Christmas to Come: a heartbreaking coming of age saga set in London's East End by Carol Rivers (best motivational novels txt) 📗

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 Micky 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.'

'You've been drinking a lot lately.'

'I know. But only because I've been worried.'

'What about? Are you in trouble?'

'No, course not. But business isn't brisk.' He looked down. 'The honest truth is, I'm not seeing a return on the clubs. The custom is harder to come by, what with all these new dives opening up. Everyone's out for a quick few bob these days. There's no classy joints left. People want sleaze and I'm not prepared to provide it. I have standards, you know.'

'Micky, why don't you sell the clubs and buy another garage? You always did well there and you could get another salesman like Milo.'

He nodded slowly. 'He was a good sort, old Milo and I might do as you suggest. But I want to get shot of the Fortune and the Flamingo first. Still, that's my problem not yours.'

Bella looked into his eyes. 'I didn't tell Gina about the money as I'm going to try to replace it.' She softened her voice as she continued. 'I haven't forgotten that you've been generous in the past and helped Mum and Teresa.'

'They're family, Bells. When all is said and done, blood is thicker than water.'

'Oh, Micky, when you're like this, I remember the man I married.'

'I love you, Bella,' Micky said with an earnest expression. 'I might not have shown it lately, but I intend to change. I'm getting out of the clubs and making you and Michael proud of me.'

He took her into his arms and slid the pins