The Legacy

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘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.

  Dewhurst coughed politely.

  ‘Will you be wanting anything, sir?’

  Still staring into the street, Sir Charles was carefully pulling on his gloves. When he spoke his voice was matter-of-fact, with hardly a trace of emotion. ‘Appears our problems were to do with the gel, young fella loved her.’

  Dewhurst raised his eyebrows. Sir Charles didn’t look at him, could have been talking to himself. ‘Funny, ya know, I have never known that sort of love, the sort he feels for this girl, never known it … but I do understand. You see, somewhere in the darkened recesses of my mind, I have dreamed of him loving me - never known me treat one of my boxers with such lavish care, have you, eh?’

  ‘No sir, I have not, sir.’

  Sir Charles’ monocled eye glistened with a magnified tear. He adjusted his cravat. ‘Get my things sent over from the Savile, would you, shall be moving back here. Ed can arrange accommodation for him, and he will not be using my barber or my tailor again, is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir, perfectly clear, I shall call them straightaway.’

  Sir Charles smiled at his manservant, ‘You’re a jolly good fellow, Dewhurst, I appreciate you greatly … still, I didn’t embarrass myself, did I? Does no harm to have lascivious dreams …’

  Dewhurst bowed himself out of the room and went immediately to the bedroom where Freedom had been sleeping. Sir Charles followed him and stared at the crumpled sheets. ‘Well, maybe we’ll have a champion. Then again we may not, send everything here to the gym. Oh, and Dewhurst - throw the sheets out, would you?’

  The door closed silently behind him, and his voice echoed from the corridor.

  ‘I’ll be at my club should anyone call.’

  After folding Freedom’s clothes carefully, Dewhurst got some brown paper and made a neat parcel.

  Freedom worked out hard and well with his two sparring partners, but he constantly glanced at the doors, waiting. Finally, Ed reappeared. ‘Freda’s gone to get her, lad, now get on wiv it, we need all the time we can get … Come on, get on with yer work out, the press is comin’ fer an interview in ‘alf an hour!’

  All the neighbours were staring out of their windows, peering out of their doors. Freda had arrived in a horse-drawn cab, and she knocked and knocked on Mrs Harris’ door.

  ‘What’s up, somebody die? Hey, darlin’, you with the ratcatchers then, are you?’

  A scruffy little boy answered the door.

  ‘Is Evie here? Evelyne, is she here?’

  He couldn’t understand what the hysterical little woman was saying. Mrs Harris came to the door and opened it wider. She was carrying little Dora on her hip. ‘Evie? Is it Evie yer want? Well, she’s gorn ter the clinic, it’s in Upper Lambeth Street.’

  Freda was already rushing back to the cab. Mrs Harris called after her.

  ‘If she ain’t there, try Swan an’ Edgar’s, she winder-shops a lot.’

  Freedom had changed into his best clothes for the photographers. He seemed not to care about posing, constantly glancing at Ed and then to the doors. ‘Freda not called yet, Ed? You think she’s found her?’

  Ed began to panic, maybe Evie had moved, that would be all they needed. ‘Just concentrate on puttin’ on a good show fer the photographers, lad, I’ll nip outside an’ have a look, she’ll be here.’

  As Ed bustled out he offered a silent prayer that Freda would find Evie, and fast. They’d got Freedom back to work, but if she didn’t show up Ed didn’t know how long he would behave himself.

  Evelyne had walked up Jermyn Street every day for the past five days, each time pausing outside the ornate building where she had seen Freedom, and the uniformed porter had begun to raise his hat to her and smile in recognition. Today she had been about to ask him if Mr Stubbs still lived in these apartments, but at the last moment she couldn’t find the courage. She turned and hurried away.

  Freda swiped the tram conductor with her handbag when he tried to prevent her jumping off, shouting to her that she would kill herself. She had seen Evelyne, staring into one of the windows of Swan and Edgar. Poor Freda ran round and round the building, calling Evelyne’s name frantically, but she had disappeared.

  ‘Get yourself thinking, Freda darlink, where would she ‘ave gone from here, where? Please, dear God, tell me where she is?’

  She scurried among the baby clothes and toys, diving among the shoppers, but Evelyne wasn’t there. Disappointed, she turned back towards the stairs … and caught sight of the familiar red hair. Her heart skipped a beat, and she hurried around the counter … and lost her again … no, she hadn’t, there was Evelyne, bending over a cradle, touching it lovingly …

  ‘Evie! Evieeeee … Evie …’

  The reporters and cameramen were just packing up when one of the boys fell down the steps into the gym. He rubbed his shin and gasped incoherently. ‘They got her, she’s found her, she’s coming!’

  Ed shouted for quiet and ran to the boy, grabbed him by the collar. ‘What…? What…!? Speak up, lad.’

  Freedom seemed to cover the distance from the far end of the gym to Ed’s side in one leap.

  ‘Take it easy, mate, Freda’s found her, we’ve found her.’

  Freedom sprinted up the stairs to the street, looking this way and that, desperate, but there was no sign of anyone. Panic-stricken, he turned to Ed, who ran up and down the road shouting for Freda, for Evie. The lad joined them, saying he had just seen them in a cab, they were outside the gym not two minutes ago.

  Freda held Evelyne’s hand as the cabbie drove them once again around the block. Evelyne studied her face in Freda’s small mirror.

  ‘Oh, Freda, I can’t, look at me, I look terrible, my hair’s all down and I got my old coat on and shoes full of newspapers.’

  Freda rummaged in her bag for a comb, waved her hand for the cabbie to go round the block yet again. ‘Here, darlink, my comb, come, let me, let me.�
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  Freda tried frantically to drag the comb through Evelyne’s hair, but it was a tiny comb and there was so much hair.

  On the corner stood Ed, hopefully eyeing each vehicle that passed. He spotted the cab and jumped right in front of it, making the horses shy. Diving into the back he fell into Evie’s arms, kissing her as if he were her long-lost lover, he was so excited. Freedom reappeared and Freda and Ed ran down the road to him, Freda’s feet hardly touching the ground.

  ‘She’s in the cab, go on, she’s in the cab.’

  The look on his face made them both want to cry, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He ran his hands through his hair and tried to straighten his tie while at the same time running as fast as he could to the cab. Fascinated, the cabbie looked down from his seat, this was better than the picture houses.

  Freedom bent his head into the open carriage window. Evelyne had pressed herself shyly into the corner of the carriage, her cheeks flaming red and her wondrous hair tumbling over her shoulders. Standing staring at her, Freedom could find no words. His breath heaved in his chest, and try as he might he couldn’t stop the sobs forcing their way into his throat, nor could he move.

  Eventually he spoke, his voice strained. ‘Can I ride a while with you, manushi?’

  He climbed into the cab and sat by Evelyne’s side. He could hear Ed shouting to the driver to just keep driving, drive anywhere. The carriage jolted forward.

  Evelyne took Freedom’s hand and placed it on her stomach, and he gasped as if he were about to explode. Immediately she let his hand go, and turned to stare out of the carriage.

  She whispered, ‘I’m sorry, he’s yours, Freedom.’ She felt his hand gently caress her swollen belly, and fraction by fraction she turned her head until she could look into his face. She placed her hand over his heart, felt it thudding, and he put his hand over her milk-filled breast. Heart to heart, they whispered each other’s names.

  ‘Never leave me, manushi. I died a little while you were gone.’