The Coach in the Ring – Part 2: The Bell

The session was all drill and no contact, and it was merciless in its attention. She made him hold a boxer's stance for ten minutes, shoulders square, chin tucked, while she walked round him and called each correction in a low flat voice. She made him recite the rules of the gym and the names of every combination. She corrected his guard with two cool fingers and his breathing with a look. She put a taped hand under his chin and tilted his face to the light. It was strict, exact and plainly fond, and the empty gym rang with her voice.

Every half hour: "Does Mr Clarke wish to continue?" "Yes, Coach." "Say it clearly." "I do. Thank you."

"The Coach does not require thanks." But she let a smile through.

At one she lifted a hand and rang the old brass bell on the post, once, a long shivering note that rolled round the rafters.

"Bell," said Roxanne, softly.

It was her word, and also the end of the round, and she said it for them both. The tape came off. The hood came down. She climbed through the ropes, sat on the canvas beside him and wrapped a big white towel round his shoulders.

"How are you?"

"Counted out," said Darren, laughing damply. "In the best way."

"You were superb." She kissed his forehead. "A champion."

"Will there be another round?"

"Every Wednesday." She grinned. "I'm designing a new programme. It will be rather stricter."

"I'll bring my own water," said Darren.

"You'll bring a very good attitude," said Roxanne, and passed him the flask.

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