A Perfect Triangle

By Andrew Capone

Three students at university from vastly different lives find themselves in a conflict both in the boxing ring and in their own lives. Three boxers must find out who they are to each other and what has turned them into the fighters and the thinkers they are.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781678143145

Book preview

Michael

Friday

The TV was on but neither Mike nor Cass were watching it. Mike was too busy scrolling through some social media posts on his phone and Cass was glancing over seminar notes, but she insisted that it remain on in the background. The gentle odour of burning oil suppressed the smell of coffee that seemed to ever hang in the air and Mike breathed in the scent as he stretched and then slouched even further down the sofa resting his feet on the coffee table.

Cass shot a glance of annoyance as he nudged aside the used dinner plates into her books. She exhaled a little louder than was necessary to make her point before placing the heavy volumes onto the floor and away from the spaghetti sauce covered plates. As she returned to her notes she gritted her teeth and groaned at the blatant ignorance of the so-called ‘enlightenment’ thinkers before slapping her pen down on her notepad and turning to her housemate. What time is it?

Tearing his eyes from the articles and images for the briefest of moments, Mike glanced to the top of the screen on his phone to check the time and then returned to photos and captions. Nearly ten.

Cass returned to the notepad on her lap and began scribbling out an entire paragraph she had just written. He should be here by now.

Probably just traffic.

He’s never usually this late.

Maybe there was an accident.

Cass shrugged. He would have called. She slipped the pad in the space down the side of the sofa, rested her pen between her teeth and took up one of the books she had bought that day. She skimmed the index, found the page she wanted and immediately broke the spine as she bent the cover back and proceeded to underline the quote she wanted. Without even looking she knew Mike was cringing at the unforgivable habits that she had with new books.

Mike shook his head and turned his phone off. Do you want another coffee?

No thanks, it’ll keep me up all night.

Tea?

You know tea has more caffeine than coffee?

Green tea?

Cass smiled at the barrage of questions and glanced over. Look, if you’re so adamant to get me a drink, I’ll have some juice.

Mike threw his legs off the table and pushed himself from the sofa, dropping his phone onto the cushion. As he passed, he picked up the plates and mugs and then nudged open the door to the kitchen with his knee.

The kitchen was not messy; there was just something about the colour of the walls that made the place look like it always needed another good scrub. The sink was half full, as it always was, and there were pans filled with soapy water sitting on the surfaces; Mike’s idea of scrubbing things clean. He emptied the teapot and filled it with loose green leaves. He placed two cups on a tray next to a carton of orange juice and then waited for the water to boil.

Upon returning to the living room he discovered that Cass had packed away her books and was changing the TV channel. Come on, it’s my movie choice tonight.

Movie or film?

Don’t be a dick.

I’m only saying, you always say film when it’s a movie.

Whatever, just because you went to like one film society meeting you think you’re a critic.

So, what are we watching?

When Harry met Sally.

So, film. He ignored her look of irritation. I hate that film. Anyway, haven’t you watched it, like a hundred times already? And don’t you have it on DVD?

My DVD’s all scratched. You can buy me the BlueRay version as an anniversary gift if you want.

Mike frowned at the thought as he set the tray on the table.

Cass reached for the juice and paused before taking one of the two handless mugs. No glasses?

Mike froze where he stood and stared at her as though she’d just opened up an old wound and poured salt all over it. Look, I asked you if you wanted me to replace that tumbler and you said no.

Cass laughed, content that she still knew which buttons to push. You know you drink too much tea?

Mike stepped around the table, sat in his groove and began pouring. I get it from my dad.

Are you a daddy’s boy?

I hope not.

He didn’t seem that bad when I met him.

You’ve never had to live with him.

What about mum?

Mike huffed. What about mum?

Do you take after her at all?

Mike paused before answering and then took a sip from the mug. She’s stubborn, high maintenance and proud.

Hmm, carbon copy.

No…my bad qualities are from my dad.

So, they’re a perfect match?

Mike didn’t answer.

