When You Believe

I was going to try and attempt to write my feelings on Kobe Bryant’s passing. Given the man was the same age as my older brother and he has a three year old daughter, coupled with the fact that I am extremely close to my father and I couldn’t comprehend my life without him, I know I don’t have the range to quantify my feelings right now. It’s all too terrible and too much.

Instead, I’m going to excise my feelings on a rando coming into my mentions to be loud and wrong on each of his tweets.

Sorry! Spoiler alert 🚨 If you haven’t seen Sex Education Season 2 STOP READING NOW!

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Eric Effiong is my favourite character by far and away. He’s from a Nigerian/Ghanaian family who like most West African families attend church and are close knit. Eric’s pride in his sexuality culminated last season with his very African very religious father stating openly how proud he was of him. So this season in complete contrast to the last one, Eric has a boyfriend - the dangerously sexy and worldly Rahim. We don’t know a whole much about Rahim but he seems to know a lot. Except, it seems, how to behave around other people with tact and humanity.
After pushing for an invitation (Eric did buoy it up with singing and plantain how can mandem resist?) Rahim attend a church service with Eric and his family.
It’s a blackity black church - gospel choir in robes and traditional clothing.
After being asked whether he is Muslim, Rahim announces that he’s atheist and doesn’t believe in God. Awkward sitting in the church you pressed to attend, but okay! The pastor welcomes Rahim and says “Jesus is with you.” Rahim says “I’m sorry I don’t believe in Jesus.”
Bear with me, it gets worse. Then as they’ve left the church (forty five hours later) Rahim declares Eric’s family as “sweet because they think the ‘God stuff is real’ and obviously Eric only pretends to go along with it to ‘keep the peace’.
If that isn’t telling that Rahim has no idea as to who Eric is - man who showed up to his prom in a gelee, a full face of glittery makeup and false lashes - would go to church and believe in God ti keep the peace, I don’t know what else. Eric states boldly that he does believe in God. The response is “how can you believe in a God that doesn’t think you should exist?”
Pause - I’m getting there.
He then adds that, “My family had to leave their country because of religion. Doesn’t make any sense to me.”
And ends the conversation with “we’ll agree to disagree.”
Let me start at the beginning: Rahim has no home training. His family moved to France from where? We don’t know, we’re never told. But they had to leave because of religion. You would have therefore had some modicum of a religious upbringing to understand the implications of not believing - especially as Rahim is supposed to be a teenager. Not practising your faith ie not praying with your classmates or work colleagues or not attending services with extended family members. You would have in the past to know the rituals and to explain your reasons for leaving the country. To understand the risks of non conformity - what it will cost you and your family to follow a different path - you would have started out conforming before the divergence. With any history of religious upbringing there is undoubtedly respect for places of worship and leaders of said worship. That doesn’t become undone by fleeing from persecution - it reinforces it. I know - I’ve made those applications for those seeking asylum. Just as I would cover my head in a mosque, I wouldn’t rush to the Iman and say “nah don’t get any of this business.” It blew my mind that he said to a pastor’s face “I don’t believe in Jesus.” Are you without sense?
At base level, having been welcomed by the members of the congregation - it was plain rude. High key, why are you embarrassing your boyfriend like this? Why would you do that? He’s finally sharing an important piece of his life with you and this is how you react. And people were okay with this?
Then the side swipe “you don’t believe in this stuff.”
Why would you assume that having left the church your boyfriend expressed so much joy and enthusiasm for? If you are an atheist it’s very difficult to explain to someone what faith can give you. If you are someone who has turned away from faith because your beliefs do not align with your former religion it’s even harder to understand why you would embrace something that has effectively rejected you. Rahim wasn’t there when Eric was being bullied. The church was. It was a constant. A distraction. A time separate from school to be at peace.
I like to visit places of worship when I travel and feel that same sense of peace in me when I sit and sit in stillness. When the world moves at a hundred miles an hour, that stillness can be glorious and uplifting in the same way meditation is.
Eric can pour his effervescence his spirit his joy into the music. Gospel is music for the soul and no one can tell me otherwise. Eric isn’t known for peacekeeping. Eric pushes boundaries and served looks while he did so. He boldly proclaimed “take me as I am or do one!” In nail polish, in traditional clothing, in lengthening mascara, to his beautifully presented core.
Ultimately, Eric’s belief in God is none of Rahim’s business. God and church are separate entities. If they weren’t, the things that man has done in the name of God would have made me an atheist too. Man told woman she couldn’t spread the word of the Lord (according to the church) and this never sat right with me considering women were the first ones to discover that Jesus had risen from the tomb. Man has dictated a lot of “should and should nots” protecting violent men from rightful persecution and lining their pockets with blood money. This is still separate from a person’s relationship with God. If anyone can point to me where in the bible Jesus says “you don’t exist gays! Begone!” I’d be grateful.
If God is where Eric finds his comfort, his faith, his steady path - why is Rahim questioning that? Why would you question that of someone you love? If it doesn’t make any sense to you are you even willing to listen? You want everyone to know you don’t believe in God and your partner is foolish for doing so. The patronisation irked my soul. No two Gods are the same or even share the same name.
I always come back to the scene in Atonement. The soldiers at Dunkirk singing Dear Lord And Father Of Mankind, knowing they’re stranded, that they may be bombed to death at any moment and yet they sing. Because they believed. They prayed in song for deliverance or God’s peace on their souls. Would someone like Rahim rush up to them and say “why are you singing when your God has abandoned you?”
Probably he would - just to show he knows better because religion cost him his home. Religion didn’t. Man did. Man’s terrible interpretation and lack of simple humanity did.
Having filled out enough divorce petitions for people whose faiths took different paths while believing they could maintain a marriage, I know how important it is to have respect for what the other believes. If you can’t respect your partner’s understanding and commitment to God, you won’t enjoy the same in your own relationship.
There are some things that doom a relationship. There were many in Rahim and Eric’s but his casual dismissal of something that had been present in Eric’s entire life was the beginning of the end. I said so and a bitch was right.
Now, I’m not saying that the church doesn’t have a whole bible of work to do in being more inclusive and welcoming all people; this is undeniable. Look at what the Church of England put out recently reserving sex for married hetero couples when the creator of the Church of England literally did it so he could divorce his first wife and marry several others. Further that the Church has been complicit in abuse and protecting perpetrators. There are gay Christians and this is your message to them? Doesn’t sound Christ-like at all. That’s what I mean by God and man being separate. And it doesn’t change Eric’s love of his God and his church because his boyfriend thinks he’s trying to keep the peace by believing. Gays are not a monolith. As a worldly teen (supposedly) Rahim should know that.
Man didn’t even like musicals! He had to go!
That was my beef and distraction today. And today of all days is not the one to question a person’s faith. In an undeniably cruel world where children are killed with their parents in senseless accidents, faith can be all there is that pulls you through until tomorrow. Never underestimate or deny that power. It’s not your place and if you truly love someone, you never will.

