Missing England – a Theory Unproven extra

Missing England – a Theory Unproven extra 


Eric carefully slit the brown tape on the parcel that Tyaan had delivered earlier. He pulled back the flaps slowly, savouring the reveal of whatever items his gran had sent him over from England this month. While he never asked for anything outright, she had the knack of gleaning from his letters what he was missing the most and sending that over in her monthly parcel. Of course, she was the thing he missed the most but it was unlikely that she would ever jump out of the box herself—figuratively rather than literally, at 5 foot nothing his gran was small but not that small—since she was petrified of flying. 

His fingers closed around a familiar shaped jar and he tugged it from the box. Marmite. Amazing. He’d been craving the savoury, salty spread for weeks now. He couldn’t say why. That and Star Bars. Maybe with a couple of months in the bushveld under his belt he was missing home, just a little bit. Fish and Chips. Ant and Dec on the telly. Slipping his boots on without having to check for venomous creatures first. Porn at the click of a mouse. Mrs Harris’ scones. His gran’s neighbour made the best scones. 

The rain. Eric couldn’t believe he was saying this but he missed the sudden downpour that could blight even the sunniest summer’s day back in London. The days when rain fell in sheets, dripping off your hair and down your collar. When hay and muck was heavy with the added weight of the water, and dampness mingled with the smell of elephant and rhino, monkeys and zebra, goats and pot bellied pigs as he made his way around the zoo. 

No one would ever believe he missed the rain. 

They would have rain later in the year, Tyaan had reassured him, when Eric had mentioned the dust and his concerns about the watering hole drying up. 

Summer—and didn’t Eric struggle to get his head around the fact that Tyaan was talking October through to March rather than a couple of weeks in late July, early August—would bring even hotter temperatures than Eric had experienced so far, coupled with an increase in humidity. And thunderstorms. By December the bushveld would be more green than brown and flowers would spring up under foot like a carpet. And apparently, if he thought the bushveld was noisy now it was nothing compared to the sounds of nature at its most vibrant, with newborn impala and wildebeest and the influx of migrating birds. Rain almost every afternoon, torrential storms with fantastic lightning displays—fantastic, if you weren’t out trying to fix a fence in it or fly a plane—and flash floods as rivers burst their banks. 

Maybe he should look into stockpiling sand bags and check the maps of the preserve for dried up river banks. Maybe Tyaan could help him; after all a local’s knowledge wouldn’t hurt. Maybe by January he would be cursing the rain once again. 

Eric placed the Marmite on the table in front of him and reached back into the box. A couple of packets of Golden Wonder Cheese and Onion crisps, the DVD of Mama Mia, and a piece of paper. His gran always wrote a letter but that was in an envelope waiting to be opened at Eric’s leisure. Perhaps she'd thought of something after she’d sealed the envelope. Eric glanced at the note and grinned as he read the first line. 

Mrs Harris’ scone recipe. 

Now, if he only knew someone who could bake. 

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Pop on over to Love Lane Books where I am blogging on  Eric is opening a parcel from his gran and thinking about the things that he misses from home.

Snippet 4 & 5

These final snippets are for shinya_diey over on Dreamwidth. The request read, "May I ask about WIP of your choosing? 7, 19, 79"

Since I didn’t have any more manuscripts ready that ran to 79 pages I’ll can give you two snippets. Both are very rough and nothing more than partially written paragraphs in a vague layout.

The first is 19 lines from the 7^th paragraph of something currently referred to as ‘cafe french’.

Opening his mouth to speak Adam realised that his mouth was inexplicably dry. He flicked his tongue out, wetting the centre of both upper and lower lips in one swift movement. Luckily, the gorgeous creature in front of him was still concentrating intently on the board above his head and didn’t notice the aborted attempt at speech, which Adam suspected had left him gaping like an idiot.

Before he could make any further foray into communication, the swarthy man shifted his focus to Adam. Pale brown eyes, the colour of the hazelnut syrup in the bottle behind the counter, regarded Adam warily, the expression heightened by the frown which still carved deep furrows above the thin straight nose.

“Bonjour.” The man’s voice was deeper than Adam had expected, rich and velvety.

With just one word it seemed to seep into Adam’s chest, spreading out and dripping down his spine until it pooled low and warm in his groin. Damn, he needed to get laid, if that was the response one word from a swarthy stranger could instigate.

It didn’t even register that the one word hadn’t even been English or that, without thinking, Adam answered in kind.

“Bonjour.”

The furrows in the stranger’s brow smoothed and he smiled; a brilliant flash of white teeth in full lips. A string of words emanated from the Frenchman’s lips, so fast that Adam caught nothing but the sil vous plait at the end.

The second is 9 lines from the 7^th paragraph of something tentatively titled ‘RH Pillock’.

