The Legacy (1987)

by Plante, Lynda La

  From then on, Alex often came to her bed after Edward was asleep. Evelyne found herself waiting for him, and over the weeks she read through her small library until he slept in her arms.

  Months had passed with no word from Freedom. Freda seemed more concerned about it than the Stubbs family, she was worried that something had happened to him. ‘He’s with that Jesse, Freda, so the least said the better. How’s Ed doing? All right, is he?’

  Freda nodded. Now that he was working for Evelyne it made the world of difference to Ed, bringing in that bit extra every week.

  ‘Darlink, we owe you so much. Poor Ed was getting so upset about the money troubles. It is easier now, thanks to you.’

  Evelyne shrugged it off, and said she never wanted to hear a word about it. ‘We’re a family, Freda, and we should help each other out, that’s all that has to be said . . . now, how are your legs?’

  Freedom still had not returned when the street began to prepare for the coronation of Edward, hanging memorabilia in their windows for the big occasion.

  On 1 December 1936, the Crystal Palace burnt down. It was the most spectacular conflagration ever seen in London in peacetime. The flames lit the sky, and many gloomy speculations buzzed round the streets and in the newspapers that the fire was a disaster, a portent that boded ill for the monarchy. The new king, Edward, was not long in proving them right. Sitting around the radio, Evelyne, the boys, Freda and Ed listened to the abdication speech at one fifty-two on the afternoon of 10 December. Edward VIII, forced to choose between the woman he loved and his country, opted for his lady.

  That night Ed sat in the local pub with Freda and Evelyne. It was a hive of gossip. He downed his pint, shook his head. ‘Hard to believe, ain’t it, I mean, fancy givin’ up the throne fer a woman what’s been married twice, I mean, it’s not on, is it? She don’t even ’ave no ’igh society connections, beats me.’

  Someone shouted across the bar, asking if Freda knew the American woman.

  ‘When I was in Florida I passed this close, within inches, and I didn’t think much of her looks. Small, piggy eyes, and a very large nose, and so thin! Oh, she is so thin!’

  Evelyne couldn’t help but smile, and the more port and lemons that came Freda’s way, the more intimate details of the royal couple she remembered. ‘Mind you, what worries me, darlinks, and I am sure it will worry everyone – his brother, George . . . Well, he’s always been in his shadow, always the quieter one. I hear he has a stammer, too. Well, darlinks, a younger brother always suffers if he has such a charming and handsome elder brother, it is always the way.’

  Royalty forgotten, Evelyne went home. She wasn’t thinking of King Edward but of her own Edward, and Alex. She considered what Freda had said. In a way Alex did suffer from Edward’s dominance – he was quiet, easily led.

  Alex was still pining for Freedom. Every afternoon he would sit on the front doorstep, looking up and down the road, and his little face would be crestfallen when eventually he came indoors to do his homework. She continued to allow him into her bed, enjoying the closeness and looking forward to reading to him. For the first time in years, she had begun to take odd spare moments to read for herself.

  One night she read Alex one of her own stories, and his astonishment when she told him that she had written it herself filled her with pleasure.

  Evelyne had begun to feel angry with Freedom, angry at the way he had disappeared without even a letter. Then she would sigh to herself – she knew Freedom’s writing ability was confined to little more than his own name.

  Coming home from the bakeries one day, she opened the door and knew he was home, without even seeing him. She rushed into the kitchen, and had to put her hand over her mouth to stop herself screaming. She thought he was an intruder and it wasn’t until he turned to face her that she knew it was Freedom. His hair had been cut short, shaved round his ears, and he was thin, almost gaunt. ‘Dear God, man, what happened?’

  The two boys were sitting watching their parents, wide-eyed, and Evelyne told them to go up to their room. She closed the door behind them, then opened it again to give Edward his marching orders, as he was listening at the door.

  ‘They tell me the rabbit’s gone. I’ll get ’em another.’

  Evelyne was trying to control her anger. ‘Bugger the rabbit, where have you been all these months?’

  The haircut told her all, of course, but she wanted him to say it, and she stood with arms folded, looking at him as if he were a child.

