Gypsy Wedding (33 page)

‘Shania, I’m in so much trouble with Dad right now nothing can make things worse. Besides I won’t get caught. I know where the men go to fight and there’s a bit of broken fence in that corner. I’ll hide behind that, no one will see me.’

‘But what if they do?’ Shania was tearing at the tassel now, pulling bits of thread out of it.

Vicky shrugged. ‘I’m going to take the risk. I can’t let Liam do this without support from me. He won’t know I’m there but maybe – I don’t know – maybe if I’m close I can send him good vibes or something.’

‘You’re mad,’ said Shania. ‘Liam’s going to need a bloody sight more than
good vibes
when he’s getting thrashed by Fergus. If you’re planning on sending him anything I’d go for body armour. And if that doesn’t work you may have to send him a coffin.’

‘Shania! That’s an awful thing to say. How could you?’

‘Sorry, sis, but you’ve got to face up to it. Fergal’s twice Liam’s size. Liam doesn’t stand a chance. And rather than worrying about Liam, I’d worry about myself if I were you, because if Liam loses …’ Shania let the words hang.

That decided Vicky. Disregarding her headache she leapt off her bed and shot out of the trailer.

Shania watched her go. She didn’t want to see two grown men trying to destroy each other and she had no idea why Vicky wanted too. Besides, if Vicky wanted to get into yet more trouble then that was her lookout.

Vicky slipped behind the shower block and around the bunker where the bins were stored. From there she eased her way through a gap in the hedge and skirted around behind the outside boundary of the trailer park to the far corner. As she approached her goal she could hear a bunch of male voices either yelling encouragement, shouting or groaning. The fight must have started. Vicky felt even sicker than she already did.

In the far corner of the trailer park was a small electricity sub-station surrounded on all four sides by a six-foot fence. Vicky knew this area from when she’d tried a few illicit puffs on her first cigarette, egged on by some of the older girls. She also knew of the privacy the area inside the fence afforded and how easily accessible it was – providing you didn’t mind taking a bit of a risk. Ignoring the signs that warned of death and high voltage Vicky jumped up, caught the top of the fence and then scrambled up it. Then she rolled over the top to land on the gravel surrounding the rather sinister grey box that hummed faintly from the power that went in and out of it.

Vicky kept close to the fence – even she wasn’t so foolhardy as to want to touch the equipment – until she reached the side nearest the fight. One of the wooden slats was broken on that section of fencing, a fact she remembered from when she’d been experimenting with smoking, and it allowed a very good view of the back section of the park. When she’d been there, smoking her first-ever ciggie, she’d loved the idea that she could spy on her fellow travellers. She’d gone there a few times afterwards to watch some more. She hadn’t done it for any other reason than the sheer devilry of watching what people did when they didn’t know they were being observed: old ladies hitching up their stockings; men scratching their arses; kids picking their noses; a couple grabbing a kiss; all of it seen and noted by Vicky.

Only now she wasn’t looking at the things people did in private, now she was looking at a full-on spectacle. Right now she had a ringside seat for a bare-knuckle fight, where every crunch and crack and thump was happening just a few feet away, close enough for the blows to echo in her head, to see the drops of sweat spraying off the men’s faces, to hear their grunts of effort.

There was no ring except the one formed by the men surrounding the two boxers and it seemed the rules were as loose as the arena. Gouging and elbowing looked as if they were allowed as well as more conventional punches. Blows above and below the belt were fine, in fact the phrase ‘no holds barred’ had been invented for this type of fight. A referee tried to keep order but his job seemed to be more to keep the fighters from landing blows on the spectators rather than anything else.

Vicky watched in horror as Fergal aimed blow after blow at Liam’s body. Already, there were puffy red weals and darker, more sinister marks where Fergal’s fists had hit home. However, after a little while, Vicky noticed that Fergal was aiming a load of punches that didn’t reach their target. Liam might not have had Fergal’s reach, but he was lighter on his feet. More often than not, as Fergal swung wildly, Liam skipped backwards, just out of contact. She also noticed that now and again, Liam slipped in under Fergal’s guard and managed to land a hit in retaliation. Liam was getting battered, there were no two ways about it, and Vicky winced every time he took another blow, but the fight wasn’t entirely onesided. And Liam had youth and fitness on his side.

