Hail, Holy Queen

A little less conversation, a little more action? Remembering that the Christmas holiday is as good as time as any for a party, for a walk, for a smooch.

Silver Bells  © Billy London


“Oh come on!” Karim closed his eyes tightly and hoped that when he opened them his aunt wouldn’t be heading in his direction.

“Hello bite!” She called.

He forced a grin to his face. Nothing, nothing about this entire rigmarole made him feel better. Christmas meant little than nothing to him, except a closed office, no ties and Warcraft on twenty four hours. So desperate for a break that didn’t involve fending off the female members of his family who wanted to nail him down so badly it enraged him. He’d tried marriage and it had been a disaster. His wife had been more interested in bleaching her skin and spending money in Selfridges than settling into his family. His father clocked Ayesha for the shallow creature she truly was, beneath the expensive makeup and silk hijabs.

The talaq couldn’t come fast enough and he seemed to be back home  his old bedroom staring up at the stars his mother painted on his ceiling when he was five. “Dream of beautiful things,” she whispered to him every night. He missed her terribly. More than that he missed her way of charmingly deflecting the Auntie Delegation.

Pakoras to hand, Aunt Bena beaded inside. “You should go in as well, Karim. Your bride to be is just in that car.”

Really? He though, his eyebrows lifting with interest. Not that it was a done thing, but he really wanted to talk to this sacrificial lamb in person before she lost herself on the altar of marriage.
“Do you know how many girls I was introduced to before I met your mother?” His father demanded, fed up of Karim’s grumbling. “Fifty six. Fifty. Six. So calm down and embrace your own culture. You did it your way and look what happened.”

Making his way to a silver Mercedes, Karim knocked on the window. He saw her hair, uncovered first. She had cropped hair, dark plum waves sculpting her scalp, blending into her deep skin. He caught the expression of her companion who shrieked. She turned first, not lifting her hijab into place before she grinned at him. She pointed to her lap, mouthing “Christmas cards!”

He smiled, echoing the one on her face. Okay Dad. He thought. Doing it your way. “Can we talk Lujayn? Just at the end of the street for five minutes?”

She rolled down the window. “Didn’t hear you babe,” she said lightly. He repeated himself, feeing the flush of giddiness in his cheeks from her casual affection.

“That’s alright, isn’t it Auntie?”

“No it’s not!”

“Five minutes will make zero difference,” Lujayn dismissed, putting the cards into a sleek bag before lifting her scarf loosely over her hair and exiting the car with the kind of elegance he saw in films in slow motion.

He held out a hand to help her and she placed her fingers in his palm without hesitation. At that touch, he felt such responsibility for her happiness and her security he wanted to fight someone to prove himself.

“Sorry I still have about twenty cards to write,” she said, tucking her hand into his elbow and strolling with him.

“That’s kind of you.”

“I know it’s not our religion but every time I’ve sent Eid cards, I get those weird little “oh, you really are Muslim” looks. So awkward. Christmas cards are “inoffensive”.”

“At least you make the effort.”

“Does that mean I’ll have to when we’re married?” She teased, nudging him. His stomach disappeared at being married to the creature on his arm.

“You seriously want to do this?”

“Why not? I have to do something with my crush on you. May as well be your wife.”

“Wait, your what?”

Lujayn burst out laughing, “I refuse to believe you didn’t know! We went to the same school! You were three years above me. Summer term you and the boys would play football in these best tops and you had the best shoulders. It was before you cut your hair so it was down to here.” She gently touched the middle of his back. “Everyone knew I was obsessed with you. And then you got married and that was it.”

Karim couldn’t close his mouth. “You have to be lying.”

“Haram,” she reminded him, a dimple showing in her cheek. “Well babe, now you know.”

“Do you call everyone babe?” he asked, tickled and pleased that she used it for him.

“No, but if you’re going to put a ring on it, I should be allowed to call you something nice. Or do you prefer Karim?”

“Whatever you want to call me,” he assured her. They came to a halt just outside of the magnificent display of Christmas lights. They danced a vivid, silver display over Lujayn’s cheekbones; silver just like her name. He wondered anew why someone with skin as deep and as beautiful as hers would want to change it so drastically they didn’t look like themselves anymore.

“You want to ask me something?” she pressed. “You’re just staring at me.”

“I think you’re far too beautiful for me.”

“That’s nice to hear,” she teased. “There should be some balance in our relationship. I’d feel better if you continued to think that way.” She gently prodded him in the stomach. “Do you still play football?”

“Every Saturday with my local team.”

“And do you still write poetry?”

Wow she really did have a crush on him to remember that’s what he did in his spare time and what he won an award for in his latter years. “Lujayn you’re shaming me today. I’ll write something for you. You can have it with your dowry.”

She looked down at her hands and he took them in his own, before tucking them under his arms to warm. Her fingers flexed against his ribs and the cold began to seep through his tunic. “Karim. You’re not going to try and change me, are you?”

“Why would I try?”

“You’d be surprised,” she said quietly, a sadness creeping into her eyes. “And I like Christmas okay? Anyone who doesn’t like presents and an excuse to have lots of food is miserable and they don’t deserve nice things.”

“Am I a nice thing, then?” he asked, leaning into her, irresistibly drawn to her amazing aura.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re standing in the shadow of the biggest mistletoe shaped lights this side of Las Vegas. I thought you liked Christmas?”

