The Legacy (61 page)

Freedom took himself off to bed carrying his son high on his shoulders. Tired as he was, he wanted to bath the little fellow and spend some time with him because he had been away so long.

Freda and Evelyne washed up the dishes. By the time Evelyne went to bed Freedom was sleeping. In the crook of his arm lay Edward, who had crawled out of his cot and into the double bed. The child was fast asleep. With his thatch of dark hair and suntanned body he looked like a miniature of his father. Evelyne stood looking at them both, not wanting to disturb them, then slipped downstairs to lie on the settee. She felt her belly and knew that this time she would be there at the ringside, he would not be coming for another two months.

She slept fitfully, Freedom’s bruised face floating in her mind’s eye. She woke in the early dawn, cold, her body stiff. All around her lay the gifts, the child’s toys, and she picked up the tiny boxing gloves. She would hide these, Edward would never have them, never have his face bruised and cut like his father’s. Now they had the money she would be able to send him to a good school.

Evelyne smiled, hugging herself with pleasure. She could picture the house they would buy with the money, maybe even a pony for Edward. She would also take herself back to school - yes, she would pick up her studies. When she was qualified and the boys were grown, she could start teaching again. As the sun came up, Evelyne made notes on all the things she would do with the money, using one of the drawing books she had bought for Edward. She enjoyed writing and it had been a long time since she had written anything. She sighed as she looked at her handwriting. Perhaps with their new-found fortune she could persuade Freedom to learn too. Suddenly the thought of how much more they would take home when Freedom won the title made her gasp. She laughed out loud, then put her hand over her mouth, realizing how silly she must look.

She placed the notebook carefully in a dressing-table drawer, inching it open silently so as not to wake Freedom, then slipped into the warm bed beside him and their son. She sighed with happiness and found, to her amazement, that she could recall word for word Christina Rossetti’s The Dream.

She laid her hand on Freedom’s thigh. He turned towards her and, still asleep, pulled her to him. Cradled in his arms, with Edward asleep at Freedom’s side, Evelyne felt happier than she had in her whole life. The future was rosy, glowing, and financially secure at long last. She fell into a deep, contented sleep.

The fight was now only days away, and pre-fight fever made the villa a target for reporters. They photographed Freedom running along the beach, they tried to get to see him at the gym, and he was photographed with Dempsey. Ed finally had to ban the press completely so his fighter could concentrate on training.

Tension mounted in the house. Meals were worked around when Freedom was ready to eat, when he finished, when he slept. He kept himself apart from them all as much as possible, and had been sleeping in the spare room, as litde Edward woke often in the night, and Freedom had to rise at the crack of dawn to train.

There was not a mark left on his face from his previous bouts. The small scar under his left eye had healed and he was in peak condition. As the day drew closer and closer, they read in the papers about the arrival of Jack Sharkey.

Every day Freda read the papers avidly, as there were so many articles about Freedom. She cut each one out and put them into a scrapbook. She would then display her cuttings and handwritten notes at breakfast. Evelyne started one, too, and the women would discuss the layout of their books together.

On a recent trip into town for groceries, Evelyne had bought two books and had taken to reading each afternoon on the porch. She loved the gentle, romantic, beautifully structured stories of Jane Austen.

Edward and Freda were making sandcastles on the beach. Evelyne could hear Freda screeching, ‘Eddie! Eddie, that’s far enough in the water … Eddie!’ No matter how often Evelyne corrected her, she still called him Eddie. Evelyne sighed and tutted. Jane Austen would not have approved.

Far along the beach she could see Freedom running, no more than a small black dot. Ed drove the hired motorcar alongside, the exhaust leaving a trail of blue smoke in the warm air. Evelyne checked the time - she still had a few precious moments alone before the house would again revolve around Freedom. He ate early, a large steak, salad and fresh fruit, and drank a strange mixture that Freda spent ages mixing in her treasured blender. It consisted of raw eggs, milk, honey, and a vitamin powder Ed had been given by Dempsey. Freedom’s training schedule ruled their lives, and now that Evelyne knew what was at stake financially, she made every effort not to disturb his rigorous routine. Meal-time and exercise charts hung all over the kitchen. The lounge was now used for Freedom’s massage and as a place to discuss tactics, and the two of them spent hours closeted in there. In the afternoons Freedom went to Dempsey’s gymnasium to work out on the proper equipment, returning for his long run, his massage, dinner and bed. The fight was drawing closer and closer, but if Freedom was nervous he took pains not to show it in front of the women. Ed was sharp-tempered if they were a minute off schedule, but neither Freda nor Evelyne argued. The fight was all-important.

