by Carol Rivers
'Is Micky here?' She gripped her bag tightly as though it might be snatched away from her.
'Micky who?'
She glanced inside. 'Micky Bryant. He owns this place.'
'He don't any more, love.'
'You must be mistaken. I have to speak to Micky and quickly.'
The man looked her up and down, a leer stretched over his florid face. He wore a red bow tie and his brown hair was greasy, hanging about his collar. 'And who are you, exactly?'
'I'm Mrs Bryant, Micky's wife.'
'The old reprobate in trouble with his missus is he? You should come inside love and I'll put you in touch with the gov'nor.'
Bella was suddenly aware they were quite alone. 'Who is the gov'nor?'
'Why, Mr Billy McNee, of course,' he answered in mock surprise. 'Now just you come out of the wet little lady and we'll get acquainted.'
She took a step back, then hurried away, humiliated at the way he was laughing at her, treating it all as a big joke. She walked quickly along the damp street, but her legs felt weak with fear. Her footsteps became faster and faster until she broke into a run. When she came to a corner she sheltered inside a doorway trying to catch her breath.
As she paused, she began to collect her thoughts; McNee had taken over Micky's club and there was no sign of Micky. What had happened to him and where was he now? People passed by, hunched in the driving rain. What should she do next? She didn't know the address of the Flamingo, but Micky had told her it was close to the Fortune.
When she had calmed herself, she stepped out onto the street and began to walk again, but every now and then she looked behind her wondering if someone was following in the shadows. The cars roared by, spraying water from the puddles over her as they went. She could hear loud laughter and music, together with the smell of fried foods from the restaurants and bars. Figures hurried on their way, through the downpour that was making the pavement slippery.
It was when she turned into the next street that she saw it. The letter "F" was missing from the unlit neon sign, "Flamingo", and the rest of it hung lopsidedly over the door. For a moment she hesitated, then crossed the road, her pulse racing faster with every step. She came to a stop at the entrance, but the door had graffiti sprayed over it with two strong pieces of wood nailed into place across it. Steps led down to a cellar below, but that too, seemed deserted.
An alley ran beside the building and to her astonishment she saw the dark shape of Ronnie's car. As she walked towards it she could smell the overflowing dustbins and wet rubbish piled high against the filthy walls. A cat hissed at her and sped away.
She came to a side door and saw it was open a few inches. Ronnie must be inside and perhaps Micky was too. Bella fought her nerves back and decided the only way she would find out was to enter the darkened passage. Feeling her way along the wall, she listened for sounds. There were none, only the scuffle of rats around her feet.
At last she came to a large, dimly lit room, strewn with rubbish and broken chairs. There was a bar at the far end, but all its mirrors were broken, the sharp shards of glass either in piles on the floor or jutting out from the walls. Bella stared at the scene of devastation before her, at what was obviously the remnants of Micky's beloved Flamingo.
Had this happened recently? No wonder Micky couldn't find a buyer for the club. How could he expect to sell it like this?
Then she heard voices. Following the sounds she walked slowly through another dark passage at the end of which there was a shaft of light.
Pushing open the door, Bella stepped in.
Ronnie's face was tight with anguish, reflected in the pale light as he bent over his brother. Micky was sprawled on a sofa, propped by cushions. Bella saw there was something unusual about him, perhaps the casual way he was seated, not Micky's style at all.
'Come and join the party, Bells,' Micky croaked when he saw her. He nodded to the array of bottles on the table beside him. 'What do you fancy, a gin and it? Scotch on the rocks, or a chaser of rum?' He raised his eyebrows slowly, tiredly. 'Oh, pardon me, I forgot. You're not much of a drinker are you?' He laughed, a sound that soon became a cough.
'Oh, Micky, I - ' Bella began as she rushed up to him but pulling up short when she saw the blood-soaked handkerchief that Ronnie was holding. 'Ronnie?' she whispered, 'are you hurt?'
He shook his head and reached down to gently pull Micky's jacket to one side.
Bella felt sick and faint. This isn't happening she told herself as she gazed at the wound under Micky's shirt, oozing blood rapidly.
