The Legacy (64 page)

Evelyne sewed, making most of the boys’ clothes, cutting down Freedom’s trousers, knitting, her watchful eye on the purse strings, and she wasted nothing. Twice a week she would go to two bakeries to do their accounts, for which she was paid one pound fifteen shillings. She never used this money, but put it in her post office savings account. Freedom had never so much as seen her treasured, small, folded book, he didn’t even know of its existence. She was obsessive about it, forever totalling the figures. She had saved more than one hundred and twenty-five pounds over the years, which was a lot of money, but she wouldn’t touch it. She would use it for her sons’ education when the time came, although she kept a small float and had become the ‘widow’ in her street. She lent out a shilling here, half-a-crown there, and would make neat notes on exactly how long her customers took to repay the small loans, with interest. She had begun with five pounds, and after four years she still had her original stake, all the money she had earned having gone straight into the post office. -

Of course, Evelyne was lucky to have Freedom. If anyone was late in paying it took only one visit from him for the money to be handed over. Freedom hated it and would do anything to get out of having to pay these visits, but Evelyne would fold her arms and ask him if he thought they were a charity, they needed the money as much as anyone else did, and as he was the man of the house he had to pull his weight. He would look at her as she stood there, tall as ever and neat as a new pin, her hair coiled in a tight bun, and shrug his shoulders. He often wondered who really was the man of the house, she was a right devil with her temper.

The whole street respected Mrs Stubbs. Nothing defeated her, nothing got on top of her, and everyone had to admit she kept her house spotless and her two boys immaculate. She was not a great mixer, although she would have the odd schooner of sweet sherry at the pub, but she never stayed long and didn’t like to gossip. They all knew she had some stories to tell, about her time in America, about her husband when he was boxing champion, but she rarely if ever spoke of these times. Freda, on the other hand, regaled everyone with stories of when they had travelled on the boat across the Atlantic, and of Miami. Freda was very popular and would feed back all the gossip to Evelyne whenever she called round for a cup of tea. She soon learned that Evelyne didn’t want to discuss the past or even remember.

Freda always recognized the signs in Evelyne. Her face would tighten up, her mouth clamp shut whenever Freda tried to talk of the past, of the days in America. Freedom’s agonizing headaches were a strong enough reminder. Evelyne would make a vinegar and brown paper compress to put on his brow, and he would lie in a darkened room for hours. Freda eventually gave up mentioning America, she kept her stories for the snug bar at the local pub.

Freda had seen change slowly creep up on Evelyne. She was still handsome, but her face had thinned, the prominent cheekbones making her look gaunt, though not haggard. They ate too well for that. It was just a strange hardening. She was obsessively clean and neat, her kitchen spotless. Her small row of leather-bound books was dusted and treasured. Hers was still the only house in the street with carpet, still the only house with good furniture and a bed that had been brand-new when they first arrived. Evelyne Stubbs was certainly very houseproud.

No matter how Evelyne had tried to make everyone use Edward’s full name, he was always known as Eddie. He had a thick cockney accent and was a handful for anyone, always up to something, and she had discovered that smacking him had no effect at all. The only way she could control him was by showing more affection towards Alex, his younger brother. That always brought him to attention. Eddie adored his little brother, so long as he remained just that. Any sign that Alex was considered more special would result in moody tantrums. Alex, on the other hand, was easy-going, always cheerful, and did whatever his brother told him to do. Seeing them go off to school, hand-in-hand, wearing their matching grey sweaters and shorts, made Evelyne feel that all the hard work was worthwhile. They were different from the rest of their school-fellows.

Their tea was ready on the table, and Evelyne stood on the front step, waiting for them. They were more than half an hour late so she wrapped her shawl around her and went down the road to search for them. As she turned the corner near the patch’ of waste ground, she saw a tight group of boys cheering and shouting. Eddie, his fists flying, was on top of another boy, holding him by the hair and banging his head on the ground. Evelyne rolled up her sleeves and dragged him off”, boxed his ears and picked the howling child up from the ground. The other children ran like hell, leaving Eddie and Alex with their mother, and the weeping boy still in Evelyne’s tight grip.

‘What’s all this about then? Come on, I want to know … Fighting in the street like common nothings -what’s it all about?’

