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

by Carol Rivers

  Micky stepped forward, his heart beating heavily in his chest. He was enjoying the rush of adrenaline more than he could ever have expected. What was there to fear after all? The duchess was long gone to her Scottish retreat, no staff remained in the house and as long as Lenny and Terry kept observation on the lane, breaking in would be a doddle. The sash window wasn't locked. He'd checked that only two days ago when he'd paid a visit. And unless the duchess had suddenly done a spot check, the entrance to riches lay before him. He pressed his back to the wall, pushed aside the ivy and trod slowly round. His heart did a little skip as a small figure darted out. The fox turned briefly to stare at him then slunk away.

  Resuming his journey he followed the path and came to the point of entry. The manor was in total darkness, a woody silence enveloping the old stone and mortars. A bird screeched, another flapped and a rustle came from the trees.

  Instinct flattened him against the brick. His heart jumped into his throat. Was there someone in the shadows? He closed his eyes and opened them. The woolly hat he was wearing was making him hot. Sweat trickled down from his forehead. He should have worn a vest only, not all this clobber. What was over there in the darkness?

  Gradually his eyes adjusted to the shape of a bush, its leaves waving in the September breeze. He licked his dry lips. Making his way along the border he came to the window. Sliding on his gloves, he pressed his fingers against the frame. For a moment he had another horrible shock. It was stuck. Then wiping the sweat from his lip, he composed himself. Taking a jemmy from his pocket his slid the tip into the space between frame and sash, careful not to damage the wood. With gentle pressure it released.

  Ducking his head inside he listened. Not a dicky bird. He couldn't see a thing, but torches would take care of that.

  He made his way back. 'All clear,' he whispered to the three men.

  They crept to the window. 'In you go, Alf. You know where it is, under the ugliest mug you'll ever clock. Lenny, stay here and keep watch. Terry, follow me up the drive.'

  Terry trudged slowly behind him. Micky wondered why the boy had to make so much noise as his big boots scuffed the gravel. He was still as daft as a brush, but at least he could be relied on to do as he was told. Micky stopped when they reached the gates. 'Now, you know what to do. Walk down the lane to the cottage. Watch that front door as if your life depended upon it. The old man won't stir after a week's slog at the manor. On Saturday's he's knackered, goes down the pub and comes home to put his feet up in front of the fire. I've been sussing him out on the quiet for over a month now and his routine never changes.' Micky took a deep breath. 'But if he ventures out for some reason and it looks like he's coming this way, leg it back to the car and alert Milo. He's parked in the bushes where we left him, right?' Micky gestured the opposite direction. 'Milo will give us a blast on the horn, like we practised at the garage, right?'

  Terry nodded silently, his face hidden under the balaclava.

  'You got that straight?' Micky asked again. 'You just got to watch the cottage.'

  'Yer, Micky.'

  'Good lad. Now off you go and after this is all over I'll bung you a tenner all to yourself.'

  Terry sniffed loudly. 'Terry needs a pee.'

  Micky gave a little groan. 'I might have known it! Look go in them bushes and be quiet about it.' He gave him a little push in the right direction and then when he could no longer hear Terry's footsteps, he made his way back down the drive.

  Lenny was still standing by the window. 'Struth!' he gasped and visibly jumped as Micky appeared from the shadows. 'You scared the shit of me.'

  'Calm down, Lenny. I told you, this is going to be a doddle.'

  Lenny looked nervously around him. 'I don't like it here.'

  'Why?'

  'It's too - easy. I mean, no dogs or guards or anything.'

  'She hates dogs and she only trusts the old bloke down the road to look after the place and even in his case, it's drink yourself daft while the cat's away.'

  'You shouldn't have brought Terry, Micky, that was a bad move. You sprung that one on me.'

  'We needed someone to watch the cottage.'

  'But not Terry.'

  Micky shrugged easily, patting Lenny on the arm. 'Look, stop worrying. He knows what to do. Just keep thinking of the moment when you tell Gina you've bought yourself that little coal yard. She'll know what Lenny Rigler is made of then.'

  'I've not bought it yet,' Lenny complained.

