The Legacy

Chapter 26

THE STUBBS family returned to England with the Meadows. The news of Freedom’s terrible defeat arrived ahead of them. The British Champion limped, and his face still bore tell-tale marks of the beating. He felt he had let everyone down, and was ashamed to look anyone in the face. He could not defend his British title; his boxing days were, as Evelyne had said, over.

News of Sir Charles Wheeler’s death also preceded them, as well as the two bodies, which were flown from Nevada. Ed did not understand the full implications of Sir Charles’ death until he contacted the Wheeler trustees. Freedom’s earnings and his own had been in Sir Charles’ keeping, and it seemed to Ed a simple matter. The solicitors replied to his letter cordially enough, but in legal language that took a long time to decipher. The gist of it was accounted for, and there was no indication that anything was due to the fighter or his trainer — quite the contrary. The receipts were there to prove it — Ed had signed for all the money he had received on his own and Freedom’s behalf. Ed wrote back stating that he had given the money back to Sir Charles for safekeeping, after signing for it. The letters passed back and forth, until Ed became frantic. He visited the solicitors personally, only to be told again that there was no record of any outstanding debts, either to him or Freedom. He was even shown the notification from Sir Charles that the hospital bills and the fares for their return journey were to be paid, but there was no mention of any cash. They could only suggest that Sir Charles had taken it with him to Nevada and it was destroyed with the plane, but they could do nothing.

Evelyne wrote copious letters to the trustees and received similar, cordial replies. The Wheeler estate was in financial difficulties. Death duties had taken their toll, and The Grange was to be sold in order to meet the heirs’ interests.

She took legal advice. They could, if they wished, take the Wheeler estate to court over the matter, but they would have to be prepared to meet heavy legal costs, and there was very little hope of success.

Only Freedom appeared to have very little inclination to recover what was rightfully his. His attitude infuriated Evelyne. One morning, after receiving yet another letter of refusal from the trustees, she flew into a rage. ‘They’re saying the estate has no money? My God, what do they take us for? What’s no money to them is millions to us. Freedom, will you go to them, in person?’

Freedom shook his head. ‘No, I’ll, not go begging. We’ve no need of them, best we forget it. Besides, he paid for our passage home, all the hospital bills.’

‘And so he should have, it was him put you in there! Can you not see how our lives would be if we had what was ours? Oh, Freedom, will you not fight?’

The look on his face made her want to weep. He picked up his cloth cap, his face twisted with emotion. ‘I did fight, Evie, but I lost. I wasn’t good enough. I’ve no fight left in me now, so just let things be. I mean it, girl, I want no more of these letters — it’s over, let us get on with our lives, or what life I’ve got left.’

Evelyne wept as he limped out. He didn’t even slam the front door, but closed it gendy, as if he were closing an episode in their lives. In a way, he was.

The new baby was born in the winter of 1926, the same year the film star, Rudolph Valentino, died. They called him Alex, as Evelyne had wanted. He was not as heavy as Edward had been, but he was perfect. His hair was sandy-coloured, his eyes blue. Evelyne touched a dimple that had already formed on his chin. ‘Well, if it’s not Hugh Jones himself.’

Edward was led to the old cradle where his new brother lay, and he peeked over the edge. Mrs Harris had warned Evelyne that, with only two years between the boys, there could be trouble. Edward might well be jealous of the ‘intruder’. So it was a touching sight when the small boy, clinging to the side of the cradle, looked with adoration into the big blue eyes. Gently, he reached out and touched the baby’s face, then ran out of the room, returning in moments with his arms full of toys. ‘For Alex, for my bruvver.’

Edward showed not a hint of jealousy where Alex was concerned. He was very protective, and even at two and a half he insisted on taking care of his brother. He helped to bath and dress him, and watched while he was breast-fed.

Freedom went out and got work at the docks, without any encouragement from anyone. When he came back he said simply that with another mouth to feed he had to work. But there was one moment of his old glory when he handed over his British Championship to the new titleholder. He received a standing ovation at the Albert Hall, wearing his expensive clothes and looking as handsome as ever, and no one noticed the way he dragged his foot.

Somehow Ed knew he would be feeling low, so after the occasion he took Freedom to the pub and they got well and truly drunk. At long last the locals were able to talk about the American bout and Freedom opened up, describing the United States and each of his fights. He had an avid, attentive audience, and he enjoyed himself. He felt more confident, less defeated. The other dockers had nicknamed him ‘Champ’, and Freedom began to adjust to everyday life.

Money was short, unemployment was at a terrifying level, and the mere fact that both Ed and Freedom were working was in itself a feat. Ed was now taking work as a trainer wherever he could get it, and he asked Freedom if he would help out at the gym. Freedom refused and Ed never pushed it, knowing intuitively not to ask again, and kept quiet about what he was up to until Freedom asked him. ‘.,

Ed never forgave Sir Charles, even though he was dead. He wept privately when he read of the championship match between Jack Sharkey and the German Max Schmeling. Against Freedom, Ed knew, Sharkey had punched low, and should have been disqualified. Ed read with satisfaction that he had lost the world title because of another foul. Max Schmeling won the title on a foul — the title Ed still believed should have been Freedom’s.

Out in the back yard of number twelve, the small square that backed on to the canal, the ex-heavyweight contender held a small white rabbit aloft. He shouted for his boys to come and see what he had brought them, and they ran to his side. ‘That’s it, be gentle — see, you two are a lot bigger’n ‘im, and we don’t want him afeared of you, now do we? So, gently does it, an’ he’ll get to know you and not be afeared, see his little pink tongue, and his wonderful eyes? Now then, his whiskers, lads, they’re like his ears, and they tell him when danger is close. They’re very sensitive.’

The two brothers, so different, one as dark as his father, with black eyes, the other with a shock of sandy hair and big blue eyes, listened to every word their beloved father said. In turn, they touched the small, white bundle of fur.

Both boys were big for their ages, both had big hands, and they would take after Freedom in build. They were usually dressed in similar clothes, and there was rarely a time when they were not together. When Evelyne took them out, there was always someone who remarked how hands6me they were. Edward would always answer, proudly, ‘We are brothers.’

By 1931 unemployment in Britain had reached over two million. It was a time of crisis. The Labour Government was split over how to deal with the economic situation and a caucus led by J. Ramsay Macdonald joined the Conservatives and Liberals. The result of the ensuing election in October 1931 was a disaster for the Labour movement, and the most hated of all measures introduced by the First National Government was the means test. After twenty-six weeks on the dole, no money was given until the relieving officer, commonly known as the ‘RO’ man, had visited your house to see what could be sold. In this way many treasured possessions went in order to buy food. Pianos and wireless sets, considered luxuries, were always high on the ‘hit list’.

The Stubbs family lived at number twelve, then there was Ed’s brother and his big family at number sixteen, and Freda and Ed had moved into a house two doors the other way. They were always in and out of each other’s houses, and even though money was scarce and there was terrible unemployment, they still felt like a family unit. Mrs Harris, living only a few streets away, was a frequent visitor. They would all gossip, moan about shortages and their menfolk, their doors always open to visitors.

Beer was cheap and it was used like aspirin. The pubs were warm, and with others in the same predicament they found companionship, but often kids, sent by mothers, would be seen trying to haul their menfolk home.

Monday mornings were days of reckoning, when the publicans counted their profits and tallied up the ‘tick’. Mondays would see the wives carrying bundles to the pawnbrokers to get a few shillings, and their men’s Sunday suits were constantly in and out of hock. They even took their blankets off the beds to get a few coppers in the constant battle to cover debts simply to feed their children.

You could always tell the widows, who would suddenly appear in black from head to toe, and remain in black for the rest of their lives. Sometimes, however, the fact that they had lost their loved ones changed their circumstances for the better, because of insurance. Realizing that this would more than likely be the one time in her life when she would have an accumulation of money, the widow would set herself up as a moneylender. The interest was very small, but it still proved profitable, and often these widows became more than merry, for the first time in their lives better off than they had been with their ‘other halves’.

Funerals were a common sight, the black horse draped in mauve velvet. The mortality rate was high, mostly due to pneumonia, and survival was down to the fittest. Somehow, God knows how, every family was able to raise money for their dead, as if having been so unimportant in life they had to be noticed in death.

