Li'l Girl Saved

By Jonathon Lee

The final story of Layla and her childhood battles for survival in war torn Syria. Layla now finds herself in London. A coffee shop siege, a childhood friend and a final chapter that will haunt her for the rest of her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathon Lee
• Release date: Mar 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386779506

Jonathon Lee

 I love engaging with the projects I work on, diving headfirst into the research, investigation, and production of stories I feel are worth writing about. I am a curious and proactive Author, interested in preserving the foundations set by classical literature by adapting them to modern themes and trends.

Book preview

Authors note

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This book is a work of fiction. The characters, conversations and events in this novel are the product of my imagination, and in no way a resemblance to any actual conduct of real life persons, or to actual events.

Any persons or organisations mentioned are mentioned briefly in novel, but their actions, descriptions and words are wholly fictitious and are not intended to be understood as descriptions of real events, or to reflect in any way upon the actual character or conduct of these people or their organisations.

Other Books in this series.

Book one Li’l girl Lost eBook

Book Two Li’l girl Caught eBook

contents

Coffee Shop Siege

Firefight at Al-Bab

Layla’s ordeal

Farrah’s process

Arik’s return

Grant’s refugees

Hamzah’s revenge

Farrah’s news

Layla’s necklace

Coffee shop siege

Li'l Girl Saved

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1

There's something quite indignant, or at the very least unfair, about an attractive young woman scrunched up and dithering her way down the street in harsh weather, holding a handkerchief against a cold red runny nose. One hand in her pocket, even though she's wearing gloves and the other trying to stem the flow. A clutch bag under her arm with no possible means of escape or accidental drop.

Her long thick, Grey coat, tied at the waist and buttoned to the scarf that bore heavy demands from the owner in their fight against the chill.

To anyone that was born and raised in any sub temperate zone, London was a mild affair.

Layla would disagree at this moment. She displayed her best intentions of easing her way down the street looking as elegant as she could possibly manage.

She was always elegant and dressed impeccably. Even now, her coat matching the colour of the London sky as she drifted towards The Coffee Crew, a warm ambiance in any weather.

At a now, stunning twenty four years old with the trials of her childhood more than far behind her she was content-not happy, just content. There was something lacking in her life. Something that she had left behind, or never had. But she didn't feel it because, she doesn't yet know it.

The door was always the most welcome of finishing lines as she used all of her lean body weight to push against the long chrome handle, with never any fear of breaking the glass.

The warm, above door convector heater was her reward for the marathonic struggle against the elements. And the unspoken sigh of relief, as the door closed shut behind her was all that was required as an acceptance speech.

Flippin 'ell.

She thought, looking around the room to see not one familiar face, let alone the familiar face that she was to meet.

The coffee shop was predominantly forestry , with the tops of coffee tea chests hung around the walls with the many countries flags burned into them to represent the many different countries that coffee was imported from and used on these premises. The continuous brown flow of the flooring against the few wooden seats that were strewn around small round tables. The high windows that afforded you a sense of privacy whilst you worked on your homework assignment and the long plank bench with eight seats that anticipated a small crowd with a major topic to discuss.

But did the coffee really come from all these countries.

Maybe not. Layla neither knew nor cared. They could be getting their coffee from the local Smartmart, for all she was bothered. But, this place was cosy and warm against the elements even without any form of heating. It was probably due to the rich browns of the wooden floor, aligned with the velvety turquoise upholstery on the comfortable seating.

It was packed. She knew it would be. This time of day it always was. There were bus drivers just finished their shift and wanted to unwind their fat sitting on their ass all day bodies, The usual crowd of noisy schoolchildren, with an attitude to match, office workers that could not be expected to perform without their chosen drug-heaven forbid, a tramp, who had had a good morning of public charity that afforded him a warm drink, and a couple that should not be couples due to them being coupled to someone else. They were the hardest to spot. But Layla wasn't looking. She wasn't a divorce Private Investigator, she was a slender twenty seven year old eye catcher that was there to meet Fran.

Fran was a West Indian co worker that was absolutely revered by all the guys in the office that couldn't think any further than their trouser zip.

Outwardly she showed all the charms of what a man’s wet dreams are made of. She was hot. She was so hot and wet. Dripping with sex appeal. But in reality she was the last girl you would want to take home to meet your mother. She knew it but it didn't matter, men never got to the bring you home to mother stage. She was young and vibrant.

