Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) (2 page)

Chapter 2

Stuck in a Rut,
2014:

  Living in a prosperous town in the North East of Scotland called Inverurie, with a population of roughly eleven thousand, my life was like any typical family man. A clique wee place where rumours grew legs and limbs, making their way from one side of town to the other.

  The place had the usual scuffles outside the pubs during the weekends, the usual alkies every town acquires, propping up the bars in their local boozers. Tearaway youths and twenty somethings binging on coke and illegal highs like MCAT, going wild at the weekends.

  Having a football team in the Highland League, Inverurie Loco Works, gave the families of the town something to cheer at the weekends. An excellent school system and plenty for the kids to keep them occupied.

  Overall, a better place to bring up a family than Tilly.

  Things were tough at the time. I was skint, the family was skint. It wasn’t always like this though. Only in the recent months after losing my job at the Paper Mill in January, that things started to go downhill.

The Mill went bust resulting in three hundred and twelve workers losing their livelihoods. The company called us to a meeting out of the blue, and that was it, the Mill had to close. I didn’t know the ins and outs of the finance part of the shutdown but I know this, it left us with nothing. Everyone was in the same boat, devastated.

  Sacked without any kind of redundancy because the company went bankrupt. A lot of empty pockets hovered around town at that time, leaving the town in a big hole. The Mill was the main source of income for the many of families in the area. I’d been there since leaving school and it left me with nothing.

  All the years of breaking my back, keeping up with my jobs and taking orders from arrogant arseholes that thought they were big dicks because they’d been placed into a supervisor's role, was all for nothing in my eyes. My loyalty to the place was not to be rewarded.

   I was content with the routine, job and life in general. It paid me to raise a wonderful family and keep a house. But that all changed rapidly in the next two years. We had savings, but it was never going to last long with the cost of living getting higher and higher. Where was I going to get another job? I didn’t have any skills or any kind of trade.                    

  I missed out on getting involved in the oil industry that thrived around Aberdeen and the surrounding areas and the money that went with it. It would cost an arm and a leg to get survival and medical certificates now, and I didn’t have that cash.

  Making it even more challenging to get a job was the fact I didn’t drive. There wasn’t any need growing up and I didn’t need a car to get back and forth to work when I stayed in Aberdeen, catching a lift from a workmate that shared the same shift. Then living in Inverurie, I cycled to work. A driver's licence was a waste of money to me. The cash it would take to get a car on the road nowadays was outrageous. We would never be able to afford that.

  For the next six months after losing my job, I sank further into the normal life of an unemployed man, picking up the role of house-husband which definitely didn’t suit. I made every effort to pick up another job here, but with three hundred people all chasing new employment at the same time, it made it almost impossible. 

  There was a recycling plant nearby, three positions were advertised. I applied but so did countless others. It was just luck of the draw that would claim you a job. Forty people got interviews with three chosen, probably because they knew the right person in the right place.

  It’s who you know rather than what you know.

  After three months, the savings started to dry up and the bills started to pile up. May, my wife of eight years, had been hassling me since getting paid-off to apply for welfare, but being as stubborn as shit, I wouldn’t do it. A man that has to sign on to support his family wasn’t something to be proud of. But running out of options, I had no choice in the end eventually, signing on and receiving my entitlement of £155 a week.

  May had a part - time job in the local corner shop. Worked twenty hours a week paying next to minimum wage, £135. The combination of these two things were never going to pay the mortgage and mounting bills every month, plus keep food on the table and clothes on the kids back. But, as little as it paid, we were very thankful that May had this job.

  The constant hunt for work was frustrating, getting pessimistic and passive about my situation. When you’re out of work for a while, stuck in a rut, it can drain your desire and enthusiasm for life, which had a knock on effect. Most days I was left to handle the kids and tackle the household chores.

  When there wasn’t anything else to do, lazing around watching the pish daytime TV was routine. When I could be bothered, weights or hitting the boxing bag would keep me busy.

  Working in the Mill since I left school at the age of sixteen was almost all I knew, well I say almost because…

Chapter 3

Boxing as a Teen:

  I was a fighter at heart.

  My entire life, fighting in some form or other, followed me around like an unwelcome shadow. Witnessing punches being thrown in anger, right back to my first memories. My old man introduced me to violence from an early age along with boxing at the age of fourteen to ‘toughen me up.’ It soon became obvious I held a talent for it.

