The Celibate Mouse (31 page)

‘Want to go halves?’

What I see in his eyes sends heat storming through my body, consigning my aches and pains to oblivion.

‘And we have unfinished business,’ he adds, dropping gentle kisses on my shoulder, up my neck and across to my face...

THE END

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

Aussie words in order of appearance in the novel.

Mob – crowd

Wanker – idiot, fool.

Underdaks – underpants

Copper – police officer

Yabby – freshwater crayfish found in Australian creeks and dams.

“Had all their marbles” – mentally competent.

Fit the bill – measured up, were right.

Twigs – understands

Cicada – locust.

Don’t give a monkeys – don’t scare

Chateau Cardboard – wine in a box, a delightful Australian invention.

Big wigs – the higher ups.

DISCLAIMER

Emsberg is a typical Australian town, no doubt inspired to a certain extent by the lovely valley in which I actually live. Those who wish to tar and feather me, please use only the very best of plumage, preferably those of a frizzle hen. The characters in this novel are products of my fevered imagination. If you think you recognise yourself in there, you would be well advised to keep it secret.

Sample chapter of
Diana Hockley’s next
Susan Prescott Novel,
After Ariel

AFTER ARIEL

CHAPTER 1

The Pickup.

Friday 5pm.

H
e shouldn’t have squeezed the baby. He had known that for twenty years, a six year old’s recollection. His mother’s voice returned, like a fragment from a radio play–‘You must always be gentle, my darling heart.’– words imprinted on his mind to surface when he least expected, bearing no relationship to any of the tangled events which coursed through his REM sleep.

He jerked into wakefulness, momentarily disoriented until he got his bearings. The movement of the train reminded him of his destination and his reason for going before his sleep-befuddled mind cleared. He winced, as piercing ring tones flared from the seat opposite. His brow crinkled in annoyance, but when the mobile phone was answered, he forgave the intrusion.

The clear bell-like sound of her voice took him back to the Australian bush where he had spent his childhood. He closed his eyes and allowed her words to wash over him, before his attention focused on her face. She was small, dainty and dark-haired, with the Bailey’s Irish Cream liquor complexion and velvety skin enjoyed by many English girls which he always longed to touch, but didn’t dare. He wasn’t too charmed by the ring in her nose, but the multi-coloured jewellery shimmering in her ears fascinated. He wanted to skim his fingertips over the mirrored shards, to glide across her milky skin.

‘I’m on the train ... yes, on my way home ... no, I’m having a night in on my own, because mam and dad want me to be there to look after the house and answer the phone, but thanks lots. I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you–’

The elderly woman sitting next to him by the window gave what sounded like a hiss of disapproval and muttered to herself, drowning out some of the girl’s the words, but he’d caught the most important part. She would be home alone. He glanced at his fellow travellers, each pretending not to have overheard the girl’s conversation, though her clear enunciation made a mockery of their pretensions.

She snapped off her mobile and thrust the plug of her iPod past the dangling trinkets into her ear, where it spouted incongruously, like black fishing line and pulled a somewhat lurid paperack out of her tote bag. Then she stuck her little pink tongue out and moistened the tip of a forefinger, with which she flicked the pages until she found her place in the novel. He watched through half-closed eyes as she became engrossed in the story, her foot tapping in time to a rhythm which danced in her head. The facing seats were so close that her knee occasionally brushed his.

I wonder if she’d like to go to the movies tonight ... but would she want to meet me?

Had he spoken his thoughts aloud? He flushed and risked a glance at the travellers sitting in the collection of four seats. No one appeared to have reacted. The long-legged, blond woman in the window seat diagonally opposite was trying to avoid contact with the bulging shopping bag invading her personal space as it spilled off the lap of the old woman sitting beside him. The geriatric’s elbow bumped his ribs as she wriggled, trying to get comfortable. He edged toward the aisle, trying not to obviously avoid her plump arm and generous hip.

The eyes of the blond met his, commiseration in her twinkling gaze. Confused, he stared blankly at her for a moment before responding but he was too late. She had returned to the book in her lap, a music score. “Mozart” was typed in big letters on the top of the page, but he couldn’t read the title of the piece. There was something familiar about her face.

Before he could recall where he might have seen her, his attention snapped back to the dark-haired girl who had taken her iPod out of her ear and was speaking on her mobile again.

‘Hi, it’s me, Ariel. Doing anything tonight?’ Her face scrunched as she listened. ‘Oh, well it’s like, I can’t go out. Have to be home on my own ... yeah, it sucks.’ She listened for a moment or two more, then trilled, ‘Okay, by-ee.’

As she snapped her mobile shut, their eyes met. A thrill shot through him. Heat spread throughout his body, sending pulses of fear and longing flooding along his limbs, chasing prickles of perspiration out to the tips of his fingers and toes. He clenched and unclenched his huge hands, overcome with shyness, averted his gaze and shifted in his seat, unable to decide if she intended to send him a message.

Did she want him to say something? To introduce himself? Sometimes he wasn’t sure if girls liked him or not. ‘Don’t be so ready to assume, love. Not
everyone
wants to play.’ The stricture floated into his mind and was angrily dismissed.
Get away from me, mum.

He stole a look at the blond woman who appeared to have abandoned her study and was watching the houses and factories pass as their train crawled through the outer suburbs of Cardiff. Automatically, he began to count the houses as they flashed past.
No, stop. You know what the doctor said.

