Chapter 1

Standing on the edge of the cliff looking out to sea, I watched in the distance, the silhouette of an oil tanker going out to sea. Putting a hand on either side of my hips then taking a deep breath of clean air at the same time listening to the ocean crash on the rocks below. Kneeling down I scooped a handful of dirt then bringing it up to my nose smelling the soil. A tradition of mine before I start a run.

As I start my daily 10k run to the village and back, I can feel the rays of the sun on my neck. Straight away saying to myself, “You will need to start earlier next time, or it will be too hot to run in the heat.” As I entered the village going through the streets, people that I knew began to greet me. Approaching the small roundabout which is in the centre of the village, that is my turning point to return. The run back was much more challenging as the road was ascending. This time the sun is shining directly at me, blinding me as I force myself to finish the last two kilometres.

On reaching the cottage, tiredness made me crouch on one knee, as I tried to catch my breath. As my breathing started to become regular, I got up slowly, I commenced making my way inside the cottage. Taking a clean towel from the cupboard to wipe the sweat from my face. Unrolling my exercise mat, I started doing some pull-ups, then finishing off with some push-ups. Stretching for another ten minutes before I made my way to the shower.

Twenty minutes later I was sitting in my kitchen with a bowl of porridge in my hand. That is when the doorbell rang.

“It’s open Mrs Watson!” I shouted.

She entered the kitchen with a carrier bag in either hand. Quickly putting my bowl down, I got up and went over to help her with the bags.

“You didn’t have to Mrs Watson.”

“It’s the least I can do George.”

Mrs Watson is my landlady, she is a sweet seventy-two-year-old lady. She lost her husband five years ago. She has been living in a five bedroom house ever since she got married. They bought the house planning on having a big family when seeing Mrs Watson was unable to conceive they made an appointment to see the local GP. That is when they discovered Mr Watson was sterile.

She always says. “We should have adopted.”

When I first arrived, my priority was to find somewhere to rent, a small cottage or flat. The locals directed me to Mrs Watson’s property. She showed me around the estate, the cottage which was for rent wasn’t very large it comprised of two bedrooms, living room and kitchen. It Required some work, a fresh coat of paint and a good clean. I said. “It’s perfect how much will it be per calendar month.” We agreed on a price in which I wrote her a cheque for twelve months rent.

In the beginning, she wasn’t too delighted about renting to a stranger, but as time went by we built a friendship on the grief, we both suffered. We both lost someone we loved dearly.

She is always cooking something for me, bringing fresh fruits and vegetables from her gardens. In return when she needs, something to be done on her property like DIY, she calls me. Also, I accompany her to her doctor’s appointments, or shopping runs as she doesn’t drive.

When the rent was due after a year, with my chequebook in my hand, I went to see Mrs Watson.

On seen open the chequebook she said. “George that money is not beneficial to me.”

Embracing her in my arms while whispering in her ear. “If it weren’t for you I would have gone insane.”

When we released each other, she slapped me on the bum. She said. “I’ve made a lovely apple pie sit down we’ll have some with our tea.”

“Can’t say no to that Mrs Watson,” Was my reply.

Next day I went to the bank opened an account putting £10,000 in it. With the instructions, this money goes to Mrs Watson under my instructions or if anything happens to me. From that day, the word rent was not mentioned again between us.

Let me tell you about myself, my name is George Michaelides I am thirty years old, my height is 6ft. Growing up in London I went to a public school in North London. My hobbies are boxing and reading. At the age of fourteen, I joined a boxing gym just to keep fit.

Showing an interest in boxing, Mr Brown took me under his wing and became my mentor. Been awarded a sports scholarship I went to University to study Sports Science and English Literature. It was in university that I became a semi-pro boxer that is when the decision was made to become a professional boxer. My parents were not happy with my decision as they didn’t want me to get hurt.

My parents worked all their life to give my sister and me a better life. Mum works as a cook in a secondary school, while dad works for a well-established garage in Enfield. My sister Tina was two years older. She got married young she has two lovely boys, Terry nine years old and Jim eight years old.

At twenty-five I met my wife to be Sarah, she was two years younger than me, Sarah came from a wealthy background, her parents were solicitors, she did not want to follow in their footsteps. After getting a degree in law which was their wish, when she finished her studies she worked with people, helping in charity organisations. Something that did not go down to well with them.

After a year of courting, we decided to get married. It was a small wedding, in which Sarah’s parents did not agree too, her mother wanted a big wedding since Sarah was their only child.

We purchased ourselves a two-bedroom flat, struggled with money, but she would not accept her parents help. She would always say. “Our love is above the power of money.”

Married for a year, Sarah was eight months pregnant, I remember it like yesterday. My next fight was critical for me if I win it will put me in the professional middleweight class. She was home that night. She would always say. “Come back home to me.” But this time she said. “Come back home to us.” Those words still linger in my head.

The fight was at the O2 Arena, tickets for the event got sold out weeks ago, I was getting ready in the changing rooms when my coach told me to sit down. He sat next to me. Putting his hand on my shoulder, he said. “This is your big opportunity Son. I want you to go out there and give it your best.”

Standing in the ring, facing my corner, looking at the crowd while warming up by shadow boxing. Suddenly the crowd erupted in applause, on turning I saw my opponent climbing through the ropes into the ring. When he stood straight, that is when I saw why his nickname was The Serbian Giant, Radovan Brankovic was ranked number three in the world with a height of 7ft 2’. The fight presenter introduced both of us, then presented the referee, that is when the ref took over he called us both into the middle of the ring. Explained the rules in which we both had heard many times in the past. He then told us to go to our corners to wait for the bell to begin.

Ding. The Serbian sprang out of his corner coming towards me throwing left and right punches at me. My first thought was, “Serbian Express should be his nickname.” I avoided him for three minutes with light blows to my body.

The second round was like the first, didn’t get one chance to land a single blow, was mostly blocking and dodging. I tried to penetrate his defence, but he was too quick for me. I held in for three minutes by moving around the ring.

Sitting in my corner waiting for the third round my coach said. “You have to try to land some blows to his body that is his weakness.” Nodding my head to say yes as I got up for round three, this round was slower, but still, I could not infiltrate his guard. Near the end of the round he caught me under the chin, I went down for the count. The second time I’ve been knocked down in my career, the first time I slipped, but this time it was from a punch a powerful punch. Slowly getting up on the eighth count, shaking my head left to right, the referee checked me saw I was ok. He said. “Carry on.” Then the bell sounded.

Chapter 2 »