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Sequel to 2105's WALK IN PIECES.

For Want Of A Nail

For about 8 years now, on and off, I’ve been a practitioner of Krav Maga. I have taken a total of 8 gradings, hold the rank of P5 and have trained in Italy, the UK, Greece, Australia, New Zealand, and Israel.

I’ve qualified to teach children Krav under Ze’ev Cohen when I took the Kids Instructor Course.

I have completed the General Instructors Course but haven’t graduated yet.

I’ve met Eyal Yanilov several times and interviewed him for this blog and for KMG UK.

I’ve attended seminars for public transport, aeroplane hijacks, adrenaline and 3rd party protection plus many others.

I’ve cured my lifelong phobia of fighting through sparring on day 11, of part 1 of the GIC**.

I run this blog and have published a book about Krav Maga called “Walk In Pieces”. 

I’ve lost a piece of a tooth on my P4 grading and been personally selected by Eyal Yanilov with 9 other people to fight The Bullet Men at the KMG World Tour 2014. 

Basically…I’ve had a lot of fun doing Krav Maga.

The main things Krav has taught me is that ego is dangerous and what my brother might call “the puffy option” is usually the best one (i.e. walking away from confrontation if you can). I’ve become calmer, more self confident and a lot less paranoid through following this discipline. 

My life since 2016 has involved a lot of backpacking. In August of that year I had what might be called a mid-life crisis and decided to give the cat away, sell the car, put most of my stuff in storage and fulfil my dream of going to Australia & New Zealand. During that time I learned to be careful about my personal space and to keep close attention to where I have my stuff. I ALWAYS carried my passport, money and phone on me in a military style hip pouch that you cannot take from me unless I give it to you or you take it from me by force. 

Now that I’m settled in Rome teaching English I give security a high priority in my life. I share a flat with 2 other guys and my bedroom door has a lock, as does my wardrobe. Before I go out I put all valuables I’m not taking with me into the wardrobe, lock it and then hide the key. I then check the balcony window is secure and lock the bedroom door, hiding that key too. 

I use a bicycle to get about so it has not one, or two but THREE locks. One for the frame, one for the front wheel (one of those awful, quick-release things) and one for the saddle. When I stop to go shopping I strip everything from the bike that could be stolen. 

When cycling I am constantly aware of the traffic and practice what could romantically be called “defensive biking”, i.e. I anticipate drivers and pedestrians acting like idiots and plan accordingly. So far I’ve had no accidents but a fair few near misses.

A couple of months ago I read about the Cooper colour code and adopted it as a way to get by each day. 

Basically I’m someone who’s pretty careful. 

And then, 2 weeks ago, I got my phone snatched at about 2am in central Rome. 

I was walking around using my phone’s GPS to try and find the night bus stop when a guy approached me, grinning broadly and and said “Ciao!” like all he wanted to do was be my bestest pal. My instincts kicked in and I immediately put the phone in the inside pocket of my jacket. 

The bloke walked along next to me and asked casually “Why did you put the phone away?”

I replied “So no one can steal it”.

“They can”, he said and after a few more seconds, he lunged over, stuck his hand in the pocket, grabbed the phone and ran off. 

The reason he got away with this……

I was very, very drunk.

Luckily my wallet and money were in the other pocket so I got the bus home eventually and woke up that morning feeling very sorry for myself. Phone gone, contacts lost, messages too. Only good thing was that I had extremely good security on the phone which means that the thieving toad who took it can’t access the contents. Once the self pity wore off I realised just how lucky I had been. I didn’t get hurt and this wasn’t even a mugging, merely a street robbery with minimal physical contact. The state I was in that night, I would have been no good in fight and losing the phone was a minor inconvenience compared to what could have happened. Only Jackie Chan can fight when he's drunk and still win.

The one and only reason he was able to reach into my jacket and grab the phone was because I hadn’t done up the third button. Believing no one could get in there I’d settled for doing up the first two. I’ve tried quickly darting my hand in that pocket since this incident occurred and 4 times out of 5 I snag my fingers on the jacket lining. It’s not an easy thing to achieve which means my thief was either very skilled or very lucky. 