Suddenly, Liam hobbled and yelped. Fergal had landed a cracking kick on his shin.

‘No kicking, no fucking kicking,’ yelled the referee but Fergal landed another kick regardless before getting Liam in a headlock. Vicky could barely watch; she was sure Fergal was going to twist Liam’s head clean off his shoulders, but then Fergal let go and gave an anguished cry.

‘The fecker bit me,’ he shouted. ‘He can’t do that.’

‘Kicking’s not allowed either,’ shouted back Liam defiantly, his chest heaving, sweat glistening all over his body.

Fergal launched himself at Liam again but Liam danced sideways and Fergal went headlong. Liam weighed in with a kick to Fergal’s backside and then another, for good measure. The men watching hauled him off and the referee yelled at him for breaking the rules. Liam just shook his head.

‘And you’ll do what?’ he yelled back at the ref.

But as he was arguing Fergal was up and at him again. A terrific crack made Vicky groan as Fergal’s fist connected with Liam’s jaw. He staggered. Fergal swung again and Vicky didn’t dare look. She shut her eyes but the roar from the crowd told her the fight wasn’t over. She peeked again. Somehow Liam had stayed on his feet, although from the way blood was trickling from a cut over his eye as well as out of the corner of his mouth. Fergal must have landed yet another punch. Vicky’s heart went out to her fiancé. He was being so brave and getting so damaged. Surely he wasn’t going to be able to take much more. And yet she was only worried on his account – if Liam lost, God only knew what would happen to her and her reputation – but she wasn’t thinking of that. That didn’t matter a jot. It was Liam that mattered. Just how much did he love her that he was putting himself through this for her?

Vicky forced herself to watch, despite the fact that it was making her feel hideously ill. As she’d said to Shania, this was her punishment for what she’d done. She knew the images would stay with her all her life – a permanent reminder of her wrongdoings. But also it would be a permanent reminder of Liam’s faith in her. It would be there in the back of her mind to nag her if she ever felt that her lot as his wife was less than perfect.

The fight rumbled on, blows being exchanged now more equally, and it was obvious, from the way Fergal was trying to keep out of Liam’s way, and from the way his shoulders were heaving, that he was tiring fast. Age, experience and weight had been an advantage to start with but now they were counting against him. Liam, however, was still dancing on his toes and able to dart in, under Fergal’s guard, landing the odd jab and punch here and there. And then, suddenly, it was all over. Liam dived in and hit upwards with his right fist just as hard as he could. It connected with Fergal’s chin. His head snapped backwards, his eyes rolled up in his head and he went down onto the Tarmac like a felled pine. A cheer went up and Liam staggered away from the fight, blood streaming from the corner of his mouth and down his chin.

Vicky found herself crying but she didn’t know if it was from relief or from the awfulness of what she’d just witnessed. But one thing she did know: Liam must truly, truly love her to have put himself through that for her sake.

She waited until the area where the fight had taken place was cleared. Fergal was dragged away by his supporters, groggy and semi-conscious, a couple of the men settled bets that had been placed on the outcome and then all was quiet. Vicky went to the rear fence and clambered back over then slipped back through the gap in the hedge and returned to her trailer.

She longed to go to see how Liam was but she didn’t think either Bridget or Jimmy would be pleased to see her – when all was said and done, she was as much a cause of his injuries as Fergal.

‘Did he win?’ asked Shania, who was reading a wedding magazine.

Vicky nodded. ‘But it was gross,’ she said. ‘Awful.’

Shania snorted. ‘No sympathy for you. You wanted to go and see it.’

‘I know. Part of me isn’t sorry though. I need to know what Liam went through. In the future, if ever I feel sorry for myself, I shall think about today and what Liam did for me. And I shall have to live with what I witnessed for ever. That’s my punishment, Shania: remembering what Liam did for me, when I didn’t deserve anything – nothing.

