Free The Legacy by Lynda La Plante

across his face, and his body shook.
    ‘What is it? Has something happened? Da?’ He gripped the small toy and his face crumpled. He sobbed.
    ‘Aw, Christ, gel, I was drunk, I was drunk … he was up here, an’ I heard his hollerin’ and I went to bring him down, down to the fire … he was in my arms … halfway down I fell.’
    Evelyne was on the bed, pulling at his arm, ‘Where is he, Da? Where is he? I’ll go to him, I’ll go to him.’
    Hugh reached out and pulled her down to lie beside him.
    ‘I fell, Evie, I fell … I fell on the little chap, and God help me, I’ve killed him.’
    She moved away, staring, her eyes bright with tears. ‘Ah, no, you didn’t… you didn’t… Davey, Davey!’ Hugh couldn’t stop her, he sobbed as he heard her running through the rooms calling out the little boy’s name. She gripped the side of his empty cot and called for him, all she could remember was his funny, fuzzy head, his drooling, soft mouth … and he was always so happy …
    Lizzie-Ann, her belly even bigger, stood at the door. ‘Oh, lizzie, Lizzie, poor little Davey.’ Lizzie-Ann’s face puckered, a child carrying a child herself, ‘Maybe it was God’s doin’, he wasn’t right in the head.’
    Evelyne wiped her tears with the back of her hand. All her stories, all the things she’d wanted to tell Lizzie-Ann meant nothing now. She could even detect the envy, see it in the puffy, pretty face, the huge, searching pansy eyes. Little Davey was far from her thoughts. ‘You have a good time?’
    ‘No, not really … I brought you back some ribbons, they’re on the kitchen table.’
    Lizzie-Ann whooped and rushed to the kitchen, leaving Evelyne standing by the empty cot. She touched the chewed, sucked sides, and thought it could be put to use for Lizzie-Ann’s baby.
    Later that night Hugh was heard thudding up the stairs. He was drunk as he had been on the night he had fallen and killed his little boy. He was struggling out of his filthy old working jacket, stumbling against the bed. Evelyne slipped into the room and he straightened up while she took his clothes off him. The bed smelt terrible, the sheets and pillows stained with beer and vomit. The huge man was so broken, so pitiful … he held out his massive, gnarled hand to her, she slipped her own into it, although she didn’t want to stay in the squalid room. Poor little Davey, his whole life just a few silly words, Da da-da-daaaa …
    The next Sunday they buried Davey. Only a few villagers turned out to follow the sad, small family to the churchyard. They couldn’t even afford a hearse. Hugh was sober, and he carried the tiny coffin in his arms as if it was a precious box of eggs that would smash if he jolted it.
    Over the tiny grave Hugh swore he would never touch another drop, so help him, and as the rain started the big man went down on his knees and wept. There were no cornflowers this time, as it was winter.
    Evelyne was drained, but she knew her Da depended on her and didn’t give in. She stood, straightbacked, her arm ready for Hugh to lean on. Will wouldn’t meet her gaze, he was ashamed, like his father. The little boy who had been left in their care now lay alongside their Ma and the baby with no name.

Chapter 5
    THE BIRTH of Lizzie-Ann’s daughter was a noisy affair. Red-faced, bawling her lungs out from the very beginning, she started as she meant to go on. She was christened Rosie.
    They now had two lodgers, and Evelyne worked part-time in the bakery. They paid her a proportion of her wages in bread. Will still worked in the mines. It was 1916, and the fear of conscription hung over every household. Every day saw another boy leave for the Front, and lorry-loads of workers were brought to the mines, which caused ill-feeling and fights among the men. Uniformed soldiers were a common sight, some on leave and some new recruits. The village was being torn apart.
    Doris had taken Evelyne to Cardiff three times. She treasured these trips,