  By the time I reached eighteen, I had developed into a five foot ten beast of a man. I was battle hardened and living under my father's reputation. Having all I needed at my feet to become a well-known face in the boxing world. Dedicated, hardworking, with a head like granite, broad shouldered, good tempered, muscles ripped and hardened with the constant years of hard training, never showing an ounce of fat, fighting around eighty-five/seven kilos in the cruiserweight category.

  As a teen, I had sun-streaked, curled blonde hair, flowing down past my ears and into my eyes. At times I couldn't be arsed getting a cut, but always kept a smooth chin, carrying a smashed-up nose that came from countless breaks. Bright blue-green eyes that came from being fit and healthy, although quite often had shades of black and purple surrounding them. I kept myself well-dressed outside the gym as there was never a money shortage growing up.

  The other kids were quite jealous of the labels I wore.Tilly wasn’t exactly the catwalk of fashion.

  I quit boxing at twenty-three because I made the classic mistake that any good coach would tell you not to do. ‘Don’t fall in love, or your career will go down the shitter.’

  I’d had my fair share of amateur fights by that time, guessing around fifty. I never kept a good log of them. To be honest, once Junior, our first kid was on the way, that signaled the end of my boxing career, didn’t want him growing up around any kind of violence after my own childhood of horror.

  Guys in the boxing game used to say I had a promising future, could’ve had it all, but I wasn’t interested.

  Now thirty-two, patches of frosty-grey growing through my clean cut hair and lazy-cut stubble, I had developed a slight overhang in the belly department, and I was getting older and slower, my enthusiasm for life also getting grey.

  Being a lot heavier too, maybe around the hundred kilo mark, I couldn’t tell to be exact as after the boxing finished, the scales were the first thing to go. They were your enemy as a fighter, going through the constant battle to hit target weight. Once retired, they were the first thing I binned.

  I never wanted to stop boxing, but a violence-free life for my kids is what I yearned for. If I was to get any kind of crazy injuries that could put me on the sick from work, I wouldn’t be able to afford to look after my wife and kids the way they deserved.

  My sole important thing in life was to keep a roof over their heads, clothes on their back, grub on the table and love in their hearts. Protect them, idolize them, and be with them through heartache and hardship. Strangely, that is exactly the reason I travelled down the wrong path, to keep money coming in again. I’d been employed for the last sixteen years and it got me nowhere. I didn’t take the piss at work, only ever took my due breaks, was never late and never took a sick day. The only time I had taken off was the days my children were born, the short time I required off to look after May in her time of need and the ten week spell after my poor mother committed suicide.

  A model employee as they say, but look at me now, totally skint, not able to provide for my family. Not able to buy any luxuries for May or the kids. Not able to take the kids on holiday or even go out to enjoy a meal.

  The whole situation really started to piss me off and it had to change.

Chapter 4

Strange Turn:

  Things took a strange turn one late Indian summer’s night around eight o'clock. The sun beaming down over the red cloud-line and the air fresh. Taking advantage of the fine night, I went out jogging, the streets quiet enough at this time for some solitude. Jogging the odd night was a great way to get out of the house to clear my head of all the stress and worries hounding me from the ever increasing bill stack in the top drawer.

  Quite a long run, around four and a half miles, which would take me about forty-five minutes. A good amount of time to be out the house, the longer the better. The fresh air and time on my own was therapeutic.

  I worried so much, not knowing how we would be able to pay the mortgage and bills in the coming months. The £155 welfare went into the bank each week along with May’s £135, but it just wasn't enough for us. The savings now gone. Our pot was empty.

  My jog took me round the outskirts of Inverurie via the dual carriageway, returning over the river Don bridge heading back into town and toward my house. This bridge was the main road in and out of the place towards Aberdeen. Passing the bridge and listening to Oasis ‘Morning Glory’ blasting in my ears, I vaguely made out somebody shouting at me.

  “Joe! Wait! JOE!”

  I stopped on the pavement, removed my earphones and turned around looking to see who the Hell was shouting. A silver Mercedes was doing a U-turn in the middle of the road, redirecting straight towards me, as I stood silent on the pavement. As the car approached, I still couldn’t figure out who it was with the low sun blinding me. The car pulled up beside me, the window rolled down, and I then instantly knew exactly who it was. My old boxing pal Tim! I started to grin, happy to see my old friend again after all these years.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the famous Joe Marks!”

