Christmas to Come: a heartbreaking coming of age saga set in London's East End

by Carol Rivers

  Although he had managed a few tears, Micky was feeling on top of the world. His big worry had been the duchess. She was an unknown quantity in all this because she was a bit off her trolley. Alfred had assured him that he was worrying for nothing. Reminding him that his lordship had been one conniving old twister. The money in the safe didn't exist in the books of Her Majesty's taxmen. The duchess dipped into it for things like the Jag. The funny money, crumpled and dirtied, tied up in string and squashed in bags, was only going to seep out in small quantities.

  Micky passed his handkerchief to Bella, then smoothed a genuine wetness from his own eyes. To think what a close shave he'd had! But he was now ten grand richer – a miracle! He'd given Lenny and Rolo half of what they'd expected, economised on Terry's cut, and given Alfred his full whack, which was only fair to a professional on the job.

  Micky took hold of his wife's hand and squeezed it. He'd dealt with the undertakers, arranged the funeral and given Father Johns all the old bull on Terry. Bella wanted a good send off and if that meant he had to invent a few porkies, so be it. He had even stayed home for a few days. Until he couldn't stand the gloomy atmosphere any longer.

  Micky looked into his wife's grief stricken face. She was taking her brother's death hard, but Terry was short of a full shilling. He would never have amounted to anything, would he?

  Micky smiled at his son. Good looking lad, but a bit wet behind the ears, leaning too much towards his mother. When all this was over, he'd toughen him up a bit. Make a real man of him

  There was best sherry and beer for the adults and lemonade and cream soda for the children. Spread out on the kitchen table were plates of dainty triangular shaped ham and cucumber sandwiches, cheese biscuits, sausage rolls, pickles, gherkins, mince pies and two bowls of sherry trifle. Her heart hadn't really been in the preparation, but Gina had come over and helped. Joyce and Ronnie were only just back from their honeymoon and they had insisted they wanted to help. But Bella had said it was just a small do for the mourners.

  It was only a month ago they had all been celebrating at the New Inn. How could her life have changed so radically in such a short time? she wondered as she placed the napkins on the side plates.

  'I've given the children theirs out in the yard,' Gina told her as she came in. 'They can make as much as they like out there.'

  'Thanks.' Bella went to the sink. She scrubbed the baking tray hard, a lock of hair falling over her face.

  Gina came to stand beside her. 'I'm worried about you, Bella. You haven't stopped. Why don't you sit down and chat with everyone a bit.'

  'No, I like to keep busy.'

  'That's what I'm worried about. You'll exhaust yourself.' Gina touched her arm gently. 'Listen, no matter what has happened, Terry wouldn't want this, you working yourself to a frazzle.'

  Bella didn't want to talk about Terry or her innermost feelings. She knew Gina was trying to help, but work was her only release, as then she didn't have time to think. 'Would you make the tea?' she asked, changing the subject and nodding to the kettle. 'Not everyone will want alcohol.'

  Gina sighed heavily. 'Have it your own way, girl. But if you wash that pan any harder it will disappear down the drain.'

  Bella kept scrubbing. She didn't want to think about what she would do next, say next, think next. She had found a way to cope by living in the moment. If she allowed her thoughts freedom they always returned to the dark wood where Terry had been found. He had died alone, shot by an unknown person and it was repugnant to her. Most of all, she blamed herself. It was her fault that he had gone off so much lately. Who had he seen? Where had he gone to? What crowd had he fallen in with? She had tried to persuade him to come downstairs and sleep in the spare room, but he had refused. What had been going on in his mind? Was he frightened of someone or something?

  Bella realized she was staring at Mary who was being fussed over by Gus as they sat by the fire. Mary had cried throughout the funeral. Had been comforted by the priest and everyone else as the grieving mother. Now she was drinking from a glass, her cheeks red and her eyes bright as everyone paid her their condolences. Except of course Ronnie and Micky. She knew they were tolerating her presence and Mary was probably revelling in their discomfort.

  'It was a lovely service,' Joyce said then and Bella came back to the moment as Joyce took one of the offered sandwiches.

  'Yes, it was.'

