The Legacy (49 page)

She looked, not that she was particularly interested. It was Freedom, he had changed, and she couldn’t speak to him any more.

‘Yes, Sir Charles give it to me, bought it for me, he likes buyin’ things, yes he does, I reckon he got me cheap, though … Well ta-ra, Dewhurst’ll see to your needs.’

He gave a low bow and was gone.

That night, Freda agreed with Ed that Freedom had changed. She couldn’t talk to him, not in the old way, it was as if he was a stranger.

Poor Ed was at a loss, ‘It’s the way ‘e ‘as of making you not know what ‘e’s thinkin’, what ‘e’s feelin’ … ‘e told me they was married, did I tell you that? Yes, ‘e said Evie an’ ‘im was married, not a proper service like ours, some Romany thing they just did together -becomin’ a real ladies,’ man now, though!’

This was Freda’s moment to ask if Freedom was missing Evelyne, wanted to see her at all. ‘Does he still ask after Evie, Ed?’

Ed replied in a mutter that Sir Charles had forbidden it, in case a scandal about the trial got out. ‘ ‘E was on a murder charge. You think the prince an’ all those society people’d be sittin’ pawin’ at ‘im if they knew that? It’s best Evie’s name never crops up.’

Freda couldn’t bring herself to tell Ed about Evie’s letter, about the baby. If anything it would cause an even greater scandal.

Sir Charles was staying at the Savile Club, and Ed went to meet him there.

‘He’s not the same lad, guv, shows no interest, an’ ‘e’s not comin’ to the gym, I was wonderin’ if you could ‘ave a word wiv ‘im, seein’ as you’re takin’ ‘im out an’ about … Only, if we don’t get ‘im ter buckle down ‘e’ll lose the championship an’ we’ll both be left - if you’ll pardon the expression - we’ll both be left lookin’ like bleedin’ idiots.’

‘Ed, what do you take me for, I’ve not seen him in over a week! Good God, man, I’m the first to know that a fighter mustn’t, as you say, burn up his wick, tell him to come to the Pelican tonight, and you too, Ed.’

Freedom was late arriving at the club, which annoyed Sir Charles, who had checked his watch three times. There was a good snooker game going on in one of the annexes, and he saw Freedom strolling along, watching the players.

‘Here he is now, Ed, leave it to me.’

When he joined them Freedom asked the waiter for a beer, then leaned back in his chair, rocking it on its back legs.

‘Thinking of bringing in a sparring partner, just to work you up for the big day, what do you say?’

For a reply he got a shrug of the shoulders. Freedom seemed more interested in the snooker. Staring at him through his monocle, Sir Charles lit a cigar, puffed on it.

‘Ed here tells me you’re below par. That true, feeling off colour, are you?’

Again the annoying shrug of Freedom’s shoulders as he murmured that if Ed had said it then it must be true. Sir Charles had had enough, he leaned forward and snapped at Freedom in icy tones, ‘When you feel you can talk, please contact me. I’m afraid I have better things to do with my time than to sit here and be insulted. You may believe I own you, so be it, but I am not prepared to be treated like a pimp, pull yourself together, lad, or I will throw your contract back in your face, is that clear?’ He walked briskly away from the table without a backward glance.

Wanting to weep, Ed stared sorrowfully into his beer. How could Freedom do this to him after all the love and hard work Ed had put into him? ‘You just kicked me down, you know that, lad? I dunno why you done this to me, you could be the next British champion, I know it, but not this way. You’re breakin’ my ‘eart.’

Shoving Freedom’s hand away he stumbled from the table, leaving Freedom sitting alone in the pit.

Outside the club an old, bent man was sweeping the pavement, where the sawdust had travelled on the gents’ shoes into the road. The old chap didn’t seem to notice Freedom, and almost ran the brush over his shoes.

‘Aw, sorry about that, sir, here, allow me … you a fightin’ mun are ye?’

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he was about to bend down to dust Freedom’s shoes. He looked up for a moment. His bruiser’s face was wrinkled, and he had cauliflower ears, a broken nose.

‘Hammer, it’s you, isn’t it? Dai Thomas, Hammerhead?’

The old boy chuckled and wagged his head, spat on his fists and held them up.

‘Ay, lad, that’s me all right.’