She darted forward and pressed the swiftest, sweetest kiss to his lips, much to her aunt’s immediate screech of her name.

“We’ll do Christmas properly next year.”

She had no idea…

Wonderful Christmas Time

I'm on a roll! I've been writing little Christmas shorts and I can't stop! I love this time of year, which makes it weirdly easy to imagine all sorts of people doing all sorts at yuletide! Read, enjoy, help yourself to some Christmas cake...


French Kissmas © Billy London


Going to the party had to be her worst mistake of the year. Of course he’d be there. Why wouldn’t he? Portia tapped her fingernails on the stem of her champagne glass, stepping back towards the enormous Christmas tree hoping her forest green jumpsuit would help her blend into the background. She had no idea why she didn’t follow that immediate instinct within her to stay at home, watch The Crown and eat her way through the hamper her boss bought her from Fortnum and Mason as a sweetner for coming to this stupid party.

“It’s just for a few hours, if that!” Hayley promised. “And as soon as you go, I’ll transfer your bonus.”

“You’re a bitch,” Portia said, her temper short as her hair.

“I know, but you’d work for me anyway.”

It was why she hated creatives. Their work had been award winning this year, but Portia was just the salesgirl. The flash and bang. The you need us to do this for you, no one will do it better and even if you trawl Twitter to get this, it won’t be anywhere near as good. And she’d been right. Every time. So one of their tech companies was throwing them a party.

Portia really wished people would understand how hard Christmas could be when you were alone. As each year passed, less people asked why she was on her own and assumed that she did enough to deserve to be alone. Maybe she had.

Cosme told her so. If you want to be on your own, Sha, just say. I won’t stay where I’m not wanted. Portia bit down hard on her inner cheek until she tasted blood. It wasn’t working. She put down her glass and slipped past the tree and her boss, heading past the throng of people in the private dinning room to the cloak room.

She caught sight of him, towering in the room but lounging with that French elegance over a petite blonde, whose gaze never left his face. Once upon a time, she’d gazed up at him that same way. Until she sabotaged it.

Ducking her head, she reached the cloakroom and handed over her ticket. The attendant sent her a tired look prompting Portia to apologise for taking up time.

“Leaving already?”

She closed her eyes briefly, before summoning a professional smile. “Hello Cosme.”

He bent to touch his smooth cheek to each of her own. “You could have said that an hour ago.”

“So could you and here we are.”

He glanced down to her mouth to meet her gaze with amusement. “Still the sharp edge of the knife I see.”

“Change isn’t my thing.”

The assistant handed over her coat and she thanked them, placing a ten pound note in the tip bowl. He blinked, stuttering a thank you.

Cosme curved a hand around her arm. “Shall we have a quiet drink?”

She jerked a chin to his fingers on her bicep. “You’re going to take me without even asking.”

“Not my kind of arousal,” he dismissed. “This way.”

He led her to the quiet rooms, where members sat with friends, martinis to hand and pizzas between them. The music drifted in at a low ebb and the lights of Soho glittered from the huge windows.

Cosme sat her down in a plush, high backed armchair. “Stay there. I’m bringing you a drink.”

She opened her mouth to remind him that someone would be at their table soon but he disappeared. She braced her chin on her upturned palm, staring out of the window, watching the Christmas lights flickering below, people still shopping. For who? Go home and actually be with them!

Cosme returned, placing a frosted glass of champagne in front of her, while he cradled an old fashioned. He sank into his seat opposite her and held up his glass.

“Merry Christmas Portia.”

Oh. Back to Portia, eh? “Merry Christmas,” she echoed, touching her glass to his. “Well thank you for the drink, but I’ve reached my…”

“Sit down and tell me why you’re so intent on running away.”

That rankled. “I don’t like feeling uncomfortable. I’m too old for that.”

“You’re too old to be running away. You walked last time.”

She inhaled, trying to reign in her temper and to be fair, the bitter loneliness threatening to spill into the world. “With good reason.”

“Which was?”

“Oh come on, you were there. You heard what I said.”

He lifted his glass to his firm lips, his eyebrow quirked. “I heard.  Doesn’t mean I understood.”

She inhaled, looking out of the window again until the urge to start crying passed.

“Portia.”

“Nope,” she answered. “If you want me to be audience to you treating some little young, fertile thing like a queen.” The tears would no longer be held back and they coursed with heat and shame over her cheeks, streaking her blusher in their destructive path. “I can’t give you what you want. I’ll never be able to.”

Portia closed her eyes, begging her emotions to hold off for just ten more minutes so she could leave with the remains of her dignity in tact. Her ears prickled at the sound of a chair moving over the rich carpet of the members’ room then her skin blazed at Cosme’s touch on her bare arm, before his palm encased her hand.

“Let me say this to you again and I hope you hear me. My sister has four children. My brother has six. My father is one of eleven and my mother is one of nine. There are more than enough of my family. I don’t need to do any more.”

She turned her head, her other hand still damp with tears. “But your mother…”

“Is very African and doesn’t understand my motivation, but she doesn’t need to.” He traced his thumb over her cheek. “Sha I don’t want to be on my own any more.”

She dragged in a shaky breath. “Me either.”

He smiled, his beautiful eyes turning soft with affection. “Listen, Christmas Day I’m going to be at home eating through that hamper Hayley sent me. Maybe roast a duck. Will you come to me?”

He said duck, she thought. Not a dry-arse turkey! Portia threw her arms around his neck and crushed him to her. “Sounds perfect,” she whispered to him.

