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

by Carol Rivers

  Bella hurried into Miss Conway's office and searched through her work. She double-checked and felt her heart sink. Was it possible that she had mislaid such an important order?

  'Well?'

  'It's not there,' Bella said helplessly as she drew her hand over the top of her own desk. 'I just don't understand.'

  'Neither do I.'

  Bella stared around the room as if expecting to suddenly see the missing file appear. There was only one other explanation and it was one she didn't want to acknowledge. The other girls had left before her. It would have been easy to slip a random file into a bag or under a coat without Miss Conway seeing.

  'Please take off your coat and come into my office.'

  'But it's Christmas Eve – ' Bella was cut short.

  'Indeed it is. And because of your inefficiency Miss Doyle, both you and I will be spending the last hours of it rectifying a foolish and unnecessary mistake.' She thrust back her shoulders and turned away, her flat heels squeaking on the polished floor.

  Reluctantly Bella removed her coat. The buses would be far and few between this evening and a walk back to the island would take her forever.

  Swallowing her disappointment, she followed Miss Conway into the outer office and prayed that Micky would wait for her.

  'Terry been waiting.'

  Bella walked into the empty cottage. Her mother and Jack were long gone to the Rose, but Terry stood in the dark passage, his smile wide when he saw her.

  'Terry been waiting, Terry has.'

  He followed her into the room they still shared. A curtain made of heavy chintz defined two sleeping areas. Her bed took up the largest part with a small wooden chest of drawers standing at the foot. On the other side of the drape, a mattress lay on the floor. A faded dark blue candlewick bedspread was tucked over it, with Terry's clothes folded neatly into a pile on a small wooden chair. His jacket was threaded around it, his boots tucked underneath. The broken mirror had been returned to its nail on the wall and Bella's new dress lay over her bed in readiness for tonight. Now the slim fitting gown with the crepe bodice and elegant panelled skirt seemed to mock her.

  Tears of frustration filled her eyes. For an hour and a half she had been trapped with Miss Conway, who had methodically trawled through the Harrington account, drawing up new documents. When Bella had finally been dismissed, the night was cold and unforgiving, a hint of snow in the air. Only the pubs she passed as she walked to the bus stop showed any sign of life. She had hoped to catch a bus all the way home, but she'd settled for one that left her at the top of West Ferry Road.

  'Did Micky call here?'

  Terry nodded, lifting his bony fingers to scratch his head.

  'Is he coming back?'

  'Yeah, Terry going to Micky's party.'

  'What time did he say?'

  Terry shrugged.

  'Did he say anything else?'

  'Terry goin' to a party.'

  Bella sighed in exasperation. 'That's not what I asked, Terry, but then I know I'm wasting my breath expecting a sensible answer. Go and sit down somewhere while I change.'

  Her brother hung his head and moved behind the curtain. Bella pulled it forward harshly, the rings rattling on the iron rail. What a dump this place was, she thought as she hurriedly took off her coat. Even though Micky had distempered the damp walls and Ronnie had got the council to disinfect the house each year, it was still a pigsty. The population of rats had grown and the bugs were relentless, despite the disinfectant. In fact it seemed as though they thrived on it. The cottage would never be anything else but a tip, but at least Micky and Ronnie had made it a tip they could live in. If the long-awaited prefab ever materialised – if – Terry would get his own room and she hers. Gilda and Ron Ellis and their two kids, a family that had once lived in Bow Street had been allocated a prefab a short while ago. The asbestos bungalow had three bedrooms and a kitchen with a separate toilet and washroom outside. Gilda had shown the world and his wife around it for weeks as if it was Buckingham Palace.

  Bella stripped off her working clothes and rubbed her sore heels. She had blisters from walking all that way. She was also in need of a wash. But there was no chance of that. The sink would be full with dirty dishes and the drain blocked with dog-ends. She sat on her bed in her bra and knickers and gulped down her frustrated tears. It wasn't fair she had to live like this. No wonder the other girls ignored her. They could smell the filth on her no matter how much she attempted to wash it off. Bow Street was like indelible ink, you couldn't remove the stain. It stuck with you for life, filled every pore. She was not like the other girls at the office, never would be. And they knew it.

