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

She listened as the policeman explained it all over again. She wanted Micky to snap his fingers and make the man go away, leave them alone so she could continue to make dinner and watch Hughie Green and end their day like any normal day.

But when she heard Micky saying they would go to the mortuary, she knew there would never be another normal day.

Not for a long time.

A cover was pulled back. She had heard it said that after death, people look peaceful, as though they were in a better place. But Terry just looked empty. He was a waxwork image, an empty shell, his eyes closed and the smile he always smiled, gone forever.

If it hadn't been for Micky holding her, she wouldn't have been able to stand. Her legs felt weightless. She couldn't cry as she stared down at the brother she had loved and protected so fiercely. The tears wouldn't fall. Why had he been taken from her? He had never done any wrong and wouldn't hurt a fly. Who had done this terrible thing to him?

The cover was replaced and Micky led her out. 'It's Terry,' he told the policeman.

After that, she let Micky take her out. In the car he told her he was going to call Dr Cox. When he came, Bella swallowed the pills he gave her. She hoped they would make the awful place in which she found herself, disappear. Even when Micky led her to the bedroom, undressed her and put her in bed, she was frightened to close her eyes. Would she see Terry in her dreams, that Terry who was not Terry – and try to wake him up and take him out of that terrible place?

As a heavy sensation dragged her down. Her lids began to flutter as she looked up at Micky. She knew he was talking to her, holding her hand and telling her that he would stay with her. But it didn't seem to matter now. All she could think of was Terry lying in the cold place, with his skin as white as marble.

Micky was sitting with Bella and Michael in the front row of St Nicholas's Catholic Church. He was dressed in a black suit and tie for the funeral and like everyone else, had shed tears as Father Johns had paid a glowing tribute to Terry. Although Micky was upset, the tears were for himself as his nerves had been stretched by the red tape at the inquest. What a palaver! But in the end the police had turned up nothing from the wood or from Terry's last known movements. He had been due to arrive at Sean's on the Saturday but never turned up. Sean and Ashley had simply assumed he might not have been well. The enquiries had come to a dead end and the verdict decided as death by misadventure.

Although he had managed a few tears, Micky was feeling on top of the world. His big worry had been the duchess. She was an unknown quantity in all this because she was a bit off her trolley. Alfred had assured him that he was worrying for nothing. Reminding him that his lordship had been one conniving old twister. The money in the safe didn't exist in the books of Her Majesty's taxmen. The duchess dipped into it for things like the Jag. The funny money, crumpled and dirtied, tied up in string and squashed in bags, was only going to seep out in small quantities.

Micky passed his handkerchief to Bella, then smoothed a genuine wetness from his own eyes. To think what a close shave he'd had! But he was now ten grand richer – a miracle! He'd given Lenny and Rolo half of what they'd expected, economised on Terry's cut, and given Alfred his full whack, which was only fair to a professional on the job.

Micky took hold of his wife's hand and squeezed it. He'd dealt with the undertakers, arranged the funeral and given Father Johns all the old bull on Terry. Bella wanted a good send off and if that meant he had to invent a few porkies, so be it. He had even stayed home for a few days. Until he couldn't stand the gloomy atmosphere any longer.

Micky looked into his wife's grief stricken face. She was taking her brother's death hard, but Terry was short of a full shilling. He would never have amounted to anything, would he?

Micky smiled at his son. Good looking lad, but a bit wet behind the ears, leaning too much towards his mother. When all this was over, he'd toughen him up a bit. Make a real man of him

There was best sherry and beer for the adults and lemonade and cream soda for the children. Spread out on the kitchen table were plates of dainty triangular shaped ham and cucumber sandwiches, cheese biscuits, sausage rolls, pickles, gherkins, mince pies and two bowls of sherry trifle. Her heart hadn't really been in the preparation, but Gina had come over and helped. Joyce and Ronnie were only just back from their honeymoon and they had insisted they wanted to help. But Bella had said it was just a small do for the mourners.

It was only a month ago they had all been celebrating at the New Inn. How could her life have changed so radically in such a short time? she wondered as she placed the napkins on the side plates.

'I've given the children theirs out in the yard,' Gina told her as she came in. 'They can make as much as they like out there.'

'Thanks.' Bella went to the sink. She scrubbed the baking tray hard, a lock of hair falling over her face.

Gina came to stand beside her. 'I'm worried about you, Bella. You haven't stopped. Why don't you sit down and chat with everyone a bit.'

'No, I