In Her Image

1 My fist connects with his skull and he snaps his head back, almost losing his footing. It’s a perfect punch, and I surprise even myself. I see the look in his eyes as he lurches forward, keen not to lose momentum or allow me the overall advantage. It’s a look that tells me he’s got something up his sleeve. He goes for me, leans into the punch, his balled fist missing my face by millimetres. I don’t have time to register what’s going on. Before I’ve noticed him reversing his lean, his leg’s up and heading towards the side of my head. My momentum from the dodge has kept me moving, and there’s nothing I can do. I brace, and time slows. My head rattles, the sound goes dull and I taste blood. Every part of my skull feels immediately stunned and my eyes feel like they’re on fire. I see the black edges start to appear around the sides of my vision, realise I’m going to lose consciousness if I don’t get down on the floor quickly. But if I get down on the floor, it’ll all be over. I need to try and fight on. My legs take that decision out of my hands, turning to jelly as I’m forced to hit the deck. My body relaxes almost immediately, and I see his feet walk up to me, see his shadow move as he leans down over me, feel his breath on the back of my neck as he places a hand on my shoulder. ‘You alright, Alice? Sorry. Been saving that one for a while. Didn’t expect it to be so brutal.’ ‘I’m good,’ I say, my voice sounding alien to me. Martin takes his hand off my shoulder and offers it to me. I take hold of it and he hauls me to my feet. ‘Between you and me,’ he whispers, whilst catching breaths, ‘I think it’s a bit f*****g stupid putting men against women. But maybe that’s just me. I feel dreadful every time I make contact. Can’t get my proper game in, you know what I mean?’ I nod, then quickly wish I hadn’t. It only makes my head ache more. He’s right, though. It’s only because so few people attend these classes any more that we have men fighting women. People round here would rather spend their evenings watching TV than kickboxing. Martin takes off his protective gear and heads towards the bench. The velcro rasps through my skull as I loosen the belt strap on my head guard and take it off, my head feeling instantly cooler. ‘Right, that seems as good a place as any to leave it for tonight,’ Simon says, addressing his small and dwindling group of pupils. ‘Remember next week we’ve got a later start. Eight-thirty, alright?’ I know from experience that at least another two people will use that as an excuse not to turn up next week. I doubt whether the classes will still be running at Christmas. That thought makes me sad. Even though I know there’ll be other kickboxing classes around, there’s something quite special about this one. Apart from only being a short walk from my house, it does have other added advantages. ‘You sure you’re alright?’ Simon asks me, once the others have headed off towards the changing rooms. ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I say, smiling. Simon smiles back. It’s a warm, pleasant grin that says I’m comfortable. You can trust me. I can’t say comfortable is something that usually appeals to me, but there’s something different about Simon’s style of comfortable. Friendly-casual, perhaps. I guess all teachers have to have that about them. ‘You’ll be here next week?’ His Australian lilt and habit of using rising intonation at the end of sentences means I’m not entirely sure whether it’s a question or a statement. ‘Yeah, I’ll be here,’ I reply. When have I ever missed a lesson? ‘It’s a shame it’s a bit later, actually, because I was going to ask if you fancied a drink after. Only there’s this new bar open up the road, and, y’know,’ I say, running out of steam. ‘That’d be cool,’ he replies, in a non-committal way that doesn’t tell me whether he genuinely means it or is just going through the motions. ‘Or perhaps tonight, if it’s not too short notice?’ Bad move, I tell myself immediately. Too desperate. ‘Ah, I can’t tonight. Got things planned already. Week after next, maybe?’ ‘Sure,’ I reply. If the classes are still running by then. It always seems to take me longer to walk home from the leisure centre than it did to walk there. I don’t know if it’s because I’m more tired afterwards, because I’ve not got the lesson to look forward to or because everything seems to take longer in the dark. It seems longer, too, because I know I’ll be going home to an empty house. Sure, Kieran wasn’t there all the time, and he never technically lived with me, but knowing that I had someone to spend the rest of the evening with was always a comfort. That ship has sailed, though. He couldn’t handle me, and I sure as hell couldn’t handle him. Nutcase and Tedious doesn’t have the same sort of ring as Bonnie and Clyde. I try not to think about it too much. The more I do, the more it upsets me. If there’d been any specific incident that either of us could put our finger on, it would have been much easier. But to me, it was pretty clear the relationship was over. I just wish he’d taken it half as well as I thought he might. The steps up to my front door often ice up at this time of year, so I’m extra careful as I walk up them. The leaky gutter means that water drips onto the steps then freezes, making the whole place a deathtrap for two or three months of the year. I put my key in the lock and open the front door. As I step inside and close it behind me, I feel my heart jump in my chest. Not a lot, but I notice it. There’s a sense of unease, a feeling that something isn’t quite right. I tell myself I’m being daft; I’m going to have to get used to coming home to an empty house. After all, it was my decision to break up with Kieran. Can’t have your cake and eat it, girl. I walk into the kitchen and put the radio on, listening to the soothing bass tones of a Simply Red song I semi-recognise, as I pour myself a glass of wine from the fridge. The first of a couple, I fear.