The Stubbs family was surviving, and better than most, partly due to Freedom’s work on the docks, but also due to Evelyne’s frugal household economy. She bought well, and wasted nothing; she counted every penny, and would traipse miles to a market-stall butcher with fresh cheap meat rather than buy in the shops. She always went to market late on Friday nights, when the stall-holders flogged off their wares cheaply. There were no fridges or iceboxes, so food had to be kept cooled in larders or meat-safes outside in the yard.

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.

‘There is another reason, Mrs Stubbs. I think it would be beneficial for Alex. He is dominated by his older brother, and I think he would find his own personality if they were split up into different schools. They are unusually close, Edward is very protective.’

This observation met with a stiff reply. They were brothers and that was just how it should be.

Evelyne dropped in on Freda to tell her the news. Freda hadn’t seen her so happy in a long time.

‘He’ll be the first lad from these parts ever to get a scholarship to that grammar school, and I know he’ll do it, I just know it.’

Freda had been suffering with rheumatism, and had gained a lot of weight. Evelyne noted her frizzy hair, with the assistance of henna powder, was a rather strange orange colour, but even without the grey she was beginning to look her age. She gave Evelyne two jumpers she had knitted for the boys, identical as always, and Evelyne paid her for her work. Freda would have liked to have given them, but times were hard and Ed was making nothing at the gymnasium. They were mostly charitable institutes and his earnings were a mere gesture.

‘Your boys never go to the gyms, Evie, and Ed’d love to see them there. Why don’t you let them go, just to see what a boxing ring’s like?’

Evelyne jumped up, that tight, pursed look on her face, and put her coat on. ‘My sons are not going into any boxing ring, Freda, and that’s final.’

Freedom fetched the tin bath and began to boil water for the boys’ bath. He whistled, and Evelyne looked up from rolling the pastry. ‘It’s not Saturday, love, you’ve got the days muddled.’

He came up behind her, gave her a hug, and said they were having a bath early, because on Saturday they were going on a trip.

‘Oh, we are, are we? And where’s this trip to, then?’

Freedom tapped his nose and concentrated on the stove. He was in a good mood for a change so she continued with the pastry.

‘An’ I want you all decked out tomorrow an’ all, we’re all goin’ and I won’t have a word against it.’

She trimmed the edges of the pastry and when he slipped his arms round her waist she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

‘I’ve got some good news. It seems our Eddie’s doing well at school.’

Freedom seemed not to hear, but continued pottering around the kitchen.

‘He could get into the posh grammar school, his teacher told me. What do you think of that?’

Freedom shook his head and asked where on earth they would get the money to send him to one of the posh schools.

‘If he wins the scholarship, they pay for everything.’

Bath time was always fun for the boys, sitting in the tin tub in front of the roaring fire. Evelyne would scrub them both with a pumice stone and a big bar of carbolic soap. She scrubbed until their bodies were bright red, then rubbed them dry with a big towel. When they were dry they ate their tea in the cosy, warm kitchen.

‘Your Dad’s got a surprise for you both — we’re going on an outing tomorrow, all of us.’

They looked up in glee, and when she told them they would be going on a train to the seaside, they were so excited that neither of them could sleep.

Sandwiches were made, lemonade bottles filled, and the family rode into the West End on a tram. The boys had never been out of the East End, and they sat spellbound by the sights and the traffic. On the train, they ran from window to window in their excitement. Freedom sat holding Evelyne’s hand, tickled that he had arranged it all and as excited as the boys. Evelyne talked of the old times, of how she had been shopping in Swan and Edgar, how they had found each other again, and they behaved like young lovers.

As the train pulled into Brighton Station, the boys let out such screams of delight that some of the other passengers frowned, but nothing could dampen their spirits. When he saw the beach, Edward ran like a wild pony towards the water and he had both feet in the sea before Freedom could haul him away.

Alex, riding on his father’s shoulders, pointed hysterically at a big Ferris wheel and the lights of the fairground, the music drifting across the beach towards them. Up ahead, Edward climbed over a small wall and disappeared among the rides as Freedom shouted to him to wait.

The two sticky-faced boys wandered around with their candy-floss, open-mouthed with amazement. They went from booth to booth, and Freedom won a teddy bear on a shooting range, which Alex cuddled. They stopped at a punching machine.

‘Punch the bell, mate, punch the bell and win a prize, come along now, punch the bell … lovely prizes, take your pick, all you gotta do is ring the bell …’

Freedom stepped back and punched, the bell clanged and the man almost fell over. He’d not had anyone ring the bell in ten years and he reluctantly offered a prize. Edward jumped up and down as Freedom led him towards the display, and he pointed to a tin of soap bubbles with a small wire hoop. The fairground man handed the boy the prize and nudged Freedom, saying with a wink that he would bet a shilling that he couldn’t do it again.

Evelyne pulled at Freedom’s arm, she wanted to move on, there was a small crowd gathering.

‘Go on, Dad, do it again!’

Freedom looked at the man and asked if he was serious about the shilling, then rolled up his sleeves and belted the punchbag. The bell clanged again, drawing a ripple of applause from the crowd, and Freedom turned and gave them a mock bow. Evelyne went to choose a prize and after surveying the array of cheap gifts, she pointed to a doll. She would give it to Mrs Harris’ little girl.

‘You not lost your touch, mun.’

Freedom turned, and there, lolling against the side of a booth, was Jesse. He wore a flashy suit and a red polka-dot neckerchief. His long, dark eyelashes were as thick as ever. He still wore his earring, but now he had a big gold watch and heavy gold rings on his fingers.

The pair sized each other up, and slowly they moved closer.

‘Auv acoi.’

Jesse held out his arms. ‘It’s buddigur duvus, a good time for us, but you jinned we’d be here, mun, more likely in the fairground than furniture sellin’.’

Jesse felt the muscles of Freedom’s arms, their eyes locked. Then they kissed each other’s cheeks. Freedom held Jesse’s head in his hands and kissed his lips. Evelyne felt chilled, and drew her shawl closer around her shoulders.

‘Eh, boys, come and meet Uncle Jesse, say hello to your Uncle Jesse.’

Evelyne stared, wanting to call the boys to her side, but she said nothing. The two of them hung back slightly, but then Jesse reached forward and took a coin from behind Edward’s ear, and the child gasped. Jesse kept finding coins all over Edward and the boy was completely hooked. Alex, who had drawn back to cling to his mother’s skirt, moved forward.

‘Well, now, lemme see if this young’un’s got the magic … Ohhh, yes, will you look at this, the money’s just falling from him. Come and see this boy, he’s got the Midas touch.’

Evelyne smiled but remained aloof and watchful as Jesse patted the punching-machine man’s shoulder and told him Freedom was a boxing champion so no need to worry, his machine wasn’t out of kilter.

‘Will you come to the wagon?’

Evelyne opened her mouth to say no, but Freedom was already following Jesse. The boys hung on every word Jesse said, looking up into his face with adoring eyes.

‘You like my fair, then, do ye? Well, there’s a fine thing, I’m doin’ all right, mun, am I not? Come on, come on.’

He strode among the booths, waving and smiling to everyone, and they made their way to the far end of the fairground. On a large square of wasteland was a line of caravans. He went to the door of the first one and opened it, calling to someone inside that he had a surprise. He lifted first Edward and then Alex up into the wagon. As they went inside, Evelyne caught hold of Freedom’s sleeve.

‘We should be going, the train leaves in half an hour.’

Freedom shrugged and said they would catch the later one, and gestured for her to go inside. It took Evelyne by surprise. A lot had changed with the years, and it was. like a real house inside. The walls were draped, the place was filled with ornaments, and there were two parrots in a cage.

‘Rawnie? Rawnie, come on out and see what I’ve found.’

The curtains at the far end of the caravan were drawn aside, and Rawnie, like a ghost from the past, stood staring at them all. Evelyne was shocked at her appearance, she was so thin her skin hung loose on her bones. Her thick hair was greying at the temples and, although she still wore it in two long braids, there was nothing youthful about her; she had to hold on to the sides of the wagon to move towards them.

‘Freedom, mun, auv acoi, acoi acoi, it’s been bershor.’

He held his arms out to her and she went to him, touching his face. She kissed him and then held her hand out to Edward.

‘Well, chavo chiv, is he not rinkeney, then, will you gimme a choom?’

Edward went straight to her and kissed her as if he understood every word she’d said. She held his face and looked into his eyes, then laughed, giving Freedom a look. She held on to the table and eased herself into a chair, tapped her knee and held out a hand to Alex.

‘Eh, eh, eh, they’re real tatchey Romany, and dressed like a rye.’

