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

by Carol Rivers

  'I slept on the couch.'

  He stood up, confusion and fear in his face. 'I must go to the hospital.' He thrust his hand through his untidy hair. 'I shouldn't have slept so long.'

  'You were exhausted. Do you want to wash and shave before you go? And eat a little breakfast?'

  'There's no time. I want to be with her when she comes round.' He stopped when he got to the door. 'I suppose Micky's not home?'

  'Not yet.'

  'Thanks, Bella …'

  'What for?'

  He patted her arm, unable to speak.

  The frosty morning air floated down the steps of the airey and Ronnie jumped them two at a time.

  What would happen now? Bella wondered as she listened to Ronnie's car move away. Had Joyce's operation been successful? When the children were up she would go upstairs and phone Sean. Surely he would be able to contact Micky?

  It was New Year's Day.

  Micky was higher than a kite. He was also waiting for McNee's collector. The Flamingo was empty, last night revellers gone, leaving the air stale with smoke and drink. The chairs were turned up on the tables and the floor was still littered with cigarette packets, balloons and a few party hats. The women had celebrated rowdily, causing an affray in the street below. Old Bill had been called as usual. But Micky had been tripping, smoking and drinking, and trying his best to sleep with a new girl at the club. She was far out now, away with the fairies.

  He wanted to satisfy McNee for a while. Would have done so by now if the LSD had arrived on time. The quality was sharp and would blow his punters minds. It would fetch the best price on the streets without even trying. Till then, he was enjoying a ride on his rainbow. Would enjoy it even more when the woman beside him opened her eyes.

  Suddenly there was a voice outside. If it was McNee's boys, he would bung them the ton he'd cobbled together. Then they'd leave him alone and he could space out some more.

  'Who's that?' he called as he pushed himself up on his elbow and narrowed his eyes at the door.

  'It's me, Mr Bryant,' said the old man who swept the floors. 'You've got visitors.'

  'Well, show them in.' Micky took a drag on the pipe and filled his lungs.

  To his surprise Sean appeared. His baby brother of all people. Now where was the little fairy he knocked around with? Micky rested back, his eyes vacant. It was Sean – or was it? He laughed stupidly, not really caring.

  The next thing Micky knew he was being lifted under the armpits. Now that was a first. The girl was still on the couch and he was flying above her. Sean's voice was somewhere in his head, but now he couldn't see him. He wasn't so sure he like this.

  Now, after being pulled down the stairs, he appeared to be moving along of his own accord. He laughed again, his head flopping from side to side.

  Although Micky was not aware of it, he was riding in the back of Sean's car. Ashley was sitting beside him and in silence they pulled into a hot dog stand. They poured coffee down his throat and he gagged, bringing it up in the gutter. Each time they poured more, until finally he started to sober.

  The colours were fading now, as was his sense of well being. Micky made a mental note somewhere in his mind, never to buy from the African again. He'd stick to his own dealer who always provided the best. He never had a bad trip with that shag. A few bob more, but worth it. Staring at the back of Sean's head as they sped through the streets, Micky resisted his descent to the planet.

  Sean and Ashley were waiting impatiently as Bella came back into the room. 'You'd better go without Micky,' she said. her arms full of Micky's filthy clothes. 'He'll be no use at the hospital. He's still being sick. What was he drinking?'

  Sean and Ashley shrugged as if they had no idea. They weren't going to tell her that Micky was probably full of every illegal substance known to man.

  'We'll go on our own then,' Sean decided. 'What about you?'

  'Tell Ronnie I'll come as soon as I can.'

  Sean kissed her gently on the cheek. 'Keep your pecker up, Bells.'

  On their way to the hospital, Ashley turned to Sean. 'Poor Bella. She obviously doesn't know about Micky.'

  'No, and we're not going to tell her,' Sean said emphatically. 'Best to stay shtum. But I have to admit it was one hell of a shock finding Micky in such a state. I mean, all that dope we found! Enough to stop a bull elephant in its tracks.'

  Ashley shuddered. 'What a dive that Flamingo is!'

  'How can he do this to Bella?'