That button cost me my phone but more importantly my decision to get ratted and then wander around on my own at half past bastard in the morning had, like the proverb For Want Of A Nail, led to greater things going wrong. Had I not been that drunk I would have found the bus stop. Had I found the bus stop I wouldn’t have been wandering around with my phone out. Had I been sober I would have simply moved away quickly, or even run, when the bloke walked up. Had I been less drunk I would have done up that third button.

All the training in the world, all that time spent doing gradings and learning about avoidance, de-escalation and fighting techniques…was meaningless because I was so inebriated. 

I know an E5 Krav Maga instructor and told him this story. He said that this kind of thing is one reason he doesn’t drink alcohol at all. 

It only took the smallest of errors for all that misery to occur and what scared me the most was that my training, mindset and skills were negated completely. The third button was undone because I wasn’t aware it could have prevented this crime and above all it made me realise that.

No matter how hard you train.

How strong you are.

How determined you feel.

How good you might be.

None of that will matter if you are

attacked when you are drunk.

** Imagine throwing an aquaphobe in the Arctic ocean...and then seeing them swim back.

Defy Your Destiny

In July 2017 I checked my luggage in at Heathrow airport to take an Etihad Airways flight from the UK to Abu Dhabi. This was the first phase of a two-part journey back to Australia to complete the Krav Maga Global, Australia & New Zealand General Instructors Course (or KMG ANZ GIC 2017 for short).

Over the preceding week I had had many thoughts about my future and the very real possibility that I would fail the GIC. 

The course comes in three parts in most countries, two in some. KMG ANZ do it in two. Part 1 had been in the Gold Coast of Australia and was 12 days of learning under the tuition of Expert level 4 examiner Rune Lind**. The course, while enlightening, educational and mainly fun had also been bone jarringly exhausting and physically painful. 7 to 8 hours per day of training isn’t that hard to handle if you are even reasonably fit. But with the necessity to teach, make notes and stay mentally aware, it was VERY draining.

I thoroughly enjoyed it but on the last day, when Rune took us to one side individually to give us our personal feedback he said to me “If you carry on as you are, you won’t pass part 2. But do it anyway, because then 1 is locked down and you can retest 2 later on if you need to”.

I have covered the anxiety issues, and how it felt to fail, in my blogs Schroedinger’s Pussy and After A While… but recently I realised just why I really did it.

Just why I went back at all.

When part 1 was getting closer I was exercising as much as I could. I was backpacking in New Zealand at the time and, in order to get my mind on the right wavelength, I booked the return flight back from the UK to Oz for part 2 months before it was due to happen. Retrospectively this wasn’t necessary as you can do part 2 in any country where they are happy to accept you on the course, if you’ve completed part 1. However at the time I wanted to convince myself that I could see this through.

A tourist visa to Australia (or at least, the one I had) is valid for 9 months per year from the date of first entry. However, you must leave every 3 months in order to keep the visa active. So I had no choice but to quit Oz after part 1 had finished and I intended to spend it with my dad in Greece. 

When it came time to pack up my groin guard and fly to Melbourne for part 2, I had figured out how to “not go” and also get the money back. A lost passport would have been covered by my Platinum insurance and the non-refundable return flight as well. I decided only when I handed my luggage over at check-in desk to actually go back.

After another, more arduous, 12 days of training I failed the GIC as I had known I probably would.

Now…

All my life I have dreamed of being brave, being a warrior and defeating monsters. My earliest dreams, at the age of about 5, involved me as Lance cowboy, a hero of playschool*** who other kids held in awe and was loved by all. However, growing up my reality was very different. I had no ability to fight and while I wasn’t a coward (I’d stand still and take a beating to prove I wasn’t scared) I gave up trying to make a difference to my own limitations by about the age of 14. 

If something came unexpectedly, then I’d deal with it as best I could, but I would avoid situations that could cause me pain, loss, humiliation or other draining emotions, and keep my life on an even keel.

