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

He sighed, fighting the nostalgia. The family table. Family meetings … the Bryant brothers who were going to make a big name for themselves. The Firm.

And then, along came a spider…

The spider was time, Ronnie decided. Time had caught up with them. They weren't kids any more, but men. Each as stubborn as the other. Too many chiefs and not enough Indians as his old Dad would have said.

Ronnie moved quietly into the kitchen. He smiled, as for a brief moment he fancied he could still smell cooking. Mum's apple tart and egg custard with the cinnamon sprinkled on the top. He wondered if Joyce would follow in her footsteps, with an apron tied to her waist, a willing slave to the stove. Somehow he couldn't see that. More like nipping down the shop for something on the quick. Or better still, dining out.

What was he doing, bringing Joyce back here? he asked himself as the smile faded from his lips. You couldn't walk backwards all the time or one day you'd fall off the edge of the world. That was another of his Dad's sayings. Yet here he was, starting married life with decades of memories stacked under this roof. Financially, him and Joyce could afford to live anywhere they chose. One minute they were set for the big gaff in the sticks, the next he was hightailing it back to Piper Street. Not a good move on his part. He could see that now.

He turned quickly and went upstairs. It smelt of men up here. Polished leather and Brylcreem, newspapers and fags. Mum and Dad's room. He opened the door and mental pictures flooded in. Surprisingly of Bella that night … after the Indigo, and too much champagne. He smiled. Terry had kept guard, sleeping on the landing. Micky hadn't got a look in then.

The thought of Terry made him turn to the small room. This had been his own room once, the room Terry had seized for his own and had loved. The lad's own space. A possession he'd never had before. A few feet of absolute privacy.

Ronnie pushed open the door. He could smell Terry still. Mostly fags and what was it, he like to chew? Those sweets – nougat, was it?

The room looked empty. Joyce had told him Bella had cleared Terry's things. His heart went out to her. What could he do to help ease her pain?

It was all such a puzzle. What had the kid been up to? Downey Wood! Another planet as far as Terry was concerned. He must have been taken there. But by who? And why?

'Ronnie?'

He turned. Joyce was smiling at him. He drew her into his arms.

'Well, have you decided?' she asked

.'Decided on what?'

'Which room we're having.'

Ron lifted her chin. 'Are we doing the right thing? Coming back here? I mean, Terry was – '

'Terry's gone, Ronnie. There's just you and me.'

He felt the need to reassure her, or was it himself? 'Joyce, I love you, you know that, don't you?'

For answer she stood on her toes and kissed him. 'Let's go We can work it all out next week.'

Hand in hand they went downstairs and Ronnie, if the truth be known, was relieved to shut the door behind him.

Chapter 25

PART THREE

1960

A tall young man sporting sideburns, a quiff of Brylcreemed hair and a pair of crepe soles emerging below his drainpipe trousers, left his three friends to walk over to the jukebox. A blast of Little Richard filled the coffee bar and he returned to the oblong green Formica table overflowing with Pyrex coffee cups.

On the other side of the room sat the rival party of conventional dressers. These young men and women wore sharp navy blue blazers and polo necks, the girls flaunting back-to-front cardigans and pony-tails.

The room was enhanced by the smell of Espresso coffee streaming from the shining chromium coffee machine. Behind it, Bella was stacking the shelves of glass cups and saucers. Above them rose a wall emblazoned by logos and black and white photographs of all the latest pin ups. The Dallas Boys, Cliff Richard, Billy Fury and Elvis Presley to name but a few. Every so often a customer would bring one in fresh photo and up it would go, until the wall was covered and new space had to be found.

Gina's Coffee Bar was settling down after a hectic Saturday morning. Bella knew that trade would bounce back in an hour, before the first showing of the main feature at the local cinema. Going to the window she smiled at another boy and girl deep in conversation as they sat on tall stools at the bar. They were obviously in love, whispering sweet nothings, whilst the other group were laughing and extrovert.

Bella lowered the blind as she always did after lunch, giving the interior a more intimate feel. After clearing the tables and chatting with the young people, she moved to the kitchen. Here Gina was measuring the coffee beans; they sold gallons of Espresso and the expensive Italian machine that produced quantities of noisy, frothy milky coffee had paid for itself a dozen times over.

'If I hear "Good Golly Miss Molly" one more time, I'm smashing that record over someone's head,' Gina warned as Bella set down the dirty glass cups.

'You'll have to beat me to it,' Bella laughed. 'That lad plays it all the time. Drives me nuts.'

'What did we do before juke boxes came along?'

'Search me.' Bella rinsed out the cups under the sparkling new taps and set them on the stainless steel racks. 'And it's not cheap to keep playing them. It's a wonder they've got the spare.'

'Oh, these youngsters aren't strapped for cash.' Gina lifted the large glass flask onto the chromium container. 'They make anything up to twelve quid a week, you know. One of them Teddy Boys was telling me last week he works in