  'I don't know. Thank God she thinks it's just the booze.'

  'Let's hope it stays that way.' But Sean knew Micky was out of control. Just like he had been at the still. Well, they'd all had another chance after that. Micky might have nine lives, but almost certainly he was now down to his last one.

  Chapter 27

  It was Sunday and Gina was working hard, cleaning the surfaces and shining the mirrors. She had put on the kettle for a cup of tea and soon she would sit down and relax. She was humming to the strains of 'Only The Lonely' by Roy Orbison. It had been a big hit last year and she knew the words off by heart. The sentiments couldn't be more appropriate for her, as though she wouldn't admit it, she had been lonely without Lenny. Even though it was him that had done the dirty on her she missed his presence, still did after all this time.

  In her heart she knew she was half to blame. Their lives had become a case of all work and no play. They hadn't spent enough time fooling around, as Lenny had pointed out more times than she could remember.

  Roy Orbison's voice trembled on a high, clear note, sending a shiver along her spine. Was she too old to find romance again? She could see a few grey hairs, more white than grey, snaking over her head. Pulling the tweezers from her pocket she aimed them at the roots. Each time she did this she knew two would grow in their place. Sean had warned her when she last went to the salon.

  'Let me colour it for you,' he'd advised as he pinned up her shining black chignon. 'Henna will do the trick and you'll still have a full head of hair when you're ninety.'

  Gina turned sideways in the mirror. Perhaps Sean was right. She could do with something to give her a lift. No double chins yet but she wouldn't see thirty-eight again. It was serious upholstering from here on in. And your hair was your crowning glory although keeping up with the fashions was important. Black and white was nice for the coffee bar, slacks or a straight skirt and a smart little top like a crisp white shirt. Shoes were high on her list too. Preferably high heels as she still had good legs. Each night she cleansed her skin and moisturised away the wrinkles. Yes, she still took good care of herself and intended to keep doing so.

  Her customers appreciated her efforts, often complimenting her on her appearance. The bohemian types regaled her with homespun poetry. The artists amongst them asked her to be their model. But she never took them seriously. It was all good fun, a lot of verbal and hot air, but they made her feel young.

  Tomorrow the coffee bar would be open for trade. It was a brand new year and the kids would pile in, playing their music and talking about their hopes and dreams.

  Well, she wasn't too old to have dreams of her own, even if she didn't have a man. Gina and Bella's Coffee Bar was going to be famous one day. As famous as the Moka in Frith Street. Everyone knew the Moka Bar. It had been opened by her namesake, the voluptuous foreign actress, Gina Lollobrigida. The Moka and the 2i's coffee bar in Old Compton Street were decorated in the same style as she had chosen for this place. All linoleum floors and Formica tables. They didn't have a battered old piano like the 2i's but sometimes the kids brought in their guitars.

  Deep in thought, she almost missed the figure hovering outside. An older man with a beard, dressed in a baggy coat and ragged trousers. For a moment she wondered if he was a new addition to the dozens of tramps that wandered the East End streets, looking for handouts. She knew many of their faces now and sometimes gave them the scraps left over from the kitchen. But this man she hadn't seen before and she was a bit wary. Most of the blokes who arrived for the
ir handouts knew they had to keep strictly away until after hours. She'd warned them they were welcome to what there was left over, but not in front of the cutomers. However, this one didn't look as if he was about to cause her trouble. He was moving off already, though she had a vague feeling that she recognised something about him. The way he moved, the hunch of his shoulders ...

  And then he turned to give her one last glance. In that split second their gazes met and Gina froze. Unable to move she stared into the eyes that were only remnants of the person she had once known.

  The kettle began to boil. She reached out to turn it off but when she looked back there was no one there.

  She rubbed her eyes and blinked. Then she dropped her cloth and ran to the door. Unlocking it hurriedly, she went outside. The street was deserted.

  Her brain was telling her she was mistaken. But her heart was telling her she had just seen was Lenny.

  Ronnie was staring at the doctor. This just wasn't possible. Hospitals these days were so well equipped. Miracles happened daily. People were saved by new drugs, new techniques and wonderful inventions. He had read it often enough in the newspapers, even knew of a few rapid cures himself. Joyce had been alive a short while ago, as fit as himself.

