Christmas to Come: a heartbreaking coming of age saga set in London's East End by Carol Rivers (first e reader txt) 📕

Micky felt disappointed. She spoke with a whining nasal accent and very fast. Leyla Spinks came from Liverpool, a northern brass and a stunner to look at. She was also his link to the drug scene in the north. All he need do now, was leave with his twenty-five quid. He could ask for six times as much for the heel-balls from the bohemian set who favoured the clubs and bars of Soho. They were loaded and would pay the full price for any substance they could smoke, swallow or stuff up their refined noses like the Indian hemp he had been buying from the Russian. But he had heard that up north there was a lucrative market for opium and he would offer the goods for a song at first, create a demand and then drive up his price.

The girl turned away from him, her long black hair twisting around her face. Micky slid quietly out of bed, put on his trousers and checked the room to see if he had left any incriminating evidence. It was a shabby Aldgate dump, but it did the job. His friend, Norman Waters, had bunged him a key and in return, Micky passed him a selection of stock, fast cars and the little black beads that were making such an impact on the London scene.

Taking Leyla's bag, he shook out the contents and found her purse. He opened it and took out an impressive wedge of notes. The bitch was loaded! Tipping twenty pellets from his matchbox into the purse he counted out twenty-five notes and a further ten for his trouble. The sum was over and above their agreement but she had come well prepared. He tucked the money inside his jacket pocket hanging from the chair. Lacing his shoes and inspecting his image in the dressing table mirror he nodded.

'The day's no t even started yet, Micky old son,' he congratulated himself. 'And a nice bit of skirt into the bargain.' He knew Leyla wouldn't be best pleased at his price, but he also knew she would be back for more.

Unlike him, she now had a habit. He could stop any time if he so wished. But why should he? Sweet dreams as they were called, were a major perk of the opium. They were what he enjoyed, and most of all they relieved him from the mundane. Which, at the moment, was driving him nuts.

After all, marriage and a family hadn't been his actual choice, had it? In fact, he still didn't know if had sired young Michael. The boy had blue eyes, true, but otherwise, he was Bella's double. It was all kids at home; the neighbours' kids, friends' kids, you name it. Bella loved kids. Revelled in them. She even smelt of kids. He was surprised they'd not had any more, but he wasn't complaining, even though Bella was worried they weren't going to produce again. She had even been to see the old doc, but all he'd said was to relax and things would sort themselves out in time.

Micky knew he should pay more attention to his wife but to be honest, it was a bit of a chore, no excitement left in the bedroom. Forbidden fruit was his cup of tea. Like Leyla, who wore musky smelling scent splashed over every inch of her smooth ebony skin and would always comply with what he wanted her to do.

Still, he wasn't about to complain. Bella kept him sweet with Ronnie and that was important. After the Stratton fiasco, Micky had learned a big lesson. After Tony had died in hospital, there had been a big shake up in the East End. Ronnie had been right about that. Some hard men had emerged and Micky knew he couldn't go it alone, at least not yet. And when Ronnie had offered to finance buying a garage at Aldgate and stocking it with top quality cars, he'd jumped at the chance.

Micky laughed out loud; he had convinced Ronnie that he actually enjoyed being legit. But the cars were just toys for him to play with. A front for his other, more enjoyable interests, like those he had partaken of this morning.

The smile slowly slipped from his face. He had to be careful as he didn't want Ronnie breathing down his neck again. This arrangement was perfect. Until he was ready to change it, he would keep his family happy.

Whistling softly, he lifted his jacket from the back of the chair, drew it on and went softly from the room.

He stood outside in the hot August air, breathing in the filthy fumes from the traffic and the hot, overworked tarmac. It was said that where there was muck there was money and he believed it implicitly. The hemp that he had been flogging to the arty set in Soho was about as mucky as you could get. And its users were no better than the old chinks of Limehouse, now a vanishing breed. This generation with their lefty views just pretended to be poor, they had no conception of real poverty. And this annoyed him the most. He took real pleasure in selling them the dope at astronomical prices. It was society's comeuppance.

And now he had Leyla. She was beautiful and a pro. She knew what a man wanted and gave it to him. And bless her corrupt little heart, in return he would continue to provide her with as many 'sweet dreams' as she wanted.

Winking at a pretty girl as she walked by, Micky smiled. There was no rush to get back to work. Terry would have leathered the motors and swept the site. At least the kid was good for shining up the stock, keeping it smart. And his new salesman, Milo, would take care of any punters. He was a good sort, was young Milo. Put on the airs and graces a bit, but the chicks loved it.

So, having nothing better to do than enjoy