Christmas to Come: a heartbreaking coming of age saga set in London's East End by Carol Rivers (best motivational novels txt) 📗

Good question. Where exactly was he going to drown his sorrows? With Mary working the Rose, he'd lost his watering hole.

'I'm on me way to Limehouse.' He didn't care for the walk, but it was the safest option. No one knew him round there.

Her thin eyebrows raised. 'Despite the fact me feet are killing me, I know a cosy spot up the Commercial Road. Nice friendly landlord an' all.'

'Yeah, I'll bet you do.'

She lowered the neckline of her blouse with dirty fingers. 'What's it worth then, love? A drink or two surely? Come on, let's give ourselves a real laugh, shall we?'

Jack soon forgot about his worries as they walked on. He could feel the angle of her hip touching him as he inhaled her scent. A stink that would normally have him gagging. But now it was a promise, a reminder of the man he was, and the desires he'd had to curb for too long. By seven o'clock they were installed on the back benches of the Fur and Feathers listening to the thud of the bombs in the distance. By eight they'd moved down the road to the George where the publican was game enough to still serve ale and curse the Luftwaffe at the same time. By ten, in the middle of a lull, they were staggering into the dim and musty light of some godforsaken alley, his pocket empty.

Blearily he looked for a spot, somewhere dark and sheltered. Seeing a recess in the wall where rubbish spread across their path, he told himself he wouldn't get much better.

'Come on, get your drawers down,' he growled as he pushed her against the stone.

'Not here, it's too bloody dangerous.' She knew what was expected of her, but had the gall to push him away. He wasn't going to cough up a penny owing to the amount of booze she had thrown down her gob in the last two hours.

He squinted at the face before him, grotesque in the blackout, all caked make-up and smudged lipstick. Her cheap perfume now filled him with disgust. She saw his expression and laughed in his face.

He gripped her jaw hard. 'Spread your legs woman, or I'll do it for you.'

'Not out here,' she refused stubbornly. 'Them bombers'll be back soon.'

He loosened his buttons. 'Sod the bombers, you cow. Now hold still and damn the bloody raid.' He pulled up her skirt and forced himself between her legs. He entered her roughly and she stilled at once, as he knew she would, eager for him to finish his short, sharp thrusts. He placed his hands on the wet wall and groaned aloud at the disappointment of it all.

'Pay up, you bugger,' she demanded as she rearranged her clothes.

'Pay you?' A soft mist curled over the cobbles as he pushed her away. 'You've drunk me bloody dry, you witch.' He kicked her hard and she fell on the cobbles.

She was still cursing as he staggered away. He felt no sympathy for a woman daft enough to work the docks alone. Consoling himself for the unsatisfying encounter, he pulled up the collar of his jacket and strode into the high street.

A long walk back to Bow Street … but he intended to give Mary Doyle another chance. She'd been a nice little earner and he liked his life of leisure. He had managed to avoid enlistment with a little dodging and weaving, but the drawback was her kids, although the girl was growing up fast and would make him a few bob on the docks. Jack grinned lustily as he turned into Bow Street.

He'd have Mary on her knees and begging him to stay. Nine days away from her nagging had shown he didn't care. The whore would welcome him with open arms.

Mary Doyle sat in front of a cracked mirror dressed in a black silk blouse and tight green skirt. Her hair fell loosely on her white skin and the look in her eye told him she was far from pleased at his arrival. Jack also noted she was not on her knees, at least, not to him.

'What's going on?' he demanded as he slammed the door behind him. He looked suspiciously around expecting to find a punter. So she'd been doing trade behind his back had she, the bitch?

'Would you listen to him?' Her smoke-roughened voice was deriding as she glared at him. 'The galloping great eejit returns!'

He strode towards her and grabbed her arm. 'Where is he? Where's the devil hiding?'

She looked at him and laughed. 'The only devil in this room is right before me eyes.'

'Cough up, you lying bitch!'

She shrugged carelessly. 'I wouldn't waste me breath on you, Jack Router. Just look at the state of you.' She shook her arm free, her voice scathing. 'As far as I'm concerned your bitches can have you. Rita warned me you was a conniving, scheming bastard and so by Jesus, you are too.'

It was a reflex action. An instinctive blow that lifted her off her feet and across the bed. A blow that would have felled any man and Jack was more than surprised to find her still moving. He hit her again and again and kept on punching as she covered her face with her arms. When his hand was sore with the effort, he tore away her blouse. 'Mary Doyle, you think yourself so fine. Well, from now on changes are going to be made.' He felt a swell of desire at the sight of her huge breasts. 'Boot me out, would you? We'll see about that.' He squeezed her neck and her eyes bulged from their sockets.

'You hear me, Mary, you hear what I'm saying? You'll never toss off a punter again without paying me a cut.'

He was laughing at this thought when suddenly his head jerked back. It was an odd sensation, one he had never experienced before. He