  'I'm sorry, Mr Bryant. There really was nothing more we could do.'

  'But why - ' Ronnie demanded, anger and desperation in his voice as he stared at the older man sitting on the other side of the desk. 'Why did it have to happen to Joyce?'

  The doctor paused, his voice patient but firm as he replied. 'As I have been trying to explain, there were complications caused by the pregnancy. We tried to stop the internal bleeding but I'm afraid it was too late.'

  Ronnie finally heard what was being said to him but he didn't understand. All he could do was keep shaking his head, his mouth open as the dry hospital air poured in. 'I thought she just had a bad stomach. Joyce thought so too. Said it would soon wear off. How could we have been so wrong?' Ronnie suddenly felt himself crumble. In his mind he could hear himself trying to persuade Joyce to let him call the doctor. And each time she had said no. If only he'd done as he thought best.

  'I really am so sorry,' the doctor said finally without offering another explanation or even telling him not to blame himself. But the blame was squarely on his shoulders and he knew it. He should have taken action and might have saved his wife's life.

  Ronnie dragged up his eyes. 'Where is she?'

  He followed the doctor down the corridor and entered a small sideward. Joyce was lying there, his Joyce. Her eyes were closed and her dark hair fell around her head. She looked very small, even fragile.

  'Would you like me to stay with you?'

  Ronnie shook his head and after the doctor left, he sat in the chair, staring at the woman with whom he had expected to share his future. 'Oh, Joyce, what have I done?'

  He took her hand and whispered he loved her. Their life had been sweeter than he imagined possible. They had been friends as well as man and wife. If he hadn't wanted a son and heir so much, she might still be alive. Yes, it was all his fault. Joyce must have known in her heart that it was too dangerous for her to have a baby and yet she had given in to him.

  He pressed his lips on her forehead and whispered, 'Wherever you are Joyce, I love you. And I'm sorry. So sorry. Please forgive me.'

  Emotion filled him as he stared at her face. Even in death she was beautiful. He didn't want to be without her. How was he going to go on?

  He was not a man to give in easily to emotion. But now the tears seemed to come all at once. And for the last time on this earth, he held his wife close, his tears falling on to her cold face.

  Micky was on a high, sweating a little with the rush of the fix, but on a high.

  It was a cold, cloudless Saturday in January and the earth in the churchyard was hard with frost. The mourners at Joyce's funeral were gathered round the open grave wrapped up in their expensive black coats.

  Micky narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at his grief stricken brother, centre stage. It was the opportune time to put his plan into action. Today he was going to redeem himself with the family.

  He was going to eat humble pie if it choked him. If the clubs had worked out, he wouldn't have to grovel like this, but a run of bad luck had dogged his footsteps since the job at Downey Manor. It was that Terry who had started the ball rolling by getting himself shot. And then Milo, the ungrateful bugger, had to be silenced. Not that Micky had done the deed, but he'd had to pay full whack for a result.

  And now he was being shafted by McNee again! The nutter was a law unto himself, a powerful nutter it was true and as likely to blast a man's chest out for no reason as to shake his hand. How the hell he had got mixed up with him, he didn't know. Micky pulled back his head self-righteously. Some things in life just didn't seem fair.

  As Micky stood by his wife, he was planning his strategy. He'd have to make it right with Bella first. Much to his surprise, she was on to a winner with the coffee bar. All those young kids had money to burn. The problem was he wasn't seeing any of it. He'd almost burnt his boats that day when he found Mary Doyle sitting in his chair in his house scoffing his food. A man's home was his castle or supposed to be. But there sat the money-grabbing old biddy, her hand hot on Bella's roubles. Cash that he was fully entitled to.

  The coffin disappeared into the hole and he heard a few sobs. Personally, he didn't understand what all the fuss was about. Funerals gave him the creeps. They were expensive and time consuming. Take Terry for instance, buried just a few plots away. No one ever came up here now except Bella. The kid was forgotten, remembered only as a half-wit, a lame duck. If he had done what he was told and not wandered off that night at Downey, he would be alive today.