Alex shuffled and looked away, and the little boy with the bloody nose wriggled out of Evelyne’s grasp and ran off. Eddie yelled after him, his fist in the air, and turned defiantly to his mother. ‘The little bastard hit me and me.’ He pointed first to his brother and then to himself, referring to Alex as ‘me’, as if they were one.

‘Why did he hit you? Come on then, why?’

Eddie picked up his school books and glared at his brother to keep quiet, but Evelyne was adamant.

‘I want to know what it was about. I’ll be down at the school first thing tomorrow morning if you don’t speak up.’

Alex burst into tears, and stuttered out that Johnny Rigg had called them ‘gyppos’.

Mrs Rigg couldn’t believe her eyes when she opened her front door. There was Mrs Stubbs, arms folded, and with such a furious look on her face that Mrs Rigg was scared stiff.

‘I want a word with you and your son, and I want it now.’

Eddie and Alex flushed with embarrassment as Mrs Rigg made her son apologize to the Stubbs family. When the door shut behind them she belted the boy, which caused her husband, who was just arriving home, to ask what the hell was going on. Poor Johnny got another thrashing from his father, as the last thing any of them wanted was that bloody gyppo coming round. The Stubbs boys’ father was a champion boxer, and the family lived in fear of repercussions for weeks afterwards. But Freedom’s reaction was a roar of laughter, and he pointed his fork at Alex and told him that after tea he would take him out in the yard and teach him a few punches.

Evelyne banged on the table. ‘There will be no more fighting!’

Behind her back, Freedom winked at his sons, knowing she would soon be going off to do her accounting at the bakeries. So that night, in the small yard with the rabbits and the two hens, Freedom made Alex put up his fists. Eddie sat on the wall and watched, then it was his turn. They often had these secret lessons, Freedom sparring with his boys, jabbing short punches at their heads. His light taps hurt like hell, but Eddie loved it, and was showing signs of becoming a fighter like his Dad.

They were all sweating when they went back in, and Freedom saw the fire had gone out so he ordered Eddie to bring in the coal to stoke it up. ‘She’ll be after me, lads, if she knows what we been doin’, so let’s keep it our secret. When she’s out at her work, we’ll have our boxing nights.’

The boys were sleeping when Evelyne came home to find Freedom sitting by the blazing fire, staring into space.

‘You stoked up the fire, I see. Do you think we have money to burn?’

He sighed and looked at her, held out his hand for her to sit on his knee, but she was too busy checking a pile of socks and stockings, putting aside the ones that needed darning. ‘I’ll go up to the school in the morning. I want a word with the teacher anyway - are you coming to bed?

He shook his head, and again stared vacantly into the fire.

‘Your head all right, is it?’

He got up and slammed out of the kitchen, shouting that his head was just fine. He loved his boys, of course he did, but she seemed to think of nobody else but” them. It was as if he was a lodger in his own house. Her penny-pinching and her constant scrubbing and cleaning got on his nerves.

He walked along the canal towpath and sat on an old crate, tossing pebbles into the murky water. The alley cats screeched, and in the distance he could hear voices laughing, floating out of the pubs. They didn’t seem to laugh all that much nowadays, it was all work, but he supposed he should thank God that he was still getting it. His strength usually made him one of the first to be called. Even with his bad leg he could do the work of two men, and the management at the docks knew it.

Evelyne was tired, her eyes aching from the darning. She rubbed them, looked at the clock on the mantle. Freedom had still not returned. She stood up to prod the fire with the poker and became aware of Alex. He was hovering by the kitchen door, his teeth chattering with the cold. ‘Mum, I can’t sleep, Dad not come back yet?’

Evelyne shook her head, then gestured for Alex to come into the kitchen. She smiled at his hair, which was ruffled and standing on end. ‘You look as though you could do with the basin round your head - I’ll have a go at it tomorrow. It’s all right, you can sit with me a while. Let me rub those feet, they look blue.’

‘Where’s me Dad gone? I heard him go out.’

‘Not me lovey, my … he’ll have gone walking - now don’t you worry about him. Do you want a biscuit? Well, shush, you know what that brother of yours is like, he can hear the biscuit tin opening a mile away.’

