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

Ronnie nodded slowly. 'Fair point. Any suggestions what we do with it?'

'It's too hot for the markets and it would take too long to flog it round the pubs. What about shoving it Luffman's way? He'll rook us something chronic, but we'll have to swallow on that.'

Ronnie begrudged giving Goldy Luffman the contents of his nose, let alone a generous deal, as he was the meanest sod this side of the river. However, Goldy took anything and everything and asked no questions. 'All right. Suits us this time, but from here on in we'll find somewhere legit to stash our Georgie Woods.' He turned slowly to Sean. 'So, are you up for a clean sweep, Seany?'

'What choice have I got?' Sean replied moodily.

'You've always got a choice in life.' Ronnie stared hard at his kid brother who up until this moment had always been just that, a kid. But with Mum gone he was going to have to step into the real world. 'You don't have to come with us on this one, bruv. Me and Micky will do the business. We'll sort out the Anderson and see Goldy.'

'You what?' Micky objected, for the first time sitting up and paying attention.

'I said Seany can sit this one out.'

'But it took all three of us to move it,' Micky protested. 'A whole lorry load it was, buried six-foot down under a bloody shelter. We was at it like navvies and only finished just before the All Clear went.'

'We'll manage.' Ronnie's tone was final. 'Sean's staying put.'

'So what if I decide to sit on me arse all night, too?' Micky sulked.

Ronnie sighed heavily. There was something in both his brothers' attitudes that worried him. Sean was frightened of his own shadow and Micky was in love with himself. They both needed to realize they had to give a lot and take a little between themselves. They were family. And if family couldn't hack it, who could?

Micky continued to stare at him resentfully. There were rings round his blue eyes and a hollow look to his face. With his curly brown hair he was like their Dad, a charmer. Sean had the same intense blue gaze but with his light brown hair and soft, smooth features he was their mother all over. Now Ronnie looked at his two brothers and knew they would never be kids again, at liberty to fight amongst themselves and be stopped by a cuff round the ear. Now there could only be one leader. And as the oldest, he was it.

'Right then,' Ronnie said decisively. 'I'll dig out the van and bring it round as soon as the first raid starts. There'll be no lights on anywhere and plenty of noise to distract any nosy parkers. I'll reverse up to the back wall and Sean, you can help us load the stuff, but then you'll come back in here and lie low. Me and Micky will drive over to Goldy's and be back before first light.'

'It'll be a bloody miracle if we are,' Micky grunted.

'We did it before. We can do it again.'

'That is if Jerry don't drop one on our heads.'

Ronnie smiled. 'He'll have to catch us first.'

Ronnie expected further protest and was prepared for it. But Sean hung his head, trying to disguise his wet cheeks and Micky was busy still kicking the table leg. He had always had a laugh at anything remotely serious. After Mum, he didn't know how to act.

'And just to refresh our memories,' Ronnie continued, his gaze not leaving his brothers' faces. 'We'll keep this gaff ship shape, then. I don't want to find so much as a fag end under your beds – or anything else come to that. In other words, if the law was to shove its nose inside this house, all they'd find is a layer of dust and even that would be sweet smelling. Are you hearing me, you two?'

'Yeah, yeah.' Micky rolled his eyes.

Sean nodded in silence.

'And no outside jobs,' Ronnie added firmly. 'No creeping, no spotting, no fitting. Not even a touch at the market. No nicking wallets, bags or goods. Nothing goes down unless I say so. The Bryants think, act, even shit as one.'

Micky turned to face him and Ronnie was relieved to see a glimmer of humour return to his brother's eyes.

'What about them kids outside?' Sean asked suddenly. 'They've been kipping right on top of the stock.'

Ronnie had almost forgotten he'd allowed them to sleep in the shelter. After Mum's death he hadn't had the heart to send them back to Bow Street.

'They'll have to go,' Ronnie nodded.

'Lambs to the slaughter, I reckon,' Micky murmured, a glint in his eye.

'But they're not our problem,' Sean said anxiously. 'Are they?'

Micky shrugged. 'I reckon sending them back to Bow Street is like feeding mice to a cat. I'd like to see how handy the bastard is with someone his own size.'

It wasn't often Micky made sense, Ronnie thought, but this time he was in full agreement. He felt a grudging admiration towards Micky. More than that, he knew his brother was no coward and had taken his punishment on the streets as well as dolling it out. Inside him there was a vicious streak that was pure hate for authority of any kind. Ronnie knew that if this trait could be harnessed for the good of the family, they would have a valuable asset in Micky.

'You want to sort it out?' Ronnie asked.

Micky's dark eyes lit up. 'Now you're talking, bruv.'

But Sean was shaking his head. 'I don't like it. Those kids are bad news.'

Ronnie was under no illusions as far as Sean went. He was never cut out for the physical. Mum had spoiled him rotten, and him and Micky had understood why. Sean was the total opposite to Micky who, given the chance, would happily take a swing at a bull