With a toothless grin he looked into Freedom’s face with no sign of recognition. Freedom’s heart went out to him, he looked at all the traffic heading towards Piccadilly. ‘Where can a mun get a cup of tea this time of night?’ Hammer waved his brush to a small alley, and accepted Freedom’s offer to accompany him there. He also accepted the steaming bowl of soup Freedom placed before him. He sucked at the bread, making loud noises as he slurped the thick soup. He wiped the bowl with his crust until it glistened. He made no reply when Freedom asked how long he had been in London. But his face lit up when the ham and eggs followed, then he turned sly.

‘What are you after? Why you buying all this for me, eh?’

He raised the fork and tucked into the ham, not waiting for a reply. At least, not until he had filled his belly.

‘I’m Freedom Stubbs.’

Freedom stared at Hammer, did he remember? Know him? Hate him? He could clearly recall the man as he had been, arms up in the air, swaggering in his corner all those years ago in Cardiff. The cafe owner slapped his fat thigh and went behind the counter, delving underneath for newspapers. ‘By Christ, I thought I recognized yer. Will yer look at this, this is the man that knocked out Pat Murphy just the other month.’

‘Gawd almighty, I know you, this is him that knocked me teeth down me throat, remember me always talkin’ of the bout, this is the mun that did it.’ Hammer seemed flooded with renewed energy, he was up on his feet, prancing around on the sawdust floor. Freedom had expected the old man to go for him, but there was no animosity, more hero-worship. He thudded round to stand by Freedom’s side, his big fist came down on the shoulder of Freedom’s expensive overcoat and gripped it hard. ‘Now then, mun, you’ll have one hell of a bout with Micky, lemme tell you, I see ‘im box, oh, must be four, five years ago. He was just a kid, but ‘e’s got hands like spades, and they hurt.’

Some old boxers sitting in the cafe began to take notice, pulling their chairs closer to listen. Hammer basked in Freedom’s glory. ‘I went down so hard they never thought I’d be comin’ round, three-quarters of an hour I was out, out for more than the count, eh?’

By the time Freedom and Hammer walked back towards the Pelican Club, they had their arms about each other’s shoulders, the best of friends, buddies. Hammer collected his broom from the club’s doorway.

‘Handle yerself well, son, don’t want to see you on the other end of one of these, well, not yet, anyway. Could you see your way to getting me a ticket for the Albert Hall? I’d like to be there to see you thrash the Liverpudlian. Be a proud day for me to say I went down to the British champ …’

Freedom promised to send him a ticket, then he hesitated. ‘Don’t put yer money on me, Hammer.’

Hammer grabbed Freedom’s arm, and his bent body straightened. Through globs of spittle at the side of his mouth he swore at Freedom, almost pushed him off his feet.

‘That’s not fighter’s talk, what’s the matter with you, lad? I’d have given me life for an opportunity like you got, any mun would - I know I would. What’s up with ye?’

To Hammer, of all people, the man Freedom had sent sprawling, he opened up, near to tears. ‘They own me, mun, own me, an’ I’m through, there won’t be no fight.’

Hammer’s chin wobbled, and tears came into his already watery eyes. He looked at Freedom with disgust, thudded his fist into his own chest. ‘Nobody owns a fighter’s heart, mun, you throw the fight and you’ll not live with yourself. Take the fancy clothes away and you’re a gyppo. But win the title an’ you’re a champion.’ Hammer stepped aside as three gents came out of the club and slipped him a few coppers. He immediately started sweeping the sawdust-covered pavement again. Freedom walked away, he didn’t look back, he couldn’t.

Mrs Harris could hear Evie down in the kitchen. She pulled on her worn coat over her nightdress and went downstairs.

‘All right, are you, lovey? Fancy a cup of tea?’

Evelyne turned her face away, not wanting her friend to see she had been crying. They had not spoken of what had happened in Jermyn Street, there had been no need. Evelyne had been so quiet that Mrs Harris knew something had gone wrong.

‘There’s nothing to say, just… I saw him, and, well, he’s not the man I knew, and I know he wouldn’t want me, I know.’

Mrs Harris put the kettle on and stoked up the fire, questioned her no further. She sighed, it looked as though they would have their guest to stay for a long time. ‘Whatever ‘appens, ducks, this is your home now, yours and the baby’s, so put your mind at rest on that.’

Evelyne hugged the big, kind woman, and the strong arms held her tight.

‘There’s a good gel, you’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

In the cold light of dawn Freda woke to see Ed standing by the window. He was dressed, ready to go out, and she put out her hand, but he didn’t take it. She watched his depressed, squat figure walking down the street. The milk cart began its round, the horse clip-clopping out of the dairy halfway down the road. She made up her mind then and there that she would go and see Evelyne. Not just for the girl, but for herself and Ed too, if Evelyne could make Freedom see sense then she would see him, whether Ed liked it or not.