Let's Do It Again

Is this month ever going to end? It's been January for 84 years and I've had enough of it. I'm not doing any of the restrictions for this month. It's hard enough as it is without inflicting more misery on myself. I'm sticking with sugar - just reducing, although I made about a hundred pieces of salted caramel fudge yesterday and it's delightful! I have one meatless day a week - not doing it the whole month when I have so much bresaola that expires next month and I'm not paying for the gym when I'm saving for the two hundred holidays I'm taking this year. Yay me!

Anyways, given the longest month of time, I thought enough of that has passed for me to not spoil owt but clarify what songs go with which bit of Murano. I haven't done that for my previous books for fear of giving key things away. And I feel like we're at the stage where it's time for a second read and a second read with tunes as I maestro intended. Lol! Me going on like I'm Paris Hilton at a gig! You've known me long enough to understand my musical leanings, my love and adoration of Sir Hans Zimmer, that I'm so obviously an eighties baby judging by said musical leanings and that the strangest songs will make me emotional for no reason. If I told you the number of times I listened to I Know What I Do just staring at a wall crying, you wouldn't believe me. Routemaster to the rescue was born from being on the N44 streaking through London roads after far too many lychee martinis and praying the bus would go faster so I could throw up in peace. I don't travel anywhere without music, so Hans kept the need to projectile over my fellow passengers at bay. Now it's tied up with Bep being... well Bep. I maintain Radiohead should have been given the Spectre song which is why it's included so I can't listen to it without coupling it with sleek, silencer-ed weaponry. And I can't include Smack My Bitch Up unless a bitch is gonna get smacked up. Said bitch does get smacked up. And it just makes me love Mimi more.