  'And a lovely tribute by the priest to Terry.'

  Bella was aware that Joyce, like Gina, was trying to say the right things. She looked very beautiful with her golden Italian tan set off by her elegant black dress, but her face was full of concern.

  'I'm sorry you came back to a funeral,' Bella said.

  'I wish we could do something to help.'

  'It's just nice that you're here. Now, can I get you a drink?'

  'Ronnie's gone for one.' Joyce looked awkward. 'We are supposed to be moving in upstairs next week. But it doesn't seem very appropriate, not with…well, what I mean is - '

  'You don't have to worry on my account,' Bella said stiffly. 'I've cleared Terry's room out.'

  'Oh Bella, I was hoping to help you.' Joyce looked mortified.

  'It was better to get it over.'

  She had done it whilst Michael was at school and when Micky had gone back to the club. His fussing around had irritated her. She wasn't used to him being home and it seemed to accentuate Terry's death. Finally she had found a few moments to go upstairs. It was then she had let the tears fall. As she had placed Terry's clothes and personal effects in a box, she had wept. After that she had closed the door, ending a part of her life.

  As more people arrived Bella went out to the yard. 'Would you like more to eat?' she asked the children. Emma and Victoria, Anne and Irene, Michael and Teresa were playing hopscotch. They didn't really understand the occasion. Even Teresa hadn't absorbed that her half brother was dead. It was a relief to talk to them as they seemed to carry on as usual.

  'Can we have some more mince pies?' Michael wanted to know.

  'I'll bring some out.'

  'Can we play Blind Man's Buff?'

  She gave them her purple and black silk scarf that she had worn with her black dress. When they were occupied, she made her way back to the guests. Percy and Dolly were standing by the window. 'Thank you for coming,' she said.

  'We are so sorry, Bella.' Dolly had tears in her eyes and a little bump under her black skirt.

  'Thanks. Now you must have something to eat.'

  She was glad when Ronnie came up and engaged them in conversation. Dolly was her best friend, but Bella didn't want to talk to her now.

  All she wanted to do, was keep her hands and feet going. It was the best antidote to pain that she had found. Better even than the pills she was still swallowing, trying to numb the ache inside her.

  Leaving Joyce to talk to Percy and Dolly, Ronnie slipped outside and went up the steps of the airey. The October night was as clear as a bell. The stars shone down from a deep blue sky. The weather had even turned a little warmer. He wondered if he should have brought Joyce with him. They hadn't had chance to look at the old house together and next week they were moving in.

  He wasn't going to stay upstairs long. Just look around and make a few mental notes as to what was needed.

  He took out his key and let himself in. Immediately he closed the door, he felt odd. He stood still, listening in the darkness to the deep silence. He had been so convinced it was the right thing to do. He was going to put in a telephone and make Joyce a modern kitchen. He had so many plans, yet all of a sudden, the house felt more like a stranger than an old friend.

  Switching on the light, he looked around. The place was much the same as when Mum and Dad had lived here other than a few coats of paint, new lino, different curtains. But essentially, still the same. Sean and Ashley had looked after it well. But it wouldn't be Joyce's choice.

  Would she like living here? he wondered as he walked into the front room. Mum's big, polished tabl
e was no longer extended. Sean had dropped the sides and pushed it back against the wall.

  He sighed, fighting the nostalgia. The family table. Family meetings … the Bryant brothers who were going to make a big name for themselves. The Firm.

  And then, along came a spider…

  The spider was time, Ronnie decided. Time had caught up with them. They weren't kids any more, but men. Each as stubborn as the other. Too many chiefs and not enough Indians as his old Dad would have said.

  Ronnie moved quietly into the kitchen. He smiled, as for a brief moment he fancied he could still smell cooking. Mum's apple tart and egg custard with the cinnamon sprinkled on the top. He wondered if Joyce would follow in her footsteps, with an apron tied to her waist, a willing slave to the stove. Somehow he couldn't see that. More like nipping down the shop for something on the quick. Or better still, dining out.

