Frederick Holt

Extract from All That Remains

Arthur followed the tractor up to the pack house. Picking trays now sat pallets, which forklifts then wheeled into fridges. As he went further into the packhouse Arthur saw people stripping leaves from plums. Whenever a forklift drove past people kept tripping over to move aside. Arthur took two ripened plums, prizing them apart with his fingers, while the foreman gave out time sheets. As juice ran down Arthur’s chin one picker tried to start an argument about pay.

We getting extra?

The foreman raised an eyebrow. 

You don’t get tips for picking fruit. You’re lucky it’s a standard wage. 

I pick the best plums. Why don’t English see I pick the best?

Did you put that on your work visa?

The man didn’t speak and Arthur saw his face screw up. He knew immigrant workers were only allowed to stay for six months. No family members were meant to come over but people broke that rule anyway. Any questions about visas made people flinch, getting caught was a nightmare. The man signed the form and left. Arthur didn’t know how many people tried that but it didn’t matter. Starting unwinnable fights was a bad idea. He signed his time sheet and left, knowing that was a horrible line to believe in. 

As he walked the asparagus pickers began to return but he didn’t see Bea. A few were stumbling up the hill, backs bent and broken. At the caravan line Arthur saw people relaxing for the evening. Three men were drinking in front of a TV, controllers in hand. Murder sounds blasting out of speaker. Bunch of dunces, Arthur thought. Despite the heat and exhaustion he was still going to train. He was a journeyman boxer. Spending time in the gym with no progression was his life.

Back in his caravan Arthur took off his shirt and put his head under the outside tap. He dried himself off with the shirt and went in, only to see Bea Wadhurst lying on the bed. He jumped back but she didn’t move. Arthur leant over her and waved.

What are you doing in here? And how’d you find out which caravan was mine?

Bea didn’t respond. Arthur waved again but she did nothing but blink. When she opened her mouth Bea didn’t speak but croak. 

I can’t move. 

What?

My back. I can’t move it.

Asparagus picking?

My head feels like... I can’t…My shoes are too small. Heels have blistered.

Well, you should have listened to me and bought new gear. First time is always hard.

I can’t go back to my caravan. All the other women picked more than me. They’ll start making fun of me. Pointing like they did the first night. 

Well I need to leave so you have to get out. 

I can’t move.

Then crawl. 

Please let me stay here. Please please please.

Fuming, Arthur leant back and Bea went straight to sleep. Carrying her out was an option but trouble with his boss would follow. He went to a cupboard and began banging two pots together but it didn’t work. Bea mumbled and went on sleeping. Arthur sighed and got ready to leave. He slung the sports bag on and left the caravan door unlocked. Outside he felt his mouth move.

Fucking women.

He went up the farm track. The bus stop was half a mile away, close to Three Oaks but he still had to walk. As he went Arthur began to curse at passing cars. Then at fences or just let out a grunt. It was so typical, another woman who couldn’t hack it. Always slipping off to do hair or just not putting any work in. When he washed pots in kitchens they never got stuck in. And complaining. Always complaining about work and men who hurt them. Working as a delivery driver they kept messing around. Put it down there. Changed my mind it goes upstairs. Mind the carpet. He felt another memory surface. Glitter. Glitter in hair and the smell of blood. Maybe beating their faces in really was the way to—

Arthur froze by a road corner as a car went past. Grass buzzed alongside him. Smells of honey suckle rolled with the sewer ditches. And as the wind came across his neck Arthur was back. The punch connecting. A hand on the girl’s cheek. Staring up at the sky as he took a beating for his crime. Years of loneliness and nights spent staring above him. Keep running because they’ll take it away. Karen’s jumper by the window, lining falling from its cuff. Karen. Karen. It all came back, disjointed and without sense. Arthur walked on with tears in his eyes. 

He didn’t go straight to West Grove and went into Hastings to buy a coat. He found a long waterproof with its collar driven up. Bea could have the misshapen boots in his caravan as well, with luck she wouldn’t stay after his gifts. When he arrived at West Grove John and the club amateurs were training. They gave him looks reserved for children. Never be late, another unspoken rule. Arthur couldn’t relax as the drills began, overextending himself. Sparring was a mess. He tried the double bag but couldn’t time-punch it right. After training he spoke to Ben Monroe about bus times. Monroe shrugged.

Not sure what to tell you. Buses run by the hour. 

But I don’t finish work till four thirty or five. You're open at five thirty so there’s not enough time.

You got a car?

Can’t afford that.

Well, I can’t help you. Sorry.