  People brought trouble on themselves. Like old Joyce. She was nice enough, but it was her choice to latch on to Ronnie and have a kid. If she'd gone back on the game, she'd still be alive now.

  Micky glanced furtively at his brother. Ronnie should think himself lucky. He was a free man now and not short of a few bob. He didn't have to cow-tow to McNee or squeeze a living out of two poxy clubs. Sympathy where sympathy was due. And Ronnie didn't deserve any.

  He felt Bella stir as Ronnie cast a handful of earth into the grave.

  'She was a belter was Joyce,' Micky whispered to his wife. 'Like Terry. The pair of them, salt of the earth.'

  His wife glanced at him, a flash of surprise on her face.

  'It's Ronnie I feel sorry for now.' He managed this lie with dexterity since he had been practising it for the last five minutes. 'I'll take a bit of time off work to see he's all right. You and me have to be there for him, darling. I know I've been a rubbish husband to you and lousy father to our son. Much less, a rotten brother to my own blood. But I'm about to make up for all that. We are a family and that is more important to me than anything else now.'

  Bella's smile was faint, but she reached for his hand. He squeezed her fingers, smiling supportively.

  It was so easy with women. The right touch and you were home and dry.

  Bella looked up when she heard Micky come in. He was still wearing his black suit from the funeral and he rubbed his hands together as he sat by the fire.

  'How's Ronnie?' she asked anxiously. 'Did you ask him to come down to eat with us?'

  'Course I did. But he wouldn't have it. Said I'd go up before we went to bed though and say goodnight.'

  'It must be awful without Joyce.'

  'Yeah, don't seem right she's gone. First Terry then her.'

  'At least Father Johns gave Terry a good send off,' Bella sighed. 'But there was only a few words for Joyce that didn't express what we all felt.'

  'Ronnie wanted it over and done with,' Micky pointed out. 'Neither of them was religious. It wasn't like they went to church or anything.'

  In spite of the austere funeral arrangements, Bella had been amazed at all the floral tributes for Joyce. A beautiful wreath of red roses from Ron and dozens of sprays from many others. She and Mi
cky had sent a large posy of white roses, just like her wedding bouquet, the one that Joyce had caught. She had also taken a big bunch of chrysanthemums for Terry as she hadn't been to the cemetery for over a month.

  'It doesn't seem possible that Mr and Mrs Bryant and Auntie Gwen and Terry and Joyce are all gone now,' she murmured sadly. 'I wish we knew what happened to Terry.'

  'It wouldn't make no difference if we did,' Micky replied quickly. 'Take Ronnie for instance. He knows what happened to Joyce but it's not helped. If you knew who shot Terry, it wouldn't bring him back.'

  'But someone would be punished for the crime.'

  'Yeah, I know how you feel, darling,' Micky answered, his voice full of regret. 'I wish I could make that right for you. I'd love to get my hands on the bastard who did it.'

  Bella sighed as she thought of her brother. It was over five years now since he'd gone. The police had closed the case a long time ago. But sometimes it still seemed fresh in her memory. She understood what Ronnie was going through. He had to find an outlet for his grief, just like she had found one with the coffee bar. Everything around him would remind him of Joyce. They had so many plans for the baby, painting the nursery and filling it with toys. It had made Bella happy to think a new life would fill the room that Terry had once occupied and that Terry might be watching over the baby. But now that would never happen.

  'I think I'll make supper.' She wasn't hungry, but she didn't want to dwell on these thoughts. She had learned long ago that life was for the living and now they all had to get on with it, with or without Joyce.

  But Micky caught her hand. 'Sit down. I've got something to tell you.'

  'What is it?'

  'I have a big apology to make. Truth is, I'm sorry for taking that money off you. I must have given you a fright. I'll repay you every penny when I'm flush.'

  She sat down then. 'Why did you do it, Micky?'

  He looked so remorseful that Bella believed him when he shrugged and shook his head. 'I can't really explain, Bells. I've no excuse only that I'd had a bad day and a few drinks.'