Page 13 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“I think we’re all betting on the same fighter,” Jasmine said, her gaze locked on the ring.

Beside her, Deepa could only nod.

“First of three rounds!” the bewhistled referee called.

From opposite corners, Roz and her opponent stalked to centre-ring, sizing each other up before bumping gloves. The referee blew her whistle, silver tones piercing the air, and thefighters leapt light-footed to circle one another, fists raised, looking for an opening. The crowd pushed close around the ring, almost touching the ropes, and Deepa following along, finding herself next to the serious-faced woman who had been with the boxers in the beginning.

Up close, the woman was bulky and freckled, with red-blonde hair carelessly tied back, and a nose that had obviously been broken at least once. As Roz and the other fighter exchanged opening blows, dancing in and out to tap each other on the chest and shoulders, Deepa sidled up to the woman and touched her elbow.

“You look like you know something about boxing,” Deepa said, when the woman turned to look at her.

“You don’t?”

Deepa liked that it wasn't an immediate assumption, but then, the majority of the women on the rooftop seemed well-versed in the sport. She shook her head. “It’s my first time watching a match. My name is Deepa.”

“Call me Kells.” Her voice was gruff, her accent Irish. She unfolded her arms just enough to offer a brusque, callused handshake.

“Do you run this place?”

“I train the fighters.” Kells nodded to the women in the ring. “Used to fight myself; not so much anymore.”

“Do you work at the bar downstairs?”

She shook her head. “Used to. Owner owes me a favour or two, lets us use the roof for the occasional match so long as we don’t make a mess or cause a scene.”

“Why boxing?”

“Because the girls wanted to learn it, and no one else was helping them out. Figured I might as well.”

“Have you ever got in trouble for it?”

Kells eyed Deepa from under her brows. “We keep our heads low, here.”

“Why aren’t you refereeing?”

“Lisa wanted to. She enjoys it. Jesus, but you’re full of questions, aren’t you?”

“I'm very interested in things,” Deepa informed her. “Can you explain the rules, so I’ll know who's winning?”

“We’re in the first round. Three total, three minutes each. No hitting below the belt, or above the neck. If a fighter goes down and can’t regain her feet in ten seconds, that's a knockout. She loses.”

“What if no one gets knocked out? How can you tell who’s the better fighter?”

Kells nodded to Lisa, the young referee. “Her call. She's keeping track of how many hits get landed, who keeps the better form, who gets through it without any fouls.”

“That sounds fairly subjective,” Deepa noted.

“A bit. But usually, there’s a clear winner. You place bets?”

“No, but if I did, my money would be on Roz.”

Kells snorted, re-folding her arms and returning her attention to the ring. “That’s a safe bet, yeah.”

The fight was brutal only in that Deepa had never seen a boxing match before. Though she couldn't have been paid to step into that ring, there was no denying the fierce pleasure the two boxers exuded at the controlled violence.

The crowd’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Deepa soon found herself leaning in, one fist pumping the air and shouts escaping her lips whenever Roz landed a particularly good hit. The rules were simple, even with her lack of understanding of the sport’s history, and she judged the referee was fair enough.

The whistle blew at the end of the first round and the boxers separated to opposite corners, throwing themselves onto their waiting stools to be doused with water.

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