Sir Charles laid a neat ledger in front of Freedom, with all the expenses calculated to date. Every item bought for Freedom was carefully listed in Ed’s handwriting. Clothes in one column, food in another, lodgings, keep, train tickets - every item was accounted for. There were pages and pages of figures from Cardiff, the lawyer’s and the barrister’s bills from Smethurst’s firm, Evelyne’s hotel bills and receipts, even down to her satin dress and the rented jewellery. On the following pages were the wages paid to Ed and the two lads, their expenses and their keep. Freedom’s head began to spin as Sir Charles flicked the pages over. ‘Not done yet, take a look at these figures, this is jus,t for the tickets, the posters, the press.’

Page after page was turned over, and the final amount was written in the last column. More than five thousand pounds.

‘I’d say we’ve invested quite a large sum, wouldn’t you? And I think Ed told you, you will be allowed two hundred from the purse, if ‘you win the championship.’

Sir Charles flicked a small piece of thread from his trouser leg, held it aloft to inspect it.

‘If you lose, the contract we have will be null and void, it’s quite obvious why, and surely you must see why I have to have a contract in the first place. You win the British title and you’ll have God knows how many promoters after you. Next stop America, and the fights there take ten times more money than they do here. All I have done, old chap, is to protect my investment.’

He couldn’t determine what Freedom was thinking, but he assumed it was slowly sinking in. ‘If I have made you feel anything less than a friend, I apologize, it certainly was not my intention. I have believed in you right from the very beginning, from Devil’s Pit, you know I travelled up there to see you?’

Pacing the room, Freedom felt guilty, confused. He was all mixed inside.

‘Ed will be waiting at the gym, what do you want to do? I am perfectly willing to listen to anything within reason … I will be saddened if you want to walk away, but I can’t stop you. You will, of course, have to repay all the costs, and I don’t think it too unreasonable, not at this late stage.’

Freedom could hardly swallow, his tongue felt dry and seemed to be sticking in his throat.

‘It’s entirely your decision but we can’t wait, not too long. If you want to back out I shall have to find another contender, won’t be easy. Then again, fighters are two a penny, Freedom; sooner you learn that the better.’

Ed made both men jump as he slammed into the room, flushed with anger. ‘Fighters, maybe, but not champions. You’re a bloody fool, Freedom … sorry, sir, ter barge in like this, but I been up all night long, an’ I just can’t, can’t let ‘im walk away.’ He turned to Freedom. ‘If it’s Evie you want then we’ll find ‘er, if that’s what ail this is about. If it is ‘er, then bugger the press, I say, and I’m sorry, sir, but sod the prince an’ all. I put months of my time into this lad, an’ I won’t let ‘im throw it away.’

Sir Charles was on his feet, his manner controlled but more angry than Freedom had ever seen him. ‘One moment if you please, Ed, I am sure your theatrical entrance was meant well.’

His voice was chilling in its calmness as he glared at Freedom. ‘I want the truth, Stubbs, you swore on oath on that witness stand. Tell me, it was a pack of lies, wasn’t it? You killed that boy in the picture house, didn’t you? Didn’t you? Tell me!’

His control left him and he raised his stick, looking as though he would bring it down on Freedom’s head. Ed gaped, but Freedom moved fast, wrenching the stick away from Sir Charles. Ed thought he would break it in two, but he held it calmly, tapping it into the palm of his hand.

‘I did no killing, sir, an’ what I said on that stand was the truth. I dunno why I’m acting the way I am, I can only say I’m sorry … I love her, sir, I dunno why she went without sayin’ nothin’ to me, and it’s eating me up inside.’

Tight-lipped, Sir Charles picked up his gloves and told Ed to take Freedom to his woman, he would see to the press personally.

‘You’ll fight, then?’,

‘I just need to see her, that’s all, mun.’

Ed sighed with relief, grabbed Freedom’s coat. ‘Get yerself down ter the gym, I’ll get Freda to bring her to you, go on, get out.’

Freedom didn’t need to be told twice. He was out of the room like lightning. Ed hovered at the door.

‘Well, sir, do we go on or not?’

Sir Charles shrugged. ‘As you said, we’ve put a lot of time and money into him, why not?’

Ed ran after Freedom. Sir Charles could see them both from the apartment window, running along Jermyn Street, dodging the passers-by. The gypsy spring was back, all right.