In the warmth and comfort of his hefty arms, she couldn’t even reach what had almost consumed her moments before. She’d bring them something divine to drink with the wine. She’d go to Fortnum and use her bonus.

Oh hell. Hayley!

“If you being tense right now is you worrying about something, I’ll talk to Hayley,” he grumbled into her shoulder. Hmm. A friend in high places. Merry Christmas to her, too!

Under Attack

It's been impossible to avoid. The hashtags, the call to arms, the feeling that we are all being inevitably being pushed towards a Handmaid's Tale of a future. It's terrifying to watch. Because there will be countries taking note of what is happening in the West in order to justify their own cruelties. I'm sure some have taken the Northern Ireland line of reference for their restrictions - a deeply unjust deviation from what should be law there as much as it is in England and Wales. It starts with abortion, then it filters into control of every aspect of a woman's life and her ability to make the simplest of choices. You've watched A Handmaid's Tale. June tells you how it starts. You get the flashbacks from Serena Joy preaching the virtues of 'traditional values' while never thinking it would apply to her. That slope is the steepest of declines and we should all be worried.  

 

Liz Lincoln tweeted that we needed to start normalising abortion in our romances. We do with contraception and sexual health. We normalise everything else - we should do this too. I wanted to contribute my own. So here's Athena's Quiet, a short tale of a normal woman, doing a normal thing, to continue with her normal life. 

Athena's Quiet © Billy London

The scent of ginger mingled with fried onions, stirring Athena from her sleep. Local anaesthetic for the win, she thought, half sitting up in the duvet smothering her. He was cooking for her. Cooking by Shan was reserved for special occasions only. She supposed this counted as a special occasion. it wasn’t every day you had what rhymed with a schschmortion.

Apparently doubling up on the injection and condoms was kryptonite to a determined zygote. At work, a colleague watched her open a window, then turn her personal radiator on, then close the window again before announcing, “Athena that looks like a hormonal thing. You might be pregnant.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Her colleague shrugged. “First thing that tripped me up. My temperature.” She paused. “Do you want me to get a test for you? I know a good one for a tenner.”

Athena agreed, only because she didn’t need the worry of a potential pregnancy in addition to everything she needed to do by day’s end. Low and behold, the test that should have bought her some lottery tickets gave her a minor panic attack instead.

Shan has been as shocked as she’d been when she showed him the test once. “But…” he began, frowning over his black rimmed glasses. “Fucking hell. Fuck. Fuck!” He drew out the word in a loud exhale. “We just bought this place. We’re so broke!”

“Yuuup.”

Athena rested a hand on her cheek while Shan grappled with the news. His hands went from his hair to flexing back and forth from fists, making his arms strain in the thin cardigan he wore. His disquiet both pleased and confused her. He definitely wasn’t happy. But his devastation couldn’t be defined. In addition to their lovely little cottage which cost far more than it was worth, they’d booked themselves a proper holiday. The last one they anticipated having before home improvements would take over. She loathed the idea of cancelling their time away. Of having to get a pram rather than the pouffe she wanted for the living room to complement their open fire place. To watch her body lose the control she’d fought so hard for. To risk the delicate balance of her mind. It just seemed horribly unfair.

“Can I say what I think we should do?” Shan offered. “And if you want to hit me, can you hold off until I’ve finished.”

She sniffed. “I’ll allow it.”

He closed his eyes. “Not have it.” Relief poured through her. God, thank you for being in mental sync with my man. He opened one eye. “You’re not hitting me.”

“Is there more?” She asked, feeling benevolent. “You said to wait until you finished.”

He spread his huge hands apart. “That’s it. I just wanted you to wait before you hit me.”

“I’m not hysterical,” she said mildly.

“But you’re pregnant.”

“Still not hysterical, mate.”

He looked a sickly colour of pale. Poor man. “What do you want to do?”

Athena shrugged, feeling bile rising in her throat. “I don’t want it. I’m sorry.”

He let out a whooshing breath and scooped her up into his lap, resting her on his thick thighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think my balls contained that power.”

She snorted with laughter. “You should be, for the bullshit I’m about to go through.” A thought occurred to her immediately, sending a wave of nausea through her at the very idea. “Don’t tell Garret.”

Shan looked taken aback. “What? Why?”

“He’s a judgemental cunt,” she answered. Athena couldn’t remember how the conversation came about; they’d been out celebrating their first home, fully owned (mortgaged to the nines but theirs all the same). Maybe that progress soured the taste in Garrett’s mouth and he decided to get political with her arse. A mistake after so much tequila, her articulation always improved after a drink or four. Garrett was one of Shan’s oldest friends. Loyalty was her boyfriend’s strongest and weakest trait, but she’d learned the hard way in getting between friends in life before Shan. She refused to risk it again, but intuitively, Shan kept his distance from Garrett since that night.

“I supposed you’re an improvement in company.” He slurred after trying to irritate her on female politicians on social media. “After Lynn and her baby killing ways.”

“Whoa!” Athena yelled, leaping to her feet. “What the fuck man? Who says that?”

He yanked her back down and spluttered into her ear. “She was all for men’s rights until it came to me. Got rid. Told me after and I shouldn’t worry.”

“When was this?” She asked, feeling horribly sorry for Lynn, that she hadn’t felt enough of a kinship to speak to Athena about it.

