Not sure if this is a short lived thing but here we go. I figured maybe an unedited extract from whatever I'm working on at the time.
Meet Liam Page. He's an english teacher in a secondary school and the hero of the book with no name cos the only one I have is about 10 sentences long. Even the heroine, Jacqui, thinks he looks like Gerard Butler. Hmmm, I wonder why.
A little about Liam. He is second eldest of five. There's Patrick, him, Niamh, Cayley and Orla. They hale from Belfast - the Protestant side. Liam as he puts it 'fell out with God and isn't on speaking terms with him.' He holds God responsible for the murder of his wife and has vowed to hunt down and kill the men who carried out the slaughter on the mission field.
Anyway.... it's the anniversary of the death of Jacqui's parents in a train crash. She's just come from the memorial service.
Going around the car, he opened the door. “They say that sunsets are magical.”
Jacqui got out, rubbing her eyes. “Do they?” Her voice still carried the echo of her tears.
“Don’t believe it myself, anymore than I believe in the luck o’the Irish, but that’s what they say. Anyway, I have this bench right over here.” Liam walked with her towards it. “I had it put here after Sally died. Its part of their ‘adopt a bench’ scheme. Anyway I just come and sit here sometimes.”
Jacqui stood and read the plaque, her eyes glistening. “That’s lovely. Did you write that?”
Liam nodded. “Yeah, it’s the only poem I’ve ever written or likely to write. She loved it here.” He sat down and patted the space beside him. “Sit.” He smiled as she sat and lapsed into silence. He gazed out over the water. Aware she was crying, Liam pulled out a hanky and offered it to her.
“Thanks.” She buried her face in it.
He smiled. “It amazes me how women are always grateful for these, but never bother to ask if it’s a clean one.” He winked as she stiffened and pulled it away from her eyes looking at it. “It is. My mother always told me to wear clean underwear and carry a clean hanky every time I go out.”
Jacqui nodded, tears falling and shoulders shaking. Liam looked at her and held out an arm. “Come here.” As she moved into his embrace, he held her tightly, amazed at the force of emotion flooding her. What must it feel like to be able to let go like this? He’d mourned his wife, but never allowed himself to cry. Big boys don’t cry. His mother always told him that when he scraped his knee or blacked his eye in a fight. He was proud of the fact he hadn’t cried since he was seven.
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and on another note, no more recipes have arrived. no one took me up on the offer of interviews or guest blogs. Guess I am just not interesting enough.
Meet Liam Page. He's an english teacher in a secondary school and the hero of the book with no name cos the only one I have is about 10 sentences long. Even the heroine, Jacqui, thinks he looks like Gerard Butler. Hmmm, I wonder why.
A little about Liam. He is second eldest of five. There's Patrick, him, Niamh, Cayley and Orla. They hale from Belfast - the Protestant side. Liam as he puts it 'fell out with God and isn't on speaking terms with him.' He holds God responsible for the murder of his wife and has vowed to hunt down and kill the men who carried out the slaughter on the mission field.
Anyway.... it's the anniversary of the death of Jacqui's parents in a train crash. She's just come from the memorial service.
Going around the car, he opened the door. “They say that sunsets are magical.”
Jacqui got out, rubbing her eyes. “Do they?” Her voice still carried the echo of her tears.
“Don’t believe it myself, anymore than I believe in the luck o’the Irish, but that’s what they say. Anyway, I have this bench right over here.” Liam walked with her towards it. “I had it put here after Sally died. Its part of their ‘adopt a bench’ scheme. Anyway I just come and sit here sometimes.”
Jacqui stood and read the plaque, her eyes glistening. “That’s lovely. Did you write that?”
Liam nodded. “Yeah, it’s the only poem I’ve ever written or likely to write. She loved it here.” He sat down and patted the space beside him. “Sit.” He smiled as she sat and lapsed into silence. He gazed out over the water. Aware she was crying, Liam pulled out a hanky and offered it to her.
“Thanks.” She buried her face in it.
He smiled. “It amazes me how women are always grateful for these, but never bother to ask if it’s a clean one.” He winked as she stiffened and pulled it away from her eyes looking at it. “It is. My mother always told me to wear clean underwear and carry a clean hanky every time I go out.”
Jacqui nodded, tears falling and shoulders shaking. Liam looked at her and held out an arm. “Come here.” As she moved into his embrace, he held her tightly, amazed at the force of emotion flooding her. What must it feel like to be able to let go like this? He’d mourned his wife, but never allowed himself to cry. Big boys don’t cry. His mother always told him that when he scraped his knee or blacked his eye in a fight. He was proud of the fact he hadn’t cried since he was seven.
-------------
and on another note, no more recipes have arrived. no one took me up on the offer of interviews or guest blogs. Guess I am just not interesting enough.
Comments
Heehee.