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“Did you ask her how?” Niamh says. She and Davie know what my maw is like. They’ve been more of a family to me than she ever managed to be.

“How, what?” I say.

“How she’s clean. Is she in a programme? Seeing somebody? Getting help? Is she actually doing anything different this time?”

I shrug. “I didnae let her get that far. She said she was clean, and I told her to phone the solicitor if she needs money. Then I hung up and blocked the number.” I take a swig of water. “First time I’ve heard her voice in years.”

“Why’d you answer if you didnae want to speak to her?” Niamh asks. No sympathy routine, no tiptoeing around me. That’s Niamh for you. I wouldn’t have her any other way.

“I wasnae looking at the screen. Thought it was James about the promo plan.”

Davie gives a quiet grunt. “Listen, son, I know that call will have knocked you sideways, but you know better than this. You don’t bring it in here and take it out on other folk.”

He’s right. I should be long past this. I’m a professional, number two in my division.

“Aye,” I say. “I know.”

“If she phones you again, you tell me before you step in that cage, you hear me? I don’t care if you’re the best fighter this gym has ever seen. I’ll no have you putting others at risk because you’re too proud to admit something’s got to you.”

“Aye, if she phones, you’ll hear about it. But I’ll no lose it like that again. I promise you.”

“You’d better no.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “You’re done for the day. I’ll see you back here tomorrow.” And with that, he crosses the mats to Liam and tips Liam’s chin up to check his neck. Liam bats him off, embarrassed, insisting he’s fine.

I catch Liam’s eye across the gym. “I was out of order,” I say. “Sorry.”

“Aye, you were.” A beat, then the grin arrives because Liam can’t hold a grudge. “Imagine it got out. Axe King loses his head at technical sparring, Liam Devlin nearly dead. I’d be famous. I should sell it to the papers.”

Davie clips him round the ear. “Don’t even joke about it. We stick together at this gym.”

Liam rubs his ear. “How come he gets a shoulder squeeze and I get hit? I’m the injured party here.”

As Liam squabbles with Davie, Niamh gets up from the bench. She comes over and stands in front of me, arms folded. “You look peaky,” she announces.

“Cheers.”

“What have you eaten today?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Jesus, Ryan. You get hangry at the best of times, never mind when your maw’s just phoned out of the blue.”

“I was making eggs when she called. Burnt them. Didnae feel like eating after that.”

“Right. We’re getting burgers.”

“I’m on a meal plan.”

“So am I. We’re seven weeks out, Ry. One burger’ll no kill us.” She’s already walking to the changing rooms. “C’mon, move your arse.”

I open my mouth to argue, but honestly? A burger and chips sounds pretty fucking amazing.

“I’ll drive,” I say, following after her.

By the time we come back through Hyndland, it’s coming up for five and I’m a different man. Double cheeseburger, chips, the works. Niamh matched me then ate half my chips as well, which she claims is a service she provides so I don’t have to feel guilty.

We’ve picked up beers and are going to watch the football at mine, seeing as today’s meal plan is already a write-off. There’s a six-pack sitting on the back seat, but we’re only going to have one beer each. Any more and Davie would have my balls.

Niamh’s got her feet up on my dashboard, which she knows I hate. That’s why she does it. She’s watching the West End slide past the window. The sandstone tenements, the rows of bay windows, the corner cafés.