Charlie Edwards: ‘I'm world champion but I would give this up to make my mum back to how she was’

“When I woke up this morning, I just started crying,” Charlie Edwards says thirty-six hours after winning the WBC World Flyweight Title.

Lingering adrenaline consoled only by exhaustion, the bruised barely 50kg fighter is slumped in bed in a fleeting moment’s peace by the old Victorian seafront in Eastbourne. Far from the hysteria of the O2 Arena, the surreal dusk on last Saturday’s victory only just beginning to cast its shadow.

The remnants of the bout are still there - the pronounced reddening to either cheek boasting of twelve gruelling rounds against Nicaragua’s fearsome power-puncher, the sharp cut above his eye which caused blood to freefall from his forehead midway through the fight still sore – but Edwards’ mind is mulling somewhere else.

Laptop to his side, he’s been looking back at photos of himself in the same ring in 2016, stopped in the tenth round of his maiden world title challenge against John Riel Casemiro, keeled in the referee’s arms, the lowest point of his professional career.

“I didn’t break the promise,” he says. “The promise I gave to my mum when she was really ill for the Casemiro fight. She said to me, ‘Charlie promise me you won’t let it affect you. Promise me you will be a world champion one day’. I can still hear her saying it. It was heartbreaking.”

It’s been four years since Edwards’ ailing mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. Treated with radiotherapy, an undetected burst cavernoma on the brain developed into a tumour resulting in three major operations. Having been readmitted to hospital and subsequently cleared of another bleed on the brain at the beginning of this fight week, Saturday’s bout was the first she had attended since he made his debut.

“We’ve had some touchy moments with mum,” he continues. “When she went in for the first operation, I basically had to say goodbye to her because it was such a big risk. When I was driving home [from the hospital], I had to stop and get out of the car. I was crying my eyes out. I couldn’t function.”

To see Edwards on his knees beating his fists against the wall of his dressing room in celebration, swigging from a stray bottle of champagne and presenting the world title belt to his wheelchair-bound mum was to witness one of sport’s moments most romantic and rare. Hey There Lonely Girl, a sentimental ‘70s falsetto hit by Virginian soul singer Eddie Holman, blaring through the back alleys of the O2 as he posed for pictures with his family.

“It’s mine and her song,” he explains. “We used to get in her car and sing along to it together when I was like 15. It’s all come home now. I’m WBC World Champion and it’s a dream come true but if I could give this up and make my mum back to how she used to be I would.

“I’ve come to a realisation with it all now. At first I used to try and hide it away. I would never speak about it, that was my way to deal with it. I think emotionally it f***** me up a little bit.

“She’s pulled through every time – it’s a miracle to come through one of them. She’s the biggest fighter and biggest inspiration of my life. It’s mad, even after winning the British Title against Iain Butcher, high on cloud nine, I got a phone call from my mum’s partner at the airport the next day, ‘Mum’s been rushed into A&E, another bleed on the brain’. From the British Title to A&E, going there day in day out.

“How could I be happy…Boxing’s been my escape from the reality of the world.”

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It’s a stark second of self-reflection, a confession even of being able to for a brief moment clear his mind. When Edwards speaks about boxing there is a boyish zeal that overtakes his voice, a volt of electricity behind the eyes, a total enthralment in his obsession so ingrained that he’s already had to force himself to forgo a jog in the early hours of this morning. Physically the rest is what his body yearns for yet mentally the run is the meditation his mind requires.

He oozes the machismo of a champion offset only by a relentless pursuit of more. A mind state entrenched within him through the hardship of that first defeat and a grim series of fights which failed to materialise that followed.

“I’m number one in the world at flyweight,” he bounces. “Number one. Numero uno. Not number four, no number two, I’m the number one. I’m the champion now. I’m ready for all comers and whoever gets put in front of me I’m going to beat.”

“When I walked into the ring [on Saturday], it already felt like I was the champion. I boxed like the champion. My goal is not to become a world champion. If it was I’d be satisfied now, I’d be happy to walk away from the sport. My goal is to reign supreme, to get a legacy, unify the division, move up a weight, win more world titles. Saturday was just the start. I’m ready for anyone.”

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That “new era” is set to begin with a rematch against Rosales in the first half of 2019 or a unification with IBF champion Moruti Mthalane. But it’s a world title tilt against domestic rival Kal Yafai – the WBA Super-Bantamweight Champion – which seems predestined to launch Edwards to the coveted mantle of pay-per-view status and to a position of financial security rarely afforded to those in the lower weights. A fight against a former sparring partner with whom he has already shared hundreds of rounds in the Team GB amateur set-up and who before Saturday’s success dismissed him as nothing.

“One hundred and ten per cent the fight with Kal Yafai is going to happen,” he says with unmistakable relish. “His biggest mistake was not taking the fight a year ago. I’m a different animal now. The longer he leaves it the easier it’s going to get.

But as Christmas Eve chimes on those needs can just about be suspended, even if it’s a part of Edwards’ life you feel will never leave him. A sport renowned for its brutality and bitterness that has provided glorious respite, a sanctuary away from life’s crooked agony.

“I think it has been the best year of my life… I’ve finally cracked it.”