Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep.

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 site 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.