Alex was more wary of her, but in the end he sat on her knee and played with all the gold bangles along her thin arms. The two men spoke Romany together, sitting on a velvet settee with their arms around each other. Rawnie stared at Evelyne, nodding for her to sit down. ‘The eldest has Romany yocks, looks like his Da — big ‘n’ strong, the pair of them. Yer little ‘un’s gentle, and’yer got one wild, ain’t that right?’ She began to cough, and her whole body shook so that Alex had to get off her knee. Evelyne moved closer, put her hand on Rawnie’s shoulder and could feel the sharp shoulder blades heaving beneath her clothes as she tried to catch her breath. Jesse stood up and clapped his beringed hands together, said he would take his brother around the fair, they’d be back shortly. The two boys ran to Jesse, and after a moment he gave way and they were allowed to go with the men. Evelyne tried to catch Freedom’s eye to tell him they must leave, but he was out of the caravan too quickly.

Rawnie rolled herself a cigarette, a tuv, and began to smoke, then pulled herself up and put the kettle on, showing Evelyne the gas taps which were linked to a cylinder outside. She said that, like Freedom, they were almost kairengos now, the caravan staying at the fair all year round.

‘Your eldest, he has the dukkerin look. He could read well, I can feel it, and you, me love, you look well-fed.’

While Evelyne sipped the thick, spicy, hot tea, Rawnie was twice seized by such spasms of coughing that it frightened her. Someone tapped on the caravan door and two little girls peeped in, but Rawnie shooed them outside.

‘They’re Jesse’s babes from Martilda, she lives yonder. He’s got a fine boy up in Scotland and one down in Cornwall, both fine boys.’

Evelyne didn’t wish to appear shocked, and Rawnie’s obvious acceptance of Jesse’s other women made it seem almost natural.

As Evelyne finished her tea, Rawnie reached over for the cup and stared into the tea leaves. She put the cup down and sighed, she frightened Evelyne. ‘What did you see? Rawnie …? What is it?’

Rawnie would not meet her eyes, she sucked in her hollow cheeks.

‘Remember all those years ago, that terrible night at the fair, you saw something in my hand then, is it the same?’

Rawnie kept her head bowed. ‘Do I remember that night? Now there’s a question, do you think I would forget? ‘Tis not something you forget, bein’ defiled, torn inside. Don’t heal like a cut on the outside.’

‘I’m sorry, that was thoughtless, but will you tell me? You see, I always remember your words — you said “Beware of the birds in the sky”, but I don’t understand …’

Rawnie coughed again, her body shaking, her bangles tinkling and jangling. ‘Ye’ll know when they come, I can’t say when, but they’re big, big birds.’

Rawnie did not finish telling Evelyne what she could see, could not tell her that when the birds flew over Evelyne’s head they would take everything from her, all that she loved. Evelyne would have persisted, but the caravan door was flung open by Edward. He demanded that Evelyne come with him, the fair was closing and they were going to have chicken cooked over a real fire.

All the men from the fairground had gathered around the wagons and a fire had been built in the centre. Behind them the Ferris wheel was still lit up, but the organ that piped out the music was silent. A fiddler was sitting on a beer crate, tuning up.

‘Well, gel, it’s a night to celebrate, is it not, we’re all brothers here, and we’re going to put on some entertainment for you.’

Evelyne could see Edward and Alex, their shoes and socks discarded, running like wild things round and round the caravan. The fiddler started playing and the girls began to dance and sing.

Rawnie sat at her caravan door, tapping her foot and clapping to the music. Evelyne sat with a, group of women who were peeling potatoes for a big pot of stew. She knew the last train would have gone by now. There was nothing she could do or say — Freedom was standing drinking with a group of his brothers and had no intention of leaving.

Evelyne wished the night would end. They had eaten, and the men were getting drunker and drunker. The girls still danced and the fiddler still played, and the fire had been constantly fed so that it still blazed. The two boys were curled up beside three other children on a large straw mattress dragged from one of the wagons, their arms wrapped around each other in exhausted sleep. Rawnie beckoned Evelyne to her caravan and pointed to a bed she had made up. Evelyne was as tired as her sons so she didn’t refuse.

‘He looks happy, a happy mun, will you see?’

Evelyne looked out of the door. Freedom was the centre of attention. Someone had given him a bandanna, which he had tied around his head, and he was roaring with laughter. He was well drunk, and they were trying to pull him to the fireside to dance. He made excuses about his bad leg, but they would not hear and he gave in to the young girls that pulled him. The fiddler began a new tune and they all watched as Freedom stood, straightbacked, heels together, slowly lifting his hands above his head. He began to clap, short, sharp slaps, then clicked his heels, and there was no sign of his limp. The alcohol and the atmosphere made him unaware of the pain in his leg, and he danced to his heart’s content, soon joined by three other men.

At one point Jesse looked over to where Evelyne sat with Rawnie and gave her a cold stare. She was an outsider tonight, not her children nor her husband, but she was and she knew it. She got up and went to lie on the bed. The heavy, oily perfume that Freedom had always worn swamped her, but this time it was Rawnie’s perfume, it was oil from her hair on the pillows.

Evelyne fell into a deep sleep, and when she woke it was fully dark, the blackness lit only by a warm, glowing light from the fire. No candles, no blinking lights from the fairground, nothing but the fire.

The voice was beautiful, clear, singing such a sweet, sad song, and she lay back on the pillows and listened. There was-no fiddle this time, but a guitar being played well.

Can you rokka Romany, Can you play the bosh, Can you jal adrey the staripen Can you chin the cosh …

The singing lulled her, the voice deep and soft. She felt the caravan rock slightly as Rawnie moved, and she opened her eyes.

Rawnie gestured for Evelyne to come to the door, and she crept forward. She wanted to weep — the singer was Freedom, and he was playing the guitar. She had never heard him sing like this, had not known he could play. ‘Oh, Rawnie, sometimes he is like a stranger.’ I’ve never seen him play, heard him sing … he does it so well.’

Rawnie patted the step for Evelyne to sit beside her. She too was moved by Freedom. That wondrous face, singing with his eyes closed, his whole body seeming to shimmer in the firelight. All the people around him were hushed. His voice rose and fell, emotional but clear, with such ease that it reached their souls.

‘I loved that mun, but you know, I loved him so.’

Evelyne was touched by the dying woman, and she slipped her arm around the wasted shoulders. She did know, perhaps she always had. ‘He loved you too, Rawnie, he would have hanged for you.’

Rawnie’s gnarled hand reached out, gripped Evelyne’s chin, and she looked into her face. ‘So would every mun around the fire. It were not love fer me, gel, but honour. Gringos don’t understand, cannot understand our ways, our love of the stars, the air, the land … But we can hate, and we believe in revenge, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. This is our way, our law.’

Evelyne bit her lip. Rawnie knew revenge, hadn’t she slit every one of those boys’ throats? Or had it been Jesse? As if Rawnie had read her mind, she gave a chuckle. ‘It were me, gel, me used the knife. Now I’ll tell yer what yer man is singing.’

She whispered the meaning of the song to Evelyne. Freedom was asking if they understood the Romany tongue, asking if they could hold their own in a \ilay-chingarpen\i, an argument or a fight; he was asking if they could play the fiddle, if they were men enough to fight the music, to hear a prison sentence and do their bit without flinching: last of all the song was asking if they were qualified to earn their living as gypsies. If they could not in one way or another chin the cosh, they would never be successful on the road.

Evelyne clung to Rawnie. Now she could see her boys, the two little brothers, standing naked by the fire, hand in hand, looking at their father, their eyes fixed as though hypnotized by him. An elder knelt down beside them, and she saw the knife. Rawnie gripped her tightly so she could not move. The sick woman had more strength than Evelyne had given her credit for.

‘Let him make their blood our blood, their father’s blood, it is right, they are Romany.’

Neither child made a murmur as his thumb was cut, and the blood kissed by their father. Then they were wrapped in blankets and taken back to sleep on the mattress. Evelyne now knew that Freedom had planned this — not necessarily with Jesse and Rawnie — but she remembered that bank holidays were their big days for fairs right across England. He had known all along that some of his people would be at Brighton — his brothers as he called them. She returned to Rawnie’s bed.

When the morning came, Rawnie gave each child a golden sovereign. They kissed her, eager to get on to the train, not to get away, but just because it was a train. Their night’s initiation had had no obvious after-effects, and Freedom was preparing to leave. ‘I’ll come again to you, sister, we won’t be parted as long again.’

