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

by Carol Rivers

Ronnie inhaled sharply and shook his head. 'It's all irrelevant, now, Micky. I've told you the club's off.'

  'Aw, Ron …. just think about it – '

  'I have and it's a non starter.' He wagged a finger in his brother's face. 'And as far as the kid goes, she's already got a job and can make it on her own.'

  Micky pulled the blanket around his waist and slurped his tea noisily. 'She'd be better off with us though.'

  'Says who?'

  'You was all for it last week.'

  'I was all for her doing the books. The legit side. The market accounts and the scrap. And maybe a bit of driving.' He rattled his spoon around his cup. He paused, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. 'But what does interest me is the fact that the Indigo had a couple of rooms out the back with tables. And they were taking plenty of cash. Now, a sporting club along those lines …'

  'What about girls?'

  'What about them?'

  'You have to have girls.'

  Ronnie began to smile. 'That's all you think about Micky. It's a wonder you've not had had more accidents tripping over your dick.'

  They both laughed and Ronnie relaxed. He thought he was going to have serious opposition from Micky this morning.

  'Right, let's get to work.' Ronnie pulled out a big, dog-eared ledger from the drawer of the table. He placed it before them and opened it carefully, sliding his index finger down the left-hand side of the page. 'We've got Foxy Mason running the stalls up Roman Road, right? And Buster on the Lane. What about Cox Street?'

  'All done.' Micky rubbed his palm across his mouth to stifle another yawn. 'Lol Partridge and her old man are on the barrows and we got a couple of suitcases at either end.'

  'And the running?'

  'Six at least, all good reliable boys.'

  Ronnie nodded in satisfaction. 'Now there's two or three lorry loads out the back to get shot of. I want the yard clear before P.C. Plod makes his social call.'

  'How much are we slipping him?' Micky asked curiously.

  'Five notes for the time being.'

  'Saucy bugger!'

  'It's an investment,' Ronnie shrugged. 'He's in too deep to back out now and he knows it. And he just got lumbered with another dustbin lid.'

  The brothers were grinning at each other when a noise at the kitchen door made them look round. Terry was standing there, his tall and lanky body clothed in a crumpled suit.

  Micky chuckled. 'He didn't even get his kit off last night. Just slept on the landing outside Bells' door, curled up like a bloody dog.'

  'Cup of tea, Terry?' Ronnie lifted the pot. He knew that the boy hadn't budged an inch all night.

  'Terry give Bella tea.'

  'Yeah, I'll pour one and you can take it up.'

  'Bella's sick, isn't she Ron?'

  'No, it was just the booze, chum. Get this down her and she'll be okay.'

  Ronnie watched Micky studying Terry and he wasn't sure what he saw in his brother's eyes. Whatever it was, he didn't care for it much and he found he wasn't surprised when Micky stood up and said casually, 'You sit down Terry old son, and rest your weary feet. I'll do the honours.'

  But Terry stood where he was. 'Terry take Bella's tea.'

  Ronnie watched with interest as his brother hesitated. Ronnie could almost hear the cogs in his brain working, which of course, Terry couldn't. But it was instinct that had Terry standing his ground.

  Micky shrugged. 'Have it your own way, pal. I'm going back for a kip on the settee.'

  When he had gone, Ronnie handed Terry the tea. 'Tell her to get dressed and come down for some breakfast,' he said quietly and Terry nodded, balancing the china in the palm of his hand.

  Alone once more, Ronnie lifted the pot and replenished his own cup. He was glad to see that Micky didn't always get his own way. And in Bella's case, he hoped it would be a long time before he did.

  'What was Joyce going on about last night?' Bella asked in a whisper as Micky drove them home. She was feeling sick and her head was still spinning. How much champagne had she drunk last night? 'She said something about me being dragged into something I can't get out of.'

  'Did she now?'

  'I can't remember the rest.'

  'You do trust me, Bells, don't you?'

  'Course I do. Why shouldn't I?'

