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

by Carol Rivers

  'I wouldn't mind seeing The Postman Always Rings Twice,' Micky added casually. 'Lana's a real eyeful in that one.'

  Bella had always thought that if she looked like anyone, it was Rita Hayworth who had long, auburn hair and a flawless complexion. Lana Turner wasn't a favourite of hers and anyway, she had always prided herself on being unique.

  'Lana Turner's hair is a different colour to mine,' Bella said as she lifted her hand to touch her own. 'It's much lighter.'

  'Yeah, but it's that look in your eyes, you know, when you sort of half close them. A bit of red lipstick and you could be a dead ringer.'

  'I never wear red lipstick. It looks common.' Micky hadn't ever said anything personal about her appearance before.

  Micky turned the wheel, a smooth whoosh coming from beneath his fingers. 'Forgot to say, Ronnie's coming with us tonight.'

  Bella soon forgot about Lana Turner. 'Why's that?'

  'Thought a foursome would be nice. He's bringing a lady friend. You need have a chat with her, Bells. There's no flies on our Joyce.'

  "Joyce", was news to Bella. 'What does she do?'

  'Oh, a bit of this and that.'

  'How long have you known her?'

  'As I said, she's more Ron's friend than mine. Joyce King.'

  In all the time Bella had known Micky she hadn't heard a mention of Joyce. Not that she knew everything there was to know about the Bryants but she had always kept her ears and eyes open as Micky himself had taught her to do. She'd often called round to Piper Street and awaited hers and Terry's orders, not exactly orders, but Micky's instructions. When the air raids had lessened after the Blitz, he found a new job for them, "running" for the kennel-boys at the dog tracks. She and Terry had carried small parcels in their pockets and handed them over to the boys outside the grounds. They were told these were dog biscuits intended to help the greyhounds run faster. But when an animal had died after eating one of these so-called biscuits, Micky had moved them back to the doodlebug watch and scouting on the debris. But as far as she could recall, Bella had never heard mention of Joyce in the Bryant household.

  'Joyce is a cracker, you'll like her,' Micky assured her now. 'She's a woman of the world, if you get my meaning.'

  Bella decided to wait and see what was in store for the evening. Micky disliked being questioned. If ever anyone pressed him about something he didn't want to discuss, he would either walk off or get shirty. She would just have to swallow on the fact they weren't going to the Indigo on their own and that Ronnie and Joyce would accompany them.

  Bella glanced over her shoulder at Terry who was sitting on the back seat, his big eyes never leaving her. What would this woman of the world called Joyce think of her and Terry?

  She snuggled down in her seat, determined not to let the appearance of an unfamiliar female disturb her. She was with Micky and that was what counted. Her beautiful new black dress looked and felt good. Added to which she was wearing a new bra and silk knickers, all hurriedly purchased from a spiv's suitcase at the market last week.

  The Indigo was buzzing. Bella gazed through the dizzying trails of cigarette smoke to the other tables. She was on a high of excitement.

  This was a real revue club, with real fan-dancers and silk stockinged girls that kicked high to the music on the stage flooded with coloured lights. Pretty usherettes sold cigarettes and cigars from stacked trays as they moved flirtatiously amongst the party-goers in their skimpy silk skirts and high-heels. There were bubbles bursting from the champagne glasses, including her own, and there wasn't a woman in the room who didn't look like someone famous. Off the shoulder evening gowns and upswept hair-dos abounded and the men all resembled Clark Gable or Victor Mature.

  Bella had never tasted champagne and it was flowing headily through her bloodstream. Neither did she smoke, but tonight was an exception. Joyce used an elegant tortoiseshell cigarette holder that she held constantly and Bella felt she couldn't refuse a cigarette from the delicately engraved silver box that she flipped open.

  The slight anxiety that Bella had felt as Micky had driven them to Piper Street had disappeared the moment she had met Joyce. She was a petite Londoner, nearer to thirty than twenty, with carefully bobbed dark hair and a direct gaze. She dressed immaculately, her choice of clothes subtle. The deep purple dress showed very little cleavage, but it moulded her shape and complemented her dark eyes.