  Bella lifted her dress from the bed, pressing the cloth against her cheek. Undoing the little buttons at the front she carefully pulled it over her head. With the same care she slid her arms into the long, tailored sleeves. Looking in the mirror, her eyes gazed back unhappily. She smiled, causing an immediate transformation. Her white teeth sparkled and her gaze resumed its intensity. Drawing back her thick auburn locks, she lifted her chin.

  Lana Turner … yes, she could see the resemblance now as she lowered the lids of her eyes, assuming the expression Micky had described. He was returning for her and that was all that mattered. She took her bag and searched inside for a tortoiseshell compact she'd bought from the market, the case similar to Joyce's cigarette holder. Inside the compact was a pond of genuine loose powder. Tonight she would apply the full works.

  It was five minutes to midnight.

  Bella was sobbing loudly into her pillow. A pillow that smelt of must and damp and now looked filthy. She had cried so hard that the make-up she had carefully applied had washed onto it. She stared at herself in the mirror and laughed. No wonder Evelyn and Margery and the other girls despised her; she was a square peg in a round hole at Dixons no matter how hard she tried to fit. And it was the same with Micky. He didn't really care about her. Or Terry. Over the years they had been useful to him, returning him the best of the stuff they found on the debris. Every penny he'd paid them had been hard earned and she and Terry could have got more from a totter or the markets. But they had always been loyal to Micky. And now he was enjoying himself on Christmas Eve having forgotten them.

  Was he relieved not to be burdened by them any more? After all these years, was today the beginning of a future without him? At this thought she wept all the more, burying her face in the pillow. She had tried her best to be independent. But her plan had backfired. Her real intention had been to make Micky want her all the more. She had clearly failed and was now paying the penalty. Life was unfair. She had tried hard to better herself but she was getting nowhere. She shuddered at the thought of what people knew about her. The girls at work had found out where she lived. She'd never told them, just said she came from the island. Then Evelyn had let it out one day, a look of scorn on her face as if Bow Street was a dirty word. Which, thought Bella as she blew her nose, to them it probably was.

  'Bella crying.' Terry touched her arm gently. His gaze was full of sympathy. But he was part of her misery too and she shrank away from him.

  'Micky coming. Micky coming for Bella.'

  She sat up, her eyes accusing. 'Course he's not coming, you daft ha'porth. He's off somewhere enjoying himself. What does he want with the likes of me, anyway?' She stared into Terry's bewildered face. She knew that unlike Micky, he cared about her. That in this world there was only one person who really loved her. And that was Terry.

  He reached out again for her hand. She wanted to hit him, to shake him, to make him feel what she was feeling. But she knew she didn't need to do any of this. He was already hurting, without her having to try. Terry had been hurting all his life inside. He just hadn't got the wherewithal to know it.

  He hung his head, exposing the fleshy parts of his scalp where his hair had fallen out. There were nits crawling in the fine layers and he reached up to scratch them. His nails were bitten and black and his shoulders sagged under the crumpled jacket. H
ow could she love him so much yet resent him at the same time? As if acting of their own accord, her arms opened.

  'Sorry,' he mumbled again as he crawled into them.

  'It's me who's sorry, Terry.' She rocked him and stroked his hair. 'I took it out on you and you don't even know what it's all about.' She kissed his cheek. 'It doesn't matter about Micky, our Terry. It doesn't matter about anyone. As long as we've got each other we'll be all right.'

  'Is the planes coming?'

  'No, they haven't been coming for years.'

  Bella leaned her head against his and true to the pattern of childhood, they fell asleep.

  Ronnie lay in the darkness on the big double bed that had been his parents and listened to the noise downstairs. Micky certainly wasn't missing a trick, in the literal sense of the word. Still, it was his home as much as anyone's and if he wanted to have a bit of fun, then why shouldn't he? Ronnie pulled the smoke from his cigarette deep into his lungs. What would Mum have to say about Micky's so-called friends, he wondered? A wry smile touched his lips. He could hear her now, see the look of horror on her face as she studied the women Micky and Lenny Rigler had picked up at the pub.

