cissie backed against the wall and looked up to see Jean hanging out the window, too flasks in her hands. She gave her the thumbs up and Jean let them go. They landed on the soft grass with a plump. Always the more nervous of the pair Jean placed a trembling foot on the ledge, edging herself out and wrapping her arms round the drainpipe.

“Droopy draws, forty-four!”

Jean began to descend slowly, letting herself slide half a foot before stopping. Just past the first floor the drainpipe let out a groan. Her legs went flailing, slamming against the ground floor window before she got her footing back. She pressed her body against the drainpipe as Andrew poked his head out. He looked from left to right, if he’d have looked up, he would have seen a terrified pensioner in his care dangling from a drainpipe. He ducked his head back in.

“Tickety boo, sixty two!”

Jean carefully slid the rest of the way, landing with a far more controlled grace.

“And that’s how you do it!” Jean said with a bow.

“Dangling in front of the window? Luckly you weren’t wearing a skirt.” Cissie teased. That earned her a shove on the shoulder as she gathered up the flasks. They made their way along the wall. Leaving the care home and its harsh lighting behind.

Clear of the grounds without being spotted, Cissie and Jean walked with their arms linked through the quiet town. Ridgefield being mostly retirees, there was no traffic, most residents being on the couch with a game show on the T.V.

A ten-minute walk down the road was the shabby old pub. Paint peeling and with a window boarded up. A weak light lit up the name “The dog and bastard.” From the outside most people would think the place closed. Which it was to all but a few who were in the know. Whilst the pub looked empty, the car park was full. Battered old van’s parked alongside sleek Bentley’s with even a few motorbikes.

“Looks to be a great turnout Cissie.”

“Yes, let’s get ourselves inside.”

Jean gave a hard wrap on the door using her flask. For half a minute they waited in silence. A peephole slid open, behind it a pair of bloodshot brown eyes.

“Password?” Came a gruff voice.

“Jeff it’s us.” Jean said.

The eyes behind the peephole blinked.

Cissie sighed, “the rice pudding looks particularly runny this evening.”

The peephole slid shut, followed by the griding metal of a rusted lock. The door swung open bathing Jean and Cissie in the smell of stale beer and pipe smoke.

“Welcome ladies, apologies but you know I have to ask.” said Jeff, puffing away on his pipe.

“Not to worry Jeff. We’re not wearing a wire.” Cissie quipped.

They stepped into the pub. Chairs were stacked on tables and the blinds had been pulled down.

“Jus’ takin’ them down to the punters.” Jeff said, pointing to two trays of drinks sat on the bar. “Should be a good night.”

“A lucrative one?” Jean asked, with a certain sternness in her voice.

“Oh yes, all paid up. They know better than to cross you two. That councillor bloke…”

“Yes, we have an arrangement.”

“Suppose it’s best I don’t know about that.”

Jeff cast his eyes downward, moving his pipe to the corner of his mouth. Cissie brushed down her cardigan whilst Jean used a little pocket mirror to check her curls.

“Did you bring any yarn?” Cissie asked Jean.

Jean slipped a hand into her coat pocket and produced a ball of yellow wool, shaking it at Cissie.

“Are we ready then ladies?” Jeff asked, picking up the tray full of drinks.

“We were ready when you were in nappies.” Cissie said.

They followed Jeff and his shaking tray of drinks as be made his way past the pool table to the back stairs. Jean held onto Cissies elbow; her eyes weren’t much good in low light. At the back of the bar behind a locked door lay a metal stairway. Below, the raucous crowd was in full swing: cheering, laughter, smashing glass and money changing hands. Jeff reached the bottom and used his back to hold open the heavy door. Cissie and Jean walked past him into the arena.

The crowd fell silent. Glasses stopped clinking, handfuls of cash froze midair. Some of the younger punters frowned in confusion. The older ones dipped their hats, one man caught Cissie’s eye and quickly dropped his cigarette, stamping it out.

“They really ought to install a stair lift in this place.” Cissie said to Jean.

As they shambled their way to the ringside, the crowd parted. The two fighters, there knuckles wrapped, and hair tied back, gave them both a bow. The ladies nodded back, fluffing up their seat cushions and sitting down, right in front of the action. The air was thick with sweat and eagerness.

“Let’s begin tonight’s first bout!” Cissie said.

Jean drew out a pair of knitting needles and tapped them on the bell beside her. The crowd reignited as the two fighters approached centre ring. Guard up and feet bouncing. They began trading blows as Jean took the yellow yarn from her pocket and popped a cough sweet.

“They look to be on top form tonight Cissie.” Jean said, crossing her first two stitches. Cissie unscrewed her flask and poured herself a healthy dose of sherry.

“Oh, take a look Cissie. It looks like our local councillor has come into a bit of money.”

Jean pointed a needle at a sweaty Bob Pickering, wiping his brow whilst counting out twenty-pound notes on the bookkeeper’s table. He looked up, swallowing hard when he caught sight of the two ladies. They offered him a cheery wave. He gave them a deflated smile and hastily gathered his money back up. Cissie looked at him out the corner of her eye as he approached.

“Councillor, it seems you’ve been holding out on us.” She said.

“Very sorry ladies,” He murmured to the floor. “Bit of emergency cash. I thought… just a little bet.”

Cissie’s eyes returned to the bout. Taking a long sip, smiling as the sherry’s delightful almond flavours coated her tongue. When she looked back the councillor had left a stack of old banknotes next to her and vanished. Cissie patted the money pile, sharing a smile with Jean.

“Looks who’s turned up.” Cissie said. Giving Jean a nudge on the elbow. Jean looped more yarn around her fingers as she looked across the ring. The young mother from the duck pond was leaning against the far pillar. Still in her running gear, she quietly observed the fight. Unable to tear her eyes away from the contenders.

Jean smiled. “Told you. Some training and we’ll make her a champion. I can feel it.”

They both watched the young woman, captivated by the fight.

“Remember our first fights?” Cissie asked. She nodded to a picture hung up on the brick wall. It was of a much younger Jean. She was sporting a championship belt, smiling despite her face being swollen up like a pumpkin. Beside her Cissie held up her knocked out tooth, a referee stood in between them.

Jean squinted at the picture, letting out a wheezing laugh.

“I thought I was going to vomit right there in the ring when I first walked out.”

“Now look at us. Frailer than fine china and calling the shots.”

One of the fighters took a blow to the head, hitting the floor and spitting out her mouth guard. Jean leaned over and tapped the bell with her knitting needles.