'It was McNee,' Ronnie told her gently, his voice full of controlled emotion.
'Oh, God,' she whispered. 'Micky, oh, Micky!'
'The bastard got me before I got him,' Micky said, in an almost unconcerned matter.
Bella was shaking from head to foot. She made herself look at Ronnie. 'What can I do?'
'I need something to stem the blood.'
She looked around but could see nothing, so she hurried to a room adjoining what looked like an office. It was a small kitchen of sorts and she opened a drawer or two and eventually found several cloths. They weren't very clean, but what did it matter, Bella thought in a moment of clarity as she hurried back to her husband and brother-in-law. Deep down inside her she knew that Micky had been fatally wounded and whatever she and Ronnie did now, was more for them than for Micky.
Ronnie pressed the cloths against Micky's chest. 'I have to get a doctor, Micky,' he said, sliding his other hand under Micky's head so that he could draw breath easier.
But Micky held Ronnie's arm. 'McNee must pay for what he's done to me, Ron. He drained me dry. Then he moved in on the Fortune and trashed the Flamingo.'
'You should have got out of it, Micky,' Ronnie said quietly. 'I tried to warn you that the writing was on the wall years ago.'
Micky nodded slowly, a thread of blood appearing on his lips. 'At least you got a fair whack for the Blue Moon in the days when McNee was half a businessman. But the racket is out of control …' He tugged Ronnie's cuff with limp fingers. 'I should have got out like you said but I did my head in with the booze and the pills.' He looked at Bella, smiling the first genuine smile she had witnessed in years. 'I'm sorry gel, for what happened to Terry.'
'Why did you take him to Downey Wood, Micky?' She had to hear it from his lips.
'I wish I never had. That job only brought me trouble. Most if it went to line McNee's pocket anyway. I just saw the money sitting in the old lady's safe doing nothing …' He coughed, spitting up blood. 'Terry must've gone off for a piss or poke around in the bushes...' His voice drifted away as his face drained of colour. His head rolled to one side as his eyes stared sadly up at her. 'I love you, Bells. Always have. Them tarts meant nothing. They were just a - '
Ronnie lifted his brother's head. 'Don't talk any more, Micky. I'm going for help.'
'It's over for me, now …'
Bella took his hand. 'Don't say that, Micky. We'll get you to hospital.'
'Remember the rats, Bells?' he whispered, gripping her fingers tightly. 'Them fat buggers … the ones down the docks … by the bridge? One day they'll dig up the bastard there. I've seen to it. Given the nod to some friends of mine …' He began to choke and Bella took him in her arms. She held him, laying her head next to his. For all he had done, he was still Micky, the man she had fallen in love all those years ago.
'Tell, Michael … tell him his dad said to remember Robin Hood, eh? The good old days - ' His lips trembled as he looked up at her. 'You was a good girl, Bells, the best …' His hand dropped from hers.
Bella looked at her dead husband and felt the grief flow through her. She would never see him again in this life, or talk to him. They had had become strangers, but still at the end, they were man and wife. He had told her he loved her and she believed him. But what use was that love now for either her or Michael?'
Ronnie placed Micky's arms by his side and closed the lids of his eyes.
'There's nothing more we can do
now. But when I find that bastard McNee – '
She gripped his arm. 'No, Ronnie. Micky didn't know what he was saying. This has got to end now. Micky only had himself to blame. We all loved him, but it wasn't enough.'
He gripped her arm and helped her up from the couch. 'We have to the call the police now, but first, we decide what to tell them.'
'I don't want to talk about Terry or implicate Lenny,' Bella said in a choked voice as she gazed on the still form. 'None of that will bring back Terry, will it?' The tears were wet on her cheeks as she opened her bag with trembling fingers, stained with Micky's blood and took out a card. 'This is Inspector Reynolds number. Though I never expected to use it.'
Ronnie slipped his arm around her shoulders. They were both holding back tears, remembering the life of Micky Bryant, husband and father, friend and brother, a dearly beloved son, who had somehow lost his way and had never managed to find the path back again.