  'You will have in twenty-four hours, mate. Now, I'm going in to help Alfred with the switch and we'll be home and dry in no time at all. Just keep your eyes skinned, right?'

  Micky sighed as he stepped back to the open window. Never again was he bringing Lenny on a job. He'd vowed he wouldn't before, but this was really the last time. What a pain in the backside!

  Micky climbed in and pulled out his torch. The beam lit up the big table and chairs. He directed it slowly round to where Alfred stood with his ear to the safe.

  'Turn that off.'

  Micky did as he was told, making his way across the room in the darkness. 'Have you opened it yet?'

  'Almost.'

  Micky waited in silence as Alfred tried this combination and that. He began to grow a little worried as time passed. Shouldn't opening the box be a little more straightforward than this? The old girl had just twirled it round. What if it wouldn't open? What if she had put in a special code or something? Micky went cold at the thought.

  Micky narrowed his eyes as he looked round the room. He could just make out the shapes of the chairs and shabby furnishings. It was like taking a gulp of air from a church vault. Like Lenny he didn't like this place. It was of a bygone era, like a mausoleum, worse at night that he had seen it in day. He didn't believe in ghosts but if there were any in existence, this was the place to find them.

  'Bingo,' said Alfred suddenly. 'She's open!'

  'Thank Gawd for that.' Micky joined him at the safe and flicked on the torch.

  For a moment there was silence and then the little man croaked, 'Strike a light!'

  Micky gasped at the sight of the treasure trove. 'Bloody Norah!'

  'You weren't exaggerating, were you?'

  Micky stared in wonder at the overflowing interior of the safe. He could smell it from here, the scent of unlimited cash. Rolls of it, wads of it, packets of it, bursting to the safe's seams.

  'What's going on?' Lenny demanded from the window. 'Have you got it?'

  Alfred nodded. 'We've got it all right.'

  'Right, let's get to work,' Micky said as they began to scoop the contents of the safe into one bag and replace it with forged notes from another.

  'A good night's work,' Alfred observed as they climbed back out through the window.

  'How much did we get?' demanded Lenny as they hurried up the drive to the car.

  'I told you, I don't know.' Micky held on tightly to the bag.

  'You said two grand each.'

  'Yeah, well, we'll have to see.'

  'You mean I've stuck my neck out for less?' Lenny demanded, pulling him back.

  Micky stopped with an exasperated sigh. 'Do you want me to empty the flamin' bag here and count it under the moon?'

  'You said two grand,' Lenny sulked as they began to walk again.

  'Oh, put a sock in it,' Micky retorted. 'You give me the earache. I got you a decent gaff at Suzi's and no, that wasn't good enough. Now you're moaning even before we done the job.'

  'I just want my money.'

  Micky was loosing his temper now. Trust Lenny to start complaining even before they had counted what was left. He was about to make a suitable retort when there was an almighty bang.

  'What the hell was that?' Alfred gasped and they all froze.

  'Gunshot,' whispered Lenny.

  'Where from?' Micky looked both ways. He couldn't see anything. The moon had disappeared and the trees swayed darkly around them. Another shot rang out.

  'It's the law,' Lenny breathed. 'They're on to us.'
>
  'How could they be?' Micky declared, trying not to panic. 'We've taken nothing. The funny money's in the safe. They don't know any difference.'

  For a brief, desperate second, he thought the old boy might have been watching them and was letting loose with a gun. But Terry would have seen him and Milo sounded the warning. No, it had to be something – someone else, but he didn't know who.

  'Let's get out of here,' he rasped, as the cold perspiration trickled down his back. They began to run. Branches and twigs scratched his face. He tripped, pushing the sharp thorns to one side. He heard Lenny puffing behind him and the sounds of the night all around.

  When they reached the gate Milo was waiting. Micky closed his eyes in relief. They'd made it.

  But the back door of the car was open and a pair of legs stuck out. 'It's Terry,' Milo whispered hoarsely. 'He's been shot. There's a hole in his back.'

  Micky watched in disbelief as Alfred bent over Terry. After a while the old man murmured, 'No pulse. This kid is dead.'