  Freedom had served six months in Durham gaol for handling stolen property. Evelyne threw up her hands in despair. How could he do something like that, how could he be so stupid? ‘Jesse got you into this, didn’t he? You might as well tell me, did he get you involved in this?’

  Freedom gazed into the fire and shrugged. He wore that masklike expression, and he didn’t even have to tell her, she knew.

  ‘Jesse go to prison with you, did he? Don’t even tell me, I can see by the look of you. He left you to take the rap just like he did all those years ago! My God, Freedom, sometimes you behave like a child. Had you no thought for us, for the boys? What do you think they’ll say at their school if they find out about this?’

  Freedom wanted her to hold him, give him comfort, he felt so ashamed, but he could do nothing because she was so strong, so far out of his reach. He felt helpless, and he sat with his head in his hands. She put her arms around him as if he were just as she’d said, a child. She told him everything would be all right, at least he was home for Christmas.

  ‘We’ll make it the best Christmas since that time you came back with your Championship belt – remember all those years ago, Freedom, the way you came home with a cartful of furniture? Well, it’ll be just like that again.’

  He held her and kissed her neck, and the smell of soap and her clean, scrubbed hands moved him so that he couldn’t speak. They went up the stairs together, arm in arm, to their bedroom, to the big bed they had bought all those years ago.

  Edward sat up in bed, listening, wondering what Freedom was doing to his Ma, she moaned so. He wanted to hit his father. It was better when he was away. Edward put his head under the covers to block out the sound of his mother’s moaning.

  Alex slept like an angel, a wooden carving Freedom had made for him clasped in his hand. He was happy now, his Dad was back.

  Christmas fever was all around, and in number twelve they looked forward to it with as much happiness as the two Meadows’ households. They were all out of debt because of Evelyne, and they were closer and more like a family than ever before.

  Evelyne had told them all that they were never to let on to Freedom about how she had covered their rent, or that they were working for her. It was bad enough for him to lose his job at the docks and serve a prison sentence, let alone to have his manhood taken away from him in his own home. But Evelyne underestimated Freedom’s intelligence. He knew she was the provider and at first he was distraught, then deeply ashamed. He could still get no legitimate work, but he bought and sold odd pieces of furniture, among them the cradle he had bought all those Christmases ago. Evelyne wasn’t sad to see it go, she was glad of the space. She prepared the food for Christmas Day and went shopping in the markets with Freedom to choose the boys’ presents.

  On Christmas Eve Freedom was very cheerful. He had a fistful of pound notes, and told Evelyne that he had done well on a couple of pieces of furniture. He was going out to buy Evelyne’s gift and a surprise for the boys. Evelyne was thrilled that he had accomplished something, but when she went to her wardrobe she saw that her hatbox had been disturbed. Something was missing. She searched the chest of drawers, but she knew what Freedom had done. He had taken her pearl and gold necklace – that was where his new-found wealth had come from. She sat on the bed, wondering what to do, and decided to say nothing, at least until Christmas was over.

  When the boys were asleep, she filled their stockings with oranges, apples, sweets – and a volume of Dickens and a book of poetry for A
lex. Freedom had bought some cheap, bright toys from the market and she slipped them in as well. Hearing him come into the house, she crept down to the kitchen. He was grinning from ear to ear, and gestured for her to come into the yard to see the present he’d got for the boys.

  Tethered to the gate was a bull terrier, white, snipe-nosed with pink eyes. At first she thought it was a pig, but on closer inspection she was so angry that she swore. ‘Just take that bugger back where you got it from. I’ll not have it in the house. Is it not enough with four mouths to feed, and you go and get another? Go on, take it back where you found it.’

  Freedom’s fists curled and he felt like hitting her. He’d chosen the dog so carefully, he’d even given him a name. Standing his ground, he said the dog would stay – he couldn’t even take it back if he wanted to, the kennels were closed for Christmas. She knew she’d been hard on him, but the last thing she wanted was a dog. He would go back after Christmas she said, and walked into the house.

