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

'And where in the name of Jesus did you get that dress, girl?' Mary Doyle's voice was slurred as she leaned against the door.

'Where do you think?' Bella tried to ignore the unbridled aggression in her tone. An unspoken challenge that suggested a need for an all out shouting match. She had been hoping that her mother would have left for the pub, her shift of duty beginning at six. But instead, Mary Doyle had sunk the last of the gin, a bottle she had found in the man's pocket an hour ago. Bella had watched her search him as he lay snoring in the chair. A satisfied expression had crept over Mary's face as she'd unscrewed the top and poured what was left of it down her throat.

'You've got a vicious tongue on you, girl. Talking to your mother as if she was – '

'What?' Bella's own anger was surfacing now. 'Someone who really cared what I look like?'

'I'll tell you what you look like in that - a slut. A cheap little tart.'

'And you should know, mother, shouldn't you?'

Bella had long ago accepted that Mary Doyle would pull out all the stops to spoil any happiness she found in life. It was in her mother's nature to resent her children's existence outside of the four dingy walls surrounding them. Mary's bitter thoughts showed on her face as she stood in the doorway, examining the picture that Bella presented.

'For all the grand clothes he buys you, it's still a Doyle inside them,' Mary persisted drunkenly. 'You'd think the Bryants were saints themselves for the crumbs they've thrown our way.'

'Crumbs is it?' Bella countered angrily as she took a step towards her mother. 'If it wasn't for them, you and that cripple outside – ' she jerked her head fiercely towards the next room, 'would be begging on the streets and me and Terry put away somewhere.'

Mary lifted the glass in her hand and sucked down the alcohol noisily. 'Perhaps it would have been better if you had. A fifteen-year-old girl dressed up like a whore and that man himself is responsible and she still can't see it.'

Bella looked coldly into her mother's eyes. 'Micky's not responsible for what I look like, Mum. You should know that better than anyone. If I've the makings of a whore inside me, it's you that put it there.'

Mary Doyle stepped forward and landed a blow across her cheek that momentarily stunned her. The stinging sensation spread over her skin and down to her neck but the discomfort was brief as she tossed back her dishevelled hair.

'Don't ever do that again, Mum,' she warned, her eyes bright with anger.

'I'll not have you speak to me that way, girl.' There was a note of fear in Mary's voice as she stared into her daughter's burning gaze. 'Sure I'll keep you and your brother on the straight and narrow if it kills me,' she added weakly, falling back against the door.

Bella shook her head in amazement at these words. 'Don't worry that'll never happen. In fact I'd be willing to lay top odds you'll never die of doing me and Terry a good turn. If you did, it would be the first ever since our births and even then, it would turn out to be a mistake.' In silence she lifted her coat from the bed and slipped her bag over her shoulder. Straightening her back she walked past her mother to the front door where Terry stood waiting. Then she turned slowly back to smile at the overweight, overblown body of Mary Doyle.

'Don't wait up for us,' she said as she grasped Terry's big hand in hers. Allowing her gaze to linger for a last few seconds on the harrowed face, she reminded herself that she needed no words from Mary Doyle to keep her on the straight and narrow. The picture before her was lesson enough.

Bella pulled Terry into the fresh air. The door banged noisily and she breathed in oxygen until her lungs felt as though they would burst. Bow Street air wasn't fresh. It was contaminated by the decay of the abandoned cottages and broken sewers. But any air was fresher than the poison under that roof.

The night was cold and dark as Bella and Terry looked around them at the forgotten street. After the war, the council hadn't bothered to light a road that was dying.

The sound of a car's engine rumbled in the distance.

'Micky!' cried Terry excitedly. 'Micky's coming.'

Bella's heart began to beat fast as she recognized the sound of Micky's car. For the next few hours she would pretend that she had never heard of Bow Street or the remaining inhabited cottage. She would step out of this apology for a life and into a better one by far.

'Terry's comin' tonight, Micky.'

'No Terry, not tonight, chum.' Micky's response was soft but final. 'You're staying with Sean and Ashley. They got a nice game of Snap going just for you.'

'Terry wants to come.'

'No, Terry,' Bella repeated gently from the front seat of the big car, Micky's latest toy. 'Me and Micky are going out.'

Bella glanced at Micky as he drove. His face was smiling and happy and she hoped Terry wasn't going to spoil the evening. Micky was always very good with him, but Terry could try the patience of a saint sometimes. And Micky was no saint.

He inhaled the smoke from his cigarette and turned the wheel of the car. Bella thought he looked more handsome than ever in his dark suit with the cuffs of his white shirt showing under his jacket. When he caught her looking at him, he grinned.

'You wore it tonight then, doll?'

'Oh, Micky, it's a really lovely dress.'

'Right size?'

'I don't know how you guessed.'

'Easy. You've got a good figure. I just described you to the girl. You know, with a bit of make-up you could look just like Lana Turner.'

'Lana