  He reached across and grasped her wrist, squeezing it gently. 'Attagirl. I want you with me when we hit the big time. That was all she meant. She's all right Joyce, but she and Ron aren't chancers whereas I am. Ron and old Joycie are a bit negative, if you know what I mean. Funny thing is, I was doing all right whilst Ron was away fighting. Used me initiative and called a few nice shots. But when he came home from France...' Micky thoughtfully slid the wheel slowly through his fingers, 'well … he was a different man. Takes life too serious now if you ask me. Needs to lighten up a bit. But in all fairness, what can you expect after seeing so much blood and guts spilled right in front of your eyes?'

  'That must have been terrible,' Bella agreed softly.

  'Yeah, but the war's is history. This is the here and now. I respect them both, of course, but I've got me own style and won't have it cramped,' he ended with a sideways glance at Bella who was trying to think through the waves of nausea that still swam around her stomach. 'Anyway, just as long as I've got you with me – and Terry of course,' Micky added quickly, aware of Terry's presence in the back of the car. 'You are with me, girl, aren't you?'

  'You know I am Micky.'

  'So our business is our business, right? We'll keep it under our hats, rather than worry Ron.'

  Bella nodded slowly though she didn't really understand. She knew one thing though. She wasn't ever going to get drunk again.

  'What's this Dixons like then?' Micky asked changing the subject so quickly it took Bella a few moments to catch up.

  'All right.'

  'You could give it the elbow any time you like, you know. Come and work for me. We'd make a good team I reckon.'

  Bella felt a warm wave of pleasure break into her gloom at Micky's persuasive words. She really did loathe the thought of Dixons on Monday but she didn't want to be a failure in Micky's eyes. And if she chucked in the job now, it might seem she really couldn't stand on her own two feet.

  'Anyway, give it some thought.'

  She pointed to the corner. 'You can drop us off here, Micky.'

  'We're not there yet. And you're still looking a bit Tom and Dick.'

  Bella nodded slowly. 'I need some fresh air, Micky.'

  'What about coming for a hair of the dog that bit you?' he said enticingly.

  'I need more champagne like I need a hole in the head, Micky Bryant.' She managed a smile as she reached for the handle. 'Thanks for the lift.'

  'Well, it was worth a try.' Micky grinned and stopped the car. 'Want me to walk you in?'

  She shook her head and her heart gave its usual flutter as his smile broadened. If he only knew how much she fancied accepting his offer of a job. But her pride wouldn't let her.

  He winked. 'I'll be in touch soon. Good luck with them snobby types at Dixons.'

  She stood with Terry on the pavement and watched the shiny black car move away. When it was gone, she frowned at Terry who stood quietly beside her. They'd stayed out all night and were actually rolling home on Sunday morning. She laughed at herself despite the hangover from hell. Her mother probably had a worse one.

  'Come on Terry. Let's walk down to the river and sit on the dock. Pretend we're going on the boats.' It was a game they played as kids and Terry grinned.

  'Terry jump the barges,' he laughed, his eyes creasing up at the corners. 'Won't fall in.'

  'You better not, because I'm not jumping in to save you today.' Bella caught her breath and tried to keep down the breakfast of bread and dripping that Ronnie had made her eat. If she fell in the water now she'd sink like a brick.

  The alcohol was still in her throat like bile. She'd only just managed to keep the tea down that Terry had brought her. Ronnie had said the first hangover was alwa
ys the worst. Bella was going to make it her last. You weren't in control when your brain was fuddled. And that was a luxury she could ill afford.

  Christmas was four weeks away. Bella was going to spend her hard- earned wages on clothes. But Cox Street was unusually quiet; business was taking second place to the big wedding up West. Princess Elizabeth and Phillip Mountbatten were getting married and the event was headlines. The BBC had broadcast that hundreds had slept overnight in the Mall in order to catch a glimpse of the couple riding in the Irish state coach. There had been rumours that the wedding dress, sewn with diamonds and hundreds of pearls had been delivered secretly to the palace last night by the designer himself, Norman Hartnell.

  But it wasn't the wedding that Bella was discussing with Dolly as they walked through the market. It was Bella's trip to the Indigo that had Dolly in a state of suspense. 'Did you see anyone famous at there?'

  'Not exactly. But they all looked like film stars.' Bella didn't want to spoil the impression she was giving Dolly and left out what Joyce had told her.

