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

'Please yourself,' Mary muttered. 'And where is my son and heir today?'

'Terry? He's at work at the garage.'

'And couldn't find time to visit his mother?'

'It wasn't that. He has a job to do, that's all. Is there a cup of tea going?'

Mary looked at her then walked away. Bella sat on the bed with Teresa. She was not going to get much cooperation from their mother. But she wasn't going to let it upset her either. 'Do you like your new room?' she asked Teresa.

'I've never had a real bed before.'

'You'll sleep like a top in this one. And all your new clothes are in the wardrobe.' Bella combed back her hair, taking each silky strand and carefully plaiting them, adding a ribbon as a final touch.

'When are you coming next?'

'On Monday. We'll go to the park like I said. Michael will have finished school so we'll take a picnic with us.'

'Did my Mum say I could?'

'Yes, she did.'

'Can I come round your house, too?'

Bella nodded. 'You and Michael have birthdays to celebrate in August. Would you like a party?'

'Oh, yes please! Can Anne and Irene come? And Emma and Victoria?'

'Yes, all your friends are welcome.'

Teresa wrapped her thin arms around her and they sat quietly together. Although Teresa was much better, she still had a weak chest. Would Mary remember to give her the orange juice and cod liver oil that would help Teresa's stamina? Bella decided that she was going to keep a very strict eye on the situation.

Micky was talking with Milo and Ivor. They were in the small office attached to the garage. Micky had instructed Terry to stand outside and knock on the door if there were any customers. Through the window he could see Terry standing stiff as a sentry beside a 1950 Austin. The kid wouldn't move from there unless he saw a punter and Micky relaxed. The door was locked, no one would enter.

On the table in front of them was a large map. They were all concentrating on one particular area circled in red, with a large X drawn across it.

'Downey Manor,' Micky said in a low voice as he glanced at Miles. The young salesman had a frown on his handsome face. 'It's a blinder,' continued Micky enthusiastically. 'I can guarantee it. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw the rooms all choc-a-block full of paintings and antiques. I wouldn't be surprised if Lady Muck is worth a fortune.'

'She may well be,' agreed Ivor, also looking doubtful. 'But those kind of goods would not be easy to dispose of.'

'It's not them I'm interested in,' Micky said with a sly smile. 'You see, the old girl took quite a shine to me. Told me all about the family fortune, most of which is stashed away in the banks. Her other half was a bit of a gambler, liked his gee-gees. Must've been a shrewd old bugger as he stuffed the cash where he could see it. She paid for the motor in cash, all rolled up fivers.'

'From under the floorboards no doubt?' said Miles sarcastically.

'No, from a hole in the wall behind one of her Rembrandt's.'

'How much?' Ivor asked, stroking his small moustache. The office reeked of his foreign tobacco. Micky had closed the window tight so they couldn't be overheard.

'There was wads of it, so much that she was fighting to push it back in again. The two-hundred quid she lashed out for the Jag didn't make a dent in it.'

'She showed you?'

'Yeah. Didn't bat an eyelid. She's a bit off her trolley, see? Eccentric. Lots of these toffs are. Daft, because I could have been anyone, couldn't I?'

'You are,' agreed Miles. 'You're planning to steal it.'

'Borrow it, Milo. Swap it for funny money. She won't ever know the difference. I mean, most of it is just gathering dust. I was sitting at this big table that was more like a skating rink and clocking every move she made. There's notes in boxes and bags and rubber bands and she's short-sighted an' all, so she has to shove it up to her nose to see what it is. I tell you, we're about to do her a big service.'

'Weren't there any servants?'

'No, she only has someone come in to cook and clean and a gardener cum driver. She said she don't trust no one.'

'Only you?'

Micky grinned as lifted his foot to a chair and leaned his arm on his knee. 'Look, I built up the trust see? I was giving her the old flannel; these old biddies love flattery and a bit of attention in a department that has been sadly lacking for years. I took her for a few spins, whizzed her out in the fresh air with her poodle on her lap and the force of gravity taking twenty years off her double chins.'

'You are a smooth bastard,' Miles chuckled. 'I was only thinking last week how that Jag was sticking. Then you call in one day and chat my customer up in a matter of seconds.'

'Yeah, it was love at first sight.' Micky laughed loudly at his joke.

'This doesn't sound healthy to me,' Ivor protested.

'And those fags you're eating don't look it either,' Micky returned swiftly. 'Your insides must be blacker than the cemetery incinerator.'

'Can we return to Downey Manor?' Miles intervened, glancing at the map again. 'Let's go over this one more time. What precisely, would I be expected to do?'

'Drive,' Micky told him easily as he adjusted his white cuffs under his sports jacket. 'You wait for the boys outside and when the job's done, chauffeur them home.'

'And I am expected to provide finance for the er – funny money?' Ivor looked down his long nose.

Micky nodded. 'We need a good printer and that costs.'

'You know of one?' Miles asked in his faultless accent.

'You bet. Just leave it to me.'

'And talking of you,' Ivor put in, 'what is your part in all this?'

Micky pulled