Free The Longest Fight by Emily Bullock

rooms. Cards were slipping all over the place, falling like soot from the chimney. Some asking for tips, plans for the next fight, promoter’s details, but others were brazen poachers. Jack guided Frank through them all. By the time they made it to the changing room, it was empty. The Grand Ten-Round Contest had started.
    ‘That’ll be you out there soon, headlining the big comps.’
    ‘I did… all right?’ Frank panted and propped himself on a bench.
    Pearl came in behind them. ‘The best.’
    ‘See him… take those hits? I landed some good… but he didn’t want to go down. I weren’t… expecting that.’
    Frank tried to lift his hands to demonstrate but they sagged straight back on to his knees. Blood from the cut under his eye dripped down his cheek.
    ‘Stay still, get your breath back.’ Pearl stood in front of him.
    ‘I could see… everyone cheering… standing up… but I didn’t want to believe… until the ref lifted my arm.’
    Jack paced the narrow space between the benches. ‘Make yourself useful, Pearl. Clean up that cut and check him over.’
    Pearl hung up the fur coat and stacked the coins next to Frank. ‘You could’ve got a fractured rib or muscle sprain when you were fighting. Probably not a dislocated shoulder or your arm would be hanging strangely. Don’t worry, I’ve had them before, I know what I’m looking for. Stand up.’
    He did as she said. Pearl was taller than Jack remembered; still growing, probably. Her chin level with Frank’s neck. She tapped her fingertips along his collarbones, and patted the palm of her hand down his calves. Jack pulled at his collar. Georgie had said she was coming, but no sign of her yet. Frank didn’t move, obedient as ever, his face turned down to stare at the top of Pearl’s head. The sounds of cheering, high-pitched whistles, the scraping of benches and fading bursts of laughter were muted behind the wooden swing-doors.
    ‘Get a shift on, Pearl. The boy’s dying of boredom standing around.’
    ‘All done.’ She snatched her hands away. ‘But hands and feet are the most likely places for damage.’
    She twisted the end of the bandage covering her palm. Frank prodded under his eye with his glove. ‘You couldn’t sort out… this cut, could you?’
    ‘Course she can, she carries a whole kit around. Never know when you’re going to come undone, do you, Pearl?’
    Jack opened the bottle of whisky and took a long draught; the fiery taste grounded him in his body again. Pearl didn’t answer but she pulled the small Altoids tin out of her cardigan and set to work.
    ‘Any of that left for me?’ Georgie’s voice echoed against the tiles as she closed the back door.
    ‘I knew you’d show up.’ Jack offered her the bottle.
    ‘I missed your fight.’ She took a swig and coughed.
    ‘We won, that’s all that matters.’ Jack took back the bottle. ‘Can’t you smell it?’
    Pearl tilted Frank’s head as she swabbed the cut with iodine. Jack saw Georgie pushing her gloves into her pocket, itching to touch the sweat running down Frank’s back. Pearl interrupted him again.
    ‘I’ll use the money I collected up to get some more food in, shall I, Jack?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Frank can move in now, can’t he?’
    ‘Just help him get packed up here. Get some beer and I’ll see you back at the house. I want to show Georgie around the place first. We’ve got some celebrating to do.’
    He swiped the damp towel off his shoulder and threw it at Pearl, shook his head as she missed the catch; it hit her face before slipping to the floor. With the bottle in one hand, Georgie’s wrist tightly gripped in the other, Jack left them to it.
    He took her through the changing rooms, giving her a grand tour of the place. The warm feel of the wooden lockers, the crisp lines of the tiles, and the long shadows washing across the floor: familiar smells and sights. But he didn’t tell Georgie that, just kept her close and let her see how tall he stood, how