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

Bella felt her pulse race at the thought of tomorrow. Micky was taking her out. He said he'd collect her at six if she could get away. And this time she knew he wasn't going to let her down. Gina had overheard him making the arrangement and warned him he better not be late as she was letting her staff off duty early. As Bella had worked out tonight, Micky relied heavily on Lenny and therefore went out of his way to please Gina.

'Sit tight, Bells, I've got to see a man about a dog.' Micky smoothed back his hair with the palm of his hand and stood up.

'But Micky – '

'Five minutes, that's all, darling.'

Bella watched him weave his way between the tables acknowledging almost everyone as he went with handshakes and winks. Since the moment they had entered the club, he'd been engrossed in conversation with one person or another. Mixing a little pleasure with business, he'd explained to Bella, who at first hadn't been in the least disappointed, but flattered that he'd brought her to Club Afrika off the Tottenham Court Road. The owner was a man called Ivor who wore a small moustache and tuxedo. Micky talked to him at the bar whilst Bella sat on her own at a table. Unlike the Indigo, Club Afrika lacked entertainment and although Micky had bought drinks in tall glasses, Bella hadn't drunk hers. She asked for lemonade but it hadn't arrived. Micky seemed to have forgotten all about her.

Looking round the club which at first glance had seemed mysterious and unusual with its big potted ferns and mosaic archways, Bella saw on closer inspection that it was rather shabby. Most of the tables were occupied by young men wearing jumpers and baggy trousers and the women in shapeless skirts or dresses. The older variety of customer looked a bit seedy and Bella hoped they weren't going to stay here all evening.

By ten o'clock she was wondering when Micky would come and sit by her. She'd taken a lot of trouble with her appearance and borrowed a deep rose coloured sheath style dress from Gina as she had managed to get to the market to buy an outfit. It was big on the hips, but with a few tacks, Gina had made alterations. As it was an off the shoulder gown Bella had pinned her thick auburn hair up into a pleat. A lot of olive oil, black mascara and red lipstick had gone in to her make-up and though she disliked it herself, she hoped Micky would notice. Gina had commented that she was definitely a young Rita Hayworth though by the way Micky was carrying on, Bella was beginning to think all her efforts were wasted.

'Sorry about that,' Micky apologised eventually as he strolled up to the table. He lit a cigarette with his lighter and kicked out a chair with the tip of his shoe. 'Look at all this.' He sat down, pulling crumpled pieces of paper from his pocket. With the cigarette dangling from his mouth he sighed. 'Never was any good at paperwork. Look at all this! I need to get myself one of them posh secretaries.'

'What for?'

'Business is booming. Need to keep track, start books and all that. We did all right during the war, but I'd never have believed it would be this good afterwards. With all these bottle parties in fashion, I can't see an end to the demand.' He laughed. 'If I could get Lenny to work nights, I'd soon be a millionaire.'

'What's a bottle party?' Bella asked, feeling stupid.

'Bottle parties, doll, are the future for Micky Bryant. You can keep your market stalls and suitcases, your knocked off whistle and toot. Bottle parties are a legit way to render the British public a service and make a fortune into the bargain.'

'So bottle parties are legal, then?'

'Course they are! Would geezers like old Ivor over there stay trading if they wasn't? The onus, you see, is on the punter, Joe Bloggs let's say. He signs an order form for his booze to be brought into the club by an all-night wine merchant, see? That way, it's classed as a private booze-up, nothing to do with the club. At least that's the way it looks on paper, all official like. Me and Lenny supply the booze as special discounted rates and everyone is happy as Larry.'

Bella still didn't really understand Micky's explanation, but she felt it was her intelligence at fault. 'It's just that I don't want Terry to get in any trouble,' she murmured bewilderedly.

'Put your mind at rest then, Bells. No more mucking around under an old lock-up. As of this week we are going into kosher premises. A nice little warehouse at the docks with a sign over the door, with proper books to keep. Moving in Monday.'

'Oh, Micky, that's wonderful.'

'Yeah, thought you'd see it that way.'

'What does Ronnie – ' Bella began but didn't finish as Micky interrupted her impatiently.

'Christ, Bells, this has nothing to do with Ron. And I don't take kindly to you keep bringing him up all the time.'

'I don't mean to.'

'Then leave it out.' He glared at her. 'I've brought you out for a good time and all I get is Ronnie this, Ronnie that. He's a busy man, isn't he? Got his club to look after now.'

'Couldn't we have gone there tonight?'

'Strike a light, Bells, what does it take to satisfy you?' Micky's face darkened as he pushed himself roughly from the table. 'Look, I've brought you out for a drink and you're still nagging.' He stood up and jerked his head to one side. 'Come on, I'm taking you home.'

'But it's early yet.'

'Well, I'm not suffering any more hag. I come out to enjoy myself. Instead I get the bloody inquisition.'

'I'm sorry, Micky.' She stretched out for his hand. She had that cold feeling in her