She loved life and life did not account for being a trapped bored housewife. Layla moved towards the counter, stopping only to let an elderly gentleman take his turn before her. He looked cold and much more in need of a warm drink than her. So,  there were four people in front of her, now there are five. She took the time to look at the array of cookies and cheesecakes that were on display for all the weak of willed that passed along so regularly thinking it was just a treat. A very regular treat.

All the time spent in the queue there was the tantalising aroma of coffee that encouraged people not to give in on their quest for downtime. An array of magazines bulged from a stand near the milk, sugar and waste bin area.

Short staffed.

WOW no change there.

Thought Layla with an equally quick repulsion of her lack of respect and understanding that these baristas are extremely busy and not just here at her whim. An unsolicited flashback entered Laylas' mind. One of the depravity and regular sibling loss, coupled with starvation that was endured whilst still too young to understand why.

She quickly reconciled with her wait and patience, once again, prevailed. As the warmth crept through to her bones she readily relaxed and shed the layers of protection that were so desperately needed earlier. Unbuttoning her coat and untying her scarf to let the warm air to where she had earlier denied the cold.

The warm cosy ambiance of The Coffee Crew was made easily due to its possession of an old High street Bank building that had felt it needed a more modern, upmarket approach to it's customers and the thought of closing this, one hundred year old building, and setting up offices in a new, glass fronted affair, would display to the public an image of openness and honesty. Plus, the rent was cheaper.

So now we have the ideal atmosphere for a warm retreat without the cold glass, privacy invasion of a modern shopfront.

One more customer to go and the dilemma now was, with so many customers served, will there be enough seats for layla. A problem that was soon answered by a gentle tug on her cot and a head turn that revealed Fran. Bedraggled by the weather and more apologetic than a man that has just run over your cat.

Latte please,

She laughed.

Sorry I'm a bit late, buses.

Almost sounding as if she really cared.

Well I got to wait in the queue for you, whoopee. Go get us a seat.

Replied Layla.

One last look around the crowded room that mirrored the outside weather, except in temperature, and two coffees were on the counter in front of her. Declining the offer to purchase cookies or cheesecake, Layla paid and tilted her way over to where Fran had secured the only available table. Not cleared fro the last customer but available.

Layla placed the cups at the centre and went off to get sugar before removing her cold coat and sitting to listen to Frans work plans for that day.

Though the morning was always full of hope, Fran rarely finished the work she attacked each day. So the first part of any chat was the reasons why she was still behind

Layla listened semi-intently and shared her focus on the blurred, black and white posters around the walls, on the student's clicking at their laptops, the grimy night workers that had come in to wait for their bus, and of course, that smell of coffee.

It beggars belief how any of Fran's marketing company clients ever sold a single item with Fran as PA. She was not the girl to tell a secret to. She's blab. Not intentionally, she'd have to be of clear thought to do that. But her scatter brain, coupled with her laid back attitude, would simply forget that it was a secret.

Layla sipped at her coffee leaning in to Fran to hear her above the murmurings of the packed shop. And, to huddle closer to Fran for warmth. The only table available was in a direct line with the door and a cold breeze reminded her so every time anyone came in or left this former sixties bank building.

Layla fell in love with England especially, and London in particular. It was vibrant and busy. People always seemed to be on their way to somewhere. Never resting and yet always having the time of day for a quick chat, without the unnecessary involvement.

She spent the first few years exploring and adoring the landmarks and sights. She delved into the history. The centuries of history that every square mile of London seems to have.

She visited Buckingham Palace and got photographed by the side of the Guardsman, just like any other visitor and kept the picture by her bedside as soon as Farrah had it printed off.

The Tate Modern, The national History Museum, The Victoria and Albert, all a regular haunt as she grew up and into her new country. She would often take lunch in any of them and resume her poring with a fuller tummy.

Right now Layla had a tummy full of coffee and stopped Fran mid sentence to go visit the ladies room. Fran looked around at all the voices that filled the room and then at her watch to wonder why they weren't on their way to work and why she too should make her way there. The head of a young Arabic looking man passed by the high windows that overlooked the main road and Fran was puzzled as to why he pulled down a balaclava to cover his face before entering the Coffee Crew. Surely, he's done the worst of the cold weather, he can take it off all together now that he's coming indoors.

Shots were fired up into the ceiling immediately after a scream of ALLAH AKBAR. As quickly as the speed of the first bullet that left his rifle the entire room