So there we are. A glimpse behind the thought process of what goes into my tracks. There's a reason for the weirdness. Always. Gosh, really wish I could apologise to my English teacher. I was always convinced that she looked for meaning behind everything when it could be that the author just wanted something that way. Now look at me - giving parallels.

Nope! I take it back!

Murano on Spotify

An Old Man’s Path

• Progeny – Hans Zimmer

Giuseppe Nardiello

• Hey Mami – Sylvan Esso

Lost Boy/Wendy Darling

• You See All My Light – Jacques Greene
• Change Is Everything – Son Lux

Last Wedding

• The Dream of Gerontius, Op 38/Pt 2 Praise to the Holiest – Edward Elgar

I think I want to see

• It’s Magic – Dinah Washington

Goddamn Sheen

• Too Original – Major Lazer

Sweet Sixteen on Coke

• 212 - Azealia Banks

Come out with me

• Playinwitme – KYLE ft Kehlani

Date Musicals

• Suddenly, Seymour – Rich Moranis, Ellen Greene

Nonna’s Speakeasy

• Sing, Sing, Sing – Benny Goodman
• You Give A Little Love – Paul Williams

Mini Cab?

• Ultralight Beam – Kanye West  

Marseille! Marseille!

• Palm Trees ?Téoذ

I Have Never…

• Shadow & Light – Martin Luke Brown

Defiling The Inner Sanctum

• Surprise Yourself – Jack Garratt

Leisurely

• Waking Up – MJ Cole & Freya Ridings

Fractured Family

• Back To You – Benjamin Gordon

This Is Beppe

• I Am – Rock Mafia ft Wyclef Jean

Neighbours

• Breathe & Stop – Q-Tip  
• Tell Me That You Love Me – James Smith

The Sacrilege

• Oh Baby – LCD Soundsystem

Why Are You Still Here?

• Same Drugs – Chance The Rapper

Happy Easter

• Movement – Hozier

Dear Sg Nardiello

• The Gulag Orkestar – Beirut

Darjeeling Comfort

• Not Dark Yet – Bob Dylan

That’s Not My Name

• Lost Boy – Ruth B.

Tomasina’s Protection

• Lie – Halsey, Quavo

New Start

• Do You Remember Jarryd James ft Raury

Routemaster to the rescue

• Fear Will Find You – Hans Zimmer

34 Letters

• Hell To The Liars – London Grammar
• War Prayer – This Will Destroy You
• If I Go, I’m Goin – Gregory Alan Isakov
• Slide – James Bay  
• Cloudbusting – Kate Bush
• Don’t Forget About Me – Cloves

The Safe House

• On The Nature Of Daylight – Max Richter  

An Italian Kiss

• Decks Dark – Radiohead

Book Me A Table At Claridges

• Elephant – Tame Impala
• On Thin Ice – Hans Zimmer

It’s A Trap

• Set This House On Fire – Nick Vallee

On the Common

• I Know All What I Do – Jack Garratt

Casual As Fuck

• Overture – Michael Kamen
• Romantic Flight – John Powell

Solemn Stag Do

• Hard Place – H.E.R

Venezia To The Bone

• All For Us – Labrinth

I Know Who You Are

• Selah – Emeli Sandé

She’s Dead

• Strange Weather – Anna Calvi ft David Byrne

Chances in Zurich

• Alone In the Dark – Will Cookson

Brace Yourself, Wendy Darling

• Carry You – Novo Amor

The Night Before

• when the party’s over - Billie Eilish

The Weirdest Day

• Outro – M83
• God Only Knows – John Legend and Cynthia Erivo
• The Vow – RuthAnne  
• Etta James – Til There Was You

An Assassin’s Mistake

• Under Attack – Kin Palo ft Amy Stroup

My Lovely, Brand-New Wife Amelia

• Smack My Bitch Up – The Prodigy

He’s Got Two

• Mean Demeanour – Run The Jewels

Waiting

• Ruelle – Take It All

Nice Work

• Mount Everest – Labrinth

In Deep Water

• Why Do We Fall – Hans Zimmer

Checkmate

• Vasily – Martin Phipps

How was the wedding?

• We Might Be Dead By Tomorrow – Soko  

Epilogue

• What You Won’t Do For Love – Luke Burr 

Murano on Amazon

Maze

I wasn’t going to start my New Year this way. I really wanted it to be a positive, glowing opening chapter to what will be an awesome year.

But people are trying to interrupt my joy, so leggo.

