bandaging boxers’ hands Ed was meticulous, constantly asking if it was all right. Freedom looked at him, ‘You don’t need me to tell you, just get on with it.’
The atmosphere was tense, electric. In the main dressing room Micky Morgan’s hands were being bandaged. His trainer stood behind him, massaging his shoulders, soothing him, talking quiedy. ‘Big crowd, not a seat to be had, His Royal’s arrived, there’s touts outside selling tickets at five times the price, gonna be a night, Micky, your night, it’s your night, Micky.’
Freedom’s hands were ready, and they waited for the referee to come and check them over. He sat with his eyes closed, swinging his legs. Ed wished he knew what made Freedom tick, but he never had been able to fathom him out. He might be sitting waiting for his dinner, he seemed so relaxed.
Freda, her brother-in-law and his wife edged their way along the row to their seats. They waved to a few faces they knew, and sat down.Evelyne’s empty seat was now more obvious in the crowded hall. Freda had tried to get round the back but hadn’t been allowed in, they’d done all they could. The phones were all engaged. The. operator had said she herself couldn’t put any calls through, as there were so many people waiting.
A group of men in evening dress came walking along the passage from the dressing-rooms. The hall grew quiet as all eyes watched the ring. The band struck up a fanfare. Now they could see, way up by the entrance, the tight group of trainers and corner men, and behind them the hooded figure of Micky Morgan.
‘This is it, gels, here they come.’
The corner men flanked Freedom as he progressed down the hall and up into the ring. The crowd went mad, cheering and yelling, but Freedom kept his head low, his gloved fists touching each other. Behind him came Ed, sweating, his face bright pink.
‘There’s Ed, there … see?’
The group entered the ring exactly opposite them, exactly opposite the empty seat, but for the moment it went unnoticed. The fanfare blasted again and the cheers grew even louder, nearly lifting the roof off as Micky entered. He wore a dark red velvet cape with the word ‘Champion’ written across the back. He bent to climb through the ropes, then stood with his fists above his head, and the crowd went wild.
Carrying a microphone on a long, thick lead, a white-haired man in tails and top hat stepped into the ring. He walked to the centre.
‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the King!’
The band played and everyone in the hall sang in unison, ‘God Save the King’. Prince Edward and his party were all standing in the royal box, and he too sang the National Anthem. He gave a small wave and then he, like everyone else in the hall, took his seat.
In the ring stood Freedom, head bowed, and Micky stared straight ahead. As the audience settled in their seats again, the boxers went to their corners. The master of ceremonies called out their weights and announced twenty, two-minute rounds. The referee, Ron Hutchinson, was introduced and bowed in the centre of the ring. He had once been a middleweight champion boxer, and was now about to retire from the police force. He had iron-grey hair and a stern-looking, craggy face.
On a podium overlooking the ring were two men with a film camera, recording the match. Ron Hutchinson went first to the champion’s corner and asked if everything was ready, then crossed the ring to Freedom’s corner. He actually had to ask twice, as Freedom was more intent on looking across at Freda than on what was happening in the ring.
‘Her seat’s empty, Ed. Where’s Evie, she’s not here?’
Hutchinson spoke a few words to the corner men, then made a slow circuit of the ring instructing all those close to the canvas to keep their hands away from the ring itself.
‘Ed, she’s not in her seat, Evie’s not here.’ Ed gritted his teeth and swore at Freedom, this was not the time to start worrying about Evie.
Back in the centre of the ring, Hutchinson signalled for both boxers to come forward. Freedom was staring, concerned and preoccupied, at the empty seat. Hutchinson hooked an arm around each boxer’s shoulders, and above the roar of the crowd he could be heard clearly, his voice harsh. ‘I want a good clean fight, no butting, no holding. You break on my word, understand? No low punches, let’s keep this professional. An’ above all, obey my voice. I don’t want to have to say things twice, an’ I don’t want to disqualify either of you for dirty fighting … All right, then back to your corners and may the best man win.’
