Somebody to Love
Sheryl Browne
Smashwords Edition
First published in 2012 by Safkhet Soul, London, United Kingdom
Safkhet Soul is an imprint of Safkhet Publishing
www.safkhetpublishing.com
Text Copyright 2012 by Sheryl Browne
Design Copyright 2012 Safkhet Publishing
Sheryl Browne asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
ISBN 978-1-908208-96-5
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying or recording, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Find out more about Sheryl on www.sherylbrowne.com and meet her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sheryl-Browne-Author-Page/245372252189480
Typeset in Crimson and Worstveld Sling Extra with Adobe InDesign
If you find any errors or have comments and suggestions, we’d love to hear from you under [email protected]
Production Crew
Sheryl Browne author
Sally Neuhaus cover designer
Nora Neurohr cover model
Walter Richardson proofreader
Kim Maya Sutton managing editor
William Banks Sutton copy editor
The colophon of Safkhet is a representation of the ancient Egyptian goddess of wisdom and knowledge, who is credited with inventing writing.
Safkhet Publishing is named after her because the founders met in Egypt.
A Note from Sheryl
As a writer, I admit there are days when I so wished I had a bijou little studio-flat (room only for me) overlooking the sea. But would I want to be on my own, really? Minus dogs, rabbits, fish, son, partner, window cleaner (no, he’s not part of the family, but a real nuisance, appearing at the window when I’m having an intimate moment with my hero). Would I want a magic wand to make them all disappear? Well, the window cleaner possibly, but my family? As tempting blissful solitude might seem, I think not. If I didn’t have my family around me, I don’t think I could write. For me, writing is about more than creativity and research, it’s about life; experiencing life and its sometimes tumultuous events, and bringing that into play in my storytelling.
At least until the housework is beyond ignoring, then, and the human contingent has mysteriously disappeared, I’d like to thank my family for giving me a wide berth when I do need a little ‘me’ time. I would like also to thank the person who was the inspiration behind Somebody to Love: A lost little boy, who threw his shoes over my fence in order to make the acquaintance of a three-legged dog called Sadie. Thank you, Kyle.
I would also like to thank the gorgeous cover model, Nora Neurohr, and her equally gorgeous rabbit, Findus, who gamely agreed to pose, and remained professional despite the many retakes and kisses.
Lastly, thank you Kim and Will Sutton of Safkhet Publishing for loving this book as much as I loved writing it ~ and for believing in me.
A dog for an autistic child and somebody to love for the father; that’s heartwarming romcom at its best! -- Sue Quinlan
For Sadie, Max and Buffy and all our loyal friends.
A Lost Little Boy…
The bell tinkled overhead. The soft murmur of voices slowed and, somehow, Mark could sense his son’s nearness. He glanced at the shopkeeper. ‘There wouldn’t be a young boy?’
‘We wondered whose he was.’ She nodded, indicating a room beyond the shop-fronting area they were in. An Aladdin’s cave, stuffed full of toys and magical to a child’s eyes. ‘We were just about to call the police.’
‘Mine. My son,’ said Mark, his throat tight as he watched Karl wander through from the back room, his clear blue eyes wide with wonder, before they alighted on Mark. Then, they grew disconcerted, as if Karl knew he was in trouble, and Mark couldn’t bear that. He knew he should talk to him. Try to instil in him through firm repetition, that he should not do this sort of stuff. Instead, he walked over to Karl and bent down to hug him so tight, he could feel his son’s heartbeat next to his own.
‘Hiya, mate. Did you get your model car?’ he asked throatily, knowing Karl wouldn’t, couldn’t hug him back. Trying hard not to mind, Mark stood to ruffle Karl’s hair. His fringe was tickling his eyelashes again, he noticed.
Time for a trim, he guessed, recalling how, with his long dark eyelashes, Karl had often been mistaken for a girl as a baby. How his wife had joked he’d grow up to be a heartbreaker. Mark’s heart seemed to have broken, that was for sure.
Karl shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, in that gruff, grainy voice that drew people’s stares. Mark didn’t care. At least Karl was speaking. He was two when he’d stopped, and Mark’s life changed forever.