When I was 19 two bouncers in a pub I worked in, held me down and forcibly cut my hair. I did nothing and tried to laugh it off.

When I got a job after leaving uni, I quit due to bullying from my supervisor after making zero effort to fight back against her behaviour. 

My next job was populated by a bunch of wankers who were banal and bullying in equal measure. Again I did nothing.

A job I got in 2002 where my boss refused to pay me properly on my final day, I put up no resistance.

When I fell in love in 2004 and couldn’t deal with my emotions I ran away and hid for over 8 years, telling myself outrageous stories about how the woman must have felt about me.

When, in 2010, and a police officer, my sergeant bullied me gleefully until I resigned, I put up only token resistance and only made peace with the situation after publishing a book about it all.

Any key event in my life I wouldn’t see it through. I would stop and say that I’d stood my ground long enough and now it was time to move on.

And then GIC came. 

I had been training in Australia and New Zealand at a few clubs when I asked Adam White, the head of KMG ANZ if he’d let me take the course. I made it clear I couldn’t promise regular training but that I would still give it my all. Problem is, techniques need to be absorbed into muscle memory and by not training in clubs more than once every month or so, there was no way I was ready and deep down I knew that.

To fly back to Melbourne from London was going to take me about 30 hours. It was winter in Australia in July so I would not only be tired, I would be cold and uncomfortable too. The training would start early and end late. I would have homework to do. I would be facing a range of negative emotions and would hopefully be able to get over what I found out later is called The GIC Hump. This would be hard. It would be one of the hardest things I had ever done and to top it all off, I had little chance of success. I simply wasn’t ready. 

On day 12, the last day, I gave it as much as I could. I had passed both the theory and teaching exams on days 10 and 11 and while I knew I was bollocksing up the techniques that part 2 examiner Franklyn Hartkamp was asking us to demonstrate I still lived in the moment. After 5+ hours we all got our results and Franklyn made it clear that while I had got good passes on the first two exams he wanted me to wait a year before retesting, my techniques had been that lacking in polish. He also expressed surprise when I said I would be flying back to Europe in 2 days, asking “But you’re coming back?” and then saying that he’d never had this situation before, where someone had been in a country ONLY to take the exam and was leaving straight after.

Through all that pain, and eventual disappointment, I had spent a lot of money, time, sweat and pain on something that I now needed to do all over again if I still coveted the Instructors’ T-shirt.

But then….

I had come back. I’d sen this to the end. I’d not made a false insurance claim and told myself that I could do part 2 “another time”. I’d travelled a ridiculous amount of miles and gone through a world of pain. And that was the achievement. For possibly the first time in my adult life I had, with my eyes wide open, decided to not turn the ship around, tuck tail and run, or do a U-ey. I’d faced my fears of both failure and pain and both participated in and completed something that, even three years previously, I NEVER thought I would be able to do. I had fought with guys both better and worse than me, and had my 42 year phobia of fighting finally cured during the sparring on day 11 of GIC part 1.

I resigned my jobs, I didn’t protest when two thugs cut my hair for a laugh, I hadn’t been able to tell the woman I loved how I felt about her, but now, knowing that I was 80% likely to fail I had still gone back and done this. 

This was the achievement, not the G1 patch or the Instructors’ certificate and T-shirt. To know that I could trek across the world to pursue a dream. Something I’d always wanted, and not back down when the odds were against me. I’d faced my demons and I’d had a good time. A video of me fighting during the grading shows me getting my arse handed to me by a much bigger, better and stronger opponent (who at one point, kicks me in the HEAD from a standing position). The same video also shows that while I’m out of my league, I’m also not backing down. He was the personification of the GIC. I knew I couldn’t beat him, but I tried anyway and stood my ground.

This experience gave me back a lot of the self esteem I lost growing up. In 2010 I had a tattoo done on my left arm that said “Defy Your Destiny” and for once I tried to. 

I now know that even if I never retake the GIC I have the power to try whatever I want.

** Now Expert 5.

*** Kindergarten to Yanks.

Without You...

