Christmas Child: an absolutely heartbreaking and emotional Victorian romance by Carol Rivers (i wanna iguana read aloud .txt) 📗

Of course he was certain. The dead women were his family, the only family that he, Micky and Sean had.

'We found her bag straight away,' the man had told him gently. 'I know it's no consolation, but she wouldn't have known a thing.'

No, it's no consolation at all, he had thought bitterly as he stared at the marble white face of his mother that had, twenty four hours ago, been full of life and energy. They loved their father, but all three of them worshipped their mother. Perhaps she had been asleep when it happened? Ronnie hoped to God that it was quick.

He could still hear the rustle of the utility tarpaulins as they were replaced over the two still forms. See in his mind's eye the uniformed man who had taken his arm, intending to lead him away. Felt the frustration in his gut as he'd tried to decide whether it was all some sick joke.

All he could think of then was the fact he wouldn't be looking into Mum's eyes again, their expression alert to whatever catastrophe had befallen her sons in her absence. She wouldn't be conjuring up a fried breakfast. Or chewing them off about they way they refused to get up in the mornings. Life as they had once known it had now come to an end.

Ronnie looked hard at his brothers. 'Sean, I know there's no way we can bring back Mum. But if she was here she would tell us to pull ourselves together and sort ourselves out. So that's what we've got to do, right?'

Sean shrugged helplessly. 'Why did it have to happen to her, Ron? I just don't understand.'

'There's no answer to that question, Seany. I wish I could give you one.'

'She never hurt no one. She'd give the coat off her back to anyone who asked. It was us that's done all the nicking. Why didn't that bomb fall on us?'

'I wish it had,' Ronnie muttered darkly. 'But what's done is done and we're still alive and kicking.'

'But that's just it, Ron, I don't feel right about what we did – you know – just before she went. It's as if it was us who made the bomb fall on her.'

Ronnie jerked his head round. 'That's rubbish Sean, and you know it. Get it out of your head. We loved her, treasured her. And what we did was all for her, to give her a comfortable life as Dad would have wanted.'

Sean swept the tears from his cheeks with a grubby hand. 'I don't know anything any more, only that Mum turned a blind eye to what we did and we took full advantage. She didn't have a clue as to what was happening half the time. If we'd told her we knocked off a load of stuff and wanted to bury it in the Anderson she would have given us all a slap for even thinking it.'

Ronnie's face tightened. 'Point taken, Sean, but the fact is what the eye don't see, the heart don't grieve over. After Dad died it was too late to change what he'd started and I for one wouldn't have wanted to, anyway. The old man didn't spend his life teaching us the tricks of the trade for nothing. We was Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Give anyone a helping hand if they asked and bugger the sheriff. He kept telling us them stories over and over again. They came out of him like verbal diarrhoea and we believed every word. Still do.'

Sean blinked his long lashes. 'I know Ron. But the country's at war and the punters we deal with are all in this lark for a profit, not to give to the poor and needy.'

Ronnie couldn't argue with that. But his priority was family. If he didn't hold them together now, they'd fall apart. 'Look if it makes you feel any better, I'll agree that expanding the business into black market after Dad died was my decision, and I take full responsibility. I'm not saying I was right to do so, mind. That is a matter of opinion and you are entitled to yours. But I know in my heart it was the road Dad would have gone down. In my book, there was no doubt whatsoever as to continuing the business.' He paused as for a second saw his mother gazing back at him in the form of Sean's honest blue gaze. God only knew how the old man had worked the flankers he'd done and kept the old girl in such blissful ignorance. But he had and Ronnie commended him for it. Now it was history repeating itself and with Mum gone, it was Sean who had taken up her mantle. But Sean was the new generation of Bryants and as such, had either to support the business or get out of it completely.

'Seany, let me put you straight on one thing. Mum never died because of what we did. It was nothing to do with us, so get that through your Uncle Ned. She died because a maniac in another country decided to start a war. And that's a fact you're going to have to accept.'

There was silence in the room. Ronnie glanced at Micky who was sporting a face as long as a fiddle. 'Right, Micky, now it's your turn.' He braced his shoulders back and added firmly, 'I'm not sitting here all day looking at your moody gobs, so speak your mind or forever hold your peace.'

Micky kicked the table leg idly. 'Since you're asking, Ron, what I don't fancy is Old Bill sniffing round. I've been shitting bricks lately, every time the door goes. Stands to reason they know Mum's gone and she won't be here to tell them to sling their hook. So where does that leave us, I ask? And the answer is, we're sitting here like three orphaned ducks.'

'So what is the alternative?'

'I reckon we get shot of