Chapter One
‘She’s fine now. Good as new.’ Trying not to mind the icy plop of rain trickling down the back of her parka, Donna O’Connor reassured a concerned pensioner that her wobbly, three-legged dog wasn’t about to keel over.
‘She’s a miracle.’ The little old lady blinked watery eyes, opaque with old age. ‘And so pleased with herself. Her little tail’s wagging, see?’
‘Yes, she is.’ Donna beamed, quite proud of her courageous dog, too, who’d adapted amazingly well after major surgery.
‘Here,’ the old lady said, ferreting in her Tesco bag, from which she produced a sock, from which she produced a pound coin. ‘I normally have lots of balls,’ she went on, confusingly, since she didn’t seem to have a dog, ‘but take this, instead. Buy her a new one.’
‘No, I couldn’t possibly.’ Touched, Donna declined the old lady’s generosity, whilst quietly hoping she didn’t look like a charity case in her moth-eaten dog-walking gear.
‘I insist.’ Resolute, the old lady reached for Donna’s hand. ‘You’re a good girl,’ she said, pressing the pound coin into it. ‘The world would be a better place for more people like you.’ So saying, she turned to totter off.
In slippers in the rain, Donna noted, her hitherto flat mood buoyed up a bit. ‘Come on, hon. Let’s go and buy you a new ball.’ She gestured Sadie on. It was the little things, she decided, glad her special dog brought some joy to the old lady’s probably otherwise lonely existence. Smiling, she turned towards the car park, and her buoyancy deflated like a pricked balloon.
Oh, wonderful. Donna groaned inwardly and debated whether to dive behind the nearest bush or about-face pronto. With her actual face devoid of make-up and wearing her bang-on-trend — not — unflattering leggings, he was absolutely the last person in the world she wanted to bump into.
Still, at least her face had features to enhance, Donna supposed, steeling herself as her ex-husband strolled towards her, arm-in-arm with his latest featureless girlfriend, aka the Twiglet, who was leading an equally anorexic Pekinese by the lead.
Deep breath in, Donna told herself, counting slowly to seven. And out. Exhaling to a count of nine, she tried to ward off a threatening panic attack. The sight of Jeremy wasn’t enough to induce one, normally. It was his glib attitude on the phone this morning, glossing over her concerns for their son as her ‘usual neurosis,’ again that had her almost hyperventilating on si
te of him.
‘Well, well, Donna. Fancy meeting you here,’ Jeremy exclaimed, looking surprised.
The surprise was all Donna’s, Jeremy having phoned barely an hour since, citing some emergency or another as reason for letting their son down again. Matthew was used to his father’s excuses, of course. He didn’t bat an eyelid anymore. He had better things to do with his time, chatting with his current cyber-crush or lusting after Buffy the Vampire with pet-friend and best-friend, Findus the rabbit perched on his chest, being infinitely more interesting than discourse with Jeremy, who seemed only to work at breaking the father–son bond. Donna, though, was fuming — and feeling inclined to verbalise her feelings. But knowing Matthew might be caught up in the middle of more animosity, she gritted her teeth and bit hard on her tongue.
And the emergency that had taken priority over taking his son shopping for the new ice-cool trainers he’d promised him for his birthday? The Pekinese wasn’t well and needed to go the vet, Jeremy had said, leaving Donna thinking the poor dog must be close to death. Yet, here they were, the happy trio. Jeremy smiling away — apparently not a care in the world, the Peke looking not at all peaky, and the Twiglet looking… well, blank, her botoxed face having all the expression of a boiled egg… and wearing hair. Lots of hair. Glossy, truffle coloured, extremely long hair. Hmm? New extensions, Donna wondered. She squinted a bit. Yes, definitely extensions arranged artistically around breasts that would still be up and out there when the rest of her had given in to gravity.
Implants. Donna would bet her life on it. At least Donna’s were all her own. She promptly breathed in, trying to look thin, whilst thrusting her own less abundant frontage up and out there.