‘You can count yourself lucky,’ said Johnnie, later that day, returning to the trailer.

Vicky knew exactly what he was referring to.

‘Although I’ve a mind to put you across my knee,’ he said. His face was thunderous and Vicky thought for a second he really might. No matter that she was almost eighteen, no matter she was only a few weeks off being a married women, it was a very real possibility.

‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she said.

‘As well you might be.’ He sighed, a deep sigh of utter disappointment. ‘But your reputation is safe, thanks to Liam. Of course, never mind what he’s done for you, people are still talking.’

‘No smoke without fire,’ murmured Vicky.

‘Correct. But talk will die away. I suggest you stay out of sight for a few days. And tell that friend of yours Kelly to keep away. We don’t want her running into Fergal, not till we’ve got you safely wed. If he sees her and recognises her it’ll all kick off again, only this time a grand gesture from your fiancé mightn’t be enough to save you.’

For a second Vicky wondered how they would keep Fergal away from her wedding if Kelly was allowed to be a bridesmaid but then an urgent need to know how badly injured Liam was shoved it away. ‘How is Liam?’ She had to keep up the pretence she knew nothing about the fight itself except that it had taken place.

‘How do you think? You know the size of Fergal.’

Vicky nodded.

‘He’s a mess. You’d better hope the bruises have faded before your big day otherwise you’re going to have a permanent reminder in all of your wedding pictures.’

She already had a permanent reminder – in her memory bank – and one that was much more vivid and awful than anything that might appear in a photo. ‘Dad – about the wedding …’

Johnnie’s eyes narrowed. ‘What about the wedding?’

‘I want to ask you something.’

Johnnie looked even more suspicious.

‘I’d still like Kelly to be a bridesmaid.’

‘What? Kelly? That … that …’

‘That friend of mine, that girl who stuck by me at college when the other girls were bullying me—’

‘You got bullied? You didn’t tell me.’

‘And have you tell me I couldn’t go?’

Johnnie rubbed his hand over his face. ‘I sometimes wonder about you, my girl. To be sure I do. You’re not like the rest of us and I don’t know where you get your ideas from.’

‘I just wanted to see what was possible,’ said Vicky. ‘I just wanted to stretch my wings just a little bit.’

‘And you nearly tumbled right out of the nest with all that college nonsense.’

‘Nearly crashed and burned. But at least I’ve discovered what really matters – you, Mammy, Liam, family.’ She pointed out of the door. ‘The park, all our neighbours.’

Johnnie nodded. ‘Maybe it’s better that you did what you did. Maybe you won’t always be wondering what might have been.’

‘No, that’s for sure. Dad, I didn’t like what I saw off the site. It was awful; I didn’t understand their rules or the way boys treat women. It was all so … disrespectful.’

‘Come here, Vicky.’ Johnnie held his arms wide and Vicky let herself be hugged. A big, warm, safe, bear hug. ‘You’ve learned a big lesson. We’ll say no more about it. And if you really want this girl Kelly at your wedding – well, it’s your big day and I always said that my girls will have whatever they want. If that’s what you really want then so be it. I’ll make sure Mammy agrees, and Liam of course. He should have the final say in all of this. Mind you, I don’t know what we’ll do about Fergal. We don’t want him there making waves.’

Vicky nodded.
No, we certainly don’t
. But she had no doubt her father would sort something out.

Later that day, under cover of darkness Vicky slipped out and ran over to see Liam. As she feared, Bridget opened the door, after she’d knocked.

‘It’s you,’ she said, her face hard and unwelcoming.

Vicky nodded, squirming with embarrassment. ‘I’ve come to see Liam.’

‘Have you just.’ Bridget folded her arms across her chest.

Vicky nodded again.

‘Lucky for you he told me I was to let you in,’ said Bridget. She stood back as Vicky climbed in up the step.

‘Who’s that, Ma?’ called Liam from the back of the trailer.

‘Vicky,’ yelled back Biddy.