As Mick pulled into the carpark he was mildly amused to see that the sports hall still had the same graffiti on the wall as 15 years ago. The town had expanded since he’d been away but this was reassuringly still the same. Someone had long ago painted “Give Violence A Chance” in bright green across the wall next to the emergency exit at the back. 

He smiled and turned off the engine just as his phone rang. 'John Mob', the screen flashed, probably wanting to know where he was. 

“Hi mate”

“Good morning old timer, where are ya?”

Mick chuckled. “Out back, just pulled in.”

“Great, I’m at the front I’ll nip round”.

The line went dead and in less than a minute John appeared, a big grin on his face. Mick stepped out of the car.

“Mickey!” John said, throwing his arms wide and Mick stepped forward and they hugged, clapping each other on the back. John looked at the car. “Christ! Can’t you afford better than that?” he exclaimed, his face creasing in mock disgust.

Mick laughed. “See your sense of humour hasn’t improved since you were a student. Put on a bit of muscle since then too I notice. You were so skinny back in the day, you had to hold your arms out to your sides every time you walked over a drain”.

John laughed again. “So good to see you mate. It’s been way too long. When I heard you were coming back I was over the moon.”

Mick was touched and nodded in acknowledgment. “Yeah, it’s been a while. What grade are you now? G5?”

John spluttered in mock indignation, “Err…no, E2”.

Mick whistled softly. “Impressive. I’m seriously pleased for you John, you were just a scared kid when I met you. Now look at you. Grading with Eyal and married with a kid”.

John smiled and put his arm around Mick’s shoulders. “Come on, the seminar doesn’t kick off for half an hour but I want to introduce you to a few people”.

As they walked around the front Mick noticed that the reception had completely changed and the interior of the sports hall was a refit on the previous times. Gone were the faded court markings and tatty nets that had hung in his day. The whole thing had been renovated and looked much more impressive. A large green net was drawn across the large hall, splitting the room in two. Only the facade, it seemed, had been left untouched.

At the reception was a young woman and John said “Honey, this is Mick. Mick my wife Jennifer. And the thankfully asleep baby in the push chair is Robert”.

Jennifer stood up and smiled as she extended her hand. She was dressed in a Krav Maga T-shirt and black sweat pants, her long black hair tied back in a pony tail. “I am SO pleased to meet you Mick. I have spent years hearing stories about you from John. You are quite the hero at our place”.

Mick blushed slightly as he shook her hand. “Pleasure’s mine. Your baby looks gorgeous.” Robert was fast asleep, oblivious to the reunion.

Jennifer snorted and said “Pain in the bum like his dad but I love them both”.

John gently pulled the pushchair out and wheeled it past the reception desk to the main hall area. About 10 guys were sat on the benches and stood around talking. All were in Krav logoed T-shirts and a few had the barred grade patches sewn onto the right leg of their trousers and shorts.

“You managed to round a few up then?” Mick said grinning. “They all want to listen to what an old fart like me has to say about Krav?”

“Yeah, these guys said they’d come. Couldn’t get any more unfortunately. Short notice and all that. They know you were around when Eyal was with IKMF and before KMG was formed. They want to hear what you have to say about things then and how it’s moved on. I mean Krav is a global phenomenon now, you’ve seen it expand. It’s gonna be good to hear stories from someone who was there back in the very early days.”

As they approached the group John said loudly “OK guys. This is Mick my former instructor. You’ve all heard about him. He’s hear to tell you what the good old days were like. Be gentle as he’s a bit long in the tooth and can’t hear too well”.

The students laughed and Mick shook their hands one at a time. All seemed happy to see him and he could feel his nervousness slipping away. To be honest, he hadn’t expected more than about ten students to turn up to hear him talk so he wasn’t disappointed.

“And…better late than never…Mick I think you’ll remember this young lady”.

Mick turned to see a very attractive woman in her early twenties walk towards them and put her kit bag on the floor. Mick didn’t recognise her at all. She walked up and stood before him and smiled, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head to one side. “Now, Mick Tanner, don’t you DARE tell me you don’t remember me!”