The Twiglet was dressed in designer, presumably. Not that Donna had a clue about labels, beyond which High Street stores labelled generously. She looked the woman’s attire surreptitiously over: a horse print tee — Stella MC possibly, black tailored jacket over, and figure-enhancing jeans under, she looked every inch what she claimed to be: An ex-model, with her own stables and rich daddy, who would make sure she and her horses were well-shod for life.
Realising she was on a mission impossible, Donna breathed out, before she expired. She couldn’t hope to measure up. Nor would she aspire to, had Jeremy not constantly measured her up, even to past women in his life, all of whom seemed to have been younger, thinner, bubblier and cleverer than she.
That wasn’t the Twiglet’s fault though. Reluctantly, Donna retracted her claws. The woman couldn’t help it if, like the others before her, she’d been taken in by Jeremy’s broody good looks and smooth repartee. She’d learn in time that the ‘broody’ was more moody and the repartee was designed to impress.
So, what was he doing here? Jeremy didn’t do dog-walking, any more than he did monogamy.
‘Just back from the vet’s,’ Jeremy enlightened her. ‘Thought we’d give the poor little chap a quick walk before taking him home, didn’t we, Leticia?’
Leticia batted tarantula lashes and manoeuvred her mouth into a smile.
‘I see.’ Donna waited for Jeremy to mention the other not-so-little chap in his life, his son. Jeremy didn’t.
Fine. Donna wasn’t about to remind him he’d got one. ‘He doesn’t look too poorly, though, does he?’ She glanced down at the Pekinese, who looked perfectly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
‘Gippy tummy.’ Jeremy patted his own, and petted the Peke, which was up on its little hind legs begging attention. He didn’t pet Sadie, even though she was wagging her tail, having known him all her life.
‘Right. Well…’ Donna swallowed a little lump in her throat. ‘I’d better get off,’ she said breezily, clapping her gloved hands in front of her. ‘Things to do, errands to run.’
‘Boyfriend not in tow, then?’ Jeremy enquired interestedly, glancing past Donna, who braced herself for one of his unfunny little witticisms.
He knew very well she hadn’t got an actual boyfriend. He was referring to her work colleague, Simon, presumably, whom Jeremy had spotted her out walking with in Worcester last Saturday. ‘No.’ She smiled tightly. ‘Simon’s not with me today. It’s a work day, Jeremy. I’m on a day off.’ Of which Donna had few, and Jeremy, who ran his own accountancy business, seemed to have many.
‘I meant heterosexual men, Donna.’ He dripped sarcasm, smiling that smarmy smile Donna had actually once thought attractive.
Damn. She should have known better than to rise to the bait. She’d been trying to deflect the open insinuation that no man would be in tow, because no man could possibly be interested. Simon, a dear friend as well as a work colleague, didn’t qualify as a man in Jeremy’s xenophobic opinion, though Simon was twice the man Jeremy could ever be.
‘If you’re asking whether I’m dating, Jeremy, then the answer is yes.’ Tired of his condescension, Donna lied through her teeth. ‘For your information, since you’re obviously so interested in my personal life, he’s good looking, tends not to like being towed or pushed around — anymore than he would dream of towing or pushing women around.’ She paused in hopes of making the point. ‘He’s definitely a sex-addict like you, Jeremy, but unlike you he’s well-endowed and rather good at it. He’s also a gentleman.’
Noting the flash of humiliation in Jeremy’s eyes, Donna turned with satisfaction to the Twiglet. ‘Attentive in bed,’ she explained, with a smug little smile.
‘Yes, well, let’s hope his attentiveness reaps some reward, hey?’ Jeremy remarked, with soul-crushing sarcasm. ‘Nice to see you, Donna,’ he went on, before Donna could retaliate. ‘Better get off though. Clients to see and whatnot, you know? Do give my best to your mother.’
Oh, dear. He’d got a plum stuck in his mouth. Upset though she was, Donna almost laughed at Jeremy’s regal tones, quite obviously adopted to impress the Twiglet.