Ed had taken Evelyne aside for one of their private chats. Flushing with embarrassment, he forced himself to say what had to be said, ‘Now, love, I know he won’t tell you, so it’s up to me - yer not to ‘ave it away, not ‘til after the fight.’

Evelyne smothered her smile and stared, poker-faced, at Ed, ‘Have what away? I don’t follow you, Ed.’

‘Now, now, yer know what I mean! He’s in the spare room and, well, yer see, one night’s love-makin’, Evie, is equivalent to about a six-mile run - d’yer understand me now? Conserve ‘is energy.’

Evelyne repeated what Ed had said to Miss Freda. She patted her hair looking at her dumpy little husband, ‘Well, I wish he’d do a bit of training. I don’t know what’s come over him of late, I think it’s nerves, either that or he’s been taking your Freedom’s vitamins.’ Ed, unaware that they were whispering about him, paced up and down. Evelyne kept her face straight as she looked back at Freda. ‘I don’t think it’s vitamins, Freda. It’s that floating nightdress with all the swansdown he brought you from New York, makes you look the image of Fay Wray.’

Freda giggled as Ed gave them a grunt, and walked out. ‘Well darlink, if that’s true, he’s King Kong. Tonight I’ll put my flannel nightie on, that’ll finish him off”, always has before …’

The two women giggled and looked through all the film magazines Ed had bought. Evelyne had to put her hand over her mouth as she caught Freda looking at herself in the mirror. She had made up her mouth with a cupid’s bow and obviously thought she really did look like Fay Wray, or Clara Bow. She pursed her lips and batted her thickly mascara’d eyelashes. ‘Oh, I just don’t know what I am going to wear for the fight, have you thought about your outfit, Evie?’

Evelyne’s good humour evaporated. Her stomach turned over - just for a few moments she had forgotten about the fight. There were only three days to go … ‘Oh God, Freda, it’s not long now, not long.’

They both turned to the calendar where the dates were marked with crosses. Those few days slipped by fast.

On the day of the big fight Freedom left early with Ed. They all hugged him and wished him well. He kissed his son, and waved to them all as the car disappeared down the drive. The villa felt very quiet without him and Ed, and the day seemed to stretch endlessly ahead for Freda and Evelyne.

Jack Sharkey and Freedom faced each other at the weighing-in. Freedom had learnt fast - he out-stared Sharkey, glared for the press cameras and whispered that he was going to wipe the floor with Sharkey. He held up his fist for the photographers.

In the stiflingly hot dressing room, the thunder of the crowd could be heard. Ed bandaged Freedom’s fists, and Dempsey came in, raising his clenched fist to Freedom in salute. Sir Charles, Tex and Kearn also made an appearance, Sir Charles bringing a crowd of visiting English aristocracy who all wanted to meet Freedom. Finally, Ed ordered everybody out and banged the door shut.

The seconds were sweating with nerves as they checked their equipment - the buckets, sponges, gumshield, plasters and towels. ‘ .

Having finished bandaging Freedom’s right hand, Ed gestured for him to lift his left. When he was wrapping the cloth tightly between Freedom’s fingers, Freedom asked. ‘They in their seats yet, Ed? Is she here?’

Ed gave the nod to one of the seconds to check that the women were there, and he came back saying they were, and that the excited Edward was standing up in his seat waving a rattle. Having finished the bandaging, Ed started to massage Freedom’s shoulders. He could feel the tension and kept up a steady flow of chatter, easing the stiffness from the muscles. ‘Now remember the rules, Freedom. Make sure if
e goes down you get over to the neutral corner fast as your legs’ll carry yer. That’s the law, they won’t start the count until you’re in the neutral.’

