They could hear Freda insisting that Freedom try her banana and raspberry milk shake. She had taken to making elaborate concoctions in her new blender and, of course, feasting on them herself. She had gained at least eight pounds since they had arrived.
Ed turned his adoring expression on his little wife, ‘My Gawd, she can certainly put the food away, what a woman.’
‘Ed … will he win? Tell me, please — I can see his face, his body’s all bruised, will he win?’
Ed assured her that, with rest and preparation, Freedom would win. There was nothing to worry about. ‘He’s goin’ ter beat Sharkey, love, I know it.’
Evelyne planted a kiss on his shiny nose, then went into Freedom’s arms. They danced around the room.
Ed’s good-humoured expression faded quickly. Even from where he was standing, he could see Freedom’s swollen face. He knew there would barely be time for it to go down before he went into the ring again. Ed didn’t like it at all, especially with Freedom’s bruised ribs. He sighed, turned to stare out at the ocean. He tossed his cigar away — it tasted bitter, he felt bitter. He muttered under his breath, ‘Bastards, you bastards … some rest he’s gonna get … bastards.’
Freedom took himself off to bed carrying his son high on his shoulders. Tired as he was, he wanted to bath the little fellow and spend some time with him because he had been away so long.
Freda and Evelyne washed up the dishes. By the time Evelyne went to bed Freedom was sleeping. In the crook of his arm lay Edward, who had crawled out of his cot and into the double bed. The child was fast asleep. With his thatch of dark hair and suntanned body he looked like a miniature of his father. Evelyne stood looking at them both, not wanting to disturb them, then slipped downstairs to lie on the settee. She felt her belly and knew that this time she would be there at the ringside, he would not be coming for another two months.
She slept fitfully, Freedom’s bruised face floating in her mind’s eye. She woke in the early dawn, cold, her body stiff. All around her lay the gifts, the child’s toys, and she picked up the tiny boxing gloves. She would hide these, Edward would never have them, never have his face bruised and cut like his father’s. Now they had the money she would be able to send him to a good school.
Evelyne smiled, hugging herself with pleasure. She could picture the house they would buy with the money, maybe even a pony for Edward. She would also take herself back to school — yes, she would pick up her studies. When she was qualified and the boys were grown, she could start teaching again. As the sun came up, Evelyne made notes on all the things she would do with the money, using one of the drawing books she had bought for Edward. She enjoyed writing and it had been a long time since she had written anything. She sighed as she looked at her handwriting. Perhaps with their new-found fortune she could persuade Freedom to learn too. Suddenly the thought of how much more they would take home when Freedom won the title made her gasp. She laughed out loud, then put her hand over her mouth, realizing how silly she must look.
She placed the notebook carefully in a dressing-table drawer, inching it open silently so as not to wake Freedom, then slipped into the warm bed beside him and their son. She sighed with happiness and found, to her amazement, that she could recall word for word Christina Rossetti’s The Dream.
She laid her hand on Freedom’s thigh. He turned towards her and, still asleep, pulled her to him. Cradled in his arms, with Edward asleep at Freedom’s side, Evelyne felt happier than she had in her whole life. The future was rosy, glowing, and financially secure at long last. She fell into a deep, contented sleep.
Chapter 25
The fight was now only days away, and pre-fight fever made the villa a target for reporters. They photographed Freedom running along the beach, they tried to get to see him at the gym, and he was photographed with Dempsey. Ed finally had to ban the press completely so his fighter could concentrate on training.
Tension mounted in the house. Meals were worked around when Freedom was ready to eat, when he finished, when he slept. He kept himself apart from them all as much as possible, and had been sleeping in the spare room, as litde Edward woke often in the night, and Freedom had to rise at the crack of dawn to train.
There was not a mark left on his face from his previous bouts. The small scar under his left eye had healed and he was in peak condition. As the day drew closer and closer, they read in the papers about the arrival of Jack Sharkey.
