Punch-Drunk Love. Pernille Hughes
wanted financial aid, I leave all the inspirational posters from the walls of the club. You need guidance lad, and as I’m no longer around to offer it, I leave you the pictures which have inspired and guided many of the young men who’ve passed through the gym.’
Aaron’s face was no longer beaming. In fact, it looked as if it had been smacked with a flat implement. Something cricket bat-like, Leonards mused.
‘Moving on,’ he said briskly, knowing from experience it was best to pass swiftly through the lesser-well-received bequests, ‘To my ex-wife Bernice, I leave my heartfelt thanks. I thank you for our first two years, which were frenetic and flattering for a man my age, and for the following years which taught me age does not equal wisdom and that a man my age can still be a fool. I paid heavily for that knowledge, for which I also thank you, Bernice. In hindsight it was money well spent, and I’m sure you’ve spent my money well. Your almost bankrupting me served to remind me that under the paunch I was still a fighter at heart, and without that I wouldn’t have pulled myself up and worked as hard for my remaining years. I bequeath you my gratitude and the knowledge your avaricious ways did me a favour.’ His hearing aid hurt at the screech and the entire room managed a unified shuffle of awkwardness.
‘To Michael Fellner, I leave a couple of things. I pushed you on early my boy and didn’t you do well? You’ve done yourself proud. You’ve done me proud, as I always knew you would.’
Mike shifted in his seat, discomfited. Leonards ploughed on.
‘Your moving from my club was always a point of sadness, but I knew you needed more. At the time this was hard for you to understand; you felt I was rejecting you and cutting you off. But it was for your own good. I believed that then, and believe it still, although it pains me that our friendship was lost in the process. Michael, I said some harsh things back then and I apologise for that. I said what I said not because I meant it, but because I believed without doing so, you would never have left. If you hadn’t gone, if you hadn’t been able to focus on your talent, you would never have achieved your potential.’
Mike hung his head. Here Leonards wasn’t altogether sure of the story, but Blackie’s words clearly had poignancy for Mr Fellner. Neither were they lost on Tiffanie, who was suddenly watching the bruised boxer intently, though rather confused.
‘You’re a wealthy man now, Michael,’ the will continued, ‘and so I leave you something I wish you’d had at your disposal all these years; the ring. You may sell it of course, but should you have the space, and I suspect you might, then perhaps you’d find it in your heart to use it, and forgive an old man who said some things he regrets in the pursuit of a goal he does not.’ Leonards was used to the deceased being cryptic in their wills. They liked the drama. The relevant people usually understood.
‘Excuse me.’
The solicitor was surprised to hear Verity’s voice. As was Mike.
‘Yes, my dear?’
‘What sort of ring exactly?’ Leonards noticed the young woman’s fingers twitch, as well as a pointed glance she shot Blackie’s ex-wife who appeared on the verge of a conniption. ‘Are we talking about a woman’s ring or a man’s? Just to be clear. And any carats?’ Mike closed his eyes, dismayed.
‘There’s no jewellery listed in the effects I’m afraid, my dear. Blackie wasn’t a man for such items. In fact, I believe he even sold his watch when he needed some capital after the divorce.’ Mrs Black studied something through the window at this. ‘The ring in question is the boxing ring at the gym, an antique if I’m not mistaken, and quite a rarity too.’ Leonards spoke as if educating her, but her expression told him it was information she neither wanted nor appreciated.
‘Miss Trent,’ Leonards turned away from Verity, shuffling the paperwork. Tiffanie sat up straight.
‘Tiffanie, you’ve been through some tough times and yet you’ve persevered. I’ve always respected that. We both know, given kinder circumstances, your future could have been very different, and yet you’ve made a life and business for yourself. You’ve been a priceless support to me these last years, managing the office, the books and my tea intake, for which I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Sharing an office with you has been a pleasure, even though I lectured you about your boyfriend never appreciating you.’ Mike’s eyebrow arched and Tiff’s face flushed, no doubt wishing Blackie could have afforded her some discretion. Leonards thought them both foolish if they were surprised at Blackie’s directness even at this late date.
He continued ‘…but, in turn, you regaled me about the future of the club. So I leave it to you Tiffanie: the building, the land, and the remaining contents, so you can put your money – in fact my money, as you get that too – where your mouth is and make your dreams come true.’
Leonards discreetly turned his hearing aid down so Mrs Black’s response didn’t do him an injury.
Tiff wasn’t certain how she got from Leonards’ to Viv’s Cafe but somehow, when the daze cleared, she found herself sat with a latte and a blueberry muffin at the well-worn Formica table. She must have simply pointed dumbly at any cake, as she didn’t particularly like muffins. Not since Gavin had once pointed out her own muffin top.
Blackie had left her the club. Bloody hell. No matter how many times she asked Leonards to verify it, to show her where it said so on the page, she still couldn’t understand it. The death stares Bernice Black sent her however, supported his insistence this was really happening.
‘You had no idea?’ Leonards had asked when they were alone.
‘Not a clue. He never said.’ Tiff knew she sounded spaced, but really. A business. A boxing club. Not in her wildest dreams. Perhaps – and this was awful – perhaps not in her dreams at all…
‘Well, he liked surprises, did Blackie,’ Leonards had nodded, filing the will. ‘But he liked his gym more, and he wouldn’t hand it over to anyone he didn’t trust or think capable.’ Then he’d handed her the keys and pointed to her files. ‘I believe the accounts are all up to date and in perfect order.’ That had tickled him immensely.
The caffeine started doing its job. Yes, she’d teased Blackie about dragging the club into this century, but as he’d pointed out, his was one of the few remaining boxing gyms turning a good profit and it was what he knew how to do.
‘What’s the point?’ he’d asked. ‘It’d be like starting again. I’m a boxing coach; I teach people to duck, dive and punch. I don’t know my arse from my elbow when it comes to rowing machines and I don’t hold with those conveyor belt things. If you want a good walk, get out in the fresh air.’ Blackie had still been able to ride a bike, leading a swarm of running boxers around the town twice a week. ‘Why sit on a machine in a room when you can use the outdoors for free? Bloody stupid if you ask me.’
‘You’ll be sorry when some swanky fitness centre sets up nearby and all your clients scarper when their girlfriends suggest a partner membership.’ She’d really only said it to wind him up.
She could see his point; the club had a decent financial turnover, the clients were loyal and brought their kids along to join, so why at his age would he change it? But she’d always assumed he’d sell it, at which point it’d either be modernised or demolished by developers. She’d never in a million years thought he’d leave it to her. He might have mentioned it, she thought, it would have come as less of a shock.
Her first instinct was to call Gavin. To ask him what she should do. However, Monday mornings were the weekly planning meeting and she knew better than to interrupt it. Besides, she didn’t know if he’d welcome a call from her at all. She tried thinking What Would Gavin Do?, but came up blank. Her mind didn’t work in the same way his did, she supposed despondently. She’d need to fathom this out by herself. Every day brought a new way to miss