He forced his mind back to the woman. Was she a musician? He liked classical music. The final performance in the Australian flautist, Pamela Miller’s tour was on in the concert hall the following night. Would the blond woman be attending as well? As though picking up his thought processes, she looked straight at him. They assessed each other for a moment, after which she blinked slowly, a feminine acknowledgement of his attention. Embarrassed by being caught staring, he glanced down at his hands. When he got the courage to peep at her again, she had laid her head against the padded backrest and closed her eyes.

He realised he was holding his breath, exhaled slowly and allowed his gaze to wander nonchalantly back to Ariel. She was watching him again! ‘Don’t get excited, love. You’re too impetuous!’
Shut up, mum.

He became aware that the train was pulling into Cardiff Central. Ariel stood and stretched to the luggage rack, but the rack was too high for her to reach the faded denim zip bag crushed into the meagre space. He leaped to his feet, stumbling over those of the blond. The older woman hastily swung her knees to the side to avoid clashing with his long legs as he stepped across and dragged the bag off the parcel shelf.

Ariel’s hazel eyes, framed by long lashes met his. ‘Thanks. It’s like, too high for me,’ she said, grinning appreciation of his help. He heaved the heavy bag onto the seat and nodded.

‘I’ll help you get it out’ His voice came out in a squeak.

‘Thanks millions.’ She threw him a laughing glance as she stuffed her iPod and the paperback into her tote bag, picked it up and prepared to race ahead toward the doors of the carriage. The train slid to a stop. People on the platform peered in the windows, hunting for friends and rellies. He picked up the zip bag, hastily gathered his backpack and turned to follow Ariel down the aisle.

The blond had pulled her case down from the rack and waited patiently for him to move off. Startled by her extreme height, he hesitated, about to step aside, but she gestured for him to proceed. Behind her, the old girl scowled and pushed forward with her shopping bag. Ariel, a good way along the carriage, turned to see where he was. He hefted her bag above the seats and surged forward.

The blond had vanished from his mind before he reached the end of the carriage.

The girl introduced herself as Ariel Maxwell and announced that she lived a few miles away. She kept up a steady stream of chatter as they found their way out of the station. He hefted her case into a taxi, confessing that he needed to find somewhere to stay, a pub perhaps.

‘That’s all right, there’s one just near us, The Fox and Duck,’ she chirped. The jewellery in her ears caught the light as it jingled. ‘We’ll share a cab.’

‘How about dinner later, then?’ he asked, greatly daring. ‘Is the food any good at that place? Or we could go somewhere else if you like.’ Suddenly, he appeared shy, his gaze skittered away from hers and then almost

‘Maybe.’

He leaned forward: ‘I go on to the pub after this, thanks,’ he told the cabbie.

Ariel didn’t want to appear too eager, but she couldn’t help regarding him with keen interest and growing excitement. His skin had a bronzed tinge which set off his handsome features. She wondered how much time he spent on the beach. Perhaps he worked outdoors. His dark brown eyes and longish, glossy dark hair gave him a rakish, gypsy appearance. She wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through the silken strands and smirked inwardly. What would Deanna say, when she heard what a prize she, Ariel, had discovered on the train? A gorgeous, tall, broad-shouldered Australian no less! And well spoken, not an “ocker.”

From having to suffer her own company this weekend – her younger brother had got himself stranded with his motorcycle, so her parents drove to Calne in Wiltshire to rescue him–things were looking up. She could do worse, she thought, as he handed her out of the taxi and dragged her bag out onto the footpath.

‘This home?’ He eyed up the neat house planted in the pretty garden.
Fourteen fence posts along the front, five rose bushes, ten
–

‘Yeah.’ She took the money out and paid the driver, who grunted, stuffed the note into his cash bag and coughed impatiently as he waited for his other passenger to get back into the cab.

He forced his mind back to the girl, not about to let her go without obtaining a commitment. ‘Shall I come back for you, about seven?’

She smiled. Tonight dinner and who knew what would be next? Caught up in the excitement of her unexpected date, her parents request to stay in that night had flown from her mind.

‘No, I’ll come down there. Seven in the lounge bar.’

He gestured to the bag. ‘Do you want me to carry this in for you?’

She thought quickly. What if they ended up back there? The house would be a tip; she had two hours to get it sorted. ‘No thanks, I’m good.’

She watched as the cab turned the corner. A little thrill shivered down her spine. Australians, everyone said, were great fun but not to be taken seriously. And they’d be in a pub, surrounded by the Friday night crowd.

What could possibly go wrong?

Author’s Bio

Diana Hockley lives in a southeast Queensland country town, surrounded by her husband, Andrew, two cats and six pet rats. She is a dedicated reader, community volunteer, and presenter of a weekly classical program on community radio. She and her husband once owned and operated the famous Mouse Circus which travelled and performed throughout Queensland and northern New South Wales for ten years. They also bred Scottish Highland cattle. She has three adult children and three grandchildren.

She has had articles and short stories accepted and published in a variety of magazines, among them,
Mezzo Magazine
USA,
Honestly Woman
(Australia)
The Highlander, Austin Times
and
Austin UK
,
Australian Women’s Weekly, It’s A Rats World, Solaris UK, Literary Journal of University of Michigan
USA, Foliate Oak, children’s website Billabong,
King’s River Life,
USA. In 2006, she was awarded Scenic Rim Art Festival prizes for poetry and fiction.

The Naked Room
was launched in November 2010. Her next crime novel,
After Ariel,
will be published before Christmas, 2011.