The Legacy l-1

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘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 up on 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 prizegiving 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 prizegiving 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, lemme see … 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 Ted 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 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 belt. See this, it’s a picture of the belt, an’ it’s solid gold, pictures hand-painted round the sides, seer 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.

  The boys fell silent, their eyes popping out of their heads. This was a man they scarcely recognized. The handsome face stared back at them, the hair long, the fists raised. Alex was close to tears of pride, touching the pictures, patting them. Edward looked at his father, then his mother. They were so close to the boys, had their arms around them, and yet it was as if they were alone. Evelyne bent to kiss Freedom, their eyes hungry for each other.

  ‘What happened then? At the big fight, Dad, what happened?’

  Freedom turned the pages, trying to change the subject. ‘This man was Sir Charles Wheeler, he was my promoter, an English knight he was …’

  Edward turned the pages back to look at the fight programme. ‘Well, did yer beat ‘im, Dad? Jack Sharkey?’

  Freedom gave him a sad smile. ‘No, son, he beat me, wiped the floor with me, knocked me out of the ring.’

  Evelyne leaned over and pointed to the picture of Jack Sharkey. ‘He punched foul, that’s why, he punched low, and your Dad’s leg got paralysed. Sharkey was never world champion either, because he fouled again at his next fight. You shouldn’t run yourself down like that, Freedom! Your Dad would have won, but he had so many fights and not enough rest before the big bout… Your face had to have time to heal — there were cuts around his eyes, his ribs broken. No man in that condition should have been allowed to go into the ring. You ask your Uncle Ed about it.’

  Again, Freedom reached out and held her hand. ‘I dunno, suddenly your mother’s an authority on boxing, she who hated the very thought of it, now will you listen to her?’

  Evelyne laughed, and sat on his knee. ‘Ah, well, I hate it, and that’s the truth, but I’ll not hear you tell of everyone else. You were a champion, not many can say that. But neither of you two lads will ever have to go through what your Dad had to, fighting for money is a terrible way to earn a living … Have you never wondered why your father limps the way he does? That’s fighting for you …’

  Edward leafed through the book and then opened a folded page of newspaper. ‘What’s this? Dad, what’s this?’

  Freedom glanced at it and flushed, looked up at Evelyne. He couldn’t read it. Evelyne took it from Edward, bit her lip!

  ‘It’s the headline about Al Capone, Freedom.’

  Freedom laughed and jigged Evelyne up and down on his knee. The boys whistled and started in amazement as Freedom told them about the St Valentine’s Day massacre. Alex started jumping up and down. ‘Dad, Dad, there’s films about him, they have guns, bab-bab-bab-b-b-b-b, real machine-guns that kill hundreds ‘n’ thousands at the same time.’

  Edward continued to read the article, but Alex was beside himself. ‘Tell us more, Dad, tell us more, Ma, make him tell us more.’

  Evelyne slid off Freedom’s knee and picked up the paper. Clearing her throat theatrically, she acted out her scene with the bell hop in the Chicago hotel. She did not mention that the trouble they had getting rooms was due to Freedom’s dark skin, but went on to tell how she had met the man in the lilac suit. She switched to a heavy Chicago accent,’ “Well, Ma’am,” he said …,’ and mimed smoking a huge cigar. The boys clapped their hands. They had never seen their mother behave in this way. Freedom roared with laughter and applauded. ‘We got sent flowers and fruit, and we’d never even heard of him. Then when Ed saw his name, well, he almost shit himself.’

  Evelyne cuffed Freedom’s head. ‘And we’ll not use any language like that! Well, come on now, let’s clear the table. Who’s hungry?’

  Edward held up a photograph of Evelyne, dressed in all her finery, on board the Aquitania, ‘Ma, is this you? This you?’

  Freedom took it from him and turned to Evelyne. ‘Yes, it’s your mother, and she turned every man’s head on the ship. Wearing her real pearls, she was.’

  The boys stared from the photo to Evelyne and back again. ‘Is that necklace real, Ma? The jewels, are they real?’

  Evelyne ruffled Alex’s hair and said they were, and she had to get on with the tea. Edward gave her a sly look, then a hooded glance at his father. ‘You still got yer necklace, have you, Ma?’

  Evelyne looked hard at Edward, but he had the masked look on his face so similar to his father’s. Edward, who pried into everything, did he know? Had he seen her frantic search for her necklace that day? She couldn’t tell. Freedom, uncomfortable, tried to change the subject, but Edward persisted, asking again and again to see his mother’s jewels. Freedom stood up. ‘Why don’t you show ‘em, Evie, go on.’ He left the room, and came back downstairs a few moments later to show the necklace to the boys.

