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

Micky caught his breath. Alfred was right. If they didn't work out a plan the job would well and truly backfire.

'Terry was shot in the back,' Micky pointed out, ignoring Lenny. 'All I can think is he went to take a piss and got himself lost. And who is poking about in woods at the dead of night? Why, poachers of course. They think he's game and take a couple of shots. Then they scarper.' He peered into the bushes. 'After all, no one's come after us.'

'We're in a difficult position,' Milo said doubtfully. 'We can't exactly inform the authorities, can we?'

'No, but we could plant the body back in the trees and let someone else do it for us.'

'You wouldn't!' Lenny said horrified.

'You got any other suggestions?'

'The poor bastard,' Lenny gulped. 'He never hurt a soul. Can't we take him back with us?'

'And do what?' Micky demanded. 'Order up a coffin and a vicar? Oh yes, I can see that happening, I don't think.'

'What, then?' said Alfred impatiently.

'We take off his balaclava, dirty his face as if he's been hiding in the undergrowth and take him to the middle of the woods.'

'No,' Lenny shouted. 'I won't do it!'

'Who's asking you?' Micky snarled. 'Drive the car back into the trees, Milo, till me and Alfred have tidied up.'

Micky felt anger flow through his body. He would like to land one on Lenny's fat nose, but he stopped himself. He had to keep his head. It looked as though they might still get out of this if they were lucky.

Micky stood watching the tail lights of the car, with the bag safely in his grasp. He would count this little lot out very judiciously. Alfred deserved his wedge. But Lenny didn't, nor did Milo, who should have kept Terry in sight. They didn't deserve any bees and honey. And if he got his way, they certainly weren't going to get it.

It was Monday evening and Michael was asleep in bed. Bella had just finished ironing the shirts of the men of the household. Young Michael was not like his father when it came to cleanliness, she thought ruefully. His shirts were always grubby round the collar and cuffs. Perhaps little boys had a way of gathering dirt that was known only to them?

As for Micky, he was so fastidious he changed his shirt and vest every day. The one exception had been the vest that she'd washed this morning. It had been heavily soiled under the armpits and sweat had stiffened the back. He'd inspected a car at the garage, he'd told her, forgetting to put on his overalls. A rare occurrence for Micky who was always so fussy about his clothing.

Bella shook out the vest and folded it neatly. She was eager to watch the new television that Ronnie had purchased for them, much to her son's delight. Now a commercial channel was competing with the BBC. It was putting on a show called Double Your Money and Hughie Green was the compere. The newspaper said he was handsome and humorous and the contestants could win a lot of money.

She was about to put the dinner on as Micky said he would be home early, when there was a knock at the door. Expecting it to be Daisy from next door returning the cup of sugar she had borrowed early this morning, Bella hurried to open it.

The smile faded from her face as she saw a stranger standing there. He was tall and wearing an official suit and he slid off his hat when he saw her. 'Mrs Bryant?'

Bella nodded slowly. 'Yes, that's me.'

'My name is Reynolds, Detective Inspector Reynolds and I'm from Surrey police. He showed her a small card. 'I knocked on the door upstairs but no one replied.' Nodding to the airey he said in a gentle voice, 'I'd like to talk to you inside if I could.'

Bella saw the uniformed policeman behind him and her heart jumped. 'It's not my husband is it?'

'No, it's not.'

The detective entered whilst the constable stayed outside. When the inspector was seated, he said quietly, 'I'm afraid I have some distressing news for you.'

Bella felt the life drain out of her legs. If this wasn't about Micky, then who could it be?

The big man turned his hat round slowly in his hands. 'I'm very sorry to have to tell you that this morning, the body of a young man was found on a large private estate in Surrey. He had been shot and died from his injuries. Our enquiries lead us to believe he is related to you. Your brother, Terence Doyle, in fact.'

'Terry?' Bella repeated. 'In Surrey? That's impossible, you've made a mistake. He wouldn't even know where Surrey is.'

'We traced him through this.' Detective Inspector held out a small photograph.

It was her and Micky, Lenny and Terry and Sean standing on the registry office steps. Very slowly she turned it over and saw her handwriting, faded, but still legible. "For Terry. A day to remember. Our wedding, 20th May 1949." Underneath this was Terry's own childlike scribble, the only words he could write, his name, Terry Doyle.

'We traced you through the records of the registry office,' the policeman continued. 'The only other things we found in his pocket were pieces of what appears to be nougat and a key. I took the liberty of trying it in the door above and needless to say, it fitted.'

Bella stared at the photo. This couldn't be happening. Terry had gone over to Sean and Ashley's. He was no where near Surrey. He never went off the island, at least not that she knew of.

'Mrs Bryant?'

She looked up. 'It can't be my brother.'

'We won't know that for sure until you identify him.'

'You want me to look at …' she stopped, unable to believe what he was asking of her.

'I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to come with me.'

'But it's not Terry.'

'Is there someone else who can be with you?'

Just then