Rawnie touched his face, tracing it with her fingers; it was still handsome, even with his battle scars. She traced his lips, and then stood at her caravan door to wave their farewell. Rawnie knew she would never see him again, she would be dead within months.

‘Well, gel, it looks like our brother’s come back into the fold, eh?’

Rawnie smiled. Jesse had never had the powers, he couldn’t read what was in the air. The woman still had Freedom, and she was stronger than they were.

The train journey home was as exciting for the brothers as the one to Brighton, and they wanted to go back again as soon as they got to London.

‘We’re going home, and you’ve got to go to school tomorrow.’

Eddie started sulking, and had to be dragged along to the tram stop. He wanted to go back to the fair, he didn’t want to go to school. Evelyne slapped him hard, pushed him ahead of her up the tram stairs.

‘You’ll go to school, my lad, and what’s more you’ll get that scholarship or you’ll end up on a fairground with no education and no place else to go. Now get up these stairs this instant.’

Evelyne received a mask-like glare from Edward, and he stomped up the stairs to the top deck. Alex, close behind him, slipped his hand into his brother’s, and they went to the very front seats.

Evelyne and Freedom sat at the back, looking at the busy traffic below as they headed across London. Evelyne took out the doll for Mrs Harris’ youngest, and checked that she had all their things. She looked up sharply when she heard two small voices singing from the front seats,

Can you rokka Romany, Can you play the bosh, Can you jal adrey the staripen Can you chin the cosh …

Freedom smiled and nodded to his sons, slipped an arm around her shoulders.

‘Well, gel, looks like we gotta pair of gyppos up front.’

Chapter 27

Edward Stubbs was awarded a scholarship to a grammar school, the first boy ever from his area. For one son to gain a scholarship was a cause for celebration, but for a second son also to pass gave rise to suspicion and jealousy, and set both boys apart from the children of the neighbourhood.

In their identical uniforms the boys travelled to school together, always together. Already closer than most brothers, they grew even more so. Eddie and Alex were both tall for their ages, well-built and athletic, excelling at all sports. In the classroom, however, although Alex was bright, he fell short of his brother’s academic brilliance. Edward was the dominant one, and Alex accepted life in his brother’s shadow without jealousy. Edward was his hero.

Unemployment was as high as ever. Dole queues were long and money short, and for the workers and their families times were hard in the reign of King George.

Proud of her boys, Evelyne Stubbs worked constantly, and kept her head above water while all around her others sank. Freedom worked at the docks most weeks, and when he was laid off he busied himself making rabbit hutches in the back yard and selling them. Occasionally he would disappear for a few days to visit his friends, and those were the times Evelyne dreaded. He would return surly and bad-tempered, and found it difficult to get back into the day-to-day routine.

Rawnie had died of consumption, and Jesse had lost his fairground through gambling. He was serving a sentence for robbery in Durham gaol.

Miss Freda and Ed were in financial trouble and had taken in more lodgers. They now had a married couple and two single girls. The girls, it was suspected, were ‘on the game’, but Freda wouldn’t hear of it. To her they were simply youngsters trying to make their way.

Ed’s brother’s family were even worse off, and although their kids were working they still lived on the breadline, always in debt. They invariably owed money to Evelyne, whose moneylending business was growing. Freedom collected the debts for her, and the boys helped him at weekends. The Stubbs family was secure, and the brothers went from strength to strength with their school work.

Evelyne later tried to pinpoint the turn of events, to recall exactly why things went wrong. She had to try to blarne someone, but she knew in her heart that the trouble was within her own home.

Freedom was the perfect father when the boys were small, attentive and fair, and they obeyed him. But he couldn’t make head or tail of their homework, he was so far removed from them academically that his frustration turned to anger, and they in turn realized that their father — the man they had always looked up to — was illiterate. They were too young to be understanding about it, to help him, and they turned against him and looked increasingly to their mother for guidance. The resulting bitter arguments usually ended with Freedom storming out to the pub.

Evelyne had cleared the table, tidied away the boys’ books, and was about to start on the weekly wash when there was a hard rapping on the door. A policeman informed Evelyne that Freedom had been arrested for brawling outside the docks. He had knocked out the manager who was pressing charges for assault.

Ed and Evelyne hurried to the police station and found Freedom sitting gloomily in a cell. The fight had started because Freedom, who always expected to be given work, had been rejected for three days running. He had not told Evelyne, pretending he had been taken on. But on the fourth day he had been offered work, and that was the cause of it. One man who was turned away muttered something in Freedom’s hearing about black bastards getting work before whites, and when the manager had tried to break up the fight Freedom had knocked him senseless.

At the hearing the magistrate reprimanded Freedom severely — a man with a history of professional boxing should never resort to fighting in the streets. Freedom was given a three-month suspended sentence. Evelyne never said anything, but her reproachful looks and above all her silence tormented him. If he had felt inadequate before, now things were far worse. Evelyne had arranged for a lawyer and paid him, and the more Freedom thought about it the more frustration he felt.

The appearance of Jesse on their doorstep was the kiss of doom. Recently released from prison, he was as cocksure as ever, with rings on his fingers and gold chains around his neck. He offered Freedom the chance to go into business with him, buying and selling furniture. Evelyne tried to persuade Freedom to have nothing to do with him. They were sitting at the kitchen table where the two boys were doing their homework. Evelyne tried to keep her voice calm, not wanting to get into an argument in front of them. ‘He’s no good, Freedom, he never was. You and I know just how far he will go. Don’t go with him, please, you can do my debt-collecting full-time, we could do it together.’

Freedom banged his fist on the table and Edward’s inkwell tipped over, spilling its contents on his exercise books. The boys scrabbled to pick them up and mop them, fussing around.

Freedom couldn’t take it any more and he roared. ‘Will you get out from under ma feet. mun. take yer readin’ out of here, better still, go get work like the other lads around here.’

Edward stood up to his father, just as hot-tempered, but cocky and self-assured. He gathered his schoolbooks up and hurled them across the room. ‘Right, I’ll go out now and join the dole queue, just like you and every other sucker round ‘ere. You call that work, do yer?”

Freedom struck him so hard that he sprawled on the floor. Alex sprang between them, trying to protect Edward. ‘Dad, no, don’t, don’t hit ‘im no more.’

Freedom lashed out at Alex in fury, trying to grab Edward, and now Evelyne pushed between her sons and Freedom. With her arms out she faced her husband.

‘You’ll have to hit me first, Freedom, I mean it. Just stop this nonsense right now or so help me God I’ll take the rolling pin to you, I will.’

Freedom backed away. The three of them were against him, and he knew then that Evelyne would choose her sons before him. She was like a lioness with her cubs, glaring at him so fiercely … He turned and beat his fist against the fireplace.

Evelyne shooed the boys from the room, but Edward held on to her. She shook her hand free. ‘Get out, the pair of you, leave us alone. Go on, nothing’s going to happen.’

They slunk out and closed the door behind them. Freedom gave her such a helpless look, filled with guilt and remorse. It was the first time he had ever struck his sons, and his voice sounded choked in his throat. ‘I’d never have struck thee, Evie, God help me, never.’

She held him in her arms and comforted him, whispering over and over that she knew, she knew it. She felt remorseful herself, it was becoming obvious that she put the boys before Freedom. ‘I’m sorry too, Freedom. I should never have gone against you. Sometimes Eddie needs a firm hand. Will you forgive me?’

They kissed,1 it had been a long time since they kissed as lovers, and she sat on his knee by the fire. ‘What is it, my love, what’s hurting you so?’

He buried his face in her chest, and she stroked his hair.

‘It’s the debt-collecting, Evie. It’s hard for me to face them that owes you, going to them with me hand out for their shillin’s. Some of ‘em have nothin’, and to stand there frightening the life out of them, wantin’ money paid over, knowing they’ve not got it to give — it’s no job for a mun, I can’t do it no more.’

Evelyne forced herself to keep her mouth shut, although she could have asked how he thought she felt. How did he think they could have lived so well for so long without her moneylending business?

‘Just don’t do anything against the law, the boys are doing so well and I don’t want people talking.’

That did it. He pushed her away from him and grabbed his coat.

‘Always the boys, always them, when do you ever think of me? When it’s too late!’

He slammed out of the kitchen.

Eddie came downstairs and slipped his arms around his mother, kissed her and patted her head. ‘Maybe he’s right, Ma, I’m fourteen, I could get work.’