Freedom cuffed Ed good-naturedly on the chin. Before every single bout Ed went on like this, as if Freedom didn’t know. Ed was keeping an eye on the clock - it was almost time. They waited for the referee to come in and inspect the bandages. At last he arrived and checked each hand meticulously, then patted Freedom’s shoulder. ‘I’ll go over it in the ring, but I like to have a private word before the bout, understand me? Okay, you break when I tell you, no low punches, no holding. And remember, if either man goes down, you must return to the neutral corner for the count. I will not count until the fighter is in the corner - understand? We got judges each side of the ring, their decision is based on the effectiveness of your punches, they want nice, clean, forceful punches … Okay, right, we go in ten minutes, and good luck.’

Ed began to tie on the gloves, still talking in his soft, non-stop way. ‘Remember yer get points for aggression, so go in there ter win. Sustain the rounds, don’t pussy-foot up there, get in an’ take ‘im. This is the big one and the most important to date, so I want you in there ter win, you wiv me? You wiv me? Yer goin’ ter knock ‘im out, and yer goin’ ter get that title, yes? Yes, yes?’

Freedom slapped Ed’s open palm and yelled back, ‘Yes yes yes!’

There was a knock on the door and they were told to stand by. Ed pulled the robe around Freedom’s shoulders and double-checked that the corner men had everything ready. After one last look, he winked and they went out through the door.

The stadium was packed to capacity and the thunder of the crowd’s noise drowned out Ed’s pep talk. At the opposite entrance stood Sharkey, hopping from one leg to the other, waiting for the signal to enter the ring. A fanfare started up and the audience rose to their feet as the band played the ‘Victory March’.

Edward was jumping up and down in his - seat, not really understanding what was going on but loving every minute of it. Evelyne’s heart was thudding, and she felt the baby kicking inside her. The heat in the stadium was overpowering and the noise like thunderclaps overhead. Freda held Evelyne’s hand tight, both their palms sticky from nerves.

The crowd roared as Freedom entered the ring, hemmed in by Ed and the seconds, with eight attendants to keep back the well-wishers’ outstretched hands.

‘Ladies and gentlemennnn … in the left-hand corner, the British Heavyweight Champion Freedom Stubbs, wearing the black shorts. Weighing in at two hundred and two pounds. In the right-hand corner, Jack Sharkey, from New York City, weighing in at one hundred and ninety pounds!’

Not a single one of the ringmaster’s words about Sharkey was heard, the crowd rose with a deafening cheer, flowers were thrown and feet thudded on the wooden stands.

The two boxers met in the centre of the ring, while the band played first the ‘Stars and Stripes’, then ‘God Save the King’. The referee was introduced, to whistles and cheers, and the boxers retired to their corners.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, there will be twenty rounds of two minutes each round.’

The judges took their bows and went to their seats, flowers and streamers were removed from the ring, and the gong was held up for display. Slowly the stadium grew quieter and quieter as they waited expectantly for the bout to begin.

Freedom glanced quickly over at Evelyne and smiled. She wanted to cry out, reach out to him and touch him. His hair, oiled to keep it off his face, was tied back in a leather thong, and his eyes, brows and cheeks were smeared with Vaseline. The gumshield was put into place and he sat poised and ready.

Sharkey delayed getting his gumshield in, talking to his trainer. The gong clanged loudly, and both men were up and moving to the centre of the ring. The seconds were out, taking the stools with them. Freda was shouting, ‘Come on Freedom, come on Freedom …’

The boxers were well-matched, and it was not until round four that the crowd began to settle down. The two men were in close, jabbing, punching, trying to find each other’s weaknesses. It was a good, clean fight when suddenly a punch that Evelyne didn’t even see made Freedom’s whole body buckle, and he fell to his knees. The crowd went wild. Ed waved his towel, screaming at the top of his voice, and climbed into the ring. There was almost a fight between Ed and the referee, two judges conferred and Freda was on her feet screaming along with everyone else in the front rows. ‘Foul…Foul…Foul…!’

Freedom was helped to his feet by the ref, who looked into his face and turned, holding off Sharkey with his right hand. He was not counting. Sharkey, panicking, thought he had been disqualified, and turned to his seconds, who now got into the ring. The chant of ‘foul’ was taken up by a vast group at the back of the stadium, and the sing-song of ‘low punch, low punch …’

The referee was holding Ed off, and Freedom backed, bent over slightly and shook his head. To everyone’s amazement, the referee held up his hand and gave a two-minute respite to Freedom, throughout which Sharkey fumed and raged like a madman. Ed had to be hauled out of the ring, still insisting it was a foul, but the ref gave the signal for the round to continue.