Alex sat beside her and nibbled one of her home-made biscuits. She stared into the fire, gently stroking his thick, blond curls. She was almost surprised when he spoke, she was so immersed in her own thoughts. His voice was soft, ‘Will you read to me, Ma? Not my school work, one of your books.’

‘My books, are they? Now, you know everything here is ours, just that you’re not quite old enough yet and they’re well … they’re special. That is real leather they’re bound in, did you know that?’

She watched him as he solemnly chose one from the row of books and brought it back to her. She laughed softly, ‘Well, well, it’s my favourite writer you’ve picked out. Her name was Christina Georgina Rossetti, now there’s a name for you.’

Alex opened the book, traced the inscription with his finger. ‘ “To Evie, from Doris …” Who’s that, Mum? Is she related to us?’

‘No, lovey, she’s no relation, but she was a very special friend to me. A long, long time ago now.’ She told Alex about Doris, about the valley, and he listened without saying a word. His mother looked so beautiful, caught in the firelight, he was almost afraid to move.

‘Oh, Alex, she opened up a world to me, a world that was out of my reach. And, for a while, just a short while, I almost…’

Alex hung on her every word. She looked down at his upturned face and cupped his chin in her big, worn hands. ‘You know, sweetheart, there’s a world open to you if you want it. It’s all there, but you have to work hard, because you’ll only be able to find it if you get qualifications.’

‘Eddie’s clever, Ma. He’s always top.’

‘So you’re clever too, it takes all sorts. You’re not Edward, you’re Alex, and you’re top in some subjects, too.’

He smiled and nodded, then laughed softly. ‘Tell you one thing he’s not, Ma - tidy! Never puts a thing back in its place.’

‘Well, he’s like his father. The pair of them think I’m just here to pick up after them. Now, my lad, you should be in bed.’

Alex hugged her, whispering in her ear, ‘Can I come and sit with you another night, just you and me?’

Kissing him, she whispered back, as if they were playing a game, ‘I’d like that, and maybe, no promises, I’ll read my books to you. Would you like that?’

Beaming, Alex went off to bed like a lamb. Evelyne yawned and stretched her arms. The book fell to the floor, and she picked it up, looked again at the flyleaf.

Lovingly, she replaced it and drew her hand along the row of books, taking down a thick volume of Ibsen. It opened naturally in the middle, and there between the pages were sheets of her own handwriting. Leaves from a child’s drawing book. The colouring book she had bought for Edward in America. Slowly, she read her own work, placing each page on the fire as she finished it, letting the flames eat her memories. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she sighed. What would Doris think if she saw her now?

Freedom sighed, pulled his coat collar up, and wondered how he had come to this. He felt tied, bound to that spotless house. He had almost forgotten his old life -not the boxing times, but before that - the caravans, the wagons. He decided it was time to show his sons where their roots were, and the more he thought about it the happier he felt. Come Saturday he would take them on a trip, no matter what Evelyne said, they could spare a few shillings. He walked on along the towpath and decided he w6uld take them on a trip to Brighton, to the sea.

The schoolteacher, Miss Thomas, was relieved to see Mrs Stubbs. She had been hoping for a word with her but didn’t like the thought of going down their street. The Stubbs family liyed in one of the toughest districts, and she was not sure how they would react to her paying a house call.

They sat in the headmaster’s office and Miss Thomas poured tea. She couldn’t help but notice how clean and well turned out Mrs Stubbs looked. At one time she must have been a beauty. ‘I’m glad you came in, Mrs Stubbs, I’ve been wanting to talk to you.’ She paused briefly, then went on, ‘Edward is far in advance of the other children in his class, Mrs Stubbs. I would like to put him into the class above. It will mean he’s with boys two years older and he may find it difficult to adapt so I wanted to talk to you first.’

The pleasure in Mrs Stubbs’ face when she smiled softened her whole appearance. Miss Thomas warmed to her, and continued, ‘I think Edward is clever enough to win a scholarship to a good grammar school. I have a couple of schools in mind, but there could be a slight financial problem. The best schools require the uniform to be bought by the student’s family, and it would mean Edward would have to take the bus every day.’

Interrupting her, Evelyne assured her very firmly that there would be no financial problems. Her son’s education was of the highest importance and if he gained a scholarship he would have his uniform.