  Edward was up at the crack of dawn, delving into his stocking, and when he had eaten everything he started on Alex’s presents. Evelyne woke to hear them fighting and yelled for quiet. Freedom had not slept with her, he was in the kitchen. From the back window she saw Alex run into his father’s arms and kiss him, and the joy on the boy’s face as he saw the dog made her regret what she had said the night before. By the time she was dressed and in the kitchen, Rex was sitting eating sausages by the blazing fire.

  ‘Ma, he’s mine, Dad give him to me! He’s mine an’ we’re calling ’im Rex – ain’t he just lovely, will you look at his face, and watch, Ma, he’s as clever as anything . . . Sit!’

  Rex promptly sat, and he even held out his paw on command. Freedom looked at Evelyne over the ecstatic Alex’s head, and said that he thought a moneylender ought to have some protection, especially if there was cash in the house.

  Christmas went by without any further arguments, and Rex became part of the household. He guarded the front door with a vengeance, and no one could get in or out unless he allowed them to. Alex adored Rex and made it his job to feed him. The dog slept curled upon the end of his bed. But Edward was not interested, he was more studious than ever and, as he was taking exams, the house revolved around his hours of study.

  Edward came to his mother’s side and slipped a note into her hand. The school prize giving and sports day was coming up, and Edward whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t let him come, Ma, please, I don’t want him there.’

  Evelyne slapped him, and told him he was not to talk about his father like that.

  ‘He’s done time, Ma, I know it, everyone in the street knows it, and he’s always in the pub. You earn our keep, not him, he’s no use to us.’

  Edward got another box on his ear, and was sent out. He hadn’t noticed his father standing at the kitchen door.

  ‘His report all right then, is it?’

  It was more than all right, he was top of his class in every subject, and the headmaster had requested a meeting with Edward’s parents on the prize giving day. They were invited for tea in the headmaster’s study.

  ‘I’ll not go with you, I’ve business to do.’

  Evelyne put down the report and took his hand, held him close. She said that he was their father, and by God they were going to be proud of him, he was going at her side no matter what. ‘Besides, your hair’s grown now, you look like everyone else, so you’re coming.’

  The headmaster rose to his feet as Evelyne and Freedom entered his study, and gestured for them to sit down in the two chairs opposite his desk. He could see where the Stubbs boys got their size from, and he remarked that they were fine, big lads.

  ‘My husband was Heavyweight Boxing Champion of Great Britain. I don’t suppose the boys told you?’

  He was surprised that they had never mentioned it. He shook Freedom’s hand and asked him if he would be good enough to give the sports prizes in assembly. Freedom was tickled pink, and he gave such a dazzling smile to Evelyne that she gave his hand a quick pat.

  ‘Now then, Mr and Mrs Stubbs – about Edward. It must be obvious to you that he is a more than excellent pupil – he is our star pupil really, not that we like him to know that, but if it is permissible I want him to go into the sixth form.’ He paused, peered at them for a moment, ‘I am fully aware of how hard these times are for us all, but I think Edward might be a suitable candidate for Cambridge University. He cannot take the entrance examination until he is sixteen, more likely seventeen. I shouldn’t be surprised, with the state the country is in, if war were declared. However, in special cases, and I believe your son is a special case, enlistment can be deferred.’

  The headmaster was really feeling his way around the Stubbs family’s financial situation. It was rare, nowadays, for families to be able to afford to keep their boys at school for the sixth form. However, Mrs Stubbs’ reaction was immediate. She smiled, brimming with pride. ‘He’ll stay on, sir, and thank you very much.’

  Freedom, not fully comprehending what the headmaster was saying, said nothing. He knew, as did everyone else, that war was imminent, so he presumed it was some sort of military training the head was referring to.

  The assembly hall was filled to capacity, the boys lined up for their prizes and the school choir sang on the platform. Edward was up and down like a yo-yo as he collected prize after prize. Alex, in the lower class, had gained a special prize for endeavour, and one in maths. Evelyne applauded so often her hands were red. She couldn’t help but turn to the parents sitting next to her to say, ‘That’s my son.’