The opening credits began so Cass rested against the back of the sofa and Mike tried to get as comfortable as possible but the mug was too hot to hold for any lengthy period. He reached behind him and picked up his phone, about to wake it up. Na uh uh. No phones at movie night.

I was just checking the time.

Nearly ten, like you said. Mike huffed and then put the phone on the coffee table as Cass grinned at her small victory. Meg Ryan plays this part so well. The scene in the restaurant is just superb.

I thought it was kind of tacky.

That’s because you’re a man.

Mike smiled flatly. Thanks for noticing.

I’d give anything to go to New York.

I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing; you know Broadway and Bloomingdale’s.

I may be able to kick your arse from here to Sunday but I am still a girl too, you know.

I have noticed.

They both smiled.

Mike woke up with his head in Cass’ lap. She had a cushion cradled under her arm and her head was resting against the arm of the sofa. The TV was off but there was light coming from the kitchen. Mike stretched his neck back and saw a figure standing in the doorway and felt a sudden start before relaxing. Oh…hey Seb… He yawned as he spoke, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Seb didn’t move; he just took a sip from the cup that he was holding. When d’you get here?

Just now.

Oh. Mike was still tired, but he sat up anyway. He scratched his head and yawned again. What took you so long?

Seb took another sip from his cup. He looked straight at Mike without blinking. Traffic.

Oh. As Mike yawned again, Cass shook awake and blinked. The light from the kitchen had startled her.

Mike indicated that Seb was there by nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen and Cass turned around. Seb. She stood up and made quick, but tired, steps over to him and threw her arms around his rigid neck. We were waiting up for you. Why are you so late?

Seb looked from Cass to Mike and back again. There was an accident on the motorway.

Told you. Mike contributed before picking up his phone from the table and checking the time.

You should have called. Cass carried on.

My battery died.

I was worried.

Seb grunted and turned around, letting Cass’ arms fall to her side. He went into the kitchen and emptied the contents of his cup in the sink and placed it on the side board. I’m going to bed. He walked past Cass, not even looking at Mike, and pushed the bedroom door open, flicking on the light.

Cass looked down to Mike who met her gaze with a look of confusion etched into his face, like the sleep creases from Cass’ skirt. She whispered goodnight and followed Seb into her room, closing the door behind her.

Mike pushed himself up and stretched out his arms as he trudged over to the kitchen. He turned off the light and made his way into his own room. Inside, Mike pulled off his T-shirt and threw it onto his chair. As he sat on his bed undoing his shoe laces, he heard Cass and Seb through the open windows.

What?

Like I said, forget it!

I don’t understand, you’ve just got in and you’re angry, it’s like, every time I see you you’re mad about something.

And whose fault is that?

Umm, yours; I was asleep!

Yeah, asleep.

Mike felt bad about listening, so he stood up again and unbuckled his jeans, pulling them off as loudly as possible to drown out the sounds, then made to close the window.

I don’t need this Seb, I swear, I don’t, not at…one in the morning.

You and me both. There was silence for a while. Well? Are you coming to bed or what? Maybe I should have left you on the sofa.

Fuck you, and your bullshit.

Which one of us was supposed to say that?

Cass didn’t respond. Mike just heard the slamming of the door, but didn’t dare go out to see who it was.

Saturday

When Mike and Cass returned home after an early visit to the library, Seb was sitting on the sofa watching an episode of Weapons of War on the TV, a mug in his hand. He didn’t acknowledge their presence save for a brief movement of his eyes to the door and then back again. Cass, a subtle smile on her face, walked straight behind the sofa and kissed Seb on the forehead. Mike, following behind, a little red in the face on account of the sudden chill in the air outside, closed the door and removed his jacket, resting it on the armchair. As he collapsed in it, he looked across the room. Morning, Seb. Is there any tea?

Seb glanced across to Mike, a blank expression on his face. No. He took another sip from his mug, Mike smelled the coffee aroma suddenly in his nostrils. Cass looked over to him for the shortest of moments; Seb caught the exchange in Mike’s eyes, then huffed and returned his attention to the introduction to the first use of Tiger Tanks.

Well…I’m going to put the kettle on. You want anything Cass?