  'But he can't be,' Micky objected. 'He's my wife's little brother.'

  'He's her dead little brother,' Alfred corrected and poked a finger in Milo's direction. 'What happened, mate? You were the last person to see him alive.'

  'It wasn't my fault,' Milo answered indignantly. 'I was sitting in the car and saw this figure stumbling up in the darkness. He just opened the back door and fell in.'

  They were all silent until Micky blurted, 'I can't tell Bella he's copped it, can I? She thinks he's over at Sean's place for the weekend.'

  'I should never have let you con Terry into this,' Lenny accused. 'It was a lamb to the slaughter.'

  'Aw, shut up,' Micky yelled then. 'You are a ruddy pain in the arse!'

  At this Lenny lunged forward. It took Milo and Alfred to pull him off Micky. 'Listen, you idiots,' Alfred barked, 'fight amongst ourselves and we're finished.'

  Micky caught his breath. Alfred was right. If they didn't work out a plan the job would well and truly backfire.

  'Terry was shot in the back,' Micky pointed out, ignoring Lenny. 'All I can think is he went to take a piss and got himself lost. And who is poking about in woods at the dead of night? Why, poachers of course. They think he's game and take a couple of shots. Then they scarper.' He peered into the bushes. 'After all, no one's come after us.'

  'We're in a difficult position,' Milo said doubtfully. 'We can't exactly inform the authorities, can we?'

  'No, but we could plant the body back in the trees and let someone else do it for us.'

  'You wouldn't!' Lenny said horrified.

  'You got any other suggestions?'

  'The poor bastard,' Lenny gulped. 'He never hurt a soul. Can't we take him back with us?'

  'And do what?' Micky demanded. 'Order up a coffin and a vicar? Oh yes, I can see that happening, I don't think.'

  'What, then?' said Alfred impatiently.

  'We take off his balaclava, dirty his face as if he's been hiding in the undergrowth and take him to the middle of the woods.'

  'No,' Lenny shouted. 'I won't do it!'

  'Who's asking you?' Micky snarled. 'Drive the car back into the trees, Milo, till me and Alfred have tidied up.'

  Micky felt anger flow through his body. He would like to land one on Lenny's fat nose, but he stopped himself. He had to keep his head. It looked as though they might still get out of this if they were lucky.

  Micky stood watching the tail lights of the car, with the bag safely in his grasp. He would count this little lot out very judiciously. Alfred deserved his wedge. But Lenny didn't, nor did Milo, who should have kept Terry in sight. They didn't deserve any bees and honey. And if he got his way, they certainly weren't going to get it.

  It was Monday evening and Michael was asleep in bed. Bella had just finished ironing the shirts of the men of the household. Young Michael was not like his father when it came to cleanliness, she thought ruefully. His shirts were always grubby round the collar and cuffs. Perhaps little boys had a way of gathering dirt that was known only to them?

  As for Micky, he was so fastidious he changed his shirt and vest every day. The one exception had been the vest that she'd washed this morning. It had been heavily soiled under the armpits and sweat had stiffened the back. He'd inspected a car at the garage, he'd told her, forgetting to put on his overalls. A rare occurrence for Micky who was always so fussy about his clothing.

  Bella shook out the vest and folded it neatly. She was eager to watch the new television that Ronnie had purchased for them, much to her son's delight. Now a commercial channel was competing with the BBC. It was putting on a show called Double Your Money and Hughie Green was the compere. The newspaper said he was handsome and humorous and the contestants could win a lot of money.

  She was about to put the dinner on as Micky said he would be home early, when there was a knock at the door. Expecting it to be Daisy from next door returning the cup of sugar she had borrowed early this morning, Bella hurried to open it.

  The smile faded from her face as she saw a stranger standing there. He was tall and wearing an official suit and he slid off his hat when he saw her. 'Mrs Bryant?'

  Bella nodded slowly. 'Yes, that's me.'

  'My name is Reynolds, Detective Inspector Reynolds and I'm from Surrey police. He showed her a small card. 'I knocked on the door upstairs but no one replied.' Nodding to the airey he said in a gentle voice, 'I'd like to talk to you inside if I could.'