She grabbed him and held him, shook him roughly. He was shocked by her tone, her expression. ‘You think I like collecting money I lend out? Do you? Why do you think I’m doing it, working myself into an early grave, why?’

Edward backed away from her, and Alex came to stand at his side, as their mother marched around the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves as if she was ready for a fight.

‘Both of you are going places, getting out of this slum, and you won’t do it like your father, with your fists. You’ll do it with your brains. So help me God I’ll go out on the streets if need be, to make sure you both stay at school, now is that clear, clear to both of you?’

They nodded solemnly.

‘Right now, get your work and I’ll fix us tea.’

Alex ran into the hallway, but as Edward turned to follow him he felt his hair tugged, and Evelyne kicked the door closed. She hit him so hard on his right ear that his head spun.

‘If I ever hear you talk to your Dad in that tone of voice again I’ll beat the living daylights out of you. Now hop it.’

Freedom was gone for more than two weeks, longer than he had ever stayed away from home before. At the weekend the brothers went around collecting the debts, and a couple of times they had to get tough in order to be paid. When they returned, they got out the books and began to tally up as Evelyne was out shopping. Edward fiddled the figures and pocketed sixpence, and Alex saw him do it. He wouldn’t eat the toffee bar Edward offered him later.

Evelyne went to Ed’s brother’s house. There was a showdown on the cards as they owed her two pounds fifteen shillings, which was long overdue. There was no way around it — she couldn’t run her home and support the Meadows family. But the rent-collector had got there before her, and two bailiffs waited outside with a cart. The Meadows owed six months’ back rent at eighteen shillings a week.

‘We’re on the street, nothing we can do.’

Evelyne didn’t like the way the rent-collector shouldered her aside. The bailiffs hammered on the door and shouted that the Meadows had better pay up or get out, otherwise they would break the door down. They couldn’t wait all day, they had another call to make.

Again Evelyne was thrust aside and the two bailiff’s men forced their way into the house. She barred their entrance. ‘Out, the pair of you, there’s no one moving a stick of furniture from here. Bugger off, or I’ll get my boys …’,

They hesitated, looking for guidance from the rent-collector. Evelyne siezed her chance. ‘Now, it’s Mr Simms, isn’t it?’

Mr Simms, the most hated man in the district, pursed his chalk-white lips and adjusted his bowler. ‘Yes it is, and I know who you are — Mrs Stubbs from number twelve. Now I’ve never had any trouble from you, so let’s not start now. I am within the law, so I suggest you just leave well alone. The only way round this situation is for the back rent to be paid.’

Half an hour later in the kitchen of number twelve, the situation was more than resolved, and the bailiffs left with the cart to call on their next poor victim.

Evelyne Stubbs bought the Meadows’ house, and they now had to pay their rent to her. She calculated that the rent would cover the cost of the house by the time Edward was in his final year at school. Knowing Ed’s brother’s financial state better than anyone, she offered him a job. He would collect the debts, and she would deduct the rent from his wages.

Edward looked up from his homework, threw down his pencil and picked up his mother’s accounts book. ‘You know, Ma, if you could, it might be a good thing to get hold of Auntie Freda and Uncle Ed’s place. It’d be about the’same price.’

Evelyne smiled and told him she’d already looked into it, and liked the fact that he was taking an interest. ‘You just do your homework, lovey, and I’ll think about it.”

Alex came in with a box, saying the rabbit looked poorly. He sat the box down in front of the fire. The rabbit was panting, its eyes glazed. ‘He misses Dad. When do you think he’ll be coming home, Ma?’

Alex really meant that he himself was missing Freedom, but he didn’t like to admit it. He was closer to Freedom than Edward was, and night after night he stood by the front window watching for his father. Evelyne sighed, put down her sewing and brought some water for the rabbit. She had no idea where Freedom was — she had had no word. She was worried, of course, but at the same time the house was running like clockwork without him. ‘He’s working with Jesse, he’ll be home when the time is right. Don’t fret yourself, Alex. Done your homework, have you?’

The next day, at school assembly, the headmaster announced that the King was dead. Rows of small faces looked up in awe, and some of the juniors whispered ‘what king?’, but the whole school cheered when they were told they were being given the day off. This was not the effect the headmaster had desired, but shouts for quiet went unheard as the boys streamed out gleefully.

Edward and Alex took the tram home, and finding the house locked they went down the alley and along the canal to climb over the back wall. It was January 1936, and King George was to be replaced on the throne by his eldest son Edward VIII. England went into mourning, but the Stubbs boys were thrilled that they had a whole afternoon to themselves.

Alex stood on Edward’s hands and climbed over into the yard, while Edward stood on an old crate and followed. He found Alex in tears by his rabbit hutch. Not only had the King died, so had his beloved rabbit.

Evelyne was out working, collecting her rents and doing her bakery accounts. Freedom had still not come back, and when she let herself into the house she called his name, thinking he had returned. She was surprised to find the boys waiting for her. ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? Why aren’t you both at school?’

Edward searched through her shopping bag for something to eat. ‘King’s dead, we all got the day off — I’m starvin’, Ma!’

She took the bag away from him, muttering that no one had told her about the King, but that must be why the traffic was so bad. ‘You’d best both sit at the table and do your school work, then. And no moaning, you’re both old enough to know better. Lads your age were already working down the mines … You all right, Alex, you’re a bit quiet?’

Eddie told her that the rabbit had died, that they had buried it by the canal. ‘I got a shillin’ for its cage, Ma, here’s sixpence for you to buy yourself something.’

Alex glanced at his brother. He could lie so well, not a flicker on his face, and Alex was ashamed.

Touched by Edward’s gift, Evelyne kissed him and said that they could have threepence each, but no more rabbits.

Later that night, as Evelyne brushed her hair, she heard soft, muffled sobs. She peeked into the boys’ room.

Edward was sprawled across his bed. The blankets were tumbled, and the bed was surrounded by books, football boots, and the clothes he had taken off and dropped on the floor. On the opposite side of the room was. Alex’s neat bed, with the sheets and blankets just so. His school satchel and books were stacked neatly on his bedside box. It was Alex who was weeping, holding his pillow over his face.

Evelyne crept over to him and gendy lifted the pillow. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying. She put her finger to her lips, pulled the bedclothes aside and gestured for him to follow her to her own room.

‘Now, my love, what’s all this about? Nothing wrong at school, is there? You want to tell me about it?’

Alex gulped his tears, bit his trembling lip.

‘Is it the rabbit? Come on, get into bed with me … come on, Edward won’t know. And it’s not cissy, you’re still only ten.’

“Nearly eleven.’

‘So you are, so you are.’

Alex snuggled close to his mother, and she kissed the top of his head. She asked again what was wrong.

‘I miss him, every day I look for him. Eddie says he might never come back … Oh, Ma … where’s me Dad?’

‘Now, now, it’s not me, it’s my, and your Dad is just away working. Don’t you pay any attention to Edward. I’ll give him a piece of my mind tomorrow for telling you such things.’

‘Oh, no, please don’t. He’ll know I’ve said something.’

‘All right, I won’t. Now snuggle up, and I’ll read to you. I’ll read my favourite poem, how’s that?’

Alex was delighted, and with his arms wrapped around her he listened to her soft, lilting Welsh voice. She had tried so hard not to pick up the East-End accent. It had been difficult — everyone she worked and mixed with spoke the local dialect — but she prided herself that she spoke well.

‘Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far into the silent land, When you can no more hold me by the hand …’ Evelyne knew the poem by heart.

Alex sighed, slowly his eyelids drooped, and he slept curled up beside his beloved mother. Evelyne lay, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes filled with tears as she wondered where Freedom was …

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 litde 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 mask-like 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 velyne, 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 Alex. 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 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.

‘Where’s your father, Alex? Alex?’

Evelyne had to slap his face, he didn’t even seem to know that he was in her arms.

‘Get the bloody fool outta there, it’s going up at any time.’

Knowing both her boys were safe, Evelyne headed for number twelve. A fireman grabbed her, shouting that the house would blow at any minute, everyone had to get back.

‘He’s inside, Ma, he went in for Rex, he’s gone to get Rex.’

The hoses drenched her as she screamed out for Freedom. The smoke was so thick now that their eyes were red and smarting, and the fumes from the glue factory hung in the air like an overpowering cloud.

‘Freedom … Freedom?’