Every day Freda read the papers avidly, as there were so many articles about Freedom. She cut each one out and put them into a scrapbook. She would then display her cuttings and handwritten notes at breakfast. Evelyne started one, too, and the women would discuss the layout of their books together.
On a recent trip into town for groceries, Evelyne had bought two books and had taken to reading each afternoon on the porch. She loved the gentle, romantic, beautifully structured stories of Jane Austen.
Edward and Freda were making sandcastles on the beach. Evelyne could hear Freda screeching, ‘Eddie! Eddie, that’s far enough in the water … Eddie!’ No matter how often Evelyne corrected her, she still called him Eddie. Evelyne sighed and tutted. Jane Austen would not have approved.
Far along the beach she could see Freedom running, no more than a small black dot. Ed drove the hired motorcar alongside, the exhaust leaving a trail of blue smoke in the warm air. Evelyne checked the time — she still had a few precious moments alone before the house would again revolve around Freedom. He ate early, a large steak, salad and fresh fruit, and drank a strange mixture that Freda spent ages mixing in her treasured blender. It consisted of raw eggs, milk, honey, and a vitamin powder Ed had been given by Dempsey. Freedom’s training schedule ruled their lives, and now that Evelyne knew what was at stake financially, she made every effort not to disturb his rigorous routine. Meal-time and exercise charts hung all over the kitchen. The lounge was now used for Freedom’s massage and as a place to discuss tactics, and the two of them spent hours closeted in there. In the afternoons Freedom went to Dempsey’s gymnasium to work out on the proper equipment, returning for his long run, his massage, dinner and bed. The fight was drawing closer and closer, but if Freedom was nervous he took pains not to show it in front of the women. Ed was sharp-tempered if they were a minute off schedule, but neither Freda nor Evelyne argued. The fight was all-important.
Ed had taken Evelyne aside for one of their private chats. Flushing with embarrassment, he forced himself to say what had to be said, ‘Now, love, I know he won’t tell you, so it’s up to me — yer not to ‘ave it away, not ‘til after the fight.’
Evelyne smothered her smile and stared, poker-faced, at Ed, ‘Have what away? I don’t follow you, Ed.’
‘Now, now, yer know what I mean! He’s in the spare room and, well, yer see, one night’s love-makin’, Evie, is equivalent to about a six-mile run — d’yer understand me now? Conserve ‘is energy.’
Evelyne repeated what Ed had said to Miss Freda. She patted her hair looking at her dumpy little husband, ‘Well, I wish he’d do a bit of training. I don’t know what’s come over him of late, I think it’s nerves, either that or he’s been taking your Freedom’s vitamins.’ Ed, unaware that they were whispering about him, paced up and down. Evelyne kept her face straight as she looked back at Freda. ‘I don’t think it’s vitamins, Freda. It’s that floating nightdress with all the swansdown he brought you from New York, makes you look the image of Fay Wray.’
Freda giggled as Ed gave them a grunt, and walked out. ‘Well darlink, if that’s true, he’s King Kong. Tonight I’ll put my flannel nightie on, that’ll finish him off”, always has before …’
The two women giggled and looked through all the film magazines Ed had bought. Evelyne had to put her hand over her mouth as she caught Freda looking at herself in the mirror. She had made up her mouth with a cupid’s bow and obviously thought she really did look like Fay Wray, or Clara Bow. She pursed her lips and batted her thickly mascara’d eyelashes. ‘Oh, I just don’t know what I am going to wear for the fight, have you thought about your outfit, Evie?’
Evelyne’s good humour evaporated. Her stomach turned over — just for a few moments she had forgotten about the fight. There were only three days to go … ‘Oh God, Freda, it’s not long now, not long.’
They both turned to the calendar where the dates were marked with crosses. Those few days slipped by fast.
On the day of the big fight Freedom left early with Ed. They all hugged him and wished him well. He kissed
