The Moon Over the Moors

TW: physical violance

The bus was five minutes late as per usual, always late and always by five minutes. It is strangely orderly in its tardiness. Always the same driver, the only one in town. His name is Tommy, Tommy McLeish. He doesn't remember me, which is to be expected; high school was a long time ago and my appearance has changed considerably, his hasn't. 

“You getting off here, big man!?” He shouts to me, his only passenger. 

“naw, how come?” 

“Would you mind just getting off now? I'm bursting for a shite”

No point in arguing with the man. He drops me on a long strip of country road lined with mud and wire fencing, beyond the wire's empty matte green pasture with a thick layer of fog obscuring all horizons. I walked the rest of the way to the place where the ashes were spread.

My shoes were filthy when I got into town, I decided to walk through the square and into an old spot I used to frequent, Harper's, a dusty old pub on the corner. The place had the familiar stench of stale lager and fried food, very welcoming. Thankfully no one recognised me, it would only have made things harder. Sitting at the bar I ordered a pint and took in my surroundings. There was a boxing match on the TV above the bar. I didn't know either of the fighters but one of them was surely winning, good technique. There were a few other patrons scattered about drowning in their drinks, god bless, one man sat at the fruity. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell” A familiar voice calls out from the other end of the bar. “Arthur Moor, how long’s it been eh?”

“Not long enough, Brian” he reeked of stale cigarettes , nothing I wasn't used to, but being away from it for so long your senses come back, I do my best not to make a face. 

“Well fuck sake Arthur what you been up to? What's it been like six, eight years?” 

“seven, give or take” 

“Blimey, you always were a bit aloof” he suddenly seemed a bit annoyed at me, taking a sip of his pint. 

“Yeah, it has been a while”

A silence took over for some time, it felt like the whole pub was listening to us.

“Three guesses why your ‘ere then eh” He points at a pair of old brown boxing gloves hung behind the bar next to some old photos. I hadn't noticed them when I first came in. My heart sinks. “Yeah the ol’ fightin’ scene’s not quite what it used to be” 

“When did they put those up, Brian?”

“Bout a year after it happened, we had to buy em off some dick‘ead on eBay, Whole pub chipped in, honestly I thought you would have had em” 

“Why’d you think that?” 

“Well they were your brothers, weren't they?” 

I felt something clasp around my throat, like a mouse caught in a trap. I set my half empty pint down on the bar and got up to leave. 

“I'll see you later, mate”

“Don't be a stranger, you hear me!?”

It really had been too long, the guilt was starting to kick in as I walked out of the pub and down the street, aimless. I made my way across the road to the waterfront and looked out over the bay, the sun was coming down and an orange haze spread out over the horizon. The afternoon was just rolling into the evening, it gets dark early here in October. I lit a cigarette and looked out to the distance at the smokestacks and fiery columns across the water. Plumes of grey smoke stretched up into the atmosphere, blanketing this whole area. The sunset was truly beautiful, and the air was crisp. It occurred to me that I was still stalling, I had been stalling for seven years and I was still stalling,  standing there doing nothing staring blank into the horizon, wasting time. Enough was enough, I knew where I had to go. 

Trudging down the high street I pass the old gym with its boarded windows and ivy hanging down like long wet hair. Tommy wasn't kidding, this place used to be bouncing. Me and Billy would work on his Jump-turn for hours on end practising that move so Ray Molotti couldn't catch him against the ropes. Ray-Mo had a mean fuckin’ hook, but Billy was always better on his feet. I got a little choked up just thinking about it, those times, the ringing of the bell, The old-town gym on a Saturday night; lit up like Blackpool. The whole town would pile in to see Billy fight, and we’d all go to Harper’s afterwards like we had just done a shift down the mines; job well done. Evidently those days were over now, and had been for quite some time. 

The sun had fully set when I got to the beach. I walked slowly down those sandy stone steps and stopped half-way down to take my shoes and socks off. I couldn't say why I did that, other than a keen desire to not have sand in my shoes. It just felt right to take them off, like I was entering someone's house. The sand was freezing under my feet and the cold crept its way up my legs, soon I was shivering and my teeth were chattering. Still, I was determined to make my way to the spot, bare feet and all. When I got there the moon was starting to show its face, full and bright, lighting up the beach in a blue-ish glow, a long white reflection extended across the ocean and the waves came in gentle and rhythmic, they had washed away the ashes years ago.

Billy always loved that place, we’d build a fire on dark nights and roast the pollock we’d caught that day. Billy always said if he couldn't be a boxer he would’ve been a fisherman, I wish that he had been a fisherman now, I wish we both had been. I pushed him too hard. Underdog from the sticks vs. the UK’s heavyweight champ, what the fuck was I thinking? I’m his big brother, I'm supposed to protect him, I was supposed to protect him, I always told him we’d get out of here someday, somewhere better, I made that promise. 