You may have seen a few things that have happened over the last few weeks – a certain royal couple deciding to step back from senior royal duties; an incredibly successful artist stating that he agreed 100% that racism exists in Britain; the absolute dearth of nominees of any colour in the BAFTAs; a talented actor who has been part of a huge movie franchise being free to call out the nonsense he has had in his mentions for years.

In conclusion, I live in one of the most racist countries in the world. Why? The bare faced denial that anything in the above is based on the fact that the above people have become ‘uppity; and the word has been applied to all of them. Ideas above their station. And if they don’t like how things are here, they should leave. That they’re playing the racism card. That they keep bringing up race, so in truth they are the real racists. They can’t provide any proof so it can’t possibly be racism. It’s so much worse everywhere else in the world, so they should be happy living here.

To be gaslit is abusive. It’s one of the pillars of abusive behaviour, to control the way the victim thinks, feels, to undermine them, to make them uncertain of their very selves, to make them question their own very real, very lived experiences to mollify and content the perpetrator. That’s what racism in the UK is like. Constant gaslighting. And it’s so subversive, sometimes, it’s only truly visible when someone else says, “Goddamn, that was racist!” that your third eye opens and you realise what you’ve been trying to defend is a broken, one sided relationship. After the Brexit referendum, I was very fast to defend cries of xenophobia against the UK given the voices of a broad spectrum of BAME voters who were sold £325m worth of lies. It’s like someone insulting a family member. You can do it – but no one else should dare! I’ve reached the stage of “It’s what she deserves.”

I’m going to focus on the B in BAME as that’s what I am and that is my experience. I’ve experienced racism since I was five years old. From being told about my skin colour (and not in a flattering way) to the expectation that my breasts would make it impossible for me to be a dancer. I’ve been to hospital and been queried if my pain was genuine. To my doctors and told that I’m obese according to the BMI (which is inherently racist). I’ve been met with surprise as to my profession, my articulation, my education. I’ve been met with disgust as to my hair being ‘messy’, my body being overtly sexual (even covered from head to toe and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked what I charge and for what). It is misogyny and racism together – misogynoir in perfect balance. But, if I were to say any of this in a public forum, guaranteed someone and normally that someone will be white, will happily tell me that none of it was racism, but ignorance and people just being stupid and I should ignore it. Or worse that my success, my education, my professionalism is proof that racism doesn’t exist.

How do you ignore repeated, continuous incidents that chip away at you? How do you excuse behaviour that causes hurt and pain and disappointment as stupidity? You do if it never affects you. All this outrage and surprise that this the golden goose of a country could be so vile. The same country that colonised three quarters of the world (and didn’t use any of the spicing they found in their food). The same country that created the blue print for maintaining misery and despair on plantations (honest to God a Brit wrote a diary/guidebook on treating slaves – from castration to defecating in their mouths to rape and beyond). The same country that participates in wars and doesn’t think it has any responsibility for the refugees it creates. The same country that gave citizenship to tens of thousands of people, only to “lose” their paperwork and put them on the first flight back to what they asserted was their country of origin. Look at our current Prime Minister. Jesus, look at the one before him! Look at the track record of the government. Look who is quick to say “look at me, I’m proof that our country is multicultural and not at all racist” and question their motivation for being so damn loud. One minorities success does not negate the existence and prevalence of racism.

This country has been racist for the longest. My mother remembers where she was and wasn’t allowed to rent properties because she is a black woman. My father remembers why he lost management roles to his lesser qualified colleagues. My uncle, who served in the British Army, told me what it was to be a black man with white officers who were supposed to have his back. None of it has disappeared. It’s evolved to what it represents today.

“No that’s not racist.”

“I haven’t seen any racism.”

“Why do you keep bringing it up? That makes you racist!”

“You can’t prove what you’re saying so you’re relying on the old racism card. It’s been declined by the way.”

Witty, motherfucker. And yet, still untrue. It is not a card to be played. Where are the benefits? Where are the terms and conditions? Where are the extra rewards for use? No where to be seen. It is a way of invalidating minorities. Are you tired hearing about racism? Try experiencing it in a never-ending cycle of keeping you down where you are perceived to belong.