The stance and the tone tipped him off and he spluttered “Chloe?!!” not quite believing that the scrawny 7 year old he’d taught Krav Maga to was now standing in front of him

Chloe laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “See John, told you he’d guess. That’s a tenner you owe me”. She stepped back and unzipped her fleece. “I even wore the T-shirt”. A faded JKW- Junior Krav Warriors T-shirt was underneath her jacket. Mick remembered that he’d had to give her an XL one as there hadn’t been any in her size left. At the time it had made her look like she was wearing a dress. 

Mick laughed. “My God, so someone still has one of those. I’m flattered you kept it. Might be worth something on Ebay in few years if you look after it”.

Chloe tutted theatrically. “I’ve been offered money for this, good money. Told them to get lost. Collector’s item”.

John stepped forward. “Mick we can kick off when you’re ready, I think everyone’s here who’s coming. Guys, two minutes just get near the front of the mats and we’ll come up for the first Kida and then take it from there.” 

John led Mick to where a desk and two chairs were standing, with a large pile of certificates stacked neatly on the desk. Mick chuckled “Think you over ordered on the certifs.”

John shot Jennifer a death glare who blushed slightly but looked away and continued feeding Robert, who’d now woken up, from a bottle. 

“Oh err…yeah, we ordered loads so we could use them for other seminars. Only the first 15-ish are for today.”

Mick nodded, taking off his jacket and placing it on the back of one of the chairs. He began stretching his arms and said “When you’re ready mate”.

They walked to to the front of the mats and stood facing the students who formed a neat line, hands by their sides, ready to bow. 

John began to formally introduce Mick. “OK guys, you all know who this is. Mick Tanner, my former instructor back in Junior Krav Warriors 15 years ago. He was a big influence in my life and he’s here to teach you lot today and also tell you some tales about the good old days.”

Mick stepped forward slightly “Thanks John. OK guys…” he was about to bow when John spoke again.

“Chloe, can you do us a favour and open the net all the way. Don’t think we need it today. It’ll give us chance to spread out.”

Chloe grinned and moved quickly to the green curtain taking one end and began walking across the hall. Mick stood patiently waiting and then stared in shock at what he could see. 

As Chloe pulled the net back, there were other people standing behind it, all waiting silently. As the room became one again, they began moving forward to take up a place in the existing line. Some were wearing JKW T-Shirts and all were grinning broadly. 

“What the…?” he exclaimed and John said quietly…”You didn’t really think only 10 people would want to hear the legendary Mick Tanner talk to them did you?

The men and women spilled out and took up places till there were two ranks of people. Mick quickly did a head count and there were over forty people. He still didn’t quite comprehend what was going on. One or two faces he recognised but he was at a loss as to who most of the students were. 

When the final person had taken their place, and Chloe was back in the, line John then barked “KIDA!” and everyone bowed. “Now all of you take a floor” and the group sat down.

He turned to Mick. “I thought, as you said on the phone, that I’d get maybe 10 or 15 guys if I was lucky but as soon as your students found out you were coming back my phone didn’t stop ringing and my inbox is full to bursting. Less said about Facebook messenger the better”.

There was a ripple of laughter from the sitting students. 

“With the exception of the people I introduced you to at the start these are all your ex students. Where’s Shane?” 

A hand went up.

“Tell Mick where you came from to be here today Shane”.

“Brussels”.

"Indeed, Brussels. We’re going to make sure you get your flight home tonight in case you decide to stay”.

More laughter.

Mick looked totally confused. He remembered Shane. Big, sweet natured lad who had been brought to the club because as his mother had put it, “he’s too nice to hit bullies back”. He had a G2 patch on his black sweat pants. 

John then clasped his hands and said “Right, one at a time. Please stand up and thank Mick for whatever you feel you’d like to thank him for”.

A hand went up and John nodded. A woman stood up. “Mick, I’m Louise Jordan. You gave me special training when I got the flu when I was 9 so I could get my J5 patch. Thank you”. 

She sat down again.