‘I'm sorry’ the words slipped out of my mouth, quiet and pitiful, I found myself sobbing violently. 

Strangely, I didn't feel alone there, not that it felt like someone was watching me, but that someone else was there. I looked up at the moon with tears still in my eyes and saw its cold glow over the ocean, and felt some comfort. 

Back in the square I sat on a bench across the street from Harper’s, it was getting late and the drunks were spilling out for their hourly cigarette. I was about to miss my bus but I couldn't have cared less, I’d already resigned myself to going back to the pub after I had composed myself a bit, getting royally pished and stumbling back over to the bench to fall asleep. I'd catch the bus in the morning when the shame and hangover had properly set in. I had to prepare first, I had a lot of catching up to do with the locals. Then suddenly;

‘Hello’

I look up to see a young man holding a child's car seat. 

‘Um…hello’ 

‘Sorry I didn't mean to bother you, you seem a bit down’

‘Aye, well I’m just a bit…homesick, I suppose’

‘I understand, it's hard’ he puts down the car seat as he says this.

‘You ever get homesick? Sorry if that's rude, I just assume you're not from around here’

He smiles a bit ‘I'm from Zimbabwe my friend, and yes I do get homesick, I miss my mother a lot’ 

‘I'm sorry to hear that’ 

‘Its ok, where are you from?’

‘Here, man’

He looks at me confused, but then just nods his head. ‘Would you like to come to church tomorrow?’

‘I'm not really the god fearing type’ 

‘That's ok, all are welcome’ he picks up the car seat. ‘10am tomorrow at the old revival, on Shephard's Street, do you know where it is?’

‘Yeah, I know’ 

‘Well, see you tomorrow if you decide to come, I hope you feel better’

‘Thank you’

He walks off around a corner with the car seat.

Something changed, I felt a surge of anxiety come over me as I realised the last bus out of town was in ten minutes. If I ran I could make it. I stood up to go, but I knew I was forgetting something, something I couldn't leave without. I stormed towards Harpers with clenched fists, pushed past the drunks attempting to greet me outside and jumped over the bar.

‘The fuck are you doing lad?!’

‘SHUT UP YOU OLD PRICK!’ I screamed in his face. 

I grabbed Billy's gloves and made for the door, tripping as I tried to jump over the bar again and landing flat on my face, luckily the adrenaline had already kicked in and I got up quick.

‘OI!’ someone shouts behind me.

The chase was on, sprinting down the street towards the bus stop and bleeding from the face, I felt oddly weightless in that flurry of sweat and iron. Looking behind me I saw my assailants, five burly men with bellies full of beer, Brian being one of them. Despite my age and being in terrible shape I was outrunning them quite easily. All but one, the sixth one. A young man, well built in a light blue polo shirt with a pair of chequered trousers. ‘Fuck’ I breathed aloud. I had to pick up the pace, I was almost on the bus. If I could just get on then maybe I'd be safe. I made it up the hill and was expecting to see the bus waiting there, shining brightly at the stop with an open door. To my horror it wasn't, and the boy was gaining on me. How could I have forgotten? Always late, always late and always late by five fucking minutes. I made it to the bus stop. ‘Fuck it’

With it being my only option left I put Billy’s gloves on, and held them up. The young man slowed down as he approached.

‘Surely you're ‘avin a laugh?’

‘Put em up’

‘I've not even got gloves, just give em back geezer, I don't wanna hurt you’

‘Take them from me then’

‘’Av it your way, mate’

He lurched forward to grab my collar, I swayed right and gave him a left jab. My punch was still good. He stumbled back. His fists came up and we started circling each other, under a lone lamppost with a bus stop sign taped to it, in the middle of a nowhere country road, our shoes now caked in mud. He stepped forward and threw a proper punch, he's got power but it lacked accuracy, but my dodge wasn't what it used to be and he landed one near my left temple. I fired back with a right to the eye, he threw another jab that landed squarely on my already broken nose and I took a few steps back. He gave me a few seconds to recuperate, I put my hand up to show him was ready again in lieu of a referee. We exchanged a few more jabs, he landed more small hits to the upper sides of my head, I started to get woozy. He could see me swaying a little and gained some confidence. He took a big step forward and threw a wild hook, I ducked it and came back up with an uppercut that clacked his teeth together. Knock out. 

He was asleep now on the side of the road. I took the gloves off and moved him out of the mud and onto a patch of long grass, out of some sense of courtesy I suppose. His friends finally caught up at the same time the bus came rolling in beside me, they took up their young friend and carried him off. Brian turned around, and asked:

‘What did you come back for anyway?’

‘I made a promise’ 

They stumble off into the night. I got on the bus. Tommy looked at me, horrified. With bloody hands I reached into my pocket, pulled out a few pound coins and handed them to him. I sat at the back of the empty bus and placed the blood stained gloves on my lap, I looked down at them and whispered:

‘I told you I’d get us out of here’