“Last year. ‘S why we broke up. Couldn’t look at her any more. She stole that from me.”

“Stole what? You barely liked her,” Athena blustered.

“I could have been a dad!”

“Yeah but did you ask her if she wanted to be a mum?”

“What about me?”

“What about you? You can have a thousand kids if you want to! Be a dad tomorrow if you like!”

He sneered at her. “Of course you’d back her up like a typical feminazi. Bet you’d do the same to Shan if he looked the other way for a second.”

“The only time Shan looks the other way is if I’m cooking,” she spat back. “Why are you feeling sorry for yourself? With all the I want to be a Dad business, do you know what pregnancy does to a woman? Do you know how it can kill her? How she can get diabetes, piles, high blood pressure, hair falling out. Teeth falling out. It’s not sunshine and fucking rainbows and that’s before she’s even given birth. And while you’d be in the pub, I guarantee you would,” she added before he could protest, “Lynn would’ve been at home with the baby for you to tell her she’s a frigid cunt for not putting out.”

“I’ve never called her that!” He blustered.

Athena’s lip curled in disgust. “Yes, you have! At least three times when I’ve been standing right next to her!”

Garrett shook his head, his eyes reddening, from anger or upset, she didn’t know or truly care. “It’s not right. You can’t say her doing that without me knowing is okay.”

Oh yes I fucking well can.  She posed a question to him, “if she had cancer, and she cut it out without you knowing, what would be the problem?”

He stared at her in utter horror. “What? Athena! You can’t compare a baby to cancer!”

“With all those side effects and risk of death? I fucking well can. It’s in her body, it depends on her body, on her sacrifice.”

“It’s a living person.”

Athena rolled her eyes so hard, her retinas ached. “So, what did you pay for as soon as she got pregnant? Days off work? Start a trust fund? Stocked up on nappies? Buy a house? Exchanged that ridiculous car for a family saloon?” His face turned puce. “Hmm. Lynn was supposed to do all of that herself and you just what? Turn up to wet the babies head?”

Garrett stood up. “You’ve got a sick mind. Shan should get rid.”

“He’s never had oral sex like it, he’s not going anywhere.” She smirked and raised a glass to him as he stormed to the bar. He’d been vile to women at the best of times, but after that Garrett actively sought to insult her out of Shan’s hearing. It never bothered her. Until now. The thought of him knowing. Labelling her “baby killer” along with Lynn who was now the “psycho ex” even though she was getting married next year. It made her feel ill.

“He won’t understand. He thinks women are either baby containers or baby killers.”

Shan’s face contorted. “When did he think like that!”

“It’s there. Just please. Trusted folks only. Even then just sound a motherfucker out first. They’ll feel sorry for you and call me a bitch for snatching fatherhood from you.”

His jaw flexed. “I’d dare anyone to say that to my face. I’d fucking dare.”

“You actually like me!” She said it on a delighted laugh.

“I love you,” he corrected her, squeezing her gently into his bulk. “No one gets to say shit about us. No one.”

True to his word, he didn’t relay a single thing. She had no idea how his parents felt about it, only that they sent her some flowers with a card to say they were thinking of her. She called Lynn the day before the procedure.

“Hold on, let me go to another room,” she whispered into her mobile. Eventually, Athena heard a door close. “Was it Garrett who told you?”

Athena winced. “Yeah.”

“He’s such a cock,” she fumed. “Bet he still calls me a baby killer, doesn’t he?”

“I set him straight.” She promised.

Lynn gave a half-hearted laugh. “I’m sure you did. Look, my fiancé doesn’t know any of the old lot. He doesn’t know I’ve had one.”

Athena blinked. “But you’re getting married.”

“Yeah. And he wants kids. So do I. I just didn’t want them with that walking, insulting muppet. Can you imagine being tied to that prick for the rest of your natural days? I want to have kids with someone who gives a fuck about me. Adam’s family is really fucking middle class. Like scratching climb into higher society middle class. Nice girls don’t have abortions, and certainly not their daughters in law.”

“That they know of.”

“Oh Athena, I love you I really do but you don’t understand how people look at you differently when they find out. It’s so fucking disappointing. Who’ve you told?”

“Shan. My mum. You. That’s it.”

“Why’s that?”

It was a rhetorical question. “It’s personal. I don’t want everyone to be talking about my body.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How much does it hurt? I’m too far gone for the pill.”

Lynn took a deep breath. “Depends on your pain threshold. The procedure itself didn’t hurt. I was under local, so I was awake. It was probably the longest ten minutes of my life. After it just felt like the worst side of period pains. You may cry. A lot at nothing. You may not. You may be fine. It’s different for everyone.” Lynn hesitated. “Fee?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you do me a favour?”

“What?”

“Don’t go on your own.”

Athena started.

“Please. It’s just not something you especially should do on your own.”

“What did you do?”

She sniffed. “I got an Uber.”

Shan told her they’d get an executive car from the clinic back home. He excused the expense as a necessity because fuck getting on a tube after that. He’d shuddered, describing in detail the potential disgust a journey on the Northern Line at one in the afternoon would entail. Body odour. Smelly food. Someone tapping makeup onto your jeans. A suited twat stepping on your French Soles. Man had a point. At the consultation, with Shan sitting forward resting his hefty arms on his knees, the consultant told her that she didn’t have to talk to anyone about it if she didn’t want to. No one had the right to tell her what to do. The consultant sent an arch look to Shan and repeated the two words with such emphasis, a blush rose on Shan’s cheekbones.