Cass walked around the sofa and sat next to Seb. Thank you, no. I’ll get a glass of water in a minute. Mike grinned and nodded, then pushed out of the chair and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

As he filled the kettle, Mike heard the muffled sounds of Cass talking to Seb and Seb remaining non-responsive.

What’s wrong?

Mike didn’t hear Seb reply. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He opened the cupboard and took out the tin of green tea and added a heaped spoon into a pot, then stood against the board, waiting for the kettle to boil.

Bollocks! You didn’t drive all the way up here to watch TV.

Yeah, I didn’t come up here for a lot of things.

What’s that supposed to mean?

The kettle finished boiling and Mike poured the water into the pot. The steam issued out of the spout and fogged up the kitchen window. At the top of the window frame was a piece of old graffiti, etched with a kitchen knife. In a heart the letters S&C.

It was quiet in the lounge.

Mike poured the tea through a sieve and then filled another mug with water from the filter in the fridge. Both in one hand, Mike opened the kitchen door and saw Seb sitting alone, arms crossed; the TV off and the remote on the floor. Oh. Where’s Cass?

Seb looked at him; his eyes were slits. Even though he was sitting, he managed to look down at Mike. In her room.

Right. …You guys have any plans for today? As soon as he said it he felt stupid for opening his mouth.

What the fuck business is it of yours?

Sorry, I…

What? Thought you had the right to pry into other people’s lives? Seb grabbed the control off the floor and turned the set back on again.

Mike walked past him but thought again about knocking on Cass’ door. Instead he left the water on the side table and proceeded into his own room. As soon as he closed the door, he heard Cass opening hers. What the hell was that about?

He should mind his own fucking business.

What is with you? Who the hell do you think you are coming into my house and acting like that towards my…

What? Your what?

Mike took a sip from his cup but it was too hot to drink. He looked at his phone: almost half-ten already. He put the mug on the table and started to change into his work clothes.

Seb’s voice came loudly again through the door. Whatever I say, you’ll tell me I’m being stupid, so what’s the point of saying anything?

You’re being stupid right now!

What do you think I am…blind?

No, but I must be mentally retarded, I haven’t a clue what you’re on about!

Mike finished changing and took another sip from his mug then went to the door. He didn’t open it at first; he stood quietly to make sure that he wasn’t disturbing anything and then proceeded.

Cass was crouching next to Seb and Seb was staring again at a blank screen. There was an artificial silence hanging in the air; Mike felt uncomfortable. I’m…going to work. I’ll be back around half six-ish. Do either of you want anything from…anywhere?

No. Thank you, Mike. Cass tried not to sound too appreciative of his offer, not taking her eyes from Seb’s grimace.

Ok…I guess I’ll see you guys later.

The walk from his room to the door seemed to take forever. He picked up his jacket from the sofa and opened the front door. He felt Seb’s eyes in the back of his neck.

As soon as it was closed he heard Cass’ voice. Now are you going to tell me what the hell is wrong? Silence. Fine…forget it. You’re acting like a dick and I can’t be arsed with it. I don’t want to be around you when you’re like this.

Mike walked down the corridor, down the stairs and quickly around the corner. He heard the door open behind him but didn’t turn around.

It had been overcast all day, and now there wasn’t even a star in sky. The sun had long set, and any warmth that managed to break past the clouds during the sunlit hours had now disappeared to leave a chilling breeze in the air. Mike wore a thick jumper under his jacket but it didn’t help too much; the wind bit against his uncovered ears and nose.

Mike you should wear a hat and a scarf. Cass looked over to him, gentle mist appearing in front of her mouth as she spoke. She wore a pink beanie on her head and a red snood around her neck. Her arm was linked in Seb’s. Seb didn’t seem bothered about the weather, but he wore leather gloves and a frown. Mike shrugged. He didn’t often wear more than a jacket; to have anything more than a shirt on under it was a rarity.