As the roof blew, Freedom hurtled out of the house, clutching the terrified, snarling dog to his chest. Evelyne, her arms wrapped around her boys, almost collapsed with relief. They all stood together and watched the house blaze. Alex clung to her, holding his beloved dog at the same time. The hoses sprayed them as they stood in the debris of their street. Freedom went back to help with the fire.

Freda had been at her sewing machine, and Ed had obviously tried to warn her — his body was found in the passageway between the rooms. Ed’s brother and sister-in-law and two of their children had been trapped in the kitchen. They had not stood a chance.

The realization of how lucky they were did not dawn until later that night as they lay in the underground shelter. They huddled together, clinging to each other. Alex whispered to his mother that Edward had known it would happen, he had known.

‘What are you talking about, love, how did he know?’

Edward was sleeping, his filthy face resting on his arms. Evelyne wrapped the blanket closer around him, tried not to cry.

‘He knew, Ma. We were out in the yard and there was no sound of the planes, nothing — no sirens even, an’ as it was day we didn’t worry, like — an’ suddenly he grabbed hold of me and said go and warn Auntie an’ Uncle Ed. The planes weren’t even overhead.’

Freedom left the shelter and went off to do his warden’s duties, and in the morning he was back and said they could return to their house. The roof was badly damaged and they didn’t have a single window left, but at” least it was still standing.

The sad, bedraggled group made its way home. The street was full of rubble, and the ambulances were still taking the bodies of the dead away. Firemen were digging in the bombed-out buildings looking for survivors, for bodies. The family kept their eyes down, not wanting to see Freda’s frilly curtains, charred and sodden, lying in the gutter. They stepped over puddles, charred furniture, shattered glass, until they stood outside their house. Evelyne shuddered, it looked so derelict, so black, so deathly.

‘Freedom, I don’t want to go in, is there anywhere else we could go?’

He was carrying Rex in his arms, and he paused. Was she reading his mind? ‘It’s our home, and the way you look at it is, they hit us once, be a miracle if they get us again … Come on, lads, let’s make some tea and get the place cleaned up.’

Freedom could feel the horror, the house closing in on him, and he gasped for breath. The acrid stench from the glue factory hung in the air, burning his nostrils. He put his shoulder to the door and it crashed open.

The impact of bombs all round had made the house subside. The passageway was waterlogged and strewn with broken glass, and over everything was thick, black dust. It broke Evelyne’s heart. Ordering the boys to search for what could be salvaged, Freedom began to clear away the ruined furniture. In the centre of the room was the scrapbook — not one page was left intact. He picked it up, and all he could think of was Ed, how he had looked with his warden’s tin hat on the back of his head. He gritted his teeth and threw the remains of the book out of the back door along with everything else. But he couldn’t get Ed’s voice out of his mind, heard again the last words Ed had said to him, ‘Now, look, lad, I’m not one wiv words, but I want you ter know somefihk should anyfink ever happen … I love you, like you was me’ own son, an’ I’m depending on you ter take care of Freda. I’ve not much, but what I ‘ave is yours, that includes all me memorabilia.’

Freedom felt the loss swamping him, overpowering him, and he hurled a chair out through the broken window with all his might. Edward started screaming, and Freedom’s heart lurched. He turned in panic, to see Edward waving a telegram, his face shining.

‘Ma, Ma, it’s come, I’ve won a scholarship to Cambridge. I’ve won a place at Cambridge University … I’ve done it!’

Before Evelyne could congratulate him, Freedom slammed his fist into the last intact pane of glass, shattering it into the yard. His fist bleeding, he turned on Edward, his face dark with rage.

‘Don’t you ever think of anyone but yerself, boy? There’s Freda an’ Ed dead, an’ all you can scream about is that you won a bloody scholarship’. I’ll knock that smile off your face!’

Edward was taken aback for a moment, then he glared. ‘You just try it — come on then, try it.’ He threw a wild punch at his father, and Freedom blocked it with a swift movement of his arm. Edward tottered backwards, off balance.

‘You better stay away from me, Eddie, I mean it.’

Edward charged, head down, and butted Freedom in the stomach, then swung his fists like windmills, but again Freedom threw him off as though he were a small child. This time Edward lurched backwards, striking his head on the mantelpiece. His face red, his mouth tight, he picked himself up. ‘That’s the last time you’ll ever hit me, you bastard, you bastard.’

Reaching out, Freedom grabbed Edward and pulled him closer, slapping his face, the blows jerking his head back and forth. ‘Don’t try fighting me, sonny, you don’t stand a chance. Go and join the army like the rest of the lads, like a man, instead of a nancy boy tied to your mother’s apron strings.’

Edward dodged behind the table. ‘Only nancy boy. round this place is you, the great champion fighter, an’ the army wouldn’t even take yer.’

Alex ran from the room into the hallway, calling for his mother, ‘Ma, Ma, come quick, Dad and Eddie are fighting!’

Panic-stricken, he ran up the stairs. Freedom kicked the door shut, and began to roll up his sleeves. ‘You’ll not have your Ma to help you now, son, you’ve been asking for this for a long time.’

Evelyne ran down the stairs, screaming at the top of her voice. ‘Freedom, Edward, what’s going on?’

‘ Freedom stood with his back against the door and shouted for her to stay out of it. She tried to push the door open, but he slammed it shut. Rex ran to Freedom, whimpering, but he kicked out at the dog.

‘That’s right, kick the dog, he can’t kick you back, can he? I can and I will. What you ever done for us, you with your big mouth an’ even bigger fists? Ma’s provided for this family, not you, it’s never been you. Go back to prison an’ leave us alone!’

Freedom clenched his fists, fighting for self-control, trying to keep his blind fury in check. Suddenly he was pushed forward as Alex forced his way into the kitchen. He grabbed Freedom’s arm. ‘Dad, Dad, don’t, he doesn’t mean it! Tell him you didn’t mean it, Eddie, please, Dad, don’t!’

‘I meant every word, we were better off when he was in jail, at least Ma didn’t have an extra mouth to feed.’

Evelyne came in and moved right between Edward and Freedom. ‘I’ll talk to him, just don’t fight, let me talk to him.’

Freedom pushed her aside. ‘No, Evie, not this time, you’ve always protected them, protected him. He’s going to have to learn.’ Freedom’s voice was icy calm. He moved closer and closer to Edward. ‘You’re going down to that recruiting office right now, if I have to drag you there meself

Edward spat at him and ran round the room, ducking behind Evelyne. She put her arms out, pleading, ‘Don’t, Freedom, ah, don’t, don’t do something you’ll be sorry for, please, please, don’t.’

The belt slithered from Freedom’s trousers and he wound it around his hand. Edward shrieked, suddenly afraid. ‘I’m going to university, tell him Ma, tell him.’

‘You’re going to work, lad, we can’t afford no university, not with the house burnt down round our ears. You are gonna earn your keep like every other lad around here.’

Evelyne made a grab for Freedom, shouting, ‘That’s for me to say, Freedom, it’s my savings, mine!’

Deflated, Freedom turned a beseeching look on her. She ran out of the house, shouting for help. Heart-broken, Freedom watched her go. Once again she had taken her son’s side.

Edward took that moment to open the kitchen drawer and take out the carving knife. ‘Satisfied, are you? You bloody satisfied, you bastard?’ He was hysterical, shaking, holding the knife like a dagger. Alex was the one to move towards his brother to try and take the knife, but Rex ran to him and he tripped over the dog, sprawled on to the floor. Freedom’s face terrified Edward, the mask in place, no expression, the eyes black … He kept moving, coming closer arid closer, unafraid, menacing, daring Edward to use the knife.

Evelyne was out in the street. Police and firemen were everywhere, clearing the debris. She screamed. ‘Dear God, stop them, someone stop them!’

Freedom reached out to grip his son by the hair, and Edward brought the knife down in one single, stabbing thrust. Freedom remained standing. He looked into his son’s face, his mask dropped, and his eyes full of anguish. Edward stepped back, stared first at his empty hand, then back at his father. Freedom made no attempt to remove the knife. He lifted his arms as if to embrace his son, then he fell forward, fell on to the knife, pushing it further into his heart.

There was a terrible silence in the room. No one moved. The colour drained from Edward’s face and he swayed. Alex still held Rex’s collar as the dog howled, trying to get to Freedom. Two policemen rushed in kicking the door wide open, and took the situation in immediately. Rex barked furiously, his claws scrabbling on the lino to get to Freedom, Edward stood stupified,

staring at his father. One of the policemen knelt down, slowly turned the body over. The blood had already formed a thick, dark pool, the knife in Freedom’s heart right up to the hilt.