This year, in an effort to maintain my sense and sensibility, I’m not taking any questions. I’m not hearing any comments. I have completed Level 40 of deniability and accountability of White People and that’s enough for my lifetime, no thank you, try next door. 2020 is the year of “no, not to-fucking-day”. I’m not explaining. I’m not providing examples. I’m not entertaining what you can quite easily Google. If you want me to, then send me an email, put a £500 deposit in my PayPal account and I’ll do it. You’ll get an invoice for further questions. Stupid questions get an uplift fee of £250 plus VAT.

I highly recommend Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race by Reni Eddo-Lodge. (Dr Reni Eddo-Lodge btw!) If anyone can explain this in a better way than I, it’s absolutely her.

To end, I leave you with this quote from @athenakugblenu “Why do we have to explain something to white people that white people invented?? Did they lose the manual?”

And last of all, read my book to distract from all this nonsense! Murano IK7 is on Amazon for you.

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…

Santa, Baby!

One of my oldest friend’s is due imminently! I had this idea after her baby shower!

One More Nativity © Billy London

Ryence closed his suitcase, leaning back and cracking his spine. At least at his sister’s house, he’d enjoy a tempered mattress. He’d been needing to replace his own for ages, but he needed to speak to his accountant, get money released from the club to him by way of dividends. They were sold out for New Years Eve. He couldn’t have hoped for better and with the club being in his sister’s sole name, the destination wasn’t associated with his crime.

His thoughts drifted to Morgan as they had every night since he’d met her. They’d been at the start of something so beautiful and… Gwen would never say that he’d ruined anything, because he’d saved her. She told him he saved other women from what that arsehole could have done. Gwen didn’t understand what he’d given up as a result.

Back to Wales for a few days, take some walks, pretend he hadn’t spent the better part of seven months in prison, eat some of his father’s Welsh rarebit and enjoy some beer. If his dad would allow him to cross the threshold…

He opened his Facebook profile and searched for Morgan again. Her profile picture hadn’t changed from what it had been at the start of the year; she wore a long blonde wig and a cut out mini dress as she posed in front of a floral display for his club. Lots of comments on her wall asked if she was okay, to call them, to get in touch, to reply to messages. Where was she?

He tucked his phone into his jacket pocket and lifted his case through his flat. Heating turned off and fridge empty, he locked the flat and made his way down the stairs to the lobby. Braced against the doorway, her hands gripping the frame, stood Morgan.

Ryence dropped his case and flung the door open before he could say anything, she collapsed onto him.

“Hey Rye! Oh you’re going grey,” she observed, touching a cold finger to his temple and tracing the pad to his mouth. A painful grunt burst from her.

“Wow contractions really are a cunt!” she said through her teeth. Only then did he look down and saw her protruding stomach.

“You’re pregnant? You’re fucking pregnant?”

She yelped, pressing a hand to her lower belly, hunching over. “Yep. Thanks for that by the way.”

 “And you didn’t tell me?”

Morgan grunted. “Look, can we have this conversation somewhere else please? I’m literally about to drop this little twat out of my twat, so let’s move.”

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to pass out. Practicality kicked in. Snow swept inside the door in a flurry of flakes, dotting Morgan’s coat with white and resting on his arm. He lifted her into his arms, kicking the door closed and leaving his suitcase behind.

Morgan yelped, but he ignored her, taking the stairs with grim determination to his flat. “Hold on,” he said, unlocking the door and carrying her inside, kicking the door closed. Quickly and carefully, he set her on his bed.

“I’m turning the heating back on and I’m running you a bath.”

Morgan grimaced. “What for?”

“It’ll help.” He promised, removing his jacket and flicking on the heating. Christ, he didn’t have anything in his flat to even eat. Turning on the kettle seemed a good idea while he tried to grapple with the idea of Morgan going about her life, carrying his baby and giving birth on Christmas Eve. What the hell. The kettle’s blue light switched off and he poured the water over a green tea bag and carried it into the bedroom. Morgan had shed her coat, boots and her leggings, leaving her in a reindeer printed jumper dress and bare legged.

She struggled to sit up when she realised he was standing, staring at her.

“Hi. Oh is that tea? You’re amazing.”

“It’s green. Sorry. I don’t have any milk.”

“No, this is perfect,” she said with a sigh of delight, reaching for it. “My throat is dry as hell.”

“Morgan,” he began, his voice low.

“Are you running that bath?” She grinned at him. His brain flooded with memories of how she smiled that way when she was satisfied.

“I will. Just explain to me how we’re here right now. And why we’re not at a hospital?”

