Page 59 of Mean Machine

“Yeah, me too. Sorry. Touchy.”

“Of course. It has to be overwhelming. I can’t imagine what it means to be suddenly free again. Do you feel lost?”

“No.” It came too fast, and Brooklyn knew it. “It’s a lot to get used to again. Money. Job. Training. The next fight. I’ve always been on a schedule, and now… now I’m not.”

“That would be me between jobs.” Nathaniel chuckled. “The empty period between university and my first professional step almost drove me insane after all those exams and fixed dates. You’ll be fine, Brooklyn.”

“Says you.”

“Says I.” Nathaniel paused. “So, breakfast? After the night I had, I’m useless in the office, so I might just as well call it a day and pick you up in, say, half an hour?”

A real question, not a request or order couched in a question. And funny how more than three years under guard had left some kind of sixth sense for orders, as if his brain had grown additional synapses exclusively for that. “All right. By that time I’ll have solved the toothbrush problem.”

“No doubt.” Nathaniel chuckled. “I’ll see you then. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Brooklyn breathed deeply a few times, but felt a great deal more optimistic about everything. Less disorientated. Maybe it was because Nathaniel was on his way, maybe it was something as simple as the bill getting paid, maybe it was that he had something to look forward to that would fill the next few hours. He struggled to think further ahead than that. Even a week seemed like a stretch of trackless desert in front of him, let alone a month or year or the rest of his life. The only firm date he had was Thorne’s “four months,” though that was more promised than fixed until the paperwork was signed, the fight was cleared, and all fees and insurance paid.

But Nathaniel was right. When Brooklyn called reception about the toiletries, they told him it was no problem at all, sir, and asked him whether he needed anything else.

A member of staff knocked on his door a little later and brought him everything he needed: toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, deodorant, even hotel-branded nail clippers and a shaving kit.

So he finished getting ready and headed downstairs. He pulled up the hoodie because he was bruised to hell and didn’t want people staring at him. They still stared, some more subtly than others, but it was about his hiding his face and not the state of it. He could deal with that by pretending he didn’t care and belonged here. Acting was much easier when nobody could meet his gaze too.

He waited in the lobby, glancing every now and then at the TV screen between two large potted ferns. It was set to silent. As the Opposition leader talked with unbridled disdain on the screen, the subtitles ran along the bottom, hopelessly behind what was being said and comically misspelt. It was about Brexit, austerity, pension payment adjustment, the controversial scrapping of the “luxury” green tax, and the ongoing battle over increasing the top earner income rate to fifty-one percent, interspersed with footage from riots in Portsmouth, Newcastle, Liverpool, and Birmingham. The social unrest had only grown worse, and Brooklyn was almost relieved he didn’t have to police it anymore. After first a decade of austerity and then another five years of all-out crisis and populist rule, confidence that the government actually had a working solution seemed to have dwindled to nothing.

“Looks familiar?”

Brooklyn shook himself and glanced back. Nathaniel. The man’s uncanny ability to sneak up on him felt less threatening now. When he had the option to punch him out, in other words.

“It does.” Brooklyn stood. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a relaxed brasserie not far away. Eric recommended its full English.”

“I could do with one of those.”

“He figured.” Nathaniel walked by his side out of the hotel, subtly leading him towards the Jag parked opposite. When they began to cross the road, Eric emerged from the driver’s seat and opened the door for them. Brooklyn found himself smiling back when Eric grinned at him with a mix of happiness and pride. He’d always liked Eric more than any security guard deserved.

“We’ll go for that full English, Eric.”

“At once, sir.” Eric closed the door behind them and took his seat again.

Brooklyn gazed out of the window into a surprisingly bright London day. Tourists were streaming out of the Tube station, shoppers balanced mobile phones and oversized bags and paper coffee cups, and two primary school teachers were counting their charges after getting off a bus.

That distance was still there. That feeling that he didn’t belong. That these weren’t really his people. Brooklyn shook his head and hoped to hell that feeling would pass.

“So, how are you feeling?”

“Sore.” Brooklyn pushed the hood back. Nathaniel had seen him in worse states.

“If you need painkillers, I got some in the car.” Eric stopped at a red light and turned in the seat.

“I should have got a bag of frozen peas. It’s not the worst I’ve had.”

Though it’s the first time in three years that I can doctor myself.

“Does it hurt bad?” Nathaniel lifted his hand, but then lowered it again. No uninvited touches, although Nathaniel was clearly still getting used to that polite distance between them.

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