Heres a short Christmasy extract from my novel Playing on Cotton Clouds :) Seven nights on, there was no sign of a baby yet and, with his limbs getting crumpled every night, Seth was starting to grow irritable. His state of mind was already edgy, with the festive season approaching. Brief trips to his house to recover more razor-blades and other items he had left behind, counting on a short staying, revealed that, despite his reserved insular nature, his name had somehow been added to a surprising number of Christmas lists and with each visit he was frustrated to find more cards piled on his doormat, all waiting for a response. It was enough to drive him off the wall. He hated the crowds, the same Christmas songs played over and over in every shop, the decorations on display since mid-October, the queues, the overworked staff’s dismissive attitude. He loathed the spending, wrapping, writing, sending, and missed the practical, skilful decision maker that was Nicole. Having to endure all that with a nine month pregnant woman at the end of her tolerance, who had decided to use him as an emotional punch-bag to release stress and frustration, was way beyond bearable, testing his loyalty and friendship to the limit. At times he had been on the brink of a liberating, “Sod it all! I don’t have to take this”, but in the end something had always held him back. “Remember what you told me that day?” Livy had managed a rare smile that afternoon, as they walked out of an exhausting, but successful expedition to John Lewis, a few bags satisfyingly dangling in their hands, Do They Know It’s Christmas echoing in the background for the nth time. “What day?” “Feed the world?” “Ah, Live Aid.” “Yeah. Thirteenth of July, nineteen-eighty-five. You told me we would always remember where we were and what we were doing that day and you were right. I recall having that very conversation with you in the Douglas-Smith’s garden every time I hear this sodding song!” Seth responded to her smile. “Seventeen years ago.” “Coming up to eighteen.” “Can you believe it?” Eighteen years, too long a time to turn his back now, despite the aggravations and the uncomfortable bed. He adjusted his body and tried to get to sleep. His mind had been racing, as it often did at night, when hundreds of thoughts, ideas, memories, worries assaulted him all at once, making him restless and anxious. He closed his eyes to picture Livy’s smile, the brief moment of calm, the same peaceful, warm feeling he had experienced while they stood together in the middle of their adolescence. mic3054.wix/michelaobrien#!books/cnec
Posted on: Fri, 19 Dec 2014 14:45:56 +0000
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