  'Did Micky ask you for a dance?'

  'Yes, we danced all night.'

  'Was there singers and a band?'

  Bella nodded patiently as they came to the stalls decorated with holly and Christmas paper chains. 'It was just like you see on the films, including the champagne.' She giggled and decided to tell Dolly the truth. 'I drank too much and had to stay at Micky's house.'

  Dolly's eyes bulged. 'What, all night?'

  'What do you think?'

  'I don't know. I mean – where did you sleep?'

  'In a bed of course.' Bella laughed. This was just what Dolly wanted to hear and Bella elaborated. 'A double bed.'

  'Bella! You didn't!'

  Bella burst out laughing. 'Course not. It was Mr and Mrs Bryant's bed when they were alive.'

  'Oh!' Dolly looked vaguely disappointed. 'Wasn't it a bit creepy sleeping in a bed that belongs to dead people?'

  Bella shrugged. 'It was big and comfortable and anyway, I wouldn't have known if a ghost tapped me on the shoulder as I was out like a light.'

  'What about Terry?'

  'He slept on the landing.'

  'What did your mum say?'

  Bella turned to raise her eyebrows at her friend. 'What can she say? She stands to lose the money I bung her each week and she's not about to loose that perk.'

  Dolly looked uncomfortable. Bella knew that even though they had been friends for years and Dolly more than anyone knew everything about her, her friend found it hard to accept the facts.

  'Wake up, Dolly, this is Bella Doyle you're talking to not Lady Muck.'

  'I know, but …'

  'Tell me about Burlingtons,' Bella said quickly as the faint whiff of fish escaped from Dolly's plain brown coat. With her unfashionable pill-box hat and brogue shoes, she looked more like her mother than ever. Dolly's bottom lip quivered. 'There's not much to tell really.'

  'Is it interesting?'

  Dolly giggled. 'Not really.'

  'Why don't you change it if you're bored.'

  'I couldn't do that. Mum would kill me.'

  'Batter you to death, I suppose.'

  Dolly burst into laughter. 'Oh, Bella that's what I miss so much - the fun we used to have. At Burlingtons the women are much older than me. The men too. And they don't have much of a sense of humour. Not like us.'

  'Isn't there a nice young man your mum would like?' Bella couldn't hide the sarcasm in her voice and she was surprised when Dolly blushed. Her round face became even redder as Bella stared at her curiously.

  'Well, there is one…'

  'Really?' demanded Bella, shocked at this confession.

  'He works downstairs in the gutting department.' Dolly began to giggle again. 'It's really horrible work, all these bones from the animals and fishy slimy heads and big glassy eyes staring back at you when you walk in.'

  Bella pushed her hand through Dolly's elbow and they walked on. 'So what's his name, then?'

  Dolly trapped her lip under her small white teeth. 'Percy Shine.'

  'What's he look like?'

  'Well, not handsome like Micky, but he's got a lovely smile.'

  'Has he asked you out?'

  Dolly looked shocked. 'No! Of course not. We've hardly talked, but he's winked at me. We only speak when I go in the fish shop to take the orders.'

  'You should ask him home to one of your mum's teas,' Bella suggested mischievously, but again Dolly was impressed.

  'I might, if I can work up the courage.'

  Bella felt a sudden deep pang of envy. Here was Dolly who hadn't had a boyfriend before, she hadn't even been kissed behind the bike sheds at school. But here she was smitten whilst she, Bella, was longing for Micky to take her out on a real date, hoping he would finally see her for who she was and tell her how beautiful she looked. But all that had happened so far was that she had ended up tipsy and couldn't remember much of what had happened. Bella sighed and curled the collar of her coat up to her ears. 'Let's have a look at the clothes stall.'

  She was going to buy something special for herself. Joyce had worn that purple dress which had looked very classy. The neckline had been just low enough to attract attention. The design was simple, complementing Joyce's figure. Bella had decided that simplicity was better than all the frills and fancies that had come into fashion after the utilitarian clothes of the war. Christmas was coming up and she wanted Micky to notice her. Not as Lana Turner, but as herself, Bella Doyle who would be a grown-up sixteen in January.