Bella closed her eyes and prayed that in the next world, he would have learned through his experiences in this existence. And that the love she had always had for him - still had - would shed light on his road to eternity.
Epilogue
December 25th 1965
Isle of Dogs
East London
The airey was filled with bright, sparkling decorations. With Michael's help Bella had strung the paper chains across the ceiling, secured in each corner with a bunch of different coloured balloons. The tree glistened in the corner, silver, red and blue tinsel entwined in its branches. The fairy lights twinkled and the star on top was dotted with silver glitter, reflecting the rainbow hues of the room. Mistletoe and holly hung from the lights and doorways. All the presents were under the tree as yet unopened.
The turkey was in the oven and Bella was putting the last touches to the trifle when Michael walked in the kitchen. For a moment Bella was taken back many years. It was Micky standing there, gazing at her with his beautiful eyes. Michael was now as tall and handsome as his father had been at sixteen. A mirror image even though his hair was a dark auburn and he wore it in the fashion of his favourite group the Beatles, there was no doubting he was a blood-born Bryant.
'I'm off to church then, Mum.' He was going to the eleven o'clock Christmas Day service with his girlfriend and her parents. 'Me and Francesca will be back this afternoon for tea.'
'It won't be ready till six.'
'Good. I'll have time to let Mrs Sullivan's dinner go down first.' He laughed Micky's laugh, bending to kiss her.
'Wish the Sullivans a happy Christmas from me.'
'They've invited us for New Year's Eve.'
Bella nodded slowly. 'That will be nice.'
'Can Uncle Ron come too?'
'Is the invite for him as well?'
'Mrs Sullivan said if any of the family want to come …?'
Bella hadn't realized the young romance was getting so serious. 'All right. You can ask him yourself later today.'
They went outside and up the airey steps. She shuddered as a cold breeze whistled past them. Michael climbed on his bike. She put her hand on his arm. 'I wish you would let me take you in the car. The weatherman said snow's on its way.'
'I like a bit of fresh air. And Mr Sullivan will put my bike in his boot when he brings us home.'
Bella gave in, watching him cycle off. Her brown eyes under her short, neat bob went proudly over her son. He was growing up fast and was fiercely independent. But out of all the girls on the island, Michael had chosen Francesca Sullivan for his first steady girlfriend.
The Sullivans were an Irish family and devout Catholics. For the last six months, Michael and Francesca had been seeing each other every free minute they had. The Sullivans lived in Blackwall and Ciaran and Molly Sullivan were hard working people with a big family. Francesca had four brothers and two sisters. Ciaran Sullivan ruled his family with a rod of iron. It was a sin to eat meat on a Friday, or to miss Mass on Sunday or to omit a weekly confession. Of course, Mary had been delighted that her grandson had found the faith again. An irony, Bella thought, seeing the catastrophic lapsing of the Doyle household!
If the Sullivans knew anything of her chequered past, they had never said, Bella mused thoughtfully. Not that she knew them well, only in passing. The New Year's get-together would be interesting.
A car pulled up, the first of several that would arrive today. Gina and Lenny climbed out, both wearing smart coats and hats. 'Take care on that contraption, young Michael,' Gina shouted after the disappearing cyclist. 'And say one for us.'
Michael waved before he turned the corner. 'I thought it was Micky,' Gina said breathlessly as she greeted Bella. 'He's the spitting image.'
'Yes, in some ways.' Bella kissed Lenny on the cheek. 'Happy Christmas, Len.'
'You too, gel. Is Ron in?'
'I should think so. His car's there.'
'Do you mind if I go and have a beer with him first?'
Bella pretended to look disappointed. 'I was hoping you was going to help me stuff the turkey.'
Gina rolled her dark eyes and pushed him up the steps. 'Go on, you lemon. I'll give Bella a hand with dinner.'
Half an hour later, when all was prepared, Bella and Gina were seated beside the glowing fire. There were carols on the radio and Mrs Bryant's big extending dining table was now moved down to the airey and set with shining cutlery, linen napkins and tall stemmed glasses. Although Sean and Ashley were taking their annual skiing holiday, Mary, Gus and Teresa were coming for dinner and this year the Shines were joining them too. It would be a full house and Bella and Gina were enjoying the calm before the storm.