As the boxers’ gumshields were fitted the crowd went quiet, knowing the bell would clang at any moment. Ed whispered in Freedom’s right ear as he rubbed his shoulders, repeating it over and over, desperate to get through to him. ‘Evie’s all right, she’s fit an’ she’s strong, and she wants you to win, understand me, are you listenin’ ter me? Evie had to stay ‘ome, the baby’s coming sooner than expected.’
Beneath Ed’s kneading ringers Freedom’s shoulders froze. ‘Why didn’t Freda stay with her for God’s sake, mun? Is she on her own?’
Out of the corner of his eye, Ed could see the bell being lifted, the stopwatch being shown to the referee. Any moment now they were going to begin, and here was his man worrying himself sick over his wife.
‘Evie said if Freda didn’t come to the fight she’d never forgive ‘er. She’s got Mrs Harris, a doctor an’ a midwife an’ a nurse, so she’s being taken care of … Now, think of the fight, son, concentrate, Freedom, get in there and go fer it.’
The bell rang, the corner men whipped the stools out and jumped down from the ring.
Micky was out of his corner like a bullet, his hands up, moving towards Freedom, and Freedom took two punches before the pain brought him round. Micky’s eyes were like steel, staring into Freedom’s face, and his gum protector made him look as if he was leering.
Mrs Harris knew it was time, the pains were ripping through Evelyne, and she was heaving for breath. ‘Grab hold of the sheet, love, pull down, come on, grab it an’ pull.’
Evelyne held on grimly to the twisted sheet knotted round the bedpost. With every contraction she held on and yelled her head off. Just by feeling her belly Mrs Harris knew the baby was big, so she heaved Evelyne on to her side, knowing her spine would take too much strain if she lay on her back.
“E’s a big’un, an’ ‘e’s on ‘is way, so grip hard and press down, press him out of you every time that pain comes, press down and hang on to the sheet…’
Mrs Smith brought up hot water, standing by and giving way to Mrs Harris’ experience. The big woman was so calm, soothing Evelyne and rubbing her back, talking quietly to her and going through each spasm herself.
“Ere we go, love, ‘ere comes another one … and push him, that’s my girl, push.’
Freedom slumped into the corner, and Ed dipped his sponge and squeezed it over Freedom’s face. One of the lads dipped the gumshield in the water to clean it, and the other held it ready and gave Freedom water. He gulped and spat into the bucket.
‘Is there any way we can get word if she’s all right, Ed?’
The lad watched as Ed lathered Vaseline over Freedom’s eyebrows and cheeks.
‘We got someone standing by in the pub, anyfink ‘appens they’ll call us, don’t worry.’
All Freedom’s concentration was on Evelyne, and he was sick with worry. On the other hand, Ed was sick that Freedom wasn’t fighting, he was letting punch after punch penetrate his defence. Already there were deep red marks on his chest, Micky’s glove prints were all over him.
‘You’re buggerin’ around out there, hear me? If Evie knew what you was doin’ she’d get into this ring herself. Your gel’s a fighter, for God’s sake, you gotta win for ‘er.’
The bell rang again, and Micky was up and out of his corner. His trainer was satisfied, so far Micky was ahead on every round, and he began to think that Micky would take the gyppo out in five rounds as he had bragged. All through the break his trainer said, over and over, ‘You’ve got him on the run, and he’s got no punch, he’s not landed one home. Take him, Micky, go on, take him.’
Round four, and Micky certainly looked as if he was beating the contender. He began to get cocky, hissing through his gumshield, ‘Whassamatter, gyppo, scared, scared? Fight, come on, whassamatter, hit me, hit me.’
So cocksure was Micky that at one point he turned to the crowd so they could see him smile. The sounds of cheering were getting mixed now with booing, so Micky decided to go for it, and moved in. Bam, bam … he edged Freedom on to the ropes. Freedom ducked, sidestepped, ducked, sidestepped, then threw two punches so wild that Micky got in one hell of a crack. His right hook landed on Freedom’s jaw.
The crowd gasped, Freedom was off balance … he staggered slighdy then recovered. Micky was sure the punch would have knocked him down, and was surprised when the big lad came straight back at him. The bell rang,
