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

'Are you ready?' His voice was gentle, because he knew the answer.

'I put his blanket over him. Still can't believe he's gone.'

'Don't reckon he has really.' Alfred followed her through the kitchen to the basket on the floor in which the animal had slept for the past sixteen years.

Funny that, the Manor going up in flames and Gyp pegging out shortly after, Alfred ruminated uneasily. Like a message from heaven to get on his bike. But it still wasn't easy to leave the poor sod here.

Alfred lifted the animal, not altogether a lightweight and made his way to the garden. Together he and Nellie lowered the last of their life in Hoxton and sixteen years of memories, into the hole. When the burial was over, he threw the spade aside. 'Come on gel, we've said goodbye to our Gyp, now it's adios to good old Blighty.'

'What time's the taxi?' he asked as they went back to the house and gathered their few belongings.

'What's wrong with the bus?' Nellie enquired, tying a headscarf around her head.

'Nothing, I suppose.' They could afford to buy a bus if they wanted, he told himself cheerfully. But Nellie had her eye on the ackers. A thrifty woman, was his Nell, which, he freely admitted, had always worked in their favour. But today they were travelling to Dover. Catching a cross-channel ferry to Calais.

'Here we come sunny Spain,' he said, taking a last look at the place he had lived and worked in since he and Nellie were married nearly forty years before.

She nodded. 'No more flaming wet weather.'

'No more colds and backache.'

'No heating bills in Spain. They've got summer all year round.'

Alfred congratulated himself on the fact that a Face he knew had sold them a villa on the Costa Brava, at a knock-down price and thrown a score in with it. But then, he would, wouldn't he? It was part payment for services rendered, a mutual arrangement that had worked out very well for them both. 'What about cash?' he asked Nellie as an afterthought.

'It's all in the bank. But we've enough for the journey.'

He smiled. They were travelling light. The way travellers really should travel. 'I'll buy you a nice Spanish dress when we get there.'

'No, ta. I ain't into frills and fancies.' Nellie grinned up him, her shining brown eyes reminding him of the long years of their faithful partnership.

He put on his coat. 'Well, it's cherrio England, then!'

When they got to the gate, a bus whooshed by.

'We've missed that bloody one,' his wife complained. 'Now we'll have to wait half an hour for another.'

'Told you we should've got the taxi.'

She threw him a disapproving frown. 'You always was a spendthrift, Alfred. At least when we get to Spain you won't know your Pesetas from your pound.'

Alfred smiled to himself. He wasn't quite ready to lay down and roll over yet. He had already been to the library and taken a gander at the Spanish currency. They had pictures of some very interesting banknotes in the illustrated books.

Lenny rubbed his smoothly shaven chin as he watched the red bus drive past.

It was the first day of 1962 and he felt proud to be wearing his London Transport uniform. Like the man sitting up there in the driving seat, he too was part of the capital's public services. True, he hadn't been on the buses for long, four months to the day in fact. He'd only signed up for the job in order to pass the coffee bar on a regular basis. But in those four months he had started to believe in himself again. He was escorting his passengers up and down the city's roads, enjoying all the rabbit and pork. He was in charge for once, a bloke, doing a bloke's job.

He had all the times of departures and arrivals off pat. He knew his route blindfolded. He had even put in for overtime. Not that he'd have got the job if he'd revealed the truth, that he was an ex-con. But he'd taken the risk and found himself issued with a uniform, a cap and his number plate. The best blooming bit of luck in all his life.

Now his shift was over and he was standing in the perishing cold on the first day of the New Year, drawn like a moth to a flame. The coffee bar had closed and the kids had all gone home. This was the time he liked best, when the lights flooded out into the dark street and Gina had the place to herself. Sometimes she played the jukebox, doing that little wiggle with her hips. He'd got sick to the teeth of Only the Lonely though, even though liked to watch her. She was a lovely mover.

As Lenny turned up the collar of his standard issue greatcoat, he saw a car pull up. It screeched to a halt and the driver leapt out. Lenny's eyes narrowed. He knew that silhouette. His heart raced as the figure banged on the door.

Gina let him in. Lenny saw her expression change. He could tell she was getting angry. Then she was backing away, struggling to distance herself and protect the till at the same time.

It was obvious the bugger was after the takings!

Lenny jumped into the road. A car missed him by inches. He jumped back again. When he looked up, the two of them were behind the counter and Gina was trying to drag him away from the till. He pushed her off. She tried again and this time he belted her.

Lenny not only saw red, he yelled out like a wounded elephant and barged his way into the traffic. Headlights blinded him, a rush of wind tore at his coat. An engine roared in his ears and a horn blasted. But he ran on, interweaving, dodging, his heart thumping as loudly as a pneumatic drill.

Gina was on the floor when