“Is that good?” I asked. I was little confused by this new pugilist world that I’d been plunged into.

“Absolutely. Same stats as Foreman in his prime,” Kieran replied enthusiastically.

“Mmm. Foreman was the one who made the grills right?” Literally everyone looked at me and burst out laughing. Great. Halfway through a degree in applied mathematics, and I managed to sound like a complete moron.

“Yes, he’s the one with the grills, but he’s also one of the greatest fighters who ever lived. He was my height and two twenty was his weight in the prime of his career. It’s a good omen.”

I nodded shyly, not wanting to embarrass myself any further. Danny came barrelling through the door at a speed that belied his size.

“All right, you lot. I don’t know why you’re all patting yourselves on the back ‘cause he made weight. He still has to win the feckin’ fight yet.”

The guys chuckled, suitably chastised. But in all honesty, they were like kids on Christmas Eve, full of excitement and energy but no patience.

“Right, then. You all know what time it is, so make yourselves presentable and let’s get going. That includes you, sunshine. Mac round up the other boys. Cleaning time is over. Ten minutes and I’m locking this place up.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Church,” Tommy enlightened me.

I figured that this was a metaphor for something else and having embarrassed myself already tonight, I decided to keep my mouth shut.

“Go and get your coat and bag, love. I’ll walk you home after,” O’Connell told me gently. He hadn’t called me that many times before, and if it was possible, my heart just sighed. I turned off my computer, grabbed my stuff, and met them outside. Danny turned off the lights and locked the doors behind me. Our rag tag group of misfits ambled down the road to who-knew-where, with me safely tucked into O’Connell’s side. Fifteen minutes later, we were walking up the steps to St Paul’s Catholic Church.

“Shit. You really did mean church. I haven’t been to church since I was little,” I squeaked.

“No feckin’ swearing in church,” Danny barked at me, throwing his cigarette away.

I figured that this must be a serious religious occasion because it had only been half smoked. The church was empty as we all went inside, and the guys all sat down on the last two rows at the back of the church. Not knowing what to do, I sat down with them. The sound of a door closing echoed across the cavernous ceiling, and I looked around to see a priest, not much younger than Danny, walking purposefully toward us.

“Hello, Danny,” he greeted, shaking Danny’s hand vigorously.

“Not much longer now till the big day. Is he ready?”

“Of course, he is, Father,” Danny replied.

“Good,” the priest said, “because I’ve got a fiver on him with Father Mulvey over at St Joe’s, so he’ll be in my prayers tomorrow.”

I was slightly scandalised that a priest was betting and, worse still, condoning fighting so that he could capitalise on it, but O’Connell only smiled as he listened to Danny and the priest talk.

“Right then, boys. Who’s going first?”

Tommy stood and shook the priest’s hand.

“Ah, Tommy. You’re usually the longest. You’re better off going first.”

They walked off together into a room with a thick, mahogany door, built into the panelling of the wall.

“Where are they going?” I whispered to O’Connell, whilst keeping an eye on Danny for fear of another telling off.

“Confession,” he replied.

“Why?”

“Danny figures that to win in the ring you need to go in with a clear heart and a clear head. We tell Father Patrick what’s on our mind and all the things we’re sorry for and he gives us absolution. Then we spend all our time after the fight committing more sin ready for the fight,” he explained.

“But it’s only you fighting. Why is everyone else here?”

“Doesn’t matter who’s fighting, even if it’s one of the kids. When one of us goes into the ring, everyone from Danny’s is with them.”

Whether they realised it or not, they were Danny’s family and he was theirs. One by one, the guys went in to see Father Patrick. By the time the last of the kids was done, I was more than ready to leave. Don’t get me wrong, the church itself was beautiful, but I felt out of place here. I was an intruder eavesdropping on a ritual that I had no part of. This was a part of Danny’s relationship with the guys, and I didn’t understand why he’d brought me.

“Emily, are you ready?” Father Patrick’s accent was broader than Danny’s, and I wondered if they were from the same part of Ireland.

“I’m sorry, Father, ready for what?” I asked confused.

“Confession, my dear,” he replied with a smile. I felt the first fluttering of panic, as I was cornered.

“But...but I’m not a practicing Catholic,” I stuttered.

“Never mind, dear, nobody is perfect.”

He stood patiently as he waited for me to follow him. I turned to O’Connell who squeezed my hand, clearly expecting me to go through with this. Sensing that I had no other option, I stood and walked with the priest to the side of the church. Behind the door was a small anti-room with two chairs facing one another.

“Have a seat,” he invited, as he sat down.

“Now, don’t worry, I won’t be asking you for a confession. But I did think that it would be nice for us to have a chat. Now tell me how you ended up tagging along with that lot.”

I explained how Danny had given me the job, and he nodded thoughtfully.

“Do you have any family yourself, Emily?” he asked when I’d finished. Technically, I still did, but I’d never think of them as family again. It felt wrong lying to a priest, though, and my cheeks reddened as I became flustered.

“No one who means anything to me anymore,” I answered at last. He nodded as though he understood.

“Well, now. It seems that God has given you a new family, doesn’t it. It must be a difficult adjustment, though, to go from being on your own to having a large new family, and an Irish one at that.”

This wasn’t really a question, but he looked at me as though he expected an answer.