‘Oh, Jesus God … right, you two lads, up against the wall, the pair of you, against the wall, now.’

Like terrified children, Edward and Alex stood with their backs against the wall. They watched in horror as their mother looked from the open kitchen door at the body. Her legs were shaking, the tremor running right through her … she pushed the policeman’s helping hand away, stumbled to kneel beside Freedom. She cradled him to her, the blood oozing over her chest as she rocked him in her arms. She made not a sound. They could see the blood spreading over her pinafore, his blood, blood to blood, heart to heart. Without looking at his brother, Alex put out his hand, and they grasped each other tight, but made no move towards their mother.

The drone of fighter planes coming closer made one of the policemen swear out loud, ‘Dear God, the bastards are coming again, and in broad daylight.’

The air-raid warning sounded for everyone to take cover. Edward’s black eyes clung to his mother, never leaving her face as he watched her cradle the body. He had never seen such raw agony. His body felt chilled, icy, as if his own life were draining steadily away. The grasp of his brother’s hand gave him assurance, but the voices of the police became distorted, unreal. ‘There’s an ambulance outside, we’ll get him outside later, best get to the shelter. There’s nothing we can do here until after the bombing. You two lads come with us, come on, move it.’

Alex and Edward were herded roughly out of the door by one of the policemen, and the other bent down to Evelyne. ‘Come on, come on Missus, the bombs’ll be dropping any minute. There’s nothing you can do for him now …’

Evelyne looked up and told him quietly that there was no need for the ambulance, he was dead … ‘Leave me, please, leave me with him, please.’

The policeman realized it was pointless to argue. She was so calm, like ice, and he didn’t want to waste any more time. The unearthly wail of the sirens continued, and he followed the others out. As he hurried to the shelter, he looked up. Broad daylight, the bastards had the audacity to come in broad daylight, like big, black birds in the sky.

The deadly bombs fell all around number twelve, but Evelyne couldn’t hear them. She sat on the floor cradling Freedom’s body in her arms, unable to cry. Her body felt wounded as if the blood were slowly dripping from her. Rex whimpered, crawling on his belly to lie beside her, licking the outstretched, lifeless hand.

Under the watchful eyes of the policemen, the brothers huddled in the shelter. Alex held Edward in his arms, and whispered to him, softly so the police couldn’t hear. ‘Edward? Listen to me, I’ll say that I did it. No one saw, no one will know, can you hear me?’

Holding his brother tight, needing his warmth, Edward listened.

‘I’m two years younger, they can’t do nothin’ to me, I’m a juvenile, they’ll not send me to jail. You can go to Cambridge, you can still go.’

Edward shuddered and clung even closer, feeling the softness of his brother’s skin. He kissed Alex’s neck.

‘See, it’s what Ma wants, what she’s dreamed of, so I’ll do it, I’ll say it was me that knifed him.’

Edward whispered close to Alex’s ear. ‘I didn’t mean it, you know that, I didn’t mean to do it… I’ll make it up to you, I will, I give you my word I’ll make it up to you.’

Alex seemed satisfied, patting his brother as if he were the younger of the two. Edward gave him a small thankful smile. ‘You won’t go back on your word, will you? I mean, you won’t ever tell anyone, will you?’

Alex blinked back his tears. ‘No, Eddie, I’ll never tell no one else, not even Ma if you don’t want me to.’

Edward gave him a hug, then peeked out of the shelter, said he thought the bombing was almost over. Alex looked at Edward, who no longer seemed to be distressed, no longer clung to him. Alex was shocked, confused, but it was too late, he had given his word.

The bombing had ceased and the all-clear sounded. Edward’s voice was calm. ‘Will you have to take my brother to the police station, sir? I should get back to our mother.’

The people who had sheltered with them lingered to watch, but they were moved on by another officer. Alex was taken away from Edward, and was led to the front of the house. The police officer took Edward aside. ‘Now, lad, best take care of your mother. We’ll have to take him into custody, understand? Tell her she can come down the station any time, but we have to get your brother’s statement.’

‘What’ll happen to him, sir? It was an accident, he didn’t mean it.’

That was not for the officer to say, but he gave Edward permission to have a few words with Alex before they took him away.

Some of the neighbours stood on their front steps, whispering and nodding at the ambulance and the police. Two air-raid wardens joined the gathering, and they all watched with interest, but the police kept them at a distance.

Edward went over to the silent Alex, standing between two police officers. He looked unafraid, his chin up and managing not to cry. Edward couldn’t say what he wanted, not with the officers standing so close … He caught Alex’s hand and tried to hug him, but the sergeant broke them apart, and pushed Edward roughly aside. ‘Don’t start anything, sonny, go to your mother, there’s a good lad. Let’s get this over with as quietly as we can. The whole street’s watching.’

Alex was led to a police wagon and helped up into the back of it. Edward called out to him that everything would be all right. He watched the white face staring from the back of the van as they drove off.

The policeman and the ambulance attendant stood talking at the front door, and Edward went to pass them to enter the house, but the policeman put a hand on his arm. ‘She’s in a bad state, and she won’t let anyone touch him. We’ve been waiting for a doctor so they can take him up to the morgue.’

Edward couldn’t face her. She sat in exactly the same position, with Freedom still in her arms. Rex still licked the lifeless hand.

‘Ma, Ma, you’ll have to let him go. They have, to take him away.’

Slowly she turned vacant eyes towards him, and as if in slow motion she blinked. Prising her rigid arms from his father’s body, he held her. She was covered in blood, and it had dried, hard. The police and an attendant moved in, wrapped the body in a blanket and carried it outside to the ambulance, where the doctor was waiting. Several people watched the body being lifted into the ambulance, and the doctor examined it briefly and told the ambulance crew to take it straight to the morgue, the hospital could do nothing. One of the spectators asked if bombs had dropped on this side of the street, if they had he hadn’t heard them. ‘I’ve got so that I don’t hear ‘em any more, was it a bomb done it?’

The policeman shook his head, said quietly that this was a murder. They shut the back of die ambulance, not noticing the white dog standing by the closed doors.

The truck drove off, the dog followed, followed until his paws were bloody from running on the broken glass and rubble. He knew his master was inside the wagon, and he wouldn’t stop following it. In his exhaustion and the confusion of the traffic he began to follow the wrong vehicle, becoming more bewildered and confused, unable to find the scent, unable to find Freedom. In the end he lay in the gutter, chest heaving, tongue lolling, and his pink eyes closed as his heart gradually stopped.

Evelyne felt as if her heart had broken, it was so painful, she kept her hand pressed to her chest, to the dark, crusted stain. Edward made her some tea. She didn’t speak, but she sipped it, slowly. At long last she appeared to thaw out, the hand that had remained pressed to her chest moved, and she stared at her stained fingers. ‘Where’s Alex, where’s Alex?’

Edward bit his nails, looking guilty. ‘They took him down the station, Ma, just to give a statement.’

Evelyne was puzzled, she rubbed her head. ‘Why Alex, Eddie? Why have they taken Alex?’

Edward chewed his thumbnail down to the quick, he couldn’t face her. ‘Because he did it. They said you can see him any time.’

She knew it was a lie and she felt sick. She had to hold the table-top tightly, or she would have fainted. ‘Alex would never have touched him, Eddie, he worshipped the ground he walked on … Don’t ever lie to me, don’t lie to me!’ She gripped his hand so tight it was like a vice on his wrist.

He sobbed, ‘He said that he would say it was him, then I could go to Cambridge. He said it was what you wanted, Ma, what you dreamed of, you always said that.’

She stared at him, as if he were a stranger. He had sent his own brother to jail.

‘He’s still a juvenile, Ma, they can’t do anything to him, but they could to me. I’m two years older … It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it? You want me to go to university.’

She walked out into the hall, feeling her way along the walls, clinging to the banister as she walked up the stairs. Edward followed and stood at the foot of the stairs. ‘It’s what you want, isn’t it?’

She looked down at him, her eyes as cold as the North Sea. ‘It’s what you want. Well, you go, if Alex doesn’t mind, you go.’

‘I’ll show you, Ma, I’ll be somebody for you, I will, I’ll not stop until I prove it was the right thing to do …Ma? Ma?’

The bedroom door had slammed, and he banged on the banister rail with his fist.