  ‘Here you go, Alex, look at this. See, that was the time when I bought your Ma the very best.’

  How had Freedom got it back? When? She didn’t know, but Edward’s frown told her for certain that somehow the boy had known something.

  Chapter 28

  3 September 1940 — England had been at war for a year and the effect was shattering as the young men enlisted and went off to fight. Not that they noticed much difference in their streets, just that many faces were missing. Times were still hard, but as so many men were employed in the forces it left opportunities for work open to women. Hundreds of children were evacuated to safety in the country, but not Edward and Alex. Evelyne was adamant. They would remain in London and at school — they were not babes in arms and she and Freedom would keep their eyes on them. Edward, nearly eighteen years old now, was in the sixth form at the grammar school, taking his entrance exams for Cambridge University.

  Freedom had been turned down when he tried to, enlist, because of his age and his bad leg. He was furious and felt slighted, but he got a job as a warden patrolling the streets.

  The bombs were hitting the East End and the dock areas worst of all, and blackouts every night was the rule. Buckingham Palace was hit in the same month, and the Queen announced publicly that she was glad, it made her feel she could look the East End in the face. The Royal Family committed itself to the needs of war with a zeal and conscientiousness that won the respect of the people.

  Jesse made an appearance and roped Freedom into black market activities, and although Evelyne was against it from the start she had to admit that the food they obtained helped their meagre rations to go round. She still did the accounting at the bakeries and still lent money, but she also went to work in a factory on the morning shift. Planes flying overhead and bombs dropping became an everyday occurrence, which left gaps in the rows of houses like blackened skeletons. There was hardly a family that hadn’t lost a relative in the fighting, and now they were being hit themselves they lived in constant fear of air-raid warnings. The raids usually took place under cover of night. Evelyne had seen families lose everything they possessed, and, always one to take care, she carried her savings book with her at all times, strapped around her waist under her clothes.

  At the factory Evelyne hemmed army blankets on a machine, and one day when the sirens sounded during work, they all ran for the shelter. As they crossed the yard, one of the foremen looked up into the sky. ‘Dear God, look at ‘em, they’re like big, black birds, the bastards. In broad daylight an’ all.’

  Evelyne was in the shelter before his words struck home, and she remembered Rawnie’s words so many years ago. She screamed at one of the workers, shook the women. ‘What day is it? What day is it?’

  Thursday was the boys’ half-day at school, where they had a good shelter, but on Thursdays
they came home. She ran from the shelter, forcing her way past the boss, who tried to hold her back. She yelled to them that it was Thursday, then she was gone. She couldn’t get a bus, they had come to a halt, and the whole area was bedlam. The planes were coming closer and closer, and looking up she could see them like big, black birds flying she knew, towards the city, towards number twelve.

  She ran until she was so exhausted that she had to lean against a wall. She looked up as the drone of the planes passed overhead. There was pandemonium as people screamed and ran. The glue factory took a direct hit, and the overpowering smell of glue and the black smoke choked the few workers who escaped, and the firemen alike. Evelyne gasped for breath but pushed herself on and on, towards home. Twice she was held back by firemen but dragged herself away. ‘My boys, my boys, lemme go.’

  At long last she reached the corner of the street to find it a nightmare of flames and charred buildings. Fire engines were trying to get through the rubble. Stumbling and crying, calling her boys’ names, Evelyne stopped in horror. Ed’s brother’s house was no more than a heap of rubble, and fire gushed from next door’s wooden window frames. Screams echoed around, the thick black smoke filled the street, and Evelyne pushed her way through the dazed people wandering around calling for their loved ones. One of Freda’s lodgers, one of the tarts, was sitting on the pavement sobbing, repeating over and over in a shocked, hysterical voice, ‘Me new dress, me new dress, I just got it, me new dress.’

  Evelyne could see Ed and Freda’s house burning, the roof on fire, and as she pressed on she prayed over and over again that her boys were safe.

  She saw Edward first, he was scrambling over the rubble calling out for Auntie Freda, Uncle Ed, his hands bleeding as he clawed at the bricks. A fireman tried to haul him away as burning timbers came crashing down. Evelyne ran towards him, and Alex appeared, black from head to foot, his tear-stained face hysterical with fear as he pointed back to number twelve, still gabbling as Evelyne held him tight, tried to calm him down. An unexploded incendiary bomb was sticking through the roof of their house, and the firemen were trying to clear the street. It could go off at any time.