  The majority of the parents were very middle class, but the Stubbs couple only stood out because of their height. Evelyne wore a new hat and coat, and Freedom was in one of his American suits, altered for the occasion by Freda.

  ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, as you know, the school boxing team has done well this year, and the school’s senior boxing champion has become the overall grammar school champion. We are very fortunate to have an honoured guest to present the medal. I ask to join me on the platform, Freedom Stubbs, the ex-British Heavyweight Boxing Champion.’

  They met Freda and Ed as they arrived home with the prizes, and they listened as Freedom told them about how he had gone up on the platform to present the boxing prize to the school champion. Alex wanted photographs of Freedom’s boxing days to show the boys at school, and Ed had them enthralled with stories of Freedom’s boxing matches. When they left, the boys went along to bring Freda’s scrapbook home.

  Freda had saved all the newspaper cuttings and photographs taken in America. The boys were fascinated, and Alex wouldn’t let Evelyne turn a single page until he had asked every possible question. He wanted to know who was who and where all the places were.

  ‘Freedom, come and sit with us, you know all these people better than I do . . . come on.’

  Freedom pulled up a chair. He had not seen many of the photographs himself, had tried to forget that part of his life. Now, after his success at the school, he was almost as eager as the boys to go over old times. He drew the book towards him. ‘Now then, lemmesee . . . ah, see this fella here, on the side of the picture, that’s Jack Dempsey, the greatest boxer I’ve ever seen.’

  Alex hung on his father’s every word, and clung to him. Edward had read the article and tried to turn the page. Alex stopped him. ‘Did you fight him, Dad?’

  ‘No, son, he’d retired when I met him . . . Now, then, this man on his right was Jack Kearn, a promoter, and this was Te d Rickard, they were a famous team, known as the “Golden Triangle” . . . An’ look, see, this is Dempsey’s thoroughbred stallion, ain’t it just lovely?’

  Evelyne had relinquished her place at the table to Freedom, and she looked up from her sewing and smiled at the boys hanging onto their father’s arms, shouting and clapping.

  ‘Now, lads, this is a great fighter, Gene Tunney. I was to fight him for the title, but then he stepped down and left his throne vacant, see. So fighters from all over the world came to try for the bel
t. See this, it’s a picture of the belt, an’ it’s solid gold, pictures hand-painted round the sides, see? Oh! An’ will you look at this, this was the Danish contender, name of Knud Hansen, big fella, eh?’ He turned the pages, animated, eager, ‘And Monty Munn . . . this chap’s a Frenchman, can’t remember his name. Here . . . here’s the villa where we stayed in Miami, Florida. You wasn’t born then, Alex, an’ you was just a toddler, Eddie.’

  Evelyne came back into the kitchen, clutching her own scrapbook. It was immaculate; all these years it had been carefully wrapped in brown paper. Beneath each article was the name of the newspaper and the date, in her neat handwriting.

  ‘I notice your Dad is not showing you himself. Now, you’ve not seen this, it’s a really big occasion.’

  The book was such a contrast to Ed and Freda’s, as theirs was full of their own memorabilia, and very well-thumbed as Ed had taken it down to the gym at every opportunity.

  ‘Now then, you’re going to learn something tonight, boys. Take a look at this – it’s a programme, but see the front. There were posters, twenty, maybe twenty-five feet high. As you came in on the plane, your Dad’s face was the first thing you saw.’

  The two boys gaped as she turned the page. Freedom had to swallow tears. He reached for Evelyne’s hand and she gave him such a look it made his heart swell. He had never known about the book. It was so precious it touched his soul.

  ‘See, he was surrounded by autograph hunters, he was more famous than a film star. There was not a street in Miami he could walk down without crowds gathering.’

  Freedom laughed and said she was exaggerating.

  ‘Oh, no I’m not, and this should be a lesson to you both. Your father was a champion, a very famous man, but you don’t see him pushing it down people’s throats like some people from around these parts who have never gone further afield than Brighton.’

  The boys were agog, holding the book between them, shouting, vying with each other to turn the pages. And then there was the programme for the match between Freedom and Sharkey.