Frank’s club was a small building behind the campus. There were no houses or halls around only trees so it gave a real feel of solitude. A white roofed bridge stood alone on the foot path from the campus grounds to the club dividing the two; Mike always thought it somehow ironic that that the only part of the path that was sheltered was the part that crossed water. The club was little more than a converted hall that had been a community hall in a past life. It was red brick with a few small high windows around the top and a few steps leading up to a set of double doors. There was a hanging lamp that swung above the door and inside was a desk with a sign in sheet that Mike signed on their behalf.

Inside the hall had been converted to accommodate its new use as a boxing club. Immediately inside the doors was a small lobby with doors to the male and female changing rooms and visitors’ toilets. When Mike had completed the formality, Cass kissed Seb lightly on the cheek and opened the baby blue door while Mike led Seb through the Imperial Red door.

Mike took off his jacket leaving it on the same chair he always did at the far corner. His shirt dragged up to his neck as he pulled his jumper off so he pulled it down again, a little ashamed at the lack of definition in his physique compared to Seb who removed his upper clothing with certain arrogance pointed in Mike’s direction.

They changed into their training kit, simple tracksuit bottoms and t-shirts, then they strode barefoot into the main hall across wood-effect vinyl floor where Cass was already waiting; it was a wonder to both how she managed to change so fast. Cass’ kit was all white with a blue stripe down the side of each leg. Her white sleeveless t-shirt had a pair of wings printed on the back; it had been a small token of congratulations to her from Seb upon winning a boxing tournament a few years ago, now she wore nothing else at training.

Whenever Seb trained at Frank’s club he wore red bottoms and an army t-shirt and no matter the exercise he always trained with his red MMA gloves. While others wore far more padded boxing mitts, Seb’s were designed for grappling and throwing, so they were not so thick, which meant when they did do contact training, his punches hurt a lot more than everyone else’s, but they were within tolerance and Frank permitted it, so that was enough for Seb.

Mike had no special kit for training, he generally brought whatever he had to hand that was most comfortable be it tracksuit bottoms, running shorts, or even a sleeping t-shirt. He wasn’t concerned so much with the image he portrayed, so long as he was learning something, not that he suspected that either Cass or Seb were bragging, they were two of Frank’s longest attending students and they were by far the best in the club, at least that were not going pro, but he did wonder sometimes if they used their kit as a status in a club which had no actual grading, unlike all other martial arts clubs on the campus.

It was surprisingly large inside the building; aside from the lobby and amenities there was nothing else to take up space, all other partitioned walls had been removed, so it as one open plan filled with mats, a corner for weights, a rowing machine, hanging punch bags, a battle ropes along the side wall and, of course, a boxing ring in the corner. Some of the students came here just for the gym equipment as an alternative to the gym on campus which was always overcrowded, others came to do their own training, there were even local residents who knew Frank and came here to train instead of the other clubs in the town. Occasionally, however, the hall was hired out by other classes from the university, Sunday mornings was cardio club and then every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning it was yoga. Off-and-on there were other classes. There was a schedule, not that Frank always kept to it, particularly if he was training someone for a competition, as far as he was concerned, the doors were open, so as long as you paid your way and your name was on the sheet the club was yours to use.

Air fresheners kept the smell sweet and the occasional opening of the double doors let in a gust of cool air that carried under the rising of heat generated by the many heaters that circled the hall which were all operated from the campus and remained on regardless of the time of day so long as campus considered it heater season.

The walls were decorated with photos of past and present members of the club in training or at competitions. There were medals hanging from plaques, some of which Frank had won, others which students insisted hung here as motivation to new students. This way the walls seemed alive with experience and inspiration to those who trained here. Whenever Mike entered he felt a sense of history and expectation weighing on him to achieve something greater than anything a degree or a fine job might afford him.

Frank was already there, kneeling on the floor facing the rest of the hall. He had been introduced to meditation and breathing techniques during his stay in Japan and had brought it with him as a means of beginning training in a positive and peaceful manner. These sorts of practices were personal to himself, so he never expected those attending his sessions to emulate his actions, however, every class there were a few who joined him, adamant that through this means of reflection they might become as tough as him. For his part, Frank was happy to indulge them.

Cass was kneeling next to Frank when Mike and Seb approached, speaking in hushed tones, presumably about what Frank had planned for this session. Once or twice she looked up towards Mike and Seb, so Mike looked across to Seb and asked, What are they talking about?