Gina raised her ruby red glass of cream sherry. 'Chin-chin, old girl.'
Bella did the same. They sipped and smiled at one another, close friends and working partners, comfortable in each others company as the mellow feeling of Christmas enveloped them.
'Did you see about McNee in the paper?' Gina ventured, as though she was reluctant to say the name.
Bella nodded. 'The report said it was a gangland killing. That McNee's body had been under the demolished bridge for at least two years.'
'No wonder the police couldn't find him after Micky's death.'
Bella nodded as she gazed into the fire. Time had helped to heal the wounds since Micky had died that rainy night in Soho when Ronnie had used the card she had in her bag to call Inspector Reynolds. After they had taken Micky away, they had given their statements, but much to their bitter disappointment there was no other evidence to support Micky's claims that McNee had been his assailant. However, during the next few weeks McNee disappeared. Now it seemed as though Micky's bone-chilling prophecy had come true.
'You know, Lenny's not forgotten what you and Ronnie did for him - kept shtum about the Manor.'
Bella smiled at her friend. 'Lenny is a good man, Gina.'
'Yes, but the good took a long while turning up.'
'It did in the end.'
'He still feels bad about Terry.'
'It wasn't his fault, it was Micky's. And although Lenny could have said refused the job, Micky would not have let him go.'
Gina sighed. 'Do you think the coppers will ever come knocking at our doors?'
'Why would they? Milo, Micky and Terry are dead. The mystery man Alfred Freshwater has disappeared in a puff of smoke. And Lenny certainly isn't about to tell anyone.'
Gina grinned then. 'It's funny what the future holds. I'd never have believed Len would become a bus driver. Or that you and me would have got ourselves as good a reputation as the 2i's. Or that …' she held up her left hand and displayed the gold band on her finger, ' …me and Len would tie the knot this year.'
Bella grinned. 'A wedding ring suits you.'
'Cost me a few bob and all.'
They laughed and Bella heaved a deep sigh. 'To be honest, I never thought I'd be seeing Michael cycle off to Christmas Day Mass instead of spending it at home, playing his records on the Dansette and pretending to be one of the Beatles.'
'He
's got it bad for her, then?'
'The Sullivans have invited me over for New Year. Michael wants Ronnie to come too.'
Gina sat forward, narrowing her eyes. 'No need to ask why.'
'He's very fond of Ron.'
'The question is, are you?'
Bella felt herself blush. She was glad they were sitting by the fire as Gina was scrutinizing her. 'We're just good friends, always have been.'
'It's more than that. You can't hide it from me.'
'Hide what?' Bella asked curiously.
'You and Ronnie. Honestly girl, there's walls dividing you, not a mountain range. You live with your memories of Joyce and Micky and are frightened to live in the present.'
'I don't know what you mean.'
Gina held out her glass for a refill. 'Course you do. You're a beautiful young woman – '
'Not so young. I'm thirty-three, Gina.'
'That is young, ducks. Young enough to start again. Me and Lenny did it and we were geriatric compared to you and Ron. You have to let Micky go. Ron is a father to Michael, in all ways but one.'
'Gina, I don't want to get married again. I'm happy with the business and looking after Michael.'
'He'll be leaving school and going to work soon,' continued Gina, unwilling to let the subject drop. 'You can bet if this Mr and Mrs Sullivan have anything to do with it, they'll want him signing on the dotted line for their daughter before he even kisses her.'
Bella's mouth fell open. 'He's too young for marriage!'
'Yeah, but he don't know it, does he? He needs someone like Ron to give him a bit of a whisper.'
Bella smiled at her friend as she replenished her glass. 'You think I can't explain puppy love to Michael?'
'You're his mum. He won't take it from you. And personally I think your lad should sow his oats a lot more.'
'Well, I can't stop him from seeing Francesca. And frankly, I'd rather him be with a nice girl and have a steady job – '