Evelyne undressed, carefully folding each garment, the bloodstained apron, the blouse. She sat on the bed, touching it, running her fingers along the carved posts. One son at university, one in jail, Freda and Ed gone … this was what Rawnie had seen in the palm of her hand. ‘Beware the black birds in the sky. You will lose all you love.’ They were the planes, the German bombers, and it was true, she had lost Freedom, she had lost her love.

The scream echoed down through the derelict house. In the kitchen, Edward raised his head, looked up towards the bedroom. She frightened him, the terrible sound of her screaming, calling his father’s name over and over. At long last the screams stopped, and he heard sobbing, it reverberated through the whole house. He put his hands over his ears to try to block out the noise, but it went on and on. He rocked in his chair. ‘Stop it, stop it, stop it …’

When he took his hands away the house was silent. He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but he sat up sharply as he heard her calling for him.

‘Edward, bring me up some hot water, I have to wash.’

He carried up the big kettle, poured the water into her bowl.

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

He had a pot of tea ready for her in the kitchen, and two slices of buttered toast. She was dressed in her best clothes. ‘I’ll go to the police station, poor Alex must think we’ve forgotten him. We’ll have a lot to be getting on with, there’s everything to arrange for you to go up to Cambridge, and then we’ll need the best lawyer there is.’

Edward was stunned — she was as calm as ever, but when he went to kiss her she pushed him away. She didn’t touch his tea or the toast, just counted the change in her purse. Edward would never forget the way she looked at him, it released him, released him from her. Her eyes were filled with such loathing — as if he were no more than an animal. She never let him touch her again, never held him in her arms, and never spoke of Freedom. She even removed the photograph of Freedom from the mantelpiece, along with those of her two sons.

Evelyne buried Freedom, and the local people showed their love and respect for their dead champion, walking in silence behind the hearse. Ten highstepping men wearing dark pinstriped suits, bright neckerchiefs and gold earrings appeared as if from nowhere. Somehow news had reached them that their fighter was dead. They kept a few yards back from the rest of the mourners, their heads held high — arrogant, black-haired men.

When the ceremony was over, Evelyne remained beside the grave. There was an air of aloofness about her, an untouchable grief that made it difficult for her friends and neighbours to comfort her. Even Mrs Harris couldn’t take her in her arms. It was strange, but it was Jesse, who had brought the men from the clans, who stood alone with her when everyone else had gone. It was Jesse who sensed her need, her devastating loss. He held her gentiy, and she could smell the same musky oil that Freedom used to wear.

‘We burn our dead’s possessions so they take them with them, and in that way they rest and will not haunt the living.’,

‘They’ve already gone, Jesse, went in the Blitz.’

‘Have you nothing he were proud of? He’s a Prince, he cannot lie without a treasure, with no talisman.’

Evelyne remembered the necklace, how proud Freedom had been the day he gave it to her. She hesitated.

It was all she had left of him, all she had to remember the good times. Jesse seemed to know instinctively that there was something and his black eyes went darker than dark as he whispered,

‘He loved thee, woman, more’n ye may know, but he was the son of a dukkerin, his blood was royal. He has strong powers. No church, no service will give him peace. You bury the gold tonight, place it at the foot of the, cross and he’ll rest quiet.’

Evelyne knew now, more than ever, how much of his past Freedom had given up for her, how much of his life she knew nothing of, as if in death he had returned to the wild, returned to his people.

‘Will you sing that song for me. He loved it so.’

Jesse straightened his waistcoat, and in a clear voice that rang out across the graveyard, he sang,

Can you rokka Romany, Can you play the bosh, Can you jal adrey the staripen, Can you chin the cosh …

Evelyne stared at her reflection, her face worn and pale, her naked shoulders as white as her shift. She carefully clasped on the gold and pearl necklace and then each earring. She searched her own face, her own sad eyes for the past, eyes brimming with glistening tears; they once again sparkled with youth and vitality. In the half-light of the small bedside lamp she was sure, sure he had entered the room. A small china figure was placed in front of the lamp and, caught at that moment, held in the beam of the light, it formed a lifesize shadow. Evelyne carefully inched the tiny figure forward until the shadow seemed to stand over her bed. She then lay down and lifted her arms and the shadow kissed and enveloped her, and she knew he would never leave her.

The police constable took Alex a mug of hot tea. The boy had hardly had a bit of food since his arrest. As the key turned in the lock, Alex looked up with a pitiful expression of expectancy on his face.

‘Here, lad, get this down you, you’ll feel better for it.’

Alex’s hands shook as he cupped the tin mug. His teeth chattered against the rim, and his face crumpled. The constable felt sorry for him, and sat down on the bunk. ‘He was buried today. Streets of people walked behind him to say goodbye. They gave him a champion’s …’

He broke off to grab the mug from Alex. He had begun sobbing, his whole body shaking, and he was spilling the scalding tea on himself. All night he sobbed for his father, until he was exhausted, totally drained. The police officers heaved sighs of relief when at last the boy in their charge was silent.

Edward walked across the cobbled courtyard towards the main hall. Hundreds of black-gowned students milled around, shouting and calling to each other, joyously reunited with old pals. Cycles wobbled past, bells rang and everywhere the eye fell there were students. The excitement was contagious and exhilarating, even for the nervous first-timers, the freshmen who looked shyly to one another with small embarrassed smiles. Edward wanted to touch the stone of the walls, wanted to get down on his knees to kiss the cobbled quadrangle, he still could not quite believe he was here, he had done it, he was at Cambridge. He could not contain the feeling of achievement. It was bubbling inside him, bursting from his brain. He had made it. As he crossed the threshold into the main hall for his first assembly, he noticed the stone was worn, curving at the centre from hundreds of years and thousands of students’ hurried steps. Now it was his turn, his time, and he would use every second, every moment. Edward knew that there would be many students who could match him academically, but doubted if anyone, bar himself, would have committed murder to cross this worn, hallowed step. This would be one accomplishment he would never think or speak of; if he did it would destroy him.

As Edward crossed the threshold into his new life he left behind the East End, his mother and his brother. He could not lose or forget as easily the last image of his father. This memory, like a clearly painted picture, was not of when he had seen his dead father cradled in his mother’s arms, it was not of when he had turned to threaten him, it was not even of the smile he had on his face when Edward had felt the knife cut into his heart. The image, the clear, brilliantly painted picture that swept into his dreams and often into his waking hours, was of a man with flowing black hair — a handsome wild man with black angry eyes. The man was Freedom holding his bare knuckled fist up ready to fight, Freedom, the fighter from Devil’s Pit, Freedom alive in the days before Edward had even been born, before he had married Evelyne.

Alex would dream of him too, and in his dream was a surreal mountainside where the grass grew green, the sky was a brilliant blue and the sun sparkled, glinting rainbow colours like a child’s picture story book.

Alex saw himself, running towards the peak of the mountain. There came a thunder of hooves, ringing and echoing around the mountainside, and still he ran on, breathing the sweet, clean air as he jumped for joy …

Breaking through clouds with his raised hooves came a black, shining stallion. Astride him sat a man of magical ethereal beauty. A wild man, with flowing, blue-black hair, barechested, at one with the beast. Alex lifted his arms, crying, ‘Don’t go! Don’t go!’ But the rider passed him by, as if leaping over the very mountain. The thunder of hooves merged into a thunderclap, and the clouds closed like a grey curtain. Alex screamed, struggling to run those last few yards up the mountain, ‘Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!’

He was too late, he was too tired. He collapsed to the ground, and from the earth came the last, faint sounds of the still-galloping horse, fainter, fainter … The skies opened and rain began to fall.

Alex woke, drenched in his own sweat, his body stiff and cold. He pulled the worn blanket around his aching body and closed his eyes again, hoping to conjure up one more glimpse of the rider. Unable to sleep, he comforted himself with the thought that one day he would reach the top of the mountain.

Romany Curse

He must lie with his treasures, be they tin or gold,

Resting in finery, his back to the soil.

One wheel of his vargon must light up with fire,

In the flame is his evil, his pain and his soul.

But beware of his taelizman (talisman) carved out of

stone, If not in his palm, then a curse is foretold.

For who steals the charm of this dukkerin’s son,

Will walk in his shadow, bleed with his blood,

Cry loud with his anguish and suffer his pain.

His unquiet spirit will rise up again,

His footsteps will echo unseen on the ground

Until the curse is fulfilled, his talisman found.