  What was he doing, bringing Joyce back here? he asked himself as the smile faded from his lips. You couldn't walk backwards all the time or one day you'd fall off the edge of the world. That was another of his Dad's sayings. Yet here he was, starting married life with decades of memories stacked under this roof. Financially, him and Joyce could afford to live anywhere they chose. One minute they were set for the big gaff in the sticks, the next he was hightailing it back to Piper Street. Not a good move on his part. He could see that now.

  He turned quickly and went upstairs. It smelt of men up here. Polished leather and Brylcreem, newspapers and fags. Mum and Dad's room. He opened the door and mental pictures flooded in. Surprisingly of Bella that night … after the Indigo, and too much champagne. He smiled. Terry had kept guard, sleeping on the landing. Micky hadn't got a look in then.

  The thought of Terry made him turn to the small room. This had been his own room once, the room Terry had seized for his own and had loved. The lad's own space. A possession he'd never had before. A few feet of absolute privacy.

  Ronnie pushed open the door. He could smell Terry still. Mostly fags and what was it, he like to chew? Those sweets – nougat, was it?

  The room looked empty. Joyce had told him Bella had cleared Terry's things. His heart went out to her. What could he do to help ease her pain?

  It was all such a puzzle. What had the kid been up to? Downey Wood! Another planet as far as Terry was concerned. He must have been taken there. But by who? And why?

  'Ronnie?'

  He turned. Joyce was smiling at him. He drew her into his arms.

  'Well, have you decided?' she asked

  .'Decided on what?'

  'Which room we're having.'

  Ron lifted her chin. 'Are we doing the right thing? Coming back here? I mean, Terry was – '

  'Terry's gone, Ronnie. There's just you and me.'

  He felt the need to reassure her, or was it himself? 'Joyce, I love you, you know that, don't you?'

  For answer she stood on her toes and kissed him. 'Let's go We can work it all out next week.'

  Hand in hand they went downstairs and Ronnie, if the truth be known, was relieved to shut the door behind him.

  Chapter 25

  PART THREE

  1960

  A tall young man sporting sideburns, a quiff of Brylcreemed hair and a pair of crepe soles emerging below his drainpipe trousers, left his three friends to walk over to the jukebox. A blast of Little Richard filled the coffee bar and he returned to the oblong green Formica table overflowing with Pyrex coffee cups.

  On the other side of the room sat the rival party of conventional dressers. These young men and women wore sharp navy blue blazers and polo necks, the girls flaunting back-to-front cardigans and pony-tails.

  The room was enhanced by the smell of Espresso coffee streaming from the shining chromium coffee machine. Behind it, Bella was stacking the shelves of glass cups and saucers. Above them rose a wall emblazoned by logos and black and white photographs of all the latest pin ups. The Dallas Boys, Cliff Richard, Billy Fury and Elvis Presley to name but a few. Every so often a customer would bring one in fresh photo and up it would go, until the wall was covered and new space had to be found.

  Gina's Coffee Bar was settling down after a hectic Saturday morning. Bella knew that trade would bounce back in an hour, before the first showing of the main feature at the local cinema. Going to the window she smiled at another boy and girl deep in conversation as they sat on tall stools at the bar. They were obviously in love, whispering sweet nothings, whilst the other group were laughing and extrovert.

  Bella lowered the blind as she always did after lunch, giving the interior a more intimate feel. After clearing the tables and chatting with the young people, she moved to the kitchen. Here Gina was measuring the coffee beans; they sold gallons of Espresso and the expensive Italian machine that produced quantities of noisy, frothy milky coffee had paid for itself a dozen times over.

  'If I hear "Good Golly Miss Molly" one more time, I'm smashing that record over someone's head,' Gina warned as Bella set down the dirty glass cups.

  'You'll have to beat me to it,' Bella laughed. 'That lad plays it all the time. Drives me nuts.'

  'What did we do before juke boxes came along?'

  'Search me.' Bella rinsed out the cups under the sparkling new taps and set them on the stainless steel racks. 'And it's not cheap to keep playing them. It's a wonder they've got the spare.'

  'Oh, these youngsters aren't strapped for cash.' Gina lifted the large glass flask onto the chromium container. 'They make anything up to twelve quid a week, you know. One of them Teddy Boys was telling me last week he works in a factory making motorcycles. All that clobber they manufacture is custom made.'