Mick had to think for a moment before he remembered Louise. God yes! She’d been heartbroken when she was poorly because she’d have to miss her grading. He’d trained a few times with her to make up the lessons she’d missed and she’d passed her test with the highest score of anyone there.

Another person stood up. “Mick, my name’s Declan Jones. I was getting the living shit beaten out of me at school and the teachers told me that I shouldn’t hit back. You taught me to stand up for myself and the bullying stopped. Thank you”.

Laughter again as Declan sat down once more. Mick remembered the bruises and the fear in the boy’s 10 year old eyes. He’d told him to hit back if he had to and that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

A third person. “Mick, I doubt you’ll recognise me as I was, to put it politely, a bit fatter back then, but I’m Gary Miller and you got me to stop being a slob and look after myself. I can’t thank you enough.”

Gary had indeed been a fat kid. He was tall and athletic looking now, a P5 patch on his shorts.

One at a time the students stood up and gave him their gratitude for what he’d given them when they were kids.

The last person to stand up was a woman of about 30 and she said “Mick, I found new confidence because of you and on behalf of all of us here we just want to say thank you for what you gave us all. Without you none of us would be the people we are.” She sat back down again and applause broke out. Mick looked at John who was clapping as well. He smiled and Mick began to well up, tears filling his eyes. 

“Oh dear! Now look what you’ve done. Come on everyone, give the old man a hug” John said. 

They all stood up and mobbed him, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Further words of thanks and gratitude being spoken.

Finally the group thinned again and everyone formed two staggered lines. Mick knuckled his tears away and smiled at John. “Thanks mate” he whispered.

John smiled back and winked. “No mate, thank you”. He turned to the students. “Alright you lot, are you ready? KIDA!”

Through You...

John walked into the gym, the receptionist smiled to him as he came up to the desk, a nod of acknowledgement and a slight trace of sadness in her smile. John didn’t say anything, just walked through the open turnstile. He was dressed as normal in workout clothes, trainers. His hair the usual regimented short trim that he had cut once a week. As he moved past the guys using the weights and running machines one of the other staff saw him. “Hi John” the man said brightly but John again didn’t respond. The man looked over at the receptionist confused and she slowly shook her head. The man shrugged and carried on with the induction he was leading. An old lady who wanted to know how the cycling machines worked and if they’d be good for her before she went up to the Lake District to stay with her son.

John walked past the main workout area and into a side corridor, the office he wanted was on the left. The door was open and he knocked lightly, hearing voices inside.

“Come in” a deep voice replied and he pushed the door to find Max the gym manager and another guy in there.

“John” Max said grinning. “Good to see you”. He turned to the other man. “So that’s basically what we need, if you can email me back with a template then we’ll take it from there.”

The other guy shook Max’s hand and nodded to John before walking out, closing the door softly behind him.

Max gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk. “Take a seat. It’s good to see you again.”

As John sat down, his bulky frame barely fitting in the chair, Max looked at his face. He was still the same from a superficial glance, clean shaven, hair kept trimmed with almost military precision but his eyes held a sadness that looked like it was taking him over. There were dark patches under his eyes and Max guessed John wasn’t sleeping. He sat down in his own chair.

“Can I get you a coffee, tea?” he asked, pointing to the kettle behind him. 

“No, I’m fine”. Johns’ voice was croaky, like he hadn’t spoken for a while. Max guessed he had been spending a lot of time on his own, too much isolation is a bad thing. It means you think too much.

“So what can I do for you? You coming back? The kids miss you, you know. Little Julie asks where you are every time. Nathan’s been doing a good job but we need him back on the pilates group. He’s not qualified for self defence. As a gap fill it’s OK but…”

John held up his hand and Max trailed off. “I think it’s best if I don’t come back…not ever”.

Max sighed. Worst case scenario, he’d thought this might happen. He leaned forward slightly “Look, no one blames you. For chrissakes, how on Earth could you ever think you were to blame for what happened?”

John’s face remained stoic but his eyes briefly flashed with anger and he exhaled slowly. 

“I tried to keep those kids safe.”

“Which you have done, and very well I might add.”