Arthur nodded and began packing up. He noticed Ben and John speaking in the corner of the club. John began to raise his voice and Ben did too. Ben did nothing but tell John to go home and apologise to Nadar because he wasn’t going to take John on. Ben didn’t manage fighters; no professionals were in his gym but it wasn’t just that. Arthur kept listening to Ben saying he didn’t know him like Nadar did. If a coach had time with a fighter they might go far but Arthur knew it was just a dream. Things happened. People went off the rails and relationships fell apart. Then again he never stayed with one coach, it went both ways. Everyone needed to give someone else time to get anywhere in life.

After training he went to a supermarket and bought rice, potatoes, eggs, chicken and vegetables. With both hands full Arthur went to Sedlescomb Road for the night bus. He could only just remember Mannie driving him down that road. When the bus came Arthur lugged his sport and food bags on and sat down, taking up two seats. The bags kept slipping to the floor and he kept one arm outstretched. The bus drove into the night and Arthur didn’t know when to call for his stop. The roads meandered into never-ending darkness. When he said ‘Ashford Road’ the driver said nothing. When the bus stopped Arthur hesitated, was it here? He slung the sports and coat bag on while gripping his food. He stepped out and the bus doors slid close. As it drove away the bus headlights shone on a sign for Barrings. Arthur grumbled, thinking how luck always took a turn. It happened at Earl Street and Temple House, why? How did he really end up here? He didn’t have an answer.

Bea was still in the caravan. Arthur put the bags down and flicked on a light. The bulb over the bed flickered and Bea began to move. Arthur tiptoed across the room, putting away food and sports gear. He sat eating canned tuna with uncooked vegetables, making sure not to make noise. When he was full Arthur leant under the bed and took out a sleeping bag. The caravan floor was carpeted so it wasn’t too uncomfortable. He bundled a coat up into a pillowcase and went to sleep.

In the morning his alarm went and Arthur rose with each limb aching. He’d slept on his side, jamming the hip down. He nursed it as the gas heater began to click. Forcing himself to change into running gear, Arthur went outside. Every muscle and bone was flaring up as he began to jog. Every past injury, from knee to chest, was begging to hurt. He began to wheeze but didn’t stop and after five minutes the run took over. The blood pumped. All his instincts came back, he moved without thinking. He could smell the morning. Felt air on his face and snot run out of a nostril. The sun rose, lighting up marshland and pylons.As he jogged into the fields Arthur saw a cloudless sky emerging. Flowers grew from ruts. Every strand of crop was glittering with water, a grotto by the sea. It was new, he thought. What changed in the night? He thought of Bea’s coat and boots but put them aside for his run. 

When Arthur returned he went to the caravan site showers. The water eased his muscles and he came out feeling good. He slung a towel over his back and walked barefoot back to the caravan. Grass and brick tickled his feet as he went. Inside the caravan Bea was awake, sitting up with her elbows on both knees. She glanced up as Arthur came in. 

This one is warmer than mine. 

Because they don’t turn the gas off. People let it run through the night, then it automatically shuts off for the morning. Then it comes on midday so you’ve got no heat for the evening.

Why does that happen?

So the farm saves gas and money. If you set it manually you’ll have heat when you want it. 

Arthur drew the towel off his back and put on a jumper. He went into the shopping bags and fridge to make breakfast. After filling a pot with water he took out eggs to boil. When he took out a loaf of bread Bea spoke.

Can I have some?

You’re going to use my food now?

Bea blushed. For a moment Arthur felt satisfaction at being right but the guilt came. He cracked more eggs into the pot. After frying bread till it was crisp he gave Bea a plate. She began to stuff herself, bread vanished between teeth while egg yolk fell down her chin. She ate on the bed while Arthur brought in a folding chair from outside. Her legs were crossed, giving her a makeshift table. Arthur forced himself to chew, filling up one mouthful at a time. Bea put another piece of bread into her mouth and got up to stretch. Her back cracked, causing a tremor to run through Arthur. Not wanting to feel it he went for the boots and coat. He chucked both onto the bed and kept eating while Bea went to pick a boot up.

I suppose you plan for everything? Boots, heating and running. Wonder if John did the same.

He would have. And the boots and coat are for you. 

Me?

Boot will be stiff for a day or two but the blistering should stop. Coat’s not fancy but it’ll keep the rain off you. I’ll take your spot on the asparagus line as well. Tell the foreman you’ve swapped with someone.

Where’d you get these?

Hastings before training. You didn’t see them because I was late back. Buses only run by the hour. 

How much do I owe you?

Nothing.

Bea’s eyes shot open. Then she drew a strand of hair over an ear. Arthur felt a stab of humiliation, he wasn’t getting a return on this. Maybe she’d use him to get more things, then he – Arthur forced himself to stop thinking. He finished eating and took the plates out. Back inside Bea was waiting with her arms in a knot. Her eyes narrowed.

