Category Archives: short story

London Diary 52

Up, early. Too early. Sun glistening through the windows. Need sleep. Any amount of sleep will do. Bed empty, where is she? Shit. She had to leave. Again. Miss her body. But sleepy. Want to think about her, soft hair, glistening body, nice tits. Hey, that’s why she is my girlfriend, I like her tits. So I have a one track mind, so sue me! Can’t a girl have a little fun now and then? But I need sleep. Before the baby wakes me up – again. For once he is peaceful. He is ignoring the sunshine through the window. I should be grateful, of the peace. But why can’t I sleep?

Okay, I am focusing too much on her tits…maybe if I think of counting sheep or something…

I don’t know why I can’t sleep. I guess I miss Mum. Again. I should stop thinking about her, but I can’t. I look at Dad, but he is not my Mum. And he is also missing Mum. We all do, I suppose that’s why him and my sister haven’t talked in a long while. I know my mum would have told him off for being so silly. It’s three years now, but I still remember her smile like it was yesterday. Then they took her into hospital. She still kept on smiling, but her eyes were tired. You could see that. In the end, she wanted to sleep, for it to be over. No amount of smiling could change that.

Sometimes I get angry. Like now, I think why didn’t she try harder. But she was always trying, even when her hair began to fall out. Maybe that’s why she is n longer here. Smiling. And why instead of seeping, I just lie and think of her, looking at me with her wonderful eyes, smiling. While silently, I am crying.


I wish it could come.

But it never does.

Not before an event.

Always the adrenaline.

Even this time, with that soft bastard opposite me.

Maybe it is not adrenaline, but guilt?

Guilty because I am taking the money.

I am going to go for it.

Because sod it, I have had enough.

Honour, hard work, a proud chin. That don’t pay the bills. That won’t look after my wife, my child. That don’t turn on the heat, or put food on the table. Only one thing does that, and when someone puts half your mortgage on the table for tripping over. Well, that’s something good. I can keep the gym open for good, keep the roof over my head for good, and not have to worry about nothing. Even if that someone is nothing but some gun toting bastard, he still pays up. cash is king, and in the end, that is what matter.

But still, sleep does not come easy.

I need the rest. No matter what, even if the fight’s per-determined, I need the strength to go through with it. Just a little sleep. It will keep me going. Maybe then, my pride won’t hurt so much…



Filed under london, short story

London Diary 51


It’s important.

It’s essential.

And it’s moments like this that I never wish would end.

It was a calm night outside. The winter had arrived, bitterly cold, and she knew there would be a cold frost the next morning when she would head off to work. But at least there was no wind, howling and rattling along the fence.

They lay next to each other, close to one another, their body heat migling between the sheets. The baby was quiet in the cot and although they both lay awake in the bed, for one, brief moment, everything was just-


Perfectly still.

There was nothing that was said between them. Maybe, just maybe, too many things had been said in the past. The bitterness and the tears that had washed away much of the trust that they had in each other. So for now the silence was al they had. For once the city was silent. Well, Monday night. That means she also didn’t work that night. Mondays were always too quiet for the clients to come out. Believe it or not, it was always Tuesday or Wednesday. . Thursday and Friday would be at the pub, the weekends with the families, but for some reason, men usually paid for her company on a Tuesday or a Wednesday.

It was probably the only time they could reconcile their own conflicting emotions. On a Tuesday!

So what lay in store for both of these lovers? Lying side by side. Silent, neither of them wanting to puncture the silence that had enveloped them. Neither of them pretending that they were asleep. Both were very much aware of the other one’s conscious state. Both had decided to lie still, and simply lie together. Touching each other. At moments intimate. At moments sensual. And at moments gentle, fingertips.

I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.

Neither of them wanted to go to work that morning. Slowly, as the night passed into morning, they could both see the twilight pouring through the windows. Another day, another dollar, another 24 hours where both of them have to struggle through the city, all in the name of survival. Not living, just pure, barbaric, survival. Food, shelter, warmth, that was all they earned enough for. The clothes they wore was second hand, the food they ate came out from the sell-by-date bargain bucket lines, and the slimy feel of the walls was due to the years of damp building up beneath the wallpaper.

Neither of them wanted to get up and face the morning light, trying its hardest to burst through the dull clouds that always hung limply over concrete blocks surrounding them. Eventually, something would have to stir. But for now, they both lay there, touching, feeling one another. Sleepless and silent as the night turned into day. Fingertip caressing, the only bit of gentle feeling that either of them knew in this harsh, and bitterly cold winter’s morning. The memories of a better life, now horribly distant, left the two of them clinging to each other. As much for warmth and comfort. But also in desperation. Both of them knew, and realised that it was not only love that kept them side by side, but also the very knowledge that no-one else wanted either of them. Wasted, as they were, littered with the mistakes they had made in the futility of their own history…


Filed under london, short story

London Diary 50

The heat coming from the heater warmed my hands. The soft hum of the engine dulled my senses. And the rhythmic rocking of the car through the streets of London almost sent me to sleep.

I looked across at the driving seat at him. Once upon a time I loved this man. Or so I thought I did. But we had a child together, our son. No matter what our differences were, we still had a bond that transcended all our divisions.

He was a god man. Let me rephrase that, he is a good man. Despite what I put him through, he rescued me, tonight. Whether it was serendipity or just a happy coincidence, I do not know. But if it was no for him, life would have got very sticky.

I turn, and look back through the rear window. I know no one is following us, but I still got to make sure. I am in a lot of trouble. I could get him to help me, but, I do not want his help. I cannot do it, I have taken enough from him already. I have taken him from his family, his work, his pride. I do not want to take anymore from him, he has given enough to me.

It is wet outside. Winter. Cold, damp, the rain still fresh on the tarmac. We hit a couple of puddles as he negotiates through the traffic. The nice thing about being driven is the fact that I do not have to sit outside in the cold. My cash in my bag is safe, plus the cash I got off her.

Yeah, I left her. I do not know if she is still alive, but she deserved what she got. Junkie. But what choice did I have. Stick around, call an ambulance and wait to get thrown in a cell. I got too much stuff on me for that. here is no such thing as a happy ending. Anyway, she made a choice, I just supplied the goods. She was already past it long before she met me. I was just a cheaper supplier, that is that.

In the end , it is just business. No thoughts, no personality. Just the cash in my bag. And her pills. That was a lucky find, but maybe I can make a couple of extra pennies by flogging it. Or maybe they will dull the pain in my head.

I need to sleep. But I cannot. My mind is always racing. Everytime I close my eyes, it feels as if a movie is playing on my eyelids. Maybe I should stop taking this stuff, but it keeps me going. Alive, and I can pay off this debt. He probably suspects what I am doing, t is why he picked me up. Not serendipity, not fate. These things do not happen in London. He just knows me, what I am capable off. We were once intimate, we were once in love. But that love is long gone from me. I have someone else. More important in my life. And he has to get over that. No matter what his kindness is like.

I know that he will try to sweet-talk to me. And I will have to placate him. Rub his neck a little, maybe kiss his cheek as a thank you. But that is as far as it goes. To leave him hanging. After all, I may need his help again sometime.

The night continues along. People spilling out of the clubs. Waiting for a Night Bus, trying to get a cab. I suppose I am lucky, warm, dry, getting ferried to somewhere for free. In need to sleep, and the heat makes me drowsy. But even though I can trust him, I still do not want to let my guard down. I keep my eyes open and watch the city flow by from the passenger seat. Slowly into the night…


Filed under london, short story, writing