The hell should I know?

I thought that maybe Cass said something.

I guess she doesn’t tell me anymore than she tells you.

They milled around for a few minutes until the clock showed seven-thirty, and then Frank stood up and called everyone to line up for the beginning to the lesson. Then Frank invited Cass to start the warm-up as he walked across to the new faces and explained to them the programme for the session.

Twenty minutes in, and they had stretched and exercised all the main muscle groups and warmed up to the point where some of the newer members were already red-faced and sweating. Frank thanked Cass for leading the class then started passing around mitts and pads, put everyone in pairs and instructed them to go through the standard boxing drills: jab, cross, duck, hook, uppercut, duck, uppercut, stance and guard. And repeat until they were properly warmed up, ergo, muscles sore and panting like dogs in heat. Each time harder, each time faster. It was common for students to come to Frank’s club with a few years of Martial Arts behind them, Karate or Kung Fu from their school years. More often than not, students came here because they felt they were going through the motions in other clubs but not really learning much of use, so they heard about Frank’s club, brought what they had as experience but soon learned that it didn’t really account for very much. Frank ran things a little differently.

Frank was a Scottish-Italian former soldier. In the army he had taken up boxing and discovered he was quite good at it. But it wasn’t until his mother died, while he was on tour, that it took over his life. Some people drowned their sorrows in drink or substance abuse, Frank drowned his in fighting. He trained, and competed, and trained some more. When he wasn’t in parades, marches, drills and exercises, he was in the gym, building up muscle, and then in the ring where nothing outside the ropes existed and he could lose himself in the thrill of the fight. When he finally left the Army, he started travelling around Europe, then Asia and then the world looking first for boxing clubs, then kickboxing, then Brazilian Jujitsu, and then Mixed Martial Arts. He trained, entered tournaments and got lost in a vicious and adrenaline-filled world.

He had a story from every country he’d visited and every tournament he’d competed. It usually involved some young upstart thinking he was a pushover, but they soon learned that his time in the army had toughened him up and he was anything but a pushover. Then one day, after about five years travelling, he received a phone call from an old comrade who he had served with who needed a favour. He took a flight back home and accepted a temporary job teaching history in the university. One thing led to another, and next thing he knew he was a resident lecturer. And, as a favour, the dean let him open a club in an old community hall on the edge of the campus where he had been for the last ten years.

It was principally a boxing club and so if one of his students was registered for a fight he would focus completely on preparing him or her and then all the sessions would be centred around drills, endurance, circuit training and the like. But most weeks he would delve into something a little different. Last week it had been exploring Muay Thai elbow and knee techniques and how they could be incorporated into some kickboxing, and this week he had been exploring locks and holds. Frank had reminded everyone that it was all very well to be able to pin down an opponent Brazilian-Ju-Jitsu style, but against multiple attackers it was about as useful as stripping naked and bending over. You have to be quick, fast, in there, do the damage, get out, keep moving. There’s no point grappling on the floor until he taps out. When you’ve got three guys booting you in the face its game over. There had been an anecdotal story to go along with it involving the dark alleys of Paris one November night and four drunks outside a pub. It hadn’t gone too well for Frank that night, he had broken a rib and broken his nose, again, but he had learned something valuable: choose your moves based on your opponents. BJJ was only any good one-on-one.

Half an hour of throwing each other around and being thrown around in return later and all students were allowed to break into pairs to continue practicing the lesson or to revert to paired boxing or live sparring. Frank insisted that any live sparring should be conducted in the ring, one pair at a time, and that it should be strictly with gloves, head gear and mouthguards and be moderated by at least one other as a health and safety precaution. The first up was Pete and Martin.

Pete was a Physics postgraduate, and Martin was a medical student. Pete was strong. He took his health and fitness very seriously and had only joined the club as an alternative to the Zumba dancing fitness that his girlfriend was insisting he take up to lose the beer belly. Two years later and he was solid.

Martin was cautious; he preferred to hang back and let Pete tire himself out and only went for counters. Training with