My brother had taken up boxing, and when he wasn’t in the ring, he needed to practice.
That’s where I came into it.
A passing jab to the chest in the living room. A volley of punches to my upper arms in our bedroom.
Even when we went on holiday, he persisted with his self-improvement.
If I retaliated, he was always three steps and a laugh out of reach. Mum would tut, keeping us apart.
Outside the co-op, raincoat hood up, his back was turned.
I took my chance.
One thwack to the arm.
The old lady yelped. I gasped.
Copyright © Andrew Wright 2026