Spread-eagled on the bed, in a manner most unbecoming a man of his station, Toby wore a towel, wrapped loosely around his waist, and nothing more. Moisture still clung to his skin and droplets of water shimmered in the soft burr of hair that ran between his nipples, the remainder of his chest and abdomen as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Unless he allowed his gaze to dip lower where the pale brown hair started again in earnest just below his belly button, the soft sweep of an inverted V spreading ever wider. Although, on pain of death, Jacob would swear he had never ever looked with any degree of interest.

He should really reprimand Toby for lying on the bed whilst still wet from his bath.

Snippet 3

Today's snippet is for Elin Gregory, author and all round good egg, who is always ready with words of encouragement and inspiration. This is for you my friend.

17 lines from the 4th paragraph of p.68 of my WIP, Under the Radar.

Emboldened by Gethin’s last response, Zach knew his next question would push all acceptable boundaries of behaviour, but the laughter had left him feeling light-headed. Reckless, even. He ignored the small voice in his head that told him to mind his own business and ploughed on.

“This Meredith, did she give you a parting gift?” Zach said, adding just the hint of a leer. Gethin’s eyes widened, but they lacked that flash of amusement he’d previously displayed. Regardless, Zach pressed on. “You know? A present for a young hero going off to war?”

Gethin’s expression ran through a myriad of emotions. Shock. Disgust. Disappointment. Slack-jawed, Gethin stared at Zach, his mouth open sufficiently for Zach to glimpse the white of his teeth and a flash of pink. Maybe he’d pushed too far again. It was this sort of behaviour that had previously goaded complete strangers and colleagues alike to take a swing at his well-chiselled jaw line. A quick glance at Gethin’s hands, lax and comfortable in the dense fabric of Zach’s jacket, lead Zach to believe that violence wasn’t Gethin’s intention, to Zach’s relief.

Gethin exhaled sharply and, having gathered his wits, he made his objections. “What? No! If that were the case I would be compelled to return to her.” A sigh escaped from his lips. “I don’t want to go back. Not for longer than a visit to see my Ma and sister.”

The omission of his father from that list registered with Zach but he decided not to push that particular line of questioning any further.

This is an MS that has been hanging about for a while. It's almost completed and I should get my finger out and finish it so that it is submission ready. *adds it to things to do list*

Snippet 2

Another snippet, this time for Meredith Russell, she of the mad cover art skills. (If you don't believe me just take a look at the cover for Theory Unproven and tell me it's not bloody perfect.)

So,  here's 12 lines from the 6th paragraph of p.57 of Lovers Entwined.

Meredith, I know you asked for a WIP and LE has been previously released, but it's in the process of being reissued and as you know I'm hoping you'll be having some input, so I thought I'd give you a little teaser.

“Thanks.” Trey looked as if he didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused. It appeared he was teetering on the side of the former. “Is that how you treat everyone who buys you dinner? No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend.”

Instantly regretting that he had allowed himself to reveal that snippet of information, Ewan responded shortly. “I found a photograph of Tristan.”

Ewan slipped a photograph from the folder and held it out to Trey. “He looks exactly like you, if you discount the ‘tashe and the military issue haircut. And the nose. Which is why I was asking. I wasn’t being rude.”

“Oh.” Trey studied the photograph, the move hiding his face in shadow. “I had a surfing accident when I was seventeen. The board flipped out from under me, caught the wave and smacked me in the face. Broke my nose and knocked me clean out. I was lucky I didn’t drown.”

Hopefully, there will be another snippet tomorrow. I won't promise because you know what a flaky blogger I am :)

Snippet 1

Last week I offered up the chance for people to request snippets from my work, either on-going projects or published manuscripts.

Here's the first one for one of my original online friends, idamus.

She gave me 9, 15, 82 and asked for something from a WIP.

Here is 15 lines from the 9th paragraph on p.82 of my recent submission, New Lease of Life.

A barrage of giggles from the next table broke through the palpable tension, ripping it asunder. With a grin, Colby turned toward the laughter and addressed the women sitting there. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

As a group, they laughed in unison.

Pip frowned around the straw, reluctantly letting it slip from his lips in order to speak. “But it’s yours.”

An astonished look passed over Colby’s features and he shook his head. “It’s a film quote. When Harry Met Sally?  No? Best rom com ever. And you call yourself a gay man.”

A chorus of sighs emanated from the next table. Did they agree with Colby’s assertion? Who knew? Certainly not Pip, who felt as though the conversation was slipping away from him.

“I’m disappointed. Please tell me you’ve seen Priscilla.”

Who? “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I wouldn’t know a rom com if it got up and bit me on the bloody arse.”

“Interesting thought. Love the way you say arse. That long stretched out R.”

Whispers of conversation drifted over from the other table. So sweet.

Enjoy ;)