Christmas to Come: a heartbreaking coming of age saga set in London's East End by Carol Rivers (first e reader txt) 📕

a quiet voice she murmured, 'A word of advice from someone who knows. Believe me, I was as young as you are once and in a similar position. I know what I'm talking about. The Bryants are big on the island and Micky wants a slice of the pie. There are no flies on Sammy and Tony Stratton and Micky has seen the glint of gold in their eyes. That's fair enough, but their business is based on the women, that's how it works. Now, Micky is trying his damnedest to get Ronnie to agree and darling, you have to wake up and know what you want, or else be dragged into something you won't be able to get out of. And don't be blinded by Micky's charm. And you know how charming he can be when he tries.'

'Micky wouldn't force me into doing something I didn't like,' Bella insisted as she tried to make sense of what Joyce was saying.

'Just as long as you are savvy,' Joyce repeated, reclining in her seat. 'The clubs look glamorous I'll grant you and maybe glamour is what you want. But there's another side to it that is quite the opposite. Tell me to mind my own business if you like. But I will repeat this, I know what I'm talking about. And as a matter of fact, so does Ronnie.'

Bella didn't want to accept what she knew Joyce was trying to say. She had known Micky years and Joyce a matter of hours. But even the champagne hadn't the power to take the sting out of Joyce's remarks. Bella knew she needed some fresh air. It was the alcohol that was having such a bad effect on her and suddenly Joyce's voice seemed very far away as the room began to spin in front of her eyes.

Chapter 7

With his mind turning over the events of last night at the Indigo, Ronnie made the tea just as his mum had taught him as a boy. Boil the water and warm the pot. A full teaspoon of leaves for each person and one for the pot. A touch extravagant perhaps, but that was Mum's way and he never deviated from it. The ritual allowed him to think through his problems and Bella Doyle was certainly a problem. One he was going to have to think through carefully.

Somewhere between the making of a brew and the drinking he hoped the answer would come. At least, that's what his mum said. He wondered sadly if she had ever regretted bringing three sons into the world, a man's world, not really hers. All her homespun wisdom and as kids it had been water off a ducks back to them. Four strapping men that she'd washed, cleaned, cooked and mended for her whole adult life. Then died at only forty-four, in the time it took to light the gas. Gone. No say in the matter. No struggle for survival. Just total blackout. And now he was raking over the memories with a fine toothed comb, hoping for inspiration that he wished he could hear fall from her own lips.

Ronnie stirred the pot as the hot steam rose into his face. He was nearer to Mum making tea than he was anywhere else. Certainly not at her grave where she lay with Dad and next to Auntie Gwen. It was a desolate place that graveyard, and he felt a twinge of guilt at never going there.

Dragging his thoughts back to Bella, he asked the question once more. What was he going to do about her? Last night she'd passed out and now he felt responsible. The kid was only fifteen after all. He'd carried her upstairs and put her to bed in Mum and Dad's room. When he'd looked down at her and pushed the hair from her eyes, it struck him how young she was. How she'd always been around, her small figure following at Micky's heel. When he'd got demobbed and arrived home, the first thing he'd noticed was Bella Doyle sitting on the wall outside the house.

'It's me,' she'd greeted him, a grin on her dirty face. 'Bella Doyle.' He'd stood trying to get his bearings and forget the killing fields and there was this kid, grinning up at him. He'd nodded and moved past her, eager to see Micky and Sean. But she'd followed him and the boy too, taller and thinner than before, but still with that vacant gaze. They'd watched Micky and Sean embrace him, tears in their eyes. He wouldn't ever forget that day. He was alive, back in the land of the living. Though God only knew how. And now, she was still here, part of their lives for good or bad after the night when they'd taken Jack Router and made him a cripple.

'Shove a couple more sugars in for me, Ron, will you? I'm trying to get me brain in gear.' This from Micky who stood in the kitchen doorway peering out from sleep-deprived eyes. A blanket was draped around his naked shoulders and he was shivering.

'You mixed your drinks as usual.'

'Yeah, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.' Micky scratched his bare stomach and coughed chestily. 'When is the club deal going down then, bruv?'

Ronnie handed his brother a cup. 'No time soon as far as we're concerned.'

Micky looked alarmed. 'Why's that, then?'

'Because I agree with Joyce. The punters aren't going to trot all the way down to the island from the West End when they've got what they want on their doorstep.'

Micky walked slowly to the draining board and leaned on it, his face ashen from the previous night's bender. 'I reckon they would if the booze was cheap enough.'

Ronnie turned slowly to face his brother. 'Which is where you come in, of course.'

'I told you Ron, me and Lenny were on to a big earner with the old tiddly we made. It had a real kick to it. I even tried it