  Dolly bounced excitedly beside her. 'I want to get a nice outfit for Christmas. I'm fed up with dull colours. Look at me, all in browns and greys.'

  'Is this new enthusiasm all for Percy's benefit?'

  Dolly nodded, her expression glowing as they approached the clothes stall. It was heaped with every conceivable second-hand garment a person could wear. Bella turned over the dresses and cardigans, but nothing appealed. Every Christmas Eve she and Terry went to the Bryants where Sean cooked a roast, a tradition he had managed to keep all through the war. All Micky's friends would turn up. She and Terry helped Sean in the kitchen though Terry mostly sat on a chair out of the way. There would be singing and a bit of a knees-up after. It was the best night of the year. She always hated it ending. At number three Bow Street Christmas was entirely liquid.

  Dolly was waving at her. She held up an orange coloured blouse with a row of frills around the neck. Bella was going to shake her head in disgust but Dolly was delighted. The decision was made and Bella smiled as Dolly searched her purse for coins.

  The picture of her friend dressed in a tangerine delight and sitting next to Percy at Mrs Taylor's tea table made her smile. If Percy could survive that encounter he could survive anything.

  Chapter 8

  The office was decorated with a few sprigs of holly pinned above the glass-panelled door. Four small faded decorations that might once have looked seasonal, hung in each corner of the room. Several decades after their purchase the red crepe paper was brown at the edges and dust had worn down the edges of the limp bells and sad bows.

  Bella gazed around her at the bowed heads of her colleagues and counted the minutes to leaving. Four whole days of undiluted pleasure stretched ahead. It was Christmas Eve and Micky was calling at seven and taking her and Terry to Piper Street. Joyce was going to be there this year, celebrating the start of the holiday. Bella was going to wear the dark green dress she had bought especially for the occasion at Cox Street.

  'You'd better make certain the first week of January's paperwork is in order,' Evelyn warned as she leaned across to Bella's desk. 'It's a very busy time for Dixons. Don't forget to change the date on the top of all the invoices, as if we write in the old year incorrectly we have to do the whole thing over again.'

  'Don't I know it,' Bella sighed heavily, then nodding to the fat ledger beside her she smiled. 'I've also ticked the respective customers off in the book so there's no mistake.'

  'You shouldn't do th
at till they're posted,' Evelyn complained as she folded a sheet of paper and slid it into the envelope. 'Miss Conway's going through all our work with a magnifying glass since … well …' Evelyn pulled back her shoulders and sniffed.

  Bella ignored the hint at her inefficiency and continued with clearing her desk. She had never been able to prove it was not her work that had been at fault and she had stopped trying to understand why the staff at Dixons were so pathetically childish. It was evident none of them expected someone like her to be capable of using their brain and their fingers at the same time. It was patently obvious the other girls disliked her but Bella wasn't about to let that spoil her day.

  Putting away her books, she collected her work and went through to Miss Conway's office. It was empty, though she could see Miss Conway's small, stout figure through the frosted glass of the next office. She left her file in the desk tray.

  Bella glanced at the big round clock above the door. Three minutes to six. She returned to her desk and noted the other girls were leaving theirs. She heard their voices as they passed through the outer office and Miss Conway's in reply.

  Bella took her coat and bag from the hook and glanced one last time at the room that might as well have had prison bars attached to it. How long would she have to work here to be accepted? And even if she was, could she stand the monotony of the next few years? As she buttoned up her coat and slid her bag over her shoulder, Miss Conway appeared.

  'Miss Doyle, before you leave…'

  Bella looked expectantly into the hard, humourless face. Perhaps this was a seasonal acknowledgement and she smiled in anticipation.

  'You dealt with the Harrington account this week, did you not?'

  Bella nodded disappointedly.

  'Lord Harrington has decided to change his instructions. Unfortunately I can find no record of the original order.'

  'But I put my work on your desk not two minutes ago,' Bella protested glancing over Miss Conway's shoulder.

  'You may well have, but the Harrington file isn't there.'

  'But that's impossible …' Bella stepped aside. 'I'll look – '

  'I already have, but see for yourself if you must.'