  Bella nodded. 'Michael is becoming fussy about what he wears. He likes nice clothes to impress the girls at the youth club. Some of them look very grown up with their make-up and heels. They're only thirteen or fourteen, but the youngsters grow up quickly these days. I just hope Michael keeps a sensible head.'

  'Assuming his father has warned him against the evils of sin,' Gina remarked sarcastically.

  Bella didn't reply. Her son was normally a happy-go-lucky teenager but on the rare occasions he saw his father, he became quiet and withdrawn. He was as wary and confused as she was at Micky's irrational behaviour and mood swings.

  As far as the romantic side of their marriage was concerned, it was non-existent, Bella thought sadly. No hugs or cuddles or fond words. The last time they had made love was months ago. She'd tried to please him, but eventually he'd pushed her aside irritably gone straight to sleep. She no longer worried where he was when he didn't come home. She knew. He might as well be living on the premises of his new club, the Flamingo.

  Gina glanced her way. 'So what is Michael doing this morning?' They never stayed on the subject of Micky long for Bella knew that Gina had guessed long ago the marriage was struggling.

  'He's gone to Saturday morning cinema with Teresa. And then they're going down the Dockland Settlement. Him and his mates have got a skiffle group started. They only muck about with an old tea chest and washboard, but he loves it.'

  'A bit different to going up the market like the old days.'

  Bella nodded. 'That would bore him now.'

  'One day he'll be coming in here to give us a hand.'

  Bella laughed. 'Or bring his mates in to guzzle the coffee! And I'd probably end up paying the bill.'

  As she said this, Gina put down the cloth and looked levelly into her eyes. 'No, you wouldn't, not if you was the owner.'

  Bella stared at her in surprise. 'What did you say?'

  Gina grinned. 'How do you fancy being a joint owner of a coffee bar?'

  'This place?'

  Gina nodded. 'The bloke that owns the freehold is selling. Would you come in with me?'

  Bella smiled incredulously. 'You're joking of course.'

  'I'm deadly serious. I want a real partner who understands the business.'

  'But how much would it cost?' Bella asked doubtfully.

  'He wants three grand. That means
one and a half each.'

  'That's a lot of money.'

  'I don't know how you're fixed. Would Micky help?'

  'I don't know.'

  'It's a good investment.'

  Bella frowned. 'What would you do if I refused. Could you still afford it?'

  Gina shrugged. 'I'd raise the money somehow.' She paused. 'It's not just the money, Bella. It was you that helped me turn my business into an investment. I was at an all time low after Lenny did a bunk and then the tea urn went on the blink. It was you that said why didn't I install one of those new-fangled coffee machines you'd seen up the Brompton Road, remember?'

  Bella smiled. 'Yes and you asked me to come and operate it.'

  'To get you over Terry, really,' Gina said gently. 'I knew working here would get you out of yourself. Apart from that, I was glad to have you back again. We work together well and understand each other. Will you give my proposition some thought?'

  Bella felt a curl of excitement in her stomach. 'All right, I will.'

  'Good girl!' Gina exclaimed raising her voice above the noise of the hissing coffee machine. 'Don't forget, Espresso is big. Coffee bars are the in-thing. We've got good heads, Bella. Let's make them work for us.'

  As more young people filed in the door, Bella tried to imagine that the business was half hers. It was a big responsibility. Not the same as keeping accounts and being a part-time waitress. But she was independent now. Ronnie had taught her to drive and she had a little car. She had also saved for a rainy day. Why shouldn't she branch out?

  Bella could see the opportunity. But what would Micky think of the idea?

  Micky was on a trip. And had been for the past twelve hours. He had arrived at The Flamingo with his new squeeze and shown her a good time. As it was his club, all bought and paid for thanks to the duchess, he could do exactly as he pleased. It was a heady sensation that hadn't yet worn off. The staff did the hard work, that's what he paid them for. His manager and doormen, the little chics behind the bar and the high class tarts who paid him fifty percent of their tote. Let them take the strain.