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, and it was yet another round to Micky. Ed had screamed himself hoarse from the corner, Freedom wasn’t using his brains, he was dancing, to Ed’s knowledge he hadn’t thrown one decent punch, one that had landed. ‘He’s wiping the canvas with you, an’ you’re lettin’ ‘im do it, come on, come on, get your temper up, fight him!’
Ed eased the elastic on Freedom’s trunks as the corner men sponged and towelled him. Freedom spat water and sniffed, and again Ed lathered the Vaseline on. Freedom’s face was marked on the right side.
In the other corner the trainer barked into Micky’s face that this was it — this was the round. Micky heaved for breath and said it was like doing the Charleston out there, but he was still heaving. The gyppo might be on the run but he was still tiring Micky. ‘I’ll take him this round.’
Clang! They were up again, Ed’s screams going unheard beneath the roar of the crowd. Ed was screaming,
‘Body! Body? as Micky was keeping his hands high, head down. He held Freedom and they both lurched over to the ropes. Micky still held on, leaning his whole weight on Freedom until the referee split them apart. Micky was no longer hissing insults, he was moving in for the kill, and he looked as if he would pull it off until Freedom caught him with a good left jab, straight on to his old cut. Micky swore and went after Freedom, hurting now, his eye smarting. He was also worried, he’d felt that jab — not that it could have cut him down, but it could be dangerous if the old wound were to open up.
When the bell clanged, round five was evens, leaving Micky a clear four rounds ahead.
‘He’s like an ox, I’ve been hitting him hard and he just takes it, I dunno where he’s coming from.’
Micky’s eyes were checked and greased, his trainer giving him instructions all the time, telling him to go for the head, Freedom was open ‘upstairs’. The bell rang for round six, and one of the lads ran to the dressing room to get fresh water.
Mrs Harris soaked strips of cloth in hot water and laid them over Evelyne. The heat soothed her. Mrs Harris herself had never been this long in labour … Evelyne lay on her side, hands slightly above her head, gripping the rope. A sudden, terrible pain shot through her, as though she was being torn in two, and she screamed through clenched teeth, screamed that she’d had enough, she didn’t want him, she couldn’t take any more. The relief was so sudden it stunned her, and she gasped, her mouth open wide.
‘Here ‘e is, love, here ‘e is, come on you little bugger, and about time, too.’
She was right, he was big, and she had to help him in the first few moments, but out he came, and she held him upside-down by his heels, one sharp slap and the next moment Evelyne’s howl was joined by a lusty yell from her son.
‘Here ‘e is, come on, Evie love, let go of the rope, ‘e’s ‘ere.’
Evelyne loosened her grip and eased herself over. Mrs Harris held the baby out to her and she saw the thick thatch of black hair. His lungs were working overtime, and as Evelyne held him to her, his fists punched the air.
‘He’s a boxer like ‘is dad, eh? Will you look at ‘im, Evie, I’d say he was a ten-pounder, more … My God he’s strong.’
Round seven, and Micky slumped in his corner. As they eased out his gumshield he gasped, ‘By Christ, when he gets a punch home it hurts, how’s the eye?’
Micky was confident, he knew he was well ahead on points, but the corner men had their work cut out for them because his eye was opening up. They painted it, daubed him with Vaseline, and his eyes smarted and filled with tears. He gulped at the water and spat it out.
Freedom was panting and Ed was sponging him down, drenching him with the cold water. ‘That was the first time you connected, the first, and you ‘urt ‘im. ‘Is eye’s openin’ up, keep on that eye, an’ watch ‘is right. He’s got a nasty sneaky double punch, left-left-right, and then in he comes, watch out for it.’
Suddenly Freedom jerked his head away from Ed’s greasy fingers and stared up at him with such an expression that Ed stepped back, ‘I got a son, I got a son, Ed, my boy’s born.’
Ed’s jaw dropped, and one of the lads had to ram the gumshield in Freedom’s mouth as the bell was raised. Freedom was up before it rang and prancing into the ring. The lads had to haul the amazed Ed out of the ring. He wasn’t sure what to think, the look on Freedom’s face had completely unnerved him. He checked his watch and almost gave himself whiplash as a huge cheer broke from the crowd.