  Bella saw the uniformed policeman behind him and her heart jumped. 'It's not my husband is it?'

  'No, it's not.'

  The detective entered whilst the constable stayed outside. When the inspector was seated, he said quietly, 'I'm afraid I have some distressing news for you.'

  Bella felt the life drain out of her legs. If this wasn't about Micky, then who could it be?

  The big man turned his hat round slowly in his hands. 'I'm very sorry to have to tell you that this morning, the body of a young man was found on a large private estate in Surrey. He had been shot and died from his injuries. Our enquiries lead us to believe he is related to you. Your brother, Terence Doyle, in fact.'

  'Terry?' Bella repeated. 'In Surrey? That's impossible, you've made a mistake. He wouldn't even know where Surrey is.'

  'We traced him through this.' Detective Inspector held out a small photograph.

  It was her and Micky, Lenny and Terry and Sean standing on the registry office steps. Very slowly she turned it over and saw her handwriting, faded, but still legible. "For Terry. A day to remember. Our wedding, 20th May 1949." Underneath this was Terry's own childlike scribble, the only words he could write, his name, Terry Doyle.

  'We traced you through the records of the registry office,' the policeman continued. 'The only other things we found in his pocket were pieces of what appears to be nougat and a key. I took the liberty of trying it in the door above and needless to say, it fitted.'

  Bella stared at the photo. This couldn't be happening. Terry had gone over to Sean and Ashley's. He was no where near Surrey. He never went off the island, at least not that she knew of.

  'Mrs Bryant?'

  She looked up. 'It can't be my brother.'

  'We won't know that for sure until you identify him.'

  'You want me to look at …' she stopped, unable to believe what he was asking of her.

  'I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to come with me.'

  'But it's not Terry.'

  'Is there someone else who can be with you?'

  Just then the door opened. Micky entered, coming over to take her in his arms. 'Oh Micky, they said Terry's dead.'

  She listened as the policeman explained it all over again. She wanted Micky to snap his fingers and make the man go away, leave them alone so she could continue to make dinner and watch Hughie Green and end their day like any normal day.

  But when she heard Micky saying they would go to the mortuary, she knew there would never be another normal day.

  Not for a long time.

&
nbsp; A cover was pulled back. She had heard it said that after death, people look peaceful, as though they were in a better place. But Terry just looked empty. He was a waxwork image, an empty shell, his eyes closed and the smile he always smiled, gone forever.

  If it hadn't been for Micky holding her, she wouldn't have been able to stand. Her legs felt weightless. She couldn't cry as she stared down at the brother she had loved and protected so fiercely. The tears wouldn't fall. Why had he been taken from her? He had never done any wrong and wouldn't hurt a fly. Who had done this terrible thing to him?

  The cover was replaced and Micky led her out. 'It's Terry,' he told the policeman.

  After that, she let Micky take her out. In the car he told her he was going to call Dr Cox. When he came, Bella swallowed the pills he gave her. She hoped they would make the awful place in which she found herself, disappear. Even when Micky led her to the bedroom, undressed her and put her in bed, she was frightened to close her eyes. Would she see Terry in her dreams, that Terry who was not Terry – and try to wake him up and take him out of that terrible place?

  As a heavy sensation dragged her down. Her lids began to flutter as she looked up at Micky. She knew he was talking to her, holding her hand and telling her that he would stay with her. But it didn't seem to matter now. All she could think of was Terry lying in the cold place, with his skin as white as marble.

  Micky was sitting with Bella and Michael in the front row of St Nicholas's Catholic Church. He was dressed in a black suit and tie for the funeral and like everyone else, had shed tears as Father Johns had paid a glowing tribute to Terry. Although Micky was upset, the tears were for himself as his nerves had been stretched by the red tape at the inquest. What a palaver! But in the end the police had turned up nothing from the wood or from Terry's last known movements. He had been due to arrive at Sean's on the Saturday but never turned up. Sean and Ashley had simply assumed he might not have been well. The enquiries had come to a dead end and the verdict decided as death by misadventure.