Morgan lifted the mug to her lips again. “I’m at least eight centimetres dilated and I give it twenty minutes, or maybe half an hour before I push this baby out. I’d rather not risk it in a car. Or God forbid, a taxi.”

“You can’t be!” he whispered, panicked.

Morgan pointed a finger between her thighs. “Have a look.”

He lifted the hem of the dress and took an instant step back. “Running the bath.”

Once the tub was full, he took the cup from her hands and lifted her into his arms again, carrying her into the bathroom. Gently, he lifted the jumper dress from her body, and eased her into the water.

“Oh mate, that’s the perfect temperature.” She gave a murmur of delight, before she absolutely bellowed the bathroom down. “Oh fucking hell! Okay, truth time. I found out that I was pregnant when you were sent down. I didn’t know which prison you were sent to and no one would say. When I asked at the club, your name was my god I hate this so much!” she screamed. Ryence reached into the tub and rubbed along her spine in soothing stroking motions.

“And then?”

“And then, I dithered about keeping it or getting rid and then it was too late so I was like, alright lemme look on eBay and see what shit is cheap.”

“Why didn’t you contact my sister?” He asked.

“I thought about it, and then I was argh butt fucking shit!” She breathed out in short sharp gasps. “I thought about it, and I thought, this poor bitch doesn’t need this too.” She looked up at him, her eyes watering with pain. “I looked up your address on Companies House you’re listed as a former director so here I am. I’m not due for another three weeks. Everything’s at home. My bag, the baby’s crib, nappies. I hate this so much!”

He helped her to her knees in the large bathtub, resting his palms on her biceps. “Morgan, look at me. You’re going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.”

“You haven’t even got a Christmas tree!”

“Okay, it’s what, five. That huge Tesco down the road closes at eight tonight. I can get everything from there that we need. You’re staying here. Do you have your notes?”

“How do you know all of this?” she demanded, wincing.

He shrugged. “They played One Born Every Minute in the prison sometimes. I’ve got one of those memories that sucks that shit up. And I don’t have a tree because I was going to stay with my sister and my dad. But since, I’m about to be one, I’ll buy one from the guy outside the train station.”

She touched his face. “I really hope you’re ready for this, Joseph.”

He pressed his mouth to her forehead, feeling tears prickling at his eyes. “You don’t know how ready.”

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Carrying on the free reads, and skimming over an issue that really does impact people especially at this time of the year. Stay strong, stay super strong.


Walking in a Winter Wonderland © Billy London


“Come on Bailey!” Naomi called to her terrier who yapped at her, his white paws braced on the first step, wagging his tail.

Her sister popped her head around the dinning room door. “Aren’t you coming back?”

She shook her head. “I’ve had enough for one day.”

Her sister’s face fell. “Please don’t go…”

“I just need some air, I’ll be back in an hour.”

“But the park walk is twenty minutes…”

Naomi secured the lead to Bailey’s collar and shoved her arms through her fake fur coat. “I’ll come back.”

Tugging on gloves and wrapping a scarf around her straightened hair and slipped out of the door. Bailey shot off to the greenery across the road before Naomi could even grab his lead. She screamed, running after him as the setting sun burned into her vision.

“Bailey no!” she yelled. Her entire Christmas dinner with cranberry sauce and extra helpings of sprouts sat heavy in her stomach, her feet kicking against her buttocks. Her dog took a flying leap and Naomi only realised why when her boot heel slipped across the frozen ice puddle and knocked her onto her bottom; right on top of a fresh layer of snow.

“Fucking hell!” she roared, leaning to her side to grab her bruised bottom. 

“Are you alright?” a deep voice asked.

A huge pitbull rested its paws on Naomi’s knees, its head tilted to the side and its tongue lolling out.

“Daisy, get off!”

Daisy found herself tugged from Naomi. Blocking out the sun, probably the most beautiful man she’d ever met held out a hand to her. “Can you get up?”

Naomi opened her mouth and no sound emerged. Daisy’s owner crouched beside her. “Did you hit your head?”

She shook her head, staring openly at him. Where have you been? With a toned arm, he scooped around her waist and lifted her to her feet. Bailey bounded back to her side, yapping at her heels.

“You’re so naughty, Bailey,” Mr Beautiful told her dog. Bailey whined as if in apology.

“How do you know his name?”

“You were screaming it.” He reminded her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Thank you. I’m okay. It was more of a shock than anything.”

