CHAPTER FIVE
‘OK, guys, roll call!’ Bob tried to gain the attention of the teenagers. Half of them were not yet fully awake, the other half were overexcited, most likely fuelled by sugary breakfasts.
Marisa’s silver coupe swung into the empty car park.
Emily got out, hoisting her gym bag over her shoulder.
Tudor fought the usual battle within himself.
Go over and exchange tense but cheerful words with his ex-wife, or stay out of the way in case she was in one of her bite-first-talk-about-it-later moods.
Which were pretty frequent. Or had been when they were together.
As far as Marisa was concerned, Tudor was the cause of those rages.
He had his own theories, but in the end it didn’t matter.
Better for all of them if he wasn’t there.
He settled for raising his hand in what he hoped was a sincere wave.
Or at least a neutral one that Marisa couldn't find fault with and bitch about later.
Emily took the front seat between him and Bob.
He liked having the slow miles to chat with her.
Not for Emily a snatched bowl of tooth rot.
She would have got herself a nutritious breakfast, taking time to eat it, double checking her kit, everything in order and ready to go.
He admired the way she did things, when she wasn’t visited by one of her mother’s moods.
Systematic. Thorough. Without drama. Like himself, on a good day. Or so he liked to believe.
‘Traffic’s light,’ he noted. ‘Should reach Manchester before ten. Plenty of time to get settled in.’
‘It’s a pretty good venue,’ Emily told him. ‘Last time they’d just put in new changing rooms, remember?’
He did. Two years ago. When she had just about come up to his shoulder.
In the intervening months she’d made that leap from child to young woman.
He wasn’t sure he liked it. A whole new set of parental worries assailed him.
Like whether or not her mother was keeping tabs on where their baby girl went on Saturday nights.
Like what the hell you bought a child-woman for her birthday without getting it painfully wrong.
Like the way Charlie Wallace had looked at her the first time Tudor had taken her to use the gym at the Aurora.
It had seemed like a fine idea. And to be fair, Emily had been impressed.
The gym was as cool as the rest of the building and always half empty.
They had been able to train there in comfort, Tudor gaining dad points for finding a solution to her schedule.
Introducing her to Charlie made sense. It allowed him to check up on the kid without being heavy handed about it.
What he hadn’t reckoned on was the way the two had clicked.
There had been an instant attraction and an easiness between the two.
He knew he shouldn’t mind. After all, there were plenty of worse possible boyfriends out there.
Still, the Wallace family were complicated.
It was something he was going to have to keep a careful eye on.
As he had predicted, they made good time.
The mini-bus area was at the far end of the car park against a wall.
Out of habit Tudor assessed the security aspect of this, questioning the wisdom of having groups of kids gather in the most poorly lit corner furthest from the main entrance to the building.
Bob seemed unconcerned, jumping out to open the rear doors and encourage the kids out of the van.
Tudor gave Emily a light pat on the back.
‘Go get ‘em, Pumpkin,’ he said, aware of her loathing of PDA, particularly before a tournament. She hid her nerves well, but they were there. He watched her join her friends, noticing again how the boys took more interest in her now, seeing the subtle jostling for position in the crowd so as to walk close to her. Bob ushered the team into the smart leisure centre and towards the changing rooms. Tudor found a coffee machine before making his way to the supporters’ seats.
There was the usual crowd of parents, siblings, grandparents and die hard enthusiasts.
Enough to make a noise, to offer encouragement, and to ramp up the contestants’ nervousness.
Emily was a senior black belt and would soon be taking her second dan.
The pressure was on. She was beginning to be a serious match for Tudor when they fought against each other now.
She had entered one Form Competition. It was a perfect way for a student of the martial art to practice as they advanced through new techniques, almost in a dance.
She had, true to her habit, planned it meticulously.
She had chosen six Chong-Gun - her favourite, with over thirty moves.
Her true passion, however, were the sparring matches.
Tudor sometimes wondered at that; the fact that she preferred combat.
Did she get that from him? Was it possible to pass down soldiering in your kid’s DNA?
This tournament gave her two chances to excel: the under 16 girls and the under 18 Black Belt.
The start of the matches was announced. Emily’s Form went well.
She flowed through the moves with ease, ending with a flawless block, and a final snap kick and ki-up.
An easy win. Tudor found himself breathing more easily.
The win would help her settle. For her first fight Emily drew a girl Tudor new to be weaker than she was.
Within the first few moves it was obvious to everyone that the other girl was outmatched.
Emily soon scored the first point. It appeared to Tudor that she was, in fact, holding back, and wasn’t even breathing hard.
In the second round she stepped things up a notch, starting with a fast snap kick to the girl’s mid section, sending her backwards.
The ref held up his hand. Another point.
The opponent was still winded and down on one knee, causing her own coach to throw in the towel.
The pair bowed and Emily was declared the winner.
The following fights all proved just as easy, with Emily finishing them all in the second round.
In the interval, Tudor sought her out, taking her a drink.
‘Nice job, Pumpkin.’
‘That was the easy bit. This next group…’
‘…will wish they’d stayed at home. You’ve got this.’ He returned to his seat, hoping he was right, knowing what it would cost her to lose.
He needn’t have worried. Of course, he knew his girl was good; she’d impressed him in training every time.
But to see her power through the fights, defeating one opponent after another with such ease, surprised even him.
She reached the finals. Tudor knew she must be tiring and caught his breath when he saw her opponent.
The lad was nearly eighteen and close to six foot.
Emily glanced over at her father. He gave her a confident nod.
To begin with, they seemed evenly matched, with both giving as good as they got, adeptly blocking each other’s attacks.
Slowly the boy’s size and strength began to take its toll, Emily needing to pull deep for reserves of energy to stop the blows.
He advanced, her defence was broken, and the lad went for the strike that would secure the winning point.
Unexpectedly, Emily side stepped, avoiding the blow and sending her opponent stumbling into nothing.
The crowd began to pick up on something special happening.
Suddenly, it was as if she had found another level.
She showed a new turn of speed that had the boy wrong footed, making him look slow and clumsy, even though he was anything but.
In a tiny pause, she saw her moment, powerfully covering the space between them using a crescent kick, travelling in an arc, dodging his guard and striking his chest hard enough that he dropped to his knees.
The referee held up his arm towards Emily.
It was the winning hit. An appreciative cheer went up among the spectators and Emily beamed at Tudor, enjoying the applause and the obvious pride on her father’s face.
At the end of the tournament, there was a sense of all round success among the team, but Emily was still the girl of the hour.
‘Great job, guys,’ Bob told them. ‘All of you should be really pleased with what you’ve achieved here. And I think one person in particular…?’
Emily blushed as the team gave her a spontaneous round of applause. She raised her madly oversized trophy high, laughing as she did so.
Tudor smiled at her. ‘Trophies are fine, but what everyone really wants is pizza, right?’
There was a clamour of agreement, orders for favourites being fired off, Bob attempting to make some sort of list.
‘I’ll bring the mini-bus round to the door,’ Tudor told him.
‘I’ll come with you, Dad.’ Emily trotted along beside him, energy still high from the fights, happily cradling her prize.
‘You planning to sleep with that thing?’
‘You think Mum will be impressed?’ she asked him in a voice that gave away how hard earned her mother’s approval was.
‘Damn right.’ He held the door open for her and they walked across the tarmac.
It was nearly nine, the street lights were on, a damp summer evening providing a little mist around the dull glow of the lamps.
Most of the competitors had already left so that there were few cars remaining and no-one else in the car park.
They were almost at the bus when Emily stopped.
‘What is it, Pumpkin?’
A movement up ahead gave him the answer to his question.