“Rude,” he said under his breath, to Athena’s smuggled giggle. She thought about the friends she wanted to talk to about it, to the point where she had to bite her tongue. The same friends who were talking about how they tracked their ovulations, who were meeting doctors to discuss their fertility, ones who were about to send out invitations to their baby shower. In an eye twitching moment, Athena promised any of said pregnant friends that if they decided to have a gender reveal party, she’d report them all to the Home Office. She wanted to talk about it so badly. The leaflet told her one in three women had an abortion before the age of 41. She knew them. They just weren’t talking.

The only person Athena truly worried about calling was her mother. Her overly religious, traditional mother.

“What in God’s name Athena!” she bellowed when Athena said she was sort of pregnant.

“It happens. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? More importantly, what are you doing about it?”

Athena didn’t hesitate. “I’m not keeping it. I can’t. We just bought this place and I’ve got less money than I did when I was a student.”

“Oh thank God.”

She removed the mobile from her ear and put it back again. “What?”

“After all the money I spent putting you through school and university. The fact that you can’t even fry plantain properly and you want to have a baby? No. It’s not your time.”

Athena’s mouth twitched. “I said I don’t. I can’t.”

“And that’s one of the better life decisions you’ve made.” Her mother sighed. “I wouldn’t want for you what my mother had to go through. You know that’s what killed her, don’t you?”

Athena heard the gossip from cousins as to what took out her Grandma Ruby. From pneumonia to a snake bite. She hadn’t a clue that it was... “What happened?”

“She went to someone to help because she couldn’t afford to go to a doctor. They cut her badly, Athena, she bled to death.”

“Oh my god,” Athena whispered and a hundred horrific thoughts spun through her mind. Good Ol’ Blighty wouldn’t kill her. But then again, she was a black woman. What wouldn’t? “How old were you, Mum?”

“Seven.”

“Then who told you?”

“Your Uncle Martin,” she said dismissively. “He can’t keep his mouth shut for anything. He said she didn’t want any more children and to be fair, seven is enough for any woman. There was no reason for her to have eight. And it killed her.”

“Mum. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“Why would you?” came the sarcastic retort. “It’s never been something we talk about. The only reason I’ve accepted you living with Your Man is because he’s told me he’s going to marry you. Time’s ticking on that.”

She ignored her mother’s stance on marriage. She could afford to with all this brand new information. “I thought you’d talk me out of this.”

“God’s sake, why? Alright, say I did have a problem with you having an abortion. What would you do?”

“Still have an abortion?” She offered with a shrug.

“Then don’t worry about me. Unless... What’s Shan’s thoughts?”

The first time she’d called him anything other than Your Man. “He’s one hundred percent with me. No time for baby time.”

Her mother sighed in relief. “Good. At least you’re both being sensible. Do you want me to come with you?”

Athena felt tears prickle behind her eyes. In relief of her mother’s words, in her offer, in a wave of hormones she wanted to stop fucking with her. “No, Mum it’s okay. Shan’s coming with me.”

“He should do, since this is his fault.”

“Takes two to tango.”

“Well, he should have worn a waistcoat then.”

It made her laugh even now, despite how much it made her back ache. “I want the best for you,” her mother added over her laughter. “You know what that is better than anyone.”

“Thanks Mum.”

“What else am I here for? I’m letting the dog in now. Call me after.”

The revelation of her grandmother’s tragic death made her talk Shan’s ear off. And off he went on Google, using a iPen to circle diagrams and highlight articles.

“But you don’t even want to read reviews. This is basically the same thing,” she wondered at his interest.

“I need to know how to look after you. It’s not a bad period,” he replied. “Anything that involves anaesthetic has risks.”

Lines between his arched brows were becoming more defined. Ever since she’d told him. She promised to rub a little snail serum into his skin before he slept. Or maybe they should go to a spa. Get a cheap Wowcher deal and peace out of London for a bit. His care seemed almost too much. She really wanted him to go back to giving her bum a cheeky slap and calling her a future Nailed It contestant. You burn pancakes just one time…

That day, she would be able to recall with the strangest of clarities; what she wore (a BooHoo lougewear co-ord in an oatmeal colour she’d seen on a reality tv star the week before) with the Adidas trainers Shan bought for her to go running with him, how the sky was the lightest blue she’d seen in sometime, Shan’s usual cardigan, t-shirt and jeans combo but in a complimentary colours to her oatmeal get up, sharing his earpods with her so they could watch The IT Crowd on their way. Her boyfriend’s eyes were puffy from lack of sleep. Served him right for falling into the black hole of procedural risks. In the theatre, Athena focused on the enormous earrings of her doctor. Enormous diamonds that sparkled with every movement.

When the earrings were out of sight, she looked at the nurse who was losing his hair, a widows peak forming. Eddie Munster, she called him. His name was Carlo. He’d told her to reach for him if she was in any pain or if she needed anything. Just please let it go well. I don’t want to deal with this any more. She was tired of feeling sick, tired of feeling tired, of her breasts aching to the point that her bras were verging on S&M without the possibility of an orgasm at the end which seriously pissed her off. Lynn had been right. It was the longest ten minutes of her life. Eddie Munster/Carlo, wheeled her into the recovery room which had a haze to it. Whether it was the sunshine or the local anaesthetic weaving its way into her, she hadn’t a clue. Only that she felt lighter than she had in weeks. All that worry; all that hushed talk; all that fear… evaporated. She slept. Just peaced out for a cloud-like rest. When she opened her eyes, Shan sat next to her bed, his iPad balanced in the crook of his arm while he rummaged in his rucksack for something. He glanced up to see she was awake and his face glowed with his smile.

