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Cruz goes down on one knee, his head bowed. Vale backs away with his hands spread, all innocence.

The replay shows the kick again. It could have strayed. It happens. Any other fighter, I’d probably give them the benefit of the doubt. But we all know how Vale works. Cruz was getting the better of him, and a move like that gives Vale a wee breather and breaks up Cruz’s rhythm.

The referee has a word with Vale, a finger pointed firmly at his chest, but he doesn’t take a point. Vale nods along like a man who’s very sorry about an unfortunate accident.

“Sorry if this is a stupid question,” Briony says, “but isn’t Cruz wearing a cup?”

“Trust me, even wi’ a cup, it still fucking hurts,” Liam replies. Imran nods his agreement, as do I.

“And that,” Niamh says, “is why I told you on Wednesday that if you get the chance, you knee your attacker in the baws. It’s very effective.”

Briony nods solemnly. “Understood.”

On screen, Cruz is still on one knee, taking slow, measured breaths.

Briony’s phone buzzes. She gets up to fetch it from the kitchen island, then settles back on my thigh. “Innes is raging at Vale. Dad too, apparently.”

I told her to invite Innes tonight, but she pointed out he couldn’t get up the stairs. These old tenements don’t have lifts, which is why family get-togethers always happen at her parents’ house. He’s never even been in her flat.

Next time, Briony suggested, we could do this at her parents’, where everything is set up for Innes. I really like the idea of him being involved, but if I’m honest, I’m less sure about bringing this lot into Kathy’s living room to drink and swear at a cage fight. Especially as she and I only agreed to start over a week ago. I think we might need to develop the relationship a bit more before she hears Liam telling a referee he’s a useless cunt.

On screen, Cruz gets to his feet.

“Here we go,” Imran says. “What do you think? Should he be taking longer? He’ll still be feeling that.”

“How long can he take?” Emmy asks.

“Up to five minutes,” I say. “He’ll want back in before he goes cold, even if he is still hurting.”

Cruz tells the referee he’s ready. Vale bounces on his toes, fresh as you like.

I sit forward. Briony shifts off my thigh and squeezes into the space beside me. I keep my arms round her waist while we watch.

By the fourth, I’m not saying much. Vale starts landing low kicks on Cruz’s lead leg, hard enough that the sound comes clearly through the speakers. Cruz checks some, but too many get through. He’s slower getting out now, and Vale begins finding him upstairs too. A right hand lands flush.

“Come on,” Liam says, quieter than before.

Cruz fires back, but Vale catches him again, and a cut opens under Cruz’s eye.

Imran sets his glass down. Niamh stops talking. By the time the horn goes, all I can hear in the flat is the broadcast.

Cruz sits heavily on his stool. The cutman presses at the cut while his coach talks fast and close. Cruz keeps nodding.

“Is he all right?” Briony asks me quietly.

I watch him for a moment. His chest is heaving, blood smeared across one cheek.

“He’s listening to his corner,” I say at last. “He knows he needs a good last round.”

Cruz gives the last round everything. There are still good shots in him, and when he catches Vale with a combination, Liam is halfway off the sofa. But the kicks keep landing. Cruz tries to plant and his leg buckles, just for a second, long enough for Vale to follow him across the cage.

By the last minute, Cruz is carrying his weight on the other side. He’s bloodied, struggling to move, but still finding enough to hit the bastard back. I want him to pull something out of nowhere. A clean right. A finish that leaves nothing to argue about.

The horn goes with both of them standing.

“Cruz,” Liam says at once. “Three rounds. He had the first three.”

Imran shakes his head. “Third was closer than you’re making it.”