Page 11 of Hard Tail
I decided the best form of defence was attack, and I feinted with my left arm before lunging in with a roundhouse kick. It landed just above Bruce’s kidney, the impact solid and satisfying. Even though it was barely half power, he was not a happy bunny. His chiselled features twisted in a snarl, and he drove at me like a white Ford Transit van with a red-and-brown stripe round the middle.
I danced to one side, letting all that power and aggression fly uselessly past me; then, when he turned, too slow, I was ready for the roundhouse kick. It was full power and then some, and it was aimed at a point about six inches the other side of my kidney. Message:I can do anything you can, and I can do it better.
I sidestepped again and blocked. Even though I only caught the edge of the kick on my forearm, it was a numbing blow—bruise number two on my beleaguered left arm. At the unwelcome return of sensation, I tried not to show how much it had hurt—Bruce was like a pit bull who could smell weakness and wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage.
The trouble was, he already had an advantage here. Because, although he was only a brown belt, his technique was at least as good as mine, and he had all the weight and power behind it. And at the end of the day, I didn’t want to hurt him—I was the higher belt; I had a responsibility here. Whereas he’d obviously like nothing better than to see me carted off on a stretcher. At which point he’d swear blind he’d thought I could handle it, me being a black belt and all.
Okay. Maybe Mum had a bit of a point about it not being real fighting. But it wasn’t like Icouldn’t; I just didn’t want to.Get a grip, I told myself.Of course you can handle him.So what if my black belt was so new it still had folds in it from where it had been in the packet? I felt my resolve strengthen at the sight of the killing rage in his narrowed eyes as we circled each other. This guy needed to be taught a lesson.
Time seemed to slow—and when the next attack came, I was ready for it. I didn’t block—just took myself out of his path and let him blunder on by. When he turned, his face had reddened. I hopped lightly on my toes and waited for him to make the next move. It seemed his Neanderthal brain managed to grasp my subtle message that I was ready for anything he could throw at me, as his lips curled in a snarl. Anger made him clumsy, and I easily spotted the feint, blocked it and danced to one side as he steamrollered past.
“Come on and fight, you bastard,” he ground out from between teeth so tightly clenched his dentist would probably never forgive me. I braced myself for the next onslaught—and almost jumped out of my gi when Sensei Cole’s voice bellowed past my left ear.
“MisterPritchard, change partners, please.” Sensei moved into my field of view, bouncing on the balls of his feet like the Duracell bunny with a fresh battery, despite this being his third class of the evening. “Right, Mr. Knight, let’s see what you can do.” Sensei Cole was the old-fashioned type—everyone in the class, down to the tiniest tots, was Mr. or Ms. Somebody.
Bruce shot me a murderous look and slunk off with the rangy Asian guy I’d already pegged as Sensei’s second in command—I didn’t know what grade black belt he was, but I reckoned he had to be third Dan at least. He’d probably survive a spar with Bruce, anyway. We shifted over to a vacant space, and Sensei started putting me through my paces.
Sparring with Sensei Cole was a completely different ball game. For a big guy, he was incredibly light on his feet—but it was his control that impressed me the most. He started off slow with me, then upped the speed by precise increments, testing my reactions. Fighting with a guy like that is an incredible buzz. I knew I could trust him not to go too far—and equally, to get himself out of trouble if I misjudged things.
We were both grinning like maniacs by the time the session ended. Sensei patted me on the back. “Very good, Mr. Knight. Very good indeed. Will we be seeing you again?”
I couldn’t help a glance over to Bruce, who was glowering in a corner and wiping sweat off his forehead.
Sensei laughed. “He’s just a little bit enthusiastic at times, our Mr. Pritchard. Don’t worry about it. You’ll get used to him.” He coughed. “You might want to pick a different partner for a while, though.”
As I bowed and walked out of thedojo, Bruce glared at me. I half expected his foot to shoot out and trip me as I squeezed past his pumped-up physique, but nothing happened.
I hoped that didn’t mean he was biding his time for a more satisfying revenge later.
***
When I got home, Wolverine was in the kitchen glaring pointedly at the empty food bowl. “Who’s a cute little pussy-wussy, then?” I crooned, hoping it might wind him up. He didn’t even dignify me with a disdainful look. “All right, all right. It’s coming.” Feeling smug because I’d remembered to get some cat food at Asda, I grabbed a fork and opened up a can.
Ye gods, that stuff hummed. It was worse than the tuna first thing in the morning. “You actually eat this stuff?” I asked Wolverine in disbelief, trying to hold my breath while forking the glutinous mass out into the bowl. Hemiaowedat me. Maybe he was annoyed at me for dissing his dinner.
Then again, maybe not. It turned out Wolverine didn’t believe the stuff was edible either. He took one sniff and then backed away hurriedly, turning to me andmiaowingagain, this time with a definite note of reproach. “It’s all you’re getting,” I warned him. He hissed, and it was my turn to back off. Then I felt a bit ridiculous. “If you think you’re going to bully me into giving you tuna, you can think again. I’m going to have a shower,” I said firmly.
I escaped upstairs and sluiced off the grime of the day with a certain amount of relief—after all that sparring, I was humming a bit myself. My thoughts wandered, as they do at times like this. There’s only so much concentration you can give to lathering up. I wondered how Kate and Alex were doing, and whether they’d had their first row about him leaving the toilet seat up yet. Of course, that wouldn’t be a problem for Matt and Steve, would it? Their life was probably one long, happy round of leaving the seat up, drinking beer on the sofa in their underwear, and sharing fart jokes.
I frowned. Did gay guys think fart jokes were funny? Maybe they weren’t like that at all. I’d never really known any gay guys all that well—except Graham at Uni, and at the time I hadn’t even known he was gay. We’d sort of drifted apart after he got his first boyfriend and came out. But maybe gay guys were different. Maybe they kept their house as neat as Kate did and liked to drink wine and talk about the theatre in the evening?
Common sense reasserted itself forcefully in the form of a vivid, and frankly ridiculous, mental image of Matt sipping Chablis with his little finger cocked. If he had a total personality transplant, maybe. No, Matt was just a regular guy. Which meant that, in all likelihood, Steve was just a regular guy. Right now, they were probably relaxing together on the sofa watching Sky Sports, maybe having a bit of a cuddle…
I turned the tap off sharply. I was clean enough now.
Of course, when I went downstairs again, the kitchen was still full of uneaten cat food and unhappy cat. And the smell… It was like walking into a wall of silage. If I stayed in the room much longer, I’d need another shower. If I left the food here all night, it’d probably follow me upstairs and suffocate me in my sleep.
I sighed. “Look, I’m not giving in, all right?” I said. Wolverine’s ear twitched. “I’m merely conceding you may, possibly, have a point here.” Twenty pounds of feline bruiser wound their way around my ankles, nearly toppling me as I looked around the kitchen, bowl in hand, wondering what to do with the wretched stuff. In the end, I just dumped it out the cat flap. Something was bound to eat it in the night. This was the countryside. They had foxes, hedgehogs, badgers and…things.
I opened up a tin of tuna and forked it into the newly empty bowl. Wolverine leapt on it like a paparazzo on a celebrity sex scandal. Feeling I’d done my good deed for the day, I went to bed.
Only to be woken half an hour later by what felt like a fur cushion full of rocks and nails sitting on my chest breathing fishy fumes and purring like a buzz saw. I sighed, shoved him off to one side and rolled over. God, I hoped I snored.