What do you want in return?

I want you out of here. 

That’s it?

I’ll take the hard job and you can go back to your caravan, or anywhere else you like but not here. That’s fair.

Is it?

I don’t need anything from you. Take them and go.

Bea stared at him, then she went to try the boots. They fitted and she drew on her coat, it fell over both knees. Arthur made instant coffee and gave Bea a mug, there was no talking. After leaving the caravan Arthur took Bea to sign in. He spoke to the foreman about a swap and it was fine, a sun hat was given to him. Arthur gave Bea a picking bucket and they joined pickers walking down. When a split in the track emerged Arthur shot a glance at Bea. She stared back and neither spoke. Then he put his hat on and coughed.

See you round.

He walked down his track and left Bea standing alone. Arthur felt secure in displaying charity, he got his wish. She’d pick plums and get on with whoever was in her caravan. Or not, wasn’t his problem anymore. Something stirred within him, a softness which he didn’t engage with. What was the point? Arthur went out into the asparagus field and a man gave him some cutters.

You just coming on?

Yes.

Well, you’re in for it.

Arthur spent the morning doubled over in pain. He was put on a line of asparagus stretching on forever. Pickers bent over from waist height, using knives or secateurs to cut the asparagus. After his first asparagus Arthur felt his back ache. An hour in he was hurting and a haze formed over both his eyes. Everything spun as he dragged a tray over earth and rock. When he stood up it was harder to get back down again. By lunchtime Arthur fell at the field's edge, his back gone. It took him five minutes to sit up and catch his breath. He went to sit on logs with a circle of pickers sat eating sandwiches. English and Romanians and Ukrainians talked in different languages. One tried making a joke.

What’s better, a dog or cat? Anyone? Anyone? Whichever one gets you groomed. 

No one laughed. Arthur kept himself occupied as people talked about other farms. Swathes of land in Eastern Europe used for potatoes. Orange fields in Israel. One man told a story about being forced out of a room because he wasn’t Jewish. An argument started about that but Arthur lost interest. More talk of places where people went to be happy. Of people against each other. Everyone measuring themselves by another’s failing. He was sick of it but couldn’t escape it. 

When picking began again Arthur fell behind. The air changed and a chill set in, people took out gloves to keep warm. Arthur cut holes at his gloves’ fingertips so he could keep on cutting. When the day was over he felt ready to collapse. He stumbled up the farm track to sign out. Then he went back down to his caravan, wondering how to stay awake. As soon as Arthur got there he found Bea sitting on his caravan step. Arthur struggled to keep upright, almost dozing off on his feet. He cleared his throat.

What is it?

I left my trainers in here.

Arthur grunted and went up the steps. He left the door open and came out with Bea’s trainers.

There you go.

Thanks. I have an idea.

No.

You haven’t even—

Not interested. I gave you some boots and coat which is more than anyone else would have done for you. But you aren’t staying here, I don’t need the drama.

Can I speak?

Look if you want to give the stuff back just do it. 

I’ll drive you to training.

What?

You said you got back late yesterday because of the bus? If you let me stay here I’ll drive you there and back. Every day if you want.

Arthur looked up, taking a breath. There’d be no peace with her around. She’d want to talk and complaints always came at some point. When she knew John was back something might start with them again. Two people who couldn’t do without drama drawn back together? It was inevitable but he was exhausted. A lift would be useful and help was being offered. Just like in Temple House, he’d have to accept some drawbacks. Arthur clicked his tongue and began to dictate.

Ok here’s what’s happening. You’re ready to drive at finishing time. I’ll stay on the asparagus till they put us both on apples. Should only be two weeks. 

Done.

You can keep the bed but today you go into town and buy a camp bed. A good one.

Sure.

We split food costs and keep the trailer clean.

I’m not a cook.

Don’t care I’m not eating pot noodles and packaged shit. I do some, you do some.

Fine.

You know who I’m training with?

Ben and John?

Yeah. You get involved with him again it’s your business. You want to stay with him fine but this is my place. No one’s in here but me. You don’t like how it goes leave any time you want.

Ok. 

Ok. 

What now?

Well, I have to get to training.

That was how it began. Every morning Arthur got up to run before breakfast. They ate together before setting off to work, taking water bottles and extra food with them. Once work ended Bea drove him to Hastings and she sat in the car, waiting. For the first week Arthur didn’t sleep right and everything hurt. Then he adjusted, soon all pain went away. With enough time to get to West Grove his sparring was better. In and out of head gear he worked with John, who kept the pressure up but didn’t think. Arthur blocked shots and didn’t lash out. John began to talk with Bea after training and Arthur left them to it. He cared more about sparring, how that feeling was back. Everything drawn together, all elements in time. It was better than he hoped for.