  'So what do you think of this place?' Joyce's husky enquiry returned Bella to the moment.

  'I love it.'

  Joyce smiled, her gaze going curiously over Bella as they sat at the table whilst Ronnie and Micky were talking with the owners of the Indigo, the Stratton brothers. The band had taken a break and the lighting had softened over the stage area. There was to be more entertainment later and Bella was waiting eagerly.

  'You're very young,' Joyce remarked after a while as she inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs. Crossing one slim leg over another, she reclined in the luxurious chair. 'How old are you?'

  'Sixteen - nearly.'

  'And you've never been to a club like this before?'

  'No, never.'

  Joyce nodded interestedly. 'So what do you think about this latest idea of Micky's?'

  Bella smiled, a misty look in her eyes. 'His ideas are always exciting.'

  Joyce chuckled softly. 'You're crazy about him, aren't you?'

  'I don't know what you mean.'

  'It's all right, darling. He won't hear it from me. My lips are sealed.'

  Bella looked down and into the safety of her lap. She didn't realize her feelings were so obvious.

  'But getting back to what we're here for tonight,' Joyce persevered in a careful voice, 'personally I don't think a club like the Indigo would work on your island.'

  Bella's head came up quickly. 'Why's that?'

  'For one thing,' continued Joyce as she leaned gracefully forward to tap her cigarette on the triangular shaped ashtray, 'there's the problem of the bridges, an old problem, but a frustrating one for traffic and any business that should come the club's way.'

  Bella hadn't thought about the bridges being a problem. When the ships passed down the river and through the docks, the island was virtually sealed off. Vehicles and pedestrians had to wait till the business was finished with. Access to the island which was surrounded on three sides by water was often a problem and she could see Joyce's point.

  'For another,' continued Joyce thoughtfully, 'it really isn't your right sort of clientele.'

  Bella frowned as she took this in. She thought she had liked Joyce but now she wasn't so certain. 'You mean islanders aren't good enough for a club like this?'

  'Don't take it so personally, sweetheart. It's just business. The docks cater for a wide variety of folk, but will they go out and spend like the Indigo's customers? I mean, these girls and boys are having a really good time, no expense spared.'

  Emboldened by the champagne she was drinking, Bella looked indignant. 'Islanders still know how to have a good time when we go out even if we aren't done up to the nines like these women are. I mean, their husbands and boyfriends are probably rich and money doesn't mean anything to them but even in the East End we can let our hair down the same as this lot if it's offered to us.'

  For a moment Joyce just stared at her. Then very slowly she began to smile. 'Oh dear, I hadn't realized…'

  'What?' Bella questioned abruptly.

  'You're young and innocent, Bella, and that's your attraction. But you do have a lot to learn.'

  Bella shrugged. 'Maybe I have, but I'm not a snob. And I don't look down on people I don't know.'

  Joyce raised her delicately shaped eyebrows. 'I wasn't looking down on you or anyone. But what you said amused me. You see, Bella dear, these women aren't with their husbands or even boyfriends. They're just working girls.'

  Bella frowned. 'What do you mean?'

  'I mean …' Joyce inclined her head to one side, 'they're hostesses, escorts. Paid by the club to be with the men for the evening and
some for even longer.'

  Bella sat in silence as she looked around her. Did Joyce mean they were prostitutes? None of them looked like her mother who was the only kind of prostitute Bella knew. She stared at the elegant, smiling beauties dressed in high fashion. 'What, all of them?' she asked, a little giggly now. 'Even that girl over there?' She went to point at the couple sitting to their right, but Joyce took her hand and patted it gently down on the table. The girl was wearing a gorgeous silver lame dress and her hair was coiled up into a golden pleat at the back of her head. Her companion was looking into her eyes and pouring champagne into their long, fluted glasses.

  Joyce nodded, smiling again. 'And that's not champagne.'