  'You can give her the elbow immediately,' Mum would have declared if Micky had ever had the gall to confront her with a tart. Which, of course he wouldn't. No more than Sean would ever reveal to Mum the reason why he always hung about with Ashley Crane. Not that he, Ronnie, was in a position to judge either Micky's women or Sean's choice of his own sex. Here he was in the early hours of Christmas morning hooked up with a lady of dubious background himself. He glanced down at the prone figure beside him and wondered if Joyce was still on the game. She maintained she had retired years ago, leaving "her girls" to do the business. Which, apparently was true. The times he called round to Joyce's place, they were all well and truly occupied, with Joyce employing a couple of his heavies to look after her investment. Ronnie blew a funnel of smoke into the air. His lads rarely had any trouble from Old Bill, who were well provided for and gave Joyce's drum a wide berth. It was more the odd punter who got mouthy and had to be dealt with. Still, that was what good muscle was there for and Ronnie was happy to do business with Joyce. Though this was the first time in all the years he had known her, they had slipped out of their professional roles.

  A raucous scream from downstairs followed by loud laughter disturbed the sleeping form beside him. Joyce lifted herself on one elbow, frowning sleepily. 'What was that?'

  Ronnie laughed softly. 'A good party by the sound of it.'

  Joyce slid up on the pillow and pulled the sheet over her breasts. She pushed back her dark hair and leaned her head against the varnished headboard. 'Your brother certainly knows how to enjoy himself.'

  Ronnie reached over to the bedside cabinet and tapped a cigarette from the packet. He lit it with his own and handed it to Joyce. In the darkness, the two ends glowed red.

  'This reminds me of the blackout.' Joyce inhaled deeply, her body relaxing. 'Even a lit cigarette in the street was classed as a sin.'

  Ronnie nodded, feeling her warmth envelop him. It was the first time they had made love and he hoped it wouldn't be the last. 'A long time ago now.'

  Joyce turned to look at him. 'Thank God you went away to war and grew up a bit before we did this.' She drew a finger over his shoulder. 'You never talk about it, do you, the war, I mean?'

  'What's there to say?'

  Joyce smiled. 'Don't worry. I don't want to talk about it either. Just thought maybe you did.'

  Ronnie stubbed out his cigarette. 'I'd rather talk about us.'

  She gave a soft chuckle. 'So no regrets about bedding a mature lady?'

  Ronnie had no regrets even though it was a calculated risk they'd both taken tonight. He'd felt that if Joyce had been game enough to indulge in a little fun, then so had he. 'Truth is, I've always fancied you, Joyce, but never thought it was a good idea to mix business with pleasure.'

  'So what made you change your mind?' she asked huskily.

  'You did.' He took her in his arms.

  'I like you Ronnie,' she whispered softly, 'always have. But I've a living to make.'

  'Look, Joyce, I've got as much to lose as you when we're talking business. We see eye to eye on our deals, with a nice little earner going between us. I wouldn't want to spoil that either.'

  Joyce paused thoughtfully. 'Well, sweetheart, you've always played fair by me, looked after me and the girls and if it wasn't for your lads parked at my door every night, I wouldn't do the good trade I do. Most of the brass houses round here have got ugly reputations with even uglier customers. I've managed to keep my nice clean regulars thanks to you. Even though I pay through the nose for it.'

  Ronnie feigned surprise. 'I do the job, Joyce. And keep Old Bill happy. The buggers don't come cheap these days.'

  'I know that. You take the squeeze off and I've been up and running since the GI's disappeared, God Bless their randy little arses. It's thanks to you I'm still in business and not scratching for punters in some godforsaken little fleapit. I'm really grateful, Ron.'

  Ronnie reached out to lift her chin. 'Is this what this is all about - gratitude?'

  'I'll give you three guesses.'

  He kissed her gently. 'That's what I like about you, Joyce. You've got a man's outlook on life.'

  'And that's supposed to be a compliment?'

  'In my book it is.'