“Alright, Love Muff?”

She grinned. “I’m okay. What are you looking for?”

“Those spicy tortilla chips you love. I know I threw them in here. With the crème caramel.” A look of guilt crossed his face. They’d bought the small chiller bag when looking for a baby gift for one of their friends. It was useful. The times it had come with them to open air theatres, cinemas, after work picnics. They had such a beautiful life together, just the two of them…

Carlos came back to run over her aftercare, just to ensure she’d go to her GP or hospital if anything felt wrong. Shan assured Carlos with a familiar flicker that looked like possessiveness that Athena would be well cared for.

Their executive car arrived to take them home. To be fair, Athena couldn’t really appreciate as her stomach rolled in protest of the chips and the crème caramel – her guaranteed recovery treats. She just didn’t want to be sick in a fancy car. Shan scooped her from the vehicle once it smoothly came to a halt outside their cottage. His strength sank into her, her hand cradling the cords in his neck.

He stripped off the oatmeal get up and wrapped her in their duvet. Lying down next to her, he stroked her hair until she fell asleep again. Her dreams slipped from the beach to the city to the mountains. Just her and Shan.

The scent of food woke her up. She grabbed Shan’s discarded cardigan and padded downstairs to the kitchen. He did an electric wave, shifting the ladle from one hand to the other and her laugh startled him into juggling the utensil. He put it down to cup her face, examining every part with his liquid dark eyes.

“You alright? Feeling nauseous?”

She shook her head. “I’m not bad. Probably just need to eat so I can take some more drugs. Drugs,” she added with a singsong.

“I’ve done that donburi you’re obsessed with.”

“With duck or chicken?”

He sent her a disgusted look. “Don’t even try to checkmate me, I know you. Call your mum,” he ordered. “She’s been texting me prayers every hour on the hour.”

Shan spooned some kimchi into a bowl then set the table while she FaceTime’d her mother.

“I’m coming over tomorrow,” her mother insisted. “Lower the camera so I can see what you’ve got.” Her mother made an appreciative sniff after Athena showed her the huge bowl of food. “I’ve made some soup for you.”

“Thanks mummy,” she whispered, feeling overwhelmed.

“It’s just soup. If I really was worried, I’d have made you waakye and fried some fish. You had a ten minute operation. You’re fine.”

“Harsh but fair,” Shan murmured.

“Thanks Mum,” she toned it down for the disrespect and blew her a kiss to end the call.

Food finished, Shan sent her to the living room. He’d already started a fire to toast the cold room and turned the tv on. She flicked through Netflix, wondering who could offer her comfort. Oh yes! Final Space. As soon as Shan heard the titles, he snatched the remote control from her.

“Absolutely not.”

“What the fuck?” she bellowed. “That’s my comfort tv!”

“No, you’re just going to cry. Stop it. Watch something you hate. Watch Riverdale.”

He had a point. “I could watch you wash up badly. I hate that.”

The grin he sent her usually would have her half naked with her legs in the air. “You adore me.”

“Do you still adore me though?” She didn’t know where the question even came from, or the flood of emotion that came with it. Instead of what should have been a reprimand for questioning his feelings, she found herself on her feet and tucked into a Shan hug. Enveloped in his arms, she knew the answer, even before he scattered kisses in her hair, tugging at the plaits so she would look at him.

“You did the most incredible thing for us. You and me. I’ll never forget it, and I’ll love you forever for that. I mean it.”

The last cobwebs of doubt evaporated by the sheer strength in his words, in his arms, in his love. She closed her eyes and savoured the embrace. Her bones felt as weightless as the heaviness in her lower body. She searched for upset, for guilt, for regret and found not a single one. She had Shan.

She piped up. “We’re still going on holiday though, right?”

“Oh, without a doubt,” his voice rumbled with determination over her head. “We deserve it. House buying is stressful as fuck and this is just unnecessary additional bullshit. We need Vitamin D. You know how important that is for us ethnics.”

God’s sake, she thought with a giggle. He did know her too well.

The start...

https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/abortion/

https://mariestopes.org.uk/abortion-services/

UN Committee confirms abortion is a human right

Blame It On The Moon

A strange moon came on Sunday night and whispered this strange story to me. I've posted this on Weyward Thoughts, but it's too strange to not be on this blog too!

By The Light of the Moon © Billy London

Orly hurriedly threw overnight things into a bag. Pawel tapped his fingers on the doorframe. “Are you really doing this again?”

“I… I can’t talk to you right now.” The words emerged from her mouth weaker than she had expected. “I’ll just stay at the old folks’ home.”

Pawel held up his hands and left her to it. That he didn’t try to stop her spoke volumes about their relationship. She slung the bag over her shoulder, scooped up her mobile phone and closed the door behind her. Nothing was worth the grief on the other side. Talking had reached its final impasse.