John didn’t talk much about Bea. In fact Arthur saw John mellow out, he didn’t argue with Ben anymore. He even mentioned giving Nadar a call and Ben was happy. After a month of training Arthur heard John’s future plans as they began to pack up. 

Me and Bea are thinking of setting up somewhere.

Sounds nice. Where?

Here. Maybe back in London. 

Going back to where you started?

You did that. 

Yeah but I’m not wasting time getting down about it. Not anymore.

I’m not down.

Sure. How’s it with her?

We said sorry about Earl Street. Now it’s just about getting a place. She’ll get a job, I will too. Things will be easier.

Easier?

Easier living together than alone.

You’re getting together again just because it makes sense?

Bea’s alright. I don’t need much else other than a place of my own. With her it’ll help. 

Arthur shook his head but didn’t get away from the conversation. On the same night Bea took him back to Barrings and it came up over dinner. She cut up onions and browned meat while Arthur lay on his mattress. The camp bed creaked but he was listening to music. Bea said something and Arthur took an earpiece out. 

What?

I asked if you enjoyed boxing.

Arthur took the headphones out and rubbed his eyes. The stew kept bubbling; its smell made his mouth water. A moth crawled across the light bulb dangling above him. He didn’t want to reveal anything else. Bea would go back to John at some point so why share anything? He sat up and leant against the caravan wall.

Sure. 

You sound so convincing. 

I’ve never not enjoyed it. 

That makes no sense. You either like something or you don’t. 

It’s just what got me. It’s what I know. I’m not much good at it but so what? Just how things worked out.

John wants to go on with it. We’re planning—

On moving into together. He told me.

I’ll need a job. Have to pay for rent and food.

Family in London?

John does but he doesn’t see them. He’s staying with his father now. He’s nice.

Stay down here then.

That’s what I said but he’s taking about London as well. Not sure if he’ll go back to Nadar, might be too late. 

He can only ask.

John wants to stay and go at the same time. It’s like that’s more important to him than anything else.

He’ll get it together. He’ll have too.

Do you always speak like this?

If your stew’s good I’ll talk however you want.

Bea giggled and Arthur felt a smile emerge. 

September came and Arthur was beginning to see a break in John and Ben. When Ben told John to do something he didn’t do it. They questioned each other, neither getting work done. Soon John began working in a corner without Ben’s help. There was no more corner advice or observation, neither spoke to each other. When Ben told other boxers what his plans were for the next year he didn’t mention Sheffield. The crowning moment was when Ben told Arthur to train John. On the first Saturday of September Ben had an argument with John. He came to Arthur with his hands up.

You try with him. He won’t listen to me. Maybe you can tell him he’s being stupid.

Stupid about what?

Going home.

Arthur shook his head and went back to punching. 

I’m not a coach. 

If you get him to listen you can take the cut of his coaching.

How much is that?

Professional coaches get twenty five percent.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Not bad, enough to help him get by at any rate. Before he could respond Ben left, leaving him to watch John. Arthur stopped punching and began observing John punch and step. His punches snapped out but his feet didn’t travel. His head was down but too still, Arthur began to see John was off balance. Punching power and defence were great. Movement and head were poor. He still wants to lash out, Arthur thought. How did someone change that? Or push it aside? He sent a jab to the hanging bag and went over to John.

You’re not moving.

Course’ I am.

Not enough. You’ve got to make angles. Step and punch to use all your power. Get into position and use your head. You get those down you can change things up mid fight. 

What does that mean?

Arthur took John to the ring and broke down all he knew. He switched stances, going in and out to make John slip shots. Arthur went for mitts, walking John through the movements with punches. Then he began to push John. Arthur taught him how to shoot body jabs and defend at the same time. Use an L step to improve footwork. When he didn’t move right Arthur made John repeat the exercises. At the session's end John shot combinations at different angles. Arthur knew focusing on time and movement made fighters level up, John was more capable than him. Building on what he knew would make him great. When Ben called time while John leant back against the ring ropes. Sweat was pouring off his clothes, Arthur frowned.

If that’s hard your fight will be even harder. 

So what should I do?

Practise everything I just showed you. Go running up hills as well.

You’ll train me for Sheffield?

I’m not a coach but I’ll think about it. Just do what I showed you.

Arthur helped Ben clean up the gym and went out to see John talking to Bea. He waited a few metres away, pushing a paving stone up and down. Bea was trying to get John to do something on the weekend but he didn’t say much. When John began walking away Bea waved for Arthur. He got into the car, wondering what was going to happen now. Boxing was about to change for him and life was moving on. Change was upon him and he didn’t know where it led.