  'What is it, then?'

  'Probably a mixture of lemonade and wine. But her customer's paid the full price for a very expensive drink.'

  Bella peered at her glass. 'Is this champagne?'

  'Of course. Sammy Stratton's pride wouldn't let him offer Ronnie anything less.' Joyce slid her cigarette between her lips and sighed. 'The Strattons are a big name in Soho. They're well known for their expertise in this trade. That's why we're here, to suss out their secrets.' She grinned. 'As if there was one, of course.'

  Bella caught the note of irony and took a long sip of the champagne. She was mystified by Joyce who gave her a long, quizzical smile. 'Did Micky tell you that Ronnie isn't over the moon about the idea of a revue club?'

  Bella nodded. 'He told me everything.'

  'Including your part in his proposed plans?'

  Bella was feeling light-headed from the alcohol. 'He told me enough. Anyway, I'd go along with what he wants as he's never let me down yet.'

  'Then you must be slow on the uptake, my girl,' Joyce said wearily. 'Either that, or besotted.' She lifted her manicured hand and gestured to the room. 'Look around you, then look at yourself. You are a stunner and have a brain on you. So basically, that is where you come in. You'd be working for Micky just like these girls are working for the Stratton brothers.' Bella felt a chill wash over her as Joyce leaned forward and took hold of her wrist. In 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 myself.'

  'The answer's no, Micky.'

  'Well, I don't see why you're so against it,' Micky countered irritably. 'Knocking out that stuff is child's play. It was only in the beginning that we made mistakes. Me and Lenny got it down to a fine art in the end. Blimey, look at all those Yanks we serviced in the war. They couldn't get enough of it. And we was only using Dad's lock-up just the same. At four quid a bottle, we could be running a little goldmine.'

  Ronnie sat down at the table. 'It was industrial spirit, Micky. No matter what the label is you shove on the bottle, the truth is, it's gut rot. I don't want to be held responsible for innocent punters drinking what is in effect, neat poison.' He turned slowly, his eyes suspicious. 'I take it you got rid of any incriminating evidence? You pulled the plug on the lock-up?'

  Micky nodded sullenly. 'Yeah, yeah, the place is as tight as a drum.'

&nb
sp; 'It had better be.'

  'And there was no way them dead GI's was ever traced back to me,' Micky persisted truculently. 'They could've picked up the hooch from anywhere in the city. In fact if they'd stuck to ours, they might be alive to this day.'

  But Ronnie was having none of it. 'I'll say this again for your benefit Micky, cos you seem to be having trouble with your hearing lately.' He arched heavy eyebrows. 'Your distillery career is well and truly over. It's too dangerous for the poor sods who drink it. And His Majesty's revenue men are rubbing their hands in glee at the thought of nicking people like you and Lenny Rigler.'

  Micky slid off the draining board. 'It just not fair, that's all. We was on to a good thing.'

  'And so was Crippin.'

  Micky slouched down in a chair. 'So what time did Joyce go home, then?'

  Ronnie began to pour another cup of tea. 'I drove her back to Poplar this morning.'

  'So you've not been to bed or is that a leading question?'

  Ronnie frown darkly at his brother. 'It's none of your bloody business. And while we're on the subject, that kid upstairs is going to have one hell of a lump of lead when she wakes.'

  'Yeah,' Micky grinned as he watched Ronnie pour milk into a jug. 'She must've drunk more champagne than she let on. She was talking away one minute and out cold the next.'

  'It was a bad idea, taking her. I should never have let you talk me into it.' Ronnie lit himself a cigarette.

  'But she's perfect for club work.'

  Ronnie's grey eyes flashed. 'I hope you don't mean what I think you mean.'

  Micky looked shocked. 'Course I don't. Not that. But even you Ron, must have noticed she has potential. A real punter's darling. She'd be perfect just swanning around the club, entertaining like. She's got the gift of the gab has our Bells. She just needs a bit of coaching. And Joyce would do that, easy as wink.'