John glared at him and then replied “So safe that someone died?”

Max knew this would be like walking on eggshells, he’d expected this conversation to come but actually dealing with it was another matter.

“John, Tommy stood up for his friend at school. When he fell he hit his head. It’s literally that simple. Even the lad who hit him didn’t mean to hurt him that badly. He’s having counselling himself about this. This wasn't at the club it was at school. Tommy’s mum and dad don’t blame you. The police don’t blame you and I don’t blame you. Why do you blame yourself?”

John paused and Max could see the conflict behind his eyes, keeping his emotions in check. John cleared his throat then spoke again.

“I started the class so those kids could feel safe. So they would be able to stand up to bullies, not walk around scared like I did when I was their age. We do this for a year and we have gradings and then Tommy thinks he’s Superman and….”. He trailed off, looking away.

Max sat back in his seat. “You know Tommy idolised you?”

John’s face turned to look at Max and his calm demeanour slipped. “That was the fucking problem wasn’t it?! He idolised me, he worshipped me. John the big tough guy. Look how much good that did him. All I ever did was put him in a place where he thought he could be a superhero and now he’s dead”. John turned away again, his lips pursing and Max could see his fists were clenched. 

Max looked at him for a few moments and then asked “Is stopping this going to bring him back?”

“Don’t patronise me you arsehole!” John snapped back, the fury clear on his face.

Max sighed and then stood up, moving to the filing cabinet beneath the kettle and teacups. He opened the top drawer and slid out a large book. Turning he placed it on the desk facing John.

“Tommy’s mother gave me this” he said tapping the cover. “She asked me to show it to you when I told her you might not come back”.

John looked confused but then leaned forward to look. The cover had a newspaper cutting of him sellotaped to the front, the tape had come loose on one side. It was at his MMA fight for the McMillan Cancer Trust about 6 months ago, holding the winner’s trophy and smiling.

“What…..?!” he said nonplussed, then opened the first page. It crackled as he turned it over and was full of pictures of him, from newspapers and prints from online websites. As he turned the next page there were photos of him and Tommy from the club, at training and at the gradings. Two were were Tommy’s parents, smiling behind them as they posed for a photo at Tommy’s second junior exam. The boy looked happy and tired.

Turning another page there were drawings Tommy had done, of him and John as masked superheroes. He had been a good artist and the pictures were beautifully drawn in pencil and colours.

John closed the book and looked up at Max, his face seething with anger.

“What the fuck?!!…” He stood up, fists still clenched and said through gritted teeth. “I already feel like shit and now you want to rub my face in it. This just makes the whole thing worse. I knew that boy was obsessed but…”

Max cut him off and gestured for him to sit down. “John please…”

Tears were forming in John’s eyes and he slowly sat again, glaring at Max. Max paused for a long time, his elbows on the desk and his hands under his chin as he looked at John. Then he said slowly. “Tommy had virtually no friends. He lived for comic books and the self defence classes you ran. His dad told me that in the space of six months he went from being isolated and shy, afraid of his own shadow to confident and happy. Every night he’d come home and every conversation was about either Spiderman, The Justice League or you.”

John looked away towards through the half drawn shutters on the window, the people working out in the main gym were visible in the background. He said nothing. Max continued.

“He loved you and you were his hero. Do you know why his mother gave me this to show you? She told me that it wasn’t because of you that Tommy died but through you that he lived.”

John started to cry, the pain and grief finally spilling to the surface. His shoulders heaved and he put his hands over his face.

Max stood up and moved around the desk. He placed his hand on John’s arm and said gently “Think about it. I’ll respect your decision if you decide to give up the classes but no one, and especially not Tommy’s parents want you to stop”.

Max left the office, closing the door behind him quietly. He went outside for a walk, stopping at reception to say that absolutely no one was to enter his office until he got back. 

When he returned, John was gone and so was Tommy’s scrapbook. 

The following week John came back and the kids mobbed him as he came through the door, super pleased to see him again. A new photo of Tommy was on the wall and remained there. 

No one would ever forget him.