Donna oozed plumminess back. ‘Oh, I do know, Jeremy. I’m doing overtime now, as well as fulltime. But then, one does love one’s little luxuries, you know? Like food. How about you? Do you work, um?’ Donna turned to the Twiglet, deliberately forgetting her name.
‘Leticia.’ The Twiglet supplied. ‘I’m in equitation, actually.’
Donna blinked. ‘Pardon?’
‘I ride.’
‘Ah.’ Donna nodded, enlightened. ‘I do, too, actually,’ she said chummily. ‘I have a little fold up I carry in the car. It has a puncture at the moment, but I’m a dab-hand with a bicycle pump.’ Honestly, did the woman have to have an exotic job to match her eyebrows? Couldn’t she have worked in an estate agent’s?
‘Horses, Donna. She rides horses,’ Jeremy informed her, with an elongated sigh.
‘Really? How very brave of you. ‘Aren’t you afraid you might fall off and burst something?’ Donna studied Leticia curiously.
Jeremy rolled his eyes, apparently not impressed. ‘Come on, darling.’ He sighed and took hold of one of the Twiglet’s offshoots. ‘Don’t you have a horse to put through its paces for the British Open? I’m sure Donna’s far too busy to stand here chatting.’
The darling had come out dah-ling. God, he really did think he was Prince Charming.
‘Yes I do, as it happens,’ Donna informed him flatly. ‘I have to pop to the garage to oil a mechanic by way of payment for my clapped-out car. Lovely to meet you, Patricia. By the way, do be careful if you’re joining her in the riding lark, dah-ling.’ She turned back to Jeremy, her brow knitted in concern. ‘I’ve heard it can do terrible things to a man’s virility.’
‘Very witty.’ Jeremy shot her a derisory glance.
Donna thought so, for her anyway. But then, she had learned from the best. ‘Would you like a wet wipe?’ she asked him.
‘What?’ Jeremy looked at her now as if she were mentally challenged.
‘A wet wipe,’ Donna repeated, nodding down at his shoes as she ferreted through doggy supplies in her pockets.
She handed Jeremy a good handful of wipes, which he’d certainly need. ‘Well, bye, bye. Must trot off. Do have a nice day.’
With which Donna turned away, leaving Jeremy gingerly lifting one tarnished patent leather loafer.
‘God, Leticia?! Can’t you put a nappy on it or something?’ Jeremy’s miffed, and rather less regal, tones drifted after her.
‘Titan is a he, not an it,’ Leticia informed him shortly.
Titan? Donna’s mouth curved into a delighted smile. Well, well. The woman obviously had a sense of humour. If it wasn’t for Jeremy, Donna had a feeling she could even like her.
‘What on earth do you expect anyway, wearing your business shoes to walk through the park,’ Leticia went on, obviously peeved. ‘I didn’t ask you to come to the vet’s, Jeremy.’
Donna snuck a peek over her shoulder, at Leticia plucking up her midget-sized Titan and strutting off, which wasn’t terribly helpful to Jeremy, who’d been holding her shoulder for support while he cleaned off his shoe. Yes, under different circumstances, Donna and Leticia might definitely have bonded.
As for Jeremy, served him right. Hoity-toitying it all over the place. If there were any justice in the world, Leticia’s horse would dump on Jeremy’s other shoe.
‘Come on, Sade.’ Donna walked on, glad that Jeremy at least didn’t get to saunter off with the upper hand, as he usually did. ‘Let’s go and fantasise about our attentive, well-endowed lover on the way to the boring old library. Not that Donna was sure she’d know what to do with an attentive, well-endowed lover if she fell on one.
****
‘Sh… ugar!’ Donna balked at the patrol car parked behind her suspect PT Cruiser, as she came out of the library an hour later. Oh, no, not again. She noted the police officer emerging from the post-office her car was smack-bang in front of, and her heart sank. She couldn’t afford any more points on her driving licence. She’d already achieved the impossible, notching up six points in two weeks. Panicky, she broke into a run, cleared the six or so yards between them in five seconds flat, and skidded to a halt just short of bowling him over.
Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep. Page 1