Orly tucked her phone into her pocket, and wrapped her arms around herself. September’s afternoon weather had cooled into a sharp, winter reminder, as she took the familiar path from her flat with Pawel to her second home. That end of terraced building spoke of everything she didn’t have with Pawel. Her grandparents’ love had been the stuff of legend. It had survived a World War, five children, eleven grandchildren and even death. She supposed the house had been left to her as the eldest of the grandchildren. Or rather, she needed the stability more than any of the others…

She wondered why it was so bright on the street until she glanced up and saw the moon, so close, so round and so bright, she could count the craters on the surface, each pit and fall, dark against the blistering white of its surface. Strange things always happened during full moons, Orly felt fully in awe of its magnetic light. It kept drawing her gaze upwards and her mind far from the fight with her boyfriend. Before she realised, she stood outside her grandparents’ home. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and without looking to see who it was, she answered, “Hello?”

“Pawel called me,” her sister said impatiently. “To find out if you got to Gran’s okay.”

“Yeah, I did. Fine.” She opened the door and closed it carefully behind her, remembering other people lived on one side of the terraced house, and the walls were not particularly forgiving. “He didn’t need to worry.”

“What are you doing to each other?” Anyeta asked. “What are you doing more like?”

Orly put her bag down on the stairs and sat at the kitchen table, turning on the underlights of the cupboards. She drew a finger in the dust that had gathered in the two weeks she hadn’t attended to clean. “Why me? You don’t know what we argued about.”

“Same old, same old, Orly. The conversation won’t change the more times you have it. He’s said what he’s said. It’s up to you to accept it. And if you want to be together, be together. Just stop leaving every other day. It’s not fair on either of you.” Orly felt a lump forming in her throat, and she couldn’t bring herself to answer. “Listen, I’ll call him back and tell him you’re all right. But you have to sort your head out tonight. Either you go forward together or you split.”

“I’ll sort myself out,” Orly promised, her voice thick with hurt. “Thank you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay, Netty. Night. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

She put the phone on the table and pressed her hands to her eyes until the need to start bawling stopped. Under the roof of the home where she had known such love and such comfort, she recognised her failings against her grandmother’s as a partner and as a mother. She missed them both, it weighed on her chest. They’d been perfect people, drifting through their life on love and happiness that everyone fell under the spell of it. What did Orly have? A shell of a home and a boyfriend who couldn’t see a future with her. She drew out her phone and decided to distract herself from the misery. Slowly, the light in the kitchen turned from the muted LEDs, to a hazy rose. Orly turned off the underlights and turned them back on. The red haze filtered through the kitchen, into the hallway and outside. She glanced out of the garden, the same pink tinged the overgrown lawn and the wooden garden furniture her grandfather had been so proud of.

A door slamming close jerked her from the window, knocking over the chair nearest to her. Orly pressed a hand to her rapidly beating heart. A woman stalked into the kitchen and sat down, her veil streaming behind her.

Orly had only ever seen that woman in photographs. Before age softened her angular face. “Gran?” she whispered. A moment later, the door opened and closed again.

“Uma, don’t walk away from me!”

What’s happening right now? Orly gripped the dusty kitchen counter for help. For some semblance of reality. She’d never seen that wedding dress in her grandparents photos. Which could only mean…

“I cannot believe you ruined my wedding!” she blustered.

Orly had always been told she looked like the female version of her grandfather, and she’d pooh-poohed it. But with Nadav Sarkis standing right in front of her, she could see it as clear as day. In the arch of his brows, the height of his cheekbones and the shape of his mouth.

“I don’t believe for one minute you thought you were going to tie yourself to that fucking puddle of a man!”

Orly gasped. She’d never heard her grandfather swear. Ever. He braced his hands on the table, his face so close to her grandmother’s, Orly couldn’t see her any more. “As if you’d replace me with him. After everything, everything we’ve been through.”

“I could have, but since you decided to show up and declare a lawful, bloody impediment, I can’t now, can I!” Uma raged, thrusting him away. “I can’t have a baby without being married, you know that!”

And that was her cue to leave. Orly reached for the kitchen door and found it locked. Come on! They had no locks in the house anywhere! God, I promise, I never noticed how close Uncle Reyan’s birthday is to Gran and Granddad’s wedding, I never. Let me out!

Nadav flipped the table over, to Uma and Orly’s shriek of surprise. “Are you mad, woman?” He bellowed. “You were going to pass off my child as that fool’s?”

“He said it didn’t matter! He understood!”

Nadav snorted in disgust. “Does he bollocks! He wouldn’t know what to do with you in a bedroom. The pillock doesn’t even know you don’t need a bedroom at all”.

Oh, God get me out of here. I do not want to know this about them. Absolute debauchery. Orly tried the door again, and met with brute resistance. This was a far cry from the grandparents who left flowers in books for the other and wrote each other love letters. Her grandfather flipped a table! Like a madman!

“I can rely on him,” Uma blazed, her veil streaming behind her as she stood toe to toe with Nadav. “You don’t want kids! Why you were shagging me, without those fancy things, God only knows.”

Okay, now she knew why Uncle Reyan was born so soon after her grandparents’ wedding. He had never been “early”. No wonder they didn’t wag the proverbial finger when she moved in with Pawel to ‘live in sin’.

Nadav caught Uma by the face, bracing her cheeks between his palms. “Because I love you! You daft bat, I want everything with you.”

Uma pulled his hands from her, bending to right the table. “You’ve shamed the devil out of both of us. How will we walk around here after the show you made?”

With a gentle nudge for her to move out of the way, Nadav righted the table. “I don’t give a flying monkeys what people think. I’ve been shot at by Nazis. People giving me dirty looks is a walk in the park after that shite.”