  She pulled his head down. 'Well, I'll tell you this for nothing. I'd be a fool not to take you up on a little fun. You're in the prime of life and a good-looking bloke and could have any woman you wanted. Granted, you are a moody sod at times …'

  Ronnie jerked her hard against him and cupped the full swell of her large breasts in his hands. She was a beautiful woman in his eyes and he wanted her all over again.

  She stayed his hands suddenly. 'Ronnie, the moment you want out, you will tell me?'

  'We haven't even got started yet.'

  'I'm not a working girl if it makes any difference.'

  He grinned. 'That's reassuring.'

  'I'm serious, Ron. There's been no one for – '

  He kissed her, pushing his tongue between her lips to explore her soft, welcoming mouth. She responded as he knew she would and leaving him breathless, slid down the length of his body.

  He was vaguely aware of the noise from the front room, but let it flow over him. He was loosing himself and it felt good to forget. Joyce knew what he needed and he hoped he could please her too. There was only a brief regret as he thought of the two kids both he and Micky had abandoned tonight, the first Christmas Eve for years. But things just happened sometimes. Ronnie knew all their lives were changing. He hoped the girl would grow out of mooning over Micky and find her own way in this miserable world. The moment of guilt passed quickly as Joyce guided him across her and soon Bella Doyle was far from his mind.

  The rain was lashing the pavements and gurgling in the gutters. Bella sheltered under the stone arch of Dixon's entrance, shivering. Her collar was turned up to enclose the headscarf that covered her head and her coat was belted tightly, but her legs and shoes were soaking as the force of the downpour splashed over the stone step on which she stood. It was the end of first week of January and at half past six she had missed her bus. Again.

  Streamers of lights reflected across the Commercial Road as vehicles chugged their way noisily through the flood. A city bus passed by, a beacon of light travelling west. A car ploughed through a puddle and she stepped back as the spray covered her coat and spattered her legs. The face in the car gazed back at her briefly, then was gone. Miss Conway drove the Morris and in the passenger seat sat Evelyn, her warm ride home assured.

  Bella blinked the rain from her eyes as she stared after the car. Well, what did she expect after all? If she was lying flat in the middle of the road, Miss Conway would probably have driven round her.

  The drips were trickling down from her headscarf and into her neck. She knew the longer she stood here, the wetter she wo
uld get. With no umbrella she would be soaked through by the time she reached home. With head bowed and holding her collar together with frozen hands, she stepped out into the night.

  The force of the wind made her stoop forward. In a matter of seconds she was drowned. By the time she reached the bus stop there was water swilling in her shoes. Her headscarf was plastered to her head and her blouse and skirt soaked. As she waited, a car drew up and the door flew open.

  'Bella!' Dolly scrambled out, pulling her coat around her and squinting through the rain. 'What are you doing here?'

  'I've missed me bus.'

  'Get in quick.' Dolly pushed her into the car. 'This is my … well, it's Percy.'

  'Pleased to meet you, I'm sure,' said the driver grinning from ear to ear as Bella fell into the back seat. 'I've heard all about you from Doll,' he said pulling his cap jauntily over his forehead.

  Bella untied her scarf and shook her wet hair free. She shivered in the warmth of the car as Dolly slammed the front door.

  'Just look at you, Bella, you're drowned!'

  'I'll soon dry off.'

  'You need a hot bath.'

  Bella laughed. 'I won't get one of those unless I jump in the drink.'

  'Course, I forgot, you haven't got a – ' Dolly looked embarrassed. 'I mean, you could have a bath at our house if you like.'

  'No, I wouldn't put you to the bother.'

  'It's no bother. Mum will be so pleased to see you. And Ray too. He was only asking after you the other day. It's a wonder your ears weren't burning.'

  Bella wondered exactly what had been said about her in the Taylor household. She couldn't believe it was very pleasant. After all, the last time she'd parted from Dolly, she had been angry with Ray and walked out of the house in a huff.

  'So where have you two been tonight?' Bella discreetly changed the subject.

  'Up the market for some veg. Percy got a nice piece of cod from work and we thought a bit of cabbage would go with it for dinner.'

  'Her Mum is a lovely cook,' Percy remarked, causing Bella's wet eyebrows to jump.