His eyes glinted in the dimming sunlight. “I’m Connan. This is Daisy.”

“I’m Naomi. And you heard me yelling at this one.” Bailey scrambled at her denimed leg before she gathered him up in her arms and buried her face in his chilled, damp coat. “Post turkey dinner walk?”

Connan scuffed at the snow with a booted foot. “I just needed some fresh air. You know when you come back home after being away? And there’s only so much you can take of your family?”

“Oh yeah.” She looked up at him. “I’m back from uni. Everyone’s got eyes on me as if I’m going to…”

Not everyone needed to know.

“Binge?” he asked.

Naomi started. “What?”

Conan nodded to the park. “Do you want to keep walking? I can talk about this if I’m not looking directly at you.”

He started walking, Daisy trotting beside him. Still cradling Bailey, she walked after him. “I spent the last year still dealing with my brother’s ED. I know, men don’t have eating disorders.” He sent her an amused look. “Well, you know what it’s like. It’s something you can control when you can’t control anything else. Being at uni was…” He breathed out heavily.

“A challenge?”

“Yeah. I had to resist the urge to call him every day to check that he was eating and caring for himself and going to meetings.” He sighed. “I got it in the neck for not being supportive of my brother, so I decided to come for a walk instead. I asked Max to come with me, but he’s scared to let himself out of our parents’ sight.”

“It’s hard.” She admitted. “You want to prove yourself to your family but it’s a lot of pressure. It’s so much pressure. The plate my mum made for me was enormous.” It prickled at her eyes to see the look on her mother’s face; so hopeful and eager for her to eat that her stomach closed up at the thought of it. Yet, she had eaten. Everything and resisted the near choking desire to purge every mouthful. “I don’t think anyone understands what it’s like at this time of the year. Everything revolves…”

“Around food. I know.” He sighed. “I’ve asked my family just to back off a bit, but they’re not getting it.”

Naomi shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. I’m sure your brother understands, it’s like losing control again.”

Conan nodded. “And did you?”

She grinned at him. “This is beginning to feel like a session, rather than me taking a walk with my dog with a strange dude.”

He grinned back. “I’m a neighbour. I live down there.”

He pointed to her street.

“Which street?”

“Stanley Road.”

“That’s my road!” she burst out. “How haven’t I met you?”

Conan made a face. “It’s London. No one knows their neighbours. We’ve probably passed each other a hundred times…”

No I would have noticed you. She thought. “Anyway. The answer is no. I didn’t lose control. I ate my Christmas dinner and for the first time in a long time, it was delicious and guilt free. I just didn’t need anyone watching every bite and hovering over me if I got up from the table. I just wanted some water!” She yelled at the sky, laughing. “Everyone else is having booze, and you don’t even have a single bottle of Evian within reach?”

“Fucking rude,” Conan agreed.

Naomi put Bailey down and he forced her to run after him. Conan called out after her, jogging to keep up.

“Sorry, we didn’t have time for a morning walk,” she gasped trying to slow her mental animal down. “What uni are you at?”

“Manchester. Doing physics.”

“Leeds. Music.”

Conan made an impressed face. “We’re not that far from each other.”

Naomi pursed her lips together, trying to suppress a smile. “Why is that a statement to make?”

His face filled with colour. “Just making an observation.” Something vibrated and he removed his phone from his pocket. “That’s my brother. Asking me to come back and tell our parents to chillax.”

Disappointment washed over her. “Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll walk you home.”

She edged Bailey towards their street, feeling all at once alone and abandoned. Conan nudged her shoulder.

“I literally have my phone out, put your number in.” He ordered.

She took his phone from his hand and tapped in her details, not just her mobile but her email address onto her contact. He took his phone back and dialled her. “That’s me,” he said.

They arrived at number 14 and Conan hesitated outside of her door.

“What number are you?” she asked.

“Sixty-six.”

That made her laugh for no good reason. Bending down, he gave Bailey a ruffle and Naomi did the same with the cute Daisy. She lifted her head and found a gentle kiss being placed on her lips.

“Happy Christmas Naomi. I’m just down the road if you want to go for another walk.”

“Okay,” she whispered. He stretched to his full height and waited until she and Bailey were inside. She touched her fingertips to the door as her sister rushed into the corridor.

“You’ve been gone ages! Are you alright?”

She unclipped Bailey’s lead, smiling. “I’m good. I’m really good. Shall we have some pudding?”

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!