“But you left,” Uma said, her voice shaky with tears. “You left me. Again.”

“I had to,” Nadav sounded almost defeated. “I’ve still got commitments to the Air Force. God save me, Uma. My head is… What I saw…” He struggled to continue and burst out, “I look at you and you’re so perfect. And all I see is blood and death and bodies.”

“For God’s sake, man.” Uma said with a sigh. “I’m not perfect. Something that’s very clear now, isn’t it? You don’t think I saw bodies? Or death? I thought about you. And us together in this house, being happy. That’s everything I held on to. Because we’ve suffered too much to not deserve it.” She glared at him, folding her arms under her breasts. “You didn’t want it so I went for a second option.”

Nadav’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not marrying him.”

“Not after you said you’d had me on my hands and knees out the back of Miner’s club, of course he won’t marry me now!”

Orly pressed her fingertips to her temple. Whatever she had done to deserve this, she had to have paid for it now.

“I wasn’t lying,” Nadav said glibly. “Reverend Moss won’t let you back in that church, I’ll bet.”

Uma threw him a look that would have competed with any Sergeant Major. “It was a bastard thing to do.”

“What I did, or what we did?”

Uma picked up a mug and threw it at him. Nadav ducked and it smashed right by Orly’s shoulder. “You! You three piece cock! My mother warned me, back and forth, be careful about who you give your virtue to. And all this shows is I make terrible decisions.”

“Flaming Nora!” Nadav heaved. “That nearly hit us!”

Orly frowned. Her grandfather was brought up in the East End of London. Us was a Northern indicator. What on earth did he mean?

“Listen to me, and don’t throw anything else.” He took a hesitant step towards her, and Uma looked as if she were about to pounce on him and slit his throat. “You’ll never want for anything Uma, I swear to you. You and this baby. You’ll have everything you want. I’ll work my arse off, I promise you.”

“Now you’ve made anything else impossible, I suppose I should be grateful,” Uma answered, brushing down the dress and relaxing her fighting stance.

“No, not grateful,” Nadav took another step forward until he could reach Uma. Gently, he tugged her forward until they pressed into one another, fitting like puzzle pieces. “We’ll go up to Gretna, get married and just get on with our lives. There’s no need for secrets or lies any more. We can be together… ” The moment Nadav’s head lowered to kiss Uma, Orly looked away. She really had heard and seen enough. The message had been received loud and clear. I will never watch porn again. I will pray for forgiveness more often. I will love and appreciate my boyfriend. Whatever we have, however long we have it for, that will be enough for me. I promise.

“Take the dress off,” Nadav growled into Uma’s neck. “And you’ll have to get rid of it. I don’t want anything of another man on you.”

Uma’s mouth curved in triumph. “Help me then. It took both bridesmaids to put it on.”

Without waiting for another prompt, Nadav circled his wife, and began unbuttoning the bodice of her wedding dress. 

Jesus, Granddad! Orly thought as his hands slipped inside the dress to cup Uma’s chest. “You feel bigger Uma. I’d know every change in you.”

“Hurry. Wait, wait.” Uma looked directly at her, pointing to the mobile still sat on the laminated flooring. “Orly, answer your phone and talk to your boyfriend. Your grandfather and I are going to give each other a good seeing to, but I can’t concentrate when your phone’s ringing.”

No need to add a telling off to the weirdness happening in the room. “Yes, Gran.”

“Good girl.” She turned back to Nadav, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Take me upstairs.”

Orly scooped up her flashing phone and when she straightened, her grandparents had gone. The red haze from the moonlight remained and so did the sense of judgement from Uma. Talk to your boyfriend. Her phone buzzed incessantly in her palm. “Sorry, hello?”

“Orly?”

“Hi, Pav.” She’d never been so relieved to hear his voice.

“Can you open the door?”

Eh? “What? Where are you?”

“Outside.”

Orly ended the call and threw open the front door. Pawel stood under the glare of the moon, his eyes red from tears. “I’m sorry, Orly.”

“What on earth for?” She asked, pulling him inside.

“Everything…” Distracted, he looked over his shoulder, along the corridor. “Is something going on in the kitchen?”

Oh god, I truly hope not! “Never mind that. What are you sorry for?”

He took a breath and caught her biceps in his hands. “I know it’s my fault that we can’t…” The words faltered and he looked at the ground for a moment, only to find her gaze once more. “But we’ll try. I want to try. I want a family with you. I want everything you say your grandparents had. We can move in here. Sell the flat, do up this place and pay for IVF.”

“Just like that?” Orly whispered. After months and months of tears and rows, he’d laid everything she wanted at her feet. On the strangest night of her life.

“For us to stay together? Of course!” He brushed his mouth over her cheeks, and dotted a brief kiss on her lips. “I’d move mountains for you.”

Orly embraced him until she could feel his ribs against her own. She’d learned her lesson. A bit too well. “Oh Pav. As long as we’re together.”

Halfway up the stairs, her grandfather threw the failed wedding dress out of his way. Orly mouthed at him, “Stop it, Granddad!”

“Tell that young man we’re watching him,” Nadav said over Uma’s bare shoulder. “You deserve everything more than we had.”

Orly nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes to all of that?” Pawel asked softly. Orly couldn’t bring herself to speak. The thought of her grandparents doing quite unspeakable things to one another really had stolen her voice.