Christmas to Come: a heartbreaking coming of age saga set in London's East End Carol Rivers (best sales books of all time .txt) 📖

She sat up, her eyes accusing. 'Course he's not coming, you daft ha'porth. He's off somewhere enjoying himself. What does he want with the likes of me, anyway?' She stared into Terry's bewildered face. She knew that unlike Micky, he cared about her. That in this world there was only one person who really loved her. And that was Terry.

He reached out again for her hand. She wanted to hit him, to shake him, to make him feel what she was feeling. But she knew she didn't need to do any of this. He was already hurting, without her having to try. Terry had been hurting all his life inside. He just hadn't got the wherewithal to know it.

He hung his head, exposing the fleshy parts of his scalp where his hair had fallen out. There were nits crawling in the fine layers and he reached up to scratch them. His nails were bitten and black and his shoulders sagged under the crumpled jacket. How could she love him so much yet resent him at the same time? As if acting of their own accord, her arms opened.

'Sorry,' he mumbled again as he crawled into them.

'It's me who's sorry, Terry.' She rocked him and stroked his hair. 'I took it out on you and you don't even know what it's all about.' She kissed his cheek. 'It doesn't matter about Micky, our Terry. It doesn't matter about anyone. As long as we've got each other we'll be all right.'

'Is the planes coming?'

'No, they haven't been coming for years.'

Bella leaned her head against his and true to the pattern of childhood, they fell asleep.

Ronnie lay in the darkness on the big double bed that had been his parents and listened to the noise downstairs. Micky certainly wasn't missing a trick, in the literal sense of the word. Still, it was his home as much as anyone's and if he wanted to have a bit of fun, then why shouldn't he? Ronnie pulled the smoke from his cigarette deep into his lungs. What would Mum have to say about Micky's so-called friends, he wondered? A wry smile touched his lips. He could hear her now, see the look of horror on her face as she studied the women Micky and Lenny Rigler had picked up at the pub.

'You can give her the elbow immediately,' Mum would have declared if Micky had ever had the gall to confront her with a tart. Which, of course he wouldn't. No more than Sean would ever reveal to Mum the reason why he always hung about with Ashley Crane. Not that he, Ronnie, was in a position to judge either Micky's women or Sean's choice of his own sex. Here he was in the early hours of Christmas morning hooked up with a lady of dubious background himself. He glanced down at the prone figure beside him and wondered if Joyce was still on the game. She maintained she had retired years ago, leaving "her girls" to do the business. Which, apparently was true. The times he called round to Joyce's place, they were all well and truly occupied, with Joyce employing a couple of his heavies to look after her investment. Ronnie blew a funnel of smoke into the air. His lads rarely had any trouble from Old Bill, who were well provided for and gave Joyce's drum a wide berth. It was more the odd punter who got mouthy and had to be dealt with. Still, that was what good muscle was there for and Ronnie was happy to do business with Joyce. Though this was the first time in all the years he had known her, they had slipped out of their professional roles.

A raucous scream from downstairs followed by loud laughter disturbed the sleeping form beside him. Joyce lifted herself on one elbow, frowning sleepily. 'What was that?'

Ronnie laughed softly. 'A good party by the sound of it.'

Joyce slid up on the pillow and pulled the sheet over her breasts. She pushed back her dark hair and leaned her head against the varnished headboard. 'Your brother certainly knows how to enjoy himself.'

Ronnie reached over to the bedside cabinet and tapped a cigarette from the packet. He lit it with his own and handed it to Joyce. In the darkness, the two ends glowed red.

'This reminds me of the blackout.' Joyce inhaled deeply, her body relaxing. 'Even a lit cigarette in the street was classed as a sin.'

Ronnie nodded, feeling her warmth envelop him. It was the first time they had made love and he hoped it wouldn't be the last. 'A long time ago now.'

Joyce turned to look at him. 'Thank God you went away to war and grew up a bit before we did this.' She drew a finger over his shoulder. 'You never talk about it, do you, the war, I mean?'

'What's there to say?'

Joyce smiled. 'Don't worry. I don't want to talk about it either. Just thought maybe you did.'

Ronnie stubbed out his cigarette. 'I'd rather talk about us.'

She gave a soft chuckle. 'So no regrets about bedding a mature lady?'

Ronnie had no regrets even though it was a calculated risk they'd both taken tonight. He'd felt that if Joyce had been game enough to indulge in a little fun, then so had he. 'Truth is, I've always fancied you, Joyce, but never thought it was a good idea to mix business with pleasure.'

'So what made you change your mind?' she asked huskily.

'You did.' He took her in his arms.

'I like you Ronnie,' she whispered softly, 'always have. But I've a living to make.'

'Look, Joyce, I've got as much to lose as you when we're talking business. We see eye to eye on our deals, with a nice little earner going between us. I wouldn't want to spoil that either.'

Joyce paused thoughtfully. 'Well, sweetheart, you've always played fair by me, looked after me and the girls and if it wasn't for your lads parked at my door