  “Jesus Christ. Is that really you, Tim?” Taken totally by surprise. I hadn’t seen this guy for years.

  “The one and only! How’s tricks?”

“Just grand, mate. How’s life treating you?”

  “Aye fine, lad.”

  “Still boxing?” Curious to know what he was up to nowadays.

  “No, not fighting any more. Just doing the coaching side of things at the Kilgour Club. What about you? When’s the last time you threw some leather?”

  “Ooh, Jesus. It’s been about 8 or 9 years since I’ve

been in a gym. Kilgour club?”  

  “Aye, in Tilly. It belongs to a pal of mine now.”

  “My old gym! What happened to Stevenson?”

  “Aye, that’s right. No idea about Tommy, retired, moved on, I suppose.”

  “Jesus, that brings back some old memories. What you doing through these parts on a Wednesday night?” I asked.

  “Visiting my Gran, she's in the Garioch care home.” Tim replied with a sigh.

  “Where you staying now? Manor Avenue in Aberdeen still?”

  “Na. Got myself out of there when the wife started to show a bump. Didn’t want my kids growing up in a place like that. I’ve got a place in Kingswells now, just outside town. It’s a lot quieter there.”

  “Aye, you’re right, mate. That’s why we moved out here from Tilly, get away from the kind of life I had there.”

  “Hey, how about coming to the gym one night, have a little work-out, then we’ll get a proper catch up? Judging by the size of your gut, you need it.” Said Tim with a smirk.

  “I’d love to, but I don’t have any way of getting there and back.”

“I’ll take you! I'll visit my Gran beforehand, then I’ll pick you up afterwards. There's a guy I know at the gym who could give you a lift home. He stays around here somewhere.”

  “Give me your number ‘en, and I’ll give you a shout. I'll have to clear it with the wife first, you know what women are like, eh? Could be doing with something to do like, been out of work for a while and bored out my tits.”

  Tim wrote his number on a receipt and handed it over. “You’re still wi’ that gorgeous May, are you?”

  “Of course mate, married wi’ a couple sprogs. Have you just the one?”

  “I wish. Twin boys and they're a fuckin’ handful.”

  “Bet they are. Tim, it’s been great to chat but I’d better finish this run before the old legs seize up. I’ll call you, alright?”

  “Sure, no worries Joe, nice to see you. Catch you later.”

  Tim rolled up his window and sped away in his flashy silver Mercedes C63 AMG, with the twin exhaust roaring through the big engine.

I hadn’t seen him since ending my boxing career nine years ago.

  He was a tall gangly guy around six foot two, wide, bony shoulders, gnarly fingers on the end of long snarly arms, with more muscle in his elbow than his bicep. His face hadn’t changed, thin and gaunt with high cheekbones, a bony jaw usually coated in stubble and a ruffled head of shabby hair that hadn’t seen the use of a comb in years.

  He slogged around slowly but not sloth-like, never appeared to have a worry in the world as he scraped his knuckles across the deck like an orang-utan.

  Nothing would phase Tim, wise beyond his years and had been since we were young tearaways. Back in the day we did a lot of training together, competing at the same weight, but fortunately we never had to fight each other, only spar. We didn’t want to fight, we were too close.

  He was in an awkward category of boxer, limber with long arms, feet moving quicker than his hands and brains. He's the kind that would drive me insane inside the ropes. The constant game of chase was similar to trying to catch the Roadrunner, once you thought you had the clever cunt stuck in the corner or up against the ropes, he would slip away like a mongoose slips a snake. Just as your brain registered where he had slipped to, that's when he would lay his counter-attack, leaving you weary and confused.

  We knew each other too well, in and out of the ring. When sparring, we knew what each other had planned almost before we knew ourselves. Sharing countless rounds together, we were like two lost brothers brought together over the love of throwing leather.

  Our two coaches constantly got us together for sparring and training sessions when we had upcoming bouts. He fought for a club in the centre of town called Aberdeen City Boxing Club and I fought for the Drones Club, now renamed to Kilgours. It was good to see the